Page 148 of Rakes & Reticules
“To kidnapping little boys and girls?”
“That was a side job. We took the boys from one flash house and sold them to another. They were already in hell. We just swapped them to another for a price. I do as I’m told.” His eyes pleaded with her to forgive or at least understand, the softness returning to his gaze. “It means a lot that you came to see me one last time.”
“I came for answers, to try to make sense of this before…” She turned her head, blinking back the tears.
“Did you get the money?” he asked, as if that would make it all better.
She nodded, feeling the heat in her cheeks. One of Robert’s “associates” had brought her his last wages. Dorothea had wanted to throw the bank notes back in the man’s face, but common sense won out. She had to eat. “I have to be out by the end of the week.”
“Will you go back to the school? You seemed happy there,” he said, trying to smile.
“Ha! She can’t take me back now. I’ll soon be the widow of a murderer and a thief.” She closed her eyes, praying for the strength to get through this visit, this week, this year. “In fact, no one seems to want me to hire me or be associated with ‘trouble.’ I’m-I’m scared a-and I’llneverforgive you.”
That hard glint was back, his eyes as shiny as a watching crow. Dorothea shivered. She’d been happy at the Darlington School for Girls. Content and useful. He’d burned that bridge for her.
“Did you ever love me?” Why did it matter? She wouldn’t believe a syllable he uttered.
“I believe you are the only person on this earth I’ve ever loved. When I was with you, Iwasthe man I pretended—dreamed—of being.” He stood, took a deep breath, and walked away.
“And now I dream of the gallows.” A tear slipped down her cheek. Not for the loss of this man, this stranger, but for the loss of her innocence and the fairy tale that had ended. The realization that the world wasn’t a wonderful place. It was its own kind of purgatory, and she’d have to bide her time and become a fighter. Or she’d never survive.
CHAPTERTWO
August 1820
Newgate Prison gallows
Sampson didn’t usually attend public hangings, but this one was an exception. He stared at the fifteen men lined up on the gallows, understood the fear in their eyes. It was frightening to meet your maker before you could atone for your sins. Those men would never have the opportunity.
He had helped put three of them on that platform, a small part of The Vicar’s vast network. Sam had worked for Patrick O’Brien’s agency, nicknamed Paddy’s Peelers, to nab the criminals. The Peelers assisted local magistrates in tracking down criminals. O’Brien had come from Ireland to join the Bow Street runners and had slowly begun his own agency. He had acquired a reputation for thorough investigations. When the magistrate couldn’t track a criminal, they called in Paddy and his Peelers. Many private citizens often went straight to O’Brien and saved time.
“Lookin’ for some entertainment after the ‘angin’?”
He looked down at the doxie, gave her a half smile, and shook his head. “This is enough excitement for me.”
Turning away from her and pushing into the crowd, he tried to tune out the festive chatter, shouts of vendors, and a fiddle playing somewhere behind him. He was concentrating on the men standing on the far right of the gallows. They weren’t responsible for selling the fake certificate of insurance to Sam’s father, but they were three of that vile criminal’s most industrious employees, overseeing half his operations in Town. It would cause a large hole in The Vicar’s network.
“Good riddance,” Sampson mumbled as the trap doors opened, and the crowd roared their approval. He turned abruptly and pushed his way back through the cheering throng. Another battle won, but the war raged on.
* * *
Dorothea stood alonein a multitude of people, clutching her shawl at her neck against the strong gust. The crowd watched the gallows in excitement, waiting for the men to swing in the wind. She, on the other hand, just wanted this chapter of her life to end. She had moved to another part of Cheapside, remained a widow, but took back her surname. She had been fairly isolated when she was married, preferring to play the wife. To her surprise, few people recognized her when she introduced herself as Mrs. Dottie Brown. They turned their back on Mrs. Richard Dunn.
She’d changed in the past few weeks, no longer humming as she worked, no longer eager to see what was around the next corner. She had a plan. Earn enough money and move to America. No one would know her, no one would care about her past, and no one would ever break her heart again.
A disturbance ahead caught her attention. A man pushed through the mass of people, shouting and cursing. At the same time, Dottie felt a small hand slip into hers. She looked down to see a girl, perhaps six or seven, gazing up at her with huge doe eyes. Her dress was tattered and dirty, her hair uncombed and greasy. The round face was streaked with dirt and… tears?
As the irate man shoved past them, she hid her face in Dottie’s skirts.
“Are you alright?” she asked the girl.
The waif shook her head, then peeked over her shoulder to watch the man disappear in the sea of spectators. She studied Dottie a moment before pointing to the men on the scaffold.
Dottie’s heart cracked a little more. “Your father is up there?”
The girl shook her head.
“Your brother?”
