“I thought you could understand the heaviness of having a difficult childhood.”
“It’s a crushing weight at times, i’n’it?”
He patted her hand. “The danger’s behind you now. I’m grateful for that.”
“So am I.”
Baz rose and took up his candle. “If Móirín doesn’t have a job idea for you, let me know. I’ll send word to Stone. He’ll know of something.”
With that, he stepped out.
Her Baz could be so tender and sweet. But, oh, how easily he broke her heart. She could stay in this house where she’d been happy, but would staying make things better or worse? Ought she try to deepen the connection between them as she had during the last months she’d lived there? Or would she be wiser to find satisfaction in the simple friendship he offered?
Sometimes life’s questions didn’t have any good or easy answers.
Gemma rose long before the sun decided to make an appearance the next morning. She’d not been an early riser until after she’d married Baz. The Kincaid family trade was plied at night. But she’d not had to do that for years, and she’d found she liked watching the sun rise.
Watching it from the house where she’d first felt safe and welcome did her heart a world of good.
“Hearts are weak things, girl.” She heard her father’s voice return to her mind from across the years. “Best silence yours before it lands you in a heap of trouble.”
It hadn’t been a bit of fatherly advice, nor even a well-meaning warning. It’d been a threat and nothing else. She’d been ten years old and had sobbed when she’d heard they’d been hired to rob the grave of a neighbor she’d been fond of. Had she not dried her tears and moved forward with him, her father would’ve exacted his revenge on her. He always did.
She’d hated growing up as a resurrectionist’s daughter. They’d barely stayed a step ahead of the law. Her father and uncles used threats and violence to silence anyone they thought needed it. She’d had only one friend in all of Southwark, but Gemma’d pulled away, not wanting her friend to be tainted by association with the Kincaids.
She’d been lonely.
She still was.
But she had a place to live for a time. She’d have money once she found a job, and with thatmoney, she could move on again. London was overflowing with options if a person weren’t too picky. There were enough houses and buildings that were all but falling over, held up by grumbled prayers and long wooden planks leaning across alleyways. Plenty of people with nowhere else to go hunkered down there, guarding what little they had with a wary eye. No one ever slept well in those half-fallen hovels, but it were better than nothing. Gemma could toss herself into one of those if need be. She’d done it before.
She knew of one in South London, not far from where she grew up, that only one other person beside herself knew about. If it came time to leave Baz’s home before she’d another option, she could lug herself there.
She stepped up to the door of the humble flat the Donnellys called home at what she hoped was a reasonable hour. The jaunt from Finsbury to Piccadilly had taken some time, as she’d wound her way a bit, lengthening the journey.
Brogan answered her knock, looking awake enough for her peace of mind but more than a little confused. “Gemma? What brings you here this early?”
Perhaps she ought to have wandered a bit more. “I’ve come looking for Móirín.”
“She’s only been awake a quarter-hour at most. She’ll not be down for a spell.”
She felt about as awkward as a chicken in a ballroom. Shewastoo early. “I’m happy to wait for her.”
Brogan motioned her inside. He looked curious, but he asked no questions. “Make yourself at home, Gemma.” He indicated a small sitting room. “Sit wherever you’d like.”
She chose an upholstered chair, while he sat on the arm of the sofa, studying her a bit.
“I can see you’s dying of curiosity,” she said. “I ain’t one for sitting about long without something to do. I don’t have a job, and I need one.”
“And you’re needing one before the roosters’ve even yawned themselves awake?”
She didn’t know how long the Donnellys had been in London, but there was no mistaking they were from Ireland. It flavored every word they said.
“I ain’t one for squandering even an hour.”
Brogan laughed. “You mean on useless things like sleep?”
“Devilish waste of time. I avoid it whenever possible.”