“I take umbrage at that statement,” Nora piped up with a grin. “Though it’s true. I took to the stage like a cat to mousing. Never regretted it.”
Once in the parlor, whiskey and tea were distributed, and everyone settled into their usual spots. Aonarach, their Irish wolfhound, spread across Paddy’s feet. “We’ll need a bigger parlor soon,” said Sam, the family physician. “Once we start having families of our own?—”
“Oh, I cannot wait,” interrupted Maggie. “To t’ink we were once childless…” Her dark-brown eyes misted as her gaze touched upon each face in the room. “But da good Lord had other ideas, seven of them. And now to have grandchildren to look forward to.”
“See what ye’ve gone and done?” groused Paddy, the familiar panic in his blue eyes as he saw the tears forming in his wife’s eyes. “Play a jovial tune, Nora.” They all knew how much the man hated tears, whether they be happy or sad.
Nora picked up the fiddle and began a lively Irish tune while the others pushed furniture to the edge of the room. Soon, Harry and his wife, Sam and Dottie, and Clayton and Genie were dancing a reel with the O’Briens.
Ben watched his brothers and their brides twirl and hop upon the worn wool carpet. The green Wilton rug had seen better days, but no one wanted to change the room where they’d grown from homeless children to happy adults. There was the dark stain in the corner marring the otherwise gleaming hardwood floor. Clayton had tried to sneak some of Maggie’s Madeira wine—a gift from Paddy for his wife’s birth day—hiding in the corner by the pianoforte. Maggie had caught him, yelled in Gaelic as they both watched the decanter tumble, spilling the expensive liquid.
The chains of puce roses on the wallpaper were faded now, the white background faded in areas where the sun shone on it regularly. So many times, one of them had burst into the room with some earth-shattering news, sending the door handle banging against the wall. There was a permanent dent that matched the knob perfectly. Maggie’s rocker, always covered with a new blanket when another child was brought to her, needed a new cushion, a bit of sanding (Aonarach had used the bottom rail for teething as a pup), and another coat of varnish.
Yes, the memories in this old parlor—this house—gave him hope he could find happiness like Paddy and Maggie. He’d never forgotten Paddy’s words that first day Ben had joined the family.
Consider this da first day of yer best life, boyo.
Indeed. Courtesy of the O’Briens.
Ben threw back the rest of his whiskey and stood up, facing Maggie. “Would you care to dance, ma’am?”
Maggie beamed, her round face glowing with happiness and Madeira. “I’d be delighted.”
After the married couples had left for their respective homes and Maggie had gone to bed, Ben enjoyed a brandy with Paddy, Angus, and Nora.
“We didn’t get to finish our earlier conversation,” said Angus, his black hair gleaming as he sat next to the fire. “Probably a good thing since we aren’t supposed to discuss business at the family meal.”
“A new client, you said?” asked Ben.
“Yes, you met Lord Tamber at Harry and Mattie’s wedding. He hired Eli to do a portrait of his family,” said Angus. “Lord Tamber is in search of a solicitor. His father is not doing well, so he may inherit the title of Marquess of Whimberly sooner than expected. He’s hesitant to use his father’s solicitor as the man is older than the marquess.”
Ben nodded. The family had extensive property and investments. As a solicitor, he often oversaw the financial statements for the holdings of his clients. This could be quite a boon for him. If Tamber was happy with Ben’s work, there could be more influential members of the ton. He might be able to buy a townhouse in the near future rather than years from now.
“Eli liked the man, said he was straightforward and easy to deal with,” said Ben.
“Mattie says he has a lovely wife and little boy,” added Nora. Harry’s wife, Mattie, was the sister of an earl and had known Lord and Lady Tamber socially. “This is a good opportunity for you, Benjie.”
Ben smiled at the childhood nickname. Only Nora called him that, and he could never break her of the habit.
Angus leaned forward on his knees, cradling the glass of brandy between his hands. “I would advise against becoming involved with his mother. She’s quite the shrew, and from what I understand, a terror to deal with.”
“I appreciate the warning,” said Ben, wondering how much trouble an old woman could cause. Regardless, the marchioness wasn’t hiring him; her son was. But with Angus Marshall’s ties to the nobility, Benjamin would take heed of the warning.
Paddy moved on to investigations. “So, where are we with dat Vicar scoundrel? Any rumblings in da legal halls?”
Angus sighed and stood, pacing the room. “One of the guards at Newgate was bribed to let someone in to see Mason. It’s a shame, but not unexpected, that no one’s talking. If our Harry couldn’t dig anything up, my sources certainly won’t.”
The Vicar was the head of a counterfeit ring—among other illegal ventures—who had been evading the Peelers for several years. Each time they got close to the man—or one of his toadies—a body vanished or turned up dead. Mason had been part of the Vicar’s inner circle, but he’d never made it to trial for murder because he’d become a victim himself.
“Mason was finished off quickly and silently. It was the work of a professional, not some henchman,” said Nora. “I’d wager it was the same assassin who killed the viscount at Hyde Park last November.”
Lord Major Hatfield had been working for the Home Office. He’d informed his superior that he had a lead on where some of the counterfeit banknotes were coming from. But he was injected with poison by a passerby with a loaded parasol and died shortly after. The newspapers had reported it as a short but lethal illness. It marked the third time poison had been used to eliminate government agents.
“Mason wasn’t poisoned,” Ben pointed out. “His throat was slit. Though a professional will change his methods depending on the situation.”
“We’ve got the devil on the run, forcing him to take out one of his best men.” Paddy slapped his knee. “He’ll be irritated with us.”
“That’s to our advantage,” said Angus. “Make his lackeys nervous, not knowing if they’re next. They might talk easier.”
