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

I ate then went over to the window, admiring the glimpses of the river and the Four Courts between the church roof and the next buildings, but then I wondered how long I’d be expected to stay up here. At least Grania's house had a grand library and Grania herself was goodcompany, as was Cullen. Would he be sharing my solitude, I wondered, and was rather surprised by the quickening of my pulse I felt at such a thought.

Rubbish, I said to myself. The last thing in the world I wanted at this moment was to develop an attraction for an older revolutionary. What I really wanted was to catch the next boat home, to be back in my old life having croissants and coffee with Sid and Gus, unexpected visits from Ryan, all the excitement of life in New York. Oh, and Daniel, of course.

I heard the clip-clop of hooves as a carriage went past and spotted a constable walking along the far bank of the river. Would he hear me if I opened the window and yelled to him? Which made my thoughts turn to Inspector Harris. What must he be thinking of me now? By vanishing without a trace, had I again become his number-one suspect in Rose McCreedy's murder? I wondered whether his investigation was still proceeding, whether any new details had come to light when the Majestic had docked again in Queenstown.

The constable disappeared between the buildings, and I turned away from the window. It was the waiting and uncertainty and worry that I found so hard to take—knowing that I was to be part of a dangerous plot, knowing that my brother was destined to be hanged if we didn’t rescue him, knowing that I might still be a suspect in a murder and that Justin Hartley was in the same city as me. I felt as if I was walking down a dark tunnel and there was no escape, no turning back. Cullen, I could sense, was excited as well as apprehensive. He was ready to strike that next blow against the British. There was nothing I wanted to do less. All I was concerned about was saving my brother and then getting away from here as rapidly as possible. It was an agony being cooped up with too much time to think. I wished I had asked Mrs. Boone whether I was to stay hidden all the time or whether I could go out for an occasional walk.

That question was answered later that day. There came a tap on my door. I expected it was Mrs. Boone, come to collect my lunch tray—a good, hearty Irish stew, by the way, followed by stewed apples and custard. I opened the door and saw Cullen standing there.

“Get your coat. We’re going for a walk,” Cullen said.

“Has something happened?” I asked nervously. “No, I just felt like going for a walk, and I hate walking alone.” He helped me on with my coat.

“All right, if you think it's wise,” I said.

“We can’t be wise all the time,” he answered. “Tie a scarf over your head so that your hair won’t be so noticeable.”

We crept down the stairs together and then out into bright sunshine.

“I was going mad, stuck up there in that poky little room,” he said, as we came out of the churchyard and crossed to the Liffy. “I expect you were too.”

“I was,” I said. “I was brought up in the outdoors. I like my freedom.”

“And yet you choose to live in New York, which is all buildings and no outdoors,” he said.

“Oh no. There is plenty of good walking in New York. Central Park, for example. You can get lost in Central Park and feel you are in the middle of the country. And there is splendid walking along the waterfront, down at the Battery. I have Washington Square just a stone's throw from my house.”

“You sound as if you have a good life there,” he said.

“I do.”

“Then I hope you get back to it safely,” he said. “And is a young man part of this good life?”

“There is a man,” I said slowly, “but I’m still not sure if he's destined to be my partner for life. There are—complications.”

“But you miss him?”

“Yes,” I said. “I definitely miss him.”

He sighed. “I envy you that.”

“I’m sure you have lady friends a plenty,” I teased. “Oona Sheehan still pines for you, so I hear.”

“Ah yes. Dear Oona,” he said. “That relationship was doomed to failure.”

“How so?”

He smiled. “She wanted a lap dog, a devoted admirer who wrote her love notes every day. I could never be anyone's lap dog.” “I can see that.”

I looked at him and our eyes met.

“I rather suspect that you’re not too great at the lap dog business either,” he said.

I laughed. “Absolutely hopeless. I’m too strong willed, I’m afraid.” “I like that in a woman,” he said.

“So where are we going?” I asked, because the subject was becoming uncomfortable. “Just for a stroll to stretch our legs?”

“That's right. A nice, middle-class couple out for a stroll. You may take my arm if you like.” He didn’t wait for an answer but slipped my hand through his arm, patting it into place. “It's been a long time since I’ve done this. It's rather nice.”

We passed the Guinness Brewery. At Kingsbridge Station the road left the river bank and followed the railway line inland.