Good to Know
It was late when Fox started to make her way home from the pub, and she waved farewell to her companions as she started off towards home. Her pay packet was tucked into the inside of her coat, a bit lighter than it had been at the start of the evening. There had been drink and darts, and her step was a little loose-limbed as she passed under the streetlamp.
Her right hand was holding a truncheon, and it rattled along the fence near the curb as she walked. She'd taken to carrying it at night because London after dark could be a dangerous place, and even in her current mode of dress she was vulnerable. Mr. Cullen had always told her, Better safe than sorry. It was advice she constantly took heed of. The street was quiet otherwise, the only sound that of metal striking metal as the cosh ticked off the fence posts.
There would be bed soon, after she'd done her nightly ablutions and prayers. She wasn't drunk by any means, but she was a little tipsy. Hopefully she could reach her room without rousing the house.
Jesus Christ.
There were a few problems here. One, his head hurt terribly. Two, he was lying somewhere cold, dark, and wet, and if he was correct, his trousers were about halfway down his thighs. Three, he was piecing together what this all meant and there was nothing good about it. His eyes fluttered open for a moment, and he let out a groan. It was about then that the rest of the situation hit him all at once, and he shuddered.
The last this he remembered was taking a drink. Clearly, the bastard had slipped something in it. As he struggled to his feet, Izzy tried to remember what the man looked like. Glasses, English, skinny. Well, that narrowed it down a bit, didn't it? Ugly smile, that was the last thing he remembered. Gripping the cobblestones, he let out a heavy sigh. His vision swam before him, as little as he could have taken in - a bit of dim streetlight glinting off the puddle he'd found himself in.
Pulling up his trousers, Izzy stood against the alley wall for a moment. This was the sort of situation where he should have remained calm, and indeed, everything except his mind did not want to move properly, aside from the lump growing in his throat. He stumbled out of the alleyway and then doubled over to catch his breath. His body felt entirely too heavy to be real. Lifting himself up again to get a good look at his surroundings, he realized that he had no idea where he was. There was someone coming, a short, skinny chap. With as much decorum as he could muster, Izzy yelled, "Oi, you!"
The clackety-clack of the truncheon hitting the fence hit a lull because Fox had just rounded the corner, and when she heard the somewhat groggy voice calling to her she halted in her tracks. "Aye?" she responded cautiously, noting the rumpled condition of the man's clothes. Drunk, was her first guess, and she took a step and a half towards him, then stopped. The makeshift weapon rested against her thigh.
"What the bleedin' 'ell ye want at this hour?" she added roughly. He was probably a tramp, one of the lost souls she sometimes saw gathered with his fellows near the mission. "Do ye need a constable?"
"No!" he answered quickly. If there was one thing he didn't need right now, or any time. He got a better look at the boy, and found that he was carrying some kind of weapon. Oh, lovely. In this state, he likely couldn't have fought him off. His head throbbed again, and he put his hand to it, only to discover when he took it down that there was a little blood on it. What the hell had that bastard done with him?
Standing up straighter, he clutched the wall and said, "No coppers fer me, thanks. Just need to know - where am I?" This place looked more or less like every other broken down neighborhood he'd ever been in.
"The Jerusalem's just 'round the corner," Fox replied, naming the establishment where she'd been after work. Heavens, but the fellow was in a bad way. Perhaps against her better judgement, she drew nearer. She wasn't what would ever be called strapping, but she was strong enough to do manual labor, and in his state it'd take but a couple of strikes with the blackjack in her hand to put him back down.
"There's no copper about at this time of night anyhow. Are ye all right? You look as if you took a tumble."
Izzy blinked slowly, partly to get the floaters out of his eyes and partly because he hadn't quite comprehended what she'd said. "The Jerusalem?" he repeated. Maybe it was a hospital or something. "I'll be alright, haven't got a damn penny on me anyway." He searched his pockets just to make sure, and cursed.
Giving the boy a kind of bleary smile, Izzy replied, "I imagine I did, don't know what the bugger wanted with me - well, what he couldn't pay for. Just need someplace to lie down. How far do you reckon I am from Charing Cross?"
'Bugger'. Fox's dark eyes narrowed, and she looked over the stranger's shoulder into the confines of the alley he'd left behind as if expecting to see his unknown assailant shambling out of the darkness behind him. "I rightly couldn't tell you, sir," she responded, wary again for reasons she couldn't pinpoint. "I never get that far out of this neighborhood. Haven't lived in the city long enough to know properly where everything is."
She saw the blood on his hand, and her mouth pursed into a line. "There's a bench just back that way," she offered, pointing with her unoccupied hand. "You look as if you should sit down before you fall down."
With near comic timing, Izzy sank down onto the ground, unable to hold himself up. "That's great, just delicious," he said, "Pretty damn delicious. Do you know who could tell me?" He looked around the neighborhood again, and groaned. "Put a damn load of effort into it, I guess. Just for a little -" he looked at the boy again and realized what he was leading to. He abruptly stopped talking.
