Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)

Talk about mingling with the mighty, I thought to myself. If only the folks in Ballykillin could see me now, hobnobbing with the rich and famous. The thought flashed through my mind before I had time to remember that there was nobody in Ballykillin any longer. No family. No friends. All gone. And I was going to have to relive some of my most painful moments for the woman I was about to see. I hesitated in the mirror-lined hallway and almost turned back. But I put on a brave face and rapped smartly on her door.

She was looking as stunning as ever, wearing a silk robe of dark rich green that accented the copper hair. For once this wasn’t piled on her head but spilled over her shoulders. Her face bore no trace of makeup but in truth it needed no help. It was simply the epitome of beauty. One looked at her and gasped. I could well understand why so many young men became besotted with her. I had been resolved to be cold, efficient, and distant with her, but when she stood at the door and opened her arms wide, saying “Molly, my sweet child. Thank you so much for coming,” I found myself accepting her embrace and even murmuring some kind of thanks of my own.

She drew me into a drawing room overlooking the park, elegantly furnished with brocade chairs and sofas. A huge bowl of out-of-season fruit was on a side table, along with the sort of floral tributes that seemed to accompany Miss Sheehan wherever she went.

“Take off your coat, do,” she said, “and do sit down. I’ll have Yvette bring us some tea.” She motioned to a dainty little brocade armchair beside the window. She rang a small silver bell and a slim dark person in a black-and-white uniform appeared, bobbing a curtsey. “You rang, Madame?”

“Yes. Tea for two please, Yvette.”

The maid jerked a halfhearted attempt at a curtsey and went.

Quite a change from Rose, I thought to myself. Her last maid had been a broad country girl from Ireland and she had been brutally murdered.

“Life must go on,” Miss Sheehan said sadly, as if reading my thoughts. “I chose a new maid as different as possible from Rose so that I was not reminded of her. Madame Bernhardt’s own maid suggested her. They come from the same town in France, so one understands.” She paused, looking at me critically. “So how are you, Molly? From what Grania writes you had a most harrowing time.”

“Yes, it wasn’t too pleasant,” I said. “No thanks to you.”

She reached out and touched my hand. “I felt so awful when I realized what I had let you in for.”

“You knew from the very start what you were doing,” I said angrily. “You used me.”

“Yes, but I never thought . . . ,” she said. “Molly, I would never have exposed you to such danger, had I known. I thought it was a simple assignment. Can you ever forgive me?”

She took my hand and smiled her most enchanting dimpled smile. Against my better judgment, I felt myself soften and managed a weak smile of my own.

“And could you possibly bear to tell me all about it? I only have Grania’s account and she has left out a lot of details I would dearly like to know.”

“All right,” I said, and started to recount the events. I tried to be as brief as possible and to stick to the main facts, but it was hard to tell the story without dwelling on my brothers and on Cullen. As she listened she put a lace handkerchief up to her mouth. “Our brave Irish boys,” she muttered. “Such a waste.”

“As you say, such a waste.”

We sat there looking at each other.

“He was a fine man, wasn’t he, Molly?”

“One of the best,” I agreed.

“And did he speak often of me?” she asked.

I didn’t like to say that he had long forgotten her. “All the time,” I lied.

“If only I could have been there,” she said. “But I have a duty to my public. They count on me, Molly. I brighten their little lives.”

For a while I had been feeling pity for her. Now that vanished as easily as a pricked bubble. “I can’t stay long, Miss Sheehan,” I said. “I have brought the clothes that I had to wear when I left the ship, because my own were not available to me. I’m afraid you’ll need to have your maid give the outfit a good cleaning.”

I had started to open the bag, but she waved me away. “Keep them, please. You should have helped yourself to any of my clothes that you wanted. Couturiers are always giving me things to wear. I have far too many. Come and see—is there anything else you’d like?”

She took my hand and tried to drag me toward her bedroom. She was trying to be friendly, and I have to admit I was sorely tempted. Who wouldn’t want to help themselves to a Worth gown or two? But I remained steadfast. “You are most kind, but no, thank you.” There was the little matter of the money she still owed me. I hated asking for money but I had completed the assignment for her, hadn’t I? And almost been killed in the process. She did owe it to me. I took a deep breath. “If you want to repay a debt,” I said, “there is the money you promised me.”

“Promised you?” She looked up with dramatic surprise.

“When you asked me to deliver your luggage, remember? An extra hundred dollars?”

She flushed prettily. “Oh, that. Of course. How silly of me. I’d completely forgotten.”

Obviously, a hundred dollars was a mere trifle to her. She fished around in her purse, then gave me an embarrassed smile. “I appear to be out of checks,” she said.