AN: Thanks to everyone who keeps reviewing. I'm sorry it's going slow right now, I shall do my best to keep going and get quicker. Enjoy!
Doug's business wasn't exactly legitimate. Ste was very dubious as to the source of the stuff the American gave him to sell. And the quality. And what would happen when the prospective customers discovered the dubious nature and quality of their purchases.
He did, however, work out the meaning of purveyor without having to ask Amy.
Doug had given him a case of stuff, mostly tat of no use to anyone, little things like matches and candles. Ste did his best to stop people on the street, Doug seemed to be doing the same, or watching him, or something. Ste wasn't really sure. Nor did he care. He didn't make much money, but it was at least a start.
"See you tomorrow then?" asked Doug, casually as they cleared away.
"Sure," said Ste. He held out the small amount of money they'd made that day. Doug smiled.
"You keep it, you earned it," he said.
Ste didn't put his hand down, "Are you sure?" he asked, uncertain if he was suspicious or pleased.
"Course," said Doug, "wouldn't say otherwise. See you."
So as Doug walked one way, Ste walked back to the Brady house, with money in his pocket. He gave it straight to Amy when they got in. She looked at him, alarmed.
"You didn't nick it, did you?" she demanded, instantly.
"No!" said Ste, indignantly, "I earned it."
"Doing what?" she asked, still not convinced.
Ste realised what she would suspect. "Not that!" he cried.
"Well, what then?" she asked, not giving.
"Selling stuff," he said, "for this bloke, Douglas Carter." When she kept looking suspiciously at him, he added, "He's an American." That did not seem to make his story more credible in her eyes. "Oh, believe what you want," he said, and sat down in a strop. After a moment she sat down beside him.
"Sorry," she said, "I do believe you, it just sounds… unlikely."
Ste didn't want to admit to thinking that, so stayed silent.
"And, Ste," Amy continued, "do you think it might be a bit… dodgy?"
Ste didn't want to admit to that, either.
"Well, it's not forever," he said, "just until something better comes up."
Amy worried her lip, but didn't say any more on the subject. She had made them all dinner, a wonderful stew, and after they had cleared away all signs of their daily activities, and the sun had begun to set, she put the kids to bed. Ste wondered if she would want to chat again after that, but she kept finding things to do, mending, cleaning. She smiled at him as she did explained each activity, but Ste knew when she didn't want to talk. Then she claimed exhaustion and went to bed.
Ste knew he didn't have to wait up for Brendan, that he could just avoid him, go to work with Doug the following day, and find a home, simply disappearing from the Brady house by the time Brendan actually got home on that last day. But he felt like he owed Brendan the truth, so he sat in the room with the chairs, part of him wondering if it was normal for servants to just sit in rooms like that, before deciding it didn't matter as he was leaving soon anyway. He waited. And waited.
It was silent when he was woken by a hand shaking his shoulder.
"Hey, sleepy head," a gruff voice was saying.
Ste jerked awake, unaware he'd even fallen asleep. Brendan was looking down at him, smirking in the light from the gas lamps. "Alright?" he said.
"Yeah," said Ste, trying to surreptitiously wipe his face in case he had drooled. "Sorry."
"Mrs snoring too loud, was she?" Brendan teased.
"Er, no," said Ste, indignantly, "I was waiting to talk to you, actually."
Brendan actually laughed. "Let me guess, can't find a job? Wanna beg me to let you stay?"
Ste was momentarily gobsmacked by the sheer arrogance of the man. To throw him out was one thing, but then to rub it in? And find it all amusing?
"I'll have to think about that, Steven," Brendan continued, grin firmly planted on his face, "There's a lot to consider, there. But maybe," he dropped his voice, dipped his head closer to Ste's, "maybe there's something you can do to convince me…"
Ste barely registered the come on. He was just too annoyed by Brendan's rudeness. "Actually, Brendan, I was waiting up to tell you that I got a job today and not to worry."
Brendan's face fell, "You got a job?"
"Yeah," Ste felt himself smirking.
"Where?"
Ste couldn't stand the self satisfied way he imagined Brendan would react to Ste's job. Amy might question his judgement in concern for Ste, but Brendan would be merciless in belittling, patronising jibes. He would ridicule Ste for agreeing to work with someone like Doug, and Ste didn't want to give Brendan the satisfaction of knowing just how desperately he needed the older man to change his mind.
"None of your business," he answered angrily, "We'll be out by Friday."
Brendan looked annoyed, "Where's the job, Steven?"
"Why do you care?!" Ste snapped.
"Just being polite," said Brendan, darkly, sounding the complete opposite of polite.
"Well, there's no need, right," said Ste, fury rising, "I'll be leaving soon, and then you'll never have to see me again."
He span on his heel and stormed upstairs. Thankfully Brendan didn't follow so Ste could just stew in his anger.
He didn't go in with Amy and the kids again, not wanting to wake them with his mood, so instead got in the single bed in the room across the top landing for the first time. He did not sleep easily, his mind was whirring with his anger at Brendan, his worry that he was going to risk his family on the dodgy business of an American he'd only just met. And when he eventually got some sleep, his dreams were riddled with haunting images – the dead man on the floor, standing up and doing what he'd tried, then being replaced with Sir Alexander, Danny, Terry, Doug, while Brendan stood by and watched, wearing that insufferable smirk.
The morning couldn't come quick enough.
…xxx…xxx…
Ste didn't hear the front door the following morning. He listened for it, hoping Brendan would be out before he would have to get up and go out, but as the sun rose in the sky, Ste realised he would have to get up, or he would lose even the small job he'd already found.
