Page 2 of Pads, Purses, and Plum Pudding (A Paddy’s Peelers Mystery #2)

CHAPTER 1

June 1820

Cheapside, London

T he front door opened, bringing with it the clatter of horse hoofs, the stench of the city, and a handsome dark-haired man with a roguish smile. “Luvvy, I’m home.”

Mrs. Robert Dunn met him with a grin and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Did you miss me?”

“Always.” He gave her a sound kiss, pulling her close and swinging her in a circle before setting her down with a smack on her arse. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

Dorothea shook her head. “Not tonight. We are celebrating your return after three long months, and I won’t tolerate anything dour.” She pulled him to the wingback chair in front of the coal stove. “I’ll pour you some brandy.”

Robert eased his stocky frame into the chair with a heavy sigh. “I suppose it can wait. You know how I hated to leave you, but when the man gives orders…” His nostrils twitched and he nodded toward the “kitchen” at the other end of the room. “What magic are you working in there, luvvy?”

A rabbit sizzled over the small hearth fire, and a loaf of bread waited on the table with freshly churned butter. Shortbread—her husband’s favorite—was hidden away in a basket. A perfect dinner for their first anniversary. It had been so lonely when Robert had left for Scotland, hauling wagons of goods for his employer, a vicar in Stepney. A child would have eased the emptiness. She brushed back the emotion that threatened whenever she remembered the miscarriage.

But the midwife had said it was not unusual to lose the first, and there was no reason she couldn’t have another. And Robert had kept his promise, returning in time for their anniversary. So, she focused on the happiness the future would bring them both. Dorothea untied her apron and eased it over her head, careful not to muss her hair. Arranged in a loose chignon, she took a quick peek at the dulled mirror and pulled down some of her auburn curls to nestle against her cheeks.

“You’re wearing my favorite gown,” Robert said with a wink. “I thought of your eyes when I bought it.” He had given her the deep-blue muslin dress last Christmas. A white satin ribbon emphasized the high waist, and delicate lace bordered the modest neckline and cap sleeves.

“You say that every time I wear it.” She had begun sewing tiny delicate birds of peace along the hem. It would be perfect to wear again next Christmastide. The white wings seemed to take flight as she moved across the small parlor to rejoin her husband.

She handed him a cup, and he took it, pulling her onto his lap along with the drink. “I swear you get prettier every day. How did I get so lucky?”

With a laugh, she pushed off his lap. “You charmed me before I knew any better.”

“You stole my heart at first glance. I couldn’t believe a young beauty would give an old man a second look.” He nuzzled her neck, making her giggle. “Remember?”

“How could I forget?”

She had taken some of her students from the Darlington School for Girls into the nearby village. Dorothea, then Miss Brown, had been employed there as an instructor of French, household accounts (knowledge mandatory for every good wife), and the pianoforte. With their proximity to London, many wealthy merchants sent their daughters there for “polish.”

“Here I was, minding my own business?—”

“Whistling at ladies is not minding your own business,” she interrupted with a giggle, stroking her hand through his hair and noticing the added gray in the thinning black.

“Who’s telling this story?” Robert’s dark eyes twinkled as he tugged on one of her curls. “Here comes this gaggle of girls”—he held up a finger when she opened her mouth—“tittering and pretending not to look at me. Their chaperone is gaping so hard that she trips and falls right into my arms.”

She kissed his cheek. “And they lived happily ever after. Even though you were almost old enough to be my father.”

“It did take six months of wooing to get you to say yes, luvvy.”

“Do you regret it?” Why did she always ask him this? Because she’d never expected to find a husband and have a family. A spinster helping other young ladies find happiness had been her future. And she’d been more than satisfied with her lot until Mr. Robert Dunn had burst into her life.

“Never. And you? Are you happy?”

His sudden serious demeanor sent a shiver up her spine. Something was wrong. Tomorrow. Ask tomorrow. “Only one thing could make it better,” she whispered in his ear.

“That will come, luvvy. In fact, the more we try?—”

“The sooner I’ll be with child.” She grinned as he threw back the whiskey and stood, cradling her in his arms.

“Enough said.”

