Page 10 of Pads, Purses, and Plum Pudding (A Paddy’s Peelers Mystery #2)
CHAPTER 9
W hy had she blurted that out? After such a kiss?
She’d panicked.
Never had a kiss affected her like that. As a married woman, the marital bed had been pleasant, her husband’s attentions ardent, enthusiastic. But this… this was a brand-new, breathtaking experience.
She’d felt passion before, so what was this even more intense emotion?
Dottie wondered how her legs held her up as they walked back to the curricle. She was sure if she let go of Sampson’s arm, she would crumple to the ground. When his lips touched hers, nothing had existed except his mouth on hers, his breath against her skin. It was frightening and deliriously wonderful.
Sampson helped her into the curricle and paid the boy. She heard him thank the lad for putting the top up, and the boy’s gasp when given a coin. Climbing in, Sampson clucked to the horses, his beaver hat back in place, his face a polite mask to any passerby. No one would ever know they had just shared an earth-shattering moment. For Dottie was no longer sure what love was. Her limited experience had not prepared her for the touch of this man, the genuine goodness she saw him in.
“So tell me, why America?” His soft voice had a new pitch to it. Hurt, perhaps?
“Why not?” She shrugged. “I thought the farther away I went, the easier it would be to start again.”
“Running from memories?”
The clack of the horses’ hooves echoed in a taunting rhythm against the cobblestone.
Tell him. Tell him. Tell him.
But the words wouldn’t come. Her feelings were too new, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about… anything. Him, that kiss, leaving England. She was so confused. Would he tell people who she really was if she confided in him? Her instincts screamed no, but her instincts had been wrong before.
Sam bumped her shoulder with his, and there was a lighter tone to his words. “We can make new memories here, together.”
Dottie blinked back tears. Why couldn’t she have met him first? She was damaged goods now, and he deserved so much more. He pulled up on the reins, and she realized they were back at the tavern.
“Have I done something? Should I have waited longer to kiss you?” he asked, tipping her chin with a knuckle and turning her face toward him. “I think about you all the time. You are in my dreams when I close my eyes, in my thoughts as I drink my morning coffee or take my supper. And when we kissed, I knew you had found your way here .” He took her hand and held it against his chest. Even through his greatcoat, she could feel the steady thump of his heart.
“We hardly know one another,” she managed weakly, her resolution failing.
He shook his head. “We’ve been meeting for over two months. Many couples marry after a courtship of that length.”
She opened her mouth, but he put a finger against her lips.
“No, you aren’t ready for a proposal, but I don’t think it’s too soon to tell you how I feel. I was not alone under that tree. It was a mutual passion.” He leaned forward and brushed her lips, once, twice. “Can you deny there is something between us?”
Dottie shook her head. “There is so much you don’t know about me.” Her words were a ragged whisper. “And there’s Violet. She’s become my responsibility.”
“We have nothing but time, Dottie. I don’t know what you’ve been through. There is a haunted expression I see in your beautiful eyes when you think I’m not looking. I want to know everything about your past and Violet’s.” He kissed her forehead. “There are bits of mine you will learn, and I hope we will not judge each other.”
“I have no right to judge anyone.” She shook her head, laid her hand on his cheek. “You are a good, caring man. One who will make a difference in people’s lives.”
“Let us make a difference together. I have an idea for a hospital for unmarried mothers. You could be an important part of that. I need someone by my side with intelligence, a partner, who can help me with my plans. One who would understand the girls—women—and educate them to be independent, self-sufficient.” His eyes were almost brown in the dim light, but his excitement shone brightly. “Who better to help those in need, than those who have walked their same path?”
With a deep breath, she nodded. There was a ring of truth to that statement. The downtrodden knew how disingenuous the upper class could be, doling out aid which always included stipulations. What Sampson offered was sincere—assistance on their terms, giving them ways to help themselves long after they left the hospital.
“Will you think about it?” he asked. His voice was husky as his thumb stroked her jaw, and she leaned her cheek into his palm.
Dottie closed her eyes when his lips touched hers. At that moment, she could deny him nothing. She would have to find the right time to tell him about Robert. And prayed he would understand.
* * *
The next day
Sampson rose from the dining room table to fetch the port. Mrs. Olssen had fixed a delicious meal of guinea hen, mashed turnips, carrots, fresh bread, and pear tarts for dessert. Her husband had broken his nose, no explanation requested or offered, and in return for setting the bone, she had provided a delicious dinner. Sam had bought the fowl, and Mrs. Olssen and her daughter had taken care of the rest.
“I have to say this bartering for services is delicious,” said Benjamin. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and ran a hand through his dark-blond hair. “I haven’t had custard that good in ages.”
Clayton shook his head and patted his belly. “I agree. Thank you for the invitation. You could have had three more meals out of this if we hadn’t helped.”
