We pulled up before a five-story building grimed with what looked like a thousand years of filth. What windows there were had been broken or boarded up. The side walls had only one window per floor, overlooking a ramshackle fire-escape.
Seamus dragged me into the tenement, and jerked me up a flight of narrow wooden stairs. The stairwell was lit by the open doorway for about five steps, and then it was pitched into blackness. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, much less the stairs beneath my feet. I put my hand out to support myself against the wall, and drew it back with a cry of disgust. The walls were damp and slimy.
I rubbed my hand against my skirts, grateful I was wearing one of my oldest, darkest gowns. Seamus didn’t give me much time to think, never slowing his pace until we reached the top story of the house. Here, the ceiling was too low for Seamus to even stand erect—I felt the ceiling brushing the crown of my head.
He threw me into a corner of the tiny room. A pile of straw broke my momentum. The room was bare aside from it—as I could see from the bits of daylight sifting through the gaping slates of the roof. I tried to crawl forward, hoping I might slip between his feet and escape.
Seamus grabbed me around the waist and tossed me back into the straw. He pulled a length of chain from his pocket, and manacled me to an iron ring in the brick wall. He raked his fingers roughly through my hair, making sure I had no pins to put to use this time.
The rough treatment brought tears of frustration and pain to my eyes.
When Seamus was satisfied I wouldn’t be utilizing that particular method of escape again, he patted me down the rest of the way. “I’ll be back this ev’nin’ with a bit o’ dinner and a pot t’ piss in.”
I could see his teeth gleaming dully in the dim light. He was enjoying this.
“’Twill take a day or two t’ git arrangements made fer tha trip home. Ye’ll be safe here till then.”
I jerked against the chain. It was certainly stronger than the last one...how would I get out of this predicament?
By the time the dim daylight faded out of the room, I was bored out of my mind. The chain wouldn’t let me do much exploring, and Seamus had not seen fit to return as he’d promised.
It was dark, damp, and depressing. There was a smell of mold and—of course—the seeping stench of Five Points.
I wondered what the others were doing. Had they missed me yet? I should’ve been home hours ago.
I must admit, my imagination is wont to run away with me...and I thought it might be something like this...
MEANWHILE...
[I know I wasn’t really present for the events that follow, so some of this is speculation, but I have it on the best authority—Fred—that this is fairly close to accurate—Jo]
Alistair, Fred, and Herbert had been hard at work for hours before Jo left the house to go to the orphanage. Her hours had been more and more erratic lately.
[I promised to transcribe what Fred told me, but I must protest the impression being made here!]
Of course, she’d been under a great deal of strain, what with the kidnapping, and her dealings with the Douglas family, and the kittens—letting her sleep in had seemed like the considerate thing to do.
Fred sat back on her heels, wiping a grimy hand across her forehead. She sighed and scowled at the dismantled velocipede she was redesigning between work sessions on the flying machine. “I just can’t seem to get the new steam engine to mount properly. Perhaps this upgrade is a pipe-dream.”
“Don’t give up, Winifred.” Herbert patted her on the shoulder in passing. “You’ll manage it. Eventually.”
She stuck her tongue out at his back.
Alistair squatted down beside her. “Perhaps if you switch that bracket with this gear, it will ride flush with the frame.”
She peered at the machine, then slapped her forehead. “Of course! It’s so obvious. I don’t know why I didn’t see that. I’ve just been so…discombobulated lately.” She shook her head in exasperation and made the switch. “I think this gear needs a little adjustment too.” She tweaked another part, and everything slid together. The engine went into place perfectly. “Thanks for the suggestion, Alistair.”
“Don’t mention it.” He frowned, taking a deep breath. “Winifred...”
“Fred.”
“Fred, then. Has Josephine said what she plans on doing about her cousin’s offer?”
“You mean his ridiculous marriage proposal? I think kidnapping her and chaining her to the floor put an end to even the slightest hope of her entertaining that possibility.”
Alistair flushed. “Yes...that one.”
“Honestly, Alistair. You can’t believe she’s taking him seriously. Her affections clearly lie elsewhere.”
“She has an attachment elsewhere?”
Fred rolled her eyes heavenward. “Alistair Conn, you’re not an idiot...even if you seem to be at times. She obviously loves you—and you, in your own way—just as obviously love her. After all, she’s all you talk about—if she isn’t here. When she’s in the room, you barely speak a word. Honestly, if you two would quit all the shilly-shallying around, life would be a great deal simpler.”
Alistair opened his mouth to protest then closed it with a snap.
“Now, go work on whatever it is you’re currently working on to avoid thinking about the issue, and let me finish this before we retire for dinner.”
He obediently returned to his work on the flying harness and the three of them continued in companionable silence until it was time to go back to Ma’s for dinner.
But the feeling of camaraderie evaporated when they arrived home anticipating dinner and were instead met at the door by a worried Ma.
“Perfessor, did Jo say she was going elsewhere after the orphanage this morning?”
“I didn’t know she was going to the convent.”
