Murder in a mill town (33 page)

“That, and how they expected her to conduct herself, even on her off hours.”

“There’s nothing unusual about that,” Nell said, “especially for a family as prominent as that one.”

Frowning at the floor, Brady scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Aye, but it rankled Fee somethin’ fierce. See, my sister and her husband, they had a more or less free and easy way about ‘em. Fee didn’t ever really learn to toe the mark. She wasn’t a bad kid, mind you, she just didn’t like havin’ to pretend she was somethin’ she wasn’t.”

Nell nodded noncommittally, all too aware of how it felt to play a role, and chagrined that this man to whom she’d grown so close had no idea who and what she’d really been in her earlier years. The only person who knew everything—the only person in Boston—was Will Hewitt.

“Fee hated service,” Brady said. “She wanted to open a notions shop.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she was savin’ her money for it—what little she made. They paid her a buck and a half a week. God knows how long it would have taken her, but she was real keen on the idea. She’d always loved...fripperies and trifles and such. Ribbons and laces...gloves, parasols, bonnets... Bonnets, especially, she was forever goin’ on about them. She aimed to sell yard goods, too, I think, and writing paper and the like. Other things. She used to go on and on about it. I can’t remember it all. I reckon I wasn’t really listening, on account of I didn’t think anything would ever come of it.” He closed his eyes, rubbed his face.

“When did she start working for Virginia Kimball?” Nell asked.

Brady turned the damp handkerchief over and over in his hands. “Just three weeks ago. I meet her sometimes at Pearson’s on Sunday afternoons for a spot of tea. It was the first Sunday in May that she told me Mrs. Kimball had hired her away from the Pratts.”

“As a chambermaid?” Nell asked.

“A maid of all work. There weren’t no other servants, just her.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yeah, I warned her what she was in for. I said if she thought the Pratts overworked her, just wait till she had to do it all. But she said it was worth it, on account of she’d get to do the work of a lady’s maid, which was good experience for her notions shop, and also ‘cause Mrs. Kimball was gonna pay her two dollars a week, so she figured she’d be gettin’ the shop that much sooner. Oh, and she’d get her own bedroom. She’d always hated havin’ to bunk in the Pratts’ attic with all them other girls. I told her it wasn’t worth it in the long run. I begged her to go back to the Pratts, if they’d have her. One of the daughters had helped her get the job with Mrs. Kimball, and—”

“One of the Pratt girls?” Nell asked. “Cecilia?”

“Nah, the other one, the one that spent all that time in Europe.”

“Emily.”

“Emily, that’s right. I said maybe Miss Emily could put in a good word with her parents, and if that didn’t work, I’d try to get Mrs. Hewitt to help, but Fee wouldn’t hear of it.” He shook his head, looking weary, grayish.

“It was that important to you?” Nell asked.

“It wasn’t just the work she’d have to do, it was...who she’d be workin’ for.”

“An actress.”

“It didn’t sit well with me, Fee associatin’ with that sort. I felt an obligation, don’t you know, to my late sister, to look after Fee and make sure she stayed on the straight and narrow. And now look what’s happened.” His voice started faltering. “She gets a bullet in the—” He pressed the handkerchief to his mouth, his eyes welling. “And they think she...they think she was a thief and a murderess. Forevermore, that’s how she’s gonna be known. Mother of God, how did things ever come to such a pass?”

Banding an arm around Brady, Nell said, “There’s going to be an inquest today. I’m sure, if your niece is innocent of—”

“She
is
innocent. I told you—she could never have done such a thing.”

“Yes, I know. I misspoke.” Trying, despite her doubts, to sound reassuring, she said, “The inquest jury will sort through the facts, and when they realize it wasn’t an attempted robbery, they’ll clear Fee’s name.”

“It’s already been sullied right there on page one, underneath a headline a blind man could read. How are they ever gonna clear it? And why should they? To them, she was just some no-account Irish serving girl. You know what they think of us. You know the names they call us. We’re vermin to them, foreign riff-raff. It won’t even occur to them to question Fee’s guilt—you mark my words.”

Nell didn’t know how to respond to that, given that he was probably right.

Shaking his head, a truculent thrust to his jaw, Brady said, “In the twenty some odd years I’ve lived in this city, nothing has changed for our kind. Seems like the more of us that come over, the worse it gets for us. The Board of Aldermen