The Shadows

by Chance, Megan

  “I’ve a friend in Bellevue Hospital,” he said bluntly. “He’s in bad shape, but they won’t let me in to see him. I need someone respectable to get me through the door. Lucy said she can’t. I’d hoped you would help.”

  I stared at him. “They won’t let you in?”

  “Not without someone like you.”

  “But that’s ridiculous. Why would they ask such a thing?”

  He shrugged. “I’m guessing I look as if I might cause trouble.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  “Will you help me or not?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Please,” he said. “You’re the only other respectable person I know.”

  An innocent visit to the hospital. Why not? It was better than sitting around the house being driven half mad by the smell of desperation and my own anxiety. And Derry had asked Lucy first, so she couldn’t complain if I went instead. “Your friend . . . you don’t mean Oscar?”

  “Someone else.”

  “Well then, I suppose it couldn’t hurt. When did you want to go?”

  “Now, if you can. ’Tis my afternoon off. But if you’d rather wait an hour or so . . .”

  When it would be near dusk. My mother would never let me go with night so close. Not that she would let me go with him anyway, if she knew the truth—and here I marveled again that I had become so adept at lying that I no longer hesitated to do so.

  “I can’t go so late. It won’t take long?”

  “No. You’ll come to no harm. I’ll see to it. We’ll have to walk, but it’s not far.”

  “I walk everywhere, Derry. We sold the carriage a year ago. Wait here.”

  I went back inside. The house felt more oppressive than ever. “Mama, I’m going to see Rose. She wants to get ice cream.”

  My mother waved me away. “Go on. Enjoy yourself. Is Lucy going?”

  I shook my head. “Lucy’s at some tea or something.”

  “Be home before dark,” she said.

  I glanced at my shawl hanging on the hook. It was sweltering, so I left it. I wanted to leave the gloves, too, but I tucked them into my pocket in case I needed them to pass the hospital’s requirements for respectability. I grabbed my hat—no lady went anywhere without one—a small and plain brown bonnet that had once been decorated with silk cherries. Those were gone now, popping their seams when I’d worn it once in a drenching rain, and now there was only the pink silk ribbon, very faded, which I tied beneath my chin. If I tied the bow just right, you couldn’t see the way the edge of one ribbon had begun to fray.

  When I went outside again, Derry was lingering by the gate, waiting restlessly, flipping the catch up and down, staring at his boots. It seemed unlike him; he’d always appeared so self-possessed, and I hesitated. Something was not right. . . .

  But then he looked up and smiled, and whatever it was I’d seen disappeared. “You’re kind to do this.”

  “If you don’t have me home before dark, Mama will never let me out of the house again.”

  He didn’t attempt to take my hand, nor did he offer his arm as we set off down the potholed alley, and I was grateful for that. I didn’t want to touch him. I remembered how I’d felt when he’d grabbed my wrist. The temptation in my dream . . .

  No.

  He said nothing for a long while, something else that was unlike him. Nervously, I said, “You’re awfully quiet.”

  He glanced at me. “Worried about my friend, that’s all.”

  “Is he very badly off?”

  “I don’t know,” he said pointedly. “I haven’t seen him.”

  “But you said he was in bad shape.”

  “Did I?” He kicked a pebble into a pothole. “I imagine he is. He was in a fight. The other lad had to be carried home, so . . .”

  “It’s nice,” I said. “That you care for your friends that way.”

  “My friends are my family. I’d do anything for them.”

  The intensity in his voice made me look more closely at him. “Oscar seems nice.”

  “Nice,” he repeated. “You’ve said that twice. It’s nice that I care for my friends. Oscar seems nice.”

  “What’s wrong with nice?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I imagine I’d be upset, too, if one of my friends was in the hospital.”

  A small smile again. “Aye. I imagine you would. You’re good to your friends as well. Rose. And Lucy too—even though you don’t seem to like her much.”

