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

by Rie Sheridan Rose

  This was Roderick’s family?

  “Caroline…” Opal began the next afternoon, hesitation making her hoarse. “Could you…?”

  “What is it dear?”

  “Could you teach me something about men?”

  Caroline laughed. “Did someone catch your fancy, sweetie? I wouldn’t go falling for the first gent that pleases your eye.”

  Opal thought of Victor’s tall frame and dashing looks.

  “But he’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of…”

  “That’s the worst kind of trouble,” Caroline sighed, shaking her head with a smile. “I can see that we have a lot of work to do.”

  — Garrett Goldthwaite

  Old-Fashioned Opal and the House of Ill-Repute

  Chapter 12

  I didn’t fully know what to say. I didn’t want to disturb her with the news that her boarder was a duplicitous cur who had kidnapped his own kin. After all, she had children to think of.

  But, if she was Roderick’s sister, how could he let her remain here in these wretched conditions? How could he allow her to raise her children in the squalor of Five Points?

  He had sent her a message the day before. He knew where she lived. Didn’t he realize that the address was deep in the heart of the slum?

  Perhaps he did, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. After all, his own quarters were a single room above the stable at Aunt Emily’s—or so I had been told. I had never been there, of course. Where could he keep Martha and the children?

  Surely, if Leonora and Emily knew the situation, they would offer to help. Discreetly, of course. Perhaps Vanessa could use Martha’s help around the house...or Ma could offer her room and board in exchange for a bit of light cleaning. The children could go to school...

  “How do you know my name?” Martha asked again, coming to tower over me, the soup ladle clutched like a weapon.

  “S-Seamus must have told me,” I murmured, trying to shrink into a tiny ball and look less threatening. “He babbled so many things my head hurt.” I grabbed at my hair and whimpered.

  She cocked an eyebrow, but seemed to accept the possibility. “You’ll get cold in that corner. I’ve got a coat you can sleep under.”

  She pulled the threadbare garment from its hook on the wall and draped it over me. It did little to block the chill beginning to seep through the wall—but it would hide my attempts to break free.

  Martha fed her brood as the last of the daylight faded from the room.

  “Kin I take tha Shakespeare with me, Ma?” asked Gertie hopefully.

  “Can I,” Martha corrected her gently, “and no. You’ll have far too much work to do to read a book.”

  My heart went out to Gertie. She was so young to be set to toiling in a household. I was grateful everyday that I had managed to avoid such a life. I resolved to make sure the girl still had books. Even if she had to read them in secret.

  “Now, go and heat a pan of water so’s you can have a bit of a wash before bed. Your Uncle Rod will be here come sun up.”

  “Yes, Ma,” Gertie said, with a sigh. She replaced the Shakespeare on its shelf and plodded toward the stove.

  Sarah came to stand before me, her fingers stuck in her mouth.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Tell me a story?” asked the child.

  My mind reeled. Had the whole family simply accepted that a woman chained to the floor in the corner was a normal thing? What sort of household was this? And Roderick was related to them? How had he come to see this situation as copacetic?

  “Sure, darling,” I murmured.

  She climbed onto my lap and laid her head upon my shoulder. She closed her eyes. “A princess story,” she whispered, sticking her thumb in her mouth.

  I stroked her hair with my free hand. It was soft as silk, if a little tangled.

  “Once upon a time,” I began, proceeding to tell her the story of Cinderella.

  I happened to glance over at Martha, sewing by the light of a single candle, and the wistful smile on her face made my heart ache.

  She didn’t have time to tell her baby stories. She had no choice but to send her elder daughter into servitude—it was a chance at a better life than this for Gertie. She was proud of Caleb for beginning to help with the household finances, and fearful Ray would become a bully-boy.

  I finished the story, and sent the child off to her pile of rags in the corner. The boys were already sacked out and snoring. Gertie had taken a sponge bath at the stove, then slipped off to her own bed.

  Martha continued to work far into the night, until her candle burned down to a puddle of wax. It kept her attention focused, which was fine by me.

