It was the first time Maggie had been in William Harrington’s office. Every time she looked at the telegram her hands shook and the young clerk noted her nervousness. He asked if she would like some tea but Maggie declined the offer. She was afraid it would spill over if she tried to steady a cup in the state she was in.
“Not bad news, I hope,” the young man said, referring to the telegram.
“I thought somebody had died when I got it,” laughed Maggie, “I’m still not over the shock. But it’s not bad news, just worrying. I’m sure Mr. Harrington will know what to do.”
No sooner had she said his name than the door to his office opened and he escorted an elderly, well dressed lady through the waiting area and into the hallway. A few minutes later the solicitor was back, instructing his clerk to organize some paperwork for him to sign later.
“Well, Margaret McGrother isn’t it? Come inside and tell me what this is all about,” he said.
Maggie quickly stood and followed Mr. Harrington into his office.
“Did my clerk offer you some tea?” he asked, holding out a chair for her.
“He did indeed, but it’s a wee bit early for tea, if you don’t mind, sir,” Maggie still didn’t trust herself not to spill it, “And it’s O’Neill, sir. I was McGrother before I got married, but please call me Maggie.”
“Yes, of course. How may I be of service?” Mr. Harrington asked.
Placing the telegram on the desk in front of her, Maggie explained what it was about as the solicitor read it for himself. The reference to the Dundalk Democrat and a page number had him confused.
“I went to Paddy Mac’s and asked him to have a look through the paper in question. He can read himself and keeps a pile of newspapers on hand for his customers,” Maggie took something from her pocket. “Paddy tore this out of Saturday’s Democrat, so I could show it to you.”
The solicitor took the piece of newspaper being held out to him by a shaking hand and read it.
“I know there’s something very wrong with this, I can feel it in my bones, Mr. Harrington. I’m sure James does, too.”
“I have not been made aware of this by the head constable. He should have informed me by now, as it involves one of my cases. Do you have an address for James so that I may contact him?”
“Thank you, Mr. Harrington. I knew you would know what to do. James is living in my house over in England, there’s only my eldest boy left in it.”
“Good, good,” the solicitor stood and gestured for Maggie to follow him to the door. “My clerk will write down the details. Leave this with me, Maggie. I will be in touch as soon as I have news for you and if you, yourself, should hear of anything, please do not hesitate to inform me. I shall bid you good day for now, Mrs. O’Neill.”
Maggie thanked Harrington again as she left his office to give his clerk the contact details for her brother. Stepping back into the busy street, she caught sight of Matthew Clarke standing by an ass and cart, and crossed over to speak with him.
“Are you minding it for someone, Matthew?” Maggie said, stroking the animal’s head.
“She’s mine. I just bought her and the cart this morning,” said Matthew. “Lizzie is to meet me here before we head home. Do you want to come back with us, Maggie? Or do you have to stay in town?”
“I would be much obliged for the ride home, thank you. I suppose Lizzie and your girls will no longer have to carry heavy creels of fish to market, now that ye have some transport, will they?”
Matthew Clarke smiled and said it was as much his wife’s idea to get the ass and cart as it was his.
“I can get more work, too, by having a cart. I’ve been saving for a long time to get this and it might never have happened only for the money our Daniel sends home.”
“How is Daniel? I trust he’s settled in well by now,” asked Maggie as Matthew helped her up onto the cart.
“He’s happy enough for someone who was so attached to home. Sure he isn’t the first to leave and he won’t be the last, Maggie. He’s in good company over there anyway, and from what I can tell, he’s behaving himself. A man can’t ask more than that from a son, can he?”
A thought struck Maggie as Matthew was speaking of emigration, “You can read, can’t you? Did you see that bit of news in the Democrat about the man in Liverpool who was found dead with the Devereux silver on him?”
“No, I didn’t. When did that happen?” Matthew had already heard the news, but didn’t let on.
“It was in Saturday’s Democrat. Someone showed it to James and he sent me a telegram letting me know. I’ve just been to Mr. Harrington, his solicitor, about it.”
“Maggie, how are you?” Lizzie Clarke had arrived and climbed up beside her husband.
While the women chatted, Matthew was deep in thought. Every so often, at the mention of his name, he would nod his head then get back to what was bothering him. He felt sure it was not by accident that Flanagan had come to a sorry end, it had been on the cards for a long time. It was common knowledge among the neighbours that the head constable had a grudge against the McGrothers and Matthew feared the incident in Dundalk might add more fuel to the fire, making things even worse.
