If they were in the library, I might be able to slip up the stairs without being noticed. But that would just be a temporary respite. I’d then have to make it down the stairs again, with my bags. I could hear Gra-nia's voice floating across the marble entrance hall.
“But of course, darlings. On any other occasion...”
“I’ll go and tell Grania we are leaving,” Maud said. “Until next time then, ladies. Keep up the good work. On with the fight.”
“Miss Delaney,” Mrs. Boone tapped my arm, “could I ask you to take my arm and help me down the front steps? I’m afraid my eyesight is not what it was and I am in perpetual fear of falling.”
“Of course,” I said.
She slipped her arm through mine. “I’m most grateful to you, Miss Delaney,” she said in a louder voice and patted my hand.
Then we were crossing the front hall with the rest of the women. Down the front steps. Out onto the pavement of the square. Maud Gonne was climbing into a waiting carriage. Hansom cabs were cruising past, hoping for fares. Mrs. Boone waved a brolly, and one came to a halt beside us.
“Would you be a dear and assist me aboard?” she said. “Can I drop you off somewhere?”
“I was staying here with Lady Ashburton,” I said, “but I rather fear there won’t be room for me if her brother has now arrived.”
“And her husband is due home any minute, is he not?” she said. “Definitely an overcrowded household. I tell you what—you’re welcome to come and stay with me, if you don’t mind considerably less grand conditions. I could share with you my collection of Irish poetry. I’m rather proud of it. And you’d bring some youth and gaiety into a lonely old woman's life. What do you say?”
“I would like that very much,” I said. “Do you think I could I come with you right away?”
“I was going to suggest the very same thing. Hop in.” She patted the seat beside her.
I needed no second urging. “I’m afraid my belongings are up in my bedroom at the house.” I glanced at the door.
“Here, take my shawl,” she said. “It's not more than a ten-minute ride. You’ll not freeze to death traveling half a mile.”
The cabby cracked his whip and we were off. I had escaped.
Twenty-seven
I must say I compliment you. You’re quick on the uptake, I’ll say that for you,” Mrs. Boone said as the cab left the square. “Either that or you’re a thoroughly nice, simple country girl who was brought up to help old women.”
I turned to look at her. Her face in the darkness looked as if it was made of white marble, surrounded by all that black. Her expression was still serene. How much should I tell her, I wondered.
“I should have let Lady Ashburton know I was leaving,” I said. “She’ll worry about what has happened to me.”
“I shouldn’t think so for a second,” she said. “It was all arranged.” “That I was to go with you?”
“Exactly. You had to be out of the house before the husband came home, and you certainly didn’t want to be caught there by Grania's halfwit of a brother, who can’t be trusted to hold his tongue about anything.”
“I don’t know how much you’ve been told,” I said, “but my name's not really Mary Delaney and... “
She patted my knee. “Never reveal anything about yourself unless you have to. That is rule number one for survival. I’ll call you Mary and you call me Mrs. Boone.”
“Very well, Mrs. Boone,” I said. I leaned back against the leather upholstery as a sigh of relief escaped from my lips. I was in good hands, so it seemed. All would be well.
We came out onto the quay and were trotting along the bank of the Liffy, retracing the route I had walked on my arrival from the station. “Adam and Eve, you said?” The cabby called down to us. “That is correct,” Mrs. Boone replied. “Here you are then, my dear.”
“Thank you, but I am not your dear,” Mrs. Boone said. “Nor is it likely that I will ever be your dear.”
I heard the cabby laughing. The horse was brought to a halt outside a tall building. The cabby came around to help us down. I looked up at the building with surprise. “It's a church,” I said.
“That's right. St. Francis. One moment while I pay the cabby, then we’ll get you inside. The wind is quite raw tonight.”
“What is Adam and Eve then?” I asked.
“The old nickname for the church, dating back to the days before emancipation, when Catholic worshippers would have to enter the chapel through the Adam and Eve pub. Follow me, please, and watch your step.”
I noticed that she set off at a good pace, and didn’t need any help on the uneven surface of the path to the church.
“I’m to be housed in a church?” I called after her. It looked dark, devoid of life, and a little frightening. Thoughts did go through my mind that I’d become a liability and was to be dispatched.
“In the rectory,” she said. “I am the housekeeper.”
“But what about the priests?”
In Dublin's Fair City (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #6)
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