Chapter 23

A Better Life

Clare awoke to the sounds and smells of sizzling rashers and eggs.

She opened her eyes slowly, surprised to see the sunlight already drenching the room with warmth. What time was it? Where was she? As she sat up, the drama of the night before returned painfully to her mind, creating a tightness to her stomach. The anxiety she felt awakened her senses.

Next to her Seamus slumbered, and Pierce was curled tightly in a blanket. Craning her head back, she saw the clock on the mantel read half past ten.

Clare took advantage of this time alone to put her dress on and then bent over her brother.

“Wake up, Seamus.” She tugged on his quilted blanket. “It’s nearly midday.”

He mumbled protests about having been disturbed, but her words and the light must have saturated his thoughts and Seamus rose. “Did we sleep that late?” Without waiting for an answer, he gave Pierce a sharp elbow.

“What’s wrong?” the redhead said with a start. Then he rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms.

As the boys crept to their feet, Clare folded her blanket, laid it on the ground, and placed her pillow neatly on top. Despite the sun’s strong influence, a chill passed through a crack in one of the windows, causing her to shudder. Clare crouched in front of the fire and rubbed her hands together, noticing how the coal glowed, crackled, and smelled differently from the turf used at home. She stood and found herself drawn toward the iron clanks of cookery and joined her hostess in the kitchen.

“Oh my.” Tressa jerked, then slapped her hand to her chest. “You shouldn’t creep up on an old woman, you know. But good morning to you, Miss Blue Eyes.”

Clare smiled, but it seemed ingenious. Did this woman know about her uncle’s past? But what if Tressa was just another unknowing victim of his fraudulent ways? How cruel it would be of Clare to add to Tressa’s pain.

“How wondrous.” Clare admired the bacon in the iron skillet as the last hints of bubbling pink turned brown before her eyes. Eggs gurgled in a separate frying pan, dancing on a pool of grease, their yolks perfectly domed with a sheen of yellow.

“Paddy instructed me to treat our guests royally.” Tressa waved a spatula at Clare. “I must say, your arrival has moved the man to great cheer. ‘Whatever the boys want. Whatever the lass desires.’ Those were his very words to me this morning. Usually he’s not much for welcoming visitors in his home. Grouchy about it, even. As he likes to say, ‘Hospitality has the misfortune of causing folks to linger.’”

Tressa blurted out a laugh before glancing at Clare, then sobering. “Not that I’m opposed to your lingering at all. I’m a lonely woman, I am. Young ones like you brighten the day. It’s just Patrick dotes on his privacy, what little he gets.”

Tressa flipped the eggs clumsily, and she cursed as yellow rivulets escaped the transparent encasements of a yolk. Clare noticed a large eggshell in the pan, and as much as she wished to pluck it out of the pan herself, she decided not to even mention it for fear of being impolite.

“It’s not that Paddy doesn’t have friends. People love him, they do.” Tressa looked up at the ceiling. “Rough. Too fond of drink. And a poor wagerer at that. But he’ll make you smile and laugh. He’s got his gentle side as well.”

She coughed. “The smokes have it in for me.” She turned to Clare. “You do like eggs and bacon?”

“Most definitely,” Clare said without restraint before gathering her manners. “I mean, you shouldn’t feed us. It was overly kind of you to let us bed here for the night.”

“Bah.” Tressa waved away her protest. “You wouldn’t shame us by refusing our graces, would you?”

“Of course not, mam.” Clare stared into the pan for a few moments before asking, “Will Mr. Feagles be joining us for breakie?”

“Oh no. Paddy is always out before sunrise. Matters not what time he goes down.”

Clare tried to mask her disappointment but could tell she failed by Tressa’s expression.

“Don’t worry, dear. He’ll be back before noon, which will be soon upon us. He told me as he was leaving this morn that he’s got plenty to talk about with the three of you. As a matter of fact, he said to make sure you didn’t leave before he got back. Grab those plates for me, would you?”

Clare nodded and retrieved a stack of dishes from a high black shelf braced against a wall covered with faux marble paper. The china was white, encircled by a wreath of painted blue roses. One plate at a time, Tressa slapped on large portions of eggs and bacon.

