Flight of the Earls Read online

  The decay of the buildings and the brokenness of her people struck Clare as odd and disappointing. She believed they were crossing the ocean to enter a city of great wealth, a land of opportunity, but instead, she found herself peering into the downtrodden face of poverty and foul corruption.

  They hadn’t traveled too many blocks when they came to a building, which in contrast to its destitute neighbors rose straight and tall with fresh green paint and bright gold lettering sporting the name McKinney’s above the wooden door.

  On the second level ladies with ornamented wigs and voluptuous, brightly colored silk dresses were leaning out windows, appearing bored and disinterested in the activity below.

  “Is this where you’re taking me?” Clare made no attempt to guard her displeasure.

  Seamus laughed. “Don’t worry, sister. It gets better.”

  They entered the wooden door of the first-level tavern, which was modestly appointed with oak tables and chairs, a large, blazing fireplace, and a bar with glass mirrors and shiny brass trim. The place wasn’t crowded, but there were enough customers sprinkled about to give rise to a sedentary blending of chatter.

  Stepping with the confidence of one who knew his way, Seamus headed to the far corner of the room and tilted his hat upon drawing the stare of the barkeep cleaning glasses with a white towel. His eyes tracked them as they went past him and through an entranceway leading to stairs that were well lit with decorative oil lanterns mounted on the walls.

  As they ascended, a couple of leggy women who were heading down ogled Seamus and Pierce with exaggerated interest.

  “Are you boys coming to see us?” one said playfully.

  “Maybe later, ladies,” Seamus replied.

  As they came up to the second floor, they passed by an entranceway with crimson light flaring from a lamp, where an older, serious woman was conversing with two of the shady women. Unable to stave her curiosity, Clare glanced at them as she passed and one of the women returned a scowl.

  Clare raced to catch up with the boys who had already reached the third floor and were working their way down a hallway. They waited for her, and as Seamus lifted his hand to the brass knocker, Clare tugged firmly on his shirt. “Hold on for a moment, will you? You need to tell me what we’re doing. No more secrets.”

  Seamus seemed irritated she wouldn’t play along. “It has to do with the necklace you got from the keener.”

  Clare reached for her neck and realized the pendant was gone. She felt violated. “What have you done with it? You didn’t sell it, did you?”

  “It’s not what we lost,” Pierce said. “It’s what we found.”

  “Our luck’s turned, Clare Hanley.” Seamus clapped the brass.

  Soon, an iron slot of the door opened and a pair of tired eyes shifted back and forth before disappearing. The latch unhitched and the door sprang open, and in the frame was a rangy woman draped in a peach silk robe. Her eyelids were painted bright blue and her cheeks flashed red on thin and wrinkled skin. Clamped between her teeth at an angle was a cigarette in a long, slender holder, which she drew on seductively as her other hand braced on her hip.

  “Well . . . well . . . well.” She scanned Clare from toe to head in a way that made her shudder. Then the woman let out a loud, hacking laugh.

  “So this is the princess, eh?” She took a slow drag from the cigarette, and the tip glowed red and then added to the ash that was hanging precariously. “Looks like you pulled her out of the sewer.”

  “Ah, she’ll clean up just fine.” Seamus turned back to Clare as if to urge her not to be offended.

  “Oh, my sweet sunshine.” The woman chortled again, which led to a cough causing the ash to fall off her cigarette. “Well . . . come in and let’s see if we can scrub you back into a lady. Come, love. Let’s see what ol’ Tressa can do.”

  She shook her head as Clare passed by her into the entry room. “Whooo. Now I know what hell smells like. Boys, you take these buckets and fill them with water. There’s a well in the back. And take those rank packs out of here before the entire place is spoiled. Heavens! Oh my! I’ll light the coal and will start the water boiling.”

  Clare shot a glare at her brother. Seamus shrugged and then leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

  Tressa put her arms on her waist. “Are you two lads still here? Get on with you. If Paddy catches sight of her in this condition, he’ll toss her to the street.”

