Flight of the Earls (20 page)

Tressa placed the pot on the floor and wiped the sweat off of her forehead. In the process she smeared some of her makeup.

Eyeing Clare's heap of clothing on the ground, Tressa bent over, grunting as she did, and picked up the pile while pursing her lips as if she had swallowed a lemon whole. “My, oh my. What are we to do with these lovelies? Only one thing I can think of.”

Clare watched in horror as the woman went to the fireplace, opened the screen, and tossed in her only clothing. Then as if to make sure the chore was complete Tressa pulled out the poker and stoked it until Clare's filthy garments were fully engulfed in flames.

“That's it for the water, so I'll best be getting the boys from downstairs so they can clean a few layers off themselves. You should be out in a few minutes so you can be ready when they come back. Here is a towel. Powder yerself in my room. There's a lamp lit for you.”

“Ma'am?”

“There are no ma'ams here . . . just old Tressa.”

Clare pointed to the woman's eyes.

“What's that?” Tressa appeared dumbfounded for a moment. She peered in the looking glass on the wall and laughed. “No need to give them a fright. Thank you, dear. If Paddy saw me like this, he'd up and leave.”

She lit another cigarette and approached the tub. “Pretty girl, you are, young Clare.” Tressa exhaled. “Pretty does well in this city.”

In a moment, the door shut and Tressa was gone, leaving Clare alone to her thoughts.

She slunk back in the tub and closed her eyes, feeling more relaxed than she had in months. The serenity was precious. With reluctance she climbed out of tub and reached over for the towel, then she wrapped it around herself as water dripped onto the wood floorboards.

Clare walked to the mirror and stared into her own blue eyes. It was the first time she had seen her hair for a while. It was growing in nicely, but she still looked more like a boy than a woman. But she appeared strong . . . and yes, beautiful.

She imagined a man, handsome with a charming smile, putting his arm around her, gazing in adoration. Perhaps her long days of aloneness would soon be in her past.

Maybe the worst was over.

Voices approached and she scampered into the back room, all the while plagued by this question:
Who is Patrick Feagles?

Chapter 21

Patrick Feagles

“Have you never seen such beauty?” Seamus peered over Clare's shoulder into the oven she had opened.

“Nor smelt it?” Pierce tried to nudge in as well.

“Back off, you two. I can't breathe.” Clare tried to discern whether the beef shoulder was fully braised or not. This was Clare's first time using an oven and, in fact, she had never before cooked beef. The thought of ruining such an expensive meal terrified her.

“Do you think it's ready?” she said.

“How would I know?” Pierce said.

“Oh, if I could just cradle it in me arms.” Seamus licked his lips.

Clare shut the oven door and the hinges squeaked. She tended to the vegetables boiling on the stove, a task she found more familiar and comforting.

“Where's the old lady?” Pierce asked.

“Shhh.” She looked nervously toward the door to Tressa's bedroom. “She'll hear you. She asked if I would mind the kitchen while she was preparing herself for Mr. Feagles.”

“We were taking our baths when she went in there,” Seamus said. “With all of that fixing time, she ought to come out as the queen herself.”

Clare noticed Pierce gazing at her. “What's with you?”

Seamus elbowed his friend. “Are you ogling me sister?”

Pierce snapped out of his trance. “No. No. It's just . . .” he started and blushed. “It's just you cleaned up well, Clare. 'Tis all.”

Seamus patted Pierce on the head. “And you, my dear friend, smell lovely as well.”

Pierce swatted the hand away.

“Do you think we could have a wee taste of the beast?” Seamus started to reach for the oven handle.

“You'll have no such thing.” Clare slapped his hand. “I don't want either of you embarrassing me. And neither of you boys will get the first bite until you tell me how you came upon this place. Other than admitting to pinching my necklace, you haven't provided any explanations. How did you meet Tressa?”

“Firstly, I never pinched your necklace, my dear sister.” Seamus reached into his pocket and held up the silver necklace, and the gem in the center of the braided clover sparkled even in the limited light.

As one would greet a lost friend, Clare took it from his hand and immediately put it around her neck, fumbling with the clasp. “But I thought you gave it to Tressa?”

“I only said I showed it to her. What a low opinion you hold of me at times.” Seamus plucked an apple from the fruit bowl, buffed it against his shirt, and bit into it loudly. “Now for the story of how we're here, I'll start by saying it took quite some reckoning to bring us to this much-improved situation.”

“'Twas a task indeed,” Pierce chimed in.

“You see ol' Mack's cousin,” Seamus continued, “the fella who offered us those brilliant accommodations in the basement.”

Pierce raised his eyebrows. “Strange chap.”

“Yes. Peculiar indeed. With you ailing and us near dry of funds, he put in our ear we should sell our belongings. Whatever could be spared. So I told him of the keener's gift.”

“Yes.
My
necklace.” Clare raised her hand to her bosom, where the pendant rested against her skin.

“Understood, dear sister. Yet I'm certain you'd agree it would serve us little if we were all starved.”

“I suppose 'tis true.” She sighed. “Still, I wasn't dead for asking.”

Seamus raised his eyebrows. “Anyways. When I showed Mack's cousin the necklace for his appraisal, I could see greed flashing in his eyes, and I knew at once the keener gave us something dear. And I was morely convinced when this chap began to play his interest down.”

“Out of pity for our condition,” Pierce said in a mocking voice, “he'd give us a dollar to unburden us.”

“Yes. That's what he said, more or less.” Seamus nodded. “When he saw we weren't falling for it, he started pleading and begging, then hinting he would put us out to sleeping in the snow if we didn't see to him having it as his own. We told him we'd think on it.”

