She pulled back, tugging her sleeve into place with a lighthearted “Pish! ’Tis nothin’. Caught my arm on the corner of the table. I suppose you should know what a clumsy sheep I can be.”
Could be. And actually, he ought to be grateful she’d suffered naught but a bruise instead of a burn, for kitchens were notoriously dangerous. But still…he studied the depths of her blue eyes. Was she lying? And if so, to what purpose?
“Now don’t go sizing me up like one o’ yer bounders off the street. There is no crime in being a namby-footed blunderer, and I’ll thank ye not to embarrass me further.”
Heat flashed up his neck. Thunder and turf! He’d never meant to shame her. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Jones. I wouldn’t ever wish to discomfit—”
She held up her palm with a grin. “Enough o’ such talk. Now then, ye were sayin’ Kit’s man had a spot o’ trouble.”
“More than that, I’m afraid.” He blew out a long breath. Poor Forge. He’d have done anything to help his old friend, but instead he’d done the opposite. “And I didn’t help matters.”
Martha patted his hand. “But ye’d ne’er willingly harm yer friend. Everyone knows that.”
“No. Not intentionally.” Martha’s touch soothed, yet not nearly enough to take away the remorse that still tightened in his chest. “I should have known better than to haul my suspect up to Forge’s office no matter how eager I was to deliver the man to justice. Horrible timing on my part because the new inspector Harvey and the sergeant piled in there as well. And of course, that’s when the superintendent chose to grace the place with an impromptu visit. Quite the ugly tongue-lashing ol’ Jackson received. He’ll be smarting from that for days.”
“Kit will see to him, don’t ye worry none on that account.” Martha squeezed his hand then pulled away. “Besides, ye had no way of knowing the boss man would pop in like that.”
“You know, Mrs. Jones, sometimes I think you should join the force. I could use a partner with your loyalty, especially now that Forge is chained to a desk.”
“Me, a bobby? Imagine that.” Laughter as warm as an August day filled the room. “Why, I’ll ne’er be anything more than a soup slinger. But don’t get me wrong. I am glad fer it. Had Kit not purchased this kitchen and funded this mission to begin with, I daresay I’d be on the streets with my girls and my Frankie. T’aint much else fer a widow to do. Flit. E’en when ol’ Olly were alive, we were barely a step above the gutter.”
Rage clenched Charles’ gut. Martha’s former husband hadn’t provided much for her save for a rough hand in life and even less in his death, leaving her nothing but some gambling debts he’d incurred while off on his fishing stints. Unbidden, Charles’ hands curled into fists. The man hadn’t deserved her.
“I would never see you in such straits, you must know that.” His words came out huskier than he would’ve liked, but so be it.
“Yer a good man, Mr. Baggett.” A smile curved her lips. “A very fine man.”
“And you have a big heart, Mrs. Jones.”
She blinked, her blue eyes filling with an emotion he couldn’t name. He was about to ask her about it when the front door burst open.
“I did it. I did it!” Twelve-year-old Frankie dashed in and slammed a handful of coins onto the table. Martha’s boy was at that awkward age between colt and stallion, all arms and legs and not grown into his skin quite yet.
“Such manners, Frankie!” Martha scolded. “Apologize to the inspector at once.”
“Sorry, sir.” He flashed a rakish grin.
“All’s well, lad, yet in the future do as your mother says and don’t go tearing into a room like a bookie’s runner.” Charles cuffed him on the shoulder. “But if I may ask, how did you acquire so much money?”
Frankie thumped his thumb against his chest. “Got me a job.”
“Oh dear.” Martha grimaced. “What sort this time?”
“Don’t worry, Mum. ’Tis on the up and up. Why, e’en Miss Kit would bust a button o’er the fish I landed.” He wrapped his fingers around the lapels of his raggedy coat. “Yer lookin’ at the new stock boy fer Bellow’s Glassworks.”
Charles let out a low whistle. Quite the position for one so young. “How did you manage to accomplish that?”
Frankie leaned towards them both, eyebrows waggling. “Let’s just say ol’ man Bellow felt beholden to me.”
“In what way?” Martha popped her fists onto her hips. “What sort o’ tomfoolery have ye been up to, Franklin Oliver?”
Charles stifled a snort. The boy had to know if his mother used his full and formal given name, she’d take the truth and nothing less.
“Nothin’ a shade too dark, Mum. I just happened to save Mr. Bellow from breaking his head when a runaway horse near to trampled the blighter.”
“Mind your language, young man,” Charles warned.
“Pardon.” This time a genuine contrition actually dipped the lad’s head. “Meant to say the horse nearly trampled the gent.”
