Page 17 of To Dare the Devil

“How is your reading coming along, Pike?”

“Much better,” Pike told him proudly. “I’ll read to you after supper to prove it.”

Max nodded and set a small, wrapped parcel on the table. “You can start this, then,” he said, pushing it towards the boy.

Pike’s eyes lit up, and he abandoned the bacon in favour of snatching up the parcel and tugging at the string. He turned the book in his hands, stroking the leather binding with reverent fingers and touching the tooled gold letters with an expression of awe.

“Robinson Crusoe,” he read, his gaze flicking from the book to Max.

“It’s a good story. It’s got adventure and shipwrecks. Pirates, too,” Max added, knowing this would appeal to the lad.

“Pirates?” Pike’s eyes grew round. “It’s for me? To keep?”

“Yours to keep,” Max agreed.

Pike let out a breath. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Max smiled, meaning it. He’d have given the boy a dozen books if he’d had his way, but that wasn’t allowed. He came here and shared their supper with them, and if he brought a book or a bottle of wine, that was acceptable. The boxes of food and clothing he’d brought were accepted only because it would go to those less fortunate than Burt and Pike, though anyone Max knew would find it hard to conceive of anyone less fortunate than these two. But that was the point. They had a roof over their heads, and though food was not always plentiful, they did not starve, and they had each other. They looked out for one another and for those around them, and Burt’s philosophy of life had taught Max that this was a great deal.

A few moments later and Max had a plate not overburdened but complete with two eggs, two rashers of bacon, and two thick slices of fried bread. A steaming cup of tea sat at his elbow too, and it took no time at all to devour the lot, chasing the golden yolk about the plate with the bread. When he’d finished, Max sat back, licking grease from his fingers with satisfaction.

“Why is it this meal is always the one that tastes the best?” he asked, staring down at his empty plate with bemusement.

Burt shrugged. “Perhaps because you did something to deserve it, aye?”

Max snorted, shaking his head. “I’m not sure about that, but I’m trying.”

“It’s what counts. Right, lad?” Burt sent the question to Pike, who scratched his nose, looking thoughtful.

“Reckon.”

Max sipped his tea, pleased to note it was good and strong, which meant Burt had kept hold of at least some of the tea he’d brought on his last visit.

“When I was here before, after the attack, I mean,” Max said, uncertain of what exactly it was he wanted to ask. “When I was—”

“Off your head?” Pike suggested, grinning.

Max laughed, nodding. “Yes, when I was off my head. Did… Did anyone else take care of me?”

“Course not,” Burt said at once. “Who else ever comes here, eh? Nah. Just us, eh, Pike?”

Pike stared at his empty plate and nodded.

“No, I suppose not,” Max replied, though Burt’s answer had been a little too sharp and quickly given. “There wasn’t… there wasn’t a girl?”

Pike glanced at Burt, a darting, furtive look that Max might have missed if he’d not been paying attention, but then it was gone, and he wondered if he was imagining it.

“We don’t hold with girls. This is a bachelors' residence. You get girls in a place, and they start arranging things, eh, Pikey, my lad?”

“Yeah. We don’t like girls,” Pike muttered, staring fixedly at the book Max had given him.

“Why d’you ask, anyway?” Burt demanded.

Max shook his head, uncertain of the answer to that himself. It had been ridiculous to think a woman of Miss de Beauvoir’s class would ever be in a place like this. And she’d have been so young, too. No, he was being foolish and whimsical. “No reason. I just… No. Nothing.”

“Can I read to you now?” Pike asked, his eagerness to show off his improving skills enough to make Max forget everything else.

“You can indeed. I’m all ears, Master Pike.”