Flight of the Earls (21 page)

“'Twas fine.” Pierce smiled. “Fine indeed.”

Tressa looked over to the plate of food she had set aside for Patrick and blushed. “I suppose his duties kept him. He's been at it hard lately. Patrick is a very important man.”

“If you don't mind me asking,” Pierce said, “what exactly does Mr. Feagles do?”

Before the question could be answered, a muffled sound came through the door. It was a man's voice, deep and drunken, echoing through the hallway outside and drawing closer.

“Jimmy, I'll crack your head. See if I don't come down there if I hear another word from ye.”

The words and tone widened the eyes of those around the table, with the exception of Tressa who seemed to be oddly pleased with the approaching rancor. From Seamus's worried expression, he must have been recalculating the wisdom of his latest plan. But, there was nothing they could do but let it play out now.

“Don't worry,” Tressa said. “He's mostly harmless when he's had a few.”

They listened with heightened senses as the man's shouting shifted to a drunken song as heavy steps moved up the creaking wooden floorboards of the stairs.

Fair as a maiden, ever should be,
The lies of a lady, looking at me,
She brought down ships,
And sails unfurled,
Never seen beauty,
Like Celia my girl.

There was a fumbling at the door, the handle turned slowly, and the door cracked open enough to show the shadow of a man dressed in dark pants and a checkered waistcoat, with a gray cravat spilling lazily out from his neck. He took off his overcoat and hung it on the rack by the door after a couple of failed attempts. Without noticing them he leaned back out into the hallway and bellowed again as he took off his plug hat.

“Jimmy, I have a mind to come at you hard. Cheating me in my own place. I'll break ye with me bare hands. See if I won't.”

Clare experienced both a terror . . . and a strange familiarity. There was something in the man's voice she recognized.

There wasn't time to dwell on this as Patrick Feagles slammed the door shut and placed his hat on a hook while mumbling to himself. Then he turned to face them and became alarmed at the sight of the strangers in his home rising to greet him. He squinted to try to see in the dim light and seemed both confused and angry in his stupor.

Just then as he leaned forward, his face became illuminated by the beams of light coming from the candles, like the moon would after bursting through a shroud of clouds. There, as Clare's mouth went agape in horror, the apparition of her past became eerily visible. Tall, broad shouldered, slumping forward with age and wear, teeth of amber hue, and leaning on a walking stick, Clare could see in this man the eyes of her father, now suddenly sad and frightened.

The sharp contours of his cheeks were undeniably of Hanley breeding and those bushy eyebrows and sideburns were ones so familiar and inviting to her during Clare's ephemeral youth.

For there standing before her, warmed as if risen from the bowels of the sea, was Patrick Feagles. No. Not him at all. Because clearly Patrick Feagles was a counterfeit. The man before her was Uncle Tomas, as alive to Clare now as the day she last saw him nearly four years ago.

Chapter 22

Uncle Tomas

Clare felt on the verge of fainting and fought back the scream rising from her toes, through her body, and surging to her face. But with much restraint she let out only a gasp, a soft release of surprise, and her uncle's eyes softened, relaxed.

Fear receded from his disposition, his confidence replenished, and he lit up with his customary charm. In an instant he was once again her uncle Tomas, the one who spoiled Clare and her sister Maggie and who was capable of provoking so much jealousy in her father.

Clare resented his arrogance returning so effortlessly. As a child she always admired her uncle's verve, his playful aloofness. But now, with his ruse dangling so precariously in their hands, his behavior seemed reckless and offensive. Yet as she glanced toward Seamus to measure his reaction, she didn't see a trace of disgust in her brother's face. Rather, he was smiling broadly, almost gloating, as one would who had an opponent mated in chess. Clare realized her brother was about to seize the opportunity to profit from this unusual circumstance.

