Moira Aherne sat on an iron bench on the moor opposite the Traveller’s Rest pub, lost in her own thoughts.
Earlier on this Saturday, she had suddenly realized she might well have made the wrong move by coming to Leeds.
It might have been better to have gone to London after all. She had been drawn to this northern city because of its reputation, and because people had told her its streets were paved with gold – though she was bright and intelligent, and knew enough to understand that this was just an expression to convey that jobs were plentiful.
Also, she wanted to be close to Harrogate for a variety of reasons. And the last factor was Tommy O’Hara, who had pointed her in this direction, had offered her somewhere to stay, because she had told him she had relatives moving to Leeds. Another fib, but it worked.
Moira let out a sigh and sat up straighter, rubbing her aching back and deciding that for the moment she would remain put. Mrs Wilson was a nice woman, the work was not too arduous, though she was certainly tired now, and she paid her a decent wage. Most importantly, it gave her a roof over her head while she considered what to do next. How to start a new life.
Being in a pleasant atmosphere, in a well-decorated house, helped to make her feel at ease. Because it was what she was accustomed to, and had been, all her life. It gives me time to make my plans, Moira thought, and then waved as she saw Finn Ryan approaching.
He smiled as he came to a stop, and she returned it, then said, ‘Right on time, Finn.’
Seating himself next to her, he said, ‘I like to be punctual. And how have ye been?’
‘I am doing very well, and Mrs Wilson is nice, a kind person. She’s made me feel welcome and at home. So, are we going to have a bite to eat? Go into Leeds?’
‘Yes. I am going to take ye to the Blue Door Café … where we went with Patrick Kennedy.’
‘Oh, that’s lovely, Finn. It was a nice place.’
Finn put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a letter. ‘Mr Kennedy wrote a note to the waitress, Gladys, just to make sure she looks after us, does well by us.’
Moira nodded, stifling a smile. After a moment, she murmured, ‘That was kind of him.’ Her amusement still bubbled inside of her and she stood up, trying to quell it.
She could have handled everything quite easily; she didn’t need a letter. Still, he had meant well, she thought, and said, ‘Let us walk down to Whingate Junction, shall we? And take a tram into Leeds.’
‘Right away!’ Finn exclaimed, then jumped up, adding, ‘I’m glad ye like the Blue Door enough to go back again.’
Moira preferred to sit on the lower level of the tram, and she explained this to Finn as they walked down the hill together. To their pleasure they saw that a tram had just pulled in from the city, and they began to run. They were laughing together as they jumped onto it alertly, slightly startling the driver, who scowled at them.
‘Lead the way,’ Moira said, and she followed Finn. He went along the lower level and stopped at a double seat. She slid in first, and he joined her.
‘I will pay the fares,’ he announced grandly, and took some change out of his pocket.
‘Then I must pay on the return journey,’ Moira said in a firm voice.
Within a few minutes, the tram set off. Moira settled back, looking forward to seeing the city. She had always had a thirst for knowledge, a curiosity about everything.
When she was growing up, she’d had lessons every day with her half-brother, Lawrence; his mother had insisted on that. He was several years older than she, and so she got a head start very young. An image of Lawrence popped into her head. He would beat the estate near Bath now, where his late father had grown up. She thought of that lovely house, Waverly Priory, and a sudden rush of longing rippled through her, tinged with sadness. Until she had come to Leeds she had lived only there and on the large estate in Galway, which she had left so suddenly. Both had been her homes. Neither ever could be again.
Finn broke into her thoughts when he said, ‘I’m sorry about Blackie, the way he pestered ye with questions. He was being very nosy, Moira, the other day.’
‘I know that, and I did feel a bit persecuted …’ She broke off, laughed. ‘That’s perhaps too strong a word to use, I suppose. But he did irritate me.’
‘He meant no harm.’
‘Perhaps not, but it was rather bad-mannered.’