He got up and dressed as quickly and quietly as he could, then went down to the kitchen. Amy had got up and was stood against one of the counters looking nervous, and Ste could instantly see why. Brendan was sat at the table tucking into some toast.
It was quite hard to tell if they'd been in silence all the time, or if they'd been talking before he'd come in. It was very disconcerting to see them in the same room, and he wished he'd come more slowly and quietly down the stairs and overheard the previous few minutes. As he couldn't do that, he simply said "Alright?"
They both turned to him, but he couldn't focus on either expression, so he looked at the table, "Er, any chance of something to eat?" and sat down.
Brendan snorted.
"What?" Ste snapped.
Brendan looked him dead in the eye. "Just that I thought you could be a servant."
Ste wasn't sure what he'd done wrong. "What?" he said again, more high pitched.
Brendan smirked at his ignorance.
"You're the one in the kitchen, Mr Brady," said Amy, managing to make 'Mr Brady' sound just mocking enough to sting, but not mocking enough for him to call her on it, but Ste didn't want another match with Brendan.
"Forget it," he said, getting up and storming out, stopping only to kiss Amy on the forehead but ignoring her plea to have some breakfast. He stamped his way to where he'd met Doug yesterday and sat back on the doorstep, sulking.
Bloody Brendan. It wasn't even like it had been Ste's idea to become a servant. He had no desire to become a servant, and for Brendan to tease him for not know how to behave was bloody unfair. The annoyance kept raging through him, never quitting, never letting him go.
"Penny for them?" chirped a happy American voice, "that's a phrase isn't it? Penny for your thoughts?"
Ste smiled at him, "It's a phrase. Doesn't mean I'm gonna tell you owt."
"Ahh, spoil sport," said Doug, smiling, "well you can chat about anything to me, you know."
"Thanks, Doug," said Ste. "So, what we up to today?"
The answer was more of the same, though a new street this time. Doug handed over a small selection of items, and they set up a table for a small stall, Ste trying to stop anyone who passed. For every person who let him talk, a lot seemed to watch him suspiciously. Some would stand in pairs, one eye on Ste, one chatting to their companion. Gossiping, probably, or maybe worried Ste was up to no good. He'd had that a lot. He knew there was something about his appearance that made the genteel suspicious. He decided to ignore it, and attempted to flirt with some housewives that were passing.
He sensed Brendan's arrival before he saw it. There was something about the man that made his entire body shiver, even when he was pissed off with him. Ste turned his head to see where he was. He was standing casually a few metres away with his hands in his pockets.
Ste gave him a glare and turned away from him. It was answered with a chuckle.
"Nice job," greeted Brendan.
"Haven't you got anything better to do?" Ste snapped.
"Probably," Brendan snorted, "but I thought I'd see how much some people will pay for…" he picked up a box from the table, "matches? I'm almost disappointed at how boring that is."
Ste snatched the box back, "Well, we can't all run dodgy drinking clubs."
"Dodgy?" sneered Brendan, "you think my nightclub is dodgy?"
"Er, let me see, Warren, Danny, old posh blokes looking for rent boys, yeah, dodgy," said Ste.
Brendan snorted, but not in amusement, and put his head on one side. "So, this business here now, your nice new job, that'd be squeaky clean then, I take it?"
Ste didn't care if he'd doubted it, he had to show Brendan, "Yeah, it is," he snapped, but didn't fancy Brendan testing the theory so added, "so do one."
"Huh," said Brendan, then turned and glanced around him, "that your partner there, is it?" he said pointing to where Doug was stood beside a young woman, one of the ones standing on the opposite side of the street, gossiping, "Excuse me, Miss," he called, "you checked your purse recently?"
Doug's head snapped in Brendan's direction as the woman, looking alarmed, reached for her handbag. Doug almost threw himself away from her, dropping something on the floor as he did so. The woman gasped. "Where's my…?" but she didn't finished as she spun around and saw Doug so close, and her purse at his feet.
Doug was running before Ste could blink, and within seconds was nowhere to be seen, as a bustle of surrounding people shouted after him.
Brendan turned back to Ste. "Yeah, legitimate," he sneered.
Ste grabbed the matches and threw them at Brendan's head. He followed them with most of the contents of Doug's stall. Then the table itself, though most of the produce was too light to bruise, and the table just didn't throw well.
"Hey, hey!" cried Brendan, "Don't take it out on me! I ain't the sneak thief."
People were staring at them now, but Ste didn't care. He wanted to wipe that stupid, self-satisfied grin off Brendan's stupid face.
"God I hate you!" he snapped, furiously, wishing he had more he could throw at Brendan. With nothing to hand he stormed away, hearing nothing but his own fury and frustration.
He was an utter failure. Again, no job, no place to stay, no hope of find either. The only people who seemed to have any interest in employing him were criminals. It must be all he was good for. Sneak thieves, smugglers and …
Sir Alexander.
He switched directions. He'd told Brendan they would be out by the end of the week and they were going to be out, and Ste was going to keep them out of the workhouse, through his own work. What that work would be was irrelevant, and none of Brendan Brady's bloody business.
He remembered the way easily, towards the docks, to the big stone building that looked down on him threateningly. His feet didn't hesitate, even though there were more people than he remembered, dock workers in overalls, businessmen in smart clean suits. Some of them glanced at him, looks derisive or suspicious or just curious, others ignored him completely, but he kept on going, marching with purpose to the great doors.
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