Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Written for pleasure not profit.
May. 1999.
Sharpe's Choice
Part 1
London, March, 1794
"Here, piss off! Yer can't work this corner." The small dark haired figure jumped and looked around trying to find the owner of the voice that seemed to come from no where.
"I'm sorry, I'm lost," the boy answered hesitantly, still not sure whom he addressed. "Perhaps you could tell me where I COULD find work? I'm new here you see."
From the deep shadows in a narrow alleyway between the walls of two buildings a slim figure emerged, his fair hair catching the last rays of sun. Even with his face unwashed and his clothes creased and dirty Dick Sharpe had a natural beauty that was hard to hide. He looked the newcomer up and down with nothing short of appraisal and frowned at what he saw. The second boy was small, clearly younger than Sharpe. He was clean and well dressed for this part of town and certainly spoke in a way that indicated he was not from around here. His dark hair fell in soft curls to his shoulders. Big dark eyes, so dark they looked almost black in the dying light set off his pale complexion. All in all, Sharpe decided, this lad wasn't someone he wanted as competition.
"Try down the street a bit. Go past 'The Broken Plough', then turn left and head towards the docks." He gestured the direction with a nod of his head. That should be far enough away. "Yer might find a spot there but I don't like your chances, it took me almost a week to find this place."
The boy looked around at the lengthening shadows and pulled his coat tighter. It was a nice coat, thought Sharpe, thick and warm. He looked the boy up and down again. "You just arrived then, did yer? New to all this eh?"
The big dark eyes blinked and the boy smiled shyly. "Yes, I arrived this morning. I'm from Oxford. I didn't think it would be this hard to find work. I have a good hand and I thought.."
Sharpe spluttered with laughter. "Christ, you'll need more than a good hand! There's not many'll settle for that! What else can you do?"
"Well, I know French and Latin," the boy replied hesitantly.
"I know a bit of French meself," Sharpe said nodding, "But I never heard of that other one. How do yer do that? Could yer show me?"
The dark hair boy looked surprised. "Well, er, I can't just teach you here, it would take too long. I've been studying it since I was seven."
"Christ! Really? Who made yer do that?" Sharpe was becoming interested and more than a little worried. Were there other well-dressed boys around who had been tutored in fancy techniques and who were being let loose on street corners to compete with lads like himself? Sharpe wondered who was organising this racket. Probably some bloody Lord!
"My father wanted me to learn it. I also learnt, Mathematics, Philosophy, Geometry, Literature."
Sharpe scratched his head. "Yer father? Does he run a brothel, then?" Why would the boy be out here if his father ran a brothel? Perhaps the bastard beat him and took all his money. Sharpe looked him over again trying to find the telltale signs.
"A Brothel?" The boy asked somewhat surprised. "Why no. He's a Judge. He knows the value of good schooling."
Ah, so that's it. Sharpe smiled to himself, as the facts began to fall into place. But this new piece of information brought with it a whole new set of questions.
"So what are yer doin' here then, eh?" Sharpe couldn't imagine why a young well-dressed lad would be wandering around on his own in the rougher parts of London when he clearly had a family to look after him.
"I ran away from school." The voice shook a little. "This morning, I took a coach. I didn't realise it would be so hard to find work."
Sharpe scratched his head. Bloody little lamb to the slaughter, he thought to himself, remembering the first night he had spent alone in London. Sharpe had still held a measure of hope back then. Hope that he could make something of his life. By morning those hopes had been lost, along with just about everything else he had, but at least he had survived. There were many youngsters who never made it through the first night.
"What's yer name, then?" perhaps Sharpe could keep this boy out of trouble for the night and then talk him into going home tomorrow. There was nothing worse than coming across a small body with it's throat cut. Although he tried to harden himself like O'Malley had said, it was a sight you didn't forget. It could have so easily been Sharpe himself.
"Joshua... er..Josh, that is...er... Smith." Doubtful, but Sharpe reached out to shake the boy's small soft hand, noting the clean fingernails, the white skin. It was clear this boy had never done a days work in his life.
"Well I'm Dick Sharpe and I reckon if yer smart you'll head right back to that school yer come from first thing in the morning. Yer don't want to be looking for work around here, because the only work you'll find will be on yer knees or bent over and I don't think yer'd like it one bit!" Sharpe made his voice go tough, a thing he could do when he had to. It was one of the things he had learnt from O'Malley. Make yourself sound tougher than you were, that way they didn't think you were easy game.
"But I can't go back, I can't." Smith's high-pitched voice wailed in desperation. "I don't mind what I do, any sort of work will be fine. But I can't go back, I won't!"
"Christ! What did yer bloody do? Kill yer teacher? You got the harmen after yer?" Maybe looking after the lad wasn't such a good idea. Sharpe was trying to stay one step ahead of the law himself.
"OH, nothing like that." The boy looked horrified. "But my father will be looking for me. He'll probably kill me if he finds me."
This last statement was something Sharpe could understand. Although he'd never had one himself, he'd seen evidence of brutal fathers often enough on the other youngsters he had known while living on the streets.
He looked Smith up and down again. "How old are yer?" Not that age was really a barrier in this line of work, but the younger this lad was, the harder his father would search.
"I'm sixteen." Smith replied, his gaze level. Like hell yer are, Sharpe thought. Sharpe was sixteen himself and was easily taller and more solid. Given that this boy had probably never known hunger and hard work, his small frame couldn't be blamed on deprivation.
With a quick lunge Sharpe reached out and grabbed the boy between the legs, eliciting a squeak from Smith who struggled before Sharpe released him just a quickly.
"What did you do that for?" Smith asked, mouth agape as he took a step backwards.
"Just checking, thought yer might be a girl! I've seen girls dress up like boys before, hoping to stay out of trouble, but there's just as much trouble for boys here as there is for girls, yer know."
"Well I'm not a girl!" Smith said indignantly. "Girls don't go to school."
It was nearly dark now and Sharpe knew it would be time to go to work very soon. He should get rid of this boy, tell him to go somewhere else and become someone else's problem. Sharpe was finding it hard enough to look after himself since going on the run two weeks ago. It was hard carving out a new patch for yourself. Perhaps he could send Smith to Jack O'Malley in the Rookery tomorrow. Jack would be happy to have him.
If only I was back there now, Sharpe thought wistfully. Things had been going so well for him, back in the Rookery. He'd finally managed to get a real job working at a coaching house. A bit of thieving on the side had meant that he could stop working the streets with O'Malley. If he hadn't become mixed up with Molly, he'd still be there. Bloody women! He should have listened to Jack! Now the Law was after him for murder and he'd had to leave behind everything he knew and all his friends and start all over again on the streets.
A bit like bloody Smith, Sharpe thought as he looked at the boy clutching his small bag and staring around as if he were afraid of the approaching night.
"Look, yer can stay with me tonight and I'll keep an eye on yer, but you'll have to stay out of the way while I work. Tomorrow we'll see what we can find."
Sharpe pushed the thought of sending Smith to O'Malley to the back of his mind. The lad would never make it into the rookery to even find O'Malley and Sharpe certainly wasn't going to venture back there and chance getting recognised by the law. Besides if Smith went to O'Malley, Sharpe knew what would happen and for some reason he found himself wanting to save Smith from following the same path that he had taken.
"What is it that you do Dick." Smith asked, his eyes all innocence and Sharpe suddenly felt something he had almost forgotten; shame. Perhaps it was the way that Smith was looking at him, as if Sharpe was about to rescue him. Bloody unlikely, but the boy had no idea, did he?
"Look, I go with men, see. I do things for them." There, that didn't make it sound so bad, did it, Sharpe wondered.
"Little jobs for them, for Gentlemen? Carrying things and opening doors, running messages and.."
"NO!" Sharpe rubbed his face and looked away. Any moment now one of those 'Gentlemen' was going to come looking and Smith was going to get a nasty shock.
"Look Josh, they're not Gentlemen, least wise not usually, and what I do for them, I do in that alley back there, for money." Sharpe bit his lip, hoping Smith would get the idea but the lad still looked puzzled. "I'm a whore!" Sharpe said, his voice turning rough again causing Smith to cower a little in fright. "I go with men and do what ever the bastards want me to as long as they bloody pay me!"
"You're a prostitute?" Smith asked, his eyes wide, "You..you ..fornicate...with MEN?" Smith frowned at that and his voice changed. "I don't believe you!" he said indignantly.
It was Sharpe's turn to blink and wonder. Why did Smith doubt him? "Well that's what I do! So just piss off if you don't like it!" Perhaps fornicate was a fancy way of saying it. It had the right sound to it.
Smith's eyes darted around, alarmed and fearful and Sharpe wondered if he was going to run. Yeah, run right back to school and imagine this was all a bad dream. Huh! But Smith eyes filled with tears, and his lip began to wobble and Sharpe looked away and scratched under his arm, embarrassed.
"Well, do you know where I can stay tonight? I just need to find somewhere to sleep and tomorrow I'm sure I'll find work somewhere?" Tears rolled down Smiths pale face and he wiped them with the back of his hand.
"Do yer have any money?" Sharpe asked. Perhaps the boy had brought some with him, but Sharpe doubted it. Smith simply shook his head.
"You'll not find anywhere to stay unless you can pay for it in some way. Do you have anything in yer bag that you can sell? Anything worth a bit of money?"
The boy put the bag down and opened it, but Sharpe quickly grabbed his arm.
"Here don't do that here, someone might take a liking to what yer got in there." He pulled Smith back into the narrow alley where the light was so dim that he had to bend close as Smith brought out his treasures.
"I brought a few extra clothes with me, and my knuckle bones. My Jacob's Ladder, it was a present from my Grandmother before she died. My quill and ink, because I thought I might need those. Oh and 'Gulliver's Travel', Have you read it?"
Sharpe poked through the bag and decided that he might be able to sell the quill and ink and the book, but he'd have to find someone to buy them. The brightly coloured set of blocks attached to each other with ribbon held his attention and he would have liked to have a closer look. But it was getting late and there was nothing in the bag that was going to buy Smith a bed for the night.
"Look Josh, yer best to stay with me tonight, then yer can think about where yer want to go tomorrow." Sharpe wandered to the end of the alley again, leaving Smith to repack his bag. "These streets aren't safe for lads to wander around come dark. You go back down the end there and you'll find a bit of a shelter. You can stay there tonight, it's mine so no one will bother yer."
Smith peered through the gloom toward the small huddle of broken timber and sacking. "That? You live there?" This revelation seemed to shock him more than Sharpe's confession to whoring.
"Aye, and it's bloody more than you'd have if I left you to find something on yer own." Sharpe replied defensively. True, it was a far cry from the small room Sharpe had shared with O'Malley for the last three years, but it was better than the doorways he'd slept in before that.
"Looking to make a few pennies lad?" the voice behind him made Sharpe turn quickly, his manner changing even as he moved.
"Might be," he purred, smiling up at the stranger "What are yer after?" The man's eyes darted into the shadows to where Josh Smith still stood, small bag clutched to his chest.
"He working with you?" The man asked, nodding towards Smith. "No, he's lost, is all. I'm going to take him home before his father gets worried. Big bastard he is, works down on the wharves." Sharpe turned back to Smith "You get on down there and wait till I'm finished, then I'll take you home. Go on!" Sharpe's voice held no room for argument and Smith sprinted to the end of the alley and crawled into the makeshift shelter.
Joshua Tremaine or Smith as he was now calling himself had led a privileged life up until now. The only child of an older father and a very young mother, he had been well tended by nurses and nannies until he was old enough to be sent off to boarding school. Whilst his education there had been wide-ranging and quite comprehensive, it had never covered what happened in back alleys in the rougher parts of London.
Smith knew what a prostitute was, a woman who obliged men by doing things that decent women wouldn't do. He'd heard some of the older boys at school boasting of visits to rather grand establishments where these women resided. But what they'd boasted of seemed vastly removed from what Sharpe was claiming he did in this alley. Perhaps he was lying after all. One way to find out, Smith decided and poked his head around the opening.
The alley was dark and full of shadows, but as Smith's eyes slowly adjusted the shadows took form. Sharpe and the tall man had walked away from the street and passers-by, deeper into the darkness and were now standing not ten feet away from where Smith sat.
Light reflected off the damp stone walls and puddles on the ground. For a moment Smith wondered where it came from, but he remembered there had been a full moon two nights ago. He closed his eyes remembering how romantic it had looked that night, streaming in through the window of the drawing room.
Hard breathing broke him from his revelry and he opened his eyes once more. The sight before him was shocking. Dick Sharpe was on his knees facing the man who had lowered his breeches and was.. Smith vomited, wondering why Sharpe wasn't doing the same thing.
"Shit." The stranger cursed and Smith looked up to see him staring at him fiercely. With a tug he hauled Sharpe's head up by the hair and shook him slightly. "Get rid of him. I didn't pay to have him watch."
"Get back inside," Sharpe said gasping slightly. "He's drunk, that's all." This last was said to the man whose only reply was to pull at Sharpe's hair again to send him back to work.
Inside the shelter, Josh Smith closed his eyes and fought down his nausea. Perhaps there were worse things than his father's anger. He covered his ears as the stranger began groaning.
Part 2
Eventually silence returned to the alley, but Smith still didn't dare look out. Was Dick Sharpe all right? The sacking door was thrown back suddenly and Smith jumped in fright, worried that the tall man had come for him.
"Are you all right?" Sharpe's voice shook a little. "Don't yer go spewing in here! I got to live here!"
Smith stared back for a moment, relieved to see that Sharpe appeared none the worse for his experience other than having his hair in disarray.
"I'm all right, but I need a drink of water." The request was met with a snort.
"Well yer won't find any to drink around here." Sharpe dug in a pile of cloth at the back of the shelter and pulled out a battered flask. He opened it and took a swig, rinsing the liquid around his mouth before swallowing it. "Have a mouthful of this, but not too much. I only keep it to get the taste out of my mouth afterwards." He passed the flask to Smith who tipped it back. The strong liquor burned Smith's throat and took his breath away. He gagged, the rum spurting up his nose and burning it also. Sharpe hit him hard on the back. "Don't waste it! Christ!"
"Why did you do that Dick?" Smith asked when he finally stopped coughing. Sharpe stared at him for a moment as if he was unsure of the question. "That?" he finally asked tilting his head back towards the alley and rubbing his mouth unconsciously. "Easy money that. It's over quick and they don't hurt you, well not unless they pull yer hair like that bastard did." Sharpe rubbed his scalp, messing his hair up even more. "Sometimes yer can go through their pockets too and they won't even notice."
"So what did he pay you?" Despite his horror, Smith was curious.
Sharpe grinned. A grin so infectious that Smith couldn't help but grin back. "Yer learn fast," he said with a wink, and pulled out a penny. "That's about the going rate, but yer get more for the other." Smith had no idea what the other was but didn't like to ask and show his ignorance.
"Will you buy some supper now?" Smith asked hopefully. He'd had nothing to eat since lunch time and he was hungry.
"Supper? I've had one feed today and that will have to do until tomorrow." Sharpe frowned at Smith "If yer hungry it's yer own fault. Yer shouldn't have puked like that!"
Smith felt chastened. "Sorry, it's just that it looked so..."
"Well yer shouldn't have been watching, mind you though, if yer like to watch there's those who'll pay extra for it." Sharpe appeared to be considering this. "Yer can't go puking though! They don't like that! Nah, better not risk it. Wait till yer've seen a bit more."
Sharpe put the flask away and crawled back to the opening. "Where are you going?" Smith asked in alarm.
"Why back to work of course. Yer don't think I'm going to sit on my arse all night and talk to you?" Sharpe looked down at Smith who looked up, his big dark eyes full of concern.
"Just stay down here out of the way and yer'll be fine. It's hard enough working on me own without having to watch you as well. We'll both end up in trouble if yer not careful." With that Sharpe wandered back to the street.
Trouble was the last thing that he wanted, Smith decided although he wasn't sure what form Trouble would take. Head Masters and Masters with canes were the sort of trouble that Smith was familiar with. The fact that the Head Master had sent for his father after the incident two nights ago only confirmed Smith's suspicion that he was in for far worse than a simple caning. His father would not understand at all, just as William's father had not understood and had dragged the tall fair-haired boy into the carriage and away to a commission in the Kings Army where all would be forgotten.
But The Right Honourable Sir Syndey Tremaine wouldn't banish his son to a life in the military. He wanted his son to have a career in Law, to carry on the family name and estates, to marry and have children. It was something Smith kept locked away in the back of his mind, something he would worry about in the future. For the moment he could dream of a life on the stage, playing one of Shakespeare's tragic heroes, a romantic figure, loved by all that saw him.
Reality had struck cruelly two nights ago and Joshua Smith had run away rather than wait to see how his father would react to the blot that had been placed on the family name, his career and his future. Such a little thing really. A boyish prank Mr Seaton, the Latin master, had called it, but the Principle Mr Wentworth called it something else and he and William had been sent to their rooms to stay there until their fathers came. Of course living in dormitories, the other boys had been free to come and go and in no time at all everyone seemed to know what had happened despite the efforts of the Masters to keep the incident quiet. The shame had been almost too much to bear.
Back on the street Dick Sharpe lounged against the wall and eyed the men passing by. His mind was only half on his work tonight. What was he going to do with Smith? The lad was bright and pretty enough, he'd have no trouble finding customers. But Sharpe was loath to introduce him to the game. He'd seen young lads and girls come to a quick end more times than not when they tried to make a living on their own. That's what would happen to Smith if he was left to fend for himself, Sharpe had no doubt. Hell that's what would probably happen if he went to O'Malley or was picked up by one of the other smooth talking rogues who always had their eye out for new goods.
Well he wouldn't let that happen to Josh Smith, he declared, although he had no idea what prompted the noble declaration. He certainly didn't make it a habit of saving lost lambs.
A large coach rolled by slowly. Sharpe's eyes followed it down the street wondering if it would come back around. Coaches usually meant a better class of patron but it also meant they were looking for something a little more than a quick fumble in an alley. You had to be careful with coaches, O'Malley had warned him, but this was a hired coach and they were safer as the drivers didn't take kindly to blood on the leather upholstery. The drawback was the drivers often wanted a cut for themselves. Still, maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Perhaps the driver could be persuaded to bring more customers if he knew he'd get a kickback.
The coach came around again and Sharpe smiled to himself. He wandered to the edge of the gutter and stretched slightly. His clothes were still good enough to show his figure off to advantage although unless he found somewhere more permanent to live that would change very quickly.
