Page 7 of A Vocation of Violence
“And this is?” I asked, smiling at the sprite of a girl trying to meld with Vivienne’s skirts. She couldn’t be more than sixteen, though her eyes already bore the shadows poverty benighted upon the young.
Vivienne flapped her gloved hand over the girl as if to erase her like pungent smoke. “Oh, that’s just Claudia, my maid. She’ll be invisible again when we’re settled in our rooms.”
Not to me, she wouldn’t. “It’s nice to meet you, Claudia.”
She lifted her eyes to Vivienne and had to receive a nod of permission before returning the sentiment.
“It seems we’ve interrupted some sort of…affair and should excuse ourselves so they might…reclaim their dignity.” Tunstall sniffed toward the shawl and bodice that would be gaping open if I’d not been clasping them both closed.
At least I thought he said “sort of.” It might have been “sordid,” as he was obviously the kind of man who didn’t shrink from giving offense.
I wanted to tell him where he could shove his dignity, and might have done so if I weren’t suddenly desperate for everyone to do exactly what he suggested and give us the room so I could fix myself.
“George, your disposition lights up a room, as per usual,” Vivienne quipped, her words laced with a wry irony that did not go unnoticed by the manager.
“Mr. O’Dowd,” Tunstall replied tersely, nodding with a formality that belied their close professional relationship. “Should we not step into the vestibule and?—”
“Fi, I just can’t believe it’s really you.” The timbre of Darcy’s voice stroked the air, rich and smooth as aged whiskey as he rushed to me, crushing me to him in an exuberant embrace, not seeming to notice my arms caught between us.
He held me by the shoulders away from him. “Let me get a look at you, girl—you grew up a fine beauty, and that’s a fact. Poor Flynn and me were keeping our knuckles sharp in case any of the lads got fresh with you, and now look at me.” He released my shoulders so he could throw a few tiny faux punches into the air between us. “Sharper than the coral that tore up me da’s fishing net, eh?”
Despite myself, despite the extra pair of eyes on us, I found myself swept away in his exuberance like we all did back home. Darcy O’Dowd had lost none of his impish boyhood vitality, even though he’d quite obviously lost a few teeth to his profession and replaced his front fang with one of gold.
He often stood shorter than other men in his presence, but somehow managed to seem more immense. The gaslight played upon his visage, throwing into relief the chiseled jawline and the set of broad shoulders honed through a boyhood of hard labor and, apparently now, countless battles in the ring. A mane of ruddy hair used to fall carelessly across his brow, but the hairline was fading further from where I remembered.
He still had those piercing eyes that danced with mirth and pulled unlikely women of Vivienne’s ilk to his side. She was obviously besotted with him, even though she stood taller in her heeled slippers.
“I’m just so pleased for you, Darcy,” I managed, feeling every bit the girl who once roamed the green hills of Limerick with him and my brothers. “You set out to follow your dream and find your fortune, and you’re the only one of us who did.”
The light in his eyes dimmed. “Aye, well…” He finally seemed to notice the situation over the space between us charged with memories only we shared. “Ye’ve grown.”
“More than you, it seems,” I teased, the corner of my mouth lifting despite the heaviness in my heart. There was comfort in the familiar filial jibe, a momentary respite from the suffocating tension of my current life.
“Ah, but it’s not height that measures the worth of a man, Fi, but the size of his fight.” His laughter, deep and contagious, filled the room, in stark contrast to Tunstall’s simmering displeasure and Jorah’s uncharacteristic silence.
“Or woman,” I corrected him, with a cheeky smirk.
“Or woman,” he agreed, the acknowledgment spoken like a shared secret.
We stood there, two souls momentarily lost in a past that seemed both a lifetime ago and as immediate as the beating of our hearts. The warmth of our reunion flickered like a candle inthe room, threatened by the encroaching chill of truths yet to be spoken.
“Never thought I’d find you in a place like this.” A silence fell upon the Shiloh room, thick and expectant, as Darcy asked me questions with his eyes. Shadows played across his features, etching out the boy I once knew in the lines of the man before me.
Jorah finally stepped forward, resting his hand at my elbow with surprising circumspection. “Fiona is employed by me from time to time, but not in the capacity you assume. She is the proprietress of her own business, and our paths often cross…professionally.”
Darcy’s eyebrows lifted in astonished speculation. “I’ll be beggared! What business are you about these days, Fi?”
“I’m a crime scene cleaning specialist.”
His mouth dropped open. “Learned from your da, I expect.”
The bottom emptied out of my stomach, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from revealing something I didn’t want to. Jorah, Night Horse, and all the men like them who would use information as a weapon knew very little about me or my past.
As little as I could manage.
For the past was a place I rarely visited. It held nothing for me but pain.
“Oh God, Fi, your family…,” Darcy began, his eyes reflecting a sorrow that matched the dark waters of the Thames at midnight.