As she did, Clare asked the question she had been afraid to ask. “And what exactly does Mr. Feagles do, may I ask?”

Tressa looked at her askance, and Clare worried she had crossed some line of propriety. Swallowing deeply as she held her breath, Clare was relieved to see the woman’s momentary odd expression replaced with a warm smile.

“Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t know,” Tressa said. “Why you’re newly on the island. Still with salt water in your hair and barnacles on your feet.” She laughed heartedly and snorted before covering her mouth. “Why, everyone knows Patrick is a sporting man.”

“A sporting man?”

“Oh, dear, you really are a fresh one, aren’t you? Yes. A sporting man. Although, in truth, he’s not much of a sporting man as fighting isn’t his suit. It’s more he caters to the sporting men and their ilk.”

Clare shook her head. “I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Let’s see. Well, most make a living by laboring on the streets or the docks or as a merchant or in the factories. But the sporting man doesn’t believe in all this. He drinks, fights, gambles, frolics with the women, and then drinks again. In the Five Points you’re High Society if you can live this kind of life.”

“Sounds like proper living to me,” Seamus said, entering the room.

“It is, if you can get it, young man,” Tressa said. “Now these sporting men and all who wish they could be, need places for entertainment. You know, with the hard times comes a greater need for pleasure. A place to cool your heels and wet your mouth. Some ladies to soothe your nerves. And gambling. Oh, do they like their gambling. They’ll wager on cards, the numbers game, man fights, dog fights, cock fights, and cockroach fights if they can.”

“And Patrick provides these services?” Seamus asked.

“He does,” Tressa said with some pride. “And a few more . . . that are probably not proper to mention. That would, of course, be Paddy and his partner.”

“Seems a far distance from working a farm,” Clare said.

Tressa grimaced. “Paddy? A farm? That’s a fine notion.” She laughed. “No. Can’t vision that. But he’s a fine businessman.”

“You say he has a partner?” Seamus said.

Tressa’s mood changed suddenly. “Well. Not so much a partner as the one man Paddy answers to. Although few know of him, and he’s rarely seen. I’ve only seen him once or so meself. A rather strange man, but it’s all worked well for Paddy. They have some type of arrangement that came to be not long after Patrick first arrived in the city. That was even before I met Paddy.”

She handed the plates to them. “But enough of this talk. I’ve told you more than I probably should have. What blathering! Be kind and don’t mention to Paddy I’ve been prating about his business. Come now. Let’s eat. The food will taste better warm.”

Clare had even more questions to ask than before, but guilt already plagued her for pressing the woman. They carried their breakfast out to the main room, where Clare was pleased to see Pierce had packed up their belongings and prepared the table in anticipation of the meal.

Within a few moments, they were seated and enjoying their breakfast, the only sound the clanking of the cutlery against the china.

As Clare ate her eggs and bacon, she felt almost giddy with the luxury of having two such meals back to back. But she kept her composure. She questioned whether it was proper to accept this hospitality at all until she understood the depths of her uncle’s treachery.

She didn’t dwell there for long. Instead, Clare surrendered to the sweet lure of indulgence.

After breakfast, Tressa took them down the hallway to an adjoining apartment, and with a rattle of iron, she chose a key from her ring and inserted it into the lock on the door. Before she could turn it, the oak-slatted door swung open.

Out sprung a man, tall and slender, with a pregnant woman trailing behind him. They were carrying bulging luggage and appeared to be harried and distraught.

“Ah, Mr. Bainsworth,” said Tressa. “My apologies. I thought you had already cleared out.”

The man, whose thin mustache appeared a bit crooked and hastily waxed, let out a deep sigh as he shifted the heavy bags to try to bear them more comfortably. “Well, as you know, our new arrangements were shared with us just this morning.”

“You’ve been lovely tenants. You’ll be missed.” Tressa turned to the woman. “And you, dear. Take care of that little one.”

“Come, Gladys.” The man scowled as he allowed his wife to waddle before him and then they headed down the hall.

