A Seller of Dreams - Chapter 2

Lord Oberlyn was just getting back into his rig after questioning the gaslight and torch crew when he almost tripped over the little street urchin. He was so startled that the brown pile of rags had yelped and moved, he stood there frozen for a moment.

"Roberto?" the young girl cried, love shining from her eyes.

"No, I can’t say that I am," he said looking down with some surprise. "Come along though, you can’t stay here in the streets tonight, there’s been a big stir over on Market street and the garda are turning everything out looking for a horse thief."

He’d never seen a girl as dirty as this one, her eyes were huge and he felt her heart pounding hard through her wet clothing as he lifted her into his rig.

He hadn’t been planning on going home so soon, after all he’d barely left his front door before he was overcome by a bunch of lorries carrying additional garda to the brouhaha over on Market street near the new church. Hopefully it wasn’t going to turn into some kind of medieval mob scene hunting down some poor boy for a horse thief and hanging him for entertainment in the square. But, plans do change, he thought to himself.

Arriving at the doorstep of his townhouse, he opened the door foregoing the ringer and called, “Mrs. Doun,” as he walked silently down the hallway on carpets imported from Arabia. He held the girl gingerly by the back of her muddy frock and pulled her along, resolutely trying to ignore the strong smell of manure that was wafting from her small person, but determined to help the poor mite he'd almost stepped on.

“Take this little one to the kitchens, she’s had a bit of a shock. I rescued her just as the garda would have run her down, they were in such a rush to hunt and hang the horse thief. I heard from some of the gasmen that the boy stole the missing steed straight out from the picket in front of Parliament!”

The housekeeper stood silently as she looked over this new stray that stood muddying her pristine floors and creating hours of work to be had tomorrow in trying to save the precious carpet.

Finally, she replied, “I’d heard from the shop boy this even’ mi’lord. I'd sent him out on account that I wanted to stay close as dark grew nigh tonight."

“Mr. Doun?”, he inquired kindly, seeing the weight of sadness on her shoulders and in her eyes.

“No better, sir.”

“Well, you tell him to keep resting and to get well. We can greet the visitors ourselves until he’s better, I’m sure.”

“But, sir, the family,” she worried, twisting her white apron about her stout middle. Mrs. Doun had been with the Oberlyn family her whole life, caring for Jetty since he was in knee socks and eating egg custard in the nursery, she would never allow the family name to be sullied by even a hint of scandal.

“I’m not worried about holding to society's pretensions here," Jetty said, "Tell Mr. Doun to take as long as he needs and not to worry so about his position as head butler. You and Mr. Doun are part of this family, we would never turn you out in your old age after your years of service here.”

“Yes, mi’ lord," Mrs. Doun replied reluctantly, "I’ll take the girl now."

Gabby was already being propelled forcefully down the hall toward the kitchen when she planted both feet and called out, "Wait!"

She twisted away from the stout Mrs. Doun and ran to her rescuer grabbing him with her grubby hands by his crisp white lapel.

"My Lord, I-I," she stammered.

"Call me Jetty, that's what my friends call me," he said kindly, unwrapping her small, chilled fingers gently and wondering what she might look like once she was clean and didn't smell like the cesspit. "Only the old stogies call me Lord Oberlyn."

Then he added under his breath, "No one calls me 'George' unless they don't like living anymore."

"I need to tell you something," she said.

"Yes?"

"I-I," she tried.

He waited patiently for her to find her voice, but she just let the tears fall silently, making clean tracks down her face.

Puzzled, he nodded to Mrs. Doun who took possession of her new charge and started down the hall again.

"You've had a shock," she said, trying to be kind to the frightened young girl, already planning on a scorching hot bath for the young urchin and scrubbing her with good lye soap just as soon as enough water could be heated in the kitchen.