“Oh. I suppose she decided that after you’d left. She wanted to ask Mother Superior about taking in those Douglas children at the school. But that was hours ago, and she never came home. I sent over to Mrs. Estes, and she hasn’t been there. When she didn’t come home to see the kittens all day, I began to worry. Roderick went back ta tha orphanage, but tha Mother Superior hadn’t seen Jo since she climbed into a cab outside the convent.”
Alistair frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Jo. Why would she take a cab instead of utilizing Roderick?”
“If she was trying to be independent and adult, it’s exactly what she would do, Alistair,” Fred interjected, “and you know it. She already feels that we use Roderick far too often for our own purposes.”
“I suppose the first thing to do, then, is to go and talk to the Mother Superior. Ma, I’m afraid none of us will be here for dinner.”
“Just find her. I’ll have something warm for you when you return.”
The new carriage had been delivered that morning and Herbert drove the horse as fast as he dared through the streets to the Convent of Our Lady the Star of the Sea, Alistair sitting beside him and urging him to more speed. When they arrived at their destination, Herbert volunteered to stay with the carriage, and Alistair and Fred dashed up the stairs to pound on the front door.
It was answered by a rather breathless novice. “Yes? What on Earth is it you need?”
“My name is Alistair Conn. I need to speak to the Mother Superior at once.”
“She’s at prayer and cannot be disturbed.” The young woman looked shocked at the very concept of interrupting her superior at her devotions.
“It’s a matter of some urgency,” Fred put in. “Her friend may’ve met with some misadventure. Miss Mann never returned to the boarding house after their conversation.”
“Oh, I see.” The nun bit her lip. “She should be done with prayer soon. Would you please come in?” She stepped back from the door, ushering them into the convent.
Alistair and Fred followed her into the imposing stone building. The hall was hushed and somehow timeless. It was a bit intimidating. [Well, that’s what
I think, anyway.]
Bridget hurried to meet them a few minutes later. “What’s this about Josephine going missing?”
Fred piped up, “Did she mention any other errands she might run after she left here this morning?”
“No. She was anxious to get home to the kittens after she got Sarah and Ray Douglas squared away. She’s offered me one of them for the convent. She had sent one of the boys to get her a cab, and I saw her step into it. Has there been an accident or something?”
“We don’t know,” Fred replied. “She never got back to the boarding house. We were hoping she might’ve mentioned an errand. But I fear something more nefarious has happened to her. We’ve no idea where she might be.”
“Heavens! I saw nothing out of the ordinary. Though...come to think on it, it did look like there might be someone in the cab before Jo climbed aboard.”
Fred and Alistair exchanged a glance. “Seamus!”
“Is that her cousin? She mentioned he’d come to New York—and that the black-hearted sinner had kidnapped her.”
“That man is up to no good,” Alistair fumed. “If he’s gotten Jo in his clutches again, there’s no telling what he might do! And I...” He choked back his emotions. “I might never get to make clear to her how much she means to me.” [Oh, all right...maybe he didn’t say precisely those words in precisely that manner...but I am sure he was thinking them. After all, it wasn’t as if he had never made his feelings known before...]
“Pull yourself together, Alistair,” Fred chided gently. “We’ll get her back. Our first priority must be to ascertain where she might’ve been taken.”
“Perhaps I can help with that,” broke in Mother Mary Frances. “I can send out the orphans to see what they can determine.”
Fred frowned. “Won’t that be dangerous?”
“The children are very resourceful. You would be surprised what they can do.”
“I suppose we have little choice,” Alistair sighed.
Bridget rang a small bell and a boy of about ten ran into the room. He was short for his age, with a hole in the knee of his trousers and dirt on his face.
“Paddy, gather the others and see if you can find someone who saw where the cab that stopped here this morning has gone.”
“Tha one tha’ red-haired lady left in?”
“Did you see it?”
“Oh, aye.” He flashed her a gap-toothed grin, pleased to please her. “It weren’t so clean, and it had a broken lamp in back.”
“Did you see which way it went?” Alistair asked eagerly.
“It went uptown, but that don’t mean it kept that way. I’ll see if any o’ tha street set saw better.”
“Tell the boys to come for dinner after,” Bridget told the child, laying a hand on his shoulder. “And we’ll see if we can find them beds for the night.”
“They prolly won’t come, but I’ll tell ’em,” Paddy said with a shrug.
She patted his shoulder as the boy wriggled out of her reach and bolted from the room.
“Would you care to stay for dinner?” Mother Superior asked her guests.
Fred shook her head. “I’m afraid we’re expected back at the boarding house. Thank you for all your help.”
“I’ll contact you at once if we have any news.”
[At least this is how I pictured it in my head.]
Opal wracked her brains for a way to stall the villain. She couldn’t let him harm Mrs. O’Malley—or do any more harm period. The torch in his hand told her almost all she needed to know…except why.
She needed to buy time until Victor returned. He would take care of the blackguard.
“Who are you, anyway?” she asked him. “Why would you do something like this?”
“I’m a decent citizen—unlike the strumpets in this house. They need to be turned out of the environs of moral people.”
“By destroying everything they own? You’ve forced them into the streets! Left them penniless and destitute.”
