Flight of the Earls (28 page)

“I'm not sure I want to know . . .”

“You don't need to,” Seamus said. “Send it home. Maybe you can include a note saying your brother isn't the failure they thought he was.”

His eyes watered and Clare could smell his breath well enough to know he was full of drink. She didn't approve of any of this, but her brother was desperate for a victory and she had no will to deny him of it now. She tucked the envelope in the pocket of her dress.

“There you are.” Seamus waved to someone in a crowd.

Clare turned to see who it was and saw a young woman with large brown curls and bright red lips, who was dancing to sounds of the music. She blew a taunting kiss at Seamus and began to gyrate and spin as she grinned mischievously and curled a finger, beckoning him to join her.

At the other end of the room, Clare caught sight of Pierce coming through the main door and then scampering to the stairs leading up to their room.

A flash of anger caused her to rise and scurry after him.

Clare burst through the door, where an alarmed Pierce spun around from where he was stoking the fire.

“What is it? Are you all right?”

“You would know, Pierce Brady, wouldn't you now?”

The redhead stood erect and furrowed his brows. “What are you speaking of?”

“Why are you following me, Pierce?”

“I'm not . . .”

“Don't lie to me, I know that you were.”

“Back down, Clare. You're mistaken.” Pierce said this with such conviction, it forced Clare off her rampage.

“That
was
you, wasn't it?”

Pierce took her hands, guided her to an upholstered chair, then dragged the oak rocker next to her and sat down. “What's troubling you, Clare? Speak your mind. It's just me.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I'm not sure. I was coming home from the shop and John Barden was with me . . .”

“He was?” Pierce's tone betrayed his disappointment.

“Well, listen. John was being a gentleman in escorting me home, and I'm gracious for it because I had a creeping feeling the whole time there was someone lurking behind. Please, Pierce. I'll forgive you if you tell me the truth. Was it you? I need to know.”

“I already answered you,” he snapped at her. But then his face softened, and he sought out her eyes. “There's something you ought to learn about John Barden.”

“I'm not interested in any gossip.”

“It's not. It's the plain truth.”

Clare paused, uncertain she wanted to hear what he had to say. She saw in Pierce what seemed to be a jealous spirit, but she nodded.

“It's your uncle. He's in a bad way.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“There's a man he works for. A business partner of sort. He's got it out for your uncle. From what I've been hearing, he's wanted to take Patrick out for a long time.”

“Where did you hear this?” asked Clare. It seemed nonsensical to her.

“It's all true, I'm afraid. Much of it we heard from your own uncle's lips, you know. When he drinks, there's few secrets. He's taken a liking to your brother and me.”

Clare tried to read through the veil of what Pierce was sharing. “What does John Barden have to do with any of this?”

“He's a fighter, he is. And not just for prize. He works as a strongman.”

“For this business partner who has no name?” This was all too much for Clare to absorb. She wanted it all to be a lie.

“According to your uncle, few know he exists. Your uncle serves as this man's voice, his face, his interaction with the world. He operates from the shadows. It's part of their arrangement.” Pierce shook his head in response to Clare's dubious glare. “I know I'm sounding batty. It's strange for me and it's coming from my own mouth, but you must believe me. Seamus and I . . .”

“What about Seamus?”

“We've seen things. We've done things.” Pierce glanced down at his lap.

“What kind of things?”

He looked at her. “Things you mustn't know. But believe this, Clare. We're in it deep. Deep as can be.”

Clare reached into her pocket and pulled out the envelope her brother gave her. She pulled out a stack of dollar bills and slammed them on the table beside them. “Is this what this is about?”

Pierce appeared startled. “He gave that to you?”

“Answer me.”

He stood and paced back and forth a few times, stroking his fingers through his hair. Then resolutely he kneeled down beside her. “Seamus and I have a plan. Here.” He pulled a folded piece of parchment from the front pocket of his herringbone wool trousers, opened it carefully, and handed it to her.

“What is this?” Clare saw the poster and her heart caved. It had been ripped from a nail and was worn from weather, but the words framed around a large ink-drawn eagle screamed to her in large letters.

“To Arms! To Arms! 500 Men for the United States Army! To the patriotic citizens who are willing to fight for their country.”

Clare had read enough. “What is this?” Her voice cracked.

Pierce took it back from her, folded it neatly, and tucked it in his pants. “We're short on choices, Clare. Now listen. This is a good plan.”

“What do the two of you know about fighting? The American army? As strangers in this country? What good will you do your family buried in the soil?”

“It's not like that. The war's a hoax. They tell us there is little chance we'll see a single bullet fly. The Yanks are walking right through the enemy, and the talk is they'll be surrendered before we hit port. At the worst, it will be six months and we'll be back for you and we'll all go home together.”

Go home.
The words rattled in Clare's mind. Did she even want to go home? Yes, she missed her family, but she was getting accustomed to her new life and it invigorated her to be able to send her letters and support. The idea of crossing the ocean on a death ship again seemed distant and unwelcome.

