Page 155 of Rakes & Reticules
But the charity did not take in pregnant women. Sam had seen girls as young as thirteen turned away, swollen with child. He hated the terrified look in their eyes, knowing what they faced. For the past few months, he’d been thinking about opening a hospital for these unfortunates. And now, he wondered if Mrs. Brown could be part of his scheme. He still had to organize wealthy benefactors, find a suitable building, and create a budget. For now, the lovely costermonger was another pearl forming in the back of his mind.
Leaving Jack at a nearby mews, Sam walked down the block to the O’Briens’ townhome. The door opened, raucous laughter spilling out the door.
“Sampson! C’mere, boyo,” boomed a voice from behind the housekeeper. “We’ve been waitin’ for ye.”
The parlor was crowded with the “family” all in one room. There were his brothers-by-choice, including Walters. The six men were of various heights and builds, men he’d known since he or they had been lost boys on the streets. Sitting next to Mrs. O’Brien was Honora, the last waif to enter the Irishman’s fold, coming to them as a foundling. With so many “brothers,” the lass had been spoiled rotten.
Honora was now going on twenty, a young woman with bright red hair and green eyes who could truly pass as one of the O’Briens’ natural offspring. She was tough as old leather but lovely to look at, could mimic any brogue, and was proficient at disguise. The female counterpart to Walters. She was also making a name for herself on stage as Nora Diamond. The girl was fearless and had been vital in tracking down key figures in the last several cases.
All of them were talking at once, asking how the others had been, when a shrill whistle froze every tongue. “Wind yer necks in and let me speak!” yelled Margaret O’Brien. “Now c’mere ta me.”
A mumbled chorus of “Sure now” and “Sorry” echoed against the paneled walls of the parlor.
They all obeyed as they had since they were children and gathered around her rocker near the hearth. Margaret’s auburn hair shone with bits of silver, her dark eyes glittering as she gazed at each of them. “My boys,” she said with a weepy smile. “I love ye all. Andwe’vean announcement ta make.” She stared pointedly at Honora.
“Uh, yes,” agreed Honora hesitantly. “I have decided to give up my stealthy ways and focus my energy on stage.”
Silence.
“Sure, look,” said Paddy to fill the awkward moment. “We knew she’d marry some day and leave us. Consider dis as marryin’ the theater.”
“Congratulations.” Clayton came forward first. With his reddish-brown hair and green eyes, he was the only one who might have passed as Honora’s brother. He’d been found by Mrs. O’Brien at the age of nine, his mother dying a penniless maid and his father an unknown marquess at the time. “I’ll rent a box for the season.”
Honora laughed. “You don’t even know where I’ll be performing yet.”
“But we’ll be there,” added Eli, the youngest detective of the group.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” agreed Benjamin, their solicitor, light-brown eyes merry beneath a mass of blond curls.
Gus, a massive man with straight dark hair always pulled back at the neck and fastened with a leather tie, grinned down at her. “If ye need a bodyguard, I’m happy to slap a few heads together. They’ll be fightin’ fer ye, a pretty thing like you. All those oglin’ men and jealous wives.” It was a badly kept secret that Gus had a tendre for Honora.
“Thank you, August,” Honora said with a sweet smile, rising to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I know you’ll always be here for me.”
Marshall, the barrister, cleared his throat. “I may not have been raised under this roof as all of you have, but I feel as though you are all kin.” He raised his glass of brandy. “To Nora Diamond, may she have a bright and promising future.”
“Aye” and “Here, here” and “To be sure” mixed together at once to wish one of their own a happy life.
“Now.” Paddy raised his glass again. “Ta the finest of women, the flower of the flock! My Margaret, my luv.”
They all raised their voices and toasted the woman who meant so much to them. She’d fed them, bathed them, doctored their fevers and broken bones, and loved them.
Sir Harry Walters raised his glass. “To the dear woman who chased the meanness out of each of us. Ye showed us kindness when the world was cruel and taught us that compassion can still be found in those around us.”
“Sounds like being affianced has put silver on his tongue,” Gus said with a chuckle. “Where is the soon-to-be Lady Walters?”
“Unfortunately, she had a previous engagement and begs me to send her warmest regards.” Walters grimaced. “A musicale I was able to escape, rescued by Margaret. Again.”
After a splendid dinner of clear broth, oysters that were back in season and fresh pork, late peas and sliced cucumbers, they enjoyed a plate of nuts, cheeses, and the Shrewsbury biscuits and rout cakes with fruit preserves. The conversation was lively, with someone always talking over someone else, stopping, apologizing, and then starting all over again.
This was where Sampson felt at home, needed and loved, a part of this pieced-together brood who would give their lives for one another. He wondered where he might have ended up without the O’Briens. Without the advice of Walters or his best friend Benjamin or the loyalty of them all. While he longed for his parents, especially during Christmastide, he was the luckiest of men to be part of this loving household.
Besides the camaraderie, they all had a bond, a shared purpose working for Paddy. Finding criminals, helping victims, and bringing justice to those who had been wronged. It was a heavy responsibility when they took on a case, whether it was for an individual or the Crown, and one they each took seriously. Pride was a funny thing: It could pull a man up from the gutter one day and strike him down the next.
Margaret sat next to him as everyone moved from the dining room back to the parlor, her plump hands smoothing out her skirts. There would be singing and dancing, more spirits, more laughter. “Before we go, tell me where ye bought those fine cakes and biscuits. I expected yer usual bottle of Irish whiskey.”
“Ah, but it’s your day not Paddy’s. I don’t think the whiskey would have been to your liking.” He kissed her cheek. “Has it been a fine afternoon?”
“Tis been a grand day. How can it not wit’ my family about me?”