  For my part, I was trying to remember everything Fred had taught me about picking locks. She had explained to me that five brothers meant a lot of being locked in and out of things—but she learned early how to take care of the problem. Give her a hairpin or a twist of wire, and she could get out of almost anything.

  Ever since she had managed to release us from shackles similar to these aboard a speeding train, I had been urging her to teach me to do the same. Although I had seen it merely as a contingency skill, and not as something I had expected to put into practice this soon.

  She hadn’t had time to give me more than a few lessons, but she had given me a pamphlet on the subject, and suggested I begin wearing my hair up more often—just in case.

  Building upon her suggestion, I had ordered some custom pins made that were a bit sturdier than normal, which made them less likely to bend or break off in the lock mechanisms. I had practiced whenever the opportunity presented itself—of course, that wasn’t particularly often.

  Kevin, for example, had refused to give me a set of manacles of my own to practice with.

  Still, I managed to pick the lock I was attempting at least once in five attempts. The secret was in lifting the pins inside the casing. Of course, normally, I was not attempting to do such a thing in the dark. It was most frustrating. The light of Martha’s candle didn’t reach into my corner, and—now that night had fallen—there was no light seeping in from the window.

  I had no idea where Seamus had gotten off to, or when he might return...although considering the relative comforts of the rookery and Ma’s, I wouldn’t expect him before morning. Why give up a good meal and a soft bed when he didn’t expect me to be going anywhere?

  And then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. It didn’t matter. I didn’t need to free myself. I didn’t need to make my own way home.

  Roderick would be here in a few short hours to collect Gertie for the trip to Aunt Emily’s. All I need do was wait.

  Normally, I would never sit idly by and wait for rescue, but my fingers hurt, and it was too dark to see.

  Roderick would surely save me. That was a load off my mind!

  I settled myself as comfortably as possible, and went to sleep. After all, there was nothing else to be done.

  ~*~

  I awoke the next morning to a roar of “What tha bloody hell is goin’ on here?”

  I blinked the sleep from my eyes to find Roderick standing in the doorway, a look of thunderous rage on his face. I had never heard him speak so coarsely.

  “Miss Jo—what’re ya...” He took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. “What are you doing here?”

  “That blackguard Seamus O’Leary kidnapped me!” I exclaimed, throwing aside the coat and rattling my chain.

  “Martha Meghan Douglas! How could you let this happen in your own home? Have you gone mental?”

  “Mr. O’Leary said she was daft, Roddie. How was I to know differently?” Suddenly, a look of horror spread over her face. “Miss Jo...is this the Miss Josephine you’ve told us so much about?”

  She turned to me, wringing her hands. “Oh, miss! Why didn’t you tell me? I never would o’ let Mr. O’Leary leave you here in such a way if I had known!”

  “It’s quite all right, Martha,” I told her. “It isn’t your fault my cousin is a..
.a frightful bounder! I didn’t want to add to your worries.”

  The children were watching the spectacle in awe, eyes wide as saucers. Even Caleb looked taken aback. It was probably seldom that they were treated to such drama.

  Gertie was wearing a neatly patched pinafore I recognized as Martha’s sewing from the night before. She clutched a small cloth bag. “Does this mean I won’t get me place?” she asked anxiously, voice thick with tears.

  “No! No, of course not, sweetheart,” I reassured her. “It just means that Uncle Roderick here will help me out of this chain—” I rattled it for emphasis. “—and we’ll all be on our way.”

  Roderick looked at me and laughed dryly. “And how will I do that, Miss Jo?”

  “Oh, for—” It seemed like I would be in charge of my own release after all.

  I fumbled out my last pin, and went back to work on the lock. With the wan daylight filtering through the grimy window, it was much easier to see what I was doing, and the lock soon sprang open with a satisfying snick.

  “There. Much better.” I rubbed my wrist, which was a bit sore from several hours of confinement. I soon had the manacles free from the staple as well, and tucked away in my reticule. One never knew when such an item might come in handy.

