An Irish Heart

by C M Blackwood

  At this I began to laugh, louder and louder, until the tears slipped from my eyes. Tyler took up the note, and passed me his glass for a wetting of the whistle; after which we were both nearly screaming with amusement, he and I, as the light bulb up above cast an unnecessary glow down onto our shining faces.

  Chapter 23

  “Going downstairs,” said Tyler next day. “I’ll bring you some vittles.”

  I rolled away from the light that pierced through the grey clouds, caring not at all about any vittles that might or might not come. Dolly curled up beneath my chin, and we both fell quite soundly asleep.

  It was a few minutes later when Tyler came back, and roused me with a tap on the head.

  “What in the –” I spluttered, batting his hand away with a fist, before I was even fully aware that it was his hand.

  “There’s been a change of plans,” he said, tossing the blanket off of me. “Make yourself presentable, and meet me downstairs.”

  “For what?”

  “Ah, would you just do it!”

  I cast him a glower as he disappeared into the corridor.

  “I swear, Dolly,” I said, as the dog came to press her nose against my cheek; “sometimes I just want to shove him down a flight of stairs.”

  She panted in agreement, and I went about tucking myself into the clothes I had worn the day before. (It seemed that McGillie had forgotten, after all, to bring our bags upstairs.)

  Down in the lobby, I found Tyler standing with Abbaline Elson, and talking to a rather short fellow with thick-lensed spectacles and very little hair. No one said anything to me, when I stepped up to join the group; and it was a good five minutes or so before I was even told why I had been summoned there.

  “We’ve a small trip to make,” said Abbaline; and I deduced that she was speaking to me, though her eyes were on a stack of papers which she was folding and stuffing into the pocket of her overcoat.

  “We?”

  “Aye.”

  “As in whom?”

  She did not respond, but turned to lead us out the front doors. I had thought that it was morning, but it seemed I’d been mistaken. The light in the sky suggested to me that it was well past noon.

  “Where are we going?” I asked Tyler. “And why am I going?”

  He did not answer my first question, but replied to the second by saying, “This is no place for you to stay by yourself.”

  “What matter?”

  “There are hundreds of gentleman in this hotel,” he said, “and you and Abbaline the only ladies. Now, coming from someone who has seen the greatest and handsomest gentleman turn into just about the awfulest and vilest brute, believe me when I say that you would much rather come with me.”

  I said nothing more, but did not refrain from sulking all the way to the alley (which seemed to be our destination). I perked up a bit, though, when I saw the mode of transportation that was awaiting us.

  A shining motorcar was parked a little ways down the alley, with engine running, and the bald-headed little fellow from the lobby sitting behind the steering wheel.

  “Are we going to ride in that?” I asked, a little excitedly.

  “Oh, so now you’re pleased?”

  When we reached the car, Abbaline took the front seat beside the driver, and Tyler slid first into the backseat. I followed cheerfully.

  My eyes were so intent upon the window, awaiting the time when we would emerge from the alley and gain a view of the streets, that I did not notice the presence of a second gentleman there in the car with us, until he had spoken aloud.

  I jumped in my seat, and swivelled my head towards the voice, which had come from Tyler’s left-hand. I leant forward a little so as to view the face of the speaker. A young gentleman, he was, of perhaps sixteen years or so, with a round hat that seemed too large for his head and a black greatcoat which his skinny body seemed to swim in. But his smile was nice enough, and his pale eyes were most honest-looking.

  “Hullo, miss,” he said.

  “Hullo,” I said, waiting so that he might introduce himself.

  “This is Herbert Hewitt,” said Abbaline, apparently for my sole benefit.

  Herbert Hewitt held out his hand to me. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss.”

  “And you,” I said, not sure whether I should give him my own name. But Abbaline did it for me.

  “Herbert,” said she, “this is Kate O’Brien, a friend of Mr Ashley’s.”

