The Earl and the Pickpocket

‘All the time,’ Adam replied, studying Ed gravely, having decided that Ed was a young person of no ordinary cleverness. ‘You seem to be an intelligent lad so I’m sure you care about yourself, about what you do—but not enough, it would seem, and for all the wrong reasons. Perhaps you don’t have enough faith in yourself—or pride. If you did, you wouldn’t steal things. Why do you steal, Ed? Don’t you have an alternative?’

Ed looked at him steadily, his eyes darkening at some secret memory. ‘Oh, yes—I do,’ he said quietly. ‘But this is far, far better.’

‘I see. You might give some thought to what I said.’

Ed nodded, fascinated. Adam’s eyes were frank and interesting. ‘I have—and I do believe in myself,’ he confided. ‘I don’t like stealing things and I intend to stop—one day. And I will. I want so many things—somewhere special, and safe, that I can call my own. I will change my entire life, when I’ve figured out a way how to do it.’

Adam believed him. He was troubled by the intensity of his statement. It was born of deep conviction—and perhaps more than a little pain. Ed’s eyes were wide and intense, showing in their depths a strong will that as yet knew neither strength nor direction. He was surprised at the feelings of tenderness this youth aroused in him. He sounded so ingenuous about what he wanted that he wanted to reassure him.

‘Don’t take too long,’ he said gently. ‘Those who make thieving their profession are destined for an early death on the gallows. Next time you get caught, the person you rob might not be as lenient as me. Have you always been a child of the streets? Have you never lived anywhere else?’ When he got no response he lifted a questioning brow. ‘France, perhaps?’

Ed stiffened, suddenly wary. ‘Why should you think that?’

‘When I pulled you out of the puddle, your cursing in that language was most proficient.’

Immediately the shutters came down over Ed’s eyes and his expression became guarded. He didn’t like talking about himself, especially not with strangers. ‘I told you—you ask too many questions,’ he replied sharply, averting his eyes.

Adam smiled, nodding slowly. He assumed there was a past that Ed was trying to forget. ‘I beg your pardon. I can see I intrude on your privacy too much. Being a private person myself, I respect it in others. You can relax. See, our food has arrived.’

Faced with warm buttered bread, hot, succulent meat pies and tarts packed with apples and pears, a significant battle to conduct himself properly was fought and lost in a matter of seconds as Ed was unable to override the demands of hunger. Eating more leisurely, Adam watched in amusement as the ravenous youth gorged himself. Studying the remarkable face and unable to resist the temptation to draw the lad, he took a small sketchpad and a piece of charcoal from his pocket and began to sketch quickly, effortlessly.

As the food filled and warmed his belly, Ed began to eat more slowly, savouring the taste fully. When his hunger was satisfied, he took a rag from his pocket and wiped his mouth and sat back, lulled into a harmony he thought he’d lost. He became aware of Adam’s preoccupation as he sketched, his fingers long and lean—the fingers of a creative man of some refinement—and how he raised his eyes every now and then to glance at him. How remote he was, he thought, how detached. Stung with curiosity, he leaned across the table.

‘Can I see?’

‘Of course. Here, what do you think of yourself?’ Adam turned the pad round to show him.

Ed gasped, staring incredulously at the image of himself. Adam had captured his likeness expertly. His face was all angles and shades, his eyes sad and thoughtful. ‘Is that how you see me?’ he asked, without taking his eyes off the sketch.

‘I’d have made a better job of it if I’d had longer.’

‘You’re very good. You really ought to take it up professionally.’

‘I’m glad you like it. And I promise to give serious thought to your suggestion,’ Adam replied, with a teasing smile in his voice and a knowing glint in his eyes.

‘You should,’ Ed said with gentle, but unshakeable firmness. ‘You could make a fortune. May I keep it?’

‘My pleasure.’ Adam tore the sketch off the pad and passed it to him, touched to see how carefully Ed handled it and placed it flat beneath his jacket so as not to crease it, as if it were the most precious object.

‘Do you feel better with food in your belly?’ Adam asked.

Ed nodded, remembering his manners. ‘Thank you. I am grateful.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Ed’s earlier anger had receded, leaving nothing to bolster his flagging courage. Adam’s eyes were still fixed on him so avidly that he blushed. There was an intensity, a pointedness about his look that for some reason unnerved him. He was curious to know more about the man whose watch he had stolen and who could sketch so artistically. He wondered why he hadn’t handed him over to the law, as others he stole from would have done. He cocked his head to one side and took stock of him. He really was a striking-looking man.

