Page 166 of Rakes & Reticules
Mr. Clatterly burst into the room, Mrs. Clatterly right behind him with a tea tray. He took one look at the Dottie, then at Sam. “I think you should leave now.”
* * *
Once her landlordswere assured she was fine, they returned to their apartment above the tavern. Dottie added more coal to the stove, then undressed and climbed into bed with Violet. The girl had slept through their entire confession. Dottie wrapped her arms around her, holding her close.
The Clatterlys assumed Sampson had been furious about Violet stealing the money.
She didn’t have the strength tonight to explain. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow would be soon enough.
Tonight, her heart was broken.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Sampson spent a sleepless night filled with nightmares. He was chasing Dottie, but each time he caught her, he saw Robert Dunn’s face. Then his mother’s. He needed a voice of reason and knew where to go.
Margaret answered the door herself. “Why, ‘tis our Sam. Paddy,” she called over her shoulder, “Sam’s come.”
He followed her into the dining room, where the redheaded giant was filling his plate from the sideboard. “Grab a plate, boyo.”
Sam shook his head. “I’m not hungry. I came for advice.”
Paddy’s blue eyes narrowed. “Ye look like death. What happened?”
After pouring a cup of coffee, he sank into a chair. “It’s a long story.”
Margaret kissed him on the cheek. “We’ve nowhere ta go. Tell us all.”
Sampson told them the whole sordid story. When he finished, his coffee was cold.
“So, she ain’t Mrs. Brown?” asked Paddy.
“No, she was Miss Dorothea Brown before she married.” He gulped down the cold black liquid and stood to pour himself another. “No idea who the girl belongs to.”
“Easy enough ta find out if her brother swung next ta Dunn.” Paddy smeared some jam on his bread and said around a mouthful, “We’ll put Harry on it. He’ll have sumtin’ before the end of the week.”
“What about Dottie?” Both men turned to look at Margaret. “I can’t imagine what she’s goin’ through.”
“What she’s going through? She lied to me—about her name, who she was.” Sam stood abruptly, almost sending his chair crashing to the floor. He began to pace. “All this time I thought she was a widow—”
“Sheisa widow,” Margaret said quietly, “who was duped by a man. Just like those women ye help at Magdalen. Only she didn’t end up at a hospital, begging for help. She made her own way the best she could.”
Sam opened his mouth, then closed it, letting Margaret’s words sink in.
“I doubt she could get anydecentwork using the name Dunn. So, she took back Brown and found a way to survive. A way other than prostitution. Tell me, Sampson J. Brooks, what ye would’ve done in her position.” Margaret’s chin stuck out as she held his gaze. “In my opinion, she’s a brave young woman, and yer lucky ta know her.”
Paddy whistled. “Well, ain’t it just like my lovely wife to cut right ta the thick of it.”
“That’s why she wanted to start over in America.” Sam hung his head. “No one would know her.”
“I imagine she couldn’t find a position without a reference. The poor dear,” Margaret said. “And my Sam shouts at her. Shame on ye.”
“But—”
“Ye love her, boyo?” asked Paddy.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
