The Incredibly Irritating Irishman: Book Three of the Conn-Mann Chronicles

by Rie Sheridan Rose

  And then I remembered. We’d left Phaeton behind at the warehouse anyway. He wasn’t going to be rescuing me this time.

  “Professor Conn will be back any moment!” I cautioned Seamus. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be here when he returns.”

  “Then, ’tis a good thing I’ve got a carriage waitin’ round tha corner, now ain’t it?”

  I frowned. “What on earth do you need a carriage for?”

  “You don’t seem interested in marryin’ me quiet like, so we’ll have to do thin’s tha hard way.”

  Oh, dear. I was being kidnapped again.

  He was tall and slender, dressed in elegant evening wear as he leaned against the doorframe. His hair fell in immaculate black waves to brush his collar, and his eyes were an unusual bluish-green.

  He was staggeringly handsome.

  Opal gulped.

  “Wel–welcome to Mrs. Carrouthers’s establishment,” she stammered. “Please, come in.”

  “You’re new here, aren’t you?” he purred, his voice liquid honey as he held out his hand.

  “I’m Opal,” she answered, shaking it. “I just joined the household staff. Th-the cleaning staff,” she amended hastily, blushing crimson.

  “I’m Victor,” he responded. “And I’m sorry to hear that…”

  — Garrett Goldthwaite

  Old-Fashioned Opal and the House of Ill-Repute

  Chapter 10

  Well, technically speaking, I suppose I had yet to be kidnapped— but I had been held against my will on a train for a time, and Phaeton and Alistair had each been kidnapped at least once apiece, so I knew what a kidnapping looked like. They are dreadfully tedious for all involved.

  I thought about revising my original decision not to call out. Phaeton might be out of reach, but Roderick should still be seeing to the horse across the street, and for all I knew Alistair had already returned from the warehouse.

  I must admit, however, I was curious as to Seamus’s full intentions—and I was fairly sure that I could get away from him in a pinch. He was a scrawny little thing. Though that was probably my pride talking, as I am not that big myself.

  “An’ don’t ye even think about raisin’ a row, me darlin’. Me driver is a big stout fella and I tol’ him I’m takin’ me tetched cousin home t’ her mither’s house t’ fer help and medicine. He’ll pay no mind to yer fuss.”

  Was everyone psychic but me?

  “Oh very well,” I sighed, to give him the impression of capitulation. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir.”

  I used the honorific despite its irony. If Mother Agnes had taught me nothing else, she had instilled polite etiquette. Even if I didn’t always use it.

  “Come now, lass,” he grunted, jerking me along behind him. “Ya don’t need to pritend yer all that better’n me.”

  I tugged against his hold. “You’re hurting me!”

  He didn’t bother to answer, just pushed me into the carriage. He moved to speak to the driver—but the carriage had only one entrance, and I doubted I could sneak out of it without his notice.

  My mind raced. Alistair would be back any moment, if he wasn’t already, but I was already trapped in the carriage. How could I give him a clue as to what had happened?

  Why hadn’t I called for Roderick when I had a chance? After all, our nearest neighbors were Aunt Emily and Vanessa. I wouldn’t have disturbed anyone else. I felt like drumming my heels on the seat like a child.

  Frustrated with myself, I quickly fumbled inside my reticule for something small that Alistair would recognize as mine. Of course, Alistair was less than observant when it came to the little things, but I had to try. I could hear Seamus returning around the carriage. He’d open the door any second now.

  I found the tiny bottle of perfume which had been a gift from Leonora. I bit my lip. I hated to part with it, but it was the only thing in my bag that was personal enough someone might be able to recognize it as mine—Leonora would, even if Alistair didn’t.

  I could have dropped one of Alistair’s tools. He would probably recognize that, but I might have need of them before the day was out.

  I dropped the little bottle out the window of the carriage, hoping it wouldn’t shatter on contact with the cobblestones. The silver filigree should provide some protection. I hoped it would be enough.