The coach stopped and the door opened but no one alighted. Sharpe took the hint and poked his head inside.
"You must be cold standing out there. Care to come inside and get warm for a while?" The voice was deep and refined and Sharpe heard the clink of coins being rubbed together. "Sounds fine to me," he said with a smile as he climbed inside.
It was warm and dry in the coach but very dark and Sharpe realised that the blinds were down. For one moment he wondered if he had been too hasty as the coach lurched into movement.
As if reading Sharpe's mind the man said quietly "You need not worry, the driver will only go around the block until I tell him to stop. I'm not going to spirit you away somewhere." A warm broad hand slipped up Sharpe's thigh where he sat on the leather seat.
"What do yer want to do, eh?" Sharpe doubted his earlier performance would satisfy this fellow.
"I think you know," came the cryptic reply. So this was how it was going to be, well Sharpe could play that game easily enough. He'd done it before and he'd do it again. It was how he survived.
"Money first and then I'll show yer what yer want." He moved his own hand up the man's leg, making sure he left no doubt.
The coins were placed in his other hand and he buried them away in his clothes. The gentleman, because that's what he clearly was wasted no time in running his hand's over the rest of Sharpe's body in what could almost be classed as a caress.
"Take your clothes off," the deep voice demanded and Sharpe did, knowing full well the coins he'd hidden had been more than he was usually paid. A customer like this should be indulged. The hands were on him again caressing, teasing and Sharpe was glad for the darkness in the coach, glad that the man couldn't see his face. This kind of encounter was far worse than those quick meaningless acts in the alley as this man expected Sharpe to enjoy it as well.
"Do you like that?" the voice asked a little breathlessly "OH yes," Sharpe lied. Well it was half a lie, he didn't want to enjoy it, but sometimes he couldn't help himself. He hated himself, because it wasn't as if this man cared for him at all. It was just a physical reaction, he told himself, that's all. But often they'd pay you more afterwards if they liked your reaction. Sharpe let himself moan a little.
The coach wasn't big enough to lie down and Sharpe soon found himself kneeling on the floor bent over the one of the seats. The leather smelt pungent in his nostrils, reminding him that this man was more refined than his usual customers.
He gritted his teeth waiting for what was to come next. The first one of the evening was always the worse. After that it got a bit easier.
"Use a bit of spit eh?" he asked with a smile over his shoulder. It never hurt to ask them and sometimes they obliged.
"First for the night is it?" The question was a fair one. "Aye, it's only early yet."
"Haven't seen you around here before." He was taking his time at least, more than most of them did, and a few questions never hurt. You just had to be careful of your answers.
"Well you've found my corner now, so you might see more of me if yer want. Ohh!" Sharpe caught his breath for a moment until his body adjusted to the sudden invasion. Warm lips commenced to nibble at his neck as Sharpe was pressed into the hard leather of the seat. A hand slipped down to fondle him and Sharpe gave himself up to the feeling, breathing hard.
"Like that?" the voice behind him asked again as Sharpe tried to hide his own passion that was struggling to break free. "Yes," he moaned wishing it was over and that he didn't feel like this. Wishing that this man would stop asking him, just like O'Malley used to ask him all the time. Christ how many times did he have to say 'yes'!
That was the trouble with men like this one. They took their time and the longer they took the harder it was to pretend. Sharpe tried to concentrate on the hard leather of the seat rubbing against his middle, slick now with sweat, anything but what this man's hands where trying to do to him, trying to coax from him. He didn't want that to happen and would fight it all the way.
The deep voice was moaning now too as the hard body thrust forcefully into him. Not long now, thank god. Sharpe yelped as sharp teeth fastened on his earlobe and bit down hard.
Over at last, Sharpe took a deep breath and made to get up but strong hands gripped his shoulders and turned him around leaning him back on the seat. Christ, what now! The hands were back fondling and caressing. This was what he wanted, was it? Well thank God he'd picked him up early in the night because later Sharpe knew he'd be too tired or just too sick of it all to be capable of this.
Warm lips touched him, enfolded him. Better to get it over with quickly, no point fighting it. Sharpe closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself somewhere else.
Of all the thing's he had to do, this was the hardest. Well perhaps that was the wrong word as it wasn't always hard...Sharpe laughed at his own thoughts and the man knelt between his legs taking the sound as encouragement. No it was all too easy to do this sometimes, but it was done with the most reluctance. The final betrayal of his body that proved he had nothing left to hold onto, nothing left to value. It had all been taken. At least this wasn't something most customers required. Most of them were only interested in their own pleasure and couldn't care less what Sharpe got out of the encounter. But occasionally he'd pick one up, someone who liked to see him get off as well. Sharpe had never worked out why and he hadn't asked O'Malley. Perhaps he was afraid of the answer.
He clutched desperately to a memory of himself with O'Malley because it was the closest thing he had to feeling good. O'Malley used to kiss him at least and hold him afterwards. O'Malley kept him warm and safe and Sharpe had long hated sleeping alone in the dark.
A loud sob tore from Sharpe's throat and his body trembled. Bastard, he thought but wasn't sure who deserved the appellation the most. He quickly pulled on his clothes.
"I'll look out for you next week, same day. Make sure I'm the first again." He slipped another coin into Sharpe's hand. "Aye, if that's what yer want."
The coach pulled up and Sharpe bounded out the door, relieved to see he was but a few yards from his corner. Trying to catch his breath, Sharpe walked quickly back to the alley. He couldn't have been gone for more than twenty minutes but he was suddenly worried about Smith.
Part 3
Loud sobs echoed through the alley as Dick Sharpe walked cautiously closer to the makeshift shelter where he had left Josh Smith. What had happened while he was away? Had someone tried to rob the shanty and found the lad? Sharpe's own possessions were secreted away behind a loose brick in one of the walls, but Smith would be a tempting target with his bag. Even the clothes he wore were worth the risk.
Sharpe pulled back the flimsy door. "Are yer all right? What happened?"
"Oh Dick!" Smith sobbed and launched himself at Sharpe, catching the older boy around the middle.
"What happened? Are yer hurt?" Sharpe ran his hands over Smith trying to check for injury, peering at the boy in the dim light.
"I thought you'd gone! I went out and you weren't there! I thought you'd left me!" Smith hiccupped and buried his head into Sharpe's chest. "I was so scared!"
Relieved that the boy was unharmed, Sharpe sat down and laughed. "I told yer I'd look after yer tonight. Yer don't have to worry. I won't leave yer." He brushed the dark hair absently and Smith stared up at him.
"But I was worried about you Dick. Anything could have happened to you. Who takes care of you?"
Perhaps it was the concern that shone in the large dark eyes, perhaps it was that he still felt undone by the encounter in the coach, whatever the reason, Dick Sharpe felt strangely moved by Smith's words.
"Daft bugger," he muttered affectionately "I look after meself." He ruffled Smiths hair again.
"Well you're not doing a very good job because your ear is bleeding." Smith gingerly raised his hand and touched his earlobe, drawing a hiss from Sharpe. When he brought his fingers down they were dabbed with blood.
"Bastard," Sharpe muttered as he wiped his ear on his sleeve. "It's nothing Josh, I'm all right. Now what were yer doing looking for me anyway? I told yer to stay here."
Smith sat back from Sharpe and sniffed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "I needed the privy and I didn't know where it was."
"The privy?" Sharpe blinked wondering if he'd heard correctly.
"Yes, I have to go!" To accentuate the point Smith squirmed uncomfortably.
"Well there's no bloody privy around here! Go out and piss against the wall!" Sharpe frowned at Smith's surprised face. "If yer want to do anything else yer'll have to find a different alley, cause I'm not putting up with that all night!"
They both left the shelter and while Smith attended to his business Sharpe took the opportunity to hide his earnings behind the brick. Light rain was falling now and Sharpe swore, knowing it would mean a quiet night. Oh well, he'd done well so far. Perhaps he'd call it quits after one more. He headed back to the street.
Back inside the shelter Josh Smith lay down and tried to get comfortable. The ground where he lay was hard, despite the sacking that was spread out. The roof began to drip in numerous places, and Smith was sure he could feel something crawling inside his clothes.
At least I'm warm and relatively dry, Smith thought, which was more than he could say for Dick Sharpe. Dick was out there in the rain and he must be cold by now. Yes, Dick needed someone to look after him. Hadn't his mother ever told him not to play in the rain? Well, he wasn't playing of course, but it still good advice. And why wasn't he wearing a warmer coat? The one he had on was far too small and very worn.
Josh Smith sighed, thinking again about what he had witnessed earlier. Being wet and cold were the least of Sharpe's worries if he let men do things like that to him. He wondered again about the blood on Sharpe's ear. Perhaps the next man had held a knife to his throat? Perhaps he didn't want to pay him? Smith peered out into the alleyway again quickly spying Sharpe's huddled figure sheltering under the eaves talking to someone.
With his heart pounding in his ears, Smith pulled his head back inside. Sharpe said he did this all the time, that this was his 'work' so he should be all right but that line of reasoning didn't ease Smith's mind. He pulled the sacking back enough to peek outside again and saw Sharpe and his companion walk briskly down the alley and until they stopped not far from the place where he had pissed earlier. In no time at all both men had their trousers down to their knees and Sharpe was spreadeagled, face to the wall.
What happened next made Smith pale and bite his lip, but he wouldn't look away. This man might hurt Dick, well hurt Dick more, because surely what he was doing must hurt. But Dick didn't make a sound, so he must be all right, mustn't he? Smith put his hand to his mouth, and looked on wondering why Sharpe didn't scream out for help or fight the man off, instead of standing there with the side of his face pushed against the wall as the man behind him abused his body.
Tears slid down Smith's face and he wondered if Sharpe felt like crying too. But Dick Sharpe was brave! He must be to do this. He's probably the bravest person I've ever met, Josh thought as he listened to the grunts and groans that echoed in the alley. Brave and kind, because Dick was looking after him. Dick didn't want him to get into trouble, which was more than William had done for him! William had been quick enough to blame him for what had happened and it hadn't been his fault! Well, not really.
A sob escaped, closely followed by another and it wasn't long before Josh Smith was crying again, trying hard to muffle the sound, because he didn't want to disturb the man outside in case he got angry and hurt Dick. He buried his face in his bag and cuddled it close in much the way he used to do with his pillow back at school when he was lonely.
"Here, what's all this again?" Sharpe's voice sounded weary and Josh sat up quickly. He hadn't heard Sharpe come in. Sharpe looked bedraggled. His hair hung limp and wet and the side of his face looked grazed or maybe bruised, Smith couldn't quite tell in the dim light.
"That man hurt you. I saw it!" Sharpe ran his hands over his face, wiped away the rain and pushed back the wet straggles of hair.
"I'm all right, Josh, just a bit cold," he said tiredly. "Come on, that's enough for tonight. Lets get some sleep." Sharpe lay down and closed his eyes and Smith wondered how he could act as if nothing had happened and lay there in wet clothes and go to sleep without any supper.
"Put this on, it will warm you up." Smith took off his coat and lay it over Sharpe's shoulders. It was a short coat and way too small for Sharpe, but used as a blanket it would warm him.
Sharpe rolled onto his side and beckoned Smith down into his arms. "Come and lie here and we can both keep warm." Smith hesitated one moment before snuggling close and pulling Sharpe's arm over him and placing Sharpe's hand under his head.
"You've done this before!" the voice was a warm whisper in his ear, but it sounded surprised and Smith wondered why. Surely everyone snuggled up with a friend sometimes? "Yes," he replied contentedly.
Part Four
There was something watching him! Something with red eyes and whiskers! "AHHHHHHHHHHHhhhh" Josh Smith jumped up screaming, hit his head on the low roof of the shelter and promptly fell down again.
"WHAT! WHAT? AHHHHH! CHRIST! What's the matter!!!!" Dick Sharpe sat up and looked around wildly grabbing a thick piece of timber and brandishing it in front of him like a club.
"RAT! A RAT! AHHHhhhhhhhhh" Smith was clutching his head with one hand and trying to grab his bag with the other, all the time scrambling on his knees towards the door.
"Bloody hell, I thought someone was trying to cut yer throat!" Sharpe took a deep breath and looked around. "Did yer get it?"
Smith paused in the doorway, peering out into the alleyway. Were there more rats out there?
"No, maybe YOU can kill it with that." Smith hoped Sharpe would go out first with his makeshift club and get rid of any other creatures lurking nearby.
"No point squashing it! Yer won't get much if it's squashed! Yer got to catch 'em with yer hands. There's a fellow just down the road who'll buy them"
Smith swallowed. "Rats? He buys rats? What does he do with them." Surely these creatures would be too wild to make into pets, besides they must be full of fleas!
"Makes pies I think." Sharpe said scratching and stretching. "Never bought one though. He sells them up town." He found the flask and took a long swallow before offering it to Smith, but the boy just shook his head. If the thought of rat pies hadn't made him ill he was sure more of that horrible drink would.
Smith crawled out of the shelter and took stock of his surroundings. The cold light of morning revealed things that had been hidden in the dark shadows of night. The alley was filthy! It was strewn with refuse of unidentifiable origins and what Smith had taken for puddles last night now looked suspiciously like the contents of someone's slops bucket or chamber pot.
"You hungry?" Sharpe was relieving himself against the wall, unperturbed by his actions or surroundings and now he was talking about food! Smith just stared, mouth opened unable to speak, fighting back tears, wondering what was going to happen to him.
"Here now," Sharpe said softly, his face all serious. "Are you all right? Yer whacked yer head pretty hard. Is it spinning." Long gentle fingers pushed their way into Josh's thick hair and felt all over his head, searching for bumps. There was something in the touch that reminded him of William.
"I'm all right Dick, I just don't know what to do." It was the truth. Smith hadn't thought very far ahead in his hastily made plan to run away. Take a coach to London and find work. It had seemed so simple.
"Come on we'll get something to eat and then I'll walk yer up town a bit. Find a better area. What sort of things can yer do again?" While Josh chatted on about reading and writing and reciting poetry and bookkeeping Sharpe carefully removed his picklock and store of coins from their hideaway. They would be safer on him if he was going to be absent for a while. He dived back into the shanty, retrieved his flask and shoved it into his shirt. "Shake a leg then," he called to Smith who was still adjusting his breeches.
The streets were busy, it was market day and that suited Sharpe perfectly. A stroll through the Covent Garden markets could always yield a free breakfast for a quick hand. But Sharpe would not be the only opportunist out today.
"Keep a tight grip on that bag there," Sharpe scowled and stop gawking around like that. Yer make yerself an easy mark with all that staring! Look like yer know where yer going at least, and stop draggin' behind."
Smith clutched his bag closer and hurried along until he was close beside Dick Sharpe. "Don't crowd me! Bloody Hell, You'll have everyone looking at us!"
The market was quite fearful, Smith thought. It was loud and busy, people bustling everywhere, vendors calling out their whares, each trying to drown out the next. And the smell! How could people buy food when the whole place stank? No wonder, Josh thought to himself as he slowed down and looked around again. There were dogs and cats roaming here and there, chickens and ducks and pigeons, some of which were loose. Horses and donkeys seemed at home among the barrows too.
"Here," Sharpe tossed an apple to Smith and kept walking. Once more Smith looked around but there was no apple vendor nearby and Sharpe hadn't stopped long enough to purchase anything. A sneaking suspicion started to form in his mind and he fell back a pace to watch Sharpe closely.
It was a talent, surely! Much like dancing or playing an instrument. Dick Sharpe moved with a rhythm and grace that seemed to flow from his body without conscious thought. And he was fast! A hand snaking out to grab a bun, only to disappear again so quickly that Josh doubted his own eyes. By the time they had crossed the market Sharpe had liberated enough for himself and Josh Smith. No one had seen a thing.
They found a place in the sun by the steps of a church and ate in silence. Smith was hungry, despite the dreadful smells and his delicate stomach. It had been a long time since lunch yesterday.
"Now what is it yer can do again? What sort of work?" Sharpe asked finally as he licked his fingers.
"I thought I might find work as a clerk. I can write neatly, I know figures."
"Well we'll head up this way where some of those fancy offices are, maybe they need clerks there?" Sharpe scratched his head and pushed back his hair. He really had no idea what direction to look in. What was a clerk anyway?
"Well I'll need to wash first." Smith declared looking around.
"Wash? Wash what?" The sun and a full stomach had made Sharpe sleepy and he was reluctant to move from where he was sitting.
"I need to wash myself! Surely you wash Dick?"
"Yer mean with water?" Sharpe asked, horrified.
"Yes, I haven't washed since yesterday and I want to put on a clean shirt. I have one here in my bag, but it will need pressing." Smith dived into his bag and began rummaging around.
"Bloody Hell! Sharpe stood and dragged the boy up too. "Close that bloody bag, it's going to get yer into trouble!" Sharpe strode across the street and down a little further until he came to a coach house.
"There. Will that do?" He indicated a large trough used for watering horses. The water in it looked a little green.
Before Smith could refuse, Sharpe walked over and stuck his head and arms in and splashed around for a moment. When he stood up he shook himself like a dog sending sprays of water everywhere.
"Good as new," Sharpe said with a grin. "Your turn."
Smith hesitated but knew that this was some sort of test. He squared his shoulders, rolled up his sleeves and walked up to the trough. The water looked cold and there seemed to be some sort of scum floating around the edge. With a small smile at his companion Josh Smith dived into his bag again. "Just let me get my soap!"
Part 5.
They spent the day wandering the business district, Smith inquiring here and there for work of any type. But the answer was always the same. Dick Sharpe reckoned he could find a bit of work here. He knew the looks and more than once some well dressed toff had thrown one his way, but he wasn't here for that, he was here to find work for Josh Smith and so he ignored the looks and kept walking.
They had one scare when Josh sighted an acquaintance of his fathers and had all but turned to run in the other the direction, but Sharpe grabbed his arm and slowly steered him across the street and into a doorway.
"Never run, you attract attention that way. The fellow has no cause to look at yer unless you attract his eye. If yer run you'll do that for sure!"
Sharpe doubted they'd been seen but kept an eye out for any tails they may have picked up. It was late in the afternoon when he noticed they had caught the attention of a constable.
"Keep walking Josh but I think we have trouble behind us. NO! Don't turn, it might be you that he's after! Yer father's probably got the harmen looking for yer." Sharpe glanced into the glass of a window as they turned the corner. Yes, they were definitely being followed.
