Pickpocket's Apprentice Read Free Page B

him to a bloody pulp, I fear you may be unsuited for police work.”
    “No, no!” Foote protested hastily. “I won’t do it again, sir, on my honour!”
    “I am pleased to hear it,” Mr. Colquhoun said. “But that won’t straighten the boy’s nose, will it?”
    With this Parthian shot, he left the Bow Street office for the second time that evening and, at long last, turned his steps toward home. He was greeted with exclamations of relief by his wife, who had spent the past hour watching the clock and fretting over his extended absence.
    “At last!” she declared, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “I had all but given you up for lost. No trouble, I hope?”
    “No, not exactly,” he said thoughtfully. “Janet, I’m afraid your husband is growing sentimental in his old age.”
    “ ‘Old age,’ ” she scoffed. “And you not a day over three-and-fifty! What you need, my love, is a good dinner. I’ve had Cook keep it warm for you.”
    “Janet, my dear, you are a pearl beyond price!” he declared, and allowed her to lead him into the dining room.
    She did not press him for details, for almost a quarter-century of marriage had taught her that he would confide in her when he was ready. So she regaled him with anecdotes of the domestic variety as he ate, waiting until he had made significant inroads into the syllabub before finally asking, “And how was your day, my dear?”
    He heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair. “Do you remember that business a few months ago with the fellow they call Gentleman Jack Pickett?”
    She nodded. “I do indeed. You were very pleased to have him arrested at last, were you not? As I recall, you sentenced him to be transported to Botany Bay.”
    “That’s the man. Today I had the pleasure, if one can call it that, of meeting his son.” He recounted the whole story, from John Pickett’s appearance at the bench in Foote’s custody to his own last sight of the boy’s battered face as he left him with Elias Granger.
    “Well!” exclaimed Mrs. Colquhoun when he had finished, her plump bosom swelling in righteous indignation. “I think it was very wrong of Mr. Foote to handle the poor child so roughly, and I hope you told him so!”
    “Believe me, Mr. Foote is in no doubt as to my opinion on the matter.”
    “But it seems to me that you have gone beyond the call of duty in dealing with the boy. You have nothing to reproach yourself with, my dear.”
    “I hope you are right,” he said with a sigh. “I confess, I feel a certain sense of responsibility for the lad, since it is because of me that he was left on his own.”
    She could not allow this assertion to go unchallenged. “Because of you? Nonsense! I should have said it was because of his father! You never forced the man to steal; you merely carried out your sworn duty in sentencing him.”
    “Thank you for that, my dear,” he said, reaching across the table to give her hand a squeeze. “Still, I hope to prevent the lad from following in his father’s footsteps. That was why I placed him with Granger, although I did extract a promise from young Pickett that he would refrain from stealing. God knows if he will be able to keep his word, though, since it’s all he’s ever known. I warned him I would not be so lenient again.”
    “Perhaps the boy will surprise you,” she predicted confidently. “Mr. Granger may exert a beneficial influence on him.”
    “That is what I am hoping for,” he said with a nod, giving her to understand that the subject was closed.
    What he did not tell her, what he could barely admit even to himself, was that if John Pickett should be hauled into Bow Street again, once more accused of thievery, he was not at all certain he could follow through with his own threat.

 
     
     
     
     
Chapter 3
     
    In Which John Pickett Embarks on a New Career
     
    John Pickett rose before dawn the next morning and dressed in the work clothes Mr. Granger had provided, pausing only long enough to