God, what an idiot he’d been to drink too much yesterday eve. He’d been trying to track down the rumors about the woman poisoned on the moor, had gone first to the White Mare and then to the Cock and Worm, but Dick wasn’t at his tavern, and no one else would speak to him. In every face he’d seen suspicion and, in some, loathing. Meanwhile, what the scarred man had said to him in West Dikey had sounded in his skull like a chant. Man-whore. Man-whore. Man-whore. Perhaps he’d been trying to drown the words when he’d drunk multiple tankards of ale last night.

A clatter came from the cottage’s main room.

Harry swiveled his head carefully in that direction and sighed. Will was probably hungry. He staggered to the door and stared.

The fire blazed and a steaming teapot sat on the table.

Will crouched on the floor, strangely still. “I dropped the spoons. I’m sorry,” he whispered. He hunched his body as if he was trying to make himself smaller, maybe disappear altogether.

Harry knew that posture. The boy expected to be hit.

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” His voice sounded like the scrape of a shovel on stony ground. He cleared his throat and sat down. “Made tea, have you?”

“Aye.” Will stood up, poured a cup, and carefully handed it to him.

“Ta.” Harry sipped and scalded his throat. He winced and waited, but his stomach felt better, so he took another mouthful.

“I cut some bread for toast, too.” Will brought a plate for his inspection. “They’re not so nice as yours, though.”

Harry looked at the uneven slices with a jaundiced eye. He wasn’t sure his belly could take solids at the moment, but the boy needed praise. “Better than Lady Georgina’s try.”

His painful smile died as he thought about what he’d said and done to his lady last night. He gazed at the fire. He’d have to go apologize sometime today. Assuming she would still talk to him, that is.

“I’ll toast them.” Will must be used to sudden, awkward silences. He went about skewering the bread on the crooked fork and finding a spot to hold it over the fire.

Harry watched him. Will had no father, thanks to Granville, nor mother, either. Just that old woman, his grandmother, and a less loving woman he’d rarely seen.

Yet here he was, competently tending to an adult sick from too much drink. Perhaps he’d had to care for his grandmother after a night of swilling. The thought was bitter in Harry’s mouth.

He took another sip of tea.

“Here we are, then,” Will said, sounding like an elderly woman. He set a pile of buttered toast on the table and bustled around to another chair.