Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

“Please don’t, Miss Norton.” I put up my hand to stop her. “I shouldn’t feel right. I really can’t tell you how much time I’ll be able to devote to your cause or what possible chance of success I’d have. All I can say is that I’ll do my best, but it’s not easy rushing all over the city in this summer heat.”


All the time we had been speaking, I had felt increasingly unwell. Now my stomach was churning dangerously. I took a hurried gulp of tea in the hope that the warm liquid would calm my insides, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“If you will excuse me, Miss Norton, but I have to rush to another appointment,” I said and helped her to her feet. “I am honored at your trust in me. I hope I will succeed.”

“If you do succeed, I will be in your eternal debt,” she said, grasping my hand fervently. “I simply can’t sail for Europe not knowing the truth about her. It will spoil my entire vacation.”

I tried to extricate myself from her grasp politely. With a supreme effort of will I shepherded her to the front door and thanked her for coming.

“You have my telephone number on my card, don’t you? And you know Miss Van Woekem’s address.”

“I’ll do my best, I promise, Miss Norton.”

“You are really so sweet, Miss Murphy. I’m sorry I misjudged you.” She took my hands into her own.

“And I you.” I managed the reply and received a light brush of a kiss on my cheek. The moment the door was closed, I fled to the privy and was horribly ill.





FIFTEEN




When I had finally finished vomiting, I leaned against the cold stone of the privy wall until the dizziness passed. There was no question now about my current condition. The panic I had managed to hold at bay returned. How could I hope to get anything done if I was going to be so hopelessly frail and ill all the time? Women at home in Ireland were always having babies and never seemed incapacitated like this. I recalled my own mother, who must have gone through five or six pregnancies. Some of them had resulted in miscarriages, three of them in my brothers. But she had done her normal work around the house until the day of her confinement.

I stood there, hugging my arms to myself, finding it hard to breathe as the panic threatened to overwhelm me. I was at a crossroads of my life. I couldn’t handle all this alone. However loath I was to do it, I should tell Sid and Gus the truth. I made up my mind to go and tell them later that afternoon, after I’d had a rest and felt somewhat restored. I took off my dress, sponged myself down with cold water, and lay on my bed. A refreshing breeze was coming in through the window. It was peaceful and calm. I tried to sleep, but my brain was still racing.

I worried what might happen if my condition worsened and I was confined to bed. I had to be strong and well enough to complete the task set for me. Getting Daniel out of jail had to be my priority for all our sakes. I sat up and tried to think clearly. At least Arabella had given me a new direction to explore. Someone who was delighting in Daniel’s downfall. Someone who had come to the prison to see for himself. It was so obvious now she had mentioned it that I felt ashamed of myself. I wasn’t really much use as a detective, was I? This spurred me into getting back to work. I went downstairs again and took out pen and paper. Find out who has come to the prison asking after Daniel or wanting to visit him, I wrote. Go out to Coney Island. Find out about the horse doping at the racetrack. Meet the officers who have taken over the cases from Daniel. Find out if they have discovered any more about the East Side Ripper.

And, of course, now I had extra work to keep me occupied if I could spare a moment from Daniel’s case. I had imprudently told Arabella that I would show her friend’s picture at the settlement houses and at the sort of hotels where a young girl would stay alone. Just how was I going to find the time and energy to do that?

It was all so overwhelming that I sat there, staring at the paper, and for once wished myself back home in Ireland. Oh, to be sure, every day was a hard, physical grind, with lots of laundry and cooking and beating rugs and sweeping up mud. But I had been safe there. I knew what to expect of every day. Then I reminded myself of the reason I had been forced to flee to America. I hadn’t been safe at all.

“It’s no use sitting here sniveling like a weak ninny,” I told myself, sounding suspiciously like my mother.