  “Oh, Lucy’s all right. But we were never close. She’s older, you know, and I think she tolerates me only because I’m useful.”

  “Useful?”

  “She knows I’ll do what she asks because of Patrick. So I make a good chaperone when she wants to see you.”

  “Ah yes. The rule follower.”

  “If I were truly that, you wouldn’t have been kissing her at the parish fair.”

  “Something to thank you for, then.”

  I remembered how he’d licked icing from her bottom lip, and again I felt that little drop in my stomach, which startled me into babbling, “Well, how surprising.”

  He gave me a questioning glance.

  “This. You and me. Having a conversation where you’re not flirting. It’s nice—oh, forget that—I mean I don’t mind talking to you when you’re not.”

  He smiled again.

  “Don’t start,” I admonished. “I’m happy to be your friend, Derry, but I wish you’d leave the rest of it for Lucy, or for girls you’re truly interested in.”

  “What makes you think I’m not interested in you?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if you were,” I told him frankly. “It’s not you I want.”

  “Because you’ve got Devlin dangling.”

  “And you have Lucy. I can’t have you complicating things. I can’t have anything to do with the ogham stick. I can’t afford for Lucy to be angry with me for things she’s . . . imagined.”

  “You think she might be upset to find I’d been in your bed, you mean?”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks. “She’s no one to trifle with, Derry. She’s no Astor, but her family’s rich enough, and Patrick knows important men. She’ll never be able to have you, but if she thinks you’ve wronged her—you’d best take care.”

  “You’ve no need to worry. I know what I am.”

  “Then you know she’s not for you. If you pursue this—”

  “I told you I know what I am,” he said brusquely.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry, not really; it’s just that—”

  “I see how it concerns you, lass. And I’ll try not to make your life more difficult than I have to.”

  “Than you have to?”

  We had reached the corner to the hospital, but when I started to turn, he took my elbow, steering me lightly in the other direction.

  “Bellevue Hospital is that way,” I said.

  “We’re going another way around.”

  “But it’s directly—”

  “He’s in a separate wing. The poor wing. You know it?”

  The truth was that I’d never actually been to Bellevue, and he probably knew it better. “No.”

  “Then it’s this way,” he said.

  I followed him, though it seemed to me we were moving in a distinctly bad direction. The shops we passed gave way to empty stores, their windows papered with signs that read “For Let” or “No Irish Need Apply.” There were more and more men lingering idly in doorways. The vendors selling plump oranges and bright peppers became those selling small, wrinkled apples and day-old bread. No longer were people clad in silks and summer muslins but in ragged clothes, too many of them milling listlessly about as if they had nowhere else to go.

  I glanced at Derry, who was staring straight ahead. “This is the right way?”

  “Aye.” Short and to the point. His hand crept to my elbow again, this time a tight hold. “Stay close, will you?”


  The big Belgian paving stones of the streets gave way to broken cobblestones and potholes. Horse piss ran in rivulets down the gutters, trash piles grew higher, the smell of onions and ale stronger. There were dogs everywhere, sniffing in the garbage, fighting in the middle of the street. And so many people. Children shouting and racing about. Women splashing in the muddy puddles that gathered beneath the spouts of the green public pumps as they filled their buckets. Men wandering out of saloons. A group of girls lingering on the corner narrowed their eyes at me and called out, “Good day to you, Derry!” He ignored them.

  This could not be the way to Bellevue, could it? “This is certainly the long way ’round.”

  “’Tis a bad part of town,” he admitted.

  A little too true. The walks in some places were crumbling away. The buildings and streets grew closer together, and when I looked down the crossing alleys, they appeared full of dead ends, warrens of endless buildings. There were saloons everywhere—there must have been seven on one block alone. Derry steered me around a rooting pig with a muttered “I don’t like pigs.” His fingers tightened on my arm so I thought he might leave a bruise.

  And I knew for certain that he’d lied to me.

  “We’re not going to see your friend at Bellevue Hospital.”

  He was quiet.