  As soon as I’d managed to do so, Seamus climbed into the carriage and it started off briskly. I was thrown back against the seat. This carriage was definitely not as comfortable as the one we had on loan. I hoped our new vehicle would be more like that one. This ride was rough, and bounced me around the interior.

  The horses clipped along at a speed faster than Roderick was wont to drive as well. We were moving quickly away from the neighborhoods I was accustomed to.

  I was peering out the window of the carriage—and saw Roderick returning from some errand with William’s vehicle—he must have been sent out again by Aunt Emily after our return.

  “Roderick!” I cried as we passed him, leaning as far out the opening as I dared and waving for his attention. “Help!”

  Seamus growled and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me backward into the carriage as the driver flicked at me with his whip.

  I fell inside the coach, heart pounding. Well, I had done what I could. Hopefully, Roderick had heard my cries.

  Honestly, could we have one week without a crisis?

  I suppose, if you wished to get technical, there had been a lull when Alistair had been stuck in Ohio trying to deal with the aftermath of Phaeton’s own abduction. I had considered myself ill-used to be left at home at the time, but I think I would happily trade the current situation for those mind-numbingly boring days.

  As the carriage clattered through the streets, I decided to make the best of the situation. “Why are you so set on marrying me? Surely there’s someone back home you would be just as happy with?”

  “Tha Manns and tha O’Learys come from tha same mountains o’ Cork county—we’ve bin intertwined fer generations.”

  “Really?” I had seen that in the file at the convent. My parents had both come from County Cork...it lent credence to Seamus’s claims.

  “Didna I tell ya we were cousins? Our cottages were within spittin’ distance o’ each other. Yer da’s and mine’s that is. Elizabeth was from tha manor house…a’fore she met Tommy Mann. So me da tol’ me.”

  I was having a difficult time keeping up with his brogue, so I held my tongue for the moment. To keep from looking at him, I stared out the window.

  The scenery was deteriorating as we drove. I’d never been to this section of town before, but I knew it…or was afraid I did.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, hoping I was wrong.

  “Never y’ mind. Ya’ll know soon enough.”

  I had been thinking about Five Points very recently, and now the buildings flashing by the windows were becoming shabbier and shabbier with every foot we journeyed. The notorious district was the worst part of the city, and now, the regal elegance of the brownstones near Ma’s, was giving way to two to three story wood tenements leaning into each other as if for support. Grimy brick structures stuck up between them like jagged teeth.

  We were heading into the depths of the slums.

  Of course, Five Points itself was merely a confluence of streets—and technically it was now Six Points, as Worth Street had been pushed on through the original intersection several years before. And the neighborhood sprawled out from the actual point of connection for several blocks. The festering heart of the city.

  It certainly smelled festering. The newspapers were constantly vilifying the filth and squalor of the area. The outhouses were inadequate for the teeming masses shoehorned into the tiny apartments of the tenements. Most of the apartments had at least one boarder or lodger sharing the space with the original tenants. These boarding houses weren’t in the same league as Ma Stark’s—or even Mrs. Milligan’s. They were noisome, pestilent dens of sin and moral turpitude.

&nb
sp; The newspapers were full of stories of incest and murder. It was no place for a lady...even one as bad at it as I was.

  I resolved to stay in this cesspool as short a time as possible. Of course, Seamus probably had other ideas.

  I could kick Kevin Reilly for making me give him back the pepper-pot he had lent me. If I still had that in my reticule, this would be an entirely different situation. However, he had been most aggrieved to hear that I shot a hole in Bridget’s office wall—I told her not to tell him—and decided I wasn’t ready to carry a firearm any time soon.

  He had promised to teach me to shoot properly, but that hadn’t happened yet, and Fred had been too busy to practice with me either. So, I was left with my wits, a handful of jeweler’s screwdrivers and such like, and my sheer stubbornness—which I counted as my greatest asset. I really must get myself some sort of weapon I could carry in my bag.