  I gave him a nod, and then turned back to the window. I took in the strained sunlight, which had no doubt started out as yellow, but had become a pale sort of grey as it sifted through the fog and clouds that lay over the city. The world was an array of brick and cement, with tall and squat buildings all around. I felt the occasional bump in the road beneath my seat, and looked out wonderingly as the drab scenery soared by; and began to feel a strange sort of lightness creeping up around my heart. So light was this lightness, that I forgot even to repeat my question of where we were going.

  ***

  After perhaps half an hour, the car pulled sidelong of a curb before a rather small house, which was surrounded on all sides somewhat awkwardly by a rather tall fence. Being closest to the sidewalk, I pushed open the door, and issued first from the car, followed by Tyler and the young Herbert Hewitt. It was several long moments before Abbaline emerged, having spoken somewhat lengthily with the bald-headed little fellow before he drove off down the street.

  We went around to the right run of the fence, at the back of which Abbaline took a key from her pocket and unlocked the gate. Then it was into the yard, all full of dead brown grass, and up the front steps to a door painted green.

  We entered the house at a snappish remark from Abbaline to make haste; with Abbaline, of course, taking the lead. Through a dark-panelled entryway we went, travelling single-file into the parlour – which was awfully cluttered, and full to bursting with various bric-a-brac and mismatched furniture. But the light pouring in through the windows was warm, and the air smelled brilliantly of healthy wood.

  We had been admitted by a plump old housekeeper dressed in grey flannel. She had curly white hair and ruddy cheeks, twinkling eyes and a welcoming smile. She disappeared after leading us into the parlour.

  “Sit down,” Abbaline said to us, settling herself into a worn winged armchair.

  So we sat; and I, if no one else, began seriously to wonder just where in the world I was.

  It seemed an eternity before anyone came to meet us. Abbaline swirled a snifter of brandy that the housekeeper had delivered to her, and said nothing at all. Tyler sat quietly in a chair beside Abbaline, looking quite at his ease; while Herbert and I, in our places on the sofa, exchanged countless glances, unsure as to what we should expect.

  When footsteps sounded in the hallway beyond, I assumed merely the presence of the maid. A moment later – much to both mine and Herbert’s surprise, I think – a slight young woman entered the room.

  Abbaline rose. “Ah, Shannon,” she said, embracing the girl.

  “Abbaline, how lovely to see you! But I’ve a bit of bad news, I’m afraid.”

  Abbaline narrowed her eyes.

  “It seems that Da’s unable to meet with you today.”

  “What?”

  “Some unexpected business, so far as I’ve gathered. He’s constantly running in and out the door – I seldom know exactly where it is he’s going.”

  “This is something of a problem, Shannon.”

  The girl’s face took on a look of concern. “What is it, Abbaline?”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard your father speak of Liam Hewitt?”

  Shannon nodded.

  “Kidnapped, he’s been.”

  “That’s awful!”

  “You’re telling me.”

  This, of course, was the first that I had heard so far as to the reason for our visit; though I was still rather in the dark about who we were meant to be visiting, and very confused about the reason why we would be visiting for s
uch an occasion.

  Tyler rose from his seat to shake hands with the young woman. “Good to see you again,” he said.

  I looked at him. Again?

  What was going on, exactly?

  Shannon’s eyes finally fell upon me and Herbert, standing somewhat away from the others. “What are your names?” she asked pleasantly.

  “I’m Herbert Hewitt,” said Herbert, when it seemed as though I would say nothing. (Which was, of course, what I fully intended.)

  “Oh, Lord! Your brother, is he?”

  Herbert nodded.

  “I’ve not seen you before,” Shannon said to me. “Who are you?”

  “No one, really.”

  Abbaline frowned. “This is Kate O’Brien,” she said. “A friend of Mr Ashley’s.”

  Shannon nodded. “It’s a pleasure meeting you both.”

  Herbert flushed bright red in that ample and most-revealing sunlight.

  ***

  Sometime later, everyone sat scattered around the parlor, bones warm and slightly inebriated. It seemed that the old Mrs Benjamin had (no doubt at a whispered suggestion of Tyler’s) taken the liberty of mixing brandy into all of our teacups.