  “We’re not going to any poor wing.”

  “I’m sorry, Grace.”

  I tried to pull away. He was so strong I couldn’t budge.

  “Let go of me. Take me back this minute or I swear I’ll scream.”

  “There are four lads on that corner,” he said to me in a low voice. “D’you see them?”

  I followed his gaze. Four young men, ill-clad, two barefoot. I saw when they caught sight of me, of Derry, their speculative glances, their too-careful attention.

  “You don’t want to pull away from me here, Grace. Or scream. Trust me on this.”

  He was right. I felt a prickling fear and cursed myself for coming with him—how well did I know him anyway? All my talk of being friends, all my well-meant advice . . . What a fool I was. I’d lied to my mother. It would be hours before she was worried enough to send a message to Rose, and even then Rose would pretend we were together to save me from trouble. I would have done the same for her. No one knew where I was. Or who I was with.

  “Where are you taking me?” My voice sounded too high.

  “I told you. To visit a friend.”

  “Another friend like Oscar?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you couldn’t have just told me this? Instead of tricking me this way?”

  “There’s no reason to be afraid. ’Tis a few questions he wants answered is all.”

  “Questions?” Men lay in corners, some looking up blearily as we passed, others not moving, not even seeming to breathe. Children with torn pants and no shoes. A woman going through the garbage, tossing out a dead rat by its tail. “About what?”

  He hesitated. Then he said, “The ogham stick.”

  I stopped so suddenly that he stumbled. “Derry, no. I told you. I want nothing to do with it. If Patrick were ever to find out—”

  “He won’t find out.” He pulled me after him. “Best to keep moving.”

  “He has the police looking for it.”

  “They won’t find it here.” He turned a corner, ducked through a corridor between two tall brick buildings, over planks that sank and wobbled, set as they were over a swampy, green, festering something; and then we were in a warren of four buildings surrounding a central yard with more planks spread over a cesspool and a row of tottering privies that looked as old as the world, ready to collapse upon themselves. The stench was remarkable. I fumbled with my handkerchief, pressing it to my nose. I saw his bitter smile as he took me to a back door. Black metal fire escapes tangled up the sides of the buildings like knotted laces. There were two small boys playing, rolling a ball back and forth, and one of them looked up as we approached, jumping to his feet. “Play ball with us, Derry?”

  “Not today, Wills,” Derry said. “Soon, though, I promise.” Then he took up the ball and threw it, and they chased after it like puppies, shouting in joy.

  “What is this place?” I asked in a horrified whisper.

  “Home. At least for now.” He turned to me, taking my face between his hands before I had time to move or protest. “Just answer his questions. You’ve nothing to be afraid of. I’ll be there. I promised to keep you safe, and I will.”

  His words only frightened me more. I jerked away from him. The bow of my hat caught on his hands, the knot sliding, loosening. “You’ve already lied to me. Why should I believe a word you say?”

  “Grace, I—”

  “Let’s just get this over with. But don’t ever ask me for another favor. I swear I’ll never do another thing for you. Not ever.”

  His mouth tightened. “Take my hand. It’s very dark.”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t touch the walls,” he said matter-of-factly. “I don’t know what’s dripping down them today. Slime or blood or something else.”

  “Blood?” I shuddered. He took advantage, grabbing my hand, holding it in a grip I could not break, and pulled me after him.

  Once we’d turned the first landing, away from the light of the open door, it was so dark I couldn’t see anything. I had no idea whether it was a wall or emptiness I stepped into. It could have been the middle of the night on these stairs—the middle of the night in hell, because it was that hot too. And the smell was indescribable. Sewage and drink and smoke and sweat. Something gamy and rotten. Derry made his way carefully, now and then saying, “Watch this one” or “Step to your right.”

  We passed open doors that lent a little light; I glimpsed men smoking and shirtless, women yelling at whining children. It seemed a long time until we reached the top.

  Derry paused before a door. “Close your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “’Twould be best, I think.”

