Page 9 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
“Still can’t stand to see da woman cry,” Paddy said. “’Tis da most heart-wrenching sound on earth, I tell ye. So one night, I was coming home from da Dog’s Bone, and I see dis lad being attacked by young street urchins. Sick and barely alive. I run off da boyos and pick him up. Lighter than a bag o’ oats. But he opens those eyes, da same brown as my sweet Maggie, and I t’ink, what if I bring him home?”
Maggie smiled lovingly at her husband and nodded. “Harry was our first, and Honora, here, was our last.”
“They never really quit, mind you,” Nora added with a wink. “Harry brought home Roger one night, beaten and bloody, trying to fend off several footpads stealing his rent. Been working for us almost two years now.”
“A fine lad, helping his mother and da little ones. He’s our gip, does a bit o’ dis and a bit o’ dat,” explained Paddy.
“What is your business if you don’t mind me asking?” This odd family was growing on him.
“I started out as a constable in Dublin. Maggie had family in London, and I liked the way they were trying to organize the policing here.” Paddy stood and offered Simon more whiskey as he splashed some into the other upheld glass. “I made my name as a Bow Street Runner, and when I retired, I started da O’Brien Investigative Service.”
“All of us do our part. I became a physician, and my brothers worked as Runners before joining the family business,” explained Sampson.
“It’s certainly beneficial to have a doctor in the family,” Simon agreed.
Nora spoke up, “I’m an actress and often don a disguise when they need a female.”
“Retired now, remember? Concentrating on making a name for yerself,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “But our sons also include a solicitor, three investigators, and our youngest is still a Runner. Our ears in the different precincts, ye see.”
Simon stifled a yawn. “I should find my bed.”
“Aye, as we all should. I’ll fetch Roger, and he’ll take ye home.” Paddy got up, the Irish wolfhound on his heels.
“Roger lives here?” asked Simon.
“No, no. I sent for him when I brought back Sampson,” said Nora. “He’s used to the unusual hours.”
“He better be. I pay him enough.” Paddy grinned from the hall. “He’s bringing the carriage around front.”
Dr. Brooks accompanied him outside. “Roger, can you drop me off?”
“Of course, Doc,” said the lanky young man of about seventeen, dark curls spilling onto his brow beneath his cap.
When Simon finally arrived at his own door, causing his unflappable butler to gasp, he fumbled for the card Paddy had given him. “Put this on my desk, Shaw. It may come in useful someday.”
CHAPTER 5
Meg leaned back against the soft squab, her heart pounding. How would she know if Marcus survived? She had a feeling his name was as false as hers. Desiree. What a ridiculous choice. If there was any mention in the newspaper tomorrow, she wouldn’t know who he was.
Tears streaked down her face. How many had made it out alive? Poor Jackson was beside himself. He’d found her in the chaos, scooped her up, and carried her to the coach. She tried to assure him she was fine, but he just kept shaking his dark head and mumbling to himself. Once seated, the poor man had hovered over her, his body half inside and half outside the carriage.
“What are you saying, Jack?” Meg just wanted to go home.
“I shoulda watched better, ma’am. I feel right terrible, I do.” He swiped a hand down his face and pulled his upper half from the coach, his voice gruff. “I’ll do better, milady. I promise.”
“Jackson, I don’t want to hear another word about it. You have never failed me.”
He opened his mouth to argue.
“Not another word.” She tried to give him a reassuring smile. “Please, get me home as quickly as you can.”
She closed her eyes, still stinging from the smoke, its taste lingering in her mouth. Had she gone too far? Yes, screamed her conscience. This is not who you are. The carriage stopped on the edge of town, and Meg peeked out the shuttered window to see what had caused the delay. Mr. Jackson passed by, tipped his hat, then continued behind the vehicle. A few minutes passed before Jack walked by again, climbed back up the driver’s seat, and they continued home.
When they arrived at the manor outside London, Jack opened the door and helped her out. “Why did you stop earlier?” she asked.
“We were being followed. So I informed the driver that my employer had all night. He could follow us through every street in London if he wished, but he would never learn your address.”
“You are the best of men, Mr. Jackson,” she said. “I thank you for your close attention.”