  In the absence of being able to see who she had come to see, Abbaline seemed at least partially resolved to make the best of the consistent refilling of her snifter. She nodded again and again to Mrs Benjamin, whose countenance eventually began to display something of a disparagement for the party’s quenchless thirsty throats.

  Abbaline was not saying much at all, in respect to the passionate conversation that had started up between Herbert and Shannon; but only leant over, ever and anon, to whisper something to Tyler, who smiled when she did this and whose glass (if it was at all possible) had been refilled even more times than Abbaline’s.

  As for me – well, I was sitting quite silently beside a flushed Herbert Hewitt, still swilling about the first amount of liquid which had been applied to my own glass. When I caught the eye of Mrs Benjamin, she nodded approvingly, and then set off down the hall with a basket of clean laundry. I sighed from time to time, rather inaudibly (in a stifled voice that would have been as such even under normal circumstances, but was definitely so in the wake of the terribly loud voices of Shannon and Herbert). I have discovered that the voices of drunken people never sound very loud to drunken ears; but that the very same words will fall most heavily, and most annoyingly, upon any listeners present who are still quite in their right minds.

  “We simply must come to a solution,” Shannon declared. She sat straight up in her chair, splashing a bit of tea into her lap.

  By this time, I had learnt that we were in the home of Daniel McIntosh, a close colleague of Abbaline’s. What exactly was meant to be accomplished there, I of course never found out; and though I had many questions about who Liam and Herbert Hewitt really were – and, at this point, who Abbaline Elson even was – I had no real chance to utter my thoughts aloud.

  “I agree,” said Herbert, pounding a fist upon the end table. Immediately afterwards he looked to Shannon and said sheepishly, “So sorry.”

  “Don’t mind that,” said Shannon, with a wave of her hand. “We’ve more important matters to attend to.”

  Abbaline seemed to be observing the conversation with great amusement. She looked from Shannon to Herbert over the rim of her glass, still saying very little herself. She had even quit whispering to Tyler. He spent all of his time casting furtive glances towards her, and looking quickly away when she turned her head towards him.

  Shannon stood up quite suddenly, throwing both of her arms into the air. What was left of her tea went splashing onto the wall beside her. I watched it dripping down in the dying light from the windows, and wondered what Mrs Benjamin would say.

  “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “Herbert, I’ve thought of a plan.”

  Herbert stared transfixed. “What is it, Miss McIntosh?”

  “Oh, call me Shannon, please.” She flopped back down in her chair, laying her chin on her fist.

  “Shannon?”

  “What is it, Herbert?”

  “Would you mind telling me about your plan?”

  “Oh, of course!” She flew forward like a shot. “There’s only one solution, you see.”

  “What is it?”

  “We must rescue him! We must travel to Britain straightaway.”

  “Straightaway!”

  Abbaline held up a hand, and spoke for the first time in nearly an hour. “Now, wait just a minute. You’re talking foolishness. Which is only to be expected, seeing as you’re both sloshed out of your minds.”

  “Why, I never! –” Shannon began, starting to climb up out of her chair. (But she fell immediately back into it again.)

  “I rest my case.”

  “Now, Abbaline,” said Shannon, “I may have had a bit too much tea, but I am still well aware of what I’m saying.” She hiccoughed.

  “And I, as well!” said Herbert.

  Abbaline sat back. “I’m not going to argue with either of you. But I will point out the fact that, as we’ve no idea where Liam Hewitt is in the first place, there would be no point whatever in going to Britain. Second – how would you expect to get there anyway? Well, not you, of course – but anyone at all, really, would have hardly a chance.”

  “I am no longer a child, Abbaline.”

  Abbaline shrugged. “Do as you please. But are you really thinking of rushing off to another country – especially that country – for a man whom you’ve never even spoken to?”

  Shannon waggled a finger. “That may be true,” she said, “but I’m doing this for my dear friend Herbert.”

  “You’ve only just met him today!”

