Harry glanced back at her. “ ’E’s talkin’ to a merchant ship owner.”
“Talking?”
Bert grunted. “More like explainin’ the facts o’ life to ’im—what?”
Harry had stopped short and turned to glare at his compatriot.
Bert shrugged, both hands palms up by his side. “ ’E’s a pirate. If she don’t know that by now she’s either a ’alf-wit or daft.”
Silence cleared her throat to get the men’s attention. “What do you mean by ‘explaining the facts of life,’ Bert?”
“ ’E gets a tithe, right?” Bert said patiently. “From every merchant ship that docks in London.”
“Every ship?” Silence raised her eyebrows.
“Used to be ’e ’ad a bit more competition,” Harry said judiciously. “But a couple o’ years ago Black Jack Wilde took a swim in the Thames—”
Bert tched. “Middle o’ winter it were, too. Didn’t find ’im ’til spring.”
“And Jimmy Barker went missin’, which meant most o’ ’is crew joined us.” Harry pursed his lips as if thinking, then cocked an eyebrow at Bert.
Who nodded. “They was about it. After that ’Imself became the biggest pirate on the Thames. So, yeah, every ship.”
She’d had no idea the extent of Mickey O’Connor’s empire. Silence pressed her lips together as she turned to continue down the hall to the kitchens.
Bert hurried after. “So this owner o’ the ship… er… er…”
“Alexander,” Harry supplied.
“Right ye are,” Bert said, “the owner o’ the Alexander ’as been remiss, as it were, in ’is tithe, so ’Imself ’as gone to see ’im and explain ’is duties to ’im.”
Silence snorted. “You mean he’s gone to threaten the poor man.”
“Bert’s right,” Harry said gently. “ ’E is a pirate.”
And with that flat statement they entered the kitchen. It was a big room, lined in light gray stone, an enormous hearth at one end. Two maids, sitting at a table in the middle of the room looked up at their entrance. A huge, stout man at the hearth swung around. He was entirely bald and the color of a well-cooked lobster, his front and lower half swathed in a not very clean apron.
“ ’Ello, Archie,” Harry said chattily. “This ’ere’s Mrs. ’Ollingbrook what ’as come down to give Lad a bit o’ a bath.”
Archie’s brow beetled ominously and the maids suddenly found the tabletop very interesting. “Ye know I don’t allow that there beast in me kitchen.”
Harry frowned, about to say something, but at that moment Mary Darling joined the conversation. “Down!”
“Shh, sweetheart.” Silence bounced the baby on her hip, trying to comfort her, but Mary’s face was growing as red as Archie’s.
Archie stared at the baby for a split-second, his face entirely blank, before he turned and rummaged in a cupboard.
“Down! Down! Down!” Mary chanted as Silence hugged her.
Archie loomed in front of them. “Sugar biscuit?” he asked gruffly and held it toward the baby.
Mary’s transformation was miraculous. She grinned, showing her four perfect teeth, two on the top, two on the bottom, and grabbed for the sweet.
“Thank you,” Silence said gratefully to the big man.
Archie shrugged. “ ’Spose ye can use the master’s tub for the dog. But ye’ll need to clean up afterward, mind.”
“Oh, of course,” Silence said hurriedly.
In a moment she’d settled Mary, her biscuit, and a tin cup of milk with Fionnula while Bert and Harry dragged out a big copper bathtub. Silence’s eyes widened at the sight. The orphanage had a small tin tub that she could just fit into, but she’d never seen a bathtub as magnificent as Mickey O’Connor’s.
Lad trotted around the room, sniffing at corners and being yelled at once or twice by Archie as the tub was filled. The maids—Moll and Tess—seemed to think bathing a dog to be a great lark. They giggled as they found soap and laid out cloths.
When everything was ready, Harry called Lad. The dog gamboled over, as happy as a lamb, and for a moment Silence had a twinge of guilt.
Then Harry tried to put the dog into the tub.
There was a curse, a bark, and a wild scrambling, and then Harry was down in a puddle on the floor and Lad was across the room, bone dry.
The maids dissolved into laughter.
Mary banged her tin cup on the table. “Gog!”
Fionnula had one hand over her mouth, attempting to control her laughter.
Even Archie’s thick lips twitched.
“Oh, I am so sorry, Harry,” Silence said breathlessly. She bent to help the guard up. “Are you hurt?”
Bert grunted. “What ye get for tryin’ to pretty up a cur.”
Harry glared at his compatriot. “I’m fine, ma’am.”
Bert snorted.
Harry stood and yanked on his waistcoat to straighten it. “Now ye jus’ come ’ere, Lad me boy.”
Lad rolled his eyes from a corner of the kitchen. He appeared to be trying to squeeze his body into a crack in the wall, or perhaps simply become invisible, but since he was quite a large dog, the task was impossible.
Harry advanced on the dog.
Lad trotted out of his path, his tail tucked firmly between his legs.
Silence bent down. “Here, Lad,” she called in a high, sweet voice.
Lad perked his ears and went to her, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at Harry.
“Now then, Harry,” Silence murmured soothingly as she fondled Lad’s misshapen ears, one of which appeared to be missing a piece, “if you take his back half very firmly and I lift his front…”
Harry grabbed, Silence lifted, and Lad was deposited into the bath before he quite knew what had happened. Immediately, he made an attempt to get out again, but Silence had had an idea that he’d try something of the sort and was ready.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said in the same soothing voice—the voice she’d perfected bathing small, reluctant boys at the home. “You’re not coming out until every speck of dirt has been removed from your hide.”
