The Incredibly Irritating Irishman: Book Three of the Conn-Mann Chronicles Page 3

“I am sorry to disturb you in such a manner, Inspector, but we are here on urgent and…discreet business, and it wouldn’t serve to come in by the front door.”

  “You haven’t gone and gotten yourself in trouble again have you, Miss Mann? Please, come inside.”

  I thought for a moment that he was going to shut the door in Alistair’s face, but he reluctantly stepped aside and let my employer follow me into the building.

  The dingy back hallway was just as I remembered it—dark, damp, and smelling faintly of unwashed humanity. I was grateful to be led into Kevin’s office where the open window at least provided a bit of respite.

  Kevin seated me in one of the chairs in front of his desk—again, pointedly ignoring Alistair—and moved behind it to his own seat.

  I patted the empty chair beside me, and Alistair sank into it with a raised eyebrow. I would be hearing about this, I had no doubt.

  Kevin folded his hands before him on the top of his spotless desk. “Now, what is it that you have come to see me about, Miss Mann? No lurking kidnappers or devious blackmailers to contend with at this time, I trust?”

  “Not at the moment, no.”

  “That’s some small relief.” The trace of a smile lifted the corner of his lip. “So, then—what can the police do for you?”

  I nudged Alistair, and he started. I jerked my head at Kevin, and the professor reached into his coat and removed the document that had come by post.

  “There was an unfortunate incident at the Central Park Menagerie a few days ago,” Alistair began, unfolding the paper.

  Kevin’s face grew grave, and he leaned back in his chair. “I seem to recall hearing something about that. A child was accosted.”

  “He was not!” I cried, rising to my feet from the injustice of it. “That boy was pestering Phaeton, and he reacted. It wasn’t his fault!”

  “Jo, sit down,” Alistair ordered quietly. “I will handle this.”

  I did as he commanded, more from surprise than anything else—he was seldom so forceful—but I felt the prick of tears in my throat and gulped them down angrily. Phaeton would never hurt a child purposefully. These charges were so unfair!

  Alistair handed the summons across the desk to Kevin. “It really was an act of instinctive self-preservation, but no one is going to accept that something of Phaeton’s size is harmless. We have several witnesses to the child’s provocation, but—again—they were all in our party, and could be accused of having ulterior motives. Miss Mann is of the opinion you might be willing to hear our case and perhaps intercede on Phaeton’s behalf.”

  It was a masterful summation. I was very impressed.

  Kevin read through the document, his frown deepening as he skimmed the words. When he finished, he set it aside and folded his hands across the desk once more. “I’m no lawyer, sir, and I’m unqualified, therefore, to give you legal advice, but I do know something about people. It’s my guess that the family of this boy has realized there may be money to be gained here. If you have the wherewithal to create something as sophisticated as Phaeton, you must have the means to pay to protect him. I would suggest going around to their home and making an offer of recompense. Either they will accept it, or counter with a greater sum, but at least you’ll know their price. If you match it, I have a sneaking suspicion the case will miraculously melt away. Perhaps, I’m wrong...but I don’t think so.”

  A look of complete and utter relief swept across Alistair’s face, and he held out his good hand. “Thank you, Inspector. That is good, practical advice—and precisely what I shall do. We’ll go straight away.”

  Kevin paused, and then accepted Alistair’s handshake.

  My opinion of him rose. Of course, he wasn’t Alistair, but he was a nice young man.

  “Do keep me posted, sir,” he told Alistair. “I’ll be curious as to the outcome of this situation. But I’d advise you not to delay. The longer the warrant is active, the harder it will be for me to squelch.”

  “Believe me, Inspector, I want this resolved as quickly as possible. Come, Jo.” He started for the door without waiting to see if I was following.

  I was quite liking this more forceful Alistair. If I had been enamored of him before, those feelings were deepening as I saw him grow before my very eyes.

  I reached out my own hand to the Inspector. He was much quicker to grab mine than Alistair’s.

