“What are you doing?” she hissed as she struggled to break free.
“What in the wee devil do you think you’re doing?” he hissed back. Sometimes she was too impulsive for her own good.
At another cry—like that of a young child—they both grew motionless. Who was there?
“Hello?” Zaira said gently.
A voice came again but was quickly muffled.
Was someone hurting a child? If so, Bellamy couldn’t stand back and let it happen.
He unsheathed his knife and strode to the rubbish heap, an urgency prodding him. With his knife at the ready, he stepped around the refuse. Although the darkness prevented him from seeing much, he could distinguish the outline oftwo children. One appeared to be slightly bigger and was holding another child on his lap.
Bellamy wasn’t an expert on children’s ages, but he guessed they were somewhere around the range of five and three. The older one, wearing trousers and a flatcap, had his hand over the younger child’s mouth. Attired in a dress and a bonnet, she was fighting against the boy to free herself.
Before Bellamy could ask the children any questions or even ascertain if they were with anyone, Zaira brushed past him.
The little girl grew motionless, but the lad bolted into action. He shoved the lass to her feet, hopped up, and dragged the little girl forward. “Nip along, we have to go.” The lad had a heavy Irish accent that told Bellamy he was a recent immigrant.
“No, Seamus,” the lass whined.
“Wait.” Zaira held out a hand toward the two. “I can help you.”
“We’re getting along.” The boy didn’t stop.
“But where are your parents?” Zaira persisted.
Bellamy didn’t need the children to say anything to know the answer. Their parents had died from cholera and left them orphans. From what he’d heard, the orphanages were overflowing with children like this, whose parents had succumbed to the disease and who had no other family or friends to take care of them.
“My parents are just there, so.” The boy, Seamus, nodded down the street. “We’ll be on our way.”
“I can walk with you,” Zaira offered.
Before Seamus could say more, the little lass chimed in. “We’re trying to find our da.”
“Moya,” the lad scolded, “I told you not to be saying nothing.”
“But I’m hungry.”
Seamus was still attempting to drag her away, but she was making his efforts difficult.
“I have food for you.” Zaira crouched down to their level.
Bellamy had to give Zaira credit. She was persistent, and she was kind to care about these two orphans. But the boy was scared of them, didn’t want to encounter anyone.
“Come on with you now, Moya.” The lad stumbled forward down the dark alley.
She began to cry again. “I want Mama.”
Zaira rose and followed them. “I don’t know where your mama or da are at, but I’ll do my best to help you find them if you’ll let me.”
Maybe their da was still alive. Maybe just their mam had died. “I’m the matchmaker,” Bellamy said, hoping to convince them along with Zaira. “I’m sure I can find someone who knows about your da.”
The boy paused.
Oh aye, the child believed his da was alive somewhere, and that was the hook in helping these two. “I know lots of people, so I do. If anyone’s to be helping you locate your da, ’tis me.”
“He’s right,” Zaira added, continuing to inch toward the pair. “Bellamy McKenna can do just about anything he sets his mind to.”
