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

Three

The first streaks of a red dawn were barely showing over the black silhouettes of chimney stacks when we made our way in silent procession to the docks.

Neither Kathleen nor I had slept much. We had sat there by the dying embers of the fire, talking in a way you can only talk to strangers you know you'll never meet again. When our conversation died, too, she went to lie down beside the little ones, her arms wrapped fiercely around them. I couldn't begin to imagine what she was going through right now. I pulled my shawl over me and tried to sleep, too, but my dozing was troubled by such terrible dreams that I chose the security of staying awake.

I must have nodded off just before dawn because I woke to find the little ones sitting up and Kathleen bustling around the room.

"There's the rest of that pie from last night if you're hungry." She pointed at the unappetizing remains on the table. "She'll have porridge going in the kitchen later but it's better maybe that she doesn't know you've been here."

I nodded and searched for my hairbrush in the bundle of possessions I'd hastily thrown together in my panic. Thank God I'd included it. I've always cared enough about my appearance that I wouldn't want to be seen with my hair like a rat's nest. The sin of vanity, my mother called it and made me confess it each week to the priest. I confessed it rightly enough, and said the three Hail Marys, but I couldn't say you'd notice any improvement. I was stuck with being vain.

"Come, Bridie," I said, showing the brush to her. "Let me make your hair pretty, too." The child had better get accustomed to my taking care of her. I hadn't really considered that aspect of it before. There had been too much to think of last night. But now it hit me--what if the children wouldn't go with me? I knew my own youngest brother and how he eyed strangers suspiciously. Would these two be willing to leave their own mother without a scene--and if they made a scene, we'd be found out pretty quickly.

Kathleen must have been thinking along similar lines. She took the child and led her over to me. "Let nice Miss Molly make your hair pretty for you, Bridie. She has a fine way with hair."

The little girl looked at me shyly, then let me run my brush through her straggly locks. I worked gently, careful not to tug. "My, but that's lovely hair you have," I told her. "They won't have seen a girl as pretty as you in America."

She giggled then, sensing that I was spinning the truth a little.

I glanced over her head at Kathleen, watching her with a look of hungry longing on her face. "Have you told them yet?" I asked. "Do they know what's happening today?"

"We're going on a ship," Seamus said confidently. "We're going to my daddy in America."

I continued to look at Kathleen. She kept silent.

"You have to tell them," I muttered as I leaned close to her on the pretense of helping myself to pie. "You can't spring it on them at the last minute."

"When the time is right," she muttered back. "I'm still thinking of the best way to tell them."

We dressed and packed up the remaining items, then we went out into the chill of the early morning. There was ice on the cobbles and our footsteps clattered, the sound echoing back, unnaturally loud, as we made our way along the alleyways. Our breath came out like dragon fire. You'd have thought the streets would be deserted that early in the morning, but there was hustle and bustle as we got closer to the docks. Workers were coming out of all those little houses, heading for the early shift at the factories. Women were already scrubbing steps. We passed into wider, grander streets and fine carriages and hansom cabs passed us, making for our ship, presumably.

Then there she was, the Majestic, with smoke coming out of both her funnels and people swarming around her like ants. A wave of excitement washed over me. In spite of all my worries and fears, this was, indeed, the kind of grand adventure I'd dreamed of during those long, silent days at the cottage in Ballykillin.

At the entrance to the docks a man was examining papers before letting people past. Kathleen pulled us aside, into the shadows, and rummaged in the bundle she was carrying. "Well, what do you know?" She managed a light laugh. "I've got tickets here for Seamus and Bridie, but I've gone and left my own ticket back home in Stabane. Isn't that just the stupidest thing you've ever heard of."

"Ma, how could you do that?" Seamus demanded. "Does that mean we'll not be going then?"

"I don't see why you two shouldn't go ahead," Kathleen said. "Miss Molly has her ticket. You can travel with her. She'll take care of you right enough and bring you safe to your daddy. And I'll just pop back home and catch up with you on the next boat."

I stared at her, but said nothing.