  “I’ll keep them open, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.” He rapped hard on the door—three short, one long, a code—and the door opened.

  I saw Oscar, and a tall man with thinning red hair, and then I was blinded, as if there were stars in the room, each pulsing, each bright as a burning sun. My knees went wobbly. Derry grabbed me as I crumpled. And the pain . . . dear God, the pain was worse than ever. Derry’s arms were all that held me up. I heard him shout, “By the gods, touch her!”

  A familiar voice—Oscar’s—saying, “Do what he says. Quickly now, lads. No sense making her suffer.”

  My head felt as if it would explode. Moaning, I closed my eyes—no help; the light blared through my eyelids, as red as blood.

  “Hurry,” Derry growled, and then there was a hand on my shoulder; another, one by one, and with each the pain lessened a little, the light faded. A final press, and the last bit of it melted away, leaving me weak. Something was wrong with me. Something was terribly wrong. Why did this keep happening? And always around Derry. Always.

  “It’s you,” I heard myself whisper. “It’s because of you, isn’t it?”

  He said nothing except a rough “Get her a seat,” and I heard the scrape of something across the floor, and then he was helping me onto something—not a chair, a barrel. I opened my eyes and the room spun, and I closed them tightly again, putting my face in my hands. “I’m going to be sick.”

  Another scrape across the floor. “There’s a bucket to your right,” Derry said in my ear, and then, “Is there any water?”

  “Just ale,” said someone.

  But the nausea was fading. “It’s all right. I . . . I’m fine. . . .”

  “This happens every time?” Another voice, commanding but also melodic.

  “Until she’s touched.” Derry’s hand was on my arm. “’Twas a hard one this time, lass. Too many. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  I opened my eyes.

  The room was small and dingy, with a doorway i
n one wall and a window at the far end, letting in some light. A large scarred table sat in the middle of the room. Scattered throughout were barrels and piles of straw, and on all of these sat young men—though three of them looked a bit older, perhaps in their early twenties. They were all watching me, gray eyes and brown, blue and green. Blond hair and brown, one who was bald. And they were all astonishingly good-looking—except perhaps for the bald one, though he wasn’t ugly.

  I looked at Derry. “Where am I?”

  He swallowed and gestured to the others. “These are my friends. Finn’s Warriors—that’s what they call us. There’s Oscar, who you know, and Cannel”—the red-headed man, the only one who hadn’t glowed. Derry named off the rest, each of whom nodded in turn. Keenan, wiry, with thick brown hair and eyes warm as chocolate; Goll, one of the older ones, perhaps Patrick’s age, with a hawk-like nose and a newsboy’s cap. Ossian, also older, with white-blond hair and a face so like Oscar’s that I assumed they must be brothers. Conan, the bald one, wearing a heavy, graying fleece. The names sounded familiar, though I couldn’t bring my thoughts together enough to know why.

  “And this is Finn,” Derry said finally.

  Suddenly I realized why I knew the names. Derry’s friends were calling themselves after the mythical Fianna. The conceit might have made me laugh if I hadn’t been so uneasy.

  Finn rose. Like Ossian, he was a few years older than the others, and he was . . . beautiful. Golden hair chased with red. Eyes of a startlingly pale color. Sharp cheekbones and a full mouth. He wasn’t as classically handsome as Derry, but his presence filled the room as he came toward me.

  He looked me over. “You’re right; there is a resemblance.” That haughty yet melodious voice.

  “Aye.” Derry sounded miserable and resigned.

  “Resemblance to who?” I asked.

  “I told you,” Derry said, not looking at me. “A friend who lived near us in Ireland.”

  I remembered then. County Kildare. Probably a relative.

  Finn stepped closer. I felt as if there were things about him I should know, and not knowing them was dangerous. “Grace Knox,” he murmured. “Patrick Devlin’s lass.”

  “What do you want with me?” I demanded, and then wished I hadn’t when Finn turned to Derry and smiled.