Tressa watched them disappear from the hallway into the stairwell. “Poor dears.” She turned back toward Clare and the boys and tried to restore her smile. “I think you’ll find this to your suiting.” She entered as Clare looked back at the dejected couple and felt her guilt rise, but she couldn’t think quick enough of what could be done.

With their packs and belongings slung over their shoulders, the three of them followed behind as Tressa moved about, opening shutters in the main room and the bedroom and lighting candles in the kitchen. The apartment had the same floor plan as that of Uncle Tomas, and though pedestrian in style it was completely furnished with tables, chairs, a bed, shelves bearing books, and pots hanging from the kitchen walls.

“This place has meaning for me,” Tressa said as she opened some of the cupboards in the kitchen. “Oh, dear, we’ll need to get some food in here.”

She walked back into the main room, with the three of them following as chicks would a hen. Tressa bent over and picked up a wood bellow leaning against the hearth and pumped it a few times, causing flames and sparks to rise from reddened coals. “It’s chilled in here, but it should warm up soon enough. We’ll get some more coal.”

Tressa headed toward the front door, then stopped, turned, and looked around reflectively, as if she was drawing memories from the walls themselves. “Paddy and I first met as neighbors. I was managing affairs downstairs and happily living alone where I am now. At least I believed so. He moved into this place. He didn’t have many belongings at the time, and as you could see didn’t have the greatest of tastes. But it didn’t stop me from falling for him. He moved into my place and rented this out until, of course, a year or so later when he let his sister Rose live here until she went back to Ireland.”

“Well. Enough of that,” she said abruptly. “It’s yours now. I’ll head off to the market and work on filling your cupboards. I’m sorry they are so bare.”

“This is quite lovely,” Clare said. “But I fear it’s too dear for us.”

Tressa chortled. “You’re a curious one, Blue Eyes. There is no rent for you, dear. Paddy has taken kindly to the three of you. Says he wants to keep you close to us, just as family.”

“We couldn’t—”

“It will help us get started.” Seamus stepped forward, interrupting Clare. “We’ll work our way to fixing our keep as soon as we can.”

“Well, that shouldn’t take long,” Tressa said. “I believe Paddy’s wanting to talk of that very subject with you today. He’s got intentions for you two boys.” She took off a key from her ring and handed it to Seamus. “Now, I’ll be along. Off to the market for my new friends. Get yourself settled and your man should be by soon.”

There was a screech that came through the floorboards, followed by the angry voices of several women entering in a discordant chorus of protest.

Tressa smiled warmly. “That’s our girls down below. You’ll hear a skirmish or two through the day. Must be another customer trying to skip his debt. It will all settle soon. Well, I must be going.” She turned to go away but paused. “Paddy’s looking toward your time together. Something about you young people has his spirits lifted.”

With that, she departed. They listened as her steps on the floorboards faded away.

Seamus plopped down on a leather chair, then picked up a pipe sitting on the table beside him. He brushed the end on his sleeve and put it in his mouth. “Have you some matches? There is some smoking left in this.”

Pierce picked up the wood bellow leaning against the hearth and fanned it, causing the coals to turn a bright and fiery red. He took a long matchstick from a tin box and lit it from the flames, and cupping his hands he walked it over to Seamus.

With a nod of appreciation, Seamus leaned in toward Pierce and drew in deeply on the pipe. The flame on the tip of the matchstick reached toward the bowl of tobacco and smoke rose from the orange glow.

“Can you believe this?” Seamus said. “See how our circumstances prospered in just one day?”

Pierce laid down on a sofa upholstered with a floral pattern with his arms perched behind his head and his feet propped on the armrest. “Do you think they’ll let us stay?”

Clare wanted to say something to both boys, but her curiosity proved greater. She went into the kitchen and opened and shut cabinets, finding it bare of food but full of mismatched cutlery and dishes. Then she headed into the adjoining bedroom and sat on the bed to test out the mattress. Its springs creaked when she did, but it seemed comfortable and inviting. Looking toward the window, she saw dust dancing in the rays of light.

