A sudden memory stirred and Lucien thought of the man he’d seen following the children the day he’d plucked Scrap down from the statue. “You say he couldn’t bear to see his children suffer. Is it possible he might keep watch over them? That Sibby Rose or her brothers might have seen him?”
“Scrap wouldn’t know him from Adam. He was barely toddling about when Darragh left. Sibby Rose not much older. I doubt even Sibby would recognize him after all this time.”
Lucien rubbed his jaw with one hand. “I have devised a plan.” He would write to his brother’s business partner. McLeod had connections in Glasgow. “I will hire an agent of inquiry here in London.”
“You are serious about this.”
“Entirely.”
The Irishman’s gaze sharpened. “Why?” he demanded. “What is it to you?”
Lucien inhaled a deep breath. “Because my wife has a soft heart. She wants to help the family. Their situation can only be considered desperate with the little ones suffering.”
“Like half the wee ones in St. Giles, an’ every Catholic in Ireland.” The Irishman’s gaze clashed with Lucien’s like sword blades. “I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. But if you can find Darragh…I’ll work with you.”
Lucien felt a wave of triumph. “Agreed.”
“But on this alone. If you’re thinkin’ of pryin’ into any o’ my other business for your fine authority friends, you’ll regret it. I’ll know. You have my word on it.”
Lucien hesitated, glancing down at the Chartist pamphlets. What if he stumbled across some plot that endangered lives? “Spying upon your more questionable activities is not my intent,” he said with all honesty.
O’Malley seemed satisfied.
“If I hear any news, I will come to the boarding house,” Lucien said.
“Be takin’ your life in your hands t’ come here again. Most people in the Dials would stab you as soon as look at you. I’ll come t’ you if I hear anything. An’ if you learn something, just send word an’ I’ll get t’ you fast as I can.”
“You have my card. You can reach me at Raven’s Court or at my office near Westminster.”
“I just can’t get my head around it.” O’Malley regarded him with shrewd eyes, one work-battered hand rubbing his stubbled jaw. “Why would you do this? Why now? I know your family’s record in parliament. Your father voted against every law that would benefit people like us. And so, my lord, did you.”
It was true. There were past votes that filled him with shame. But now…images flashed through Lucien’s mind. Grace’s delight over the slates and slate pencils, Scrap Nolan who had trusted him enough to drop from the statue into his arms. The feel of Sibby Rose against his chest as they raced through the mob at the theater, then the child in the big bed at Raven’s Court, the bandage around her head. He pictured Sibby Rose and herribbon, remembered the feel of Scrap clinging to him with such trust.
Lucien had thought he had seen poverty in the years before. But he had not walked the peoples’ streets. Spoken to them and seen their courage and their fear. Their love for their children. He had not seen their world through his own ‘Little Nell’s’ eyes…
Who would have guessed that merely reading a novel could alter your world? He thought of O’Malley, his tale of how the poor pooled their coin to buy the book, to read it together….
Why now?O’Malley’s question echoed in his head.
Lucien laughed just a little at himself. “You’re not the only one who read Dickens,” he said.
He started to walk toward the boarding house door.
“Your lordship.” O’Malley’s voice stopped him.
He paused and turned, regarding the Irishman’s wary expression.
“About your wife…”
Every muscle in Lucien’s body tightened. “What about her?”
O’Malley’s eyes shifted away. “Speaks to everyone interested like. That ribbon she gave Sibby Rose…Moira says the child wears it every day and’s been sleepin’ with it under her pillow at night.” He moved the pamphlets into a pile on his desk, the task taking longer than it should. “After you two left the day you brought Sibby home, she told us how the lady brings the Sunday School apples, an’ soft rolls an’ shows ’em toy soldiers an’ such t’ make ’em smile.”
Lucien could picture Grace doing just that. After all, she had made him smile. Made him laugh when he’d thought he’d forgotten how. He wondered if she had found the toy soldier she’d lost.
“She’s a rare one, she is,” O’Malley said.
“Thank you.”