“Mr. Feagles,” Seamus said, plunging into the awkwardness. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Uncle Tomas was disarmed by Seamus's tone and he reeled backward. Then one of his eyebrows cocked, his head tilted, and Clare could sense he was on to Seamus and realized the ransom was set.

“Your sister,” Seamus said without flinching. “She told us . . . so much about you. It's almost as if you're part of our family.”

“Me sister?”

“Yes. We know her as Madame O'Riley.”

“Of course,” Uncle Tomas said warily. “You know Rose?”

“She gave us a pendant. Or should I say she gave it to my sister Clare as a gift for our American Wake.”

Seamus nodded to Clare and she reluntantly unfastened the necklace.

Uncle Tomas reached out and took the necklace from Clare, and he brought the pendant close to his eyes. “I gave this to Rose,” he said, his voice wavering. “Is Rose here with you?” He cheered with hope and handed the jewelry back to Clare.

“No,” Seamus said. “She's back home. But she sent good tidings. We feared it would be a great imposition to come here uninvited, but your sister insisted we would . . .”

“Not in the least so,” Uncle Tomas said. “Tressa, how thoughtful of you for welcoming these young people into our home.”

Tressa's face beamed. “I knew you'd be tart if you found out I shooed them off.”

“No. You did well, dear.” Tomas leaned over and kissed Tressa on the cheek.

Clare tracked closely with how they interacted. Her stomach knotted with the thought of Aunt Meara back home, still grieving Uncle Tomas's supposed death. How tragic it would be for her to discover the fraud.

“There's dinner here for you,” Tressa said. “The heat's gone, I'm afraid.”

“Lovely, dear.” Tomas lowered himself slowly into the chair and motioned to the others to join him at the table. “Would you fetch us some of the good rye I've been sparing? Just for times such as these.”

Uncomfortably, they settled into their chairs around the table. When Tressa left the room and the clattering of glasses could be heard from the kitchen, Tomas leaned in toward the three of them and spoke in a hush.

“It would shatter poor Tressa's heart to hear more than she can bear. Trust me on this. Allow me to do my explaining in privacy and beyond Tressa's hearing.” He turned to Seamus. “There will be much to gain for all of you. That I can promise. And when I speak my words, it will be well received. But know one thing with certainty for now. I am and must be Patrick Feagles.”

Clare felt her stomach grinding. Filled with disgust and confusion, she wanted nothing more than to flee this man, this place. But where would she go? Looking deep through the eyes and into the soul of her uncle, she struggled to reconcile the anger she now felt toward him. Had she been so blind to his wickedness all through her childhood?

Oh. What she would give to restore her fond memories of him! Was it cowardice or grace to wish that she be driven toward forgiveness? Her mind sought out any possible justification of his behavior, but none could be found.

Worst of all, there was a much greater inquiry looming, one she dare not speak now. But Clare would soon demand an answer and this twisted her mind with anger, fear . . . and hope: If this was Uncle Tomas, living, breathing, and speaking before her, then where was her sister Margaret?

“So much to talk about.” Uncle Tomas forced a chuckle as Tressa returned from the kitchen and placed the glasses down. “What news of back home?”

“Get to it, Patrick. He means to ask what have you to say of his sister,” Tressa said above the sound of pouring. She filled each of their glasses to the brim with the amber liquid, with the exception of Clare, who politely waved her off.

Pierce picked up the bottle of whiskey and examined the label.

“What brought you to leave home?” Tomas's voice strained to be conversational.

“The plague.” Pierce sipped slowly from his glass. “The taters.”

“There's been talk of this.” Tomas rubbed his chin. “And uh . . . where do you hail from?”

“Branlow.” Seamus gave a wry grin.

“Is that right? Didn't know it reached County Roscommon.”

“May I?” Pierce held up the bottle of whiskey.

“Of course, of course,” Uncle Tomas said. “Have your fill.”

Seamus slid his glass toward Pierce.

“How badly has it hit?” Tomas asked.

