Page 43 of The Secret Word (Twist Upon a Regency Tale #10)

Clementine regarded him gravely. “I hope you find what you are looking for, Mr. Harrington, or O’Hara, or whoever you become. You have been a great blessing to our family. We look forward to welcoming you back whenever that may be.”

She was too kind. But then, she had only seen the benevolent side of him. Christopher knew better. “What can we do for you, Billy? We owe you so much, as you yourself have pointed out on various occasions.”

In jest, and to maintain his reputation.

In truth, he could never do enough to make up to Christopher for his failure to keep watch over the abysmal Reggie.

Billy had loved Christabel Satterthwaite since the day he first met her and her little boy, when he’d turned up at the rooming house where they lived at the time to collect a gambling debt that Reggie owed.

Christabel had invited him in and given him tea.

Him! Ramping Billy O’Hara! And so what if it was just a few tea leaves in hot water, all the poor lady could afford?

Billy had managed to persuade his employer to give the useless Reggie an extra week to pay, and had personally pawned Reggie’s watch and marched Reggie to a job handling cargo on the wharves to make up the difference.

Of course, Reggie learned nothing. After several more incidents in which Christabel had lost her household furniture, and in one case all the china her friend Lady Fernvale had given her, Billy had offered to take Christabel and the boy and set them up in comfort somewhere.

“Thank you, Billy,” she had said, tears in her eyes.

“I know Reggie is a dreadful gambler, and will not stop. But he is my husband, and I love him. I cannot come with you.”

She was right, in a way. Reggie was a compulsive gambler, and that came first in his life.

But he loved his wife and son in his own way, and he was a gentleman.

Billy was a rogue and a villain, the sweepings of the gutter underneath it all, however he tried to improve himself.

He’d never gambled away the money for the week’s groceries, but he’d done far worst things in service of keeping his body and soul together.

One of his worst crimes was focusing on Fortune’s Fool, the first gambling den he acquired, right at the time that Reggie got himself in too deep with the wrong people.

Billy had heard that the idiot had been killed and slung into the Thames, and had intended to visit the widow, but it was opening week.

He had thought it could wait. He hadn’t known that Christabel was sick.

By the time Fortune’s Fool had enjoyed its successful first week, Christabel was dead, the debt collectors had stripped the house, and Percival Satterthwaite had done a runner—with Christopher, Billy had assumed, until he found the boy picking his pocket almost a year later.

Christopher was the first of Billy’s errand boys, and the most important, though he cared for them all, in so far as the cold shriveled-up organ he called a heart was capable of caring.

In the moments it took him to recall all this ancient history, Christopher and Clementine waited patiently for his reply, hand in hand. He smiled at Clem and she smiled back. They trust me , Billy realized. What was even more astounding was that they could!

“Your happiness, the happiness of your children, and the success of the school,” Billy said. “That is what you owe me, Christopher and Clementine. Achieve that, and the debt is paid.”

Another of those marital looks. Then Clementine said, “Thank you,” and Christopher said, “I shall spend my life on it, Billy.”

“I have another question for you,” said Clementine. “What really happened the night my father died, and where is Tom Fuller? Arthur and Martin also disappeared that day, but when they came back the next day, Tom was not with them.”

“What did they tell you?” Billy asked.

“Nothing. They apologized but said they had been instructed to be silent. Who gave that instruction, Billy? Was it Tom? Or you?”

He could deny all knowledge, but it would be a lie.

Billy had arrived after the ruckus. The boys had sent a street boy with a message to Fortune’s Fool, to ask Billy to come.

Apparently, the three boys had confronted Wright, demanding that he go away and leave William and his parents alone, threatening to tell Arthur’s story and—as it turned out—Tom’s story, too, since he was also a survivor from the place where Arthur had been known only as Eight.

Wright had threatened them in return, pulling out a gun to shoot them with—but Tom had jumped him, and the indolent old man had been no match for Tom’s wiry strength. After the gun went off, Wright lay dying.

Billy had set it up as much as possible to make it look like suicide. He’d sent Martin and Arthur back to the school. Tom was in deep shock, and in no state to keep the events of the night secret.

What would it help Clementine to know all of that? “I cannot tell you, Mrs. Satterthwaite,” Billy replied.

She was not satisfied with the answer. “Can you tell me if Tom Fuller is alive? And well?”

Tom was waiting for Billy in Canada, which was to be Billy’s first stop on his journey.

According to the people Billy had sent Tom to, he was doing well at school and was in good spirits.

Soon, Billy would see for himself. He could give Clementine that much.

“He is, yes.” He bent a little more. “It was an accident, but Tom blamed himself. He wanted to leave.”

“But you looked after him, just as you looked after me,” Christopher said.

Next thing, they’d have him fitted with a damned halo.

“I helped him for my own reasons, yes,” Billy replied.

He’d guessed Tom’s problem when he first found the boy, and done nothing.

He could have saved Arthur and who knew how many others if he’d done then what he did after Wright’s death—closed down the brothel and ruined as many of the clients as he could find.

It was one reason he was getting out of town. He had annoyed some very powerful people. He’d also left a few surprises for them behind him. When the rumors built up momentum, they’d have a lot more to worry about than a missing gambling den operator.

“Perhaps I could visit the school one more time before I leave?” he said. He had a letter from Tom to slip to Arthur or Martin.

“Of course,” said Christopher. “I’ll take you over. It is nearly time for the mid-day break.”

“Come back to say goodbye before you leave,” Clementine commanded, and Billy agreed. In many ways, she reminded him of Christopher’s mother—the same kindness, the same innocent enjoyment of life, the same tolerance for others.

Christopher Satterthwaite was a very lucky man to have had two such women in his life. For that matter, so was Billy, to have known Christopher’s mother and then, his wife. Living up to what those two ladies expected of him was mission enough for the rest of his lifetime.

THE END