  “Thank you, Kevin. I appreciate your help so much. I knew you would be able to give us the answer.”

  “Anything for you, Jo—Miss Mann. Anything at all.”

  The words were a bit unsettling. I favored him with a small smile and hurried to catch up with Alistair, who was halfway down the outer stair.

  “Hurry, Jo! We must get to this child’s house before things escalate further.”

  A shadow crossed the stair before me, and I glanced up. The metallic bird soared overhead. I frowned. Alistair wouldn’t send it to follow his own steps...where had it come from?

  “I’m coming, Alistair. Patience is a virtue, you know.” I deliberately slowed my steps, as if unsure of my footing.

  I have learned that one should never give a man exactly what he wants exactly when he wants it if one can avoid it—it spoils them.

  I was secretly quite impressed with the two of them. Kevin for formulating the plan, and Alistair for being willing to accept it coming from the Inspector. Perhaps they were both maturing a bit.

  Mrs. O’Malley was a heavyset woman with a ready smile and an untidy bird’s nest of gray curls on her head.

  “Come along, dearie. We’ll soon get you set.”

  She led Opal up three flights of stairs to the maid’s room at the top of the house. It was small, but warmed by a grate and furnished with a bed with a goose-down mattress and a thick coverlet. A smart uniform hung on a hook behind the door, and there was a chest at the foot of the bed.

  Mrs. O’Malley gestured at the room.

  “This is yours now. You’ll be expected to work from eight until six, which is when the gentlemen start coming. After you’ve been here a spell, you might be put on answering the door if you please Mrs. Carrouthers. That can gain you a bit of extra spending money. Now, put on your best frock and come downstairs. The girls will want to introduce themselves.”

  Opal slipped into a clean dress and tiptoed down the stairs, a little nervous as to what was coming next. She had never stepped foot into a fancy house before. Her mother would have been mortified.

  At the foot of the stairs, a pretty blonde girl about her own age held out a hand. “Hello, Opal! My name is Caroline. Come and meet the girls.”

  — Garrett Goldthwaite

  Old-Fashioned Opal and the House of Ill-Repute

  Chapter 4

  We boarded the carriage again, and Roderick looked inquiringly toward Alistair. The summons document bore the address of the complainant, so Alistair gave that to Roderick as our destination. The imposing edifices of downtown shrank in style, if not in stature, as the horses clopped through the streets under Roderick’s direction.

  I gazed about me curiously. We were heading away from the sections of town I was familiar with. These streets weren’t as nice as those around the boarding house, or even the rowdier neighborhood around Mrs. Milligan’s, where I used to live.

  In fact, this area was quite shabby, and run-down, though not dirty or damaged like that around Five Points—not that I had spent much time—or actually, any at all—in that most disreputable part of the city. Here, children ran through the lanes and alleys, laughing and playing. It raised my spirits no end to hear their cheerful voices—I had felt a bit low since we received the summons.

  I caught a glimpse of a tow-head among the boys pelting through the street, and raised an eyebrow. If I was not mistaken, that was the child who had been knocked to the ground—and he looked none the worse for wear.

  I filed the information away. It might prove useful in the upcoming negotiations. At the very least, it showed the child wasn’t seriously hurt in the f
all.

  Roderick pulled the horses to a stop outside of a neat square house with faded paint, but brave flowers blooming in whitewashed window boxes. Alistair and I stepped up to the front door, and he rapped upon it.

  A woman with pale blonde hair opened the door a crack and peered out. Her eyes were a blue as faded as the walls of her house. “Yis? May I help you?”

  Her voice was soft, and lilted pleasantly. Her hair was pulled back into a smooth bun at the base of her skull, and—though the fabric had been turned at least once—her dress was attractive and well-made.

  “Mrs...Ferguson?” Alistair asked, glancing at the paper in his hand.

  “Yis?”

  “My name is Alistair Conn—”

  “—and I am Josephine Mann,” I added—unwilling to be left completely out of the conversation.