"Now listen Josh, yer got to decide what yer want to do. Yer've tried all day and not found work. There's nothing left for yer to do but come back with me for another night. OR yer can change yer mind and go back home. That fellow behind us can take yer back to yer father. By tomorrow night yer'd be back in yer school like nothing had happened. What do yer say Josh."
Sharpe waited for the reply, hoping that Smith would agree to go home. It would solve all of his problems. If the constable was looking for Josh then he'd be able to take the lad off Sharpe's hands. If he was looking for Sharpe, then Smith would be a good diversion while Sharpe slithered back into the shadows across town.
"I can't go home. I won't." Smith's small voice was quiet but very determined.
"Look whatever yer did can't have been that bad. Did yer steal something?" Sharpe kept walking while they talked, their pace steady, their path slowly but surely leading them into an area he knew better, a place where he could give this constable the slip.
"No I wouldn't steal anything, that's wrong!" Smith bit his lip when he realised what he had said, but Sharpe seemed oblivious to the words.
"Well if yer stay with me yer might just have to. It's either that or whoring, I know which one I'd rather do!"
"Can I stay with you Dick, please?" Smith's small hand reached out and took Sharpe's, the soft fingers lacing with his own.
"Here! You, stop!" the shout made the decision for them and Sharpe dragged Smith into a run, darting down the street, then turning corner after corner, the constable following behind, the shrill sound of his whistle alerting them to his proximity.
Sharpe headed into an Inn but ran straight through and out the back exit. They ran through yards and alleyways, through fences and over walls, Sharpe leading the way, Smith following, clutching his bag for dear life.
Slowly the sound of pursuit dimmed and Sharpe slowed. Both boys were panting heavily by now and they stopped to draw breath in the dim light of evening.
"Are we lost?" Smith asked, looking around. He hadn't noticed the changing fa�ade but realised they were in a very poor part of the city.
"No, I know where we are. This is the Rookery. I lived here for the last four years. There's place here we can hide out for the night. Better to lay low until tomorrow. But we'll have to be careful. I got into a bit of trouble here and there's those who are looking for me."
Smith's big eyes stared up at Sharpe. "What sort of trouble Dick? What did you do?"
"Listen here. You haven't told me what YOU did that was so bad yer had to run, so why should I tell yer what I did." Sharpe replied crossly, but his anger was caused more by his concern for their plight than any animosity towards Smith.
"Oh I'm sorry Dick, I will tell you if you want to know, but it's so, so, shameful! You see William and I.."
Sharpe ducked into a narrow doorway and turned his back to the street.
"Not now Joshy, wait until we're safe. I've got to keep a watch out and yer distracting me."
Sharpe led the way once more through the tangled maze of narrow streets and alleys. Several times he was forced to hide for fear of being recognised but finally they arrived at what looked to be a well-patronised drinking establishment.
They had no trouble gaining admittance through the back door and were shown up a rickety set of stairs to a small room.
"Is this our room Dick?" Smith asked looking around. There was little to recommend it other than a narrow bed and a small wash stand and a chair. "Do you think they'll give us supper?"
"Just keep quiet Josh and let me do the talking. They haven't given us anything yet and I doubt that they will unless we pay. There's always a price to pay for anything, but you leave all that to me."
The door opened then and a large, well-rounded woman walked in. She eyed the two boys and her painted lips spread into a broad smile.
"Dick Sharpe! I'm surprised to see you back here, Love. Crowley's brother's looking for you not to mention the Law. I'm surprised your game to show yer face!"
"I didn't have any choice, I was chased and ended up here. I just need a place to stay for the night and I'll be gone back across town tomorrow."
Maggie walked over to where Sharpe stood with Smith a step behind him. She peered at the dark haired boy who smiled back at her shyly.
"And what have yer got here Dick? Brought me a little present did yer? He gonna pay yer way for the night?" She reached out her large rough hand and twined her finger through Smith's dark hair. "Nice curls yer've got there, Pretty."
"He's not here for that Maggie, I'm just looking after him." Sharpe replied, suddenly wondering if it had been such a good idea to come here.
"Who's he belong to then? Jack O'Malley? He'd make a tidy sum downstairs tonight." She leaned closer to Sharpe and winked. "What do yer say? We let him work downstairs tonight and yer can take him back tomorrow. Our secret, we don't have to tell anyone."
Smith looked from Maggie to Sharpe, knowing he was being discussed but not entirely sure in what way.
"NO Maggie, he's not on the game! I'm just keeping an eye on him and I'm taking him home tomorrow."
"But you said I could stay with you Dick! I don't want to go home." Smith butted in.
Maggie gave a hearty chuckle and wrapped her arm around Smith's shoulders.
"There yer go Dick. He doesn't want to go home." She turned to the younger boy and said, "You and I need to get acquainted Love. Yer welcome to stay here as long as yer like and I can help yer find work. A pretty lad like you'll have no troubles. Now can I get yer a drink or anything?"
"I'd really like some supper, please." Smith asked hopefully. Maggie reminded him a little of the matron at his school. Mrs Beddows didn't have hair and lips quite as bright and she didn't have that sickly sweet smell about her, but she was big and soft like Maggie and she looked after the boys when they hurt themselves.
"Josh, tell her yer don't want to be a whore, because that's what yer'll have to do if yer stay here." Smith's mouth dropped opened and he stared up at the big woman.
"But Dick, you said she was your friend and that she'd help us."
"But I also said it would have a price and this price is too high. Come on, we'll find somewhere else for the night." Sharpe grabbed Smith's arm and pulled him from Maggie's grasp.
"Now, now, Love, I might have been a bit too pushy. I'll leave yer little friend alone Dick and you can both stay here. Just like yer used to, same terms. What do you say."
Sharpe hesitated. He knew what the terms were, entertain any patrons who wanted to do more than drink. Oh well, it wasn't anything new and he really didn't want to leave and try to find somewhere else to stay now that it was dark outside. The Rookery was dangerous. Even for one of it's own.
"All right, but I can't show my face down in the tap room, I might be recognised. You'll have to send them up and only those who won't know me. Yer don't want Crowley after you too, Maggie!" With any luck that might dissuade a few customers. Not many liked to buy 'sight-unseen'.
"Deal, I'll take this little one down with me and get him some supper. He can wait in the tap room till yer through."
"No," Dick began, but Maggie laughed. Hands on hips she cocked her head.
"What? Yer want to keep him up here with you and let him watch? Christ Dick Sharpe! Don't yer trust me with him."
The truth was Sharpe didn't trust Maggie, at least not when money was involved Josh Smith would bring in a tidy sum without doubt.
"He sits at the bottom of the stairs against the wall where I can see him from the top. If I see anyone with him or if he moves from there, I'll scream my head off and cause more trouble than you want!"
Maggie swayed over to Sharpe and with a quick flash of her hand slapped his face.
"Yer've got far to cheeky Dick Sharpe. I'm the one doing you a favour and don't you forget it. If yer want food then it'll be extra! Now get yerself set up cause the first one will be up in five minutes."
Sharpe looked at Smith who seemed to be on the verge of tears again. "Listen Joshy, you go on downstairs and Maggie will get you something to eat. Don't talk to anyone and don't go anywhere. You wait there till I come down and get you. All right. Oh and leave that damned bag here. It wouldn't last two minutes down there!" Sharpe gave Smith a little push in Maggie's direction to send him on his way. When they had left he shoved the bag under the bed and sat down to take off his boots. No point wasting time, he'd have to take them off soon anyway.
Down in the tap room Maggie deposited Smith at a small empty table at the bottom of the stairs and just out from the bar. As he waited for his supper he looked around. The place was full of people, men mostly, but there were a few women here and there, some of whom seemed to wearing only their underwear. Smith stared, then dropped his eyes. No one else seemed to be bothered that these ladies had forgotten their dresses. Maybe they were prostitutes? He looked up again, straight into the eyes of a huge dark-haired man with a bushy beard.
"Want a drink Love?" the man asked and Smith bit his lip remembering Sharpe's direction that he wasn't to talk to anyone. He settled for shaking his head and was rescued from any further conversation by Maggie arriving with a bowl of stew.
"Piss off and leave him alone. He's not here for that!" The man seemed to cower before Maggie's verbal assault and he walked away.
"Yer going to attract trouble like shit attracts flies!" Maggie declared with her hands on her hips. "How am I supposed to get any work done if I'm baby sitting you all night?"
"Well if you didn't make Dick have to spend the night Fornicating, then you wouldn't have to mind me and he and I could have our supper and go to bed, because he must be tired, I know I am and we've been walking around all day and we hardly got any sleep last night because these men kept coming into the alley and I was sick and.."
"Bloody Hell!" Maggie stared at Smith who sank back in his chair wondering if she would slap him like she had Sharpe, but the big woman started to laugh. She reached over and ruffled his curls. "I'll tell yer what, I'll get you a drink, on the house of course, and you can tell me how you come to be staying with Dick and what you've got in that bag of yours"
Part 6
The last customer had barely closed the door and Dick Sharpe was still standing at the wash basin trying to get clean when Maggie strode back into the room.
"Just like old times, eh Love?" she said as she sat down heavily on the bed, the springs groaning in protest. Sharpe ignored her and continued washing, oblivious to his nakedness. She'd seen it all before.
"What the matter Dick? Got soft have you? Don't like it so much."
The look Sharpe gave her would have intimidated most men, but Maggie continued, unperturbed. "You don't have to do this you know. I've had so many requests for your little friend downstairs that you could live it up each night and never have to do this again. What do you say? I know a couple of Toffs who'd pay high for him too. Do that a couple of times an night and we'd all be sitting comfortable."
"No." Even to Sharpe's ears the word didn't sound convincing, but he was tired and sore and he knew the night wasn't over yet. For a moment he wondered why he was going to all this trouble to protect Smith. Hell, he couldn't do it forever, it was only a matter of time before the boy fell into the wrong hands.
Perhaps it was the way that Smith looked at Sharpe with hope and trust in his dark eyes. Dick Sharpe knew he would do everything in his power to live up to that expectation.
Maggie stood and smoothed out her gaudy dress. "Well just call out if you change yer mind Love. He's a little bit tipsy so he won't give us any trouble."
"Shit, Maggie! Why'd yer do that!" Sharpe climbed back on the bed and rubbed his face. He wanted to lay down and sleep, but he knew Maggie would have another customer waiting.
"Don't worry Love, it was the only way I could keep the little bugger quiet. He'd talk the ear of a deaf man! Arthur's watching him. No one will get their hands on him unless I say so." The words were hardly reassuring.
At the door Maggie paused and turned back giving Sharpe a thoughtful look, her head to the side.
"Is that it Love? You want him for yourself, eh? Finally fallen in love and you want to be the first to.."
"Bugger off Maggie! It's not like that at all! He doesn't belong here and he's not tough enough to last on his own. That's all." Sharpe rolled over and closed his eyes. Christ he was tired!
"If you say so Love. Don't go to sleep, you still have three more before you can call it a night!"
Josh Smith was almost asleep when Dick Sharpe finally crept down the stairs to reclaim him. The bar was closed, the doors bolted and Smith was leaning on his elbows smiling into a half empty glass of ale.
"Oh Dick, I've had such a interesting time. There was a Lady over there and you'll never believe what she did!" He waved his hand in the direction of a curtained area, almost knocking the glass over. Dick simply nodded. He could imagine what the woman had done; he'd done it himself once or twice.
Back in the room Smith wandered over to the washbasin taking off his coat on the way. "Where's my bag?" he asked, his voice a little panicked.
"Under the bed," Sharpe replied hooking it out with his foot. Bloody bag, what did Smith want it for now!
"Oh Dick, there's blood in the water." He pulled his hand out of the chipped basin and looked up, worried
"Nose bleed. I get them sometimes." Sharpe picked up the basin, opened the window and threw the contents away in the night.
"I'll get fresh water and you can wash in the morning. It's too late now."
Back at the bed, Smith had pulled out a white nightshirt and was carefully folding his knee length breeches. "Did you have some supper Dick?" he asked absently as he proceeded to take off the rest of his clothes and fold them before placing them on the single chair. The now grubby stockings were placed on top.
"Supper? Oh aye." Sharpe answered absently as he watched Smith undress, his skin smooth and clean and white. Smith slithered into his nightshirt, struggling for a moment until his head found the opening. Completely oblivious to what had taken place there earlier Smith turned back the coverlet and climbed into the small bed.
"Are you sleeping here too Dick? I guess you don't have a night shirt with you?" he said as he snuggled down under the worn blankets.
"I usually just sleep in me clothes." Sharpe pulled his boots off and climbed in beside Smith, turning his back.
"What about the candle? Shouldn't you blow it out?" asked the small voice behind him.
There was no need to be afraid of the dark. He was safe here and he had Smith for company but Sharpe had earned the right to have that candle burning tonight. He'd paid dearly for this bed and whatever food Smith had eaten. There were too many memories in this room to face without a little light. Memories of the first night he had spent under this roof. Maggie had found him one morning, frightened and hurt. Two men had caught him the night before and they'd... Sharpe opened his eyes and stared at the feeble light of the candle. No use remembering things like that. Maggie had been good to him. She looked after him and fed him and dried his tears. He wondered in those first few days if Maggie might have been his mother. She wasn't that much older than him, but old enough to have borne him. He dreamed that she would tell him she had left him as a babe but was here now and would take care of him and hold him in her arms, and rock him to sleep so that he knew everything was all right.
Maggie did hold him in her arms a few nights later, but not in the way a mother would. Sharpe didn't mind. He fell in love with her as only a thirteen year old boy could and vowed he would never leave her, that he'd do anything for her. And he had.
But that wouldn't happen to Josh. Smith was safe for one more night. Slowly Sharpe turned to face the boy sleeping beside him. He looked very young, probably not much older than I was, Sharpe thought, but far more innocent. Sharpe had already lost most of his innocence by the time he found himself alone on the streets.
Gently he brushed back a soft curl of hair that had fallen across Smith's face. Like satin, that hair was. Soft and glossy and Sharpe brushed his hand over the waves that felt almost alive under his fingers.
"That's nice. William used to do that." Smith murmured more asleep than awake.
William again, Sharpe thought as he pulled his hand back. "Is that why you got into trouble?" he asked, suddenly curious about what had gone on between the two boys.
"Oh no, something much worse. We were kissing." Smith opened his sleepy eyes and stared remorsefully at Sharpe.
"Kissing?" Sharpe couldn't believe Smith would run away for something so minor. "There's nothing wrong with kissing!"
"That's not what William said. He said that anything that felt that good had to be a sin!"
Sharpe snorted, "William's in for a big surprise then, there's far more to it than just kissing!"
"Oh it WAS more than kissing," Smith bit his lip wondering how much to confess. "You see we were down in the drawing room at night, kissing."
"In the drawing room?" Sharpe asked.
"On the chaise lounge!"
"You were kissing on the chaise lounge?" Sharpe resisted the urge to laugh, because Smith sounded so forlorn.
"In our nightshirts." Smith took a deep breath and dropped his eyes. "We'd been laying there, on the chaise lounge, sort of squirming around and kissing and William's was up. Up to his waist!"
"What?!" Sharpe has seen quite a few men in his time, but never one that big. "Bloody hell!"
"Yes, his nightshirt was up to his waist and I well, I just wondered what it felt like, you see, if his would feel the same as mine and so I.." Smith hesitated and looked up at Sharpe again, his face a brilliant shade of red. "I touched it! Just once, well, sort of once."
Dick Sharpe shut his mouth and swallowed. This story is making him feel entirely too warm. "And was it? Was it like yours?" he asked hoping he didn't sound too curious.
"Oh no, It was much bigger, but then William is a few years older than me. He's just turned 17."
Sharpe tucked that bit of information away, smiling to himself because Josh Smith hadn't even noticed his slip up. About 13 or 14, certainly no older, Sharpe assessed. "So then what happened?" The Inevitable?
"That's when Mr Wentworth, the principal, and Mr Seaton, the Latin master found us. I had my hand on William's..." Smith searched for the right word, "'thing' and William started saying that it was all my fault, that I'd tempted him like the very devil." Smith eyes clouded with tears. "But I didn't, it wasn't just me. I don't know why he said that. I thought he was my friend."
Sharpe raised his hand and brushed away the single tear that had escaped. "It wasn't your fault Joshy. William sounds like he was enjoying it just as much as you. I'll tell yer what, if I ever meet William, I'll kick his arse for yer!"
"Oh no, please don't do that Dick," Smith moved closer, his eyes pleading, his breath warm on Sharpe's face. "You'd like William, he looks just like an angel. But his father is very strict and canes him when he is bad. I'm sure that was the only reason he said it."
"So those teachers of yours called up your fathers?" Sharpe moved back trying to put a little distance between them. He felt uncomfortable.
"The next morning. Mr Seaton tried to talk Mr Wentworth out of doing it, I heard them arguing while I was waiting outside the Office. Mr Seaton said no harm was done; that we were just boys, playing around. He said it was hardly Sodom and Gomorrah, but Mr Wentworth said that Mr Seaton WOULD think that way given what he got up to every Saturday evening. They really had a terrible argument." Josh moved closer to Sharpe "So do you really think there is no harm in kissing?"
"There was no harm in kissing William or in anything that you were doing, Josh. Mr Seaton was right." Sharpe closed his eyes, hoping Smith would take the hint and go back to sleep.
"I like kissing, Dick. It feels nice. Do you like kissing? Do you do that a lot?"
Trouble, Sharpe though, and opened one eye to squint at Smith. "Most of the men I go with aren't really interested in kissing, Josh. They're after something else. But I like it." He did like it and O'Malley had made sure that Sharpe had mastered the technique because you never knew when you might have a customer who wanted to."
"So do you want to try it now?" Josh asked, his big eyes wide and hopeful.
Sharpe looked from the dark eyes to the small red lips and back up again. He thought about what he had been doing with his own mouth that evening, and felt dirty. "No tonight Josh, it's too late and I'm too tired." Smith looked disappointed and Sharpe let his fingers stray to the fine white cotton of the nightshirt the boy was wearing. He stroked the delicately stitched pin tucks across the front.
"Maybe we could do it another time Joshy?" he said with half a smile.
Smith snuggled closer. "I'd like that Dick," he whispered.
Part7
"Wake up Dick," Maggie's voice purred in his voice causing Sharpe to wake with a start and wonder whose bed he was in.
