In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

“As a matter of fact I do.” Belinda gave a mischievous smile. “He doesn't know it yet, but he will.”


“We mustn't bore Miss Emily and Miss Ella with our family gossip,” Theresa said. “Where can Eileen have got to? I wanted them to meet her. Alice, run and tell Nurse that we are waiting to have the child brought down to us.”

The servant curtseyed and went into the house.

'Your family is well, I trust, Miss Gaffney?” Cousin Clara asked.

“Very well, thank you.”

“I believe your poor dear mother passed away recently?”

“Three years ago now, although it seems like yesterday,” I said, lowering my eyes so that I looked suitably bereft. “And my father preceded her, and two little brothers from diptheria within weeks of each other.” I paused. “So now I'm left with just the one brother and two sisters, both married.”

“It’s such a comfort to have a family though, isn't it?” Theresa said. “I know I'd never have survived these past years without the love and affection of my dear ones,”

She looked up as we heard light steps on the marble flooring and a small girl emerged, holding onto the hand of a large, crisply starched nanny. Unlike Theresa, the child was dark-haired and had huge dark eyes, with which she looked around the company in alarm.

“Go to your mother, child.” The nurse sent her across to us with afirmshove. “Give her a kiss.”

The little girl moved slowly toward Theresa, who bent her cheek to receive a peck. “How are you today, Eileen?” Theresa asked.

“Very well thank you, Mama.”

“And what have you been playing today?”

“With the doll’s house that Papa bought me. Nursy made new bedclothes for the baby bed and she’s going to knit a new shawl for the baby and . . .”

“We don't need to hear every detail, child. I'm glad you enjoy the doll’s house. Now I want you to shake hands with our guests. These two ladies are both called Miss Sorensen.”

Eileen was pushed across to them. She looked up seriously “How do you know which one is which if you have the same name?” she asked, then looked confused at the titter of laughter.

“Eileen, that’s not a polite way to greet people,” Clara said. 'You hold out your hand, drop your best curtsey, and say, 'Pleased to meet you.' Go on. Do it.”

The little girl responded. Then she was directed to me.

“And this is Papa’s cousin, all the way from Ireland,” Theresa said. “Shake hands with Cousin Molly and give her a curtsey.”

I took the little hand in mine. “Will you show me your doll’s house later? I never had one of my own and I've always wanted to play with one.”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh yes. I'd like that. Why didn't you have a doll’s house? Were you very poor?”

“Eileen! Gracious, what will the child say next,” Clara muttered.

“Don't scold her,” I said. “It was a natural thing to ask.” I squeezed her little hand and smiled at her. “I'm not asrichas you are, and doll’s houses are a luxury. But I did have a favorite doll when I was growing up. Do you have a doll’s pram? We could maybe take your dolls for a walk some day.”

She was gazing up at me adoringly. I bent to kiss her little fore-head. “We'll have some grand times together, won't we?”

She nodded and lingered hopefully at my knee.

“All right, Eileen. That’s enough of you. Have you had tea in the nursery yet, Nurse?” Theresa’s voice was sharp.

Yes, ma'am. The child has already had a good tea.”

“Then maybe just one cookie as a treat.” Theresa reached across and handed a frosted ginger cookie to the child, who took it solemnly. “Off you go, then.”

Eileen glanced back at me as she took her nurse’s hand and they disappeared into the house.

“What a delightful little girl,” I said. “I'm sure she gives you a lot of pleasure.”

“Yes,” Theresa said. “I'm sure she does.”

But I got thefeelingthat the child gave Theresa no pleasure at all.





Eight

The child had only just gone and I was wondering whether it would be polite to take a second sandwich or a biscuit when masculine voices were heard from inside the house and three men appeared. I'd seen enough pictures to recognize my supposed cousin, Barney Flynn, but in the flesh he was even more imposing than his photographs. He was not very tall, but a well-built man, with a strong Irish cleft in his chin, a high complexion that indicated a life in the fresh air and a good head of red-brown hair on him. He was wearing a well-tailored light suit, although without an ascot at the neck. When he espied me, there was the proverbial Irish twinkle in his blue eyes and a smile that lit up his whole face.

“Well, would you look here. She’s arrived!” he exclaimed in a voice that bore a trace of Irishness, even though I knew he had been bom in New York. “My little cousin Molly, Cousin Rose’s child. I'd have known you anywhere.”