Free His Michaelmas Mistress by Marly Mathews Page A

“I’m not quite as keen on it as Micah,” he said.
    They stopped short, as they smelled something peculiar. It smelled as if someone was roasting their loot. That meant they were indeed bolder than most. If it had been a gang, he felt sure they would have already left the grounds.
    They heard barking, and saw a little dog tear across the grounds in front of them, and race to the bushes. Seconds later, a few hares were driven out, and then, they heard a man’s voice. The man had a distinct Cockney accent, and Freddie’s insides clenched. The dog stopped playing with the hares, apparently, he wasn’t interested in doing anything else, and halted, with is tail erect, and his ears upward as well. It was some kind of a terrier.
    The dog regarded them for a little while, and then his tail started wagging, and he ran toward them, barking playfully.
    “Apparently, we’re not that scary to small animals,” Felix muttered. “It’s only men that fear us, mostly, good for nothing men.” He chuckled.
    Freddie crouched and reached out to pet the dog. The pup was small enough to tuck into a man’s coat, so it looked as if they had indeed found their bloody poachers. The man calling to the dog stopped and he started to whistle instead. The dog’s ears went back, but he remained with Freddie.
    “I’m not going to like this next bit,” he muttered. “No, I’m not going to like it at all.”
    Felix gave him a puzzled look, and Lucky sighed.
    “Be prepared, they might have firearms. I’ll be satisfied once they are hauled before the magistrates. Maybe they’ll ship them off to Australia…or maybe they’ll be headed for the hangman’s noose,” Lucky said.
    “As long as they are hauled off my lands, I don’t care if they go to the devil himself,” Freddie mumbled. “That’s not what I meant, mates. I think I know the poacher in question.”
    Felix grunted. “You’re thinking he’s…”
    “Thee mangy mutt yew get yahhr tail back ‘ere, awer else!”
    Freddie sighed. Now, he knew it was the man he’d feared it would turn out to be. He grimaced, and briefly closed his eyes. He didn’t need this right now. He never thought that his father would leave London. He was mistaken.
    Damnation.
    “Alfie, yew little bugger, I’m gon’a tan yahrr ‘ide,” Enoch Smith raged.
    As his father came into view, Freddie sighed. “Why don’t I tan your hide, Da?” he said calmly.
    His father no longer intimidated him. The brutish good for nothing, looked nothing like Freddie. Short and squat, his nose had been broken plenty of times in the past, and he had small mean eyes, that were a little too closely set together. He wore clothing that had seen better days, and he looked as if he still abhorred any mention of a bath.
    “Freddie!” He grinned widely. His yellowed teeth made Freddie look away from him. He wanted to put his hands on the man the way that his father used to do to him, but he was better than that now. “Hey, Madge! It’s Freddie, ‘e finally found us.”
    “You’re poaching on my lands,” Freddie said, between clenched teeth.
    “We ain’t really poaching, are we? Y’er da bloke in charge ‘ere, we can do wot’s we want. Lor’ love a duck! That’s wot we fink anyway. Use your loaf, boy!”   
    Freddie winced at the sound of his father’s coarse voice. Fortunately, he wasn’t speaking with his true Cockney, or no one save for him, and possibly Tiny would know what the hell he was talking about. He’d forgotten just how far he’d come in the years apart from the dreadful man. Enoch Smith was the scum of the Earth. He was a poor excuse for a human being. He was a piece of shite, and didn’t deserve being treated any better than that. 
    “What is he saying?” Lucky asked, out of the corner of his mouth.
    Freddie snorted. He felt embarrassed, and yet, he had no reason to be. He had come a long way from his time spent in the London Slums. Enoch Smith, however, had not.
    “He’s speaking a