Page 19 of Rakes & Reticules
Slowly, he rotated toward the card room’s entrance, prepared to defend himself with the ugly knife sheathed at his waist. Upon recognizing the small form sauntering through the opening, adorned on either side with heavy royal blue draperies held in place by a thick gold silk cord, he blew out a relieved breath.
Sean Kenney, a perpetually cheerful, if somewhat small and frail Irish lad of all work, gazed around the room with the chairs overturned on the tables that he was tasked with returning to the floor each morning. Unlike most of the club’s other employees, Sean and a few others who tended to more menial tasks weren’t required to wear all black.
Today, his delicate features wan, the lad seemed tense and distracted.
Nevertheless, he touched two slender fingers to his ever-present flat tweed cap.
“Good morning, sir. Howya today?”
“I am well.” Physically, yes. But unrelenting worry niggled in the back of Fletcher’s mind. He must find the culprit before things became dangerous once more. He took another sip of coffee. “Yourself?”
He’d learned long ago that when he took a genuine interest in his personnel, not only did they work harder, but Fletcher could, with a great deal of accuracy, determine which of them would become loyal, long-term help. Consistency among his employees proved essential to keeping his establishments running smoothly.
What he couldn’t determine at this moment, however, was Sean’s age, though if Fletcher hazarded a guess, he’d suppose the lad was in his late teens. Perchance sixteen or seventeen.
Small for his age, likely due to malnutrition, the youth often conducted himself and spoke like someone older and more mature. His eyes often held a world-weary glint, and fine lines sometimes bracketed his mouth, suggesting he’d experienced much hardship in his short life.
Fletcher rubbed his nose with his free hand.
Reading people had come naturally to him for as long as he could remember—nearly his entire life. The ability was as ordinary as breathing. Much like his interest in medicine had been, which had compelled him to become a physician, only to leave the field disenchanted and haunted over a decade ago.
He’d always admire and respect the individuals who made the profession their life’s work. For him, the heartache of watching infants and children die despite his best efforts took a toll that seared his mind, scarred his soul, and left him drowning in defeat. It nearly drove him mad or to the bottle, hence his departure from the vocation before becoming an ape-drunk lunatic.
His expression downcast, Sean shifted his feet and covered a wide yawn.
“The truth is, sir, I’m knackered. My sister kept me up most of the night. Kimber’s sick with a nasty cough.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Sean.” Fletcher scratched the back of his neck. “Does she need a physician?”
Sean hesitated for half a second before shaking his head.
“Nae. I think it’s just a summer cold. I left broth and a tonic. Paddy promised to keep an eye on her.” Sean raised a thin shoulder beneath his much too-large black coat. “Forgive my rattling. I’d best crack on.”
“Paddy is your brother?” Fletcher also made a point to learn something about his employees’ families—those that had families. Many didn’t, and it was truly sad knowing they had no one except fellow employees who often became their surrogate family.
“He is.” Strong and wiry, Sean pulled the gold velvet cushioned ebony chairs off the closest table with practiced efficiency. “Turned twelve last month. Kimber is almost eleven.”
A wonder the two children hadn’t been forced to find jobs as was the usual practice among the lower classes—probably due to Sean’s diligence in providing for them.
It couldn’t be easy for him.
Had Fletcher ever seen the lad without his coat or hat?
Even in July, the boy wore a plaid muffler around his neck.
In medical school, Fletcher had taken a few psychology courses. He suspected the boy’s outer garments acted as protection from more than the elements.
“Did you know I used to practice medicine?” Fletcher finished his coffee and set his cup on one of the tables. “I could look at your sister if you wish.”
Impossibly paler, Sean turned huge dark-blue eyes fringed with such lush lashes that women might become jealous.
“No, sir. That wouldn’t be right. I know how busy you are. I’m sure she’s on the mend already.”
Fletcher understood Sean’s distrust. Likely ashamed of his living quarters, the lad also probably didn’t have a penny to spare to hire a physician. The boy had no doubt learned the hard way that favors often came with strings attached.
Perhaps Fletcher would give the lad more responsibility, requiring a pay raise. Though he hadn’t been atDe la Chancelong, only since the end of April, he performed his duties with diligence and cheer.
Mayhap he could tend to the hats, cloaks, coats, and other items for the members? Currently, a maid did so, but profoundly shy, Sally preferred working in the kitchen.
