“I wish we could have spoken with Ruby’s father before he jumped on a ship bound for who knows where.” Nora shook her head. “Must have been hard on the poor girl, finding out her father worked for such a villain.”
“She’s safe with Eli and Mrs. Norton now,” said Ben, wondering how many other families had been torn apart by The Vicar’s influence. “Do you think he’ll lie low again? It’s his usual next step after eliminating a liability.”
“Weel, according to my count, da last few years haven’t been kind to our Vicar. He’s lost four men so far, which don’t bode well for trust among da ranks.” Paddy scratched his wolfhound’s wiry coat, and the dog’s back leg began thumping in rhythm. “It takes a long while to earn da kind of trust needed to be in da inner circle. Losing dat many reliable men will leave him vulnerable. So, aye, he’ll be scarce again.”
“Which means you’ll have a little breathing space to continue the investigation unhindered,” said Ben. “Anything new come in?”
Paddy shook his head. “Scheduled an appointment for next week. We’ll see what dat brings, but ‘tis nice to have a break.”
Ben walked along Gracechurch Street, enjoying the exercise and quieter streets at night. He hadn’t been to Jackson’s in over a week, and he needed to get in the ring. Boxing helped him work out his frustrations. His mind ran over the facts of the O’Brien Investigations’ ongoing case with The Vicar, then concentrated on the upcoming meeting with Lord Tamber. He would send a note with his card tomorrow, letting the earl know of his availability.
He paused for several hackneys at the intersection where Cornhill became Leadenhall Street, then continued straight. Another block and Gracechurch switched to Bishopsgate, where Ben lived. When Samson married Dottie, Ben had taken the physician’s lodgings. Comfortable with the location—closer to his office—and on good terms with the landlady, it had seemed a good move. There was a mews close by where he could keep a horse, and it wasn’t too far from his childhood home, his favorite public houses, and a good meal.
Ben hummed an old tavern tune, a habit of his when he was deep in thought. As he came to a conclusion, the humming usually transformed into a whistle. When they were growing up, his brothers and sister always knew when he was working through a problem. It was Clayton who had pointed out that the whistle always came with a solution. Little things about him that only family would know.
Family. Why had he become so sentimental lately? Thinking about family, a wife, children… he wasn’t lonely or dissatisfied with his life. It was more of a hole somewhere in the fabric of his life, as if something was missing.
What had Maggie said? He chuckled, remembering her Irish words of wisdom. Every old sock finds a shoe.
So was he looking for the sock or the shoe?
CHAPTER 2
Monday morning
Walbrook Street, Cheapside
Kitty took the kettle off and poured the steaming water over the leaves, letting the tea steep. “Two pieces of toast or three, Pa?”
“I’m a hungry man, luv. Make it three,” called her father from his bedroom. “Any of the marmalade left?”
“Yes, and I bought more hand pies from the butcher.” Kitty flipped the bread on the small coal-burning stove that doubled as heat and a place to warm meals. She set the slices in the rack and placed it on the small kitchen table.
Mr. Felton came out of his room, his face red from the recent scrubbing. “Eggs and rashers? What would I do without you?” He kissed her on top of the head and sat down to eat.
Kitty put two warm boiled eggs and thick slices of bacon on a plate and set it before her father. “Anything exciting last night?” She asked the same question every morning, always hoping for the same answer.
“Dull as a tarnished mirror,” her father said around a mouthful of pork. “But no rain and mild temperatures.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“Did you add Mr. Cooper to your route?” he asked, adding a spoonful of the sweet marmalade onto a slice of toast.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for referring me, Pa. This is a wonderful chance for me to bring in an income and still be able to work on my pieces.” Kitty dreamed of being a designer. Not a dressmaker, for she hated sewing such big projects. Her accessories had more intricate embroidery and unique materials and embellishments. She and her mother had begun sprucing up old items around the house, and over the years, it had become Kitty’s passion.
“More gewgaws?” he asked, accepting a cup of tea. “They’re pretty enough, but you need to find a way for the upper class to see them. Our lot won’t buy much.”
“Our lot is already buying them or bringing me used items to fix up. It’s a way to refurbish an old accessory and cheaper than purchasing a new bonnet.” She loved her father, but he thought her creations were castles in the air. Nothing would come from them. He indulged her, waiting for the day she’d meet a young man and marry.
“True,” he agreed, slurping his tea. “But you need to find a business owner who will display them and not take too much of your profit.”
Her father was right, of course. She needed to make a name for herself. The thought of relying on a husband made her stomach tight. Not that she had a bad view of marriage. Her parents had been very happy, and her brother was quite content in the parson’s trap. She loved children and wanted some of her own one day.
But having her own blunt, not having to rely on a man for every ha’ penny was important to her. And her accessories were something she could still do at home, with children about. She and Mama had made great plans until her mother fell ill two years ago. A fever and cough had racked her body for two weeks before she succumbed to the sickness.
Kitty tossed her wool cloak over her light-brown day dress, then stopped to retie her left boot. The lace was getting thin, and she’d have to purchase new ones soon. She would add the old lace to her basket of odds and ends. One never knew what bits and pieces would come in handy.
“Have I told you lately how proud your mother would be of you?” asked her father, a sheepish expression on his ruddy face.
