The Judge's Daughter (Escape To The West Book 7) Page 5

  For close to ten minutes they wandered around the area, both inside and outside the station, before Millie abruptly grasped George’s arm.

  “Over there! Is that them?”

  He looked in the direction she was pointing to see the little girl standing behind a well-dressed man, her hand rising towards his jacket where something bulged in his pocket. The man appeared amused as he spoke to her brother in front of him. That wouldn’t last, once he realized what they’d done.

  George took off through the crowd, weaving around the too many people in his way.

  His elbow clipped a woman’s arm and she cried out in surprise.

  The man turned at the sound, only then noticing the girl lurking behind, his wallet clutched in her hand.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” George said, tipping his hat to the startled woman before taking off again.

  The man made a grab for the girl’s arm. “You little guttersnipe! What are you doing?”

  He yelped as the boy stamped on his foot.

  “Mary, run!”

  The girl wrenched her arm from their victim’s grasp and both children turned to bolt. A moment later, they collided with George’s legs.

  He grabbed an arm in each hand, clamping on tight as they struggled in his grasp.

  “Let us go, you–” The boy’s protestations came to an abrupt halt when he saw George’s face.

  He glanced between him and the man.

  The man walked up to them, glaring at the two children. “Thank you. These two scoundrels were about to make off with my money.” He leaned down to snatch the wallet from the little girl’s hand. “Where’s the nearest police station? I’m going to make sure these two get what they deserve.”

  The boy’s eyes widened and he began to struggle against George’s grip again. “No, please don’t. It was a mistake. My sister saw your wallet on the ground and she was just returning it to you. Please, mister. We haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “A likely story,” the man snapped. “The two of you should be locked up.”

  Mary began to sob, pressing her face into George’s arm.

  “Sir, I’m Officer Par…kinson, New York police. I’d show you my badge, but my hands are full.” George nodded at the two children. “I’ll take them in. We’ve been looking for these two for some time. I’m real grateful for your help in catching them.”

  The man’s eyes traveled down George’s plaid shirt to his faded trousers and worn boots, his expression dubious.

  “Undercover clothing, to blend into the crowd,” George said, hoping the man wouldn’t notice that he didn’t blend in with anything in the city. “No sense in standing out when you’re trying to catch a thief or two.”

  He nodded slowly. “Do you need me to come with you to make a statement?”

  “Oh no, sir, no need for that. We have plenty of evidence from their other victims. You just go on about your day. No call for you to have any more of your time wasted on account of these two.” George held his breath, praying for the man to let the whole thing go.

  “Well, all right then. Thank you, Officer. I’m grateful for your assistance.” He glared at the children. “I hope you learn your lesson.”

  “Oh, we will, sir,” the boy said quickly. “Won’t we, Mary?”

  With a sad sniffle, Mary nodded.

  The man headed off into the crowd, his wallet clutched against his chest, and the small group of people who had gathered to watch the proceedings dispersed.

  “You can let us go now,” the boy said.

  George almost laughed at that. “And have you run away? I reckon not.”

  The boy glared at him. “You’re not really a policeman. You can’t take us anywhere.”

  Millie rushed up to them and crouched in front of Mary who was rubbing at her runny nose with her free hand.

  She took a clean handkerchief from her pocket and gave it to the little girl. “Don’t cry. You don’t have to be scared. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

  Mary blinked at her before looking down at the lacy handkerchief in her small hand. Then she wiped her sleeve across her nose and held the handkerchief out to Millie. “It’s too pretty.”

  Millie smiled and pushed her hand back to her. “You keep it.”

  She rose, stroking one hand gently over the little girl’s blonde curls as she studied her new possession in awe.

  “So what are you going to do with us?” the boy said, lifting his chin defiantly and staring George in the eye.

  What was he going to do with them? He hadn’t thought that far when he’d rushed to save them from being lost in the New York justice system.

  “Are you hungry?” Millie said. “How about a late lunch?”

  The boy looked between her and George. “You want to buy us lunch?”

  She smiled. “Yes. Of course, if you’re not hungry…”

  “No!” he said quickly, before catching himself. “I mean, we’ve already eaten, but we could eat more. Couldn’t we, Mary?”

  Still absorbed in studying the intricately embroidered handkerchief, his sister nodded vaguely.

  “So if I let you go, you won’t run away?” Not that George would entirely believe him, whatever his answer, but maybe if he pretended he trusted him, the boy would live up to that trust.

  “We won’t run away.” A mischievous grin crept onto his face. “At least, not until after we’ve eaten.”

  Chuckling, George released his hold on the children’s arms. Despite the boy’s words, he was still mildly surprised when they didn’t immediately try to bolt. “I’m Mr. Parsons and this is Miss Ravensworth.”

  Millie held out her hand and smiled.

  After a moment’s hesitation, the boy took it and gave it a tentative shake. “I’m Henry, and this is my sister, Mary.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Henry and Mary.”

  Mary smiled up at her, the handkerchief still clutched tightly in her hand.

