Flight of the Earls (23 page)

She walked back into the main room, with the three of them following as chicks would a hen. Tressa bent over and picked up a wood bellow leaning against the hearth and pumped it a few times, causing flames and sparks to rise from reddened coals. “It's chilled in here, but it should warm up soon enough. We'll get some more coal.”

Tressa headed toward the front door, then stopped, turned, and looked around reflectively, as if she was drawing memories from the walls themselves. “Paddy and I first met as neighbors. I was managing affairs downstairs and happily living alone where I am now. At least I believed so. He moved into this place. He didn't have many belongings at the time, and as you could see didn't have the greatest of tastes. But it didn't stop me from falling for him. He moved into my place and rented this out until, of course, a year or so later when he let his sister Rose live here until she went back to Ireland.”

“Well. Enough of that,” she said abruptly. “It's yours now. I'll head off to the market and work on filling your cupboards. I'm sorry they are so bare.”

“This is quite lovely,” Clare said. “But I fear it's too dear for us.”

Tressa chortled. “You're a curious one, Blue Eyes. There is no rent for you, dear. Paddy has taken kindly to the three of you. Says he wants to keep you close to us, just as family.”

“We couldn't—”

“It will help us get started.” Seamus stepped forward, interrupting Clare. “We'll work our way to fixing our keep as soon as we can.”

“Well, that shouldn't take long,” Tressa said. “I believe Paddy's wanting to talk of that very subject with you today. He's got intentions for you two boys.” She took off a key from her ring and handed it to Seamus. “Now, I'll be along. Off to the market for my new friends. Get yourself settled and your man should be by soon.”

There was a screech that came through the floorboards, followed by the angry voices of several women entering in a discordant chorus of protest.

Tressa smiled warmly. “That's our girls down below. You'll hear a skirmish or two through the day. Must be another customer trying to skip his debt. It will all settle soon. Well, I must be going.” She turned to go away but paused. “Paddy's looking toward your time together. Something about you young people has his spirits lifted.”

With that, she departed. They listened as her steps on the floorboards faded away.

Seamus plopped down on a leather chair, then picked up a pipe sitting on the table beside him. He brushed the end on his sleeve and put it in his mouth. “Have you some matches? There is some smoking left in this.”

Pierce picked up the wood bellow leaning against the hearth and fanned it, causing the coals to turn a bright and fiery red. He took a long matchstick from a tin box and lit it from the flames, and cupping his hands he walked it over to Seamus.

With a nod of appreciation, Seamus leaned in toward Pierce and drew in deeply on the pipe. The flame on the tip of the matchstick reached toward the bowl of tobacco and smoke rose from the orange glow.

“Can you believe this?” Seamus said. “See how our circumstances prospered in just one day?”

Pierce laid down on a sofa upholstered with a floral pattern with his arms perched behind his head and his feet propped on the armrest. “Do you think they'll let us stay?”

Clare wanted to say something to both boys, but her curiosity proved greater. She went into the kitchen and opened and shut cabinets, finding it bare of food but full of mismatched cutlery and dishes. Then she headed into the adjoining bedroom and sat on the bed to test out the mattress. Its springs creaked when she did, but it seemed comfortable and inviting. Looking toward the window, she saw dust dancing in the rays of light.

She stepped down from the bed and walked over to the black bureau nestled against the wall. Clare pulled out each of the four drawers, finding them empty with the exception of the lowest, which rattled with mouse droppings as she opened it.

“Disgusting,” she whispered.

She began to shut the drawer, then stopped. She was being lazy. Clare pulled it out all of the way, having to jostle it at the end to fully free it from its frame. She carried the drawer over to the sunlight and cradled the drawer under her arm as she unlatched a rusty brass hook and pushed the window shutters outward.

The breeze came in fresh and cool, and Clare stuck her head outside and looked at the world of activity below. Carriages hoofed by, pedestrians sauntered, hurried, and squabbled. Voices of children, merchants, and newsboys echoed through the dirty cobblestone roads.

Clare waited patiently for there to be a clearing in the walkway three stories below, and then she turned the drawer upside down and drummed on it. As she did this, Clare noticed something peculiar attached to the upper right bottom of the drawer. It was a small gold key, attached to the wood by a small pool of hardened candle wax.

What could this be? Should I leave it?

Clare tugged on it gently and it snapped out of the dry wax with ease. There it was now, in her hands. She had no way of putting it back. At this point, she'd have to give it to Tressa or Uncle Tomas and hope they believed she wasn't being meddlesome.

She bent down and returned the drawer to its place, then stood. She examined the key closely in her cupped hand, using the sunlight from the window. The key seemed too small to fit a door, yet it was sturdy and finely crafted. Its purpose must be to open a lock of some importance.

Clare went out to the main room to share her discovery with Seamus and Pierce, but instead felt angered when she saw the two of them sprawled out across the furniture. She slipped the key into her dress pocket and buttoned it.

“We can't stay here, you know.”

Seamus released a slow exhale from his purloined pipe. “And why is that, dear sister?”

“Leave? Why's that?” Pierce said.

“Must I waste words on this?” Clare's pulse was starting to rise. “We're in this place owned by a charlatan, a fraud, the very one who happens to be our uncle, the brother of our father.”

Seamus sat up. “What will we gain by exposin' him now?”

“Some character,” she responded. “And what of Maggie? Don't you have a heart for your family?”

“Lower your voices,” Pierce said. “We'll be heard.”