“The longer they are over there the less chance there’ll be of them coming back. Isn’t that so, Matthew?” said Lizzie.
“Who? The boys?” asked Matthew, his train of thought interrupted once more.
“No, we were speaking of James and Mary and their wee ones. Maggie was saying she lives in hope of them coming back to us. What do you think?”
“If there’s regular work to be had over there, it could be a big mistake on James’s part, bringing his family back here. He doesn’t strike me as being a foolish man,” Matthew noticed how silent both women had become at his words. “But he’s your brother, Maggie, you know him better than I do. I was speaking on how I would feel about it, for myself and my own family.”
Lizzie was surprised at what she heard, she knew that her husband would never leave for good. Every time he went to England for seasonal work he counted the days until his return home.
“Why Matthew Clarke, you’re the one always saying ‘I would rather be poor here than rich over there.’ I don’t believe for one minute you would trade places with James McGrother, even if we lost the roof over our heads,” Lizzie turned to look at their passenger. “We could be evicted and sleeping in the ditch and this man here would be telling me and the wee ones how fortunate we were to have fresh air to breathe,” she laughed.
“Begging your pardon, Lizzie, but I would have to agree with your husband about that. Until you have lived over there in those crowded streets and tasted the thick vile air on a foggy day, you will never truly be thankful for what you have here,” said Maggie.
“Sure don’t they have countryside over there, too? With clean air, just like here? Take a trip up to Dublin, the pair of ye, and see how fresh the air is. Or Belfast, even worse, with all those factories. The way I see it, if you want a regular wage you must be prepared to put up with things that may not be to your liking – or taste,” rebuked Lizzie.
Matthew laughed at his wife’s tirade, “Now we’ve started her off on one of her speeches, Maggie. We’ll have sore heads by the time we get home. Look, even the ass’s ears are twitching.”
Lizzie gave her husband a good-natured slap on the back of his head, knocking his cap off. The three of them laughed and their conversation took on a much lighter tone for the rest of the journey, until they reached Kitty Carroll’s cottage. Outside the house stood a jaunting car, its driver adjusting the horse’s bridle. As they came to a halt, the Clarkes and Maggie were surprised to see the head constable step out from behind the animal.
“Constable Armstrong I hope it’s not bad news that has you on Mrs. Carroll’s doorstep,” Matthew said as he helped the women down from the cart.
“It’s not Mrs. Carroll I’m here to see.”
“It must be me so. To what do I owe the honour?” asked Maggie.
“Have you heard from your brother lately?” asked Armstrong.
“As a matter of . . .” Maggie began her answer.
“And what does that have to do with you?” Matthew interrupted.
“Were any of you acquainted with the man who was found dead in Linen Hall Street, who happened to have some items of stolen silverware on him at the time?”
Everyone shook their heads and Matthew looked directly into the policeman’s eyes, “Drinking and climbing are best kept separate, would you not agree, Constable Armstrong?”
“News travels fast, doesn’t it? His body was only discovered a few days ago,” was the sarcastic reply.
“Some of us are well able to read a newspaper,” said Maggie.
“Of course you are, your brother included. I’m sure he’s heard the news himself by now. So, to get back to my question, was this Flanagan fellow a friend of your brother’s, by any chance?” asked the constable.
“I never heard of the man before now, nor has James, I can assure you,” Maggie was getting annoyed. “He was not the sort of person any of my family would be acquainted with.”
“I believe you received a telegram this morning, I trust the news was not bad. How are all the McGrothers faring across the water?”
“Would you care for a cup of tea, Constable Armstrong? We are all gasping with the thirst,” said Matthew, quickly changing the subject.
“Indeed we are,” Lizzie agreed. “Come woman, show a bit of hospitality to your visitors,” she dragged Maggie into the house before she had a chance to say another word.
The two men stood outside the door, eyes locked on each other. Matthew kept a blank look on his face with just the trace of a smile, enough to irritate the other man but not provoke him.
“I had best be getting back to town,” the head constable reached out to scratch behind the ass’s ear. “You must be having a run of good luck, Clarke, acquiring a fine ass and cart like this.”
Matthew ignored the snide remark, “Well I’ll not keep you from your business. Good day to you Constable Armstrong,” and he stepped inside Kitty Carroll’s house, slamming the door shut behind him.