That was exactly why. It had worked until I raised the spirit in the police cell and been taken to Lichfield. After that, there was no point in remaining insignificant. "If no one notices you, no harm can come to you," I said. I watched him, the boy who had been quiet too, but was now the leader, even if of a depleted gang.
"I used to wonder how you got here," he said. "You could read and write so I knew you weren't from round here."
"I wasn't the only one." How much did he want the others to know? How much did they already know, or had guessed? "What happened to Stringer?"
He blinked quickly at the change of topic. "He died."
"How?"
"Mutiny," Tick said. "He tried to sell Weasel here to a brothel keeper." He patted the blankets and the body-Weasel-wheezed.
"Weasel's a girl?"
"Not that kind of brothel," Mink said. "The kind that takes boys."
"Weasel's got a pretty face," Tick said with a shrug. "When it ain't all sickly like now. Pretty like a girl's, but he ain't. I seen his pizzle stick."
"So the rest of the gang rose up against Stringer?" Thank God I hadn't been around to witness the events, yet I wished I'd been there to help. Ousting a bigger, stronger lad like Stringer must have taken some courage.
"Aye," Tick said. "But Mink worked it all out. He led us coz he's smart."
"What did you do with the body?"
"Sold it to the resurrection man."
"Shut it," Mink hissed. "She'll tell the pigs."
"Your secret is safe with me," I assured him.
"Resurrection man were right glad he didn't have to dig one out of the graveyard," Tick went on.
"That was very brave of you, Mink. Brave and noble. You have a good heart." If one disregarded the murder of Stringer. "You're exactly the sort of person we need." When he didn't answer, I added, "My friend is a good man, too, also brave and noble." Perhaps noble wasn't the right word, but Mink didn't have to know that. "We're not asking you to do bad things."
Mink's lips flattened. He glanced at the two figures on the mattress. "I can't risk it. I can't risk their lives."
"You are, just by refusing my offer. Without our help, not all of you will survive the winter." My gaze settled on the body buried beneath the blankets as another coughing fit racked him. I remember being that sick once, but no one had bothered to take care of me. I'd coughed until I vomited up bile and snot, but no one had cleaned me up. I'd lain in my own filth for a week until I somehow got well enough to get up. I'd left that gang as soon as my legs were strong enough to take me away.
"Come on, Mink," Tick said. "Stringer would of done it, for the money and stuff."
"I'm not Stringer!" Mink snapped.
"Maybe that's why we're hungrier than we ever were," Tick retorted. "Maybe that's why Fleece talks about taking over this place and setting up his gang in here."
"Fleece?" I prompted. I remembered him. A nasty, violent boy of about sixteen who controlled the streets to the east. His gang had chased me many times when I ventured too close to their territory, but they never caught me. It was how I'd earned the name Fleet-foot Charlie.
"He tried to take this place from us," Tick told me, "but we fought him off. Stabbed him in the leg, good and proper like the pig he his, but he says he'll come back soon and kill us all if we don't leave."
"Then leave," I said rashly.
"And go where?"
"I know a place." Even as I said it, I knew it wouldn't be possible. Gus's great-aunt took in girls in need of shelter, but her house was already full and these boys were, well, boys.
"If you could help, why didn't you come back before now?" Mink asked, his top lip curled up. "Why wait?"
It was a good question, and the answer didn't make me feel proud of myself. "Because I didn't want to be reminded of what I became after my father threw me out of the house."
Tick's jaw flopped open. "You got a father?"
"He's dead now, but yes, I had one."
"What'd he throw you out for?"
"It's a long story for another day, Tick."
He pulled up his knees and hugged them fiercely. "I can't remember my father."
I looked to Mink. The sneer had vanished and he seemed uncertain. "Take my offer," I urged. "It's simply a matter of gathering information, reporting back things you hear. You'd be surprised at what you already know that could be useful to us. We must find a very bad man, someone who may harm the queen and her family."
"Bloody hell," Tick muttered. "Come on, Mink, we got to help Charlie if it'll save the queen's life. It ain't British to refuse."