  Her face hardened. “So, yer the ones who caused me Ryan to be knocked t’ the ground by that monstrosity!” Her tone warned that here was a woman who doted on her ragamuffin offspring—no matter what sort of rapscallion hellion he might be.

  I touched Alistair’s arm. He frowned.

  “Mrs. Ferguson,” I said gently, “could we all sit down and talk for a moment?”

  She folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “What d’ we have to talk about?”

  I took her arm in mine as if we were best of friends. “I wanted to check on...Ryan’s…condition. How is the poor dear?”

  Her expression cleared. “The little lamb was distraught over the ordeal. He had nightmares the first several days after he was so brutally attacked.”

  The words sounded like a speech she had memorized. I sighed and shook my head. “Indeed. What a terrible thing.”

  Alistair opened his mouth to protest, and I shook my head slightly. Luckily, he is sometimes quick to take a hint, and this time remained silent.

  Mrs. Ferguson led the way to her tiny parlor and gestured to the settee. “Please, sit.”

  I glanced around the room. It was clean and tidy, if sparsely furnished. A small ivory Madonna and child held pride of place in the center of the mantelpiece, flanked by figures of saints. A good Catholic home then. That would work in nicely with the plans I had begun to formulate on the ride over.

  We settled ourselves, Alistair and I on the settee, and she on the rocker opposite. I reached out and took her hand. “My dear, I know this must have been simply awful for you. We worry so about our children, don’t we? Wanting to protect them, and keep them safe at all costs.”

  “Oh, yis, Miss. You do understand!”

  “Please, call me Jo. Now, Mrs. Fer—”

  “—Sinéad. Sinéad is my name,” she said softly.

  “Sinéad, it is then. I was at the Menagerie the day that Ryan was...knocked down. I don’t think that it was an intentional act—”

  Her face hardened again, and she pulled her hand from mine. “That isn’t what my Ryan says. He says that...that beast threw him to the ground and stomped upon his hand. He’s a good boy. He would never lie to me.”

  I sighed in exasperation. That was patently untrue. I wonder what he had done to his hand that he needed to cover up. The boy had fibbed to his doting mother, and there was little hope that I would change her mind with something as flimsy as the truth.

  “How terrible! I must have been looking the other way when that happened,” I said, gritting my teeth to hold back words that would do us no good. Despite the desire to stand up for Phaeton—who was my child...of sorts, at least—I pretended to agree with her. “I can understand your distress even better now. Is Ryan your youngest?”

  Her eyes misted. “He’s our only child…living, that is.” Her hands dropped to her lap.

  Alistair cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience that my creation might’ve caused your son,” he murmured. “I desire to make recompense for your pain and suffering. What would strike you as fair?”

  She dabbed her eyes, then gathered herself together. Her brow puckered. “Fair?”

  Obviously, she hadn’t the faintest idea what Alistair was talking about. I would have to straighten things out—it is what I am good at.

  “We would like to give you a reasonable sum of money to drop the charges against Phaeton. I know you feel that he was at fault, and we’re willing to pay for Ryan’s doctor expenses, if any, and an additional sum for his...suffering.” There really was no simpler way to say it than that.

  “By all the saints—you people think this is all a matter of money?” Sinéad’s back stiffened. “That mechanical monster of yours is an abomination and a menace!”

  I patted her knee. “I quite agree,” I said, saying a silent apology to the gentle giant hiding at home in his storeroom. “It isn’t that we’re trying to make light of your boy’s pain, my dear. It’s that we feel you deserve some money to help you help him past this terrible tragedy.”

  Alistair was looking at me as if I had quite lost my mind. I wished that I had had a chance to brief him on what I was going to do. Now, he must think I was betraying him and Phaeton both.

  “Yes, well. Indeed,” he said with a sigh, taking my lead. “What sum would it take to convince you to...to drop these charges and leave Phaeton in peace?”

  Her eyes sharpened. “Me husband will want t’ have something to say about that,” she replied. “His brodder’s a solicitor—he told us what is what.” Pride rang in every syllable. And justifiably so, if her husband and his brother were also fairly new Irish immigrants.