“Bad. Enough to bring us here,” responded Seamus coolly. “They'll need our support soon enough. It's why we're a bit hasty about finding work.”

“Jobs?” Tomas grunted. He took a large bite of his food and spoke as he ate noisily. “It's not what they tell you, I'm afraid.”

“About there being work in America?” Pierce said.

“Should I warm that for you?” Tressa reached out for Tomas's plate.

He shook his head without looking at her and pointed his fork at Pierce. “What did the charlatans tell you? So much work they'd be begging for your services before you had one foot landed on the docks?” He grimaced. “Anything to sell their precious passages. The ship owners are filling their pockets on the blood of the Irish. Aye. I'm afraid there's no work to be given. Only what is taken.”

“That can't be.” Pierce frowned.

“It 'tis.” Tomas took a swig of whiskey and motioned to Pierce for the bottle. “But not yours to be concerned about. Rose did you a fine favor by bringing you here.” He pointed a thumb toward himself. “Not many can help you, but I can. And I will.”

“Paddy runs this town, he does,” Tressa said, beaming.

Uncle Tomas seemed annoyed by her cloying manner. “That's making too much of it, but we'll get you landed proper. Food. A place to live.” He glanced up from his plate and met Clare's gaze. “That is, if it suits you.”

“If it's honest work, yes,” Clare said.

“I'm not as particular as me sister,” Seamus said. “Honesty is a fine enough principle, but I have a preference toward generosity when it comes to wages. It will spend the same back home whichever way it comes.”

“There's only two kinds of earnings here in the Five Points,” Uncle Tomas said. “That which comes easy and that which comes hard. It's as you please.”

Seamus nodded. “Be a fair change of circumstances for anything easy to come our way.”

“Easy would be just fine,” Pierce said.

“Aye.” Tomas toasted them with his glass. “Well then. The fates are favoring you now. Easy so happens to be me specialty.”

“Have you not seen the blue eyes on this one?” Tressa nodded toward Clare.

Clare felt Uncle Tomas eyeing her as a woman for the first time and it unsettled her. She bowed her head reflexively.

“Tressa's right,” Uncle Tomas said. “Beauty treads a gentler path. As it was back home. But even more so here. It will suit you well.” Then he paused and looked at her awkwardly. “What happened to you here?” He pointed to his head.

“Her hair is coming back fine,” Pierce said.

“Poor thing.” Tressa shook her head. “Came to us in such disarray. We had to find her a dress.”

“Is that so?” Uncle Tomas raised an eyebrow.

“We had some misfortune on the passage over,” Seamus said, as if he felt responsible.

“Most do,” Uncle Tomas said. “There's riches to be had making cargo of the Irish. More like piracy, it is. But enough of your recent misfortunes. Tomorrow is a new day for you all. Patrick Feagles is your man. A friend of Rose is a friend indeed.” He pushed his plate toward the center of the table, yawned loudly, and stretched his arms.

“You need your rest, Paddy.” Tressa took his plate away, with much of the food she saved for him still uneaten. “What a long day for you. And for these young ones as well. In the morning you can ramble further about jobs and no jobs and the plight of the people.”

“They are staying with us, are they not?” Uncle Tomas said to Tressa.

“I invited them. Are you fine with this?”

“Quite.” Uncle Tomas clasped his hands together. “We'll have you set up with your own flat tomorrow. It just happens there is a vacancy down the hallway.”

“Is there?” Tressa asked.

“Yes.” He chided her with his eyebrows. He smiled and turned toward them. “We're sending some tenants on their way. Never did care much for them and they attend poorly to their rent.”

“That's kindly of you, but we wouldn't be able to afford that,” Seamus said.

“I think you can.” Tomas laughed. “Consider it the first payment of the work we'll find for you. For now, the floor in this room will have to serve you. Get on with it, Tressa dear. Grab some blankets for our guests and the boys might be willing to help with the table. Would you, lads?”