“So? They’ve been morally bankrupt for years. Anyone who chooses a life like this—”
Opal thought of the stories they had told her—orphaned as children with no other skills; turned out of service with no recommendations; abandoned by husbands; and, yes, a few who simply enjoyed it…but no one who deserved such hatred.
“You’re far worse than they,” she cried.
Thomas stepped away from Mrs. O’Malley with a growl, raising the gun.
— Garrett Goldthwaite
Old-Fashioned Opal and the House of Ill-Repute
Chapter 22
If I’d been a bit bored in Martha’s front room, I was positively petrified with boredom now. There wasn’t enough light to see anything in the room until morning, and even that would be minimal as the roof was reasonably tight. What little light had come through this afternoon had been extremely dim.
And I didn’t even have a hairpin to while away the time with. I felt every inch of the floor as far as my chain would allow, and come up with not so much as a splinter of wood.
If what Seamus told me in the cab was true, my grandfather apparently changed his mind about my mother’s disinheritance—or at least decided to acknowledge me. So why would marrying me give Seamus any access to his fortune? He alleged kinship through a younger brother…why didn’t that give him a stronger claim than mine? I didn’t understand any of what he’d told me—it didn’t make any sense at all.
Would I be able to make sense of any of this without a visit to County Cork to see for myself? Or was the truth that I just wanted to go and see for myself those emerald hills and sparkling lakes I’d only heard about in song and story? I’d always been curious about the Old Country, but I’d never really expected to visit it in person. I was American...whether I’d been born here or not. And I was a bit unclear about that now, to be frank.
On the other hand, if I’d inherited a sum of money, perhaps I could afford to build some of my projects on my own—like the steam iron I’d been tinkering with, or the water heater I’d envisioned the other afternoon.
So, I lay back in the straw and let my mind wander some more. I considered chewing on a piece of hay while I thought, then remembered the damp, slimy feel of the straw beneath my hands.
I’d had no food since breakfast, and my stomach was letting me know about it, growling and complaining. I didn’t even have my reticule...where had I left it? I knew I’d been carrying it when I left the convent. I must’ve dropped it in the cab.
Perhaps that would be my salvation! I knew my friends would be looking for me. If they found my bag in a cab, they would know something was wrong. I never willingly went anywhere without my reticule.
My mind went round and round, making and discarding plans. How long would it be before they could find one cab in the middle of New York City?
I fell asleep at last—more from boredom than anything else.
I awoke dizzy and disoriented.
Where was I? What was I doing here?
And then I remembered. My eyes narrowed. Blast Seamus O’Leary. I jerked against the chain about my wrist.
I was no longer disoriented...but I was still dizzy. It was hard to breathe in this tiny garret. No air stirred without a window—and the roof, as I had already ascertained, was fairly sturdy, and therefore not letting in much air either.
But there was a smell in the air I recognized—and I bolted upright, heart pounding in my chest. It was smoke!
I jerked against the chain bolted to the wall. No one knew I was here. If the building was on fire, I would be broiled alive.
Tears spilled from my eyes. I couldn’t tell if they were of terror or anger.
The smell of smoke grew stronger. I mopped my face with my sleeve, then held it against my mouth and nose. It helped a little, so I ripped a length from my skirt, clumsily tying it around my lower face.
I didn’t want to die this way!
My fingers scrabbled against the loop in the wall. From touch, I surmised it was an eye-bolt sc
rewed into the mortar. I began to lay my entire weight against it. There was no give. If only I had something—anything—to dig out the mortar with. But there was nothing!
My mind struggled to remember everything I had learned about mechanical things since I started working for Alistair. I did pay attention when he talked...but we hadn’t really discussed what to do if you were chained to the wall when a building was on fire.
Though...wasn’t there something about torque...? Using the force of a fulcrum against itself or something? Perhaps if I twisted the chain, I could use it for extra leverage.
I stretched the chain as far as it would go, and twisted it as hard as I could, hoping that the mortar would give. It began to move a little, didn’t it?
I threw my back into it. There must be a way to get free!
This time, I felt a little give. I was sure of it. I redoubled my efforts, and the bolt began to turn.
I was hearing the crackle of flames now. The room was beginning to grow uncomfortably warm. If I could get loose from the wall, surely I could break down the door. They were flimsy things here.
Suddenly, that door flew open. I could see the flickering of flames in the hall. Seamus was framed in the doorway, limned by the light of the fire.
“Get me loose from here, you ass!” I cried—in no mood to be ladylike.
“I was coming, weren’t I?” he replied, darting across the room to unlock the chain about my wrist. “There’s a fire escape at the end of the hall.”
He pulled me from the room. The stairwell was engulfed in flames, and they licked between the floorboards of the hallway. The smoke was so thick, I could barely see the other end of the hall, but a gray square of light showed where the window to the fire escape must be.
Seamus threw open the window and pushed me out of it. The iron of the fire escape was hot beneath my hand as I caught myself on the outer side of the landing. I fought for balance—we were five stories above the ground—a fall from this height could be fatal.
“Git down it! But don’t try anything stupid—” He pulled aside his coat, and a revolver gleamed in the reflected firelight.
The Incredibly Irritating Irishman: Book Three of the Conn-Mann Chronicles Page 13