Holding out a hand, he said, "You wouldn't mind, would you?" He could feel the pain starting to go away, little by little. It always did.
There was something at work here other than just getting a knock on the head, and Fox was frowning as she helped the stranger to his feet. "Sorry I can't be more helpful," she said, looking over his rumpled state a bit more closely. "City's so bleedin' big I stopped wanderin' too far afield in case I never got back. Like bein' inside a maze, it is."
She looked behind her in the direction of the pub, half hoping someone would come along and be able to provide directions, but the street remained silent. The innkeep must not have said 'Time, gentlemen!' as yet. It would hardly be Christian of her to leave him here when he didn't even know where he was. For lack of knowing what else to do, she held out the hand not holding the truncheon. "Fox Cullen."
He lifted himself up easier than he should have been able to, at least, easier than a human his size and state should have been able to. It was at about this point that he got a better look at the boy. Effeminate, prettier than some of Mr. Inslip's boys, he reckoned. But he didn't show this. Letting go of his hand, he stood, somewhat more steady than he had before. "Right," he muttered.
Shaking the boy's hand, he replied, "Izzy Samuel," he said. That was the name he'd been using that night, though he hardly saw why he had to keep going by it. Then again, there was no real reason why he shouldn't have, either. He went over to the bench and sat down. "Sorry 'bout that," he motioned for him to come over, "Well, you could start by telling me where I am, exactly. What neighborhood is this? Street."
"We're east of Trafalgar," she replied. "You can't see the statue of King Charles from here, we're too far off. The Jerusalem is a pub, a tradesman's place. Whoever coshed you, they must have dragged you here because they didn't want you waking up and trying to find them."
It sounded reasonable enough, but that Something Else was nagging at her. If it was a robbery, it seemed more likely they'd have left the poor bloke where they dropped him. And if it had been meant to be murder, she'd not be talking to him at all. She was not a child, despite her youth, and Mr. and Mrs. Cullen alike had warned her about the hidden evils of the city. "Is your head very sore?"
"Oh!" He sat up a bit straighter and smiled. So he had been around here, apparently. Well, obviously not on this street, per se, but at least now he had some idea of where he was. "Then he didn't do a very good job, I suppose," he said, slightly more animated, "I could walk back without any trouble! Lazy bastard."
It wasn't going to be so bad, now, was it? At the boy's question, he put his hand up to his forehead. It was still wet, and still hurt like Hell itself. "Not so much," he replied, "I've gotten up from worse, and I intend to again." At this, he stood up again and almost immediately fell back down onto the bench. "Or perhaps I'll stay here a little while."
He was handsome, she decided, albeit in a soft sort of way, and she had to look down at the cobbled street to try and conceal the blush. Because that would be marvelous, wouldn't it, for him to catch her staring? He'd likely call the constable on her, considering what he'd just been through. She took up space on the opposite end of the bench, the cosh making a muted clunking sound when she put it down next to her.
"Was he someone ye knew? I've 'eard the moneylenders can be right bastards about collectin' what's owed to 'em."
Apparently, he wasn't just going to leave him here. That seemed, kind of odd. Didn't he have anywhere to go? In any case, Izzy supposed, it was probably for the best, considering Cullen had a weapon. Was this that sort of neighborhood? Shaking his head, he replied, "No, not at all. Never saw him before in my life, course," he smirked, "That's just how things go. Anyone who has the money."
He wondered exactly how much trouble he would get into with the boy if he told him what he did. Or, if he could get the truncheon before he did. It didn't seem worth it to hurt Cullen, considering how friendly he was being, but Izzy supposed that, after the kind of night he'd had, it was probably a good idea to prepare for the worse. "Probably pretty useless to ask, but did you see a skinny chap with round glasses? Kinda medium height, thinning hair...er," he tried to remember everything he could, "Dark green overcoat, no hat. Bad teeth?"
"Can't say as I did, sorry. The pub was crowded tonight, lots of fools spendin' their pay. Me included. If he stopped in, someone might have seen him, but it wasn't me." Fox rubbed the back of her neck, feeling self-conscious. She didn't normally stop to talk that often, would have been off on her way once she realized Izzy was able to move about on his own, but Christian duty had so far won out over expedience. The cross around her neck was the only object of value she owned, but it was more than just a symbol to her.
Besides, she was still plucking at that Something Else.
"It's probably right rude of me to ask, as I barely know ye, but its a terrible hour to be out on yer own. Have ye no place to sleep?"
Looking up at the sky, Izzy closed his eyes and massaged his temples in frustration. "That's delicious," he said, with a bitter laugh. "I doubt as anyone would have seen him, then. That seems to be how it works here." He looked back down at Cullen. "You're not from around here, are you?" He smiled. "I'm not, either. Everything is so queer in London. There are so many people, but no one's ever seen anyone else, have you ever noticed that?"
His next question surprised Izzy a little, and he wasn't sure what to say. "No, not at all. I mean, yes, I've got a place, not as if I'd like to go back there." He snorted. "T'isn't that late, I imagine."