* * *

A week later

Dr. Sampson Brooks walked across Bush Lane and stopped in front of the Dog’s Bone. This tavern had been a beacon of light on a cold Christmas Eve almost eighteen years ago. Tonight, he was meeting Paddy and Walters here for news. The news he’d been waiting for… almost his entire life, or so it seemed. He removed his hat and entered the old building.

He nodded to the brawny bald man behind the counter on his left. “Evening, Leo.”

The man grinned at him and pointed to the back. Leo had given up his “office” to the Peelers whenever they needed it. It gave O’Brien’s investigators a place to discuss business away from home. It was private, close to home, and Leo served good ale, not the cheap watered down brown liquid found in other riverfront taverns.

The barmaid stopped in front of him, holding several bowls of a rich stew. He was making his way to the back, stopping to say hello to a friend or client. “Ale or porter?” asked Bess.

“Ale, please.”

“I’ll bring it back as soon as I’m done serving this stew. Did you want any of this?” She raised one of the crocks she was carrying.

“It smells good. Yes, thank you.” Sam wouldn’t have to stop on the way home for something to eat.

“The Thomases are over there,” she informed him with a nod of her head, sending her brown curls bouncing beneath her mobcap. “Want to tell you thank you again.”

Sampson stopped at the booth, asking about the couple’s youngest, who he’d seen for a fever last week. They were a good family, and he’d allowed Mrs. Thomas to fix meals for him last week to pay for his services. He grinned. While some thought he was daft for bartering, he enjoyed having his home cleaned, his clothes washed, and meals cooked in exchange for helping the sick. He remembered what it was like to be hungry. And he remembered how much any kindness had been appreciated.

It was funny, when he thought about it, that he’d become a doctor instead of a solicitor. Maggie, his second mother, had known his future before he had. The woman had an uncanny intuition about people. And to her delight, she was rarely wrong.

After several conversations, Sam entered the back room. It was a room that seemed untouched by time. The charred beams overhead and large open hearth on one end spoke of the history of this old inn turned tavern. There were shelves along one stone wall, holding a variety of supplies. A small room off this held Leo’s more expensive bottles of liquor and port.

“’Tis about time, boyo,” boomed Paddy from a table in the center of the room. “Beginning to t’ink ye were ill yerself.” He reached down and scratched the wolfhound often at his side.

“I see you brought Aonarach with you,” Sam observed as the giant wire-haired dog stood to greet him. His long gray tail wagged while he enjoyed a good ear scratch.

“Maggie was wanting all da males out o’ da house, so I took my faithful hound and fled.” The Irishman held up a bumper of ale and waved it toward Walters. “Did ye order the stew? ‘Tis a good one.”

Sam nodded and sat across from Harry Walters, his brother by luck as the Peelers always called each other. Harry had been the first waif Paddy had taken off the street. Sam noted a shine in the man’s dark eyes.

“Good news, I assume?” Sam asked, leaning over the table and squinting at Walters. “Is that more gray along your temples, Brother? Lady Matilda won’t want an old man waiting for her at the altar. Maybe you need to take some time off.”

Harry snorted. “It shows more because my hair is so dark. Speaking of age, I see more lines around those fine hazel eyes as Bess calls them. Too much winking at the ladies? The gossipmongers have had your name bouncing up and down Cheapside.”

“Enough sibling rivalry,” interrupted Paddy with a chuckle. “Don’t try to stoke my fire, boyos. I’m already old, I have a lovin’ woman at home?—”

“Who booted us out for the afternoon,” reminded Harry.

“True enough,” Paddy conceded. A soft knock on the door, then Bess entered with a bumper of ale, a bowl of stew, and a pitcher to refill drinks for the two other men.

“Ye’re a vision, my girl,” said Paddy. “Any time ye want me to knock some sense into dat big oaf o’ mine, just say the word.” It was common knowledge that Bess was sweet on Gus, another of the O’Brien clan.

She shook her head, laughter in her brown eyes. “I’ll catch him on me own time, thank ye very much. I’m in no hurry, Mr. O’Brien.”

Once she left, Sampson took a pull of his ale and waited.

“We’ve located two of the men involved in the insurance scandal that ruined your father. Robert Dunn was the leader who rented the office and sold your father the fake insurance. The other man printed the certificates and collected the money.” Walters paused while Sam took in this information. “They are in London, working with a villain we only know as The Vicar.”

“How will we press charges against them for something that happened so long ago?”

