“Wait here,” he said.
He disappeared in through the small door, closing it behind him and leaving me waiting outside. After what seemed like another long wait, the door was opened again and this time two more senior officers came out and examined my letter.
“We weren’t informed of this, Miss Murphy,” one of them said.
“I’m sorry you weren’t informed,” I said, “but it's the Home Secretary himself who signed the letter for me, and my own member of parliament who asked him to do so.”
One of them started to mutter about calling Dublin Castle for confirmation, but I cut in, “Look, Officer, have you no heart? The Home Secretary was apparently most touched by my plight. My little brother—all I had left in the world, you know. I came all the way here on my own. I’m just asking for a few minutes with him, to say good-bye. What can be so hard about that?”
The two men exchanged glances. Finally one of them said, “Very well. Let her in. But that basket will need to be searched.”
He attempted to take it from me.
I resisted. “You’re not going to deny the boy a slice of his sister's soda bread, are you? Nor his favorite plum cake?”
“There's many a weapon been smuggled in a cake before now,” one of the men said. “Let's take a look, shall we?”
With that he broke open the soda bread, then the cake, then a couple of the rock cakes. When all that was left were some biscuits toosmall to hide anything larger than a darning needle, he handed the basket back to me. “All in order, miss. Sorry I had to mess them about a bit, but we can’t be too careful, can we?”
“Of course not, Officer,” I said, smiling sweetly at him. “You can never be too careful.”
“Now your purse,” the other said and took it roughly from me. It was only a fabric dolly bag, not big enough to conceal a gun, for example. He opened it wide.
“There's just the things a lady always needs—my handkerchief, my smelling salts, a comb, and a few coins,” I said. “See for yourself.”
He nodded and handed it back to me.
“All right then. This way. Watch your step.” He stood aside to let me through the little pass door. I stepped into the main foyer of the jail. The area was lit by a large central skylight and tier after tier of iron balconies rose up around that central well. It provided a gloomy sort of light, like being inside an aquarium. “Wait here, please,” one of the officers said. “Johnson!” He barked at the original warder. “Go and fetch the officer from level two.”
“Very good, sir.”
Johnson set off, up the first flight of iron stairs, the loud clanking sounds of his feet reverberating through the building. Two more officers marched across the stone floor of the foyer. From above came an exchange of angry male voices and then something like an animal snarl. I found myself shivering in the damp cold. More from fear than from cold, probably. It would never work. The whole thing was impossible. The place was a steel-and-stone fortress. I was risking my life for nothing.
“This way then, Miss Murphy,” the senior man said, and indicated I should follow him. I did so with leaden feet. He pushed open a door in the wall to my right, just behind the entrance. “Wait in here.”
It was a small dark room, and reminded me painfully of the room in The Tombs where I had been brought to see Daniel. Same damp musty smell, same feel of hopelessness. There were two wooden chairs and I was offered one of these. I sat, hardly daring to breathe. Wasn’t all this taking too long? What if the explosion at the front door happened even before Joseph had been let out of his cell?
More boots on the stone floor and another guard arrived. He was a beefy man with big lambchop whiskers, and instantly I tried to picture myself clamping a chloroformed handkerchief over his face.
“This is Miss Murphy. She's got a letter from the Home Secretary to let her visit her brother—isn’t that nice?” the first officer said with clear sarcasm.
“Murphy? Right. So I should take her in then, should I?”
They were both looking at me with steel-hard eyes. At least they were making my task easier. If I had to knock somebody out, I’d rather it was an unsympathetic type.
“No, bring him down here.”
“Do I need to manacle him?”
“Just the cuffs will do.”
“Very good, sir.”
Both officers went out, closing the door behind me. I was left alone to wait. I was so tempted to check the chloroform bottle, but I suspected I might be observed through a peephole, so I sat like a demure little miss, fighting back the urge to flee.
At last I heard more feet and a voice saying, “In you go, then. And only a few minutes, mind.” He opened the door. “Visitor for you, Murphy.” He shoved Joseph into the room, almost making him fall over me. As he fought to recover his balance, Joseph's startled face looked at me, then recognition dawned.
In Dublin's Fair City (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #6)
Rhys Bowen's books
- Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)
- Bless the Bride (Molly Murphy, #10)
- City of Darkness and Light (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #13)
- Death of Riley (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #2)
- For the Love of Mike (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #3)
- Hush Now, Don't You Cry (Molly Murphy, #11)
- In a Gilded Cage (Molly Murphy, #8)