  Seamus gave a nod to the woman and they carried out their bags in one hand and the pails in the other. In a moment the door was shut behind them, leaving Clare miserably alone with Tressa.

  “Have a seat, girl. There by the fireplace.” Tressa left the room and began to make loud noises in an adjoining room, which appeared from Clare’s vantage point to be a kitchen.

  Clare took a seat in an elegantly carved mahogany chair, upholstered with a rich, blue fabric. With the clamor of Tressa’s labors in the background, Clare surveyed the parlor room. It wasn’t large by any means, but the walls were covered with a floral pattern of delicate wallpaper. The ebony wood of the mantel framed a fireplace, and spewing tufts of dark, black smoke rose from the red glow of coal, something Clare had never seen burn. On the shelf above the fire rested a silver clock of fine craftsmanship and two brass candleholders, each bearing five half-melted candles.

  Tucked within the room was also a reading table bearing a vase of newly bloomed tulips, a pedestal desk with papers and an inkwell, a sofa with legs shaped like lion paws, and a dark wood cabinet. It was a charming room, and despite the odd circumstances of her welcome, Clare embraced the hospitality.

  Her moment of tranquility was short lived as Tressa reentered the room. “Paddy is going to be in a tether when he gets sight of you folks. Ragged as you are. Well. We’ll fix that. Imagine my surprise when those two young ’uns burst into McKinney’s this morn, tossing Patrick Feagles’s name around as if they were important.

  “Business with him? I saw those two fresh babies, wet off the boat, and had a mind to put them in their rightful place.” She let out a laugh as she started to light up another cigarette. “You know Patrick Feagles?”

  Tressa walked over to one of the shelves on the wall and pulled down a bottle of what appeared to be whiskey and two glasses.

  “Oh, no thank you, ma’am,” Clare managed to get out as Tressa began to pour the second tumbler.

  “Suit yerself.” The woman topped off her glass. She lifted it to her ruby-coated lips and sipped. “I didn’t hear you. Did you say you know Patrick Feagles?”

  The door opened and Seamus and Pierce came in carrying their buckets full of water, some sloshing onto the wood floor.

  “Careful, lads. In the kitchen with those.” She rolled her eyes. “Yes . . . those two roughies. Here to collect from Paddy?”

  When they came out, she gave them another order. “All right. Now the two of you go downstairs and visit the ladies. Tell them you need the tub and that Tressa says so. And ask Darcy for one of her dresses.” Tressa eyed Clare. “Yes. Darcy’s will do fine. And boys, don’t tarry with the girls. Much to do before Paddy arrives.”

  When the door shut, Tressa disappeared in the kitchen again and Clare guessed she was swapping out the water to boil, and the clanging of pots confirmed this. In a moment she reappeared.

  “So yes,” Tressa said. “Your brother and the redhead are about to get their heads bashed by my bartender’s brickbat when they pull out a necklace they said they brought all the way from Ireland and were returning it to my Paddy.

  “I recognized it right straight, I did. It was a gift he gave his sister when she visited a couple years ago. Sang in theatre. Strange woman, his sister. I didn’t see much Feagles in her to be honest. But a beautiful voice. That’s for sure.”

  “Madame O’Riley?”

  Tressa gave her a mock startle.
“So you do speak? Yes . . . her stage name was Madame O’Riley. But Paddy always called her Rose. Short for Rosaleen.”

  “So this is the home of Patrick Feagles? Madam O’Riley’s brother?” It was clearing up for Clare.

  “Yes, dear. The Patrick Feagles.”

  “I wonder what’s keeping the boys?” Tressa rolled her eyes as if she knew the answer.

  As if on cue, they heard a large clamor outside and Tressa opened to door to let Seamus and Pierce stumble in carrying a brass tub between them, moving carefully to navigate it around the corner of the hallway and in through the door frame. Tressa directed them to set it down in the middle of the parlor.

  Tressa reached into the tub, pulled out a violet dress, and held it up, grimacing. “Well, there isn’t much life left in this one, but it’ll do for now. And it looks like Darcy parted with some undergarments as well.”

