softened. “Do you enjoy being at sea, Malcolm?”
A breath escaped him. “Very much so. Yes.”
“Good. Because we have a long journey ahead. I will ensure you are knighted into the Persian Court by my father. You will be granted the new name of Dalir . It means…brave.” Nasser’s features softened. “I am honored you chose to protect me in the same way you chose to protect your own brother.” Nasser knelt beside him, pushing his garb away from the movement of his legs. “My servants went to fetch salve and cloths. They will tend to your wounds.”
Malcolm tightened his hold on the shawl that barely covered him. He could feel it sticking to his wounds. They were a little too deep for his liking. “No. I will do it.”
“There are too many. Let them help you.” Nasser leaned in and touched Malcolm’s face with trembling fingers. “Are you all right?”
He had almost forgotten what brotherly love was supposed to be like. “I am now.”
London, England, Spring of 1830
Clipstone Street – late morning
Miss Leona Olivia Webster was used to being a pariah. Yes, there were days it was difficult to accept that her only relative and all of society thought she was a whore unworthy of pity, but she had learned that wallowing in one’s misery left very little room for much else. As a mother, it was imperative she set a good example by showing her son one could and should remain optimistic. Even during the worst of times.
Which was why, without any visible regret, she lingered by the steps of the tenement and watched an array of her son’s expensive clothing and toys as they were carried down the cobbled street by unshaven creditors who spat out chewing tobacco every few steps.
Well. At least she didn’t owe anyone anymore money.
A small hand tugged at her skirts. “Mama?”
“Yes, Jacob?”
“They took Jesus.”
She paused. “What?”
“My bear,” he whined. “The one you bought for me last week. I named him Jesus like Mrs. Henderson told me to. And those men took him. They took him .”
Leona glanced down at her six-year-old son with a quirked brow. “Unlikely. I paid one of those gentleman two shillings to leave him behind. I was going to surprise you with it later. Mrs. Henderson had just enough to save him. He is waiting upstairs on the table.”
Jacob shook his head, sending strands of dark hair into his eyes. “No. He isn’t. They took him.”
She squinted. “Are you certain?”
“ Yes . They stuffed him into a crate and carried him off like some…some… criminal ! Whatever will become of him? I might die knowing I’ll never see him again.” He gaped up at her. “Speaking of death, Mrs. Henderson says children who aren’t baptized go to hell. Is that true?”
Leona tsked. “Don’t listen to what Mrs. Henderson says. Her husband used to commit forgeries for the aristocracy and was hanged for it. It scared the poor dear into going to church far more than any person should.” The elderly woman, who was a very, very distant cousin, went every morning, every afternoon and sometimes, when the spirit moved her, she would knock on the locked doors of the church at night, yelling about her need for salvation.
Jacob’s brows flickered. “Why haven’t I been baptized? Don’t I deserve to be?”
She softened her voice. “Of course you do. But the circumstance of your birth makes it difficult.”
“So I’m going to hell?”
“No. Of course not.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t. But if hell does exist, I hardly believe God would send a child into the flames merely because a bit of water wasn’t splashed on its head. You’re a good boy, dearest, and that is all that matters. Hell has nothing to do with it.”
Jacob chewed on his lower lip before tugging on her skirts again. “Mama?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Please don’t let the creditors take my bear. Please .”
She leaned down, and smiling as brightly as she could, tweaked his freckled nose. “I promise
A breath escaped him. “Very much so. Yes.”
“Good. Because we have a long journey ahead. I will ensure you are knighted into the Persian Court by my father. You will be granted the new name of Dalir . It means…brave.” Nasser’s features softened. “I am honored you chose to protect me in the same way you chose to protect your own brother.” Nasser knelt beside him, pushing his garb away from the movement of his legs. “My servants went to fetch salve and cloths. They will tend to your wounds.”
Malcolm tightened his hold on the shawl that barely covered him. He could feel it sticking to his wounds. They were a little too deep for his liking. “No. I will do it.”
“There are too many. Let them help you.” Nasser leaned in and touched Malcolm’s face with trembling fingers. “Are you all right?”
He had almost forgotten what brotherly love was supposed to be like. “I am now.”
London, England, Spring of 1830
Clipstone Street – late morning
Miss Leona Olivia Webster was used to being a pariah. Yes, there were days it was difficult to accept that her only relative and all of society thought she was a whore unworthy of pity, but she had learned that wallowing in one’s misery left very little room for much else. As a mother, it was imperative she set a good example by showing her son one could and should remain optimistic. Even during the worst of times.
Which was why, without any visible regret, she lingered by the steps of the tenement and watched an array of her son’s expensive clothing and toys as they were carried down the cobbled street by unshaven creditors who spat out chewing tobacco every few steps.
Well. At least she didn’t owe anyone anymore money.
A small hand tugged at her skirts. “Mama?”
“Yes, Jacob?”
“They took Jesus.”
She paused. “What?”
“My bear,” he whined. “The one you bought for me last week. I named him Jesus like Mrs. Henderson told me to. And those men took him. They took him .”
Leona glanced down at her six-year-old son with a quirked brow. “Unlikely. I paid one of those gentleman two shillings to leave him behind. I was going to surprise you with it later. Mrs. Henderson had just enough to save him. He is waiting upstairs on the table.”
Jacob shook his head, sending strands of dark hair into his eyes. “No. He isn’t. They took him.”
She squinted. “Are you certain?”
“ Yes . They stuffed him into a crate and carried him off like some…some… criminal ! Whatever will become of him? I might die knowing I’ll never see him again.” He gaped up at her. “Speaking of death, Mrs. Henderson says children who aren’t baptized go to hell. Is that true?”
Leona tsked. “Don’t listen to what Mrs. Henderson says. Her husband used to commit forgeries for the aristocracy and was hanged for it. It scared the poor dear into going to church far more than any person should.” The elderly woman, who was a very, very distant cousin, went every morning, every afternoon and sometimes, when the spirit moved her, she would knock on the locked doors of the church at night, yelling about her need for salvation.
Jacob’s brows flickered. “Why haven’t I been baptized? Don’t I deserve to be?”
She softened her voice. “Of course you do. But the circumstance of your birth makes it difficult.”
“So I’m going to hell?”
“No. Of course not.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t. But if hell does exist, I hardly believe God would send a child into the flames merely because a bit of water wasn’t splashed on its head. You’re a good boy, dearest, and that is all that matters. Hell has nothing to do with it.”
Jacob chewed on his lower lip before tugging on her skirts again. “Mama?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Please don’t let the creditors take my bear. Please .”
She leaned down, and smiling as brightly as she could, tweaked his freckled nose. “I promise
Similar Books
The Humans
Matt Haig
The Legend
Kathryn Le Veque
The Summer Invitation
Charlotte Silver
Cold Case
Kate Wilhelm
Captcha Thief (Amy Lane Mysteries)
Rosie Claverton
Unseen
Nancy Bush
The Listening Walls
Margaret Millar
Ghost Aria
Jeffe Kennedy
Nights of Villjamur
Mark Charan Newton
Flesh for Fantasy
Kelex