  The next night, resplendent in one of Caroline’s borrowed gowns, Opal knocked on the door to Mrs. Carrouthers’s study. Her palms were as wet as if she had been washing dishes as she waited for a response.

  “Come in.”

  Taking a deep breath, Opal opened the door and moved to stand before her employer’s desk.

  Mrs. Carrouthers glanced up, and then set down her pen with a sigh when she saw who stood before her.

  “Opal, dear…what brings you to me in those clothes?”

  “I-I would like to join the girls on the floor tonight,” Opal answered, her heart in her mouth.

  Mrs. Carrouthers clucked her teeth and took Opal’s hands in hers.

  “My dear… Do you know what that really means?”

  — Garrett Goldthwaite

  Old-Fashioned Opal and the House of Ill-Repute

  Chapter 13

  Gertie and I climbed into the borrowed carriage, and Roderick clucked the horses into motion. She waved goodbye to Martha and Sarah, standing in the doorway of the tenement.

  “Ain’t this a swell ride?” the girl breathed.

  “Yes, it is,” I agreed, smoothing my skirts. “So, you’re going to go and work for my friend, Mrs. Ferguson, I hear.”

  “Oh, yis...yes,” she corrected herself. “Won’t it be grand? Ma is to have five whole dollars a week for letting me go there, and I git...get two of my own!”

  She was so excited. And who could really blame her? The rookery had probably been a fairly recent move, after the departure of her stepfather. Hadn’t Roderick told me the man had abandoned them? What life had the family had before their descent into Five Points? Perhaps I could ask Roderick for details when circumstances were more suitable.

  At the moment, the most important thing was to make sure Gertie got the position she so evidently desired, and Martha and her other children found a way out of the hell hole they were stuck within.

  As for Seamus O’Leary—well, I’d have something to say to that brigand the next time I saw him. But it was better postponed. For his sake.

  When we arrived at Aunt Emily’s, I helped Gertie down from the carriage. Vanessa opened the door as soon as we knocked.

  “Come on in,” she beamed, laying a hand on Gertie’s shoulder. She patted the girl’s arm. “They’re waiting for you, dearie. You just be yourself. Remember all I’ve taught you, and you’ll be fine.”

  Gertie nodded nervously. “Ta, Nessie.”

  The nickname took me aback. I’d never heard anyone speak so familiarly to Vanessa. Of course, I didn’t know any of her friends...I suppose I never even thought about her having any.

  Interesting.

  I took Gertie’s hand, and led her into the parlor—where I assumed a meeting of such importance would take place. Sinéad sat primly poised on the edge of the settee, with Leonora beside her and Aunt Emily presiding over breakfast tea from her chair beside the serving table.

  “There you are, my dear!” Aunt Emily called. “I was expecting you might turn up with our little Gertie. Don’t ask me why, but somehow, I just knew.” She smiled at me and winked.

  Perhaps Roderick? No, he had not known where I was until he found me this morning. That, I was sure of—he would not have left me chained to the floor all night if he had known I was in such a predicament.

  Did the Sight run in their family? After what I had seen of Leonora’s apparent gift…

  I suppose it didn’t matter. Putting in a good word for Gertie was all that mattered.

  “Gertie is a lovely child,” I told Sinéad. “She’s very smart—can read Shakespeare even.”

  Gertie blushed to the roots of her hair, but dropped a little curtsy. “Yes, ma’am,” she breathed shyly. “I kin—can cipher and write a proper hand too, so I could help with the accounts if ya need me to.” Her hands twisted anxiously in her pinafore.

  “What a clever girl,” Sinéad said with a smile. “I think ya’ll do quite nicely.” She turned to Leonora. “Oh, thank ya, Missus. She’ll be a Godsend to me. Especially once tha baby comes.”

  Gertie’s eyes lit up. “There’s a baby comin’?” she said breathlessly, clasping her hands under her chin. “Oh, Missus! I’ve a fair bit o’ experience with babies. I can watch them, or change a nappy if ya need me to. I love babies.”