  Under Tressa’s direction, the boys waddled a boiling pot of water from the kitchen and then another and both of these were poured into the tub. After the woman put in some salts and soaps, it looked powerfully enticing to Clare.

  “All right. The two of you need to make yourself scarce. Give the girl some privacy. Why don’t you go to market and fetch some vegetables and make a visit to the butcher for me. It’s a night of celebration. Paddy Feagles is in for a rare surprise.”

  After grabbing her purse and pulling out some bills, Tressa shooed them out the door and then turned to Clare. “Don’t stare at me. Get your scrubbing started. I’ll be in the kitchen tending to the pot.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen and then Clare quickly undressed. She dipped her toe into the water. It was hot, but not unbearably so. She slid into the water and curled under the foamy suds.

  Perhaps it would have been the most wonderful experience she had in the past three months, except that she was terrified the door would open. Still, even flooded with the anxiety of this moment and her uncertain hosts, the luxury of the bath settled in and she reveled in the thought of feeling clean, feeling whole . . . feeling Clare once again.

  She had yet to settle since leaving her community back home. But how foolish she once was to grow weary of the monotony of her life at home. What she would give to be back in her stony hovel, nestled to sleep with her siblings. Despite the grumpiness of her father, he was the beast she knew.

  But she must hurry as her time would be short in the bath. Clare wiped the dirt, sweat, and humanity from her face, arms, chest, and legs. With each stroke of the cloth across her grateful body, she felt more alive.

  She dunked her face into the water and allowed her short hair to soak. Sensing the water getting warmer, Clare rose to see Tressa pouring more boiling water in the tub.

  “Well, look what we found splashing in the water? There’s really a woman underneath all of that filth.” Tressa turned to go back to the kitchen but paused. “Those eyes are jewels, my dear. Pure sapphire. When we get sewn up, you’ll be the charm of Manhattan. They’ll come far and wide to you, dear.”

  Tressa placed the pot on the floor and wiped the sweat off of her forehead. In the process she smeared some of her makeup.

  Eyeing Clare’s heap of clothing on the ground, Tressa bent over, grunting as she did, and picked up the pile while pursing her lips as if she had swallowed a lemon whole. “My, oh my. What are we to do with these lovelies? Only one thing I can think of.”

  Clare watched in horror as the woman went to the fireplace, opened the screen, and tossed in her only clothing. Then as if to make sure the chore was complete Tressa pulled out the poker and stoked it until Clare’s filthy garments were fully engulfed in flames.

  “That’s it for the water, so I’ll best be getting the boys from downstairs so they can clean a few layers off themselves. You should be out in a few minutes so you can be ready when they come back. Here is a towel. Powder yerself in my room. There’s a lamp lit for you.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “There are no ma’ams here . . . just old Tressa.”

  Clare pointed to the woman’s eyes.

  “What’s that?” Tressa appeared dumbfounded for a moment. She peered in the looking glass on the wall and laughed. “No need to give them a fright. Thank you, dear. If Paddy saw me like this, he’d up and leave.”

  She lit another cigarette and approached the tub. “Pretty girl, you are, young Clare.” Tressa exhaled. “Pretty does well in this city.”

  In a moment, the door shut and Tressa was gone, leaving Clare alone to her thoughts.

  She slunk back in the tub and closed her eyes, feeling more relaxed than she had in months. The serenity was precious. With reluctance she climbed out of tub and reached over for the towel, then she wrapped it around herself as water dripped onto the wood floorboards.

  Clare walked to the mirror and stared into her own blue eyes. It was the first time she had seen her hair for a while. It was growing in nicely, but she still looked more like a boy than a woman. But she appeared strong . . . and yes, beautiful.

  She imagined a man, handsome with a charming smile, putting his arm around her, gazing in adoration. Perhaps her long days of aloneness would soon be in her past.

  Maybe the worst was over.

  Voices approached and she scampered into the back room, all the while plagued by this question: Who is Patrick Feagles?