"Where's Josh?" he asked as he looked around. The boy's clothes were gone and there was no sign of that bag he kept close.
"He's downstairs having a bite to eat. Breakfast wasn't enough for him. He's certainly got a big appetite for his size. Why he's already eaten.."
Sharpe jumped out of bed and pulled on his boots. The sun was well up, it must be noon at least. As he reached for his second boot he spied the edge of Smith's bag still under the bed.
"Thanks for everything Maggie, but I have to go!" Picking up the bag, Sharpe made for the door. "Not so fast Love." Maggie's voice was hard, all business-like suddenly. "You still owe me."
"What?" This couldn't be happening. He couldn't get caught like this.
"You owe me for the food, and the water. Little Josh wanted a bath this morning. I must say the girls had a nice time watching through the hole in the wall, but that doesn't pay for the water to be fetched and heated! Then he wanted his shirt and stockings and underwear washed. That all took time and effort. You don't expect a girl to do those things for nothing do you? Then there's his breakfast and his lunch. You got any money to pay for all that, Love?" Maggie sat on the bed calmly waiting for Sharpe's reply.
Yes, Dick Sharpe had money, but it was the only thing between him and God knows what. It was to be saved for times of need, not squandered. Dick knew what Maggie wanted from him. He knew she'd made a nice little bonus last night. He knew she was hoping that he'd hand Smith over since it was Smith who was running up the debt.
Instead Dick Sharpe opened Josh Smith's bag and up ended it on the bed. "Anything you want here Maggie?"
The nightshirt was the first to catch Maggie's eyes, it was soft and white and made from the finest cotton. "Too small! Pretty, but small. Still I might have someone who could wear it.." she said thoughtfully.
The book was tossed aside, as was the set of knucklebones and the Jacobs Ladder. "I can't read too well and I don't have time for playing with childish toys." she muttered. Likewise, the quill and ink were passed over.
A small bone handled knife lay amongst the contents and Sharpe wondered why Smith hadn't mentioned it before. Why keep it hidden in here when he should be carrying it for protection? Silly little bastard!
Sharpe gave the bag another shake and a white lace handkerchief fluttered out like a butterfly.
"This is nice. I do like dainty things," Maggie picked it up and examined it closer. "Oooh, see here, it's embroidered and all. WL...That's not your friend is it Love? Wonder if he has a girl somewhere?"
"Put that down!" Josh Smith walked over to Maggie and snatched the handkerchief from her. He glared at Dick. "You have no right to go through my bag! Give it back."
Smith started carefully repacking his cherished possessions, a scowl on his face.
"Well go on Love, tell him. He's the one who owes me, not you."
Smith looked up askance at Sharpe.
"How much Maggie? What's he owe you?" The big woman named her price, a mean smile on her lips. Sharpe walked to the open window and leaned out, reaching into a groove between the bricks to retrieve his savings.
Surprise was clearly evident in Maggie's eyes as he counted out the coins.
"Get yer things Joshy, we're going." Sharpe didn't wait but strode to the door.
"I'll see you around love." Maggie called out. Sharpe didn't answer.
"I'm sorry Dick, I didn't know. I.." Smith ran to catch up with Sharpe, suddenly fearful of being left behind. Was Sharpe angry with him? Surely it wasn't to do with the bag? Abruptly Sharpe stopped and Smith collided into his back almost pushing the older boy over.
"Shit, this way!" Sharpe grabbed Smith's arm again and they retraced their steps, turning the next corner quickly.
"Now listen Joshy, if I tell yer to run, you run!" Sharpe held Smith by the shoulders and stared into his eyes. "You go straight to a Constable and you tell him yer lost and ask him to take you home! You understand me!"
"But Dick, I'm sorry, I didn't know.."
"Just do it, Josh," Sharpe continued. Looking hurriedly over his shoulder. "There's a couple of bastards back there who'll cut my throat if they catch me. Probably cut yours too!" Sharpe sighed, he didn't really want to tell Smith what he had done, but he had to make the boy understand how serious their situation was. "You see I killed a man Josh, a man who was well known and who has connections here in the rookery. His brother's got men on the lookout for me, that's why I had to leave."
"You killed someone?" Josh's eyes were wide and his lip was trembling. Sharpe nodded. "It was over a girl. He was a bastard anyway. A real bad bastard."
"OH, well I'm sure you had good reason Dick." Smith replied solemnly and patted Sharpe's arm. The gesture almost raised a smile from Sharpe and he wondered if there was anything he could say that would dislodge Smith's blind trust.
Sharpe looked around again. There was no sign of the man he had seen, the man who worked for Bert Crowley whose brother Sharpe had killed. "Come on, but stay close and do what I tell yer."
They were almost out of the rookery when Sharpe heard his name called and recognised the voice. It was not that of a friend. Roland Kerrison was a hired thug and Sharpe was willing to bet he was now working for Crowley. But was he alone or did he have help?
He broke into a run, tugging Josh with him. There was a busy street up ahead where they should be able to loose their follower. It was well used by carts and carriages and coaches and such and went from the docks right into the heart of London. Sharpe chanced a look over his shoulder, there was still only one man following. Suddenly he remembered the Josh's knife and cursed his foolishness for not keeping handy. It was packed once more in Smith's bag!
The road loomed up. Horses plodding, carriages rolling, people everywhere.
"Hey you! Sharpie!" Out of the corner of his eye Sharpe saw another figure join the chase and he dived onto the roadway, weaving between startled horses dragging Smith behind.
The second adversary was right on their heels when Sharpe was suddenly forced to stop in the middle of the street, his escape route momentarily block by a large coach which halted in front of them. Sharpe turned and kicked his pursuer in the groin. The man folded, clutching himself and moaning but his accomplice was gaining ground and Sharpe desperately looked around for a means of escape.
As he turned back hoping the coach had moved on, the door was flung open and a deep familiar voice said, "Get in."
It was hardly the ideal rescue, but for the moment Sharpe had no choice. The man behind him wanted to kill him, whilst the man in the coach had at least proved to be generous.
Pushing Josh ahead of him, Sharpe leapt aboard and slammed the door shut. Without waiting for a signal the driver started the horses moving again and Sharpe turned to face his rescuer.
During the encounter with this man two nights before, Sharpe had been able to see very little in the darkened interior of the coach, but now the blinds were up and the man who sat across from him looked anything but threatening.
Not old, but not young either, his brown hair was cut shorter than was the fashion and had the faintest tinges of grey beginning to show through at the sides. A thick moustache hid most of his top lip. Average height, average build, but Sharpe remembered he had been stronger than he had looked. He was well dressed, and clearly he was now riding in his own coach rather than the hired one he had used previously.
"In a spot of trouble lads?" the Gent asked.
"Just a bit, but we'll be fine if you let us out up here a ways." Sharpe looked out of the window to see where the coach was heading, away from the rookery and towards a better part of town.
"Perhaps you'd like to come back to my rooms and we could do a bit of business?" The man's eyes darted to Smith and looked him over. "I have a friend I could send a message to who would be interested. What do you say? I'd pay you well."
"He's not working, he's just a friend." Sharpe said quietly all the time thinking that here was an easy way to recoup what he had lost to Maggie.
"That's fine then, we'll drop him off somewhere and you can come home with me."
"No!" Josh Smith clutched his bag tighter and looked at Sharpe, eyes pleading. "You said you wouldn't leave me Dick?"
A flash of white teeth told Sharpe that the man opposite him was smiling. "I'm looking after him, that's all. He doesn't know his way around. Could he come with us and wait?"
"Ha! And have him rob me while my back was turned? You must think I'm an easy mark!" The man sneered at the two boys and crossed his legs as he leaned back into the seat.
"Oh no Sir. Stealing is wrong. I'd never do that, you have my word." Josh Smith's declaration produced another smile from the gent, a smile that reminded Sharpe of a dog's snarl.
"Perhaps I could have my man keep an eye on you, what do you think?" He leant forward and smiled at Josh "Would you like a little tea while you wait?"
Smith's face brightened and he nodded.
"But yer have someone drive us back afterwards, back to that corner." Sharpe wanted to sort out the business details before they went any further. "And it's double what you paid me the other night. I don't usually make house calls."
"Cheeky little bugger aren't you. But you were good, I'll give you that."
He appeared to consider the proposition for a moment. "All right, done. Now what is your name?"
The question took Sharpe by surprise? "Name?" he stammered.
"Yes name. You do have one I presume?"
"It's Dick." No need to tell him the rest.
"It will be a pleasure getting to know you Dick. My name is George." The man held out his hand to shake Sharpe's. It wasn't smooth but had a line of calluses across the palm. Sharpe considered what they would be from. Riding perhaps, or maybe a sword. The man might be an Officer in the army.
"And what about you, young man? What's your name and where are you from?" the question was directed at Smith. "Oh my name is Joshua and I'm from.." Sharpe kicked Smith hard in the shins.
"From round here abouts." Sharpe finished.
Part 8
It was well into the afternoon when the coach pulled up at an impressive two-story terrace house. Sharpe stood gaping but Josh Smith walked up to the front door with George Seymour in a way that clearly showed he was used to affluence.
Once inside their patron gave directions to a brace of servants and then led the boys into the front parlour. The decor was clearly masculine, no woman's touch was evident amid the leather and dark mahogany. The faint memory of cigar smoke permeated the room.
"Make yourselves comfortable, I have a few things that need my attention. Lawson will bring some refreshments shortly so don't think you can rifle through my pipe collection while I'm gone." Seymour waved his hand in the direction of a glass cabinet that housed a display of pipes. He left the room leaving the door open.
Smith sat himself down on a hard leather settee and placed his bag at his feet, but Dick Sharpe commenced to prowl the room like a cat exploring.
"You really shouldn't be so nosey Dick, it's bad manners you know." Smith said frowning.
"Hmmph. Don't be daft, Josh. That bastard doesn't care what my manners are like! And he's paying me to be bad!" Smith blushed and looked away.
Lawson the butler arrived with a trolley laden with cakes and buns and a teapot and china cups. Sharpe frowned, he'd been hoping that 'refreshments' might have been something a little more substantial with some ale to wash it down. He grabbed one of the fruit buns and stuffed it into his mouth. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning.
With a shake of his head, Smith poured two cups of tea. "I suppose it's all right to start without George. The tea will go cold if we wait." He spread a napkin on his lap and selected a piece of simmel cake for his plate.
"Plaahh, That teas bloody weak! Funny taste to it." Sharpe spat it back into his cup.
"It's perfectly fine tea, Dick!" Josh exclaimed somewhat surprised.
"Ah, I'm glad you didn't wait, you boys must have been hungry." Seymour looked at the near empty plate and then at Sharpe's bulging cheeks and smiled his wolfish smile. "I'll send for some more."
As they waited, Seymour sat back in a well-worn leather chair and lit a cigar, the smoke making a lazy trail to the ceiling.
"Do you smoke your pipes too Sir?" It was polite to make conversation when one took tea with a Gentleman, Smith had been taught.
"No actually, I collect them, as did my father, but I much prefer cigars. Do you smoke?" The teeth flashed again, waiting for Smith's reply.
"Oh no, I'm not allowed." Smith bit his lip, wondering just how much he should say to this man. If only he had asked Sharpe when they were alone. "That is, I prefer not to as my...fiancee objects to the smell." There, that sounded right!
Dick Sharpe rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the room. That front window had a loose catch and would be easy to open. The sideboard might yield a bit of silverware, but what Sharpe was really waiting to see was this man's bedroom. That's where most of his valuables would be. Watches, pins, and of course money.
Sharpe looked over to where Seymour was listening to Smith relate his love of cricket. Why was he taking his time? Had he changed his mind? Sharpe wasn't used to this delaying. Most of his customers got down to business straight away. But then he'd never been to a gentleman's home before, it was usually just a quick encounter in an alley or a coach. Once, when he was fourteen, a gentleman had offered to set him up in a flat in town but O'Malley had turned him down. He'd explained later that it was too dangerous and that you couldn't trust 'em enough, but Sharpe suspected it was because O'Malley didn't want to loose him and the money that he made each night.
The afternoon wore on and a maid came in and closed the curtains, lit the lamps and started a small fire in the fireplace. It was hardly cold, but the blaze lent the room a cosy atmosphere.
"What about a brandy before we retire?" Seymour asked. He stood close by Sharpe's side, his hand resting on the high back of the chair and Sharpe realised he had been dozing. He looked around in alarm, but Smith was still sitting where he had been, happily eating another piece of cake and sipping tea.
"All right." At last! Sharpe sighed. He hoped this man wasn't expecting anything too athletic, because he was bloody tired, not to mention sore after last night at Maggie's. Some of those bastards had been rough! He drank the brandy quickly, feeling it burn down his throat and almost straight away flow to his head, the result of having a near empty stomach.
"My room is upstairs. Josh will be all right here for a while. I'll have Lawson bring him some supper in a while." The older man opened the parlour door and waited for Sharpe.
"You stay right here Joshy!" A tingle of unease crept up Sharpe's spine. O'Malley had always warned Sharpe about what could happen to a lad on his own. Sharpe had seen the evidence on O'Malley's body. That's why they always worked together. And if he was on his own? Well never go too far out of sight so that if you had to scream out someone might hear you.
But here he was, going up to this man's bedroom alone, leaving Smith downstairs. Sharpe hesitated.
"Of course, money first. Here you go." Seymour smiled, dug into his pocket and produced several shiny coins. It was more than he had paid last time, more than what they he had agreed to in the coach, much more. Sharpe licked his lips, considering. Surely they were safe here. There were servants moving about the house. Sharpe had seen at least two young chambermaids and the butler Lawson. Nothing could happen to them here in this part of town.
"Here Joshy, you keep it for me." Sharpe walked back and handed the money to Smith, along with what was in his pockets and his picklock. He ruffled his hair as he left.
Part 9
Josh Smith sank back on the leather settee and kicked his feet, bored already. The tick of the clock above the mantle and the quiet crackle of the fire echoed in the empty room. How long would this take, Josh wondered? If only there were some books to read to pass the time. But George must keep his books elsewhere, because there were none to be seen.
The fire had made the room quite warm and Josh took off his jacket and folded it before laying down and placing it under his head. It must be dark outside by now. Perhaps he would have a little rest. All this running around after Dick was tiring.
The door opened suddenly and Josh sat up with a start. That was quick! But it wasn't Dick or George who walked into the room but a stranger. The newcomer was a young man, with long blond hair and a small neat moustache.
"Hello there," he said smiling at Smith and shutting the door.
"Oh hello." Smith replied a little uncertainly rubbing the sleep from his eyes and smoothing his hair back in place.
"Where's George?" The young man asked, still smiling.
"He's with Dick, my friend. They're.....busy" Josh trailed off unsure of what to say but the other man nodded.
"Oh I see," he said and winked conspiratorially. "Well it will be our secret." Josh smiled back. This man didn't appear to be much older than William. He walked to the sideboard, opened the brandy decanter and sniffed the contents.
"You don't mind if I wait here with you ...um..?"
"Joshua...My name is Joshua."
"Pleased to meet you Joshua, my name is James. Would you like a drink?" Without waiting for Josh to reply, James Cavanagh poured two large glasses of brandy and walked over to the settee.
Josh took one not wanting to appear rude. He was unused to drinking, but remembered all he had drunk last night at Maggie's. No harm had come to him and it had made him feel very good.
"Thank you James," he said politely and took a large sip. Cavanagh appeared to be waiting for Smith to ask him to sit down so he did so. He was a little surprised when the fair-haired young man chose to sit so close when there was plenty of room on the settee. Perhaps he didn't want to sit too close to the fire; it was certainly getting hot in the room. Josh drank more of the brandy.
"Is George your friend?" Smith asked to break the growing silence.
"Oh yes, we're very good friends. What about..Dick?" Cavanagh lazed back against the settee, his long legs stretched out close to Smith's.
"Dick's my friend. He looks after me." Smith blushed a little when he said that. But it was true. Dick WAS his friend. Probably a better friend than William had been.
Cavanagh stood up and retrieved the brandy decanter from the sideboard. He filled Smith's glass again.
"He's lucky to have you for a friend. You have such pretty hair." Cavanagh reached out to lightly touch one strand where it lay on Smith's shoulder.
Josh giggled. "Everyone always say that."
"Well it's true." Cavanagh bent closer laughing also, his hand caressing the dark curls. "I imagine they like to play with your hair too? It's so soft. Do you like that?"
"Yes, it feels nice. That's what I told Dick last night." Smith laughed again and sipped at the brandy. James reminded him of William, he even looked a bit like William. Except William always thought everything was wrong and felt guilty afterwards. But James didn't seem to be like that at all.
"What else do you like Joshua?" Cavanagh's fingers rubbed gently against Smith's scalp, relaxing and reassuring and Smith responded like a cat. He leaned towards Cavanagh's strong fingers, resting his head against the back of the settee.
"Well I like Shakespeare and the theatre."
"Why so do I! I saw MacBeth recently, did you see it?" Cavanagh's hand slid down to rest lightly against the back of Josh's neck, his thumb rubbing gently against his ear.
"No but I would have liked to. I don't get to attend the theatre very often. I did see Romeo and Juliet though." Smith eyes brightened as he said that and he sighed loudly. "It was so romantic. I would love to be an actor."
"Oh you would be much sort after. You have such looks. Your hair, your lips," Cavanagh moved his hand enough to run his thumb over Josh's lips. "Your eyes! Why, I can see you playing Romeo."
"You can?" Josh looked into Cavanagh's blue eyes and wondered why he felt so breathless.
"Oh yes!" James picked up a brandy glass and held it to Joshes lips, watching closely as the boy sipped.
"I wish I was that brandy glass. I'd love to be that close to your lips. Do you like kissing?"
"Oh yes, I like kissing, it feels nice. And Dick said that it was all right to do that." Smith said enthusiastically. The thought of kissing this handsome young man excited him. They had so much in common. Perhaps they could become friends. James might even know where Smith could find work.
"I like kissing too. I'd like to kiss you. You have such lovely lips." James' blue eyes were looking at him in the strangest way.
Smith giggled. "You say the nicest things! Does your moustache tickle?"
Cavanagh bent his head close to Smith's, his breath warm and smelling of brandy. "Why don't you find out."
Smith closed his eyes and leaned forward, lips pursed. It was different from kissing William. William didn't move his lips like that and William didn't open his mouth like that and William didn't...Smith moaned and arched his back, kissing the older man back as he gained confidence.