"I'm in a position to help you now, Mink, and I will help you." I pushed the sack back to him with my foot. "I'll return tomorrow for your answer."
"Wait," he said. "Was it you who left us the coat a few weeks back?" He picked up one of the blankets on the mattress. No, it wasn't a blanket. It had arms and buttons. It was a familiar black woolen great coat. I hadn't seen Lincoln wear it since my return from the north. He must have left it here while I was away. "Not me," I said. "My friend outside."
I climbed the stairs and opened the trapdoor. Finley wasn't there. I bit the inside of my lip as I slid aside the boards leading to the street, hoping not to see the lad in Lincoln's grip. Lincoln wouldn't take kindly to being spied upon, and Finley was the bold, inquisitive sort.
I breathed a sigh of relief as I spotted Lincoln leaning one shoulder against the wall opposite, his ankles crossed as if he didn't have a care in the world. Only his sharp gaze gave away his alertness. Finley stood in a replica position beside him, his gaze on Lincoln, not me or the street. He copied Lincoln's pose, right down to the frown and slight nod in greeting as he spotted me. I bit back my smile.
"I see you've found yourself a friend," I said.
"He wouldn't leave." Lincoln pushed off from the wall and so did Finley. Lincoln stepped toward me, as did Finley. Lincoln stopped and turned a flinty glare at the lad. Finley tried to copy it but it lacked intensity.
"Mink's got food for you," I told him. "And warm clothes. Tomorrow, there'll be money too, if you can get him to agree to help us."
Finley's eyes grew wider with each word. The mention of money sent him sprinting across the lane and sliding open the boards. He slipped through like a rat into its hole.
Lincoln and I headed out of the lane side by side.
"Any trouble?" I asked.
"Just the lad."
"He's no trouble, just mischievous."
We walked a few steps in silence and I thought the matter dropped until he said, "Was he mocking me?"
"I think he was trying to be like you."
"Why?"
"Because you're big and powerful and have a commanding air about you. What boy wouldn't want to emulate that? Especially one in such a hopeless situation as he is." I glanced up at the sliver of sky visible between the roofs. It seemed so much grayer here, lower and heavier, even though it was the same sky over Lichfield.
Lincoln rested a hand on the back of my neck, under my hair. "Was coming here a mistake?"
"No. Not at all. I thought it would be horrible, but it wasn't. I'm glad I came."
He dropped his hand away but not before skimming his fingers against mine. "Did they agree to the plan?"
"Not yet, but I think they will. The old leader would have, but he's dead. I'm not sure how trustworthy he would have been anyway. He would have double crossed us as soon as someone flashed a coin in his face. Mink will be more reliable and loyal, if we can get him on board."
We exited the lane and walked through the streets. No one accosted us or tried to steal from us. We looked like two regular men-or a man and a lad-with nothing worth stealing. No toff wore clothes like we wore or kept hair this long.
Gus waited outside Kings Cross Station where we blended in with the crowd and a coach didn't look out of place. Lincoln settled the blanket across my lap. I drew it to my nose and breathed in the scent, as Mink had done. It didn't just smell of lavender, but of Lichfield itself, somehow.
"The memories pain you," Lincoln said gently.
I blinked, unaware until that moment that my eyes were full. "It's not that. I just wish I could do more for Mink and the others. They have no one, and they're just children. I doubt Mink is much more than fourteen, and he's the eldest. And Weasel is sick."
"I'll send the doctor."
"They won't let him in, even if he could fit through."
He sat back and said nothing for the entire journey home.
At Lichfield, the new housekeeper, Mrs. Cotchin was in the process of putting things into order. She saw me before I managed to change out of my boy's clothes and lifted her brows, but thankfully made no comment.
"I think I'm going to like her," I said to Seth as I passed him on the landing.
"Alice?" He glanced back over his shoulder, looking for her.
"No, Mrs. Cotchin. Why did you think I spoke about Alice? And why are you gazing at her rooms like that?"