  The carriage pulled into a rundown livery. I should have realized that Seamus would have no coach of his own. If the driver was also hired, perhaps I would have my chance to overpower Seamus and get away…

  He climbed out of the carriage and reached back to drag me out of it. It was a high coach, and I kicked at him instinctively, hampered by my skirts, but frustrated enough to do it anyway. Seriously, who built a coach with only one door?

  I might have seriously injured his jaw if he hadn’t ducked out of the way. Of course, I might have missed anyway, but at least I wasn't just standing around like a simpering female.

  “Is that tha way ’tis, me darlin’?” He grinned wickedly. “Ya don’t think anyone around these parts will think any tha less o’ me for poppin’ me errant strumpet in tha mouth, do ya?”

  He hopped onto the carriage step, grabbed my arm, and jerked me from the carriage. “I’m not above draggin’ ya by tha hair if need be. Now, will ya come along quiet?”

  I was fuming, but realized that sometimes discretion is the better part of valor. I’d bide my time. There would be an opportunity to slip away from him. I’d just wait until it came.

  “Of course, Mr. O’Leary,” I replied, as sweetly as I might. “Whatever you say, sir.”

  “That’s better.” He planted a kiss on my cheek.

  I barely refrained from swiping at the spot in distaste.

  “Now, come along. And it might as well be Seamus from now for’ard. Consid’rin’ that we’ll be man and wife as soon as tha arrangements can be made.”

  When pigs flew! I’d have something to say about that.

  Victor was everything Opal had ever dreamed of in a man. She could scarcely take her eyes off him as he circulated among the girls with the ease of someone who was most familiar with them all.

  It made her more than a little jealous to see the ease with which the other girls interacted with him. What she wouldn’t give to be able to flirt and laugh as Caroline did. The other girl seemed almost to sparkle…

  Perhaps Caroline would agree to teach her some of her tricks. After all, did she want to be a servant girl for the rest of her life? Her mother would shake her head in Heaven at the thought of her becoming one of the night girls…but maybe it was time for Opal to learn a bit more about the world.

  — Garrett Goldthwaite

  Old-Fashioned Opal and the House of Ill-Repute

  Chapter 11

  I chastised myself for ever even considering entertaining Seamus’s suit as I was dragged deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine streets and alleys of Five Points. The stench made me gag, and I was grateful I had been on my way in to eat and not coming from table when Seamus grabbed me.

  We passed the New Mission House, where once the Old Brewery had held sway. At least we weren’t going to that awful place. From what I had heard, it had been the most debauched building in the whole of the slum.

  The rookery to which Seamus led me was dark and dingy, but at least it wasn’t that depraved. The room he shoved me into was on the ground floor of a four-story brick dwelling. He was paying premium price, I was sure, because there was a window in the front wall, though it overlooked nothing but the filthy street. A careworn woman looked up as we came in, then returned her attention to a pot on the top of a small stove.

  “Who’s this, then? You’ll owe me another three cents a week for your woman there.” She jerked her head in my direction.

  “Don’t ya be worryin’ about dat none. Ya’ll git yer money.”

  He led me to the corner furthest from the window and pulled a pair of manacles from his pocket. He fastened one end to a staple driven into the floor. The other end, he snapped about my wrist.

  “Here, now,” protested the woman. “That isn’t right!”

  “‘Tis fer her own good, Miz Douglas. She’s a mite teched, and if she’s wanderin’ free, she might git herself in trubble.”

  I started to protest, and then realized this might play to my advantage. If I pretended to be impaired, she might pay less attention to me. Seamus was bound to be about the town at some point.

  I needed all the cards I could get in my hand before that time came. Instead of speaking out, I grinned foolishly at Mrs. Douglas, my free hand playing about my hair.

  Luckily, I had been halfway to formulating the plan to take Leonora to see Sinéad before I left for the convent that morning, and, therefore, had taken more care with my appearance than normal. I had even managed to get some semblance of order to my coiffure, which involved more than the usual number of pins. I felt at least four still in place, and filed the information away until I would have need of it.

