Page 12 of Pads, Purses, and Plum Pudding (A Paddy’s Peelers Mystery #2)
CHAPTER 11
S am wondered how he would tell Dottie what the girl had done. At the time, his main concern had been for the health of the child. She was a little thief and had probably been at it all afternoon. He imagined she’d been taught how to pick pockets from the time she could walk. But why today? Habit? After arranging for Dottie’s cart to be returned, he’d stopped by his office for his satchel and a tincture in case Violet was restless.
He knocked on the back door of the tavern, and Mrs. Clatterly answered it, spying his bag. “Oh, Dr. Brooks. You’re a saint. The poor little mite is asleep now, but Mrs. Brown is…” The landlady sighed and showed him to the room, leaving the door open as she backed away. “I’ll get you some tea.”
Dottie sat at a wooden table, staring at four small purses in front of her. When he entered, she looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.
It seemed his explanation might not be as lengthy as he’d thought. “You found them in her pelisse?” He removed his greatcoat and hung it on a hook next to the door. Setting his satchel on the table, he took out the tincture and handed it to her.
“If she becomes restless during the night, give her two drops of this, no more. It will make her drowsy, so she can relax and go back to sleep.”
She nodded, then pointed to the stolen pouches. “Why?”
“I was wondering the same thing.” He sank into a chair next to her and took her hand. “When I caught her reaching into my greatcoat and snatched her up, she went berserk. I thought bringing her to you might calm her. And it did, eventually.”
“She s-stole from you?” Her voice cracked with pain. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why don’t we start at the beginning. Tell me how the two of you met.”
At this, the tears streamed down her face, a sob escaping. “I was going to tell you on Wednesday, explain everything.”
Apprehension skittered down his spine. “Explain what?”
“We met at a hanging.” She gazed at him with pleading eyes.
“The same day I first saw you?” he asked, releasing her hand. “We’ve never discussed that.”
Dottie closed her eyes and nodded.
“In hindsight, I realize she was being chased. But I asked her if she was there with someone, and she pointed to the gallows.” She swallowed and opened her eyes. “Her brother was the young man standing next to Robert.”
He blinked. “Robert Dunn?” His heart pounded as he waited for a trap door to open beneath him . “And how would you know Robert Dunn?”
“He was my husband. Brown is my family name.”
Sam shook his head in disbelief. He needed to breathe. He needed time to examine this new revelation. “You couldn’t have been married to that man. He was… he was?—”
“A murderer. Yes, I know.” She reached for his hand, and he pulled it back. “I had no idea who he was. I thought he worked for a vicar of a wealthy parish.”
“The Vicar, a criminal with no conscience who we’ve been after for months. How could you not know?” He was shouting now and stood, sucking in a deep breath to calm himself.
“I was na?ve and believed his facade of a gentleman. There was no one to guide me except a spinster who ran a girls’ school. She was fooled as well. I didn’t know until the constable knocked on our door and arrested him.”
“ Your husband worked for the man who was responsible for my mother’s death and my family’s ruin.” He ran his hand through his hair, pacing the room. “He sold the insurance certificate to my father. When I was finally able to pay off the debt, it was too late. My mother’s health was so poor, she only lived another six months. My father died within the year. Most likely of a broken heart.”
“Why were you at Newgate that day?” she asked, her voice growing cold.
“To watch The Vicar’s men hang.”
“And the man responsible for their arrest?”
“Paddy O’Brien.”
They stared at one another, at an impossible impasse.
Mr. Clatterly burst into the room, Mrs. Clatterly right behind him with a tea tray. He took one look at the Dottie, then at Sam. “I think you should leave now.”
* * *
Once her landlords were assured she was fine, Mr. Clatterly led her into the closed public room. “I think you need a strong tonic, so you’ll sleep.” His voice was gruff, but affection warmed his tone. He handed her a small glass of brandy, then poured one for his wife and himself.
“I can’t believe the good doctor was so upset over a pickpocket. He didn’t lose anything,” sniffed Mrs. Clatterly. “I thought he was better than that.”
“He is,” agreed Dottie. “I’m afraid there’s much more to our story than that.”
Mr. Clatterly pulled out a chair for her, and they all sat at the table close to the hearth. The dying embers popped and glowed, and Dottie just wanted to lose her thoughts in the bright orange and yellows. Between the brandy and the hot coals, the chill in her bones was subsiding. She inhaled deeply and began her tale.
“I am so sorry to have deceived you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to survive,” Dottie ended lamely, afraid to look her landlords in the eye. “You have become dear friends, and I would do anything to start again.”
Mr. Clatterly sat with his lips pursed, arms crossed over his chest. He grunted. Mrs. Clatterly rose and threw her arms around Dottie in a tight hug.
“You poor, poor dear. What you’ve been through and how you must have suffered.” The older woman wiped at her eyes with the hem of her apron. “Of course we forgive you, don’t we, Husband?”
He looked up with a brusque nod. “I’d have happily strangled the rat myself if given the chance. Takin’ advantage of a young innocent like that.”
The relief swept over Dottie like an ocean wave, and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Thank you so much, both of you, for… everything. Taking me in, befriending me, welcoming Violet. You are the best of people!”
“Nonsense,” argued Mrs. Clatterly, “we’ve done nothin’ any other decent human being wouldn’t do. Now dry your eyes and finish your brandy. Dr. Brooks will see his way back to you.”
“And if he don’t, he don’t deserve the likes of a fine woman as yourself,” added Mr. Clatterly, awkwardly patting her shoulder. “He’ll keep a civil tone if he comes under my roof again.”
After the couple returned to their apartment above the tavern, Dottie remained in the public room, considering the afternoon and all that had transpired. Sam’s father had been the one to ensure Robert’s arrest, beginning her own downward spiral. Yet, she couldn’t blame him for apprehending a criminal. Her husband had been a terrible man. So her initial anger toward Sampson had evaporated.
Instead, she looked inward and tried to see how the news must have affected him. Robert had been one of the men responsible for the ruin of not only his family, but a young boy’s life and future. The terror he must have felt as a boy when the foundation beneath him crumbled away. How could she fix this? An apology seemed so feeble. And she certainly hadn’t meant to deceive him.
And then there was Violet. Why had the girl resorted to pickpocketing? She had clothes, food, shelter, and love. Dottie knew in her heart that the girl wasn’t a bad seed. So what had caused her to?—
She closed her eyes, remembering Violet’s cries and gestures. Dottie saw the girl putting her hands together and making the symbol for a boat on the water. Oh, no! A hand went to her mouth as the little girl’s motive hit her like a brick to the forehead.
She was stealing money for tickets to America. They counted their funds frequently, and Violet had been upset when Dr. Brooks had entered their world. Did she think, if Dottie and Sam were to marry, she would be cast aside?
Dottie rose and returned to her own room. She added more coal to the stove, then undressed and climbed into bed with Violet. The girl had not stirred. Dottie wrapped her arms around her, holding her close, going over the conversation they would have in the morning. She had put away the stolen pouches, wondering how they might be returned.
She didn’t have the strength tonight to think about it. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow would be soon enough.
Tonight, her heart was broken.