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serve him right if he was attacked. It was still daylight, but the particular was setting in and Jack knew you would soon be lucky to see more than twenty yards. In the narrow streets around the palace, that would make for an interesting walk for a young man whose wealth was advertised so clearly.
    ‘You said you would see me right.’ Edmund reminded Jack of his words.
    ‘I got you the girl – sorry, the lady.’ Jack could not keep the bitterness from his voice.
    Edmund scowled. ‘You said you would look out for me.’ The retort was childish.
    ‘So fucking what? Now piss off.’ Jack’s face was hard. He had decided it would be best if he had nothing more to do with the toff.
    ‘I’ll pay.’
    ‘I ain’t a fucking whore.’ Jack spat the words out.
    Edmund looked as if he had been slapped. ‘You blackguard,’ he exclaimed, before turning on his heel and storming for the door.
    Jack watched him go. He was not proud of his words, but he couldn’t forget that the young boy in the fancy clothes had lain with Mary. He had been accepted to a place where Jack was denied entry. The difference was money; rhino. The toff had it, and so had got what he desired. Jack didn’t, and would have to suck on the sour teat of frustration.
    He bent low to pick up the next layer of glasses. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a shadowy figure slip out through the gin palace’s door moments after the young toff had departed. He recognised who it was. What it would mean. He closed his eyes and made up his mind. He knew what he had said. He might not have a brass farthing to his name, but he did have his word.
    ‘Give me your fucking money, or so help me I’ll snap your fucking neck.’
    ‘I don’t have any!’ Edmund cried. The ambush had been ruthless and swift. He had not seen anything of his assailant until the hands had grabbed him around the shoulders and dragged him into the dank alley. Now he was trapped in a doorway with a locked and barred door pressing into his spine and a dark-eyed miscreant in his face.
    ‘Don’t fucking lie.’ The man who had grabbed him hopped from foot to foot. His face was hidden behind a thick muffler, a battered and filthy top hat pulled low on his brow.
    ‘I spent it!’ Edmund felt the tears prick at his eyes. He did not know what to do. His father would kill him, if he survived long enough to make it back to their London house. Shame and fear surged through him, his backside quivering as he tried to think of a way to get away.
    The footpad had wasted enough time. His hand shot out, and he cuffed Edmund around the face, slapping him hard. Edmund reeled, the bright strike of pain flashing through his head. The footpad was already searching his clothes, hands moving fast.
    ‘Step away.’ The command came from behind the attacker.
    The hands stopped moving. The footpad turned, furtive eyes darting round quickly.
    ‘Fuck off, Mud. Ain’t your concern.’ The identification made, the footpad turned back to Edmund to carry on the search.
    ‘Step away, Jem. He’s a chum of mine. You need to leave him alone.’
    ‘Fucking bum chum more like. You ain’t got no friends, ’specially not a toff like him. Now shut your fucking muzzle and walk your chalk before I teach you a lesson instead.’
    ‘I can’t do that, Jem. I said I’d look out for him. Leave him alone.’
    Edmund marvelled at the calm tone in the voice of his saviour.
    ‘For fuck’s sake, Mud.’ The footpad turned fast. A knife appeared in his hand in the space of a single heartbeat.
    Edmund saw the lad from the gin palace hold up his hands to show he was unarmed. ‘You don’t need the poker, Jem. Let the boy go.’
    ‘Not till I ’ave his tin.’ The footpad hefted the knife. ‘Now fuck off.’
    ‘I ain’t going—’ The words were cut off as the footpad lunged. The knife was thrust hard and low. It was a cruel strike, a disembowelling attack that would kill if it landed true.
    The lad from the gin palace saw it