“I'll speak my mind clearly. I won't be staying in this place. If it means I am on the streets by myself, so be it. I'll be better off than here with the two of you, pandering to my aunt's traitor.”

Seamus stood and put his hands on Clare's shoulders. “Don't judge us so harshly. Yes. I want to hear all of the story. I want to find Margaret. But our uncle asked for us to hear him out. I suppose he is deserving of a little patience, and perhaps some grace. Even if he is all you fear he is, we have to sort through this properly.”

“And how would that be?” She crossed her arms.

“We can't forget about our family. The ones back home. They're needing us to be successful. If we can make our way with our uncle's help, whether he's the villain you believe, we shouldn't be hasty to throw away our good fortune.”

“We haven't had much of that,” Pierce said.

Clare grunted and gritted her teeth, but the wisdom of what her brother said made sense.

“Let's hear him out,” Seamus said. “And then we'll decide what's next. But let's keep our senses about us.”

Their conference was interrupted by a firm knock on the door. Before they had much chance to exchange glances, the handle turned and bursting through the door came Uncle Tomas, with the verve Clare recognized from her youth.

Dandily dressed in dark brown pants, a taupe vest, and a black stovepipe hat, Uncle Tomas's smile spread broadly across his reddened face, displaying more teeth than should properly fit a mouth.

“How do you fancy your lodgings?” he said. “Come now. Gather yer boots, hats, and dresses. I have much to show you today. Found you work as well, I did. But we'll discuss all that later. Let's be gone. Time to see the city and pluck her fruits.”

Clare tried to be angry, in loyalty to her aunt and as a guard against compromise. But, she found herself slipping into the grasps of her uncle's charm and this disgusted her. They gathered themselves and soon they were heading out with their merry guide.

As she followed behind, Clare fumbled with the key in her pocket.

Chapter 24

Of the City

They walked through the crowded streets of the Five Points, and though Clare's emotions were churning with confusion and guilt, there was also a surging exhilaration.

Clare relented, fascinated and enraptured with the sights and activity of the village. The world rose around her in fresh vibrancy. As Clare and the boys struggled to keep up with her uncle's pace, something else soon became evident to her: The city was parting around the man.

“Hello, Mr. Feagles,” said a man in a tattered jacket.

“Good day to you, sir,” another bellowed from the doorway as they passed.

“Well to see you,” said one of two women who passed carrying brightly colored parasols.

“Pleasure, sir,” said a tall man with a scraggly beard as he bowed almost painfully.

In between these greetings there were those who would wave, lift a hat, smile warmly, and curtsy. Uncle Tomas would do his best to acknowledge each and every one of them with a nod, a wink, and at times a pithy greeting. He stopped a few to inquire about the health of their family or how their jobs were going. With a few he touched on politics or discussed whether the dark clouds on the horizon were going to make their way inland.

Clare watched with amazement, even though this all seemed more in character with the man she adored through her youth.

In between his interactions with the people of his neighborhood, he would share intimate details about those he had greeted, point out the most reputable merchants, and offered stories on the history and happenstances of the buildings. He would show them his favorite places for meals and libations.

Uncle Tomas stopped at nearly every food vendor they would pass, picking carefully through the offerings before tossing to the three of them the choicest of crisp apples, warm bread, buttered rolls, sweet pastries, and exotic fruit. So much so, they began to fill their pockets with the excess.

Her uncle didn't pay coin nor bill, and the merchants never offered a hint of protest. He floated through these streets scattered with rubbish, beggars, and thieves as if he landlorded the entire city, owning not only the buildings and the stores but the people themselves. With guilty delight she experienced a sense of entitlement and even a touch of royalty as she followed behind him.

When they paused at a tobacconist stand, Clare took the opportunity to drift off a slight distance as Uncle Tomas outfitted Pierce and Seamus with pipes. Clasping her hands behind her back, she meandered over to a merchant's window and gazed inside.

Through the glass she could see it was a women's clothier, and although the shop was empty of patrons, it was full of a variety of colorful and well-crafted garments, each meticulously displayed. There before her eyes, posturing on a wooden mannequin, was a delicate yet tastefully subdued dress. It was woven from cotton fabric with broad vertical stripes alternating in light blue and off-white shades, with floral patterns along the seams. Draped over the shoulders was a hand-sewn lace scarf, which was secured with a gold and pearl brooch.

Clare looked back and saw the three men laughing as Tomas lit their pipes. When she turned to look at the dress again, she noticed her own reflection in the window and she stumbled backward. In contrast to the dresses in the store, hers was plain and ill fitting. She looked foolish with her brother's hat on her head, and when she lifted it, her hair was still much too short to her liking. Lowering her head, she wanted the image before her to go away.

“Do you fancy the dress?”

Clare felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see her uncle's reddened face brimming with cheer. She shook her head.

“Come, I've sent the lads to the pub across the street, and they'll be busying themselves with a few pints. What say you and I do some shopping?”

She wanted to say no, but she found herself without a reason to explain why. Uncle Tomas opened the door and a bell hanging from the frame rattled. He waved her inside.

Clare glanced back at the tavern where Seamus and Pierce must have gone, and she was angered they were so easily drawn away from her. Nodding to her uncle, she entered the doorway and onto the uneven floorboards of the store.

Rising from a chair in the back of the room, as if from slumber, a rounded woman in a canary-hued silk dress greeted them in a loud voice laced with laughter.

“Well, strain me eyes. Patrick, where did you find this beauty? They get younger and prettier each . . .”

Uncle Tomas halted her abruptly. “Molly. This one is like kin to me. Family. Not long from home.”