Finn turned slightly in the seat, staring at her, and blurted out, ‘But ye are different to us, Moira. Ye’re posh, the way ye speak, and how ye look …’ He broke off, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing, when he noticed an odd expression on her face.
‘Not so different,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m a human being, just like you. We have the same emotions and feelings. Why, we are just like the Romans were, except we wear different clothes, live differently, because our civilization has changed over the years … hundreds of years.’
He was silent, gaping at her.
Moira said, ‘I did grow up in a great house.’ She paused, could have bitten her tongue off. Improvising with the lie she had told before, she added, ‘I was a lady’s maid, my parents in service there before me.’
He nodded, ‘Well, then, that’s what Blackie spotted.’ He sat back, his mind racing, his curiosity about Moira Aherne aflame.
Once they arrived at the Blue Door Moira was tempted to prevent Finn from taking out the letter for Gladys. They didn’t need it. But she stopped herself, thinking of Patrick Kennedy. Finn was bound to tell him what she had done, and she knew this would most likely embarrass Kennedy. Better to refrain from interfering, she told herself. He is a fine man, and I wouldn’t want him to feel belittled or foolish. Anyway, I might need him … for something or other, one day.
Finn pushed the door open, and she entered the restaurant first, glancing around. Finn stepped up to her, and took out the letter, held it tightly in his hand, seeking Gladys out eagerly.
A moment later the waitress spotted Moira and came hurrying over, her face full of smiles.
‘Welcome back!’ she exclaimed. ‘I have just the right table for you.’
Finn said, ‘This is for ye, from Mr Kennedy.’ He handed her the letter. She took it from him.
Gladys smiled at him. ‘Hello, Finn. Welcome to you as well. Come along, there’s a lovely table right here, the one Mr Kennedy likes, it just so happens.’
They both sat down, and Moira said, ‘Thank you, Gladys. And perhaps you should read Mr Kennedy’s letter.’
‘Oh, yes, I will. In a minute. Can I get you something to drink, my lady? Tea? Lemonade?’
‘Tea for me, please,’ Moira murmured, smiling at her.
‘I’ll have the same, please,’ Finn said.
‘Right away, and I’ll bring the menus.’
As Gladys disappeared, Finn looked at Moira, and asked with a frown, ‘Why does she call ye my lady?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Finn,’ Moira muttered. ‘Perhaps she just means lady.’
‘Some waitresses call women madam,’ Finn pointed out. ‘And you’re a miss, aren’t you?’
Laughter trickled through Moira; she couldn’t help it. He was a smart one, Finn. When she managed, finally, to calm herself, she said, ‘She wants to be polite, that’s all. Gladys is that kind of person. She wants to please her customers.’
He nodded. ‘Well, how old are ye anyway?’
‘A man must never ask a woman her age, Finn.’
‘Oh, why not?’ He sounded genuinely puzzled.
‘Because it’s a very personal question, and just a bit rude, bad-mannered.’
‘I bet ye’re seventeen or eighteen,’ Finn shot back, squinting at her, obviously taking her measure, his eyes roaming over her.
Since she had nothing to hide about her age, Moira answered in an amused tone, ‘A good guess on your part, Finn. I was eighteen in May, early in May, in fact.’
Gladys returned with the tea and menus, and reminded them about the other dishes available, written on the blackboard in chalk on the far wall.
‘Take your time,’ the waitress said as she hurried away.
Moira picked up the menu and perused it for a while, not really feeling hungry. She wanted something light. She glanced over the menu, which was full of hearty dishes, when Finn said, ‘Do ye knows what ye want?’
‘I think I’ll have some fish, with vegetables. That’s it, yes, that’s enough. I have a small appetite.’
‘I see potted shrimps, I’ll have that.’
Finn put down his menu, and said, with a grin, ‘Mr Kennedy would say it’s a bit of a fishy tea we’re having.’
Moira smiled. He was a nice boy. She mustn’t let him irritate her the way he did.