Page 41 of The Chef and the Countess

Since Celia was not familiar with the neighborhood, she located the boys. Teddy and Timmy were busy chopping vegetables for tomorrow’s luncheon. She peeked into the back room where the boys slept. It was rather cramped, with a bunk bed for two and another bed opposite. It was there that she found Tommy reading a cookbook.

“Tommy, I’d like to go for a walk, but I don’t know my way around. Will you escort me? I would appreciate the company.”

The lad blushed as he scrambled off the bed. “Aye, miss.” He grabbed his wool coat and hat off the hook by the door.

They stepped into the alley. Although it was January, the sun held some warmth. “Please call me Celia, Tommy.”

“All right,” he replied, slipping on a pair of woolen mittens.

“If I may offer some advice. A gentleman should walk on the side closest to the street. That way, if a carriage splashes a puddle onto the walkway, you take the brunt, not the lady.”

“Oh, sorry,” Tommy replied. He immediately switched sides. “We’re on Chicksand Street. There’s lots of shops here.” He pointed across the street. “A baker, a furrier, a tailor, a drapery shop, a dress shop, some houses, and Mr. Spielman’s bookshop. He has loads of used books. Do you like to read?”

“I do. I brought some books with me in my trunks. Is that where you got the cookbook you’re reading, or is it one of Liam’s?”

“I bought a couple of cookery books at Mr. Spielman’s with my first wages,” Tommy replied proudly. “The one I’m reading is about baking scones, pies, and such. I want to learn about baking and cooking meals. I have other books too, like pirate adventures.”

“Good for you,” Celia smiled. “When did you come to work at The Crowing Cock?”

“Four months ago.”

And that was it. Tommy became as reluctant as his employer to talk about the past.

“Does it hurt to talk about the past, Tommy? It does for me. I lost my parents when I was ten, in a boating accident. I went to live with my aunt, but it wasn’t the same. I felt so alone. I was glad when they sent me away to school. I made good friends there, like you did with Timmy and Teddy.” Celia’s words were empathetic, reaching out to Tommy’s painful past.

“I’m sorry your parents died. So did my mum,” Tommy replied quietly. “She was sick and put me in the workhouse because she couldn’t look after me. Mum said she would send a note to my father, and he would come and get me. She never mentioned my father until that day. That was nearly a year and a half ago. Mum said the man didn’t know about me.”

“He never came?” Celia asked softly. She motioned toward a small green area at the end of the street with a few park benches. An older lady sat at one, feeding breadcrumbs to the pigeons. She and Tommy sat on the opposite side, far enough away for a private conversation.

Tommy shook his head. “Miss, I mean—Celia, will you keep a secret if I tell you something? I’ve never told even Timmy or Teddy.”

“Yes, of course. I know we haven’t known each other long, but I will certainly keep your secret.”

Tommy clasped his hands in agitation. “I don’t know what to do. Mum gave me his name, the man she claimed was my father. I waited at the workhouse for almost a year. But I didn’t know how to find him. The workhouse wasn’t a good place, but I met Timmy there, and we looked out for each other. He said we should leg it. They beat us, you see.”

Celia gasped. “Oh, no.”

“Timmy and me met Teddy on the streets. We did what we could to eat. We were in a bad way, sleeping in abandoned buildings and going through the rubbish for food. I’m younger than them, but they looked to me for protection because I’m taller and bigger.”

“How old are you?” Celia asked, riveted by the story.

“I turned twelve on December 5th. Unlike Teddy and Timmy, I knew my birthday and had some schooling. Mum did what she could; she worked at a dressmaker shop until she got sick. Then everything went wrong. Mum couldn’t work anymore.”

Holy crow. Judging by his size, Celia thought Tommy was fifteen at least. He’d lived on the streets at age eleven. How heartbreaking. “What was your mum’s name?”

“Molly Clahane. My name is Tommy Clahane.”

“Did you ever try to find your father after Liam took you in?”

Tommy shook his head. “No. That’s the secret, you see. My mum said my father was called—Liam Hallahan. She said she would send him a note to tell him where to find me.”

Celia gasped in shock. Liam? “Oh, Tommy. You haven’t said anything to Liam in all this time?”

“No. At first, I was scared. He never mentioned being my father, so maybe he wasn’t. Maybe the name was a—what’s the word?”

“Coincidence?”

“Aye, that. I don’t know how he found me, but he did. He said to come with him—that he had a job and a bed for me, but I said I wasn’t leaving Timmy and Teddy behind. Liam said, ‘Bring them, then.’ Just like that.”