The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

“I don’t think so,” I began, “but please do come and take a look.”


He strode ahead of me into the parlor, looked around briefly, and then said, “No, you’re right, they’re not here. Then I must have left them in the police department automobile. No doubt your husband will find them.”

He hesitated, as if reluctant to leave, and it suddenly came to me that the gloves had been an excuse to return here. He wanted to find me alone. He was going to ask me to work for him, in spite of Daniel’s protests. I felt a thrill of excitement rush through me. I would have to turn him down, of course. But nevertheless it was flattering to be asked.

“Was there something else, Mr. Wilkie?” I asked. “I sensed when you came for lunch that important men like you don’t take time out of a busy schedule to pay social calls on the wives of colleagues for no reason at all.”

Wilkie chucked. “What did I say? Sharp, Mrs. Sullivan. Sharp as a tack. There was something, that I didn’t want to bring up in front of your husband, but I never found the opportunity for a second alone with you during luncheon. May I sit down?” He chose Daniel’s leather club chair and sat, motioning me to take a seat on the sofa. I tried not to look too keen or interested as I assumed a modest pose with hands folded in my lap.

“Mrs. Sullivan this is a rather delicate matter,” he said. “One I don’t wish to share with your husband for obvious reasons.”

For one absurd second it crossed my mind that it was my body he was interested in, and not my sharp brain. Then I reminded myself that no man would choose as a mistress someone in my present condition. He cleared his throat as if trying to find the right words. I was really intrigued now.

“You have a brother, I believe,” he said at last.

“I have two brothers still living,” I said.

“Would it surprise you to know that one of them, Liam Murphy, is in New York at this very moment?”

I checked myself before I answered, “Liam?” I feigned surprise. “In New York? That can’t be true.”

“So he has not contacted you then?”

“He’d have no way of contacting me. He doesn’t know my address or anything about me. We were never close and I haven’t heard from him in years. Are you sure it’s my brother? There are plenty of young Irishmen called Liam Murphy, and plenty more with red hair.”

“It’s him right enough,” Mr. Wilkie said. “My counterparts in Britain have been keeping tabs on him and his Republican Brotherhood and they notified me that he’d sailed from Le Havre in France, heading for the United States.” When I said nothing he looked up, his gaze holding mine. “You did know that your brother is part of the Republican Brotherhood, I take it?”

I realized then that nobody had connected me to that failed prison break in Dublin. One of them had given his life to spirit me away. “I suspected as much,” I said. “Liam always did have a strong sense of justice, and what red-blooded Irishman would not want to fight to gain independence for his own country? We’ve been an occupied country for three hundred years, you know. And America did exactly the same thing in 1776 to free themselves from the British yoke.”

Mr. Wilkie had to smile at this. “It’s not my place to judge the righteousness of his cause,” he said, “but I am bound to cooperate with my counterparts in Britain and your brother is wanted on a capital charge over there.”

“Do you know what made him come to America?” I demanded and I could hear the belligerent tone in my voice now. “Is it possible he’s seen the hopelessness of the Republican cause and has decided to try for a better life for himself in America, the same as all those other immigrants?”

“If that were true, I’d say good luck to him,” Mr. Wilkie said. “But I’m afraid that we have credible intelligence that he’s here on Republican Brotherhood business.”

“Raising money, you mean?”

“Possibly. The Irish in America are known to be more than generous when it comes to the Home Rule cause. And not just with money. Weapons too. It could be that he’s here to acquire weapons.” He paused. I remembered being involved in smuggling a trunk full of rifles to Ireland, but tried to keep my face composed. “It’s possible, I suppose,” I said.

“But we are concerned it may be more than that,” Wilkie continued. “I mentioned a newly formed anarchist group to you. We have gotten wind that they are planning some kind of coup, and the Irish Republican Brotherhood may be involved.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked.

“Because your brother may well try to contact you, to ask for assistance,” Mr. Wilkie said.

“And if he does?”

“Then I’d like you to let me know.”