Page 30 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
When Chipper growled, Meg had taken advantage of the distraction and ran past him. The vile man had come so close to touching her, his grimy fingers snatching her gown. She had screamed, picked up her skirts, and run. Whatever the consequences, she had been sure it couldn’t worse than what the ruffian had in mind.
She heard more voices, a buzzing sound in the back of her head, and when she wiped her eyes, the constable was there with more men. Her parlor was suddenly crowded.
“We’ll need to speak with everyone tomorrow,” said the constable, his sharp eyes narrowed over his full gray mustache. “I’ll notify the magistrate about the three in custody. Fortunately for the three of you, no one was killed.”
Mr. Farrell stood straight and calm, his clothes rumpled and stained with blood, but his dignity intact. He showed the local authority and the cracksmen to the door, and Paddy’s men carrying the now unconscious Chester to the wagon.
The servants had been released. Everyone crowded into the parlor, so Mr. Farrell could explain briefly how the men had tried to rob the house. With the thieves apprehended, they could all sleep well the rest of the night.
“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” Meg asked Mr. Farrell, inspecting his bloody coat after all the servants had left except the housekeeper. “I think there is a lump on the back of your head.” She touched it lightly, and the poor man moaned.
“He’s a stand-up cove,” said Simon. “He came up with a plan, and we almost had them.”
Meg blinked back tears. “You risked your life for me.” She leaned up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Mr. Farrell.”
The older man’s cheeks reddened. “I was only doing my duty,” he said, his chin up and returning to his role of butler.
Paddy’s men returned, their bravado gone, replaced with concern for the victims. The housekeeper announced she would bring some tea.
As soon as she left, Meg went to the sideboard. “I believe Mrs. Fanby needs something to do, so we’ll let her make the tea. But I think a stiff brandy is in order.”
Mr. Farrell poured everyone a drink, and they all found a seat. “Please sit with us,” Meg implored the butler. “You deserve a rest.”
But the butler shook his head, held up his glass, and smiled. “If I sit, my lady, I’m afraid I won’t get back up.”
They all laughed, and the tension eased.
Harry Walters, the man with the gray temples, introduced himself as he peeled off his beard. He explained to Meg that they worked for the O’Brien Investigative Service. “I am often working in disguise for… various factions, so I prefer that most criminals be able to recognize me.”
“My new friend, Paddy O’Brien, whom I told you about. His men are known as Paddy’s Peelers.” Simon turned to Walters. “I thought you were investigating Lord Belten?”
“That took about an hour,” said the younger investigator.
“This is our newest Peeler, Mr. Lynch,” said Walters.
“Call me Roger, ma’am,” he said, nodding to Meg, then the other two men. She smiled warmly at him, wondering if she was lucky or if fate had a hand in this happy ending.
“You certainly didn’t sound new when you threatened that ruffian,” said Simon.
Walters explained, “When the name Drake was mentioned, I followed a trail. It seems the late baron was a womanizer, but the current baron prefers gambling. He’d gotten into a bit of trouble.”
“But what does that have to do with me?” asked Meg. Would she ever be rid of that arrogant family? Her fingers scratched behind Chipper’s ears.
“When the thugs finally caught up with him, he told their boss that he didn’t have any accessible funds in London. He sent them to Drake House, assuring them that you had the debt in safekeeping.” Walters chuckled. “I almost felt guilty. The lout was so easily intimidated into telling us all.”
“He’s a horrid man,” said Meg, glad this was all over. “What will happen now?”
“We’ll make sure the ringleader is caught, put the facts together for our solicitor. He’ll take it to our barrister, and charges will be pressed.” Walters stood, and Roger followed his lead.
“O’Brien has his own barrister?” asked Simon, wondering how that worked. He thought of his friend, Will Page, who was also a barrister.
“No, no. Marshall is a close friend. My brother, Eli, organizes the information to make legal sense, and Marshall presents the case for us.”
“An impressive system,” said Meg. “Almost another arm of the law.”
“Supporters of justice, ma’am. If you’ll excuse us, we must speak with the constable before we return to Town.” Walters held out his hand to Simon, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “It’s been a pleasure. I hope we meet again under better circumstances.”
“Thank you both,” said Meg, fatigue catching up with her. She wanted to sleep for days, but she didn’t want to let Simon out of her sight. “We will personally thank Mr. O’Brien when we are back in London.”