  “Well, then, ask your husband what sum he would require to drop the charges against Professor Conn and his machine. We would add—” My mind raced, calculating decent recompense for an imaginary injury. “—three hundred dollars for Ryan on top of it.”

  There was a muffled squawk of protest from Alistair, but I ignored him.

  “Do we have a deal, Sinéad?”

  “I’ll have t’ ask me man, but I’m sure he will be amenable.”

  My eyebrow raised again at the use of the word. Sinéad was not a stupid woman—her vocabulary spoke of intelligence and learning of her own. My estimation of her went up several points. I smiled, and shook her hand.

  “Come, Alistair,” I said, rising to my feet. “We should be getting home.”

  He followed me from the house silently.

  When we reached the carriage, however, the dam broke, and he let me have the lecture that he had been holding inside. “What on earth were you thinking, Jo? I realize you think my purse is bottomless, but I assure you that it is not!”

  “I know that, Alistair,” I replied coolly, smoothing my skirts as I settled myself on the plush carriage seat. “It was a calculated offer.”

  “What was a calculated offer? You promised her three hundred dollars over and above whatever her husband wishes us to pay. He could demand thousands of dollars!”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I replied calmly, leaning back into the seat. “At least we have made the opening salvo.”

  Alistair rolled his eyes toward Heaven and sighed. “Here we go again.”

  Yes, Alistair was beginning to be far more interesting as he became less easy to manipulate…

  Caroline slipped an arm through Opal’s.

  “We’re a family here. Mrs. Carrouthers is a mother to us all, and Mrs. O’Malley likes to play grandmother, or maybe busybody aunt.” She smiled at Opal.

  Opal whispered, “But how did a girl like you wind up in a place like this?”

  Caroline threw back her head in laughter.

  “Oh, honey, it’s no mystery. I just like to have fun.” She winked.

  They stepped into the drawing room. A bevy of beautiful girls crowded around them. The names winged around her, and Opal tried to catch them all.

  Someone thrust a wine flute into her hand, and Opal drank instinctively. It rushed to her head, making her feel a bit giddy. She’d never tasted spirits before…

  — Garrett Goldthwaite

  Old-Fashioned Opal and the House of I
ll-Repute

  Chapter 5

  Alistair wasn’t in any mood to talk to me—something I was becoming used to. Still, I didn’t want it to become a permanent state of affairs, so I didn’t push the matter. I spent the ride back to the boarding house lost in thought.

  Despite Alistair’s disapproval, I was not sorry for making Sinéad the offer I had done. She was a practical woman, and anything less would have been an obvious insult. Still, it was a large sum of money, and I realized that Alistair was right—I had been taking his finances far too lightly.

  His money was not my money. I had no right to dispose of it in this manner. I must be less reckless in future. I did enjoy my salary a great deal, and I didn’t want to jeopardize its continuation. Plus, I did not want to fall into Alistair’s bad graces just when things were going so well.

  Once I had come to that decision, I turned my thoughts to other matters. Would the money I had offered be enough to sort Phaeton’s problem? I certainly hoped so.

  If the automaton were going to be introduced into society, as we had planned, he couldn’t be a convicted felon. And even the tiniest whiff of scandal would have people considering him one, even if he were completely exonerated in a courtroom. It would be much better all-around if we could avoid that situation.

  But that was also something I could currently do nothing about. Until we heard from Sinéad and her husband, there would be no moving forward on that front either.

  So, I turned my attention to my next problem. Seamus O’Leary.

  On the one hand, it was fascinating to think I had found some of my family at last. Ever since I was left at the convent as a wee girl, I had been alone in the world. My parents had left me there for a reason, I was sure, but I had no clue what it might have been. Unless they had no choice.

  All I had to remember them by was a muddy tintype and some battered books. But there were times when I almost saw their faces...and they were happy and smiling. Surely, if they were alive and happy together—and with me—they would have come back for me... Perhaps Seamus could even shed some light on the situation.