“True, but I’d have missed the fascinating intellectual repartee of my brothers.” Sam grinned as he returned with the port and poured three glasses. He looked at his two brothers, so different yet so much in common.
Ben was quieter, more studious, with a slighter frame and lighter coloring. Clayton was heavily muscled, though not barrel-chested like Harry, with darker coloring. There was nothing quiet and assuming about Clayton. He enjoyed socializing and had a natural confidence that Sam and Ben had always envied as children. Of course, Clay’s self-assurance and adventurous spirit had also been the cause of mis adventures when they were younger, as Sam and Ben had always been eager to follow his lead.
“Remember the time we thought Old Man Wheeler was kidnapping babies?” asked Ben, shaking his head. The elderly eccentric had lived next door, always ranting about his “lazy Irish” neighbors, the beggars on the street corners harassing hardworking folk, and the upstart radicals wanting change. “Now I understand Paddy and Maggie took pity on the lonely widower and didn’t want the neighborhood children taunting him. But they should have told us that instead of making Wheeler out to be a villain.”
Sam took the first step of the portico, then paused. What was that noise? He waited for it to come again—a high-pitched mewling. He ran up the rest of the steps and burst into the hallway. No one was in the parlor, and only Cook was in the kitchen.
“Have you seen Ben or Clay, ma’am?” he asked her, hopping from one foot to another.
She gave the dough on the table a final pat, wiped her floured hands on her apron, and turned to him with her hands on her hips. “What’s got your fur flyin’, Sampson?”
He only shook his head. “Just need to find them.”
“Last I saw, they were following August out back.”
He ran for the rear door.
“Fresh biscuits in the tin,” Cook called after him.
He slid to a stop, backed up several steps, and opened the canister. The smell of molasses and oats tickled his nose. Grabbing four, he murmured a quick “thank you” and let the door slam behind him.
Sam saw Gus’s large frame first. He was standing under a tree, a bucket of water in his hand, and Dublin the wolfhound tied to the tree trunk. Clayton clutched a piece of soap, and Ben held a brush and towel.
“What happened to Dublin?”
“He rolled in something dead, I figure,” answered Gus. “Dead fish, I think. Maggie says he can’t come back in the house until he’s had a bath.”
“Are those biscuits all for you?” asked Clayton, a smirk on his face as he held a hand out.
Sam shook his head. “Got one for all of us.”
“Let me have mine before I’m wet as a rat in the Thames,” Gus said, scratching the wolfhound’s wiry gray coat.
They ate their biscuits, enjoying the shade beneath the leafy boughs. The sound of munching and a tail thumping the ground in hopeful participation punctuated the momentary silence.
Gus finished, wiping his mouth with his forearm and wiping his hands together to dust off the crumbs. “Sam, you can hold Dublin’s collar while I douse him with water. Clayton will soap him up, we’ll all scrub, then I’ll rinse him.”
They all nodded solemnly. Giving this giant beast a bath was no easy feat, and every one of them would end up as wet as the canine. Sam was surprised the dog only shook his coat twice while they were scrubbing. Ben laughed when Gus got suds in his eyes, but the smile quickly faded with a glare from the bigger boy.
By the time they had finished, Dublin was rolling in the grass, determined to find a bit of anything to rid himself of the clean scent. Cook had brought out lemonade, and the boys sat sprawled on any patch of fairly dry grass they could find.
“So why did you come running out here with that funny look on your face?” asked Ben.
Sam had almost forgotten. “I heard some odd noises coming from Old Man Wheeler’s house.”
“Don’t go over there,” warned Gus. “Maggie will take a switch to you.”
The boys all snorted at the thought of the Irish woman laying a hand to any of them.
Gus pointed a beefy finger at Clayton. “Don’t go getting no ideas, Clay. O’Briens said to stay away, and we will stay away. It ain’t our business what noises come out of his house.”
Clayton glared back. “Why are you only pointing at me? Sam’s the one who brought it up.”
Gus let out a loud, pained sigh. “Fine, I’ll tell you the secret. But you got to swear not to let Paddy and Maggie know I told you.”
All three boys leaned forward, eyes wide.
“He eats babes for breakfast. No one’s ever been able to catch him, so the adults make sure us kids stay far away from him.” Gus leaned back against the trunk of the tree, his arms crossed over his wide chest. “You can imagine what he’d do with bigger ones. Put ‘em on a spit and roast ‘em for supper.”
“August,” Cook called from the back door, “Mrs. O’Brien needs ye.”
Gus stood, towering over the boys. Although Sam was older, he knew better than to cross Gus, especially when he seemed so serious. “Remember what I said and stay away from there.”
Later that night, sitting outside in the dusk, Sam heard the noise again, and his stomach clenched.
“Was that what you were talking about?” Ben whispered.
“It sounds like babies crying,” Clayton said in a half whisper. “Do you think we should take a look?”
Ben shook his head. “You heard what Gus told us. We can’t. It’s too dangerous.”
