Flight of the Earls (19 page)

When he got to her, Seamus gave her a warm embrace. But then he pulled back.

“Do I smell that poorly?” she asked.

“'Fraid so. Nuttin' a good scouring couldn't fix.”

“Are you sure you're fit?” Pierce said. “We were afraid you fell ill again.”

“I'm done with all plagues,” she said defiantly.

The boys' faces lit up. “Then let's go,” Seamus said.

“Go where?”

“Should we tell her?” Pierce asked.

“We certainly should not. Not yet.” Seamus's eyes glistened with mischief. “C'mon you. Let's get your belongings. We're out of this sinkhole. We have the most wonderful thing to share.”

Chapter 20

A Twist of Fortune

In short order, they had in their arms all of their possessions, said farewell to their gloomy residence, and embraced the sunshine of new hope. Clare insisted they stop by Abigail's stand, where she ordered three ears of corn and paid the girl double what was due.

They waddled down the cobblestone road at Clare's pace, the boys refusing to give her any clues as to where they were heading. She distracted herself from itching curiosity by imbibing the unique character of the neighborhood.

She was amazed to see so many Irish faces staring back at her as they passed by, and she realized it was the people Mack was referring to when he described the Five Points as home away from home. Even under the brooding weight of difficult times, there still existed the underlying cheer and hope of her brethren, and it did bring her warmth to hear the familiar lyrical musicality of their conversations ringing out in the neighborhood.

But it also was a culture somehow blighted by their new environment. There were dungeon-like watering holes alternating almost every other storefront, many of them replete with drunken patrons despite it being the full light of day.

There were mothers with babies and the elderly and crippled begging on every corner. Dark individuals loitered in every cranny, with an unresolved yearning and turbulence in their eyes. Children, scantily clad, wandered in bare feet, picking up fragments of the black shards that had fallen from the coal wagons.

The decay of the buildings and the brokenness of her people struck Clare as odd and disappointing. She believed they were crossing the ocean to enter a city of great wealth, a land of opportunity, but instead, she found herself peering into the downtrodden face of poverty and foul corruption.

They hadn't traveled too many blocks when they came to a building, which in contrast to its destitute neighbors rose straight and tall with fresh green paint and bright gold lettering sporting the name McKinney's above the wooden door.

On the second level ladies with ornamented wigs and voluptuous, brightly colored silk dresses were leaning out windows, appearing bored and disinterested in the activity below.

“Is this where you're taking me?” Clare made no attempt to guard her displeasure.

Seamus laughed. “Don't worry, sister. It gets better.”

They entered the wooden door of the first-level tavern, which was modestly appointed with oak tables and chairs, a large, blazing fireplace, and a bar with glass mirrors and shiny brass trim. The place wasn't crowded, but there were enough customers sprinkled about to give rise to a sedentary blending of chatter.

Stepping with the confidence of one who knew his way, Seamus headed to the far corner of the room and tilted his hat upon drawing the stare of the barkeep cleaning glasses with a white towel. His eyes tracked them as they went past him and through an entranceway leading to stairs that were well lit with decorative oil lanterns mounted on the walls.

As they ascended, a couple of leggy women who were heading down ogled Seamus and Pierce with exaggerated interest.

“Are you boys coming to see us?” one said playfully.

“Maybe later, ladies,” Seamus replied.

As they came up to the second floor, they passed by an entranceway with crimson light flaring from a lamp, where an older, serious woman was conversing with two of the shady women. Unable to stave her curiosity, Clare glanced at them as she passed and one of the women returned a scowl.

Clare raced to catch up with the boys who had already reached the third floor and were working their way down a hallway. They waited for her, and as Seamus lifted his hand to the brass knocker, Clare tugged firmly on his shirt. “Hold on for a moment, will you? You need to tell me what we're doing. No more secrets.”

Seamus seemed irritated she wouldn't play along. “It has to do with the necklace you got from the keener.”

Clare reached for her neck and realized the pendant was gone. She felt violated. “What have you done with it? You didn't sell it, did you?”

“It's not what we lost,” Pierce said. “It's what we found.”

“Our luck's turned, Clare Hanley.” Seamus clapped the brass.

Soon, an iron slot of the door opened and a pair of tired eyes shifted back and forth before disappearing. The latch unhitched and the door sprang open, and in the frame was a rangy woman draped in a peach silk robe. Her eyelids were painted bright blue and her cheeks flashed red on thin and wrinkled skin. Clamped between her teeth at an angle was a cigarette in a long, slender holder, which she drew on seductively as her other hand braced on her hip.

“Well . . . well . . . well.” She scanned Clare from toe to head in a way that made her shudder. Then the woman let out a loud, hacking laugh.

“So this is the princess, eh?” She took a slow drag from the cigarette, and the tip glowed red and then added to the ash that was hanging precariously. “Looks like you pulled her out of the sewer.”

“Ah, she'll clean up just fine.” Seamus turned back to Clare as if to urge her not to be offended.

“Oh, my sweet sunshine.” The woman chortled again, which led to a cough causing the ash to fall off her cigarette. “Well . . . come in and let's see if we can scrub you back into a lady. Come, love. Let's see what ol' Tressa can do.”

She shook her head as Clare passed by her into the entry room. “Whooo. Now I know what hell smells like. Boys, you take these buckets and fill them with water. There's a well in the back. And take those rank packs out of here before the entire place is spoiled. Heavens! Oh my! I'll light the coal and will start the water boiling.”

Clare shot a glare at her brother. Seamus shrugged and then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

Tressa put her arms on her waist. “Are you two lads still here? Get on with you. If Paddy catches sight of her in this condition, he'll toss her to the street.”

