Richard
Charlotte’s stiff manner returns. Sitting bolt upright, arms crossed over her chest, her words are tightly enunciated. “Because on the half dozen or so occasions I ran away from Blessingmoors, every single time, the police caught me and took me in….” There is real venom in her tone now. “…. and regardless of anything I tried to say to them, delivered me right back there to have the shit beaten out of me.”
Can hardly blame her….
…. Wonder how many times that happened?
His voice quiet, Will plucks with finger and thumbs at his lower lip.
…. Guilt?
“So… why did you agree to help us at all?”
“Because Mr Haswell asked me to.”
What?
Will blinks, pointing at me with his fork. “Mr Haswell? Richard here?”
I turn my face down to my meal, not wanting to meet her eye while I think this through…. Under the table, Elizabeth’s hand rests on my thigh.
“Yes,” she says.
A loaded syllable if ever there was one….