"Feels later than it is, I guess." She shouldn't have had that fourth pint. And yes, now that Izzy mentioned it, she had noticed that no one ever saw anyone else. And good thing for her that they hadn't, or else she'd be out on her arse. Whatever else it said about her, her ruse meant she could eat and have a roof over her head. People's lack of observant habits were all to the good sometimes, as far as she was concerned.
"I grew up on a farm," she added. "Mr. Cullen took me in when I was a small boy, him and his wife gave me a home. He passed into the Lord's hands and she moved to be with her brother. I decided to come here and work."
"That's always the way," replied Izzy. Especially some nights, he just wanted to go back to his room or maybe just hop on the train and go straight back to Hatfield and forget London existed in anything other than the papers. That's what he planned to do after his father's debts were squared away, but whenever it seemed like one was taken care of, the interest on another one reared its ugly head.
Smiling, Izzy said, "Well, we're the same, then, I suppose. 'Cept my father's likely in the Devil's hands, if there's any justice in the world." He seemed to get very serious, but it passed in an instant. "But you do what you can, eh?"
"Aye, its all ye can do," Fox agreed with a nod, and she was trying not to look at his skewed and oddly charming smile. Despite being in her early twenties, she was incredibly naive about men. Back home, they'd been sequestered into lives of work and prayer, with little time for anything else. And the two oldest boys, Dennis and Patrick, were too much like brothers for her to ever see them otherwise. Besides, dressed as she was, he'd only think her strange if she looked at him directly for too long. Queer, as it were.
"Have to say, I rather like the city. Its...frighteningly massive, sometimes, but I mind it less a little bit every day."
Izzy stared at Cullen for a little while, trying to decide something. Despite his coch, he looked like he did something honest. It was easy to tell after a while the thugs and whores from everyone else, especially someone who looked like Cullen. There was just something men like him had that dishonest men didn't have. Izzy liked to think he had it, but looking at Cullen, it was a bit disheartening. He replied, "Well, you're better than me, then. I'll never get used to this city - I'd do anything to go home."
And she couldn't tell him that while she had loved her home, loved Mr. and Mrs. Cullen as if they'd been her real blood family, staying would have meant remaining a child in some ways. In London, in these clothes, she had a freedom she'd never experienced before. She looked at Izzy's serious expression, then shook her head.
"The Lord made us both," she told him earnestly. "No one can know what lies ahead except for God in His heaven. I'm not better, I'm just....you're one kind of man, and I'm another. There's no scale for measuring the soul."
He hadn't heard that kind of talk in a while. Neither his mother nor Emmanuel had ever been churchgoing types, and Izzy, at a certain level, had always felt that there was something ungodly about him. There certainly was now, no matter how many aspirations he had towards being good. A much as he always told himself that this was just a part of his life that he was going to drop and forget about later, there was always something in him that told him he could never fully do that. Still, there was something about hearing Cullen talk like that that made him feel almost shameful.
Smiling weakly, he replied, "Yes, I...I suppose that's true, isn't it?" And he couldn't think of anything more to say.
"Think you can manage the walk back? They're bound to be callin' time back at the pub soon, it was getting close to that when I left. If it'd help, I can walk with you." Fox rested her hand on the blackjack where it still lay on the bench. "I could keep a look-out for troublemakers."
Why was she prolonging this? It'd be better - safer - to let him go his way while she went hers. But despite the fact that she liked many aspects of her new life, she was a little lonely. Perhaps if she had an actual friend, that would help. Obviously, he wasn't really seeing her either, so there seemed to be little danger of his discovering her secret. "If ye want, that is."
He stood up, finding it much easier than before. Whatever it was he'd drunk, it was clearly going through his system. Cracking his knuckles, he shook his head at Cullen. "I can make it back by myself. Isn't that far, anyway."
The truth was, he didn't especially want to bring Cullen down to where he lived. If he did, there would probably be some kind of inevitable reveal of what he did, and frankly, he didn't want anyone who wasn't involved to know. "It's been nice talking to you," he said with a smile, "If I'm ever 'round here again, I'll try to look for you. You'll be alright getting home yourself, I imagine?"
"I'll be fine, but thank you." Fox also stood up, then took a step and a half backwards. It was better to be careful anyway. "If you do come 'round, you should pop in at the Jerusalem. Tis a friendly place, and the barmaids never met a stranger." She tucked the cosh into her jacket where it couldn't be seen, started around the backrest of the bench.
"A good evenin' to ye, Mr. Samuel. Hope tomorrow turns out better for you than today has."
"I'll be sure to go there if I ever have the time," he said, making a mental note of it. This whole encounter had been...surprisingly pleasant, which seemed to be a rarer and rarer thing these days. He tipped his hat to Cullen. "And a good evening to you as well, Mr. Cullen," he said before turning and walking towards Trafalgar Square.
She watched him go with an indefinable look on her face, then started off towards her own address. It seemed like the bloke was having a hard life right now. Perhaps she should pray for him. She would have to remember to when she went to church this Sunday. Even if it only eased his burden a little, it would doubtlessly help.
Asking on someone else's behalf could be her next good deed.