Warm hands slipped around his waist and pulled him closer and Josh responded by reaching out to embrace the faired-haired stranger. Slowly Cavanagh eased them both backwards so that they were reclining on the settee.
Part 10
It would be so easy to fall asleep in this big bed, Dick Sharpe thought as he lay on his back staring at the canopy above him. He'd never been in a bed like this before, so grand, so comfortable. Clean white sheets and heavy velvet drapes, it was like something out of a dream. Soft, slow breathing told Sharpe that the man beside him was asleep. No wonder! Seymour had been demanding to say the least. Not exactly rough, for he had taken the time to use a bit of lamp oil which was a rare luxury for Sharpe. But the older man's passion was far from subdued and Sharpe knew his neck and chest would bear the marks left by Seymour's teeth for days.
Perhaps he might be invited back here again? The money was good and he'd been fed beforehand. Sharpe smiled in the darkness. Maybe he could get used to this.
But what about Josh Smith? The boy was still waiting downstairs and Sharpe had no idea how long he had been up in this bedroom. It had been very easy to loose track of time.
Silently, Sharpe slipped out of the big bed and pulled on his trousers and shirt. He'd just go check that Smith was all right then come back. George might want something more; he'd certainly paid for it.
"Here, where do you think you are going?" came the gruff voice from the bed as Sharpe quietly opened the door.
"I just want to check on Josh. I'll come back."
"Get back here now! I haven't finished with you! How dare you think you can sneak around my home! Come back here at once!" The voice was thick with anger and the older man moved so suddenly that he startled Sharpe who fled the bedroom and ran down the staircase before he could follow.
Sharpe threw open the front parlour door but stopped short at the sight before him. Smith and another man were entangled on the settee, hands on each other, shirts loose, mouths busy. Smith was making the faintest moaning sounds.
"Get off him yer bastard!" yelled Sharpe but was prevented from any further action by a large hand grasping his hair and spinning him around. The back of Seymour's hand struck him across the face, once, twice. Sharpe could taste blood in his mouth and felt it drip from his nose. He struggled, trying to break free and Seymour hit him again, harder this time, leaving Sharpe dazed.
With a brutal wrench his arm was pulled up behind his back. "Keep still you little slut or I'll break it!"
Sharpe stopped struggling and stared back at the two figures on the coach. Josh was sitting up now, sobbing while he tried to straighten his clothes. "Don't hurt him, please!" he begged. "Are you all right Dick? Your nose is bleeding."
"George there's no need for that! You're hurting the lad." Cavanagh licked his lips nervously, looking from Smith to Sharpe and back again.
"There would have been no need for it if you had enough sense to take him upstairs instead of trying to fuck him on my settee!" Cavanagh paled and looked back at Smith who started crying even louder.
"Well go on! I can't keep a hold of this one forever. Get him upstairs!"
"Bastard!" Sharpe muttered and attempted to kick the man who was holding him, but it only earned him another stinging blow to the side of his head. The situation was getting out of hand and Sharpe tried desperately to think of a way to escape.
"George I don't think he wants to go upstairs." Cavanagh said nervously. He put his hand out towards Smith as if wanting to comfort him but withdraw it when he saw Smith flinch.
"What does it bloody matter what he wants! He's a little whore, just like this one," The older man shook Sharpe again. "Just take him up there and do it!"
Cavanagh stood, anger and shock both clearly visible in his face.
"I won't use force George! What sort of a man do you think I am? And let the lad go, you'll break his arm." Seymour released Sharpe with a shove that sent him stumbling. Cavanagh caught him and helped him upright, then offered him a handkerchief from his pocket. Gingerly Sharpe dabbed at his bleeding lips and nose.
"Is it broken?" Cavanagh ask gently, but Sharpe didn't know if he meant his nose or his arm.
"No," he spat back and sat down beside Josh Smith who was still sobbing and wiping at his eyes. "Oh Dick, what's going to happen to us?"
Cavanagh sat on the other side of Smith and patted his shoulder. "Shh, it's all right, no one will hurt you."
"Yer better not bloody hurt him. His father's a Judge," Sharpe said as he rubbed his bruised shoulder. "From Oxford!" He wasn't sure if this last was true, but Smith had mentioned Oxford.
There was silence in the room as both Seymour and Cavanagh stared at Sharpe, but it was the younger man who spoke first.
"Oh my GOD! Do you realise what you have done George?" He stared at Smith as if seeing him for the first time. "This is little Joshua Tremaine, Sir Sydney's son. He ran away from school and Sir Sydney has every constable between here and Oxford on the look out for him. It's all they are talking about down at the club!" He dropped his head to his hands. "My God! If this gets out I'll be ruined!"
"Don't worry so, James. I know how to handle this. I have a man who can take care of it all. There'll be no trace of them by tomorrow morning." Seymour said as if discussing a stain on the rug.
Desperately Sharpe looked around, wondering how to escape. Short of diving through the glass window, the door was the only other option and it was blocked by Seymour. Whilst he might stand a chance on his own, he wasn't sure he could get Smith out as well.
"Oh Dick?" Smith wailed.
"MY God George...you cant mean...? Cavanagh placed his arm around the distraught Smith in an attempt to soothe him. "They're just boys George. There's no need to do that." He sounded as desperate as Sharpe felt.
"Just let us go and we'll say nothing. We don't want no trouble." Sharpe ignored Seymour and looked into Cavanagh's blue eyes.
"Yes, let them go George, I won't be a party to this."
"Ha! Let them go and they'll be back blackmailing me before the week is out. They know where I live and that one," George indicated Smith who still sat sheltered within Cavanagh's arms. "That one is far too smart. He might be young but he knows how things work."
"Well take us out of London then, we won't give you any trouble if we're out of London." Sharpe stared into the worried blue eyes, and hoped he was reading this man correctly. There were men who had the capacity for violence and there were those who did not. Sharpe suspected James Cavanagh was one of the latter. Carefully he wiped more blood away from his nose with the handkerchief. It was starting to drip onto his shirt.
Cavanagh leaned forward "Where would you want to go?" he asked quietly.
"North," Sharpe replied dabbing at his bleeding lips. He had no real idea where to go, but he knew there were cities to the north, big cities. South, he'd been told was full of ports and they pressed men into the navy. Sharpe didn't want to be a sailor.
"All right, I'll take you north." Cavanagh squeezed Smith shoulder. "You'll see, everything will be all right." He looked up at Seymour, but the older man scowled. "You're a bloody fool James. When did you become so bloody moral?" he snorted and turned away. Have you thought about what will happen if Alec finds out?"
Cavanagh ignored the threat and replied with one of his own. "What indeed! I think he'd love to know of your little solution to the problem. Don't threaten me George. I know all your dirty little secrets and don't you forget it."
"Get out!" the words stung like venom. "Take your filthy little whores with you and I hope they rob you blind and cut your throat!"
Cavanagh stood, ushering the boys with him. "But what about my boots and jacket?" Sharpe demanded. They were still in the bedroom upstairs and he wasn't leaving without them.
"I'll have them brought down. Wait here." With that Seymour left the room and Cavanagh let go a deep breath. He ran his hand wearily through his long fair hair.
"Thank you for helping us." Josh said quietly, his face and eyes were stained and red from crying.
"I'm sorry about all of this. I had no idea that you were... George just sent a message that he had two boys here for.." He rubbed his face again. "Oh God!"
A coach was summoned and Sharpe wondered if they would head north straight away, but his question was answered as they traveled through the quiet streets.
"You lads will have to stay with me tonight. We can set off in the morning. It's too late now and I'll need to pack some things and make arrangements."
Sharpe eyed the young man warily. "And what do you want out of all of this?"
"Want?" Cavanagh asked, not understanding.
"Yeah want! Yer were all over Joshy back there, but don't be thinking that's what yer getting tonight, cause yer not!"
Smith said nothing, simply sat with is head hanging like a chastened child.
"OH no, I didn't think that. Not now that I know who he is." James bit his lip and looked away, clearly embarrassed by his earlier actions.
"Hmmph, bastard!" Sharpe muttered under his breath.
Part 11
The terrace house where Cavanagh lived was not as affluent as his friend's. A surly butler met them at the door and eyed the boys suspiciously.
"A coach accident Frost, the driver nearly ran the lads down in the dark. I thought I'd bring them back here for the night to make sure they were all right. We'll need some hot water and a bite to eat...oh and have the spare room made ready."
Frost raised one eyebrow and surveyed the situation. "Should I send for a doctor Sir?" There was an edge to his voice the indicated he was wise to Cavanagh's ruse.
"No, no, that's not necessary." Cavanagh paused, seeming almost reluctant to speak the next words. "And have some things packed and a coach ordered for tomorrow. I'm going to Sheffield for a few days."
"I see Sir, and should I have a note sent to inform Major Seymour." Cavanagh looked away angrily. "There's no need Frost. The Major knows. I'm sure he'll come by while I'm gone. You can tell him all you like then!" James Cavanagh marched angrily up the stairs. Sharpe and Smith followed.
It was a very different parlour that Sharpe sat in some time later. It was smaller, but lined with bookshelves that were crowded with books. Josh Smith had spent some time oohing and ahhing over the titles as James bathed Sharpe's cut lip and face.
His lip smarted every time he moved it but that didn't stop Sharpe from eating; chunks of bread, slabs of corned beef, pickles and cheese. It was the best meal he had eaten in days.
"My nurse always said that if you eat cheese before going to bed then you will have bad dreams." Josh chatted on to Cavanagh as they sat together. He was clearly enarmoured of the young man despite what had happened earlier. Sharpe watched Josh's eyes follow Cavanagh around the room as he searched for a book.
Sharpe had seen this kind of thing before. Usually it was young lonely girls, but sometimes boys who would latch on to the first person who showed them any interest, any attention and fall hopelessly in love. Sooner or later it would all go wrong and they'd end up used and abused and looking out for the next bastard to come along. Because love didn't last, it was just a good excuse to get someone to do whatever yer wanted them to!
Sharpe sighed and frowned at Cavanagh. The sooner they were away from this man the better!
It was close to midnight when they finished their late supper. Sharpe waited warily as Cavanagh showed them the spare room, relieved when it became clear that Josh Smith was to be sleeping there. That only left him, but Sharpe was used to bargains like this. He looked at Cavanagh and waited to be shown the man's bedroom.
"What?" Cavanagh asked as they stood in the hallway.
"Where am I sleeping?" Sharpe asked.
"Why here of course, with Josh. The bed is plenty big enough and I thought it would be better if you both stayed together. You've had a pretty rough evening Dick."
Sharpe blinked a couple of times, not quite believing the words.
"So yer don't want me to sleep with you?" he asked again just to make sure he had understood.
"No! I told you before that I don't expect any 'payment' for this." Cavanagh reached out and gently brushed Sharpe's hair back from his bruised face.
"It's late Dick, go to bed and sleep well."
Josh was already curled up in the big bed when Sharpe closed the door.
"What were you and James talking about?" he asked.
"Nothing, just making sure me clothes would be all right." After bathing Sharpe's face, Cavanagh had given his shirt and trousers to Frost to have the splashes of blood cleaned out. He was currently wearing one of Cavanagh's own shirts and trousers that were a little on the large size.
Nearing the bed, Sharpe was surprised to find a nightshirt laid out and waiting.
"It's for you I think," said Josh reading Sharpe's look of surprise. He hadn't worn a nightshirt since he left the foundling home. The fine cotton felt soft on his skin.
"Oh Dick? What happened to you? There are bruises on your back." Sharpe let the nightshirt fall before turning to face Smith. "Bastard liked to bite, tis all. Some of them do yer know. It's nothing."
"Are you going to leave the candle burning tonight?" Josh asked. Sharpe extinguished it in reply. Cavanagh had already been more than generous.
"Is your mouth very sore Dick?" Smith's little fingers gently touched Sharpe's lips.
"A bit." He replied wearily. "What did you think you were doing back there Josh? Don't yer have any sense?"
"I wasn't doing anything wrong Dick. You said it yourself, there's nothing wrong with kissing. I liked it!" Smith's voice pleaded for understanding; a plea which Sharpe ignored.
"Well yer don't go around kissing strangers! If I hadn't come down he would have had yer breeches off and his prick up yer arse in no time!"
"You're wrong!" Smith declared "James isn't like that! He saved us. He's a Gentleman."
Sharpe rolled onto his side away from Smith. "Hmmp, he is now that he knows who you are! He didn't care much before though, did he! Yer just can't trust 'em Josh!"
"You'll see Dick, we can trust James. He's taking us to Sheffield."
There was warm water for washing, a freshly laundered shirt and trousers and even a shaving kit waiting when Sharpe woke the following morning.
"Ooh look, I think I might try this?" Josh declared as he fingered the razor.
"You'll cut yer bloody little throat, give it here." Sharpe removed the sharp razor and set it back on the shaving stand. "Do you shave Dick?" Smith asked, curious as always. "No I bloody don't." Sharpe grumbled. He didn't like mornings as you never knew what the day would bring. "It would just be one more bloody thing to bother about so the longer I can put it off the better!"
Over breakfast James Cavanagh looked over Sharpe's bruises, paying close attention to one of his eyes that was now black and swollen.
"Can you see all right through it? Try closing your other eye and.."
"What are yer? A bloody doctor or something?" Sharpe snarled back as Cavanagh touched his eyebrow.
"Lord No," Cavanagh laughed, not put off by Sharpe's bad humour, "I'm an Ensign in His Majesty's Army. Although I was hoping to buy a Lieutenancy soon." He looked away and chewed his lip. "I think I may have just ruined my chances though. I was hoping for a little help from George."
"You're an Officer?" Smith sparked up, "Oh how exciting that must be. Are you with the Cavalry?"
"Not bloody likely. I hate riding! NO George and I are with an Infantry Unit. We are on standby to go to the West Indies, but there's been talk of that for months now."
Give this man enough time and he'd tell them everything about himself, Sharpe decided. Bloody fool! Didn't he have any sense! But then again the man he knew only as James looked young. He was probably younger than O'Malley, maybe about twenty. Sharpe was willing to bet that he had led a soft life, spoiled, handed everything he wanted and finally led into vice by his friend George.
He might appear to be friendly now, but that was because he knew who Josh's father was and wanted to keep everything quiet. Men like that disliked scandal. Well Sharpe still didn't trust him, because eventually everything had to be paid for. But in the meantime he'd learn all he could about this fellow because you never knew when information like that might be useful.
Part 12
Dick Sharpe felt ill. The jolting of the coach over the rough country roads made his stomach feel queasy. Perhaps he had eaten too much at breakfast, but a lad should never pass up a free meal. It wouldn't be long before he was back on the streets and hungry again. With his face all bruised it might be hard to find work for a few days. Those bruises were aching too and making his head hurt. His two companions were talking quietly about schools and the theatre and other things that were alien to Sharpe. Their voices droned on and on. Bored, Sharpe looked out the window, but now that they had left London, the countryside seemed all the same.
"Have you thought about going home, Josh? I could take you back to Oxford on the way." Cavanagh was sitting opposite, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. "You've seen the sort of trouble that you could get into, perhaps you'd be better off back at school?" He looked at Sharpe as if expecting him to agree.
"It's his decision." Sharpe said gruffly and looked back at the rolling fields.
"I won't go back." Smith folded his arms and set his mouth and James Cavanagh looked from one boy to the other and shrugged his shoulders. They sat in silence for a time, each with there own thoughts.
"Why did you run away Josh?" The question was asked softly, compassionately.
"You mean the story hasn't circulated through the Gentlemen's clubs yet? I thought everyone would be laughing about it by now." Smith fumbled with the buttons on his jacket and hung his head.
"The only story I've heard was that you ran away from school and that your father would leave no stone unturned until he found you. What happened."
Smith sniffed and sucked in his bottom lip. "I was caught in a compromising position with another of the boys, and the Head Master sent for my father."
"Is that all, my God, that happened all the time when I was at school! A few cuts of the cane and we'd be back at it in no time!" Cavanagh grinned. "We used to call it 'Practicing' so that when we finally managed to get a hold of a woman we wouldn't make complete fools of ourselves!" Cavanagh laughed. "Getting caught was one way to ensure that come the end of term your father would take you home via a little detour to one of the best brothels in London. Of course some of us did it just because we liked it, but we didn't tell that to our fathers!"
"Well my father would never have understood. He runs my life and has it all mapped out. He'd never understand that I..." Smith trailed off and looked away.
"That you're not interested in girls? Is that it?" Cavanagh ask softly. When Smith didn't answer he continued on regardless. "Most lads your age find themselves attracted to one of their friends at some time or other. But as you get older things will change. Once you meet some women you'll feel differently."
Smith gave Cavanagh a penetrating gaze. "But you're still interested in boys and men! You and George and all those other men that Dick goes with."
Sharpe watched as Cavanagh turned a pretty shade of pink. "Well yes, but.."
"But some men aren't interested in women?" Smith finished hopefully and Cavanagh conceded that with a reluctant nod of his head.
"James, what were you going to do last night, on the settee?" The question had been plaguing Smith since first George Seymour and then later Dick Sharpe had made their accusations. "Was George right?"
Well that was to the point, Sharpe thought, and he looked back at Cavanagh and waited to see what the fair-haired man would say.
Cavanagh coughed and chewed his lip and brushed at some imaginary dust on his breeches. "Well that IS what I went to George's house thinking. You see he sent me a note saying he had brought home two boys." Cavanagh hesitated and looked up at Josh, finally meeting his eyes. "He meant whores of course, he's done that a few times before." His blue eyes flicked to Sharpe as he said that. "So you see I thought that you knew what I wanted. I thought you were just playing along with me. That it was sort of a game. Do you understand?"
Josh considered the reply. "Yes, but why did you want to do that? It doesn't sound like it would be very nice." Smith frowned, thinking of what he had seen Sharpe doing in the alley.
There was silence for a moment as Cavanagh thought about Smith's words making sure he understood. "Do you mean making love? You don't like it?"
"That's not what Dick or George called it. I saw what Dick did in the alley when he was looking after me. He didn't look like he liked it very much. And George BIT him the first time and made his ear bleed! He has bruises all over him now. Tell him Dick."
But Sharpe didn't reply. He leveled his gaze at Cavanagh, waiting.
Cavanagh scratched his head and looked out the window. "Well it doesn't have to be like that," he stressed. "It can be very enjoyable if you do it the right way. If you show a bit care." He turned back to Josh and smiled "You seemed to be enjoying what we were doing or am I wrong?"