  “She’ll still be able to pursue her studies, won’t she?” I asked anxiously. “She’s too intelligent not to be allowed books and learning.”

  “Of course,” Leonora promised. “We’ll be able to arrange that, I’m sure. Won’t we, Sinéad, dear?”

  “As long as she does her chores.”

  I resolved again to make sure Gertie never lacked for books. She might enjoy some of my Garrett Goldthwaite novels. They were much more exciting than most of Shakespeare’s wordy tales.

  “Well, then. I believe everything is settled. Shall we take our tea to the dining room for a proper breakfast?”

  More things should be settled by women. Everything was properly arranged, and organized before Vanessa had even brought in the breakfast things.

  I tucked in with a will. Martha’s soup had been tasty, but thin, and not of great quantity. Vanessa’s breakfast on the other hand, soon had my waist button tightening—sausages, rashers of bacon, a heaping platter of eggs, and fresh-baked biscuits.

  As much as I ate, Gertie ate more. She was a growing child, and she hadn’t been properly fed in months, I was willing to bet.

  When the first edge had been taken off our hunger, Leonora wrinkled her nose, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve and holding it under her nose. “What is that...curious odor?” she asked.

  Gertie looked mortified. “I-it may be me, Missus,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. “I tried to warsh, I did...but there weren’t much water.”

  “You wouldn’t believe the stench of that place, Leonora,” I broke in, taking a delicate sniff of my own clothing. “I believe I’m as much to blame as Gertie is. Even one night has ruined these clothes. I can’t wait for a proper bath!”

  “What place is that, dear?” Aunt Emily said curiously.

  “Five Points.”

  “It’s where I live,” said Gertie.

  “Whatever were you doing there, Jo?” Leonora asked, aghast.

  I had forgotten they didn’t know the ordeal I had suffered the night before. I soon remedied that situation, telling them of Seamus’s heinous behavior. By the time I finished the story, I was ready to strangle Seamus myself.

  “The blackguard!” Leonora cried. “What will happen when he returns to Mrs. Douglas’s house and you aren’t there, Jo?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. My anger was dashed by the chill of fear. “Oh, dear. Martha and the children may be in danger.”<
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  “I’ll have Roderick go and remove them at once,” Aunt Emily murmured, reaching for her bell. “I’m sure we can come to some temporary accommodation for them until something more permanent can be arranged. Martha could be a valuable help for Vanessa while Leonora is looking for her house.”

  Exactly as I had expected.

  I sighed, pushing away from the table. “Now, I must go and see what can be done about the infamous Mr. O’Leary.”

  “Don’t confront him alone, Josephine,” Leonora cautioned. “If he would kidnap you in broad daylight, Heaven knows what else he might be capable of.”

  “You have a point.” I turned to Aunt Emily. “Might I borrow Roderick for a ride to the warehouse before he fetches Martha? I need to talk to Alistair.”

  “I’ve been interested in seeing the warehouse myself,” Leonora broke in. “Why don’t I drive us to the workshop after we drop Sinéad and Gertie off at the Ferguson house—I’m quite enjoying the new trap, and I’m fully capable of driving it until I can find myself a driver I like. That way, Roderick can still go and help Martha pack enough for a few days. How would that be?”

  “That solves all the problems,” beamed Aunt Emily. She rang the bell, and—when Vanessa answered—asked her to go and fetch Roderick.

  “Oh, and Vanessa—” Leonora added, “—could you draw a bath?”

  She glanced at me. “Or two?”

  Opal felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair. Yes, she did know…but how else was she to get close to Victor?

  “This house is tolerated, but we aren’t liked. You don’t want to get caught up in the politics of its operation, or the stigma of being one of its girls.”

  Mrs. Carrouthers waved at a stack of letters on the corner of her desk.

  “That’s the week’s hateful mail. Someday, you may want to resume the life you led before you came here. I want you to be able to do so.”

  Opal sighed, feeling tears rise. She fought them back. “B-but, I—”