“You know I will,” Pleasant vowed, tears starting to course silently down her face. “As I always have. But I don’t intend for you to leave me just yet.”
Aine smiled and her eyes drifted shut. “Your father would have…been proud of you.”
Pleasant brushed a stray curl from Aine’s forehead and waited for her stepmother to speak again.
It wasn’t long before she realized Aine had closed her eyes in eternal sleep.
Mrs. Aine Hill was laid to rest on a Thursday, the twenty-first of December.
Other than Pleasant, her siblings, and Cornell at the graveside, the earl and his family had arrived to pay their respects.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The earl bowed respectfully to Pleasant.
“Thank you both for coming,” Pleasant said sincerely, but then she found her attention was drawn to Fiona and Louisa, who were huddled together a short distance away. It appeared as though they were inspecting her little sister’s rag doll.
“They seem to have attached quite easily to one another,” the countess remarked.
About that time, the girls ran toward them. Louisa addressed her father. “Papa, I’d like to give Fi one of my dolls. I honestly have more than I can play with.”
“That’s very kind of you, Louisa,” the earl replied with a smile.
“Pea,” Connor said from her elbow. “I’d like to show Freddy my tin soldiers sometime.”
“Freddy?” Pleasant couldn’t help but smile. Even though her heart was broken, it did her spirit good to see her siblings taking to the earl’s children so easily.
But then, she looked around for Niall and saw him standing alone, his back to the group as he stared off into the distance.
“I worry about him,” she told Cornell. “I don’t think he’s shed one tear during all of this.”
He rubbed her back in a comforting manner. “It happened rather quickly. He probably just needs some time to deal with his grief.”
Pleasant sighed. “I need to try and talk to him.” Cornell nodded his understanding as she excused herself and walked toward her brother.
“Niall?”
He didn’t immediately turn his head, and she thought he might not reply, but then he looked at her, and the pain she saw in his gaze was enough to cause an answering ache in her chest. “Coming to London was supposed to be easier than living in Ireland. It was a new beginning.” He turned his attention back to the city beyond the cemetery, where the sky was starting to thicken with gray clouds. “But it’s only been worse.”
Pleasant’s heart went out to him. No doubt, as the oldest of her siblings, at fifteen he thought he had to bear most of the burdens on his young shoulders. “Niall, Mama was sick before we even came to England. She’s been dealing with ill health since long before Papa died.”
He turned to her, his earlier upset shuttered, his voice void of emotion. “I don’t care. I hate it here. I’m going back to Ireland.”
He brushed past her and ran off.
Pleasant let him go, feeling that perhaps Cornell was right and he just needed some room to deal with his emotions, but when night fell and Niall hadn’t yet returned home, she started to grow worried, especially after the snow that had threatened earlier began to fall in earnest.
Cornell had escorted Pleasant, Connor, and Fiona back to their lodgings, but now he shrugged on his greatcoat. “I’ll find him.”
Cornell wandered the streets, stopping now and again to ask about anyone that might fit Niall’s description. He had a feeling he hadn’t gone far, but it wasn’t until well past midnight that he finally gained a lead.
Reluctantly, he walked into a crowded, local pub and found Niall there, and looking three sheets to the wind. Cornell walked up to where he was sitting at a booth with two men who looked rather willing to take advantage of a young man’s naïveté.
“I think it’s time for you to go home, Niall.”
The boy lifted his head and squinted through inebriated, bloodshot eyes, a nearly empty mug of ale at his elbow. “I’m no’ goin’ anywhere,” he slurred. He waved a hand and nearly smacked one of his compatriots in the face. “I don’t feel like leavin’ my new friends.”
Cornell crossed his arms and glared at him. He didn’t want to be too hard on the young man after what he’d just endured, but he also had to see sense. He just hoped he might make this easy. “Your sister is worried sick.”
Niall slammed his fist on the table. “She’s no’ my mother! She can’t tell me wha’ t’ do!”
Cornell sighed. “So it’s to be the hard way,” he muttered. He reached out and grabbed Niall by his jacket collar and lifted him out of his seat. “You’re coming with me. Now.”
One of the men rose to his feet. “’E can’t leave jus’ yet.”
“That’s too bad, because he is,” Cornell snapped in return. “He’s only fifteen, and he just lost his mother. He’s not thinking clearly.”
The second man stood, even larger than the first. He cracked his knuckles. “’E hasn’t paid ’is tab yet.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Cornell said curtly, reaching the end of his patience.
The first man narrowed his eyes on Cornell. “’Ey, I know ’im.” He thumbed his finger at him while he spoke to his companion. “’E’s th’ cordwainer wot thinks ’e’s too good t’ stand wit’ ’is peers.”
The bigger man sized up Cornell with narrowed eyes. “Is tha’ so?”
Cornell realized that Mr. Ottfield had been right. Trouble had found him. He would have just preferred that it wasn’t while he was keeping Niall upright with one hand. The boy was quite literally on the verge of passing out from the drink.
