"So, tell me," Lord Patrick asked, following his best (and worst) friend down the corridor towards the drawing room. "What is this brilliant plan of yours?"

"Oh, you'll be blown away. Completely blown away."

Lord Patrick found his arm grabbed by Titus and was pushed forward into the drawing room—only to catch sight of a cute little boy with blond locks and a cherubic face sitting on his chaise longue. A cute little boy wearing a tight leather outfit decorated with colourful feathers.

"On second thought," Patrick stated, "don't tell me. Don't tell me anything."

In the corner of the room, Karim hid his face in his hands. Beside him, Cora smirked.

"Little one..." Rushing forward, Lord Patrick hurriedly knelt in front of the small boy. Heck, what had his friend cooked up this time? He'd known Titus was capable of crazy schemes, but this... "Tell me, did this bad uncle lure you away from your mummy? Did he promise you sweets to put those things on?"

The cherubic little boy blinked—then gave him a derisive, distinctly un-child-like look.

"Oh, shut it!" he demanded in a growl worthy of a seven-feet-tall lumberjack—then glanced up at Titus, lifting his finger to wiggle it beside his head. "What's up with this fellow? Did his parents drop him on his head as a child?"

Lord Patrick's mouth opened.

"Something along those lines," Titus cheerfully confirmed his friend's insanity. "It's sad, really, but I try my best to support him in his illness and comfort his poor mother."

"Oh?" A smirk spread across the leather-clad imp's face the like of which Lord Patrick had never seen on any infant. "And how exactly do you 'comfort' his mother?"

All right. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't an infant boy after all.

"You..." Raising a hand, Lord Patrick stretched out an accusing finger. He just wasn't quite sure at whom to point it yet.

A moment later, the decision was taken out of his hand as the door was pushed open, and Amy marched into the room, drying her hair with a repurposed flowery curtain. "Ah, dat's much better! Now I feel ready ta—"

She broke off when she caught sight of Patrick. Patrick kneeling over a leather-clad child decorated with feathers.

"Patrick!"

"What? No, wait just a minute, this isn't what it looks li—"

Wham!

The thing that slammed into Lord Patrick's face a moment later certainly was what it felt like—a rage-fuelled feminine fist. Stumbling back, Lord Patrick raised his hands to shield his face, only to have another fist buried into his gut.

"Ye...ye...! I trusted ye! I believed in ye!" Eyes sparkling with righteous fury, Amy stalked forwards. "I can't believe I thought ye actually might be a decent bloke beneath all that noble rigmarole. I knew it! Once a man, always a man! Dey're all da same! To go after a little boy of all things, while I'm in da same 'ouse with ye...!"

"Wait just a minute! This is all a misunderstanding!"

"Oh, it is, is it?"

"Yes! Yes, I swear!"

"Wonderful. Den why don't ye explain something to me..." Gifting him with a sweet smile, nearly as sweet as arsenic, Amy lifted a finger to point a finger at the adorable leather-clad figure who was just then picking his nose. "What is he doing here?"

Lord Patrick opened his mouth. "Well, he—"

Then he hesitated.

What was he doing here? What was the point of a leather-clad mini-menace in the middle of his drawing room? His eyes slid over to Titus, pointedly questioning.

Titus, however, seemed far too focused on the view of the rose bush outside the window to notice.

"Um...well...he...he..."

"Aye?"

"He...um...err..."

Silence.

Two emerald eyes flashed.

"I see."

"No! No, you don't understand!"

"Oh, of course I don't."

Relief spread through Lord Patrick.

"After all," Amy continued, "I wouldn't understand. I ain't inta little boys like some people I could mention."

"No! This isn't my fault! I—"

"What? Couldn't 'elp myself? Couldn't resist da urges? Ye know what? Ye disgust me!"

Wham!

"Argh!"

"Oy, she's hot!" the small fellow who Lord Patrick was increasingly sure was not a boy whispered, sadly too low for Amy to hear over the sound of her repeated punches. "Can I shag her?"