“Tis not like da leopards change their spots. Last winter, Dunn was kidnapping chimney sweeps grown too big for da work, stealing boys from one brothel and selling dem to another. Da Home Office wants him for being involved with those Spencean radicals who tried to overthrow da government last winter.” Paddy grinned. “Dunn has a long list of unsavory business practices, but treason could be da one to bring him down.”

“By stringing him up,” Walters added with a snort.

“He was lying low for a while, but he’s popped out from his hidey-hole,” said Paddy. “I’ve let the magistrate know we’re following them, but their time here in London is coming to an end.”

“They’ve been working with two others—a petty thief and his son. I acted as a house thief, looking to pass on stolen goods. They paid me in bad coin,” continued Walters. “I plan on meeting up with them again at the Rat’s Nest. If I get another counterfeit coin, I’ll set someone on them. If we can find out where they’re minting them, it will be easier to make the arrest.”

“If Dunn catches wind of you, he’ll run again,” said Sam. “If there’s anything I can do to help…”

“A taste of the waste makes a thief of the beast as Maggie always says,” quoted Walters. “He’s been out of action too long. The mangy cur’s used to making good blunt and itching to fill his pockets again. And a pretty little wife to support.”

“I’ll make sure ye’re at Bow Street when we bring dem in, Sam,” Paddy assured him. “But breathe easy now, knowing yer retribution is close at hand.”

* * *

July

Dorothea sat in the rocker, mending some socks, humming an old tune her mother used to sing to her as a child. A knock on the door interrupted her musings. When she answered, Mr. Cotter, one of the local constables, stood before her, hat in hand.

“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Dunn. May I come in?” His stern look made her stomach clench.

“What’s wrong? Is it Robert? Is he hurt?” Panic skittered up her spine as the older man walked past her. His short gray hair was tousled by the strong winds of the day, and he stood rigid by the door.

“No, ma’am. I need… to speak with him.” She shut the door as two men passed by, giving her a side-glance. The taller man, older with red hair, caught her gaze and held it for a brief moment. She slammed the door against the overwhelming sense of danger.

“I’m afraid Mr. Dunn isn’t home yet. I expect him soon, though. Would you like to wait?”

Mr. Cotter bobbed his head. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“I’ll fix us some tea while we?—”

“No need, Mrs. Dunn.” He averted her gaze when she gave him a questioning look.

The heavy silence set off more warning bells. Did this have something to do with the “bad news” Robert had wanted to tell her on their anniversary? She had never brought the subject up again. Was he in some kind of trouble? She knew little of his position with the man she knew only as the vicar. It paid well, but he kept irregular hours. Robert said his employer was very private, and he often had to go out in the middle of the night to assist distraught parishioners.

The door burst open, and Robert rushed through it, an unfamiliar air of urgency sweeping in with him. “We have to pack, luvvy. I don’t have time to explain, but we need?—”

He froze, taking in the constable standing near the stove. “Ah, Mr. Cotter,” he said, his tone smoothing out, the familiar Robert returning. “How’s the missus? That boy of yours sure is growing.”

“None o’ that will be necessary. I’m afraid you know why I’m here.” The constable moved forward. “Let’s make this easier on your wife and come along quietly.”

“No! There must be some mistake.” She looked wildly from her husband to Mr. Cotter, their friend. “He’s done nothing wrong.”

When she locked her gaze on Robert, her stomach roiled. His dark eyes were black and cold as a moonless winter night. She didn’t know this man who stood before her. Her Robert was warm and kind and charming. This man…

“Robert?” she asked in a quivering voice, her hand finding the back of a chair to hold her up. “What have you done?”

“Don’t look at me like that.” He sneered. “You’ve enjoyed all the finery I’ve given you, the life you’ve had with me. Do you think it comes without a price?”

“But you work for a man of God…” Dorothea shook her head. None of this made any sense.

“The Vicar is no man of God, ma’am,” said Mr. Cotter. “He’s the head of a criminal ring, and your husband is one of his best henchmen.”

Robert made a dash for the door, Dorothea screamed, and the constable cursed. A scuffle in the alley, more cursing, followed by “Where ye off to in such a hurry, boyo?”

She ran outside to see the redheaded man and his partner dragging her husband away. Her breaths came in rapid spurts as she cried out, then all went black.