A slow blush spread over Smith's pale cheeks and he dropped his eyes, dark lashes fluttering. "No, I liked it. I liked it very much."
"Well the rest of it can be like that too, for both partners." Once more he looked at Sharpe as if seeking confirmation, but Sharpe just snorted. It was a challenge, one that Cavanagh seized.
"Go on, say you've never enjoyed it! Tell Josh you never get anything out of it! That you've never had any pleasure from it."
"There's no pleasure to be had when yer his age." Sharpe tilted his head towards Smith. "But you wouldn't know that! If yer did yer'd be honest with him instead of putting notions in his head."
They stared at each other for several minutes until finally James Cavanagh dropped his gaze. "Dick's right Josh." He leaned over, resting his arms on his knees, his voice quiet and subdued. "You're too young. If you tried to do it now you'd just get hurt. Wait a few years until you get older."
With one final look at Sharpe, Cavanagh sat up and rested his head again the back of the seat and closed his eyes.
But Josh had more questions. "So you do like it sometimes Dick?" he asked eagerly.
"Not bloody often." Sharpe mumbled. "No bastard bothers to take his time or 'show a bit of caring' when he's paying for it." He glared at Cavanagh, but the fair lashes remained closed.
This statement did not impress Smith. "But why do you do it then? If it's that bad why don't you find another job?"
There was no easy answer to that! How could Sharpe explain his life to someone who had probably never gone hungry; never been beaten, never... He shrugged.
"There's nothing else I can do." He slumped against the side of the carriage and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. "Jobs ain't easy to come by. I ain't got no schooling like you. I have no trade. I do a bit of thieving but if they catch you thieving they hang you or send you to the colonies. At least yer can usually strike a deal if yer a whore." Sharpe stared back at Smith's bright eyes. "You'll see Josh. Finding work's hard."
"Oh no! I'm going to find employment. Truly I am." Smith declared.
"Well I'll give you some advice." Cavanagh opened his eyes and sat up. "If you don't find anything in Sheffield by market day go to Pond Lane. There is usually a Sergeant recruiting there for the 33rd Regiment. Now you'd have to enlist in the ranks Josh, but at least you'd be off the streets. You'd have food and clothing and a bed to sleep in. Far better than the alternative."
At those words Sharpe turned back to the window.
"Is that your Regiment, James?" Smith asked hopefully changing seats to sit next to Cavanagh. Perhaps the army was an option to explore.
Cavanagh gave a little laugh. "No, and you wouldn't want to join mine, because George is our Major and I don't think he'd be too pleased to see you again." Cavanagh sat back again and closed his eyes.
"Perhaps you could enlist too, Dick?" Smith murmured as he settled back beside Cavanagh and leaned his head against the broad shoulder. Cavanagh smiled and slipped his arm around Smith. "There's an idea Dick. Why don't you think about it."
Sharpe took one last look at the two men opposite him, before closing his own eyes. "I might," he whispered.
Part 13
They stopped that night in Leicester at a small coaching house. Smith wrinkled his nose as they stood on the threshold making Sharpe wonder if perhaps Cavanagh had chosen this particular establishment because it was below his usual standard and so was less likely to be recognised. To Sharpe's eyes it looked clean and comfortable and the proprietor looked honest. Cavanagh ordered two rooms, one for his 'nephew' and one for himself. The grey-haired man frowned and raised his eyebrows clearly indicating that he didn't believe Cavanagh's story.
"There's a room for your boy and driver out the back of the stables, Mr Cavanagh." The proprietor added and Sharpe made a mental note of James' last name.
"Thank you, but the lad will stay with us. Bring the bags up will you Dick?"
Sharpe wondered if he had now been relegated to the role of servant and was therefore surprised when Cavanagh told him to come along to the dining room and eat with himself and Josh. The meal was lamb stew served with dumplings, simple but delicious. Sharpe resisted the urge to ask for a spoon and struggled instead with his knife and fork.
The large room was mostly empty, a fact the seemed to please Cavanagh. He relaxed and after they had finished eating, ordered them each a glass of brandy and lit a cigar for himself.
"Should we make Sheffield by tomorrow?" Josh asked as he sipped away at his brandy. He was getting quite a taste for it.
"Hopefully, if the roads are good. We made good time today. We may not get there until late but don't worry, I'll put you up for another night. I wouldn't turn you out into the dark." Cavanagh smiled at Josh who smiled back.
Sharpe sipped the brandy, carefully, watching the firelight play on Cavanagh's fair hair.
"So what's it like in the army? Is the pay any good?" Cavanagh stared at Sharpe as though he'd forgotten he was there. He took a long draw on his cigar before speaking. "Er, well, I think it's sixpence a day in the ranks. Something like that, but they take out stoppages. It's different for Officers of course."
"Sixpence? Christ I could make that in less than an hour!" Sharpe muttered in disgust.
"I'm sure you could Dick, but it sounds to me like you don't particularly enjoy the line of work that you are in right now." Cavanagh smiled politely and let his eyes travel back to Smith.
Sharpe watched Cavanagh as he listened to Smith talking on about army uniforms and the different hats the Regiments wore. There was thinly disguised longing in the fair-haired man's eyes. For all James Cavanagh's words, he still wanted what he couldn't have. But there was more to it than just lust, there was affection hiding there too. That was the controlling force that dictated Cavanagh's actions. Smith finally noticed the look and smiled broadly but Cavanagh looked away. "Well, best we turn in." he said quickly as he swallowed the last of his brandy and stubbed out his cigar.
Once more Sharpe trailed up the steps behind the other two. Watching, listening, unsure of what was expected of him. It was Smith this time who stood in the hallway looking at Cavanagh, waiting perhaps for an invitation that never came. "Goodnight Josh. I'll arrange for a bath in the morning if you like? We should have time."
The blue eyes turned to Dick and looked him up and down quickly. "Perhaps you'd like one too Dick? I'll see you in the morning." Cavanagh walked off to his own room leaving the boys standing in the hallway watching his retreating figure in silence.
Their room was small and the bed was small and as Smith once more changed into his nightshirt, Sharpe wondered if he should sleep in his clothes of simply strip.
"There's one here for you too, Dick. James packed it." Smith held up the nightshirt that Sharpe had worn previously.
"Bloody Hell! Yer didn't let him go to yer bag did yer? He might have taken me money!" The previous evening Dick had given Smith not only the payment he'd received from Seymour but had slipped him his savings and picklock as well. Later, at Cavanagh's place they had agreed to leave them hidden in the bottom of Josh's bag whilst they were traveling. "It's all right Dick. It's all here, look."
After ascertaining that his valuables were indeed safe, Sharpe sat down on the edge of the bed and undressed.
"You still don't trust him do you?" Josh asked. "He's taking us all the way to Sheffield in a hired coach, paying for our rooms and meals and he hasn't once made an...improper.... proposal to either of us but you still don't trust him!" Smith frowned and put his hands on his hips. "I simply don't understand you Dick!"
Sharpe struggled into the nightshirt, feeling strangely foolish. He shrugged, "Don't do to trust anyone Josh, you'll learn." He slipped into bed and Smith blew out the candle.
"Well I trust you Dick. Do you trust me?" The question took Sharpe by surprise. He wasn't used to thinking to deeply about how or why he felt the way he did, but as he thought over Smith's words he realised that he did trust Smith to some extent. Oh, he wouldn't trust him to keep out of trouble, but Sharpe trusted him not to hurt him on purpose or do wrong by him. Sharpe smiled to himself, he trusted Smith with his money and that certainly said much.
"Yeah I trust you Joshy," he finally replied quietly. Smith wiggled a little closer.
"Dick? Do you think that James would like the thing that I was doing with William?"
Sharpe opened his eyes, knowing this was a conversation they would have to have sooner or later.
"What you did on the cheese lounge?" Sharpe asked oblivious to his mistake.
"Yes, do you think James might like to do that if I asked him. I know he likes kissing, but...the ...the touching? I'd like him to do that I think. That wouldn't hurt would it?"
Sharpe turned onto his side and frowned at the big dark eyes that were waiting for Sharpe's approval.
"Josh, yer hardly know him! Yer got to be careful. There's no telling what he might decide to do once he got yer alone." Would the boy ever believe him, Dick wondered? Josh Smith was going to get himself into trouble one day and nothing Sharpe told him would do any good.
"But Dick, I really liked it when he was kissing me, it made me feel all.....warm and I keep thinking about it and he was looking at me tonight and I just wanted to... I'm never going to get to sleep because all I can think about is..." Smith leaned forward suddenly and kissed Sharpe on the lips.
Innocent was the word that sprang to his mind as Josh kissed him, innocent kisses. Sharpe kissed him back gently, not pushing, not sure what Smith intended but guessing what he needed.
"Oh Dick, I want..." but Smith didn't know quite what he wanted, only that he felt an aching need inside of himself.
"Shh it's all right, I know." Sharpe whispered and kissed Smith again. What did it matter if it was Cavanagh who Smith was thinking of, Cavanagh whom he'd rather be doing this with. At least Sharpe was doing this for the right reasons; not for money, but because Josh was his friend and this would keep him out of trouble for one more night.
Small hands slid onto his chest and slipped around his waist and Sharpe reached up to run his hand through Smith's hair again, remembering the feel of it around his fingers.
Almost without thinking, Sharpe rolled onto his back and Smith wiggled closer, warm and eager, rubbing himself against Sharpe's leg. They stopped kissing for a moment to catch their breath and Sharpe ran his hand casually down Smith's side to his hip, resting it there for a moment before dropping it down between them.
"Do you want me to do this Josh? Like you did with William?" Sharpe asked as his hand slid down to lightly touch Smith's erection through his nightshirt. "Yes please." Smith answered, his breath fluttering against Sharpe's skin and he hoisted his nightshirt to give Sharpe better access.
It was over quickly, leaving Sharpe with a sticky hand. It didn't seem right to wipe it on the clean white nightshirt so he settled for the sheets. Smith snuggled up against him again. "Go to sleep now Joshy." Sharpe whispered. "But what about you?" Smith's little hands went searching. "I know you wouldn't hurt me Dick, not you."
It would be easy to take Smith, to roll him over and do whatever he wanted. It would be good too, because Sharpe had never done this although he'd thought about it often enough. Sometimes he'd get a customer who wanted it that way, but O'Malley had always taken those jobs. "If the bugger's paying to have it done then he wants it done right!" O'Malley had declared. "Yer wouldn't know the first thing about it." Sharpe disagreed with this because he'd certainly experienced it often enough from the other end. Besides how was he supposed to get any experience if he never got to do it! He'd suggested this to O'Malley one night in their bed but O'Malley had clipped him around the ear, pushed his face into the mattress and showed him just what he thought of that idea.
He kissed Josh again and took a hold of Smith's hand to show him the right rhythm. "This is just fine Joshy." Sharpe whispered as he closed his eyes and wished he was still innocent enough to enjoy something so simple.
Part 14
A light knock on the door woke Sharpe and Smith the next morning and they hurriedly untangled themselves as James Cavanagh entered the room.
"I thought you'd be awake by now." he explained as he sat on the edge of the bed. Josh Smith looked at Sharpe and giggled. Dick Sharpe simply turned red.
Sometime during the night Smith had again woken Sharpe with kisses and touches and this time they had shared a more mutual pleasure. "This is what the older boys at school do, I think." Josh explained as they held each other and touched each other and kissed. Sharpe felt almost giddy from the adolescent fumbling and decided that perhaps he could still enjoy the pleasure to be found in this. They'd laughed and tickled each other and never once did Sharpe think of showing Smith any of the more exotic techniques that he knew, content with the simplicity and honesty that Smith offered. They had finally fallen asleep amid a tangled of arms and legs and twisted nightshirts, tired but content.
Now as he looked into the blue eyes of James Cavanagh, Sharpe felt guilty.
"There's a hip bath full of warm water in my room Josh if you would like to wash?" Cavanagh smiled, ignoring the guilty looks on the two boys' faces.
There was a flash of white legs and nightshirt as Smith leapt out of the bed. "Oh good, I do like to wash in the morning." He picked up his clothes and bag and disappeared out the door leaving Sharpe to face Cavanagh alone.
"I didn't touch him." Sharpe said quickly and was surprised when Cavanagh gave a small laugh and grinned at him. "Well I did touch him, but only because he wanted me to and it was only fooling around, yer know, nothing to it. Just a bit of a feel, that's all." Sharpe wondered if his face was flaming.
"Dick, it's all right! There's nothing to explain. Josh is all curiosity. He's at an age where he is just discovering what it's all about. Boys all around the country are doing the same thing." Cavanagh let the smile slide from his face. "Didn't you ever fool around like that when you were his age?"
The blue eyes were too clever, too astute and Sharpe knew they would see through any lie. He simply shook his head.
"How long have you been on the streets Dick?" The question was a simple one and yet Sharpe felt his heart start to pound in his chest. "Since I was twelve." There was a flash of something like pity in Cavanagh's eyes as he leaned back a little and pulled one long leg up to rest on the top of the bed.
"Did you ever think about going home to your family? You must have found out quickly enough what you were in for."
"I didn't have a family!" Sharpe said defensively "I was raised in a foundling home!"
Cavanagh looked away, giving Sharpe time to compose himself. "I see." Those two words seemed to sum up James Cavanagh's whole perception of Dick Sharpe and his short sad life.
"Do you know how old Josh is?" Cavanagh asked taking Sharpe by surprise with the change in subject. He pulled at the counterpane and shrugged "He told me he was sixteen, but I'd say he's about thirteen."
"He's fourteen," Cavanagh said looking back at Sharpe, "but he does look younger. The thing is, even if he finds work, he still has to find a place to live and he has to look after himself. He has always had servants to do that for him. He will never manage on his own."
Sharpe wiggled a bit wondering where the conversation was leading.
"What will happen when you arrive in Sheffield? Do you plan on looking after him there or will you go your separate ways?"
Sharpe blinked. "Me?" He hadn't really thought about what would happen when they reached Sheffield. He had some vague idea of finding a new patch to work, but Smith hadn't been in his plans at all. "I don't know what I'll do."
Cavanagh uncurled his leg and stood up. "All the more reason why you should encourage Josh to join up. At least in the army he will be well looked after. They feed you, clothe you and give you a place to sleep." Cavanagh walked to the door. "He'll listen to you, Dick."
"Here! Where are you going?" Sharpe jumped out of the bed, his legs tangled in the nightshirt and stumbled towards Cavanagh. Josh Smith was happily ensconced in a tub of full of water in James Cavanagh's room, naked and defenseless and Dick Sharpe wasn't going to let this man out of his sight.
But once more Cavanagh laughed and shook his head. "Oh Dick! Don't worry, I'm not going to steal Josh's virtue! I'm going down to breakfast. Why don't you get dressed and join me."
It rained most of that day making the countryside grey and uninteresting. The coach rolled along, it's occupants warm and dry if somewhat bored. After lunch, Josh Smith went to sleep, his head resting in James Cavanagh's lap.
"George can be a rough bastard when he wants to be." Cavanagh said softly, his fingers lightly stoking the tumble of black curls spread out across his thighs.
Sharpe raised an eyebrow at the question and Cavanagh let his eyes fall to where Sharpe's neck showed through his open collar revealing the bruises that were slowly fading. "Did he ...hurt you...at all? Sometimes he likes that."
"Not really, I've had worse." Sharpe replied. Much worse he thought to himself. He looked at Cavanagh waiting for him to continue. He could tell that the fair-haired man had something more to say.
"You'd do well to avoid him if your paths should ever cross again." Cavanagh looked down at the sleeping figure in his lap and then back up. "I know what you meant when you said Josh was too young to enjoy it." There was a slight tremor in Cavanagh's voice. "I've known George since I was thirteen. You see, I had a friend at school who I would stay with sometimes in the holidays. George was a friend of his Uncle's and they were often there visiting as well. They would tell the most interesting stories about the war in the Americas. I could listen for hours." Cavanagh licked his lips and continued. "George used to spend a lot of time talking to me, singling me out. I was flattered and quite enthralled with the attention he gave me. When I was fourteen he started coming to my room at night. He'd just sit on the bed talking but there was something thrilling about it. When he finally told me what he wanted to do with me, I was excited by it all, his kisses, his touches, I thought I wanted it too." Cavanagh turned away and looked out the window at the rain. "I wasn't so sure afterwards thought, but it was too late then. It took years before I finally grew old enough to tell him 'no' and make him see that I meant it."
Sharpe stared at the profile of the man in front of him, shocked by the admissions he had just heard. He had always imagined that things like that only happened to boys in his situation, in institutions or on the streets. Yet here was a young man, a gentleman, who had suffered the very same thing. Dick Sharpe suddenly felt something stir inside him as he looked at James Cavanagh, something warm and soft and comforting. Perhaps he and James Cavanagh had something in common. The blues eyes looked back and caught Sharpe staring. A sad smile appeared on the red lips.
"So you see Dick, I do understand why you don't like it, but I want you to know that it doesn't have to be like that. One day you'll find someone, someone who cares and who'll take the time and they'll make you feel much better about it all, feel good about it. Not just the physical side but the whole thing." Cavanagh brushed idly at Smith's hair again. "But you have to stop selling yourself Dick. Stop it while you still can. Because you can't keep going like you are. Get out while you still have something of yourself left. Don't leave it until it's too late."
The blue eyes took on a soft look, a gentle look and it had been far too long since anyone had looked at Dick Sharpe like that. He'd spent years trying to harden himself and telling himself that he didn't care about anyone else, it was the only way to survive. But now as he gazed back at Cavanagh he felt shocked to find that it wasn't true.
"Aye," he replied softly. It seemed the right thing to say although Sharpe had no idea how to go about it.
Sharpe's Choice
Part 15
"Please Dick, just for a while?" Josh Smith whispered hurriedly across the table to Dick Sharpe as they sat waiting for James Cavanagh to join them. "Just wait here for a while when James and I go up. I just want to talk to him alone, that's all." The dark eyes pleaded and Sharpe looked away, an unfamiliar feeling stirring inside. "I trust him Dick! Why don't you."
On the other side of the room Cavanagh was once again paying the innkeeper for their food and lodgings. It was late by the time they had arrived in Sheffield, but Cavanagh seemed to know his way around and gave the driver specific directions on where to stop. Once more the establishment was a step below those usually frequented by Gentlemen.