His Lordship did not catch Titus's answer to that question due to the fact that Amy's hands were now wrapped around his throat, trying to squeeze the life out of him.

"Mmmph! Gllg! Grrg!"

"'ow's dat? Does dat satisfy yer kinky urges? I can squeeze 'arder, if ye want! Or I can get a riding crop if ye prefer. Or a horse whip?"

"That...nnng...won't be...grgg....necessary."

"Don't worry," Amy assured him sweetly. "Even if it isn't, I'm generous like dat."

"But...I...nng! Not...responsible..."

"What! Now ye're claiming da insanity defense? Despicable!"

"N-no! I...not responsible! Ti...Ti..."

"Don't ye worry," Amy whisered, tightening her grip. "I'm gonna tie ye up and give ye what ye deserve."

"T-Titus! Fault! Titus...responsible!"

Amy's hand froze. A fact for which Lord Patrick Day was profoundly grateful. Not as grateful as he would have been if he were able to breathe, however.

"Ye...didn't bring 'im?" She jabbed a finger at the leather-clad little fellow, who by now had found His Lordship's whiskey cabinet and was swigging straight from the decanter.

"Ng...no!"

"And...ye don't know who 'e is?"

"No!"

"Oh."

She stood there for a moment longer—then slowly, very slowly, turned around. Titus retreated a step, raising his hands.

"Now, ehem...don't jump to any conclusions. I had a reason to invite our little friend here! A really very good reason!"

"Is dat a fact?" Knuckles cracking, Amy took a step towards the Honourable Titus Irving. Or, at least, Patrick vaguely suspected that's what she was doing. He was a bit too focused on how suddenly wonderful, life-giving air was moving through his throat again to really pay attention. "Den why don't ye share dat really very good reason with me?"

"I, um, well..."

Massaging his throat, Lord Patrick dropped into a comfortable armchair, lips twitching as he watched Titus. This ought to be interesting.

"Go ahead," Amy encouraged, taking a step towards the Honourable Titus Irving. "I'm listenin'."

"Ehem. You see...it's like this." Titus cleared his throat. "I know how hard you've been working to combat the vile child slave trade that is spread throughout this city—"

"—and ye decided ta 'elp us out by participatin' in said vile slave trade and buy an underage boy toy?"

"Yes. I mean no! I thought we could use him to—"

"Use him? Use him?"

"No! I didn't mean it like that! I—"

His words were cut off as Amy stalked towards him, her green eyes glittering with a promise of death and destruction that, just a moment ago, had been focused on Patrick. His Lordship smiled, and relaxed back into his armchair. The risks of being friends with the Honourable Titus Irving might be great, but so were the rewards.

"Do ye know," Amy purred, prowling ever closer towards Titus, who by now was pressed with his back against a wall, "what I did to da last person who bought a child to further 'is own ends?"

Lord Patrick beamed. Oh yes, this was going to be very interesting.

"N-no?" Titus answered.

"Good. Because ye don't wanna know."

"I...I don't?"

"No." Amy smiled, spearing the reprobate's chest with a finger, "It's so much better ta find it out first 'and."

Patrick could almost hear his friend gulping. He should probably intervene about now, right? That's what a good friend should do, correct?

He glanced at Amy's form, somehow somehow managing to loom over Titus despite the fact that she was supposed to be a head shorter than he was.

On the other hand, true friends allow each other to learn from their mistakes. It's for his own good.

Leaning back in his chair, he lifted his whiskey glass and prepared to enjoy the show.

"Now, now..." The Honourable Titus Irving raised his hands placatingly. Or possibly as a last, desperate defense. "Don't do anything hasty..."

"'asty? 'asty? I'll show you 'asty!" Amy's elbow buried itself in Titus's gut.

Lord Patrick shook his head disapprovingly. His friend didn't even try to dodge. Titus should really have taken some self-defense lessons. But then again...if he had, this wouldn't be half as much fun.

