Games in a Ballroom by Jentry Flint

Author:Jentry Flint
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Shadow Mountain Publishing
Published: 2022-01-31T23:18:25+00:00

Fifteen

Emerson did not feel this was a matter of trust, but a matter of insanity. It seemed impossible that this prank could be pulled off so easily. Especially with the pig already dressed. Perhaps if it were a regular-looking pig, but then again, why would the servants at White’s allow a live pig through their door?

The servants’ door to the club opened, and Emerson braced himself for a scowling footman or other kitchen staff to be staring down at them.

“Oy.” A young voice sounded from inside the empty frame. “I was begin’in ta wonder if you would show at all, Mr. Hood.”

Bradbury stood in front of Emerson, blocking his view, but the voice was unmistakably a child’s.

Mr. Hood?

Bewildered, Emerson leaned around Bradbury, meeting the filthy face of a boy no older than seven, smiling wide, his two front teeth missing. He stepped aside allowing Bradbury to enter, leaving Emerson no choice but to follow.

“‘Mr. Hood’?” Emerson whispered to his friend as the boy secured the door latch.

Bradbury shot him a sly smile. “I always wanted to be Robin Hood. Stealing from the rich to feed the needy, and all that.” Bradbury said as if the answer should have been obvious.

“First of all, we are not stealing anything.” Emerson leveled his mischievous friend with a stare that would brook no argument. “And secondly, none of this has anything to do with the poor.”

“I did not say the poor. I said the needy, which I am. And technically we shall be stealing from the rich—once we pull off this wager and fleece all those who doubted us.”

Emerson looked to the heavens for patience or the understanding of how one could be a man grown and still live a life as Bradbury did.

“Now, thank Little John for allowing us in, and we shall be on our merry way.”

Emerson raised a brow as he readjusted the awkward weight of the slumbering pig. “Is your name really John?”

“Aye, named after me pa, I was.” The boy beamed, his hands going proudly to his hips. The boy’s coat sleeves pulled away from his wrists, proving he had outgrown the tattered garment long ago. Emerson remembered his own parents lamenting on how quickly he too had grown out of his clothing.

“Do you work here with your father?” Emerson found himself asking, wishing he had taken more time to learn from his own.

“Nah. Me pa works over with the horses at Tattersalls.” The boy’s toothless grin grew even wider. “Me gran works here in the kitchens, though, and she says I could let yous in as long as we gets a few coins. And your promise not to rat me out if yous gets caught.”

“Your gran makes a good bargain.” Emerson found it impossible not to smile at the proud lad. With the war dragging on, coin was growing harder and harder to come by. A challenge he knew all about as he struggled to turn a profit and provide a secure future for his mother and sister.

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