Page 167 of Rakes & Reticules
“Answer him, Sam.”
With a snort, he nodded.
“Then ‘tis settled.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Margaret snorted this time. “Aye, it is. Yer mother followed yer father into King’s Bench out of love. Ye took ta the streets out of love. Yer woman told a lie, ‘tis all. How can love not conquer that?”
Sam stared at the wise woman before him. Yes indeed. If he could bottle her insight, they’d all be as rich as Croesus.
* * *
Friday
Violet had not spoken again.She had been terrified Dottie would send her away. It had taken the entire next day before she and Mrs. Clatterly had pieced together that Violet thought Dottie would marry Dr. Brooks, leaving her alone. She had stolen the money, hoping to leave for America before that happened.
The rest of the week was a blur. She had no idea what to do with the stolen purses, so she’d given them to the Clatterlys. They had passed them on to a constable, saying a fleeing pickpocket had dropped them outside the tavern.
“You can’t mope around forever, my dear,” said Mrs. Clatterly as she helped Dottie load her cart. “Will you try to speak with Dr. Brooks?”
She shook her head. Her landlady had been much more understanding when told about Dottie’s past than Sampson had been. Not that she could blame him. It had all come to light in the worst possible way. And it was upsetting to know he was somehow connected to the worst time in her life.
“He was surprised and hurt. Who wouldn’t be?” Mrs. Clatterly smiled at Violet. “But look how he worried over our little girl, even knowing what she’d done. He’s still a good man, I say.”
That was the hardest part. Sampsonwasa good man. If only she could turn back time.
“Violet!” called Mr. Clatterly from the public room. “Violet!”
The girl wiped her hands on her apron and ran out of the room. A few minutes later, she returned with a grin on her face. She took Dottie’s hand and began pulling her toward the tavern.
“I don’t have time, sweeting. It’s time for me to leave.”
Violet shook her head and pulled harder. Mrs. Clatterly went to the doorway and peeked out. “Saints and sinners!” she said. “Dottie, you’re needed in the front.”
Irritated, she took off her redingote and walked into the tavern. “Mr. Clatterly—”
He pointed at the entrance.
Sampson stood there, his greatcoat dusted with snow, a lopsided smile on his face. He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you?”
“Why?” Her heart couldn’t take one more crumb of disappointment.
“I have information concerning Violet.” His hazel eyes pinned hers, daring her to say no.
“About Sunday?”
“About her family.”
All the fight went out of her. She nodded and moved to a table next to the kitchen. There were only a few customers at the moment, and they were seated at the other end of the room.
Sampson took a chair next to her. “The Clatterlys are welcome to hear this if you’d like.”
“Yes, I would.” They would give her strength.
Mrs. Clatterly made tea, and they all sat at the table, listening to Sampson’s tale.
“So, her name is Violet Ferguson?” asked Mrs. Clatterly again. “There’s no way she could have told us that with hand motions.”
