In Dublin's Fair City (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #6)

“But they can’t punish you for that. Half the New York Police Department was present at that ight. I saw them with my own eyes.”


Daniel sighed. “I know none of it makes sense, but I have the feeling that Partridge wants to make an example of me. The only way that he’ll let me off is if I can get the gang member in question or Monk Eastman himself to come forward and categorically deny that I was working with them.”

“Then that's what you should do,” I said.

Daniel gave a bitter chuckle. “Ask Monk Eastman to speak in my defense? I don’t think you understand the adversary, my dear. He would like nothing more than my downfall. He’ll not say a good word on my behalf nor let any of his gangsters.”

“He might, if I asked him for you,” I said.

“Under no circumstances, Molly. And that is an order.”

“You can’t order me around,” I said. “I’m not married to you-and even if I were, I’d not take commands like some dog.”

He laughed again. “I don’t doubt it for a second,” he said. “But I’d rather suffer the indignities of a trial than send you to plead with Monk Eastman on my behalf.”

“Then send Gentleman Jack to plead for you,” I said. “He must be in favor with Monk at the moment. I’m sure he made Monk a good deal of money by winning that prize fight.”

“I’m sure he did, but you’ve met him, Molly. The man is so ad-dlepated that he’d forget his own name if people didn’t keep addressing him by it. What good could he do?”

“At least give him a try, Daniel,” I said. “Write a letter to Monk and send Jack in a hansom cab to deliver it in person. He could then add his appeal to the letter.”

“Molly, I can’t go on discussing this in these circumstances,” Daniel snapped. “Would you please do as I ask. Remove that ridiculous stuff— it makes you look like an iced cake—and let us continue this conversation in private. I hardly think it appropriate to discuss my current situation in front of those who aren’t concerned with it.”

“Oh, we are most concerned,” Gus said. “It affects us too. If you are unhappy, then Molly is unhappy, and if Molly is unhappy, then we cannot truly enjoy life ourselves. And since it is our aim and pledge to enjoy every moment, the sooner the situation is rectiied, the better.”

“Hmmph,” was all that Daniel could say to that.

“Captain Sullivan, let us pour you a glass of brandy,” Gus said in her soothing voice. “I’m sure you have had the most vexing afternoon, and poor Molly was quite distressed when she came to visit. It's not easy for her either, you know.”

“I’m sure it's not,” Daniel said. He sighed again. “Very well. I accept your kind offer, simply because I refuse to walk across the street until Molly has removed that stuff from her face.”

“Replace the cucumber slices, Molly, or your eyes won’t feel the true beneit,” Gus directed as she disappeared into the drawing room to find the decanter. Feeling stupidly self-conscious with Daniel's eyes on me, I replaced them, then thought better of it.

“I think you should stay for dinner over here, don’t you, Sid?” Gussaid, returning with a generously full brandy snifter. “We could try something Japanese. I’ve been dying to do things with raw fish.”

“I really don’t think . . .” Daniel began when there was yet another knock at the front door.

“My, but we are popular this afternoon,” Sid said, attempting to rise.

“Perhaps I should answer it,” Daniel said. “You ladies present a most alarming appearance.”

Almost instantly we heard a man's voice saying in theatrical tones, “What a disappointment. I was expecting to see two lovely ladies. Don’t tell me they’ve hired a butler?”

“The lovely ladies you refer to are unable to receive visitors at this moment,” Daniel said. “And I am not the butler.”

“Unable? Don’t tell me they have succumbed to the horrible grippe that is felling everyone. Oh God, tell me it's not bad news. You’re not the doctor, are you?”

“No, I’m not, and may I ask who you are so that I can convey a message?”

“Moi? I thought everyone knew me. Tell them that Ryan is pining for them and has to see them immediately. You wouldn’t happen to know where the divine Miss Molly is, would you? She's the one I am especially seeking tonight.”

“Miss Molly is with the other ladies at the back of the house, but they are in no condition—”

Before he could utter another word there was the sound of some kind of scuffle or commotion, a yell from Daniel, and wicked Irish playwright Ryan O’Hare came flying down the hallway toward us. He was wearing a white peasant shirt, a royal blue cape, and I must say he made a most dramatic entrance.

He stopped short when he saw us then gave a delighted gasp. “It's the complexion paste from Ladies’ Home Journal. What fun. I’m dying to try it.”

“We used up the last on Molly,” Sid said.