To Dream Again (33 page)

He gave Billy a final kick in the ribs, snatched the cap

from the ground, and walked over to the fire escape to grab his set of marbles. Hal followed. Davy hesitated, staring down at Billy. "C'mon, Boggs," Jimmy shouted. "Let's go." Davy muttered a curse and turned away, leaving Billy Styles sprawled on the cobblestones, sobbing and alone.

Billy did not come to the factory that afternoon. It was the first day in over a month that the boy had not visited them, and when one o'clock came and he still had not put in an appearance, Mara became concerned.

She set aside the budget she was working on and went in search of Nathaniel, hoping the boy was with him. She found him on the mezzanine, leaning over the rail, looking down at the production floor. She paused, studying him for a moment. She saw him nod and lift one hand in a beckoning gesture, and she knew he was giving instructions to the men below.

His waistcoat was off, and the sunlight from the windows behind him caught his shirt as he raised his arm to gesture to the men, giving her a translucent glimpse of his lean torso beneath the white linen. She caught her breath, remembering how he had looked with no shirt at all, remembering the smooth skin and the sculptured muscles that lay beneath his shirt, and she involuntarily stretched out one hand as if to touch him.

"Leave it there!" he shouted, jarring Mara out of her reverie, and she suddenly felt foolish. She walked over to him, reminding herself of her reason for coming down here.

He gave a thumbs-up sign to the men below as she came up to stand beside him, and she glanced down to see Michael mirror the gesture. "You're moving some of the equipment," she remarked in surprise, watching as the men grasped the heavy ropes that dangled from pulleys on the ceiling beam and began securing hooks to one of the steam engines.

"We thought it might be better to have the soldering done on the other side of the boilers," he explained, "so we have to move the steam engines a bit closer to the mezzanine."

She watched as the men used the winches to raise the engine off the ground, and she nodded in agreement as they swung the engine into place and lowered it again. "That will work much better." She looked up at him again. "Nathaniel, have you seen Billy?"

He gave her a surprised glance. "He's not with you?"

"No. I was hoping he was with you."

Nathaniel shook his head. "I haven't seen him at all today."

"He's been here every day by quarter past twelve," she pointed out. "It's after one o'clock and he hasn't arrived yet."

"It's after one?" He noticed the worried frown between her brows. "Michael asked me for some help with this, and I didn't realize the time. Give me a minute, and I'll go see if I can find him."

"Thank you. I may be worrying about nothing. He's probably out playing with his friends or something like that."

Nathaniel doubted it. Billy was so much like he had been at that age, and he would have bet the boy didn't make friends easily. But he didn't voice his thoughts aloud. "Probably."

A short time later, after walking to Billy's tenement and not finding him there, Nathaniel began searching the nearby streets, but without success. He started back, looking down each alley he passed, but it was in the alley right next to Elliot's where he finally found the boy.

Billy was sitting on the bottom step of the fire escape, his legs dangling over the edge. He heard Nathaniel approach and lifted his head. Nathaniel came closer and saw the dark purple shadow beneath Billy's eye that blended into the birthmark on his cheek. He also saw the cut on his lip.

"What happened?" he asked, noting that Billy's new clothes were covered with dirt, and one sleeve of his shirt was torn.

"What ye think?" The boy's eyes were filled with pain and frustration.

"Mmm." Nathaniel looked down at him, knowing there was nothing he could say to make the boy feel any better. So he didn't try to comfort him. He just stepped closer. "Move over."

Billy scooted a bit to the left, and Nathaniel climbed the short ladder of the fire escape to sit beside him on the bottom step.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Billy and waited. It wasn't long before the boy brought up the subject.

"Why are they so mean?" he asked.

"I don't know," Nathaniel answered truthfully. He was over two decades older than the child beside him, but he still hadn't figured out the answer to that question, and it was one he'd asked himself hundreds of times.

"Jimmy took me new cap," Billy said. "It didn't even fit 'im, but 'e wanted it, so he took it." He slammed one small fist against the steel step, "'e called me names and 'it me. I tried to stop 'im, but I couldn't."

Nathaniel listened as Billy poured out the story in stilted sentences. He heard the frustration and the shame in Billy's voice, recognized it as the same voice of another boy a long time ago. The boy he had been.

"I broke me word," Billy went on in a choked voice. "I promised Mrs. Elliot I'd take care o'me new clothes an' I didn't."

"I think she'll understand. I'll bet she wouldn't even mind mending them for you."

"What good would that do? Jimmy'll just beat me up again."

"Probably."

"It ain't fair."

Silence fell between them, and Nathaniel thought about all the times at Harrow before he'd learned how to fight, when he'd faced the headmaster with his uniform torn and bloody, all the times he'd been punished for fighting when he'd never even had the chance to throw a punch. Life was seldom fair.

"Nathaniel?"

Billy's voice pulled him out of the past. "What is it, Scrapper?"

Billy was gazing up at him, his freckled face thoughtful. "Remember that story ye told me about when ye was a boy?"

"Of course."

The boy's face hardened with determination. "I want ye to teach me to fight like Mr. Donovan taught ye so's I can defend meself. Will ye teach me?"

Nathaniel leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He should have known this would happen. He briefly considered all the ramifications. Mara wouldn't like it. She didn't approve of fighting.

He knew the boy's father was also a factor. He suspected that Calvin Styles's reaction would be less than favorable if he discovered Nathaniel had befriended the boy, and he was much more likely to find out if they spent even more time together than they already did.

"Billy, I'm not sure that would be a good idea."

"Why not?"

He hesitated, hoping he could make the boy understand. "Your father wouldn't like it if I taught you how to fight."