"All right then," Sharpe said resignedly. What difference would it make after all? If Josh Smith wanted to get into trouble, then it was his own business. Sharpe had done all he could, perhaps it was time that he let Josh see for himself.
As they sat eating, Smith chatted on again, wide awake because he had slept for most of the afternoon. Cavanagh hid a yawn and listened politely while Dick Sharpe stared into the fire and wondered where tomorrow night would find him.
Was this to be the last night that he slept in a comfortable bed? Was this to be the last hot meal he ate? Although it had been less than three days since meeting James Cavanagh, the man had shown Dick a glimpse of a different life and Sharpe felt a strange reluctance to let it go. Regular meals, good company, a warm dry bed and even the innocent fun he had shared with Josh had broken down the defenses that Sharpe had spent the last four years constructing. But come tomorrow it would all end, and Dick Sharpe, for the first time in his life wanted something more.
"Are you coming Dick?" Cavanagh asked and Sharpe stared up at the fair-haired man standing over him. "It's getting late and we're going up."
"Er, no, not yet. I want to ask around a bit, find out the lay of the place for tomorrow." A flicker of doubt passed through Cavanagh's eyes but he nodded and left, Josh Smith close by his side.
Sharpe thought about ordering another brandy, but now that Cavanagh had left he doubted the landlord would give him one with out first paying. It was clear he was only a servant, albeit a privileged one and no landlord was going to put his drinks on his master's tab. His own savings were still in Josh's bag and with that though he began to wonder what would happen to the dark-haired boy come tomorrow.
Well maybe that all depended on what happened to him tonight! Sharpe looked towards the stairs and wondered what was taking place up there. Maybe Cavanagh would keep Josh with him somehow, get him a commission in his Regiment. He certainly seemed to like him so maybe after this he wouldn't let him go?
Sharpe rested his head on his arms and thought about what it would be like to have someone feel like that about you, to be wanted and needed like that.
But what if Cavanagh didn't want Smith in the morning, what then? Not only would Smith be on the streets again, but on the streets with a broken heart. There would be little hope for him. Sharpe had seen it too many times before. Young lads and girls, heartbroken, with nothing left, slowly letting their lives waste away day after day, because they had nothing to live for.
Well it wouldn't happen to Josh, Sharpe decided. He stood and went upstairs.
There was a pale glow of candlelight showing under the door of the room he was to share with Smith and it made Sharpe hesitate. Surely Cavanagh would take Josh to his own room if that was what he was intending? But perhaps Smith had been the one to do the seducing? Sharpe frowned. He raised his fist to knock and then dropped it again feeling foolish. If they were in there should he disturb them? Was it really his place to act as Smith's guardian? Perhaps it would be best to check Cavanagh's room first.
There was no light or sound from Cavanagh's room. The door stood firmly closed. Well there was one way to be sure, Sharpe thought and he raised his hand and lightly knocked.
"I told you before Joshua..." The door was pulled open and James Cavanagh stood in the darkness, hair loose, shirt unbuttoned. "Oh it's you Dick, what do you want?" The anger was gone, the eyes softening even as Sharpe watched.
Confusion filled Sharpe's mind and he found himself at a loss for words.
"I was looking for you." Well, that was partially true, he was looking for Smith but it was more than obvious that Smith was down in his own room safe and sound.
Cavanagh smiled. "Oh, I thought perhaps you might have been checking up on your little friend. Did you know what he had planned tonight?"
"I'm not his keeper! I told him all I could and it's his own business if he doesn't listen to me." He didn't have to defend himself to this man, but more than anything Sharpe wanted Cavanagh's good opinion.
"I know Dick, I'm sorry. But he's a persistent little thing if nothing else and I'm only human after all." The last was said with a wistful look down the hall towards Smith's door.
"So do yer want me to stay with yer?" It was because he owed Cavanagh, Sharpe told himself, owed him for the food and the bed and everything else that he'd shared with Sharpe. But deep down he wondered if perhaps this fair-haired handsome stranger was somehow different to all the others, even O'Malley. Perhaps he really could work magic with his hands and take away all of the hurt that Sharpe had ever felt and replace it with something far, far better.
"Dick.." his name was a sigh and the hand that reached out to him, touched first the bruise that still showed on his cheek before softly brushing at the hair that hung into his eyes. "I told you before, there was no payment expected for this."
"I don't mind. You've been good to us, real good to Josh and all. I don't mind." It was as close as Sharpe could come to asking for this. That would be too hard, would show too much of himself and leave himself open to hurt.
"If you really want to then I'm not going to stop you like I just stopped Josh. God knows it was all I could do to say no to him when he was holding tight to me. But think about it for a minute Dick. I'm giving you a choice! You've probably never had that before." The hand was back at his cheek, the thumb gently rubbing. "You don't have to do this. You are free to walk away Dick. The choice is yours."
Did Cavanagh really mean it? The words said one thing but the caress said another. It was obvious that Cavanagh wanted him or at least what he had to offer. Dick could read it in look in his eyes, the way he stood, even his breathing. Would Cavanagh really let him walk away if that was what he chose?
"Goodnight then, I'll see yer in the morning." The hand slowly retreated and Cavanagh smiled gently again. "Goodnight Dick. Sleep well."
Smith was tucked up in bed, the candle still burning when Sharpe quietly entered the room.
"Oh Dick, James is such a Gentlemen. I told you, there was nothing to worry about." Smith sat up with a smile and watched as Sharpe reluctantly undresses in front of him. He was confused by what had just taken place. On one hand he wanted Cavanagh in a way that was new and unfamiliar to him. It had something to do with physical pleasure, but that was just the beginning. One the other hand Cavanagh had given him a choice and Sharpe had walked away from the very thing he thought he wanted. Now he was left wondering why he had made that decision and was it really worth it?
And what of James Cavanagh? Why had he given Sharpe the opportunity to change his mind? The offer had been genuine, he wasn't doing anything against his will and Cavanagh didn't even have to pay. What motive was behind Cavanagh's move?
"You know Dick, I think I love him." Smith was still prattling on, "He said if I go back to school and stay there, he would come to visit me when he was in Oxford and he would write to me if he was sent away."
"You're going home?" The words penetrated Sharpe's thinking as he was about to blow out the candle. "I'm thinking about it. James said I need only wait about two years and I could ask my father to buy me an Ensign's Commission. I could try to get into James' Regiment. Wouldn't that be grand?"
The room was plunged into darkness and Sharpe slipped in beside Smith who immediately moved closer. "And of course William is an Ensign now too. I might even meet up with him, although I don't think I'll forgive him for blaming me, but then again, maybe he's missing me and he's sorry for what he said. Maybe James could find out where he is and look him up. I must tell him about William tomorrow."
Sharpe listened to the never-ending patter as Smith snuggled against his shoulder. At least the boy seemed to have made up his mind about what to do tomorrow. That was one less thing Sharpe would have to concern himself with.
"Well I'm glad for yer Josh," he whispered quietly against the dark hair. "Yer'll be better off back at school."
"What about you Dick? What are you going to do?" Smith's fingers played with the small pearl button on the front opening of Sharpe's nightshirt.
"Oh I don't know Joshy, I'll have a look around for a bit, see what I can find. I never been out of London before, although I was told I was born in Yorkshire somewhere, but me mother went to London and that's where she left me." It suddenly occurred to Sharpe that he might even have family up here somewhere. Maybe a father, although there would be no way of ever finding him.
"I'll miss you Dick, maybe you should come with us?"
"What! To bloody school?" Sharpe gave a sour laugh. "And do what?"
"Well the school has lads who work around the place. The gardens, the kitchens, I'm sure there would be something you could do. They don't mix with us of course, but I could wave at you from time to time."
Smith couldn't know that the words would hurt, Sharpe told himself. And when the kisses started and Smith told him what he wanted again, Sharpe knew there was no reason to feel like he was being used. But somehow he did.
Part 16
"You really should have a bath too Dick," Smith called back from the doorway the following morning. "I'll try not to be too long this time and save you some of the hot water."
James Cavanagh turned back to Dick Sharpe and smiled. "I don't trust him, do you?" The words were said as a joke and Sharpe gave a reluctant smile. Smith had spent so long in the bath the previous morning that the water was stone cold by the time Sharpe came to use it.
James Cavanagh sat himself down on the end of the bed as he had the previous day and tilted his head. "What's wrong Dick? Are you worried about Josh?"
"No! He said he was thinking about going back to school and I'm real happy. Will yer take him back?" Sharpe watched Cavanagh as the older man stretched out across the end of the bed and leaned on his elbow.
"I'm pleased he's given it some thought. I really didn't think he'd even consider it last night particularly when I'd just turned him down." Cavanagh's eyes sparkled and he winked at Sharpe. "But if he agrees to go back then I'll certainly take him." Cavanagh's long fingers traced across the worn quilt on the bed until they came to Sharpe's toes. They danced back and forward across the tops idly as if Cavanagh were unaware of what he was doing until Sharpe wiggled them.
"Sorry, ticklish?" Cavanagh asked withdrawing his hand.
"No." Sharpe replied, wishing Cavanagh would touch him again. Cavanagh liked touching. He was always reaching out, smoothing, patting, caressing. Even last night. Perhaps that was the way he communicated. Some men used words, some used looks, Cavanagh used touch and with this discovery Dick Sharpe knew what James Cavanagh was for. No amount of words would tell him that Sharpe wanted this. That would only be conveyed if Sharpe made the first move, if Sharpe was the one to reach out to Cavanagh.
Most men Sharpe usually went with knew exactly what they wanted and either told him or showed him, straight and to the point. He wasn't used to making the first move.
Slowly and deliberately Dick Sharpe leaned forward and ran his fingers across Cavanagh's lips. He held his breath, waiting to see if Cavanagh would respond this time.
"Dick, I didn't mean for you to think..." But Sharpe crawled out onto the top of the bed and kissed Cavanagh lightly, silencing him. "I want to do this," he whispered, his voice trembling.
Strong arms reached out and pulled him closer, soft lips met his own and covered them with kisses and Dick Sharpe surrendered himself body and soul to James Cavanagh.
In very little time Sharpe found himself on his back, his nightshirt hauled off along with Cavanagh's coat and shirt and his breath coming in hard gasps as Cavanagh's experienced hands and mouth explored his body. He lost track of time as he was whirled along in a rush of passion only pausing when he felt Cavanagh's fingers preparing him and he tried to roll over.
"No stay there, like that. It's all right, I won't hurt you." Cavanagh gasped out.
"But don't yer want me to kneel up or something?" Sharpe asked desperately, wondering what Cavanagh had in mind.
"No like this, on your back. Haven't you done it like this before?"
Sharpe shook his head. Most times he didn't even get to lay down. He suddenly wondered where he should look? At Cavanagh perhaps, into those blue eyes? Maybe it would be better if he just closed his own. It would be safer that way.
But something in Cavanagh's gaze held him, wouldn't let him look away and he watched as the blues eyes changed subtly as their bodies joined. Watched as Cavanagh smiled down at him as they rocked together. Watched as he felt himself swaying on the edge of ecstasy, not wanting to let go before the man above him. Finally the blue eyes glazed over as Cavanagh slid into orgasm and Sharpe closed his eyes ready to join him.
"How could you!" The small high voice broke through the hot fog that clouded Sharpe's senses and brought him rudely back to reality. "How could you do this!"
"Dammit." Cavanagh gasped and pulled away, breathing hard. That door slammed shut but Sharpe lay there hanging in a kind of limbo, his body still screaming for satisfaction.
"I'm sorry Dick." Cavanagh murmured pulling up his trousers from around his ankles. His boots were still on.
"But?" Sharpe said, wanting to ask him if he could just finish this first.
"You'd best get dress. I'll go down and talk to Josh."
Sharpe lay there for a few moments thinking over what had happened. There could be no doubt that Josh Smith had seen what they were doing. But just who had he been shouting at, Dick, Cavanagh or the both of them. Maybe it would be better if Josh blamed him, at least that way he might still agree to go home to Oxford with Cavanagh. Sharpe could say he seduced Cavanagh and the sad thing was that Smith would probably believe him.
Sharpe rubbed at his face. It was sweat that he wiped away, he told himself, nothing more.
They were sitting at a small table in the corner when Sharpe arrived. Smith's eyes were red, his face was wet and his bag was clutched tightly in his lap. On the table was the small pile of Sharpe's belongings, coins, picklock and the battered flask. Brown eyes flicked up at him then looked away when Sharpe sat down.
"I wish you'd reconsider Josh. I'll still take you to Oxford." Cavanagh said quietly, but Smith didn't answer.
"It was my fault Josh, I did it. I wanted to see if it was as good as he said."
Cavanagh looked up at Sharpe quickly, dismay in his eyes. Smith just stared and frowned. "Well I'll go pack my things then, I can see I'm not going to change your mind." Cavanagh rose and left the table. Perhaps he was hoping Sharpe might have more luck on his own.
"How could you Dick! I thought we were friends. I told you I loved him and you turn around and..and..do that!" Smith clearly was at a loss for what to call it. "You're disgusting!"
"Well it was all right for yer to fool around with me last night! What's the bloody difference? I don't see one!" Sharpe felt angry, angry and sad and disappointed in life.
If there was an answer to that Smith didn't know it. He stood up, bag in hand. "Goodbye Dick." Without a backwards glance Josh Smith walked out the door and into the Sheffield rain.
Should he go after him? Sharpe sat at the table and hurriedly hid his coins and picklock in his worn jacket, while he tried to decide what to do. James was still upstairs, perhaps he should wait and speak to him. He wondered briefly if Cavanagh had ordered them breakfast and then cursed himself for getting soft. Instead he opened the battered flask and took a mouthful of the rough liquor to remind him of what he had ahead. It was not a comforting thought.
"Has he gone?" Sharpe looked up and nodded and Cavanagh let out a sigh. "Well I suppose I should be on my way too." Cavanagh reached into his pocket and for one horrid moment Sharpe thought he was going to give him money, payment for services rendered. But instead James Cavanagh withdrew a small sheet of folded paper and handed it to Sharpe.
"That has my name and regiment on it Dick. In case you ever..." He paused and looked away. "Well, in case you ever...need me." Sharpe stared at the paper then back at Cavanagh but the fair-haired man wouldn't meet his eyes. "Goodbye then, Dick, do take care, won't you."
"Yes, goodbye and thank you." Dick replied softly as he watched James Cavanagh walk out of his life.
Part 17
Sheffield was wet and grey and much colder than London. The streets were strange, but Dick Sharpe got the feel of them very quickly. There were things to look out for if you knew how to find them. There was a feeling to certain places, an aura that the very cobblestones gave out and it led Dick Sharpe like a compass to the darker side of town.
By day the alleys and haunts looks harmless enough if you kept out of the shadows, the inhabitants rough but cautious. But with the falling night came a new breed of denizens, the cut-purses and whores, drunks and deviants who gathered around the inns, gaming houses, and brothels.
It was just on dusk when Dick Sharpe spotted a familiar figure walking slowly towards him in the falling rain. His shoulders were stooped, his wet curls looked more like snakes trailing on his shoulders. His bag was clutched tightly to him with his two small hands.
Josh Smith stopped and stared, not sure whether to walk on past or turn around. He was hopelessly lost and wet through to the skin.
"Where are yer going?" Dick asked knowing he'd regret this but unable to stand by and do nothing. Smith shrugged, a hopeless gesture that conveyed more than any words.
"Yer shouldn't be down here yer know. You should have stayed up town a bit. It's safer up there." Sharpe walked closer and Smith looked away.
"I don't know where 'up town' is. I don't know where I am." Smith looked back and his words came tumbling out like the tears that ran from his eyes. "Oh Dick I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should never have said those things to you. I was jealous. That's all. I was jealous that James wanted you and not me. I'm sorry."
Sharpe put his arm around Smith and could feel the boy shivering from the cold. "James didn't really want me. He wanted you but he didn't want to hurt you so he used me instead. That's all it was." The lie came easily to his lips because Sharpe half believed it to be true. What did it matter now anyway.
"Well now lads, yer looking for a bit of company tonight by any chance?"
Sharpe turned to face the man who spoke, reply ready on his lips but stopped when he saw the red coat and black shako. The man was a soldier, a corporal if Sharpe read the stripes on his arm correctly. His thoughts went to James Cavanagh but he knew there was no connection.
"Maybe," he replied cautiously. "What did yer have in mind." The soldier told him in no uncertain terms and Sharpe named his price. Never turn down an offer had been O'Malley's motto. All the more so now as he had Smith to look after as well.
"In here then and make it quick, I'm supposed to be duty." The soldier led Sharpe into a dark recess beside a stone wall where crates and other refuse had been dumped.
"You stay there Joshy, just there," Sharpe deposited Smith in the shadows nearby where he wouldn't be seen. It was close, too close but Sharpe didn't want to let the boy out of his sight. Anything could happen to him now that it was dark. "Now turn away and don't look, all right. And block yer ears if yer want to."
Smith said nothing, simply followed Sharpe's directions and leaned wearily against the wall. The elation he had felt only yesterday had been horribly snatched away. No matter how hard he tried, he could not understand why James Cavanagh had refused him and turned instead to Dick Sharpe.
He peered over his shoulder quickly to see Sharpe at work once again. It was all to do with this! This thing, in it's myriad forms, that men would pay money for, would lie for, would use force for. It could be bought and sold or simply given away. It could bring pain or pleasure. And it was denied to him because they said he was too young! What mystery, what secret were they really trying to hide from him? Well he'd show them all. He wasn't afraid and he'd find out as soon as he was able!
"Corporal Halsey, get your pants up and get yer arse out here or I'll have the skin off yer back." The shrill voice made Josh jump and sink further into the shadows where he couldn't be seen.
"Yer getting above yerself Halsey, yer supposed to be finding whores to bring in men, not fuckin' em." The newcomer was a Sergeant, a short man whose face commenced to twitch when he saw Dick Sharpe step out of the shadows still buttoning his trousers. "A bleeding lad too Halsey. It ain't natural the things you do. Say so in the scriptures!"
The Sergeant looked at Sharpe as one would look at a cockroach just before it was crushed. "Yer dirty little bugger. It's lad's like you who make their mothers weep. Filth is what you are! Filth." The Sergeant spat on the ground.
"I ain't got no mother." Sharpe spat back. Normally he would have let the remark pass, but there was something about the Sergeant that touched a chord in Sharpe like a spark to gunpowder. He looked into the crazed eyes and he felt a deep-seated hate.