Clayton squinted at the dark form of the neighbor’s house. “What if we went when Wheeler was gone?”
Sam brightened. “That’s right. It would be safe as long as he was gone.”
Ben wasn’t convinced. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. If we get caught, Maggie really will take a switch to us.”
“You’ve got as much courage as baby Nora.” Clayton grinned. “You stay here and suck on your thumb. Me and Sam will go save the babes. We’ll be heroes.”
“You’ll be dead heroes on a spit.” Ben stuck his chin out.
“What if we don’t do anything, and he gets Nora somehow?” asked Sam, his chest tightening at the thought.
Ben thought about it, his eyes growing wide. “How do we know if he’s gone?”
“Simple. If there ain’t no lights on in the house, he’s gone,” Clayton said matter-of-factly.
Clay fetched a candle, and the boys walked around the house but saw no lights. They snuck down the stairs to the cellar and tried the door. It was locked, but with a bit of jigging and a handy piece of wire, it was soon open.
Clay led the way as they followed the soft cries. Sam’s heart pounded so loud that he was sure Gus would hear it next door. But what they found astonished them more than a dozen babes could have. In a box with a blanket was a small terrier with a litter of tiny pups. They squirmed against their mama’s belly, eyes barely open.
“Puppies!” cried all three boys, crowding around the box and petting both the mother and her squirming babies.
“So this is where you disappeared to Sadie,” said Clay. “I thought she’d run away because the old man was so mean.”
“I want one,” said Sam, tickling the ear of the runt. It was black and white, and it latched on to Sam’s fingertip, sucking with gusto.
“Won’t get nothin’ out of there,” Ben said with a laugh.
“What in the devil are you nodcocks doing here?” rasped a voice behind them.
They froze, and Sam closed his eyes, fear freezing his bones. He vaguely wondered what Maggie would do when none of them returned home.
“W-we thought you w-were…” Ben swallowed hard.
“Were what? Speak up, you dirty little curs.” Old Man Wheeler raised his fist, waving his walking stick at them.
“We thought we heard babies down here,” said Clayton, his voice tremulous.
“Why would I have squealing infants here when I don’t even have a wife?” griped the old man.
“Because you eat them for breakfast!” cried Sam.
“You’ll never get our sister. Never!” added Ben. “RUN!”
Clayton took the lead again. As he put out a hand to push the old man out of their path, Wheeler stepped back, placing his cane on each backside as they passed. The boys howled up the steps and ran for the safety of home.
“You had nerves of steel even as a boy,” Sam said to Clayton. “I thought we’d be roasted and our bones tossed in the alley.”
“The look on the old goat’s face when he found us playing with the pups.” Ben pretended a shiver. “My legal mind shudders at the thought of the laws we broke. Breaking and entering, theft?—”
“I really wanted that little black and white puppy,” Sam remembered, his shoulders shaking. “Instead, we received a scolding and no supper that night.”
“I thought we were going to get away with it until Dublin started howling when we came running from the cellar. Of course, Paddy was just coming home.” Clayton shook his head. “He was soooo angry with us.”
They sat in silence for a bit, each remembering their own version of the childhood tale.
“There’s been a development in the Ferguson case,” Clayton said, ending the quiet.
“The man found in the Thames?” asked Ben. “A shame that happened when he’d tried to escape his criminal past.”
“Sometimes regret comes too late,” Sam agreed. “What’s come up?”
Clayton let out a long sigh. “It seems Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson also had a young daughter. The landlady is worried for her and wanted us to see if we could find her.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard. A young girl, one of hundreds, wandering the streets. I’m sure you’ll find her by morning,” quipped Ben.
“Ha-ha! I asked Roger to ask around about the girl. He has plenty of connections and comes from the rookery.” Roger Lynch was a newcomer to the O’Brien clan. Walters had intervened when the lad had been attacked in an alley. Paddy had hired the boy to do odd jobs, chauffeur the ladies, and whatever else might be needed at any given time. Just sixteen, Roger had a strong fist and was trying to work his way up to a Peeler.
“How’s he working out? I put over a dozen stitches in that arm when Harry found him that night,” said Sam.
“We keep him busy, especially Maggie. And Paddy is thrilled because he doesn’t have to go shopping anymore. I see potential in him.” Clayton got up and poured himself more port and held up the decanter to his brothers. Both nodded and he refilled their glasses. “I wonder about the mother’s death. It’s not that unusual for a robbery to go wrong and the victim end up dead. Especially if they put up a fight. But it’s the timing. I had Eli take a look at the report.”
Eli was the only Peeler still working for Bow Street. He had easy—and legal, as Ben always emphasized—access to the reports filed.
“Seems she was murdered just after Ferguson quit working for The Vicar. Like I said, it’s not how she died but when she died. A warning? A punishment?” Clayton shook his head. “I pray that little girl is somewhere safe.”