Page 21 of Debtor’s Daughter

Chapter 7

Dear Mrs Finchley,

I write this in haste, hoping it will arrive before your visitors. Your step-mama left two days ago, gone to live with her sister and her family in Bath, by all accounts. She barred the door to Mr Jenkins for several weeks, but he forced his way in. Still, she refused to leave, making things as difficult for the fellow as she could. It has been a wretched place since you ladies left and no mistake. The thing is, Wallace and Mrs Goodall stuck it out as long as they could, hoping you’d be back. With the ways things were, I’m afraid I let slip that you were settled and not likely to return. Well, then they badgered and badgered me, and I’m afraid I gave them your address. They left this morning, determined to work for you or no one. I hope you can forgive me, but they were in such a pother, I didn’t know what to do for the best.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Jack Woolgar to

Mrs Magdelina Finchley.

28th September 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.

Larkin sat before the window in his studio. He’d been up early for once and had spent the morning mixing paints and readying his supplies before his return to Montagu House that afternoon. He had decided it would be best for Tilly to paint her in familiar surroundings, where she would feel more at home. Also, if she got too bored, she could go off and play for a bit and come back again. It would be their first sitting today, and he wanted to be certain he’d remembered everything he would need. He stared down at the list he’d prepared earlier in the week, and ticked off the last item, racking his brain for anything he’d forgotten. Suddenly, a prickling sensation travelled down the back of his neck, and he had the strangest feeling he was being watched. Looking up, he discovered he was correct.

“Argh!” Larkin jumped back in shock, a hand pressed to his heart. On the other side of the window he’d been sitting in front of, Gideon, whose face had been mashed against the glass, dissolved into laughter. Larkin let out an unsteady breath as his heart returned to normal. “Little devil,” he muttered, though he could not help but snort with amusement as Gideon was practically doubled up in hysterics at Larkin’s reaction.

Undoing the catch, Larkin pushed the sash open. “Funny,” he deadpanned, shaking his head. “Most amusing.”

“I m-made you j-jump!” the boy chortled, holding his stomach. “You jumped good!”

“Yes, you did, you dreadful boy. What are you even doing here? Does your mama know you’re here?”

“No,” Gideon said, wiping his eyes and then his nose on his sleeve. “She got a sore head. Moody knows, though.”

“Hmmm,” Larkin said, sighing inwardly. He hoped the cook would not treat him as an unofficial babysitter when she’d had enough of the boy. “Well, you’d best come in, I suppose. Have you had breakfast?”

“Er,” Gideon said, clearly torn between the truth and the prospect of more cake. “Yes, but I’m still hungry.”

“You astonish me,” Larkin replied, shaking his head. “Go to the door and I’ll let you in.”

A few minutes later, Larkin escorted Gideon into the kitchen where the enticing scent of frying bacon made him realise he’d not yet eaten, even if Gideon had.

“We’ve got a visitor,” Larkin said, guiding the boy to a chair at the table and sitting him on it.

“You don’t say,” Barnes said, his expression amused as he regarded their uninvited guest. “How do, Master Gideon. Hungry, are you?”

“Yes. Is there cake?” he asked hopefully.

“No cake,” Barnes replied, his voice firm. “You can have bacon and eggs, though.”

“I like cake.”

“I know you do, but there’s bacon and egg. Take it or leave it.”

Gideon considered this for a moment. “Bacon and egg, please.”

“A sound decision,” Barnes replied with a nod.

With the deftness of many years’ practise, Barnes filled a plate with two fried eggs, some fried mushrooms, and some crispy fried bacon. He set it in front of Gideon before addressing Larkin.

“Sorry, sir. I’ll cook some more.”

Larkin’s stomach growled, but he could hardly snatch his breakfast back.

“Need help with that?” he asked Gideon, who nodded.

“Well, this is a turnup, not only are you eating my breakfast, but I must help you do it,” Larkin said ruefully, leaning over to cut the bacon up for the boy before handing him the fork. “Do your worst, brat.”

Gideon grinned at him, stabbed a piece of bacon with his fork, and stuffed it in his mouth. “S’good,” he said, chewing happily.