  They headed for a nearby restaurant, one of several around the station serving the constant stream of travelers on the railroad. After a few paces, Mary slipped her hand into Millie’s and Millie smiled down at her.

  A jolt passed through George at the sight, something he felt deep down. Millie would have made a wonderful mother. As a father, the knowledge that she’d never get the chance caused him almost physical pain. She didn’t deserve to miss out on anything.

  Within moments of entering the restaurant, a waiter marched towards them, gesturing at the children. “Oh no you don’t. You two have been warned about this. Get out.”

  Mary stepped in close to Millie, pressing herself into her skirts. Henry darted behind George.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but Millie beat him to it.

  Lifting her chin, she managed to look down her nose at the taller man. “Is there a problem?”

  The waiter took in her regal bearing and expensive clothes. “Uh, no, madam.” His eyes flicked to Mary who was clinging onto Millie’s hand as if for dear life. “It’s just that, these scoun… uh… children have tried to eat in here before, without any means of paying.”

  Millie’s withering stare would have cowed the roughest outlaw. “These two children are our guests. Are you implying that we are not welcome?”

  His eyes darted to George who probably, in his estimation, looked barely better attired than the children. Millie, however, was a completely different matter.

  The waiter swallowed. “No, madam, not at all. It’s just…”

  “Yes?” she said. “Just what?”

  He visibly deflated. “Nothing. Please forgive my error.”

  She flicked an imperious hand at him. “You’re forgiven, this time. We’d like a table, please. By the window.”

  A pained expression crossed his face at the prospect of the two raggedly dressed children being seen in his establishment, but he nevertheless showed them to a table by the window. Mary appeared to be glued to Millie’s side as she sat on the seat beside her. George and Henry too
k the seats opposite.

  “That was fantastic!” Henry exclaimed once the man had left.

  George couldn’t have agreed more.

  A waitress brought them menus, serving them ahead of others who had been there when they’d arrived. No doubt the head waiter had issued instructions to get them out as quickly as possible.

  “Choose anything you want,” Millie said.

  Henry’s eyes widened. “Anything? On the whole menu?”

  “Anything.”

  The children immediately set about studying their menus as if revising for the most important school examination. George got the feeling they were going to end up with a table covered in desserts.

  “So why aren’t you two in school?” he said, once the waitress had taken the children’s sugar-laden orders.

  Henry winced. “The teachers are still all sick?” he said hopefully. When George raised his eyebrows, he sighed. “Our mama doesn’t know.”

  “We just want to help,” Mary added.

  “She used to have two jobs, but then she lost one and sometimes we don’t have anything to eat and…” Henry shrugged and looked at the table.

  George’s heart ached for the two children. There was no way he was leaving without knowing he’d helped them in some way. He might not have been able to help all the destitute children in New York, but he could do something for these two.

  “Will you take us to meet your mother?” he said.

  Henry recoiled in horror. “Are you going to tell her we’ve been stea–” He stopped abruptly and glanced around them. “We’ve been doing things we shouldn’t?” he finished, more quietly.

  George gave that some thought. Would it be in anyone’s best interests if he revealed to their mother that her offspring were embarking upon a life of crime? “Not unless it comes up, and as long as you stop doing those things you shouldn’t and go back to school. We just want to talk to her and find out if there’s anything we can do to help.”

  Henry glanced at Mary and she gave him a vigorous nod, but he still appeared reluctant. “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll give you five dollars if you take us to see her,” George said.

  That got his attention. “F-five dollars?”

  “Yup.”

  The prospect of his mother finding out that her children had become criminals warred across his young face with the prospect of receiving five dollars. After ten seconds or so, the money emerged victorious.

  He held out his hand to George. “You’ve got a deal.”

  Chapter 5

  After the children finished their long lunch of mostly cake, and Millie insisted the reluctant waiter wrap up the leftovers in a paper bag for them to take home, Millie and George left them with the promise to return at six, when Henry said their mother would be home from work.

  On George’s suggestion, they took something far less grand than the carriage in which Millie had fetched him from the station. He said that if the children’s mother was as impoverished as they appeared, they probably lived in one of the rougher areas of the city where he didn’t think it would be wise to draw undue attention.

  Millie agreed with him. She may have lived her life largely isolated from the extreme poverty that existed in many parts of the city, but she wasn’t ignorant of it. It was one of the reasons she’d wanted to employ orphans like Amy, in the hope she could help some of them to avoid the bleak future they faced. Although her plans hadn’t turned out as she’d intended.

  She still felt guilty over that. Maybe, deep down, she always would.

  Ira drove the buggy, but he wore nondescript clothing rather than his usual uniform. Millie had also dressed down, in a plain brown jacket over a green blouse and skirt. Nothing to suggest she came from money.

  George wore his usual clothing. He was undeniably attractive, no matter what he wore, but she couldn’t help but wonder how he’d look dressed up for the ball in a few days. George in evening wear would be a thing to see, of that she had no doubt.