Billy snorted, "'e would, too. 'e's always tellin' me I ought to fight back when they beat up on me. 'e says I'm a coward."

Nathaniel could have cheerfully killed Calvin Styles at that moment. "No, you're not a coward," he told the boy. "Those boys know how to fight and you don't, that's all." He shook his head. "Billy, it's not the fighting your father would disapprove of. It's me."

"You mean 'cause you punched 'im?"

Nathaniel stared at the boy in surprise. "You know about that?"

Billy shrugged his thin shoulders. "Of course. Everybody knows."

"Do you know why I did it?"

"Some people are sayin' it's cause he pushed Mrs. Elliot." Billy paused, then added, "'e used to push me mum around, too."

Nathaniel sighed. God, sometimes, it was an ugly world. "You know that's wrong, don't you? Pushing women around?"

"Yea." Billy nodded. "Me mum told me. But me dad says you punched him 'cause yer a bloody bastard."

Nathaniel didn't know whether to laugh or admonish the boy for swearing. But when he saw Billy grinning up at him, he couldn't help chuckling. "I can see how your father might think that," he admitted. "And that's why he won't like it if I'm the one who teaches you how to fight."

"I won't tell 'im we're friends or about you teachin' me," Billy promised. "I won't tell nobody. Please."

"If he finds out, you could be in trouble."

Billy thought about that for a minute. "I don't care," he finally said, looking back at Nathaniel. "I still wants ye to teach me."

Nathaniel knew he shouldn't become deeply involved in the boy's life, but when he looked down into Billy's bruised, determined face, he knew it was already too late.

Damn it all, the boy needed his father, not a substitute. But Nathaniel doubted Styles would ever be any kind of a father to Billy, and the boy was in desperate need of someone to fill that role. He remembered his own childhood, and the pain of having a father who had not been there for him.

"All right," he agreed before he could stop himself. "We'll deal with your father when the time comes. But Mrs. Elliot shan’t like it either, so don't say anything about this to her. I'll tell her myself."

"All right, Nathaniel," the boy agreed, looking up at him with such a worshipful expression, Nathaniel nearly groaned. Being a father, even a substitute one, was a huge responsibility. He hoped he could live up to it.

***

"Are you out of your mind?" Mara's teacup hit the saucer with a clatter as she stared at Nathaniel across the table.

He'd been right. She didn't like the idea at all. He

grinned, savoring the battle to come. He was coming to enjoy their mornings of tea and debate. Slathering cream on his scone, he said, "Mara, you saw for yourself what that boy did to him yesterday. It happens to him all the time."

"Why does he have to learn to fight? Why can't he just walk away?"

"That's not always possible. His pride is involved here, and he has to be able to stand up to those other boys. He's learning how to be a man."

She sniffed, unimpressed. "It's a little early for that, don't you think? He's only eight years old. Besides, learning to fight doesn't make you a man."

"Not by itself, no. But the fact remains that he is beaten by other boys who won’t stop tormenting him just because he walks away. If he knew how to fight, he could defend himself. He needs to learn."

"What Billy needs to learn is how to read." Her crystal gray eyes sparkled with determination as she looked at him over the teapot. "He should be in school, not fighting with hooligans in back alleys."

"I agree. But he doesn't want to go, and neither would you if all the other children teased you. He needs to develop some confidence."

"And fighting is the way to gain it?" She shook her head. "No."

"I don't recall any objections like this when I came to your defense," he pointed out. "That was fighting, too."

She flushed and lowered her gaze to her gloved hands. "That was different."

He studied her for a moment, just for the sheer pleasure of watching her blush. "How is it different?"

"You weren't setting an example for an impressionable young boy." She lifted her troubled gaze to his. "He might learn the wrong sort of lesson."

"I didn't learn the wrong lesson when I was a boy. I've promised Billy I would teach him, and I will," he said firmly. "Would you have me break my promise?"

She bit her lip and looked away. "I suppose not," she murmured finally.

"I'll make sure he knows fighting is a last resort, only to be used for defending himself or someone else."

With a sigh, she set down the pieces of the scone she had torn apart. She wiped her fingertips together to brush away the crumbs. "I don't think—"

"Nathaniel?" A voice broke in and had both of them turning toward the door as Michael entered the room. "We have a problem."

"What is it?" Nathaniel asked.

"Our tin's not here yet. It was supposed to arrive this morning, but deliveries are usually made by nine. It's half past, and I'm concerned."

Nathaniel looked at Mara. "Didn't Halston's promise our tin by this morning?"

"Yes, they did." She rose to her feet. "I'll go to Halston's and see what's happening."

He nodded. "Remind them that if they can't have our orders here on time, there are other tin suppliers who would be happy to have our business."

"Don't worry, I will. It's probably just a minor delay."

But the delay proved to be more than minor, as Nathaniel discovered when Mara returned from Halston's London office an hour later.

"Monday?" Nathaniel stopped making adjustments to the conveyor belt he and Michael were working on. "That's five days from now."

"It seems they are having some labor troubles at the tin mines in Cornwall," she explained. "They apologized profusely, but it will still be five days."

Michael shook his head. "We won't be able to obtain tin from any other supplier sooner than that."

Nathaniel let out a frustrated sigh. "Without tin, we can't do anything. This shall put us behind schedule."

"We'll catch up," Michael promised. "I'm sure we'll be able to make up the time somehow."

Nathaniel was not so sure. He remembered how delays and disasters had crippled him once before, and a tiny shimmer of disquiet ran through him. He shook it off with his usual optimism. Coincidence, he told himself firmly. It was just a coincidence.