Wham!

"'ow's dat for 'asty?"

Wham!

"And dat? And dat?"

"Griffiths!"

"Yes, Miss?"

"Get me a rope, a dirty dish rag and horse whip!"

"At once, Miss. Would you like a sword as well? His Lordship has a quite impressive collection on the second storey gallery."

"No, I don't think so."

"Are you sure, Miss?" The butler gave Titus a most polite, not at all vengeful look. "It would be no trouble at all."

"Nah."

Titus breathed a sigh of relief—until Amy reached into her pocket and pulled out a serrated butcher knife.

"I've got me own."

"Ah. Congratulations, Miss."

"Thanks!"

As Amy turned back towards Titus, Lord Patrick glanced to where his butler was moving towards the door.

"Griffiths?"

The personification of butlerdom halted. "Yes, My Lord?"

"Have you been standing there all the while?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"While I was being beaten into a pulp?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"And you didn't do anything because...?"

"You did not ring for me, My Lord."

"Of course."

"Now if you would excuse me, My Lord? I will have to attend to your fiancée's wishes."

"She's not my—!"

Click, came the soft sound of the shutting door.

"—fiancée."

Lord Patrick closed his eyes for a long moment. Was there even a point?

Better just to wait till his mother experienced Miss Amy Weston's brand of "ladylike behaviour" first hand and thought better of this whole business. It certainly wouldn't take long.

And in the meantime...

Opening his eyes once more, Lord Patrick watched as Amy slammed her fist into Titus's solar plexus, leaving him wheezing. Despite everything, life felt pretty amazing. Which was quite impressive, considering he was still smelling of sewer and aching all over. It had to be due to the fascinating view of Titus getting pummelled. And if he paid a bit more attention to Amy's beautiful face and fiery eyes than her fists delivering a well-deserved thrashing, that was surely pure coincidence.

"Worthless, degenerate son of a scumbag! Just ye wait! I'm gonna teach ye ta use children for yer nefarious schemes!"

"Can bags have sons?" Patrick wondered. "Even scumbags?"

"Dey can if dey're da 'airy kind with two balls inside!

Lord Patrick nodded. Sound argument.

"...block-headed pillock! Braindead buffoon! Just ye wait till da ropes come! I am going to tie ye into a Gordian knot and den pull an Alexander! Wastrel! Worthless worm! Dissolute, sex-obsessed waste of space! Despicable stain on—"

And sound use of insults, as well. Very, very sound.

"—humanity! No, ye ain't even a stain! Stains are made from dirt, and dat's worth loads more dan ye! I'm gonna beat ye back and blue, and den I'm gonna beat ye green and orange, and den—"

"Bloody sodding shit on toast!" the little leather-clad figure suddenly exploded, his deep oh-so-very childlike baritone, easily drowning out Amy's expletives. "What the bloody hell does it take to muzzle this twat? Can't she just shut up? And someone get me something stronger to drink! This damn whiskey tastes like watered-down horse piss!"

Silence descended over the room. Slowly, Amy turned to face the midget.

"Say dat again?"

The angelic little fellow gave her the most charming, innocent smile Lord Patrick had ever seen. "Gladly. Watered. Down. Horse. Piss. Or did you mean the bit about the twat?"

Then he took another swig of whiskey, pulled a face, and spat it out of the open window.

Another moment of silence.

Amy blinked. Slowly, her eyes travelled over the small figure, from his sharp, far-too-cynical eyes, over the cocky half-smile on his angelic face, to the whiskey decanter that was already half emptied.

"So...I'm guessing ye ain't no five-year-old boy?"

The little menace grinned. "Give the girl a prize! Or not. I'll take it if nobody else wants it." He jabbed a thumb at Titus. "He promised me money anyway."

Amy's piercing gaze swept back around to zero in on Titus. "Explain. Now."

----------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Any idea what kind of amazing plan Mr Titus Irving has come up with ;-)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob