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

“Let me intervene here. I’m the one who knows about the trunks,” Grania said.

“A shipment of arms arrived, and I wasn’t told?” Cullen said shortly. “Exactly what I’ve been saying about no chain of command here and the right hand not knowing what the left—”

Grania held up her own small hand. “Keep your hair on, Cullen. You couldn’t have known, since we only received word of them yesterday in a telegraph cable from New York and I haven’t had a chance to speak to you since then. I gather they’ve been picked up and taken to a safe place, awaiting our instructions. So they were sent as part of Oona's luggage, were they? God bless her.”

“God bless her?” I said angrily. “She tricked me into taking her place and impersonating her on the ship, into having the trunks shipped as part of my luggage. I was the one who fell under suspicion when her maid was murdered. For all I know, I may still be under suspicion.”

Cullen was frowning now. “And who did you tell about the contents of these trunks?”

“Why nobody, of course,” I said. “I guessed right away where the rifles were destined. I may not be an ardent patriot myself, but I wasn’t about to do anything to hinder the fight for freedom either.”

“You hear that, Cullen,” Grania said. “She's one of us. I knew we could trust her.”

“We’re not trusting her out of our sight, Grania,” Cullen said. “In fact, we’re now in a most difficult position as to what to do with her. We could put her on a boat back to America, but we’ll never be able to rest easy.”

“You don’t have to do anything with me,” I said.

Who knows how the conversation might have developed, but atthat moment there came the loud sound of footsteps, there was a knock on the door and several lads entered. In the midst of them was Liam, looking white-faced and afraid.

I stood up, unprepared for the rush of emotion I felt on seeing my little brother, now a good head taller than me, his boyish faced replaced by the square jaw of a man.

“Liam,” I said. I started toward him to give him a hug, then saw him back away.

“Molly, it is you.” I saw his Adam's apple move up and down. “Holy Mother of God.”

“Why did you run off last night? You didn’t want to acknowledge your own sister?”

“At first I thought I was seeing a ghost,” he said. “And I’m not supposed to be here.” He glanced nervously around the room. “Nobody's supposed to know I’m here. It could ruin everything.”

“I don’t know you, boy,” Cullen said sharply. “Why don’t I know you?”

“I just got here, sir,” Liam said. “I’m with William O’Brien and his United Irish League, working up in the Northwest.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Cullen asked. “Has Mr. O’Brien given up his fight for land reform and decided to join our struggles?”

“No, sir. Mr. O’Brien isn’t here with me. I came by myself when I heard the news.”

“News? What news is this?”

“About Kilmainham Gaol, sir. I thought I might be of help.”

Cullen was frowning now. “You might be of help?”

“Yes, sir. You see, my brother is one of the lads in Kilmainham. If there's a plan to rescue him, I want to be in on it.”

“Who said anything about a plan?” Cullen demanded.

“Mr. O’Brien got word of it and told me. He sent me down here with letters to the Brotherhood. I’ve signed on. I’ve been staying with these lads and helping out with whatever needs to be done.”

“Our brother is in jail?” I asked, not thinking that it probably wasn’t wise to interrupt Cullen Quinlan. “You’re saying that Joseph is in jail?”

Liam nodded, his face now looking ridiculously young and scared. “They’re going to hang him, Molly.”

“Holy Mother of God, what did he do?” I asked. “Killed a man, by mistake, mark you. He was only trying to protect Malachy.”

“Malachy?” I felt a cold hand clutching at my heart at the mention of my youngest brother, the one who had always been my favorite. “What's been going on, Liam?”

Liam shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Plenty's been going on since you left, Molly. Da went to pieces after you disappeared. He started drinking too much. You know he's always been a one for his drink, but it got really bad and the house became no better than a pigsty. The Hartleys sacked him right away because he couldn’t do the work, and he just sort of gave up. Then Joseph and he got into a fight—a real fight, mind you, with fisticuffs, and Joseph took off and left. I couldn’t stand it there either, but I wouldn’t leave because of young Malachy. Then Da fell into the river on his way home from the pub one night and drowned.”

“Drowned? You’re saying our father is dead?” He nodded, pressing his lips together.