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

The distance proved longer than I had expected and that suitcase became heavier by the minute. I had no wish to appear sweating and disheveled at the Shelbourne Hotel, so I hailed a passing cab and admiredthe view as we went along at a gentle pace. On our side of the river we passed a great church.

“Christchurch Cathedral,” the cabby answered my question. “Church of Ireland, of course. They took over all the best churches for themselves, didn’t they?”

I had to agree, but I also agreed that it was a grand-looking building. Behind it I caught a glimpse of what had to be Dublin Castle. I knew about that place right enough—seat of the British government representative in Ireland, seat of English power and dominance, and also the place to incarcerate those who might oppose her rule. I shuddered as we drove past.

When at last we came to O’Connell Bridge and I saw the famous thoroughfare of Sackville Street running away to the north with Nelson's Column and the O’Connell Memorial in the middle of it, I made the cabby stop and I jumped down. I had to go out onto the bridge, just to pause and savor it all. To my right were the glowing yellow stone buildings of Trinity College. Farther along the quay were more bridges and more grand Georgian buildings. Dark waters swirled below me, but around me the city was full of merrier life. Horse-drawn trams clip-clopped slowly across the bridge. Students in their black gowns swept toward the college like flocks of blackbirds, shouting to one another. Elegant folk passed in their carriages. And I was here, among them.

With a reluctant look up Sackville Street, I climbed back into the cab, which proceeded down Grafton Street with its busy shops and restaurants, coming out eventually to a lovely leafy park ringed by elegant Georgian buildings.

“Here we are, miss. Shelbourne Hotel,” the cabby said, eyeing me with interest. Clearly he wasn’t sure that I belonged at such a grand establishment as the Shelbourne and was waiting to see what I did next. As I was paying him, a carriage arrived and disgorged a lively group of passengers, the women dressed in the height of fashion with ostrich plumes dancing in jaunty little hats.

“That's the trouble with servants, isn’t it?” one woman was saying loudly in strident upper-class English tones. “Simply unreliable, darling. Now I’ve no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

“Come and have lunch with us and forget all about it,” a second woman suggested. She turned to a distinguished white-haired man beside her and laid a dainty hand on his shoulder, “Shall you be lunching with us, Reggie? I shall be devastated if you refuse me.”

“How could I refuse you anything, Grania? You know I’m completely bewitched by you,” he said.

With that they passed into the building. I stood watching them go. I couldn’t possibly follow them in, could I? I was painfully reminded that they belonged in a place like the Shelbourne, whereas I was an interloper. I was as far removed from them as from the man in the moon. Then I decided that such humility was quite unlike me. I’d not been known to hang back in deference to my betters,- in fact, most of my life I had been scolded for having ideas above my station. I wanted that cabby to see me making my own grand entrance, and, what's more, I didn’t want to find myself paying for luggage that wasn’t mine. Miss Sheehan had promised me an extra fee for taking care of her trunks, but Miss Sheehan had not proved herself to be completely reliable so far, had she? So I plucked up my courage, instructed the cabby to hand my bag to the bellhop, and went in through the front door.

“May I help you, miss?” the young man at the reception desk asked in a not-too-friendly tone. I could see him sizing up whether I was respectable enough, of the correct class to be crossing his vestibule. I mentioned the trunks that had been shipped there in my name and asked if they had been collected yet. At this his face became friendly.

“Miss Murphy? We’ve been expecting you. Your room has been held for you all week.”

“My room?”

“We were instructed to hold a room for you. Your luggage is inside, awaiting your arrival. Have you more bags to be collected?” He glanced down at the small valise at my feet.

“There must be some mistake,” I said. “I was not proposing to stay here myself. I was merely carrying out the wishes of a friend to have luggage shipped here in my name.”

He looked perplexed now. “You’re not planning to stay in Dublin after all? Will you not be needing the room then?”

“I may be staying in Dublin, but I’m afraid the Shelbourne may well be a little too expensive for my pocket book,” I said.

“But the room is already paid for,” he said. “Two weeks in advance.” “Paid for? Who paid for it?”

“I have no way of knowing that, miss,” he said. The look he was giving me hinted that it was none of his business to inquire into such things, and I suddenly realized that he thought I was here for some sort of illicit tryst. The thought was so absurd that I had to smile.

“It would probably be my employer in America who set the whole thing up for me,” I said firmly.