"Ain't got no bleeding mother. Well there it is! Yer put her in her grave, didn't yer. You put her in her grave by yer whoring. That's what yer did." The face was twitching uncontrollably now, looking almost comic but for the hatred that showed in the faded blue eyes.
"Yer'll burn in hell boy, burn in hell. You ever read the scriptures boy? Cause it tells yer there but you'd be too busy selling yer arse to know that."
Sharpe turned away knowing the Sergeant was touched by madness. It was useless arguing with him.
"Now march Halsey, right back to Plunkett Street and see what yer can find there. And remember I got eyes in the back of me head and I know what you're getting up to." His voice could be heard long after he had walked away.
"Crazy bbugger!" Sharpe muttered as he pocketed that the coin the Corporal had given him and turned to Smith who still waited hidden in the shadows. "Come on, let's see if we can find somewhere warm for you."
A doorway off a narrow street was the only shelter to be found from the rain that continued to fall. They sat together, Josh wet and shivering, Sharpe only a little better.
"It'd be a good idea to get that little knife of yours out Joshy. I don't know this place, don't know what sort of trouble might be around." Smith opened his bag, rummaged around and gave the knife to Sharpe. Before closing the bag again he withdrew the lace handkerchief.
A first Sharpe thought Smith would use it to wipe his face, but he held it to his cheek and closed his eyes and rested his head on his bent knees. Sharpe stared out at the rain. He should go and find another customer, but he was loath to leave Smith like this.
Footsteps sounded close by and Sharpe was instantly alert. One, two, yes two sets of feet coming closer, Sharpe peered out slowly. Two men, scruffy looking, walking to slowly to have a destination in mind. Sharpe pulled his head back. If you survived on the streets for long enough you developed a kind of sixth sense, a knack of spotting trouble and these two men were giving off all the signals.
Quickly Sharpe slid his hand over Smith and at the same time he put his finger to his lips. For once Smith had the sense to follow his instructions without question.
They sat together silently in the shadows of the doorway, hardly breathing. Sharpe thought the men would pass by without looking their way but just as they reached the point directly in front, one man turned aside to relieve himself against the wall opposite. The other, waiting for his companion let his eyes roam and they finally came to rest on the two huddled figures in the doorway.
"Well, well, well, what have we here?" Sharpe stood up pulling Smith with him. "Where are yer going boys? What's yer hurry?" The man moved closer.
Sharpe edged out of the doorway, mentally summing up the two men as he did so. The one who spoke was big and strong, the one pissing against the wall was taller and slimmer. He looked like he'd be the fastest. Smiths small hand sought his and Sharpe pulled him closer.
"What do yer want?" Sharpe asked, "What are yer looking for?" Maybe he could still get out of this, but for the moment the man had moved to block his escape.
"Oh something a lot like you," he said raking Sharpe up and down with his eyes.
"It will cost yer." Don't let them know he was scared. Act tough. It was the first rule O'Malley had taught him; well, the second maybe. The first had been don't fight it once they get you. But Sharpe was not going to let that happen tonight.
"Yer reckon so?" The tough turned to his friend. "Did yer hear that Charlie, he says it will cost us."
It happened quickly. Dirty hands grabbed Josh Smith and struck him hard across the face so that he fell backwards against the wall and lay there dazed. Sharpe crouched and drew the small knife to hold it in front of him. The taller man laughed at the pathetic weapon and called to his friend.
"Christ Jack, he's got a little needle and he's going to prick me with it!" The two men burst into laughter and Sharpe struck, quick and effectively, slashing the man named Jack across the stomach, not deeply but with a long sweeping cut designed to draw the most blood.
The man staggered backwards, hands clutching his stomach, dismay on his face. His companion took a step backwards as Sharpe turned towards him, the knife poised. He had clearly underestimated this adversary.
"He got me, Charlie!" Jack was leaning against the wall, blood covering his clothes and hands. "You little bastard!" Charlie drew his own knife then, long and lean. "Come on then, let's see what you can do." They circled each other briefly and then Charlie came at Sharpe with a fast lunge, Dick twisted quickly, the long stiletto just catching his upper arm and drawing blood. Charlie smiled and showed a row of broken teeth.
Sharpe was too intent on the man with the knife to notice what happened next, but a small dark figure suddenly darted in front of him and threw something hard at Charlie as he moved towards Sharpe once again. It struck him in the face. "Take that you bloody bastard!" Josh Smith's small voice shouted. And before Sharpe had time to realise what had happened, Smith's small hand had grabbed his and was pulling him down the street away from trouble.
Part 18
They ran through the dark streets for some time until it became clear they were not being followed. Finally they stopped to catch their breath in a lane that boasted several inns and brothels. The area was rough, but there were enough people around for Sharpe to feel safe.
"You're arms bleeding Dick, are you all right."
Sharpe nodded, still out of breath, and looked at the bloodstained sleeve. He felt shakey and light headed, but knew this to be the aftermath of the fight rather than from any serious injury.
"That was quick thinking back there Josh, throwing that...What did yer throw at the bastard?"
"My bag." Smith said, his voice beginning to wobble. "I couldn't let that man hurt you." He wiped at his eyes and bit his lip.
"Oh Joshy," Sharpe muttered, touched deeply by the gesture. That bag had contained all that Smith had in the world, his final link to the life he left behind. It would be useless to go back and see if there was anything left. The bag and its contents would be long gone.
"Here, you need to put something on that arm Dick." Smith continued, trying hard to be brave. He felt like crying. From out of his pocket he pulled the embroidered lace handkerchief, but it was far too small and flimsy.
"Pull yer shirt tail out, I'll cut it off. That'll do."
When Sharpe's arm was bandaged they set out once more in the drizzling rain to find shelter for the night. Sharpe held the knife unsheathed in his pocket, ready to draw. But there was no need. Apart from one slightly drunken customer that Sharpe satisfied quickly, they were left in peace.
Eventually they came to a small church, it's door recessed deeply so that the two boys were able to huddle together in the overhang of the roof. They were wet and cold and miserable and as they sat side by side, Sharpe wondered at how quickly he had sank back down to this degree of desperation. He felt like he had in his first months on the streets. Perhaps things weren't that different. He was lost in a strange city with nowhere to sleep and no food. He had a little money but that was to be saved. He was alone except for Josh Smith who was really more of a handicap than a help. And all for what?
"Dick, Dick? When you were with James was it... good?" Smith's small voice roused Sharpe from his self-pity and made him look at things he'd rather not.
Yes James Cavanagh's kisses had excited him and his masterful touch had certainly driven him into a hot frenzy but there was more to it than just that. It was the way that Cavanagh had looked at him; the unspoken words that shone from his eyes as they lay locked together. It had been more than simple lust, it had almost been as if Cavanagh....
"It was all right." Sharpe whispered quietly, not wanting to think about it anymore. It was lost now. Lost like everything else he had gained in the last four years. He hugged himself and thought about the pain in his arm, at least that would heal in a few days.
"Dick, I'm sorry about everything. This is all my fault." Smith sounded like he was on the verge of tears again, and Sharpe unwrapped one arm to gather the younger boy closer.
"And Dick, I never really thanked you properly. I don't know what would have happened to me if I hadn't met you."
"Well we're even now. I saved you and you save me tonight. Now enough of this, I'm bloody tired. Get some sleep."
A soft voice woke them next morning asking if they were all right. Sharpe stared for a moment, thinking perhaps he was back in the foundling home and one of the ministers had come to visit. He blinked and sat up with a groan as a stab of pain shot through his arm. "We're fine, we'll be moving along, don't worry."
"But are you lads all right? Has some one hurt you?" The kindly voice asked again.
They must look a sight, Sharpe knew. His face still showed fading bruises and there were bloodstains down the sleeve of his jacket. Smith's face also sported a large purple bruise and a cut lip from the attacker last night.
"We're fine, no need to worry." He prodded Josh to his feet.
"Can I help you at all?" The voice insisted again and Sharpe hesitated.
"Could yer tell us how to get to Pond Lane?"
They followed the directions in the pale light of morning, through streets that were slick with rain and full of puddles.
"Are you really going to enlist Dick? Is that what you are going to do?" asked Smith as he struggled to keep up to Sharpe' fast steps. "No but you are. Only thing for yer Joshy, yer know what would have happened last night if those bastards had caught us." Smith nodded although Sharpe couldn't see him where he trotted two steps behind. "But what about you Dick? Will you join up too?"
That was the very same question that Sharpe had been pondering as he woke and dosed throughout the night. He had decided that it was the only option for Smith if the lad was to stand any chance. But as for himself, Sharpe found the decision harder to make.
Although it held the promise of food and shelter, Dick knew that enlisting in the army would also involve hard work and discipline. It would be all right for Smith. He was fresh from school and had all the advantages that education could give, but Sharpe had nothing and he wondered if perhaps he would simply be unable to do the things that were required. O'Malley had always told him that he was only good at one thing, but he had proved O'Malley wrong when he landed the job in the coaching house. Perhaps he could prove him wrong again.
"I don't know Josh. I need to think about it'n all!"
So the indecision continued as Sharpe purposely made his way towards his destiny.
As they turned into Pond Lane, Sharpe stopped dead as the sight of a red coated soldier standing outside of 'The Hawle in the Pond'. For one moment Sharpe was afraid that it might be one of the soldiers from last night, but the Corporal turned then, his round jolly face grinned at the lads and he gestured towards them with his bayonet that held a number of oat cakes, speared through the middle.
"Well now lads, yer look like yer could do with a bite to eat this cold morning. Come and taste one of these."
There was no such thing as a free meal, Sharpe had always been told, but James Cavanagh had undermined that axiom. Sharpe hesitated, but Smith reached out, clearly hungry.
"Oh thank you. I haven't eaten since..." Smith hesitated, realising he had gone a full day without food. "Well for a while. Thank you, it's very kind of you."
The Corporal patted Smith's shoulder and nodded towards the pub door. "Why don't you go on inside. There's a glass of ale to go with this and the Sarge is looking for lads just like you to join His Majesties Army. He'll tell yer all about it while yer have a drink or two."
Smith walked to the door, but turned back when Sharpe didn't follow. "Are you coming Dick?" he asked.
Sharpe looked at the redcoat again and thought of James Cavanagh, he looked a Smith, a forlorn, bedraggled figure, clothes wet and hair in rat-tails looking very small as he stood at the door. "You go on, I'll be along in a moment." He waited till the boy was inside before turning back to the Corporal.
"How old do yer have to be?" Sharpe asked. The Corporal turned to look at the door through which Smith had vanished, clearly understanding Sharpe's question.
"He'll pass, as long as he says he's sixteen. No one checks too closely." Sharpe considered all this while wondering if he should wait just to make sure there were no problems or turn and leave now that he had seen Smith safely inside.
"Why don't yer go on in and have some ale? Yer can make up yer mind inside out of the rain." The Corporal offered, mistaking Sharpe's hesitancy. But it was the mention of ale again that made up his mind. Not because he wanted any, but because Sharpe suddenly worried that Smith might drink too much and forget his ruse. Besides, anything could happen to a drunken boy. Sharpe knew that only too well.
He grabbed an oat cake off the bayonet and flung open the door. Inside was dark, but there was a small fire crackling in the corner giving a golden glow to the taproom. Smith was seated at a table; the glass of ale in front of him already half empty. Fool, thought Sharpe. He'd get drunk in no time on his empty stomach.
"Listen Joshy, slow it down a bit. Yer've not had anything to eat." Sharpe was about to sit down beside Smith when a cackle of laughter made him hesitate.
"Well look at what's slithered out of the gutters. Get on yer way boy. There's nothing here for the likes of you." Sharpe recognised the voice and slowly he turned to meet the mad blue eyes. The Sergeant looked from Sharpe to Smith and back again.
"You know him do yer? Is he one of yer little whores too?"
Smith opened his mouth to answer, but Sharpe was quicker. "Never seen him before. Just thought I'd sit down here. I hear yer recruiting."
"Well yer can just walk right back out that door, because this is a man's army. It's right there in the scriptures boy. Says so, 'no whores in the army!' and that means you." He pointed his finger at Sharpe who stared back unperturbed.
"It say's no such thing. Anyone can enlist!" That came from Smith who frowned up at the Sergeant, his small lips held firm.
"Oh and yer'd know I suppose? You got some schooling have you? Think yer smart cause yer can write yer name?" Smith nodded, a little intimidated.
"Well good for you lad. The army needs lads like you. Why you join up? It's only eight years but a smart lad like you'd be an Officer by the end of the year. Just watch out for the likes of him," The Sergeant gestured at Sharpe again. "He's like the bleeding serpent in the Garden of Evil, he is, slithering around and leading good men astray. Here. Have another ale."
Sharpe blinked at the sudden change in the Sergeant, perhaps he truly was mad. But the cold eyes turned back to Sharpe and the face began to twitch. "So yer reckon yer could be a soldier do yer? Reckon yer could tell yer musket from yer own prick? Well you listen to Obadiah, boy; there's no place for lily boys in the army. They flog yer fer that yer know. Unnatural vices is what it's called and they'll flog the skin off yer back if they catch yer."
Sharpe sneered slightly. "Maybe yer should tell that to yer Corporal. He didn't seem too worried about it last night."
The face twitched violently. "Yer think yer a right smart one don't yer. Well go on then, sign up! I'll get the magistrate right now. Or are yer all talk boy." The Sergeant stood and called across the room "Yer honour, I've got two likely lads here all ready to sign up. Could I trouble yer fer a moment? Please yer honour."
From a table by the fire a little grey-haired man peered up at Hakeswill and put down his glass of rum. He waved his hand and nodded his head. "Very well Sergeant Hakeswill." It was clear that he was drunk.
"This way then, show Obadiah what yer made of, guts or arse."
The words hung in the air and Sharpe knew he had to make a choice: leave now and accept that he would never be any different or stay and choose another path, a path that might lead to something better.
Sharpe rose and crossed the room to where Hakeswill stood waiting. Smith followed. The magistrate had brought out a pile of papers and was busily setting up his quill and ink. "Name?" he asked.
"Sharpe, Dick Sharpe."
The Magistrate raised an eyebrow.
"Dick?" Hakeswill asked. "Named after yer father were yer? Or was that the only part of him that yer mother could remember?"
"It's Richard." Sharpe said with sort of pride. The magistrate wrote down Richard S H A R P.
"Shouldn't there be an E on the end?" Smith was peering over Sharpe's shoulder, "That's how it's usually spelt." The Magistrate frowned but added and E.
"Age?"
"Sixteen, I'll be seventeen in July, I think" the last was muttered.
"Occupation?"
"What?" Sharpe asked. Again Smith butted in. "What work do you do."
"Leave it blank," Hakeswill said. "Yer can't go writing filth on the Kings Papers." The magistrate moved on.
"Five foot six inches tall, fair complexion, green eyes, blonde hair." The blood shot eyes looked him up and down then asked him to turn around.
"He's writing that you are fit and healthy." Smith whispered. "How can he tell?" Sharpe whispered back.
"Sign here or make your mark." Sharpe took the quill gingerly. It felt strange. His hand shook and a large blot of ink fell on the paper. Josh Smith leaned over and rested his hand on the table. Very slowly his small fingers traced something in the grime. D S. Sharpe looked at the squiggles and knew they were letters, his letters. As best he could he copied them onto the line. The magistrate blotted it dry.
"Now what about you?" Hakeswill clamped his hand on Smith's shoulder.
"OH yes, I'm ready. I see here that we get paid..."
But Hakeswill interrupted. "All in good time lad. We have to get yer to the barracks first. No good giving yer money now and have yer run off on us in the night, now is it."
"Well I suppose not." Smith said, a little unsure.
"Name?" The magistrate had a new sheet in front of him.
"Joshua .....Smith" He almost slipped up.
"Age"
"Sixteen." Smith's voice squeaked and the magistrate looked up at him, closely examining him for the first time.
"Sergeant Hakeswill are you sure this boy is of age? He's rather small."
"Oh yes. Yer honour, why his own mother brought him to the door herself she did and swore on her bible he was sixteen, yer honour." Hakeswill put his hand over his heart as he said the words. Smith looked at Sharpe, eyes wide at the bland faced lie the Sergeant had told.
"Occupation"
"Umm, clerk."
The magistrate looked up at Smith again.
"Five foot tall,"
"That should be five foot two inches." Smith interrupted. "I'm five foot two inches!"
"Five feet two inches tall, fair complexion, black eyes,"
"They are brown, there is no light in here." Smith interrupted again and the magistrate coughed loudly and frowned at him.
"BROWN eyes," he corrected, "black hair." As the magistrate wrote the rest, Smith turned to the Sergeant.
"Umm Sergeant...?"
"Hakeswill lad, Obadiah Hakeswill and don't you forget it."
"Well Sergeant Hakeswill, shouldn't a doctor authorise all the rest. I mean, how would this gentleman know if we are fit?"
Hakeswill grabbed Smith by the collar and shook him hard.
"You listen here you little trouble maker. If I says yer fit, yer fit! Yer walked in here and yer could hold a bleeding glass of ale and raise it to yer dirty mouth, so yer have sound limbs. Yer heard all the questions he asked so yer not bleeding deaf. Now unless yer want to admit to being possessed by demons and foul spirits like it says in the scriptures then yer wont be taking no fits while I'm yer Sergeant. As for ruptures, well I can get Corporal Halsey to have a look at yer, because I dare say he'd like to get his hands on you! No do yer have a problem with all that then?"
Smith dropped his eyes. "No Sergeant."
"Well sign the fucking paper!"
With a flourish Smith picked up the quill and in perfect script signed his assumed name, ending with an elaborate swirl.
"Corporal!" Hakeswill bellowed out and from just outside the back door Corporal Halsey poked his head inside. His eyes lit up when he saw Dick Sharpe.
"Corporal, two new recruits to be shown to the lodgings. Take them out back and watch em closely, but keep yer bloody hands off them. Yer hear me?" Halsey wiped the grin off his face and dropped his shoulders, clearly afraid of his Sergeant's wrath. "Yes Sarge."
Sharpe commenced to walk to the door, but Smith grabbed his arm. "Are you sure this is all right Dick?" he asked quietly.
"Of course Josh. Everything's all right; they'll be no more trouble. We're in the Kings army now."
Hot breath on the back of their necks made them freeze. "Oh no lads," came the quiet whisper from Hakeswill. "Yer trouble's just beginning."
The End
May 1999.