“Why?” The question barely made it past his clenched teeth.
“He needs money.” Martha pulled her hand away and shifted on the cushion. By now morning light eased through the front window, highlighting the grief bending her shoulders. And then out of nowhere, she threw those shoulders back, regaining her pluck. “But I’ll not give him a coin! Not even a ha’penny if it’s to be used fer drinkin’ or gamblin’. I can’t abide either. I won’t!”
He narrowed his eyes, hardly believing his ears. “Your brother raises his hand against you because you will not support his vices?”
“It do sound worse when ye fancy it all up like that, but aye. That’s the gist o’ it.” She paced a small circle on the parlour rug then stopped in front of him, hands out. “But ye must understand, Mr. Baggett, Roy don’ mean anything by it. He don’ know no better. Our father was the same way. I can manage him. And a’sides, he’ll move on soon enough, then that’ll be the end of that.”
His hands curled into fists at the excuse he’d heard time and again from battered women. They all thought they couldmanagetheir abuser…right up until the time Charles was the one called to fish them out of the river, neck snapped or chest stabbed. He’d seen far too much of that sort of ugliness in his time on the streets.
He sprang to his feet, sofa springs creaking from such a sudden departure. “Where is he?”
Martha retreated a step. “Why ye wantin’ to know?”
“I have a few words for him.” Hah! He had far more than that. He flexed his fists.
“Like I said, I should be going. I’ve a kitchen to run.” Whirling, she pressed one hand to her hat lest it fly off.
Once again he pulled her back, this time taking far more liberty by holding both of her shoulders. Her lips parted—as astonished as he at his bold move—but even so, he stared deeply into her eyes, hopefully driving home that which he must say. “Martha, listen to me. What Roy is doing to you is not any more right than how Mr. Bellow mismanages his glassworks. That anger you feel about Frankie’s injury? That sense of injustice and urge to set things straight so that no one else gets hurt? You’re not the only one who’s ever felt that way—who feels that way even now, as I do about you. So please, give me your brother’s location.”
“Ye…” Her lower lip quivered. “Ye won’t harm him, will ye?”
In truth? Nothing would feel more satisfying than to pummel the man into a bloody heap. But for the sake of this blue-eyed saint, that urge would have to be curbed. Slowly, he shook his head. “I will not. You have my word. But I shall make it very clear to him that he’s not to harm you ever again.”
“I dunno…” She bit that lip, putting a stop to the quivering.
“Where is he, Martha?”
Her chest heaved with a great sigh. “Gilliam’s Circus Royal.”
Broadside posters flashed in his mind. The handbills at the Devil’s Acre. All had advertised for that same circus. He dropped his hands. “Thank you. I’ll see you to the door now.”
He strode across the room.
But footsteps did not follow.
“I’ll wait here,” Martha said.
He pivoted, brows lifting to the rafters. “You cannot wait alone in a men’s boardinghouse, Mrs. Jones. This could take me some time.”
“Pish. I’m only waitin’ long enough fer ye to grab yer coat, ye daft man. I’ll not have ye talkin’ to my brother alone.”
He frowned. “But I gave you my word I won’t harm him.”
“And I believe ye, yet there’s no tellin’ what Roy might do to ye.”
Until she became a mother, Kit had no idea that bones could actually be tired, but hers were. Deep down. Dog beat. Oh, but she was knuckledragging weary. If only there was a way to do this job that allowed her to sit around more on days like this. Shifting Bella to her hip, she yawned large and loud as she pulled open the enquiry agency’s door. With any luck, her father would have a hot mug of stout tea on his desk that she could pinch. And with any more luck, he’d be in a pleasant mood—
Pleasant enough to agree to care for Bella while she skipped down to the station.
Mustering as much vim and vigour as possible, she strolled into the office and approached her father’s desk. “Good morning, Father. Bella, say hello to your grandpapa.”
“Ba-ba!” Bella cooed, straining nearly out of Kit’s arms.
“What’s this? Two lovely ladies in the office at once?” He rounded the desk and pulled the girl from her arms, much to the delight of Bella and relief of Kit. “There now, come to Grandpa.”
While he swung the babe around, inducing a wave of shriek-laughter, Kit swiped up the mug she’d hoped for, and after a few swallows, she felt somewhat more human.
“I see how it is.” With one big reach, her father settled Bella atop his shoulders. She straddled the back of his neck, grabbing handfuls of his thick hair to keep from toppling. “Distract me with my granddaughter while you steal my tea, eh? Once a swindler, always a swindler.”
