“I'll help you,” I said. “I'll see what things I'll need to carry on the business and you can have the rest.”
“Carry on the business?” She looked alarmed. “You're never thinking of carrying on Paddy's work, surely? That's no job for a woman—dirty, dangerous. I can't tell you how many times he told me about narrow escapes he'd had. What's more, I can't tell you how many times I had to patch up cuts and bruises when he got himself into a fight. You find yourself a nice husband, dearie, and leave that kind of work to the men.”
“All the same, I'll take his disguises, in case someone else wants to take over the business,” I said. I didn't let on that his office building had burned. I took down the box of wigs and makeup, some items from his desk, including the roll of film and the negatives, and the long flowing cape. It might come in handy if I ever needed to disguise myself as a man. I helped Mrs. O'Shaunessey put the rest of his stuff into boxes and watched the gleam in her eye as she worked out how much she could get from the usedclothing merchants.
Then I carried my bounty home. As I passed O'Connor's I saw Dante and Hodder crossing the street toward the saloon.
“Hey, Molly. Drinks all around tonight. Ryan's finished the play,” Hodder called.
“He appeared, pale and wraithlike, but still alive, saying that it's the best thing he's ever written—a work of utter genius,” Dante added with a grin, “and he expects all his friends to be at O'Connor's to tell him how clever he is. Typical Ryan. Never get the medal for modesty.”
“So tell the girls, will you?” Hodder said. “Ryan will want them there, I know.”
I hurried on home and was exhausted by the time I dropped the packages on my bed. Why had I bothered to bring all this stuff? Fake beards and noses and eyeglasses—when would I ever need them? The cape, though, might be very welcome this winter. I remembered how cold I had been last winter and the cape was of good wool, with only a few moth holes in it. I put it on, looked at myself in the mirror and twirled around, watching it fly out. Then something bumped against my leg. I felt for pockets, reached in, and my hand closed around something hard and square. It was Paddy's camera.
I stood turning it over in my hands. I knew I should hand it over to the police, but I didn't want to. If there was a vital clue in one of those pictures, then I wanted to know about it first. I'd have the film developed, then I'd hand over the pictures when I'd looked at them. After all, the police had searched Paddy's room. If they hadn't been clever enough to find the camera, that was their hard luck.
I ran out again and asked around until I located a photographer's studio. Its proprietor agreed to develop and print the film for me. I should come back in a week. Never having been the most patient of souls in my life, I begged, pleaded and urged for him to do the developing on the spot, but he refused. He was booked solid with important clients for the next few days—clients who paid good money. My litde job would just have to wait.
I thought of looking for another photographer, but came away resigned to patience. A week, after all, was not the end of the world, was it?
Meanwhile I had other things to keep me busy. My conscience had been bothering me about my desertion of Seamus and the children, considering my current good fortune. However much I reasoned with myself that they were not my responsibility, Bridie's little elfin face kept appearing before my eyes. And I had not even given a thought to how Seamus was faring either. If he didn't make a full recovery, there would be no job for him. So I bought a basket of good, nourishing food, then added a wooden top and a hair ribbon as extras and set off for my old abode.
Nuala was sitting on the stoop, fanning her vast body.
“So yer fancy man has thrown you out then, has he?” she asked triumphantly.
“I just stopped by to see if your cooking had managed to poison the children yet,” I said, brushing past her. “And to pay my respects to Seamus. I hope he's still making a good recovery.”
“As good as can be expected,” she said cautiously. “Seeing as how there is precious little money to buy him the good food he needs to build up his strength.”
“I've brought a chicken and some grapes,” I said. “That should help.”
“Well, that's might decent of you, I have to say,” she said, following me into the house. It was the first word of praise for me that had ever passed her lips. Seamus was sitting up by the window, but still looked the shadow of his former self. I put the chicken on to boil so that he could have broth as well as meat and handed him the grapes. He was pathetically grateful.
“So good of you, Molly,” he said. “The doctor says I'll be able to go back to work, but I seem to be weaker than a kitten.”
“You need fresh air and exercise,” I said.