Silence stumbled, nearly dropping her end of the trunk. She’d forgotten she’d have to deal with Winter’s disapproval as well. Her brother had made a journey to Oxford on business and thus had been away from the home when Mary Darling’s absence had been discovered. This morning Silence had wished desperately for her brother’s support in searching for the little girl. Now she was thankful he was away. Winter was a mild man, a schoolmaster by trade, as well as manager of the home, but she had no doubt at all that he would’ve locked her in her room before letting her go to Mickey O’Connor.
Just the thought made her hurry her step. “I’m truly sorry, Nell, to leave you with the chore of telling Winter but I can’t stay. I need to go to Mary Darling.”
“Of course you do,” Nell said stoutly.
Silence shot her a quick smile. “None of this is your fault and Mr. Makepeace will understand that.”
“I surely hope so, ma’am.”
By the time they’d descended the rest of the stairs Silence was perspiring from exertion and anxiety. Winter wasn’t expected back for days, yet she couldn’t help jumping when the door to the kitchen opened.
“Take that, shall I?” Harry asked as he strolled out, a bun in one hand. He grasped one of the trunk’s handles and easily swung it to his broad back.
Nell straightened, hands on hips and glared. “Watch you don’t drop the mistress’s things.”
“O’ course not,” Harry said easily, earning himself a disgusted grunt from Bert.
Nell looked at Silence and her face seemed to crumple. “Oh, ma’am!” She threw her apron over her face and let out a loud, hiccupping sob.
“It’s all right, Nell, really ’tis,” Silence said helplessly.
She didn’t know whether or not she believed the words herself, but what else was she to say? Tears were pricking her eyes now as well. She’d lived at the home for just over a year, learned of her husband William’s death last fall here, discovered she was more than a wife here—that she could stand on her own two feet and be of use to others. Now she was leaving suddenly and without warning. She felt as if the very ground beneath her feet was unstable. She had no home now—hadn’t since William’s death, really—all she had was Mary Darling.
“I’ll be back,” she whispered, not even sure she spoke the truth.
Nell pulled down her apron, her face reddened and damp, her blond hair trailing from its pins. She marched up to Harry and stuck a finger in his chest. “Just you watch out for her, you hear me, you great lout? A hair on her head gets harmed and it’s you I’ll be coming after.”
The threat was ludicrous, Harry towered over Nell. Silence blinked, Bert scowled, but Harry himself was quite solemn. He took Nell’s hand gently in his big paw and spread her fingers until he could rest them on his great chest, just over where his heart might be.
“Never you fear, ma’am,” was all he said. “Never you fear.”
And then Silence was out the door, the wind whipping her skirts flat against her legs as she headed into a new life.
CHARLIE GRADY, BETTER known as the Vicar of Whitechapel, poured himself a tankard of beer. Some might find it strange—his taste for beer—seeing as how he controlled the distilling of damn near every drop of gin in Whitechapel and indeed the whole East End of London, but there it was. Charlie liked beer, so beer he drank.
And if anyone did find his taste in drink strange, well… no one was foolish enough to tell him so to his face.
“What have you found?” he asked, watching as the foam in the pewter tankard slowly subsided. He didn’t need to look up to know that Freddy, standing before Charlie’s table, was studying his own big feet.
“ ’E moved the babe into ’is palace today.” Freddy was a big bruiser, smarter than he looked, but not much for expansive talk.
Charlie grinned, only half of his face moving. “Always a smart one was Charming Mickey. He must have a real fear for what I’d do to the babe to take her out of his hiding place and move her to the palace.”
Freddy shuffled uneasily. “There’s more.”
“Aye?”
“A wench came to see ’im.”
Charlie laughed, the sound a strange sputter. “That there isn’t news.”
His gaze flicked up in time to see Freddy look hastily away.
Freddy flushed, the red mottling his pitted face. “This one is different.”
“How do you figure?”
“She’s the one ’oo lived in the orphan’s ’ome—the respectable one. The one takin’ care o’ the babe.”