Seamus gave a nod to the woman and they carried out their bags in one hand and the pails in the other. In a moment the door was shut behind them, leaving Clare miserably alone with Tressa.

“Have a seat, girl. There by the fireplace.” Tressa left the room and began to make loud noises in an adjoining room, which appeared from Clare's vantage point to be a kitchen.

Clare took a seat in an elegantly carved mahogany chair, upholstered with a rich, blue fabric. With the clamor of Tressa's labors in the background, Clare surveyed the parlor room. It wasn't large by any means, but the walls were covered with a floral pattern of delicate wallpaper. The ebony wood of the mantel framed a fireplace, and spewing tufts of dark, black smoke rose from the red glow of coal, something Clare had never seen burn. On the shelf above the fire rested a silver clock of fine craftsmanship and two brass candleholders, each bearing five half-melted candles.

Tucked within the room was also a reading table bearing a vase of newly bloomed tulips, a pedestal desk with papers and an inkwell, a sofa with legs shaped like lion paws, and a dark wood cabinet. It was a charming room, and despite the odd circumstances of her welcome, Clare embraced the hospitality.

Her moment of tranquility was short lived as Tressa reentered the room. “Paddy is going to be in a tether when he gets sight of you folks. Ragged as you are. Well. We'll fix that. Imagine my surprise when those two young 'uns burst into McKinney's this morn, tossing Patrick Feagles's name around as if they were important.

“Business with him? I saw those two fresh babies, wet off the boat, and had a mind to put them in their rightful place.” She let out a laugh as she started to light up another cigarette. “You know Patrick Feagles?”

Tressa walked over to one of the shelves on the wall and pulled down a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey and two glasses.

“Oh, no thank you, ma'am,” Clare managed to get out as Tressa began to pour the second tumbler.

“Suit yerself.” The woman topped off her glass. She lifted it to her ruby-coated lips and sipped. “I didn't hear you. Did you say you know Patrick Feagles?”

The door opened and Seamus and Pierce came in carrying their buckets full of water, some sloshing onto the wood floor.

“Careful, lads. In the kitchen with those.” She rolled her eyes. “Yes . . . those two roughies. Here to collect from Paddy?”

When they came out, she gave them another order. “All right. Now the two of you go downstairs and visit the ladies. Tell them you need the tub and that Tressa says so. And ask Darcy for one of her dresses.” Tressa eyed Clare. “Yes. Darcy's will do fine. And boys, don't tarry with the girls. Much to do before Paddy arrives.”

When the door shut, Tressa disappeared in the kitchen again and Clare guessed she was swapping out the water to boil, and the clanging of pots confirmed this. In a moment she reappeared.

“So yes,” Tressa said. “Your brother and the redhead are about to get their heads bashed by my bartender's brickbat when they pull out a necklace they said they brought all the way from Ireland and were returning it to my Paddy.

“I recognized it right straight, I did. It was a gift he gave his sister when she visited a couple years ago. Sang in theatre. Strange woman, his sister. I didn't see much Feagles in her to be honest. But a beautiful voice. That's for sure.”

“Madame O'Riley?”

Tressa gave her a mock startle. “So you do speak? Yes . . . her stage name was Madame O'Riley. But Paddy always called her Rose. Short for Rosaleen.”

“So this is the home of Patrick Feagles? Madam O'Riley's brother?” It was clearing up for Clare.

“Yes, dear.
The
Patrick Feagles.”

“I wonder what's keeping the boys?” Tressa rolled her eyes as if she knew the answer.

As if on cue, they heard a large clamor outside and Tressa opened to door to let Seamus and Pierce stumble in carrying a brass tub between them, moving carefully to navigate it around the corner of the hallway and in through the door frame. Tressa directed them to set it down in the middle of the parlor.

Tressa reached into the tub, pulled out a violet dress, and held it up, grimacing. “Well, there isn't much life left in this one, but it'll do for now. And it looks like Darcy parted with some undergarments as well.”

Under Tressa's direction, the boys waddled a boiling pot of water from the kitchen and then another and both of these were poured into the tub. After the woman put in some salts and soaps, it looked powerfully enticing to Clare.

“All right. The two of you need to make yourself scarce. Give the girl some privacy. Why don't you go to market and fetch some vegetables and make a visit to the butcher for me. It's a night of celebration. Paddy Feagles is in for a rare surprise.”

After grabbing her purse and pulling out some bills, Tressa shooed them out the door and then turned to Clare. “Don't stare at me. Get your scrubbing started. I'll be in the kitchen tending to the pot.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and then Clare quickly undressed. She dipped her toe into the water. It was hot, but not unbearably so. She slid into the water and curled under the foamy suds.

Perhaps it would have been the most wonderful experience she had in the past three months, except that she was terrified the door would open. Still, even flooded with the anxiety of this moment and her uncertain hosts, the luxury of the bath settled in and she reveled in the thought of feeling clean, feeling whole . . . feeling Clare once again.

She had yet to settle since leaving her community back home. But how foolish she once was to grow weary of the monotony of her life at home. What she would give to be back in her stony hovel, nestled to sleep with her siblings. Despite the grumpiness of her father, he was the beast she knew.

But she must hurry as her time would be short in the bath. Clare wiped the dirt, sweat, and humanity from her face, arms, chest, and legs. With each stroke of the cloth across her grateful body, she felt more alive.

She dunked her face into the water and allowed her short hair to soak. Sensing the water getting warmer, Clare rose to see Tressa pouring more boiling water in the tub.

“Well, look what we found splashing in the water? There's really a woman underneath all of that filth.” Tressa turned to go back to the kitchen but paused. “Those eyes are jewels, my dear. Pure sapphire. When we get sewn up, you'll be the charm of Manhattan. They'll come far and wide to you, dear.”