Murphy's Law (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #1)

"We're near the front of the line," I said. "With any luck we'll be through and away before O'Malley gets off the boat."

We inched forward until we were standing under a big glass-and-steel canopy that led to the front entrance. Another line of people was brought to stand beside us. They looked very different and very foreign. There were women among them dressed head to toe in black, with scarves around their heads. There were men who looked like brigands, with wild beards and drooping mustaches. Then there were men in leather trousers,

smart-looking women in fur coats, and a little girl who had a white fur muff around her neck, hanging from a chain that sparkled as if it was made from gems. What was a family like hers doing here? Someone said the ship had come from Germany. I suppose there must have been people from all over Europe on board. Anyway, there was a babble of outlandish tongues and a terrible smell, too. Even out here in the fresh air the smell of unwashed bodies wafted across to us.

It was cold and bleak on the dockside. The canopy did nothing to protect us from the swirling mist. The flannel petticoat and wool camisole that worked quite well against our own wintery winds did little to stop this kind of cold. I wrapped Bridie inside my shawl and we shivered together. We inched forward, one step at a time but that big brick entrance never seemed to get any closer. More ferries arrived. More people crowded onto the dock. More languages, different smells. If there were all these newcomers in one day, how could the city hold them all? Where would they sleep when they came ashore? How many more days before New York was full to bursting?

I kept my mind on such puzzles rather than on what might happen to me until we entered the building. Uniformed guards stood at the doors. "In you go, my fine cattle. We have nice pens for you inside," one of the guards called cheerfully, grinning to his fellow guard as he shoved the foreigners forward.

"Leave your baggage down there and look lively," he snapped to us. "Don't worry, it will be quite safe. That's what we have watchmen for," as some people protested being parted from their worldly goods. We were shown into a vast baggage room, where we piled our bags and bundles before we were sent up a long flight of steps. Men in white coats stood at the top of the steps, watching us. As immigrants passed them, they stepped forward and wrote letters in white chalk on the people's backs. When we drew level with them they looked at us but didn't write anything. I wasn't sure whether that was good or bad.

Then suddenly someone said, "Eye inspection." Before I could react, I was grabbed and yelled out in pain as a sharp instrument was dug into my eyelid, turning it backward. Bridie screamed as they came toward her and wriggled out of the way of the assault.

"Check needed on the child," one inspector said to his fellow and wrote a letter in chalk on Bridie's back.

"Do you speak English?" the man demanded. "As well as you do," I replied.

"Oh yes." He examined my tag. "The Majestic, from Liverpool. Okay. Take the kid over to that room on your left. They'll want to check her eyes before you can go any further."

We joined the line at the door. A doctor in a white coat made me sit Bridie on the table, then his assistant held her while he turned back her eyelids.

"Both eyes are red," he commented to the assistant. "Possible trachoma. Need to keep her for observation."

"What do you mean, you need to keep her?" I demanded.

"In the hospital observation unit," the man said expressionlessly. "If it's trachoma, she'll be sent back where she came from."

"Of course her eyes are red," I exclaimed indignantly. "She's been kept standing outside in the bitter cold, hasn't she, and she's been crying. When she cries, she rubs her eyes and they get worse. There's nothing wrong with her eyes. They're as bright and clear as the light of day itself."

"You Irish could sweet-talk the hind leg off a donkey," the man said, but he managed a ghost of a smile. "Wait on the seats over there and bring her back in an hour."

It was the best I could hope for but it meant that my shipmates would have gone ahead of me, both Michael and O'Malley. I sat the children down, instructing them not to move whatever happened and followed the crowd into the great hall they called the registry room. The entire room was full of wooden benches, and the benches were full of people. I could see now why the guard had made the joke about cattle. The benches were separated by iron railings, and so the whole effect was of the stock pens on market day.

"Where do you think you're going?" A guard grabbed my arm. "Back into the line and wait your turn."

"I just have to talk to a shipmate," I pleaded. "That's what they all say." He frowned at me as if sizing me up, "Although I could be

persuaded to get you through all this in a hurry. ..."