Seamus took another bite of his apple. “So quick as we could, we started asking questions on the streets. It didn't take long to find the clover of the pendant was a symbol for the place called the Irish Gathering or Irish Fellowship . . .”

“The Irish Society,” Pierce broke in.

“Yes. The Irish Society. It's a place for our people they said. We ventured to a building that had the same exact clover symbol on its door. Once there, folks told us we had something in our possession that rightly belonged to a certain Patrick Feagles.”

“There's more,” Pierce whispered.

“Well, there's that.” Seamus lowered his voice as well. “The man we spoke to at the Irish Society seemed to believe this Mr. Feagles would be most grateful for the pendant's proper return. That is, if he didn't kill us for having it in the first place.”

“He said that?” Clare gasped.

“Aye,” her brother said. “But he was making more of it than there was, I am certain.”

Clare was unconvinced and now more than a bit troubled. “And Tressa. How did you meet Tressa?”

Seamus offered a bite of the apple to Clare, but she shook her head. “We were told we'd find Mr. Feagles in the tavern below, it being called . . .”

“McKinney's,” Pierce said. “When we got here and mentioned this Feagles's name, they pointed us to Tressa, who was sitting at one of the far tables.”

“At first, she was ill pleased,” Seamus said. “Until we showed her the necklace. One look at that and she was so sure Mr. Feagles would want to meet us she invited us to supper and even offered us her place to bed down.”

“And here we are.” Pierce spread his arms wide.

“So you know . . . nothing about this Patrick Feagles?”

Seamus shrugged.

Clare's anger began to rise. “And do you think it wise not to tell me this man might intend us harm? Had you not the good wits to share this story with me before you brought me here?”

“No,” Seamus said with a patronizing smile. “He'll be so grateful to us for the return of his precious jewelry, he'll treat us generously.”

“And how do you know that, Seamus?”

He glanced at Pierce and then turning back put a hand on her shoulder. “When we showed it to Tressa, she said it was a gift he gave his sister.”

“Yes, I know. Tressa already told me Mr. Feagles was the keener's brother. And what of it?” Clare's head ached. She was preoccupied with wondering if they would be wise to flee the house while they still had the opportunity.

“Don't you see it?” Seamus said, in an incredulous tone. “For some reason the keener knew we would end up meeting up with her brother. It was a real gift she gave us. This Feagles is from back home. He's one of us.”

Just then a door opened. Startled, they turned to see Tressa emerging from her room. Her face displayed an artistry of makeup, which despite being a bit heavily applied, succeeded in making the old woman appear more youthful. Clare could imagine a young Tressa would have drawn the eyes of many a suitor.

“Oh, how wonderful you're here.” Clare worried that Tressa might have heard part of their conversation. “I . . . uh . . . I'm uncertain if the roast is cooked or not.”

Tressa eyed them with suspicion. “Why are you muddling about? You all look as if you're standing before the gallows.”

“We're just grateful, ma'am.” Seamus smiled. “Pleased to be here.”

“Say nothing of it, dear. Patrick would be angry with me if I treated poorly friends of his sister. He dotes on that woman fiercely and will be cheered by any news you have about her. Just about broke the man when Rose went back to Ireland.”

Clare gave Seamus an accusatory glance. “I hope it won't dispirit Mr. Feagles once he knows we don't know her too well.”

“He'll feast on the slightest detail. I told you he loves that woman. And speaking of feasting, that roast is done. Let's pull her out and prepare the settings. What time is it?” Tressa glanced at the clock, which showed it was nearly eight in the evening. “Oh my. Paddy ought to be home soon. Let's hurry ourselves so all will be ready.”

Under Tressa's direction, Clare gathered the food onto serving china while the boys pulled a table from the wall and placed it where not too long ago the brass tub set. Whether driven by the anticipation of the meal or the man who was on his way, they hurried at their tasks, and in not more than a few minutes, they were gathered around the table, admiring the spread in awe and silence.

Before them, the meat sizzled atop a pool of gravy, as tiny rivulets of butter streamed down the curvatures of the corn on the cob. Beets, a brilliant purple and fresh from the market, brimmed to the edge of the dish, and further tempting their patience were the wheat aromas of oven-browned bread, which was still warm to the touch.

Clare and the boys gazed expectantly at the woman, hoping and even pleading with their eyes that the words of grace would free them from the cruel bondage of politeness. But no such words spilled from Tressa's lips. Instead, she spoke of everything else, intending apparently for not a single fork to be lifted until her Patrick Feagles came through the door.

Then at last, with Tressa seemingly exhausting every possible word, she released a deep sigh and there was silence, except for the steady ticking of the clock, which seemed to grow in intensity as disappointment crept deeper into her face.

“I'm sure he'll be here soon.” Clare clasped her hands, which were sweaty.

“Maybe we should begin . . .” Tressa looked at the clock again.

“We should wait . . .” Clare said, but it was too late. Seamus and Pierce dug into the food like wolves over their prey. The chains were broken. Clare, who couldn't remember how long it had been since her last full dinner, had no more will to restrain them or herself. With each bite, strength returned to Clare, flowing through her body.

She barely noticed Tressa preserving a plate of food for Patrick, his chair ominously empty.

In a short while, it was all over. The last of the food was scraped from the serving platter, and after Seamus and Pierce used the bread to sop up whatever gravies remained on their plates, they leaned back in their chairs and exchanged sighs and groans of contentment.

Clare stared down with guilt at the food left on her plate. She abhorred the thought of wasting food, but her appetite was still fragile and she couldn't force another bite without gagging.

“Miss Tressa.” Seamus patted his mouth with his napkin. “You've made our little venture to America already worth every effort. Had I known what awaited me here, I would have beaten the captain for speed.”