Lad seemed to recognize that tone. He sighed heavily, his ears drooping.
Half an hour later, Silence stood back and blew a lock of hair out of her eyes. Her entire front was damp, her hair was half undone and she felt a trickle of sweat down her spine. Harry had lost his scarf and coat and the front of his waistcoat was dripping, the result of a premature shake on Lad’s part. Mary Darling had fallen asleep in Fionnula’s arms sometime during the proceedings, her half-eaten biscuit still clutched in her hand, and the maids and Archie were enjoying a pot of tea between them at the kitchen table. Apparently a dog bath was the most entertainment they’d seen in ages.
Silence eyed her charge critically. “What do you think?”
“That,” Archie said, “is one clean dog.”
“Certainly cleaner than ’Arry,” Bert muttered.
“Naw,” Moll drawled, “ye forget the bath ’e’s ’ad washin’ that dog.”
Both maids went off into peals of laughter.
Harry straightened his dripping waistcoat with dignity. “I do believe Lad is done,” he said to Silence.
Silence nodded. “Well, then, out you come, Lad.”
The dog didn’t need more urging. Lad scrambled from the tub in a tidal wave of water and then immediately shook, spraying everyone in the room.
The maids shrieked, Bert cursed, and Archie just grimaced in disgust.
“Well, then,” Harry said cheerfully, “now yer all as clean as me.”
Silence started to giggle before Lad shook again. The dog was grinning, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and trying to run around the kitchen—except he kept skidding on the puddles of water, his rear end sliding to the side.
“Oh, dear, the floor is rather a mess,” Silence murmured. She crouched, trying to wipe up the lake with some of the cloths.
“What,” came a deep male voice, “is this?”
Silence froze, her hand still outstretched, clutching a damp, dirty cloth. Oh, dear Lord. Slowly she raised her eyes and found herself face-to-thighs with Mickey O’Connor’s extremely tight breeches.
“Ah…,” she started, with absolutely no idea of what she was about to say.
At the same time, Harry cleared his throat. “See, I jus’ thought the dog—”
“Enough,” Mickey O’Connor interrupted Harry in that same much too calm voice. “Take the babe, Fionnula, and put her to bed. Everyone else, out o’ me kitchen.”
Silence started to stand.
“Ah, ah,” Mr. O’Connor said. “Not ye, Mrs. Hollingbrook.”
She swallowed, watching as the servants and Harry and Bert trooped out of the room. Lad, apparently not the brightest dog in the world, sat down next to Mickey O’Connor and leaned against his leg.
Mr. O’Connor looked at the dog, looked at the damp spot growing on his breeches where the dog was leaning, and sighed. “I find me life is not as quiet as it used to be afore ye came to me palace, Mrs. Hollingbrook.”
Silence lifted her chin. “You’re a pirate, Mr. O’Connor. I cannot believe your life was ever very quiet.”
He gave her an ironic look. “Aye, amazin’, isn’t it? Yet since yer arrival me servants no longer obey me and I return home to find me kitchen flooded.” He crossed to a cupboard and took down a china teapot, a tin of tea, and a teacup. “And me dog smells like a whorehouse.”
Silence glanced guiltily at Lad. “The only soap we could find was rose scented.”
“Aye?” Mr. O’Connor glanced at the dog. Lad looked back, obliviously adoring, his tongue hanging from his mouth. “Poor, sad beast. He’s lost his bollocks and don’t even know it.”
Silence blinked. She’d braced herself for shouting and anger, but so far Mickey O’Connor hadn’t shown either.
She watched as he spooned tea leaves into the teapot and crossed to the fireplace to fill the pot with hot water.
“D’ye take sugar?”
“Yes, please,” she answered.
He nodded and placed the teapot and teacup on the table before fetching a little bowl of sugar.
Silence looked at the lone teacup. “Aren’t you having any?”
Mickey O’Connor snorted. “I’d be drummed from the pirate’s guild if’n I were seen takin’ tea.”
Her lips twitched at the thought. “Then why make it for me?”
He looked at her, his eyes black and a little tired. For the first time she wondered how his “business” had gone that night. “I thought ye’d like it, Mrs. Hollingbrook. After all, ye must be near starved after two days with only the food Fionnula and the others could smuggle ye.”
Silence bit her lip. “I asked her to stop today.”
He cocked his head curiously. “Did ye now?”
Silence sat and poured herself a cup, adding a spoonful of sugar. She did like tea. When she sipped, the tea was quite good. She glanced up to find him propped against the kitchen cabinets watching her with a brooding air.
“Thank you,” she said. “How did you learn to make a good cup of tea when you don’t drink it yourself?”
His mouth tightened and he looked down at his boots. For a moment she thought he wouldn’t reply. Then he sighed. “Me mam was fond o’ tea when we could get it. I’d make it for her.”
His words were terse, but the picture he drew was sentimental. What a lovely boy he must’ve been to be so thoughtful of his mother. Silence frowned. She didn’t like thinking of him like this—as a vulnerable child, a loving son. It was much simpler to only think of him as a pirate.