“I don’t know,” he said with sudden anger. “I was thirteen years old when my father went bankrupt — does that mean I have to turn a blind eye to villainy all my life?”
Maisie was taken aback. It was not often that men snapped at her, and this was the second time Hugh had done it. But she did not want to quarrel with him again. She touched his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to criticize your father. I just wanted you to understand why a child might steal.”
He softened immediately. “And I haven’t thanked you for saving my watch. It was my mother’s wedding gift to my father, so it’s more precious than its price.”
“And the child will find another fool to rob.”
He laughed. “I’ve never met anyone like you!” he said. “Would you like to have a glass of beer? It’s so hot.”
It was just what she felt like. “Yes, please.”
A few yards off there was a heavy four-wheeled cart loaded with huge barrels. Hugh bought two pottery tankards of warm, malty ale. Maisie took a long draught: she had been thirsty. It tasted better than Solly’s French wine. Fixed to the cart was a sign chalked in rough capital letters saying WALK OFF WITH A POT AND IT WILL BE BROKE OVER YOUR HED.
A meditative look came over Hugh’s usually lively face, and after a while he said: “Do you realize we were both victims of the same catastrophe?”
She did not. “What do you mean?”
“There was a financial crisis in 1866. When that happens, perfectly honest companies fail … like when one horse in a team falls and drags the others down with it. My father’s business collapsed because people owed him money and didn’t pay; and he was so distraught that he took his own life, and left my mother a widow and me fatherless at the age of thirteen. Your father couldn’t feed you because people owed him money and couldn’t pay, and you ran away at the age of eleven.”
Maisie saw the logic of what he was saying, but her heart would not let her agree: she had hated Tobias Pilaster for too long. “It’s not the same,” she protested. “Workingmen have no control over these things — they just do what they’re told. Bosses have the power. It’s their fault if things go wrong.”
Hugh looked thoughtful. “I don’t know, perhaps you’re right. Bosses certainly take the lion’s share of the rewards. But I’m sure of one thing, at least: bosses or workers, their children aren’t to blame.”
Maisie smiled. “It’s hard to believe we’ve found something to agree about.”
They finished their drinks, returned the pots and walked a few yards to a merry-go-round with wooden horses. “Do you want a ride?” said Hugh.
Maisie smiled. “No.”
“Are you here on your own?”
“No, I’m with … friends.” For some reason she did not want him to know she had been brought here by Solly. “And you? Are you with your awful aunt?”
He grimaced. “No. Methodists don’t approve of race meetings — she’d be horrified if she knew I was here.”
“Is she fond of you?”
“Not in the least.”
“Then why does she let you live with her?”
“She likes to keep people in sight, so she can control them.”
“Does she control you?”
“She tries.” He grinned. “Sometimes I escape.”
“It must be hard, living with her.”
“I can’t afford to live on my own. I have to be patient and work hard at the bank. Eventually I’ll get promoted and then I’ll be independent.” He grinned again. “And then I’ll tell her to shut her gob like you did.”
“I hope you didn’t get into trouble.”
“I did, but it was worth it to see the expression on her face. That was when I started to like you.”
“Is that why you asked me to dine with you?”
“Yes. Why did you refuse?”
“Because April told me you haven’t a penny to your name.”
“I’ve enough for a couple of chops and a plum pudding.”
“How could a girl resist that?” she said mockingly.
He laughed. “Come out with me tonight. We’ll go to Cremorne Gardens and dance.”
She was tempted, but she thought of Solly and felt guilty. “No, thank you.”
“Why not?”
She asked herself the same question. She was not in love with Solly and she was taking no money from him: why was she saving herself for him? I’m eighteen years old, she thought, and if I can’t go out dancing with a boy I like, what’s the point in living? “All right, then.”
“You’ll come?”
“Aye.”
He grinned. She had made him happy. “Shall I fetch you?”
She did not want him to see the Soho slum where she shared a room with April. “No, let’s meet somewhere.”
“All right — we’ll go to Westminster Pier and take the steamer to Chelsea.”
“Yes!” She felt more excited than she had for months. “What time?”
“Eight o’clock?”
She made a rapid calculation. Solly and Tonio would want to stay until the last race. Then they had to get the train back to London. She would say goodbye to Solly at Victoria Station and walk to Westminster. She thought she could make it. “But if I’m late, you’ll wait?”
“All night, if necessary.”
Thinking of Solly made her feel guilty. “I’d better get back to my friends now.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he said eagerly.
She did not want that. “Best you don’t.”