  Mrs. Douglas had made some attempt to create a home here in her dismal little room. There were handbills pasted to the wall to provide color and a bit of insulation, though the wind still blew freely through numerous chinks in the plaster, bearing with it the horrible effluvia permeating every inch of Five Points.

  A splintered shelf was mounted to the wall above her stove, and it proudly displayed a silver christening cup and a framed medal wreathed in black. A widow then. My sympathies rose.

  This squalid room was probably all she could afford. The money Seamus added to her coffers was a Godsend, I was sure. Who could blame her for trying to supplement it?

  “Jest watch her fer me. Make sure she don’t hurt herself. I’ll be back tomorrow t’ collect her.” Seamus slapped a handful of coins down on the table. “That should take care o’ tha extra and nixt week’s bit as well.”

  She nodded, counting the coins as he flashed me a grin and went off about whatever business he expected to conduct.

  I tugged on the chain surreptitiously. It was stout. This would take some work…

  “Are ya hungry, miss?” she asked me kindly, dipping a ladle of whatever she was cooking into a tin plate. “’Tisn’t much, but it’ll stick to your ribs.” She handed me the plate and a spoon. Her speech wasn’t cultured, but it was far better than Seamus’s broad brogue. There might have been better days in her past.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said. The smell was slightly less revolting than the general air.

  I forced myself to spoon up a bit of the broth. I would need to keep my strength up. Who knew when I might have a chance to make my escape?

  The taste was surprising. It wasn’t up to Ma’s standards, but with the ingredients she had to hand, it was filling and well-seasoned. I soon cleaned the plate.

  “That was delicious,” I told her, exaggerating just a little.

  It was worth it to see a smile bloom on her worn face. “There’s more, dear.”

  I was tempted, but—glancing around the neat, empty chamber—I could see there were signs of several other inhabitants. She had other mouths to feed. I didn’t know who they were, or where they were, but I couldn’t cause them to go hungry.

  “I couldn’t eat another bite,” I lied.

  Relief swept over her. The offer had been courtesy, and I could tell she was grateful not to have to follow up on it.

  It wasn’t long before laughter and the chatter of children sounded outside the door. It burst o
pen, and four youngsters appearing between six and fifteen clattered through the portal.

  “Mama! Mama look!” cried the youngest—a sweet little girl with golden curls and a ragged pinafore. “I brung you flowers.” She thrust out a grimy hand clutching several bedraggled posies.

  Mrs. Douglas’s eyes lit up like they were diamonds. “How pretty, Sarah!” She fetched the christening cup from the shelf and dipped some water from a bucket. She held it out to the child. “Put them in here for me, will you?”

  Sarah nodded vigorously and plunked them down inside.

  “I made six bits running errands today, Ma,” said the oldest boy proudly, handing her the coins. “Mr. Patterson told me to come back tomorrow.”

  “That’s wonderful news, Caleb!” She hugged him tight.

  “Who’re you?” asked the younger boy, coming to stand before me, his hands on his hips. “Why’re you chained up like that? Are you a robber?”

  “No,” I promised him.

  “Good,” he replied, holding up a fist. “If you were a robber, I’d pound you.”

  “Ray!” His mother looked at him in horror.

  I burst into laughter. I couldn’t help it. He was trying so hard to look fierce.

  The elder girl rolled her eyes at them all, and stood on a stool to reach the top of a second shelf in the shadows. She pulled down a heavy book and went to sit under the window, where the light was best—not good, but better than anywhere else in the room. She opened the book and began to read, sounding out the words with little breaths of sound.

  “Gertie! Get your nose out o’ that book. You need to get me your best to mend for the meeting with Miz Estes and Miz Ferguson in the morning.”

  I started. Could it be?

  “M-Martha?” I blurted out.

  Mrs. Douglas frowned. “How do you know my name?”