If he was there. That was what Dominic had been trying not to think about, the fear that Silas wouldn’t be there because of anger or hunger, illness or arrest. Dominic had spent a week trying not to think about what he’d do if Silas didn’t come back this Wednesday, and it was only when he pushed open the door and saw the man sitting at the little table, wolfing down a brick-sized chunk of bread and cheese, that he knew how afraid he had been.
Silas turned, and a whole variety of greetings, their tone ranging from anger to sarcasm to affection, died on Dominic’s lips. “What the devil happened?”
Silas swallowed his mouthful. “Sorry, Tory, couldn’t wait for you. Aye, well, the other man came off worse.”
“Who? What happened? No, wait. Just tell me that it wasn’t anything to do with the law, and then eat, and then tell me, yes?”
Silas had bruising along his cheek and under his eye and a cut, swollen lip. He seemed unconcerned. “Not the law, no. Bit of a local disagreement.”
“Thank the stars for that.” Dominic sat on the bed with a glass of wine as Silas ate. He wasn’t an elegant eater, tearing into hunks of cold ham with unrestrained appetite. Of course, elegant manners assumed a lack of actual hunger.
Dominic made mild conversation, the kind that could be carried on with no responses but grunts and nods, and waited till Silas finally pushed back the plate. “Christ, I needed that.”
“Mmm. Who hit you?”
“Ah, well. Did I tell you some bugger robbed Martha Charkin, my George’s ma, of her twenty guineas? Turns out it was a lout living round the corner, him and his brother. Robbing a widow woman who lost her son. So I had a word.”
“Quite a rough word,” Dominic observed, with a pointed look at Silas’s battered knuckles.
“Couple of hectors, all brawn, piss, and wind. Bragged about the drinking and whoring they’d done with her money.” Silas’s face darkened with the memory. “So we had a set-to”—he made a little unconscious gesture that suggested holding a cudgel—“and I hauled ’em into the street, told a few of the folks around what they did. They’ve got a couple more brothers, and their old man’s free with his fists too. Bit of a turnup, in the end. But, I got twelve guineas back off the buggers for Martha, so it was worth a split lip.”
“Will she prosecute?”
“Don’t be bloody stupid.”
“Then may I? No, listen. Harry gave her, or George, that money. I took responsibility for it. I have a right to prosecute its theft.” And he could afford to bring a prosecution, which was more than any of the Ludgate denizens could do.
Silas was giving him an exasperated but affectionate look. “You don’t want to mix yourself up in that. I gave both Hobhouse boys a sound thrashing. They’ve been told. And it ain’t as though they can pay her another penny, so what’s the use of arresting ’em?”
“The enforcement of the law.”
“Aye, and if the state wants the law enforced, the state should do it and pay for it too.”
“I’m offering precisely that.”
“You ain’t the state. Leave it, Dom. The Hobhouse boys are a nasty lot; I don’t want them turning on Martha.”
And what about you? Dominic carefully didn’t say. “Well, as you wish. How are you otherwise?”
Silas hesitated, then put down his glass. “You want to know? I’m tired, Dom, that’s the truth. I’m tired and hungry and cold. I’m tired of fighting, I’m tired of the people I’m fighting for, and I’m afraid.”
Dominic sat rigid, not daring to move.
“I’m not giving up,” Silas added. “Not now or ever. But I’m tired, and I took it out on you and spoiled the one thing in my week, in my life— Well. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to say so.”
“Aye, I do. And now I have, so that’s all you’re getting.” Silas reached for his hand. “Funny thing, I never feel weaker than when I’m with you. But after, I can keep going another week, because there’s you at the end of it.”
Dominic breathed the words in, making them part of himself. Their tone, the feel of Silas’s fingers, their tightening grip. He etched it all in his memory, to be taken out and examined reverently when he was alone.
There were a number of things he wanted to beg for and just one he’d get. “Please, Silas. Come to bed.”
They didn’t play games, not as usual. Silas was worn down. Dominic silenced him with kisses before he could speak and crawled down his body with worshipful care. If only he could make it good, good enough to lift the shadows, good enough that Silas would consider an alternative to his obstinate course to destruction…