  Despite George’s promise of five dollars, Millie was half expecting the children to not be there when they reached the station, but Henry was right where they’d agreed to meet. Once he’d been assured that no, Ira also wasn’t there to reveal his nefarious activities to his mother, and yes, George had the five dollars with him, he scampered up into the buggy to sit beside Ira.

  He glanced at the lidded basket Millie had brought with her but said nothing. She’d noticed how he didn’t miss a thing. He was an intelligent boy. He deserved a future where he could live up to his potential, not one where he ended up in jail, or worse.

  “Where’s Mary?” she said as they started off.

  “At home. Mama would have been suspicious if she’d come with me. Mary doesn’t go outside when she’s home.”

  “So you haven’t told your mother we’re coming?” George asked.

  Henry shook his head. “I don’t think she’d be pleased. But she’ll be all right once you’re there. And when you give me the five dollars,” he added pointedly.

  As they’d suspected, Henry directed them to the west side of Manhattan, to a place where tenement blocks several stories high lined the streets, and trash, horse dung, and the occasional person lined the gutters.

  They passed a slaughterhouse and Millie turned her eyes from the red-stained ground outside its doors, lifting a hand to her nose in a futile attempt to mask the smell.

  Ira glanced back at her, his expression grim. “Stay close to me and George, Miss Ravensworth. They don’t call this place Hell’s Kitchen for nothing.”

  She nodded and took George’s hand. She knew he and Ira would protect her, but she prayed for their safety anyway. She’d heard disquieting stories about places like this. The thought of Henry and Mary running around on their own here, with no one to keep them safe, gave her a sick feeling that had nothing to do with the pervading odor of filth and decay.

  Henry instructed Ira to pull up outside a rundown block that looked exactly the same as all the others and jumped to the ground.

  “If you all come up, I don’t know that the buggy’ll still be here when you come back down.”

  “Don’t worry, young sir,” Ira said, “I’ll be staying here. The buggy will be safe with me.”

  Henry took in Ira’s tall, muscular frame. “Figure it will.”

  He led Millie and George into the cramped lobby and up the staircase. The walls might once have been white, but peeling paint and mold had rendered that a distant memory. A combination of rotting food, damp, and worse things Millie didn’t want to think about, assaulted her nasal passages. She was used to the pungent city, but inside, with no means of escape, the smell was ten times worse.

  She lifted a hand to her nose as they climbed. “Doesn’t the owner ever clean this place?”

  Henry glanced back at her. “Not since we’ve been here.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  He thought for a moment. “Four years.”

  When they reached the third floor, they heard a woman’s voice.

  “Please, if you just give me a few more days I can…”

  “I’ve given you plenty long enough,” a rough male voice replied. “You’re a month behind, so unless you’re going to give me what’s owed right now, your room is going to someone who’ll pay.” There was a pause. “Unless you want to clear the debt in some other way.”

  His tone sent a chill up Millie’s spine and left her in no doubt as to what that other way would be.

  “No,” the woman said firmly. “I’ve told you before, that will never happen.”

  “Then pay up or get out.”

  Henry hurried ahead of them, darting around a corner. George and Millie followed to see him rush up to a woman standing a little way along the corridor. A lanky, greasy-looking man stood facing her.

  “You leave my mother alone,” Henry said, placing himself between them and glaring up at the man.

  “Or what, tiny?” The man gave a derisive laugh, although h
is gaze was shrewd as he looked the boy up and down.

  George handed the basket he’d carried from the buggy to Millie and strode up to the little group. “There a problem here?”

  The man glanced at him, his lip twisting. “Who’re you?”

  Henry’s mother wrapped her arms protectively around her son.

  “You the owner?” George said.

  “I’m the manager. Name’s Brown. If you’re looking to rent, this one’s about to become available.” He nodded to the door behind Henry and his mother.

  “How much does she owe you?”

  Mr. Brown sneered at him. “What’s it to you?”

  George stepped forward, forcing him to either back away from Henry and his mother or be walked over.

  It probably wasn’t an appropriate time for such thoughts, but the sight of George asserting himself to protect the woman and her son sent a flutter of admiration through Millie’s chest. He was so wonderfully vigorous.

  “I said,” he repeated, “how much does she owe you?”

  Brown narrowed his eyes. “Four dollars and fifty cents, not including this week.”

  George dug into his pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill and four singles. “This is for what she owes you plus the next month. I want a receipt.”

  Henry’s mother’s eyes darted between the two men, obviously wondering what was going on and if she should be doing something about it.

  Mr. Brown frowned but took the money, shoving it into the pocket of his grubby trousers. “I’ll get you the receipt.”

  There was silence as he walked away. Millie tried to simultaneously back against the wall while not touching it to let him past.

  Before rounding the corner by the stairs, he glanced back, his expression as he looked at Henry holding something Millie couldn’t quite put her finger on but that nevertheless made her wary. And then he turned away and was gone.

  Henry gazed up at George in awe, his mouth opening and closing a few times without any words emerging. George gave him a nod. Henry swallowed and nodded back.

  Millie’s heart did a little dance around her chest.

  “Um.” Henry’s mother stared at George. “I don’t… who are you? Why did you do that?”