“Are you in danger?” Clare, who stood nearby, asked. Though Vera didn’t know her line of work, she didn’t think Clare belonged to Gemma’s profession.
“We’re all of us always in some danger.” Gemma turned back to Vera. “But leading this charge, as you are, could be the Protector won’t appreciate it. Might be you’ll rue trying to identify him.”
“Could be.” She’d not deny it were risky. “Bein’ afraid ain’t reason enough to not do things that are important.”
“You’re either very brave or very foolish,” Gemma said.
She was likely a little of both. But she also wasn’t alone. She could depend on Ganor; she knew she could. Vera pasted an unbothered smile on her face. “I suppose time’ll tell, won’t it?”
“It always does,” Clare said. “Always.”
Móirín cleaned buildings in a few different areas of London, but Brogan hadn’t known her to do so in Drury Lane. Yet, that was where she was headed this time. And in the evening, which was odd. She generally did her cleaning during the day. Brogan walked with her part of the way since it was on his way to the print shop.
“Did one of your other jobs fall through?” he asked her.
She shook her head.
“Then why this new arrangement?”
“I’m wanting a little extra change in m’pocket. Is that so terrible a thing?”
“We ain’t hurting for funds now that I’ve an extra spot of work.”
“You aren’t the only one of us who can add to the coffers.” He recognized that unyielding tone from years of experience with it. Móirín was about to saddle her high horse and go for a bruising ride. “We’re living in a comfortable corner of London with enough for our needs, which I won’t risk undermining. And we’re helping the poor of this dirty old town, which I won’t stop doing. So if we’re to have enough for setting up our own homes, living independent like we’ve talked of, we both need to bring in more.”
He was grateful he’d settled on that explanation for taking up the job at the shop. It wasn’t entirely untrue, and he was heartily tired of lying to his sister. “You do know I’ve no wish to toss you out. I simply thought we’d both like having an option.”
“I know it,” she said. “And I think ’tis high time we cut these apron strings.”
He laughed. “I don’t consider m’self tied to your apron springs, Móirín.”
“’Tisn’t my apron strings I’m hoping to sever.”
“Are you calling me a mother hen?” he asked with a laugh.
“For not the first time.”
She had made similar accusations before.
“I made a vow to our parents,” he said. “I’ll not break it.”
“We made that vow, Brog. Only you have taken it to extremes.” She hooked her arm through his, something she didn’t often do. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am to have you in m’life. And I’m not unaware of all you’ve done—and do—for me.”
“But you’ve complaints to make?” He tucked his free hand in his coat pocket and didn’t look at her as they walked. He didn’t like the idea of having disappointed his sister. “I’ve not been neglectful.”
“Of me,” she said. “Before we left Dublin, you used to talk about having a family of your own someday, and a home that was yours. You never mention that now.”
He had once rambled a great deal about such things. “I’ve too much on my mind for fretting over that.”
“And I mean to see to it that I am not one of those things on your mind.”
“You always will be, Móirín. We’ve been through far too much together.”
She squeezed his arm. “We have at that. But maybe, Brogan, it’s time you started spending as many worries on your own welfare as you’re always spending on others.”
“You’re trying to wrangle me into being selfish?” He shook his head in disagreement with her notion.
“Reclaiming some dreams isn’t selfish,” she said. “Making your life what you want it to be isn’t selfish.”
“Do you have dreams you’re hoping to recapture?” he asked.
“My dreams are of returning to Dublin,” she said. “But we both know that can’t happen.”
“I wish it could,” he said.
“So do I.”
Móirín tossed him a light, quick smile. She always grew more somber when they spoke of home. They both missed it, but neither of them could return. There was no life for them in a city where they weren’t likely to remain free, perhaps even alive, for a single day after their arrival.
They went their separate ways, but her words continued to weigh on him. “Maybe it’s time you started spending as many worries on your own welfare as you’re always spending on others.” Looking out for people, caring about them, supporting them—these weren’t bad things. He found a lot of fulfillment from those efforts. It was his favorite thing about being part of the Dread Penny Society, with his friendships there being a close second.
Why, then, did her criticism hit too close to the mark?
Perhaps because his efforts with the DPS had left him even more alone than he’d been before.
Perhaps because his current efforts were placing him in the uncomfortable position of investigating a woman he was coming to like more and more. A woman who, if she realized he was one of the dishonest writers she so despised, would want nothing to do with him.
Perhaps because there was part of him that hadn’t entirely given up on the hope of building his own life, of settling somewhere, having a family of his own. He still wanted that future, but he’d not allowed himself to dream of it in years. Friendship and doing good for as many people as possible, especially his sister, had plastered over that emptiness.
“Reclaiming some dreams isn’t selfish.” Móirín might’ve been quite sure of that, but he wasn’t. He could’ve turned down the Dread Master’s request that he leave the society in order to investigate a mystery, but that would’ve left the Russian ambassador vulnerable. He could’ve saved the time and money he and his sister spent helping the poor of London and gained the house and future he’d dreamed of, but that would’ve left far too many people suffering without any relief. He could’ve ignored Móirín’s troubles in Dublin and remained there in his homeland instead of living as a fugitive in London, but she’d’ve been left in a horrific situation.