  Chapter 21

  Patrick Feagles

  “Have you never seen such beauty?” Seamus peered over Clare’s shoulder into the oven she had opened.

  “Nor smelt it?” Pierce tried to nudge in as well.

  “Back off, you two. I can’t breathe.” Clare tried to discern whether the beef shoulder was fully braised or not. This was Clare’s first time using an oven and, in fact, she had never before cooked beef. The thought of ruining such an expensive meal terrified her.

  “Do you think it’s ready?” she said.

  “How would I know?” Pierce said.

  “Oh, if I could just cradle it in me arms.” Seamus licked his lips.

  Clare shut the oven door and the hinges squeaked. She tended to the vegetables boiling on the stove, a task she found more familiar and comforting.

  “Where’s the old lady?” Pierce asked.

  “Shhh.” She looked nervously toward the door to Tressa’s bedroom. “She’ll hear you. She asked if I would mind the kitchen while she was preparing herself for Mr. Feagles.”

  “We were taking our baths when she went in there,” Seamus said. “With all of that fixing time, she ought to come out as the queen herself.”

  Clare noticed Pierce gazing at her. “What’s with you?”

  Seamus elbowed his friend. “Are you ogling me sister?”

  Pierce snapped out of his trance. “No. No. It’s just . . .” he started and blushed. “It’s just you cleaned up well, Clare. ’Tis all.”

  Seamus patted Pierce on the head. “And you, my dear friend, smell lovely as well.”

  Pierce swatted the hand away.

  “Do you think we could have a wee taste of the beast?” Seamus started to reach for the oven handle.

  “You’ll have no such thing.” Clare slapped his hand. “I don’t want either of you embarrassing me. And neither of you boys will get the first bite until you tell me how you came upon this place. Other than admitting to pinching my necklace, you haven’t provided any explanations. How did you meet Tressa?”

  “Firstly, I never pinched your necklace, my dear sister.” Seamus reached into his pocket and held up the silver necklace, and the gem in the center of the braided clover sparkled even in the limited light.

  As one would greet a lost friend, Clare took it from his hand and immediately put it around her neck, fumbling with the clasp. “But I thought you gave it to Tressa?”

  “I only said I showed it to her. What a low opinion you hold of me
at times.” Seamus plucked an apple from the fruit bowl, buffed it against his shirt, and bit into it loudly. “Now for the story of how we’re here, I’ll start by saying it took quite some reckoning to bring us to this much-improved situation.”

  “’Twas a task indeed,” Pierce chimed in.

  “You see ol’ Mack’s cousin,” Seamus continued, “the fella who offered us those brilliant accommodations in the basement.”

  Pierce raised his eyebrows. “Strange chap.”

  “Yes. Peculiar indeed. With you ailing and us near dry of funds, he put in our ear we should sell our belongings. Whatever could be spared. So I told him of the keener’s gift.”

  “Yes. My necklace.” Clare raised her hand to her bosom, where the pendant rested against her skin.

  “Understood, dear sister. Yet I’m certain you’d agree it would serve us little if we were all starved.”

  “I suppose ’tis true.” She sighed. “Still, I wasn’t dead for asking.”

  Seamus raised his eyebrows. “Anyways. When I showed Mack’s cousin the necklace for his appraisal, I could see greed flashing in his eyes, and I knew at once the keener gave us something dear. And I was morely convinced when this chap began to play his interest down.”

  “Out of pity for our condition,” Pierce said in a mocking voice, “he’d give us a dollar to unburden us.”

  “Yes. That’s what he said, more or less.” Seamus nodded. “When he saw we weren’t falling for it, he started pleading and begging, then hinting he would put us out to sleeping in the snow if we didn’t see to him having it as his own. We told him we’d think on it.”

  Seamus took another bite of his apple. “So quick as we could, we started asking questions on the streets. It didn’t take long to find the clover of the pendant was a symbol for the place called the Irish Gathering or Irish Fellowship . . .”

  “The Irish Society,” Pierce broke in.