She stepped down from the bed and walked over to the black bureau nestled against the wall. Clare pulled out each of the four drawers, finding them empty with the exception of the lowest, which rattled with mouse droppings as she opened it.

“Disgusting,” she whispered.

She began to shut the drawer, then stopped. She was being lazy. Clare pulled it out all of the way, having to jostle it at the end to fully free it from its frame. She carried the drawer over to the sunlight and cradled the drawer under her arm as she unlatched a rusty brass hook and pushed the window shutters outward.

The breeze came in fresh and cool, and Clare stuck her head outside and looked at the world of activity below. Carriages hoofed by, pedestrians sauntered, hurried, and squabbled. Voices of children, merchants, and newsboys echoed through the dirty cobblestone roads.

Clare waited patiently for there to be a clearing in the walkway three stories below, and then she turned the drawer upside down and drummed on it. As she did this, Clare noticed something peculiar attached to the upper right bottom of the drawer. It was a small gold key, attached to the wood by a small pool of hardened candle wax.

What could this be? Should I leave it?

Clare tugged on it gently and it snapped out of the dry wax with ease. There it was now, in her hands. She had no way of putting it back. At this point, she’d have to give it to Tressa or Uncle Tomas and hope they believed she wasn’t being meddlesome.

She bent down and returned the drawer to its place, then stood. She examined the key closely in her cupped hand, using the sunlight from the window. The key seemed too small to fit a door, yet it was sturdy and finely crafted. Its purpose must be to open a lock of some importance.

Clare went out to the main room to share her discovery with Seamus and Pierce, but instead felt angered when she saw the two of them sprawled out across the furniture. She slipped the key into her dress pocket and buttoned it.

“We can’t stay here, you know.”

Seamus released a slow exhale from his purloined pipe. “And why is that, dear sister?”

“Leave? Why’s that?” Pierce said.

“Must I waste words on this?” Clare’s pulse was starting to rise. “We’re in this place owned by a charlatan, a fraud, the very one who happens to be our uncle, the brother of our father.”

Seamus sat up. “What will we gain by exposin’ him now?”

“Some character,” she responded. “And what of Maggie? Don’t you have a heart for your family?”

“Lower your voices,” Pierce said. “We’ll be heard.”

“I’ll speak my mind clearly. I won’t be staying in this place. If it means I am on the streets by myself, so be it. I’ll be better off than here with the two of you, pandering to my aunt’s traitor.”

Seamus stood and put his hands on Clare’s shoulders. “Don’t judge us so harshly. Yes. I want to hear all of the story. I want to find Margaret. But our uncle asked for us to hear him out. I suppose he is deserving of a little patience, and perhaps some grace. Even if he is all you fear he is, we have to sort through this properly.”

“And how would that be?” She crossed her arms.

“We can’t forget about our family. The ones back home. They’re needing us to be successful. If we can make our way with our uncle’s help, whether he’s the villain you believe, we shouldn’t be hasty to throw away our good fortune.”

“We haven’t had much of that,” Pierce said.

Clare grunted and gritted her teeth, but the wisdom of what her brother said made sense.

“Let’s hear him out,” Seamus said. “And then we’ll decide what’s next. But let’s keep our senses about us.”

Their conference was interrupted by a firm knock on the door. Before they had much chance to exchange glances, the handle turned and bursting through the door came Uncle Tomas, with the verve Clare recognized from her youth.

Dandily dressed in dark brown pants, a taupe vest, and a black stovepipe hat, Uncle Tomas’s smile spread broadly across his reddened face, displaying more teeth than should properly fit a mouth.

“How do you fancy your lodgings?” he said. “Come now. Gather yer boots, hats, and dresses. I have much to show you today. Found you work as well, I did. But we’ll discuss all that later. Let’s be gone. Time to see the city and pluck her fruits.”

Clare tried to be angry, in loyalty to her aunt and as a guard against compromise. But, she found herself slipping into the grasps of her uncle’s charm and this disgusted her. They gathered themselves and soon they were heading out with their merry guide.

As she followed behind, Clare fumbled with the key in her pocket.