  Shannon spread her hands. “Be that as it may.”

  “Be what as it may?”

  Shannon blinked. “I – what were you saying?”

  Abbaline put a hand to her head.

  “I think that we’re all feeling a bit put-out just now,” I said, trying to fend off another burst of nonsensical dialogue. I would not have spoken at all; but I had to admit that I was growing exceedingly tired of the sound of Shannon McIntosh’s high-pitched squealing. “And it’s quite obvious,” I continued (though, of course, it must have been less obvious to me than to anyone else in the room), “that any solution would have to be postponed, at least until Mr McIntosh has had his say.”

  Tyler shot me a darkish look; for it seemed that he had wanted to serve as the voice of reason. To him I cast an even darker glance, to convey quite as well as I could the fact that I was not responsible for the subtle play which he felt obliged to weave into his romantic endeavour.

  “Excellent thinking,” said Abbaline, surprising me greatly with a vote of confidence. She got up slowly, and placed her glass on the end table. “I believe that a recess of the subject, followed by a good night’s rest, would be beneficial to all of us.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Herbert, draining his teacup.

  “Herbert, you will accompany us back to the hotel.”

  “Nonsense!” said Shannon. “That place is already much too crowded. He can stay in the spare room here.”

  Abbaline frowned. “I’m not entirely certain that your father would approve of that, Shannon.”

  “Of course he would! My father is Daniel McIntosh – ambassador of liberation, rescue ship of the distressed, provider for those in need!”

  Herbert stared, his mouth fallen partway open. “That was pure poetry, Miss McIntosh.”

  “Oh, Herbert, do you think?”

  Abbaline rolled her eyes.

  Chapter 24

  The ride back to the hotel was very quiet, save for the occasional whistling of the bald-headed little fellow (who was driving once again, for he had arrived back at the curb at six o’clock; a pre-arranged time which, I saw now, had rendered the prolonged visit with Shannon McIntosh more of a necessity than a choice). He was silenced every time, though, by a sharp glance from Abbaline.

  Tyler, for his part, s
eemed most sullen. He said not a word to me, and only looked on and on out of the window with a terribly cross expression upon his face. I paid him little mind, and took up once again my own sight-seeing out the right-hand window. Early night had come to call, and the streets were black, with a reprieve offered only so often by a glowing lamppost.

  Instead of turning onto Brazier Street when we came upon it, the driver passed on to the next street and turned down that, and then down the same alley in which he had parked earlier in the day; the same alley down which I had seen four boys running, the day before. I wondered, just for the sake of wondering, where they had run to; and whether it were not for some less-than-honest cause for which they had seemed in such a hurry.

  Ah, well. What matter to me?

  When the driver brought the car to a halt (indeed, even before he had come to a complete stop), Tyler threw open his door against the wall of the alley, and burst out of the car. He did not wait for either Abbaline or I to catch up with him, but hurried forth into the street, and turned towards the entrance to the hotel. I hurried along after him, but when I came into the lobby, I saw that he had already stamped up the first flight of stairs. I had nowhere to go, really, but to our room – and I was not over-ecstatic with the idea of being shut up in such a close space with that fuming fellow.

  Again, Abbaline had hung back, presumably to converse with the driver. But just as I was taking up a seat on the bench beside the clock, she came through the door, and her eyes fell upon me. For I believe the very first time, she favoured me with a genuine smile, and stopped for a moment beside the bench.

  “He’s a complex fellow,” she said. “One minute he laughs, the next he hollers. There’s really no way to predict it.”

  I only shrugged, for I was not entirely sure that I wanted to exchange civil words with the woman. I was still, needless to say, rather ruffled at her early judgment of me.

  She sat down beside me on the bench. “I suspect,” she said, quite as matter-of-factly as ever, “that you are angry about something you heard me say last night.” She only shook her head, and then said (as if to cast a little of the blame away from herself), “I’m not altogether sure why one would hang about outside the door of a room without knocking, and then go on to listen to what is being said without announcing one’s presence –”