Work Text:
“You don’t look like David,” the woman says, troubled as she peers at Hickey, although her uncertainty intensifies as her gaze drifts to Tozer. “You, not at all.”
“Why do I look more like him than he does?” Hickey mutters. “Nevermind. We are his distant relations.”
Poor David Young’s sister had been dead by the time they’d returned to England; his back pay had gone straight to the Foundlings, where they stand now.
“Fifth cousins,” Tozer mumbles, like Hickey had told him.
“Third. Actually,” Hickey corrects, stepping on his toe. “So there’s been a mix-up. With his estate. We don’t mean to take it, but it’s what David would have wanted.”
The guilt gets worse the longer he stands there. “He did want us to give half back to the Foundlings,” Tozer adds, ignoring Hickey’s pointed look.
“He didn’t say that. I think you misheard him,” Hickey says loudly.
“Well, it’s my half, Cornelius,” Tozer insists. “I can do what I like with it.”
“You said your name was John,” the woman ventures, confused.
Hickey smiles brightly. “Cornelius is my middle name, actually.”
The door slamming shut in their faces is not unexpected, but it does nearly flatten Hickey’s nose.