“When?” she asked.

“After the fight. There's more to tell, but I can't right now.” Pierce reached for her hand and pressed it gently between his. “You mustn't speak of any of this. Not even to your brother. He swore me not to tell you, but I felt you needed to know. And you can't . . . listen closely . . . you can't breathe a word of this to John Barden.”

Clare watched Pierce's eyes as he mentioned the name, and they flickered with the flames of disdain. “What have you against John?”

Pierced paused and bit his fingertips. “If I tell you more, it may not be safe for you.”

“Now you
must
, Pierce.”

He curled his lip and nodded. Finally, he spoke in a soft voice. “Your uncle has something in his possession that has kept him alive. I don't know what it 'tis. He wouldn't tell us, but he said it would ruin this business partner of his if it ever comes to light.”

“But what does this have to do with John?”

“I believe he's trying to use you to find out about your uncle.”

Clare had heard enough. She stood and he did as well, stepping back out of her way. It wasn't that she didn't trust Pierce, it was all too much to bear. “I'm tired.”

He walked toward the door and lifted his jacket off of the rack.

“Where are you going?” Clare asked, suddenly not wanting to be alone.

He turned slowly. “I should join them downstairs. We're supposed to be planning for the fight Saturday.”

“All right,” she said, disappointed.

“Clare. I can trust you on this, can't I? All of it?”

“Yes.”

Pierce put on his coat and stood there awkwardly. “You do know why I told you all of this?”

Clare looked at the man who not too long ago was a boy. She could see the longing and the pain in his eyes. “Yes, I do.”

He nodded with sadness, turned, and the door closed behind him.

Clare felt terribly alone and frightened. There was so much going through her mind now, but her tiredness gave way to the pounding in her chest.

She took the candelabra from the mantel and lit the candles in the fireplace. She walked to the table, gathered the scattered dollars, and tucked them back into the envelope with her free hand and carried it to the bedroom. She set the candelabra on the small table by the bedpost, then lifted the mattress where she had hidden a leather pouch. In it were her earnings for the week, and she put in the money Seamus had given her as well.

Tomorrow she would visit the Irish Society and it would all go home.

As she returned the pouch to its hiding place, something fell out and hit the floor.
Clink.
Dragging her hand along the dusty floor she came upon a small object. It was the key she had found hidden under the third drawer of the cabinet.

She recalled Pierce's story. Did the key have anything to do with what her uncle was hiding? Clare put it back in the pouch and tucked it under the mattress again.

It was hard to fathom how much their lives were unraveling. This wasn't anything they could have dreamed. She went to the window, opened the latch, and pushed out the shutter doors to a frosty breeze. Clare looked below, hoping to see the strangers who were chanting and singing hymns.

But they were gone.

Just the wind, and the sounds of the tavern below. Disheartened, she closed the shutters, sat on the bed, and took out the pamphlet the blond man had given her. She held it to the light. On the front it said, “Have Ye Peace?”

Clare laughed in response. She was as far away from peace in her soul than she had ever been. The thought of peacefulness relit a fire in her heart she feared had died. She missed Grandma Ella, and tender thoughts of their times together swept across her with a dash of euphoria. Her grandmother lived as hard a life a person should ever endure, but she always bore an inner contentment and beauty Clare found herself craving.

She opened the first page and read the words:

“And there arose a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the ship, so that it was now full.

And he was in the hinder part of the ship, asleep on a pillow: and they awake him, and say unto him, Master, carest thou not that we perish?

And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.

And he said unto them, Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?”

“How is it that you have no faith?” she whispered.

Clare reread the verses over and over. They spoke to her with healing and reassurance as if she had discovered a lost friend in her presence. She cried herself to sleep.

Chapter 28

John Barden

It was Friday night and Clare needed to hurry as John would not be able to stay up late. Tomorrow was the big fight.

Seamus stepped into the room. “I didn't mean to disturb your preening. Just grabbing a scarf and me hat. Pierce and I are going to have a late night.”

“Is it for the fight?”

“It 'tis. We're gathering wagers. As much as we can. Ol' Patrick is hoping to cash out on this one.”

“He is? Is he betting on this Billy Tunnel?” She couldn't keep the disbelief from her voice.

“Billy?” Seamus laughed in that way he did when he was up to something. “No. He's putting everything on your man. So are we, as a matter of truth.”

She was pleased to hear this. “So John is quite a fighter, isn't he? And to think all of the things people are saying about Billy Tunnel and how he's going to hurt John badly.” She scoffed. “I see you've got good sense about you. You believe in him as well.”

Seamus cocked his head at her. “Clare, dear sister. It's not about faith in your man. It's purely self-serving.”

“What do you mean by that, Seamus?”

He wrapped a red plaid scarf around his neck and put on his hat.

“What's going on?” she asked.

Seamus flashed an air of arrogance. “It's best you don't know.”