‘You’re a gentleman, I can tell, so what’s a gentleman doing in St Giles?’ he asked. ‘I don’t believe you came to take a stroll, or take the air.’ Suddenly his dark scowl vanished. He laughed out loud, a mischievous twinkle dancing in his eyes as the obvious reason occurred to him. ‘Were you looking for something that might be of interest to your habits?’ he remarked boldly. ‘If it’s a whore you’re after, there are plenty to be had, but ’tis the pox you’ll get for your sins.’

Adam caught his breath. ‘I don’t buy my pleasures—I’ve never had to. I can attract my own women—and I never barter.’ He became silent and thoughtful as he seemed to mull something over. ‘I’m looking for a boy,’ he told Ed bluntly.

After six months as a resident of St Giles, it took no straining of Ed’s mental process to conclude his companion might be one of those depraved characters who practised wicked vices.

Aware as to the tenor of Ed’s thoughts, which Adam found nauseating in the extreme—that this young lad should believe he could stoop to something so corrupt, so vile—his expression became rigid, his eyes glittering like shards of ice.

‘I do not take solace from young boys of the street. The boy I am looking for is a relative of mine. He disappeared two months ago, and I’m anxious to locate him.’

‘Why? Did he run away?’

‘No. He was taken.’

‘And you think he’s here—in St Giles?’

‘I have reason to believe so. He was last seen in the company of a man and woman. I have a network of people combing the city, but this was where he was last seen. I often come myself, but unfortunately there are places my spies and I can’t penetrate, unlike someone who is familiar with the buildings and alleyways—someone like yourself,’ he said quietly, watching Ed closely. ‘Maybe you could make enquiries—discreetly, mind.’

Ed eyed him warily. ‘I’ve got things to do. I’ve got my work cut out picking pockets.’

Adam’s firm lips twisted with irony. ‘I suppose one could call thieving a lucrative career if one is prepared to cast aside all moral principles.’

Ed wanted to shout it was his living, that the mean and filthy streets were his home, and that Jack was the wretch that made him steal and wouldn’t let him go, but all he said was, ‘It’s what I do.’

Adam sat forward and rested his arms on the table, sensing Ed had learned the hard way how to survive among the odious hovels and alleyways of St Giles. ‘Come now. Let us make a bargain.’

His voice was husky and attractive, putting Ed instantly on his guard. ‘A bargain? I’ll do no bargain.’

‘Ah, lad—not so hasty. Hear what I have to say. I tell you what,’ he said mockingly, his blue eyes snapping with amusement as he reached with his fingers to chuck him under the chin. ‘I don’t think I need remind you that you have just robbed me of my watch, which is a serious criminal offence—and, as the watch is valued at more than a shilling, a hanging offence, is it not? So, I’ll do you a favour. I shall not summon the sheriff’s forces if you agree to help me.’

Ed shot him a sullen look. ‘That isn’t a favour. It’s blackmail.’

Adam arched an eyebrow. ‘You might stand to profit by it. You will be well rewarded, I promise you. You wish to change your life, you say—to improve your lot. I am offering you the means to do just that. All you have to do is keep your eyes open. The lad is nine years old, slight, with brown eyes and black hair and answers to the name of Toby.’

‘You have just described hundreds of boys in St Giles. And two months you say he’s been here?’ Ed smiled wryly, shaking his head slowly. ‘If he’s survived the life, he’ll be unrecognisable.’

Adam’s expression became grim. ‘I think not.’

‘Certain, are you?’

He nodded. ‘Born with his right leg shorter than the left and his foot turned in, he is unable to walk without the aid of a crutch. Toby is a cripple.’

Ed found this regrettable, but his expression did not change. ‘So are many others, some deformed from birth, but many of them are mutilated on purpose, usually by those who wish to capitalise on their misfortune by making them beg and displaying them to the curious.’

Taking a purse from his pocket, Adam passed it discreetly across the table. ‘Take this for now. Inside you will find five guineas. When I return four days hence there will be more.’

Ed felt the purse. Five guineas was more money than he had seen in a long time. Hope blossomed in his chest, but he’d learned not to trust the future. He looked at Adam with a sceptical eye. ‘And all I have to do is look for the boy?’

Adam nodded. ‘You don’t have to speak to him. Just tell me where he can be found and I will do the rest. You’d be a fool for certain if you didn’t accept.’

‘How do you know I won’t take your money and not come back?’