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

“Proceed,” he said. “You’re going to tell us why we shouldn’t be concerned about all the questions you’ve been asking.”


“All right.” I leaned toward him. “My name is Molly Murphy, and I am a private investigator in New York City. I was hired by an Irishman who has lived in America for most of his life to come to Ireland to try and find his sister, Mary Ann, who was left behind when the family fled during the famine. I have traced her as far as Dublin, where I understood she was living with a man called Terrence Moynihan. Hence my visit to the Gaelic League poetry reading. I was sure that other poets might know of Mr. Moynihan's whereabouts.”

“And did they?”

“One of them told me that he’d died in jail at least ten years ago.”

“That is correct. Terrence Moynihan was arrested because of an inflammatory pamphlet he wrote on civil disobedience. He was thrown into a jail cell, awaiting trial, and caught consumption while he was there. He never had the strongest of constitutions, and he didn’t last out the year.”

“If you know this, then what became of Mary Ann?”

He shook his head. “I have no knowledge of a wife. Within the Brotherhood we keep personal details to ourselves. You can’t reveal under torture what you don’t know. That's why most of the boys choose nicknames these days. It's better not to know.”

“You’re with the Irish republicans then? The secret society called the Brotherhood?”

He nodded. “That's correct.”

“If it's so secret, why risk identifying yourself to me?”

He smiled again. “Because, my dear, if we discover that you are some kind of informer, and you’re working for the hated English, you’ll not be leaving this house alive.”

“You wouldn’t really kill me,” I said, with more bravado than I felt.

“I wouldn’t want to, but if it was your life versus fifty or a hundred others, then I’d have to sacrifice you for the common good, just as I’ve been prepared to sacrifice myself for the common good. It's our cause that counts, not individual lives.” He looked up as the door opened. “Ah good. A glass of water for Miss Murphy.”

I took it and drank, gratefully.

“I don’t know what I have to say to convince you that I am not a spy of the English,” I said, as I put the empty glass down on the table. “I’m exactly who I say I am.”

“I assure you it won’t be hard to check out your story. But if you are merely an investigator, looking for one Mary Ann Burke, what were you doing chasing one of our young men the other night? I am told you chased one of our lads and asked about him all over the Liberties?”

“That's also an easy question to answer. I chased him because he's my brother.”

For the first time I saw I had surprised him. “Your brother?”

“His name is Liam Murphy, is it not? And I am Molly Murphy, his older sister. Of course I wanted to speak to him. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing in Dublin when I had left him as a fifteen-year-old boy in county Mayo.”

The man in the chair snapped his fingers. “Brendan, do you know this Liam Murphy that she is talking about?”

“I do, sir. He's just joined us. A new recruit.”

“Then go and have the boy fetched right away.”

“He's likely to be out making merry on a Saturday night,” the young man who had brought me the water answered.

“I don’t care if he's in bed with his fancy girl, you tell him I want to see him right now. This is the army, boy, the republican army, and you’d better get used to it.”

“Sorry, sir. I’ll bring him right away,” the lad mumbled and disappeared.





Twenty-three


Iwas left alone in the room with the charismatic man. He seemed relaxed and pleasant and yet the tension in the air was so strong you could cut it with a knife. I had the feeling that he could just as easily snap his fingers and command one of those boys to end my life, if he so chose. I wanted to ask him his name, but I didn’t dare. I found that my knees were shaking and was glad that they were hidden by my skirts. But I wasn’t about to play the helpless female. I had the feeling that all the strange things that had happened to me so far on this journey must be somehow linked, and that the man in the gilt chair knew the answers.

Then there were voices in the hallway outside. I looked around, expecting Liam to enter through the double doors. Instead the last person in the world I expected to see came in. It was Grania Hyde-Borne, the society lady.

“What is going on, Cullen, my sweetest,” she said, crossing the room to the man and putting her delicate gloved hand on his shoulder. “I go to the theater, and when I return I hear the boys mumbling about kidnapping a spy.”

“You tipped us off to her yourself, Grania,” he said.

“I did?” Grania turned those lovely eyes on me and registered surprise. “You? You were at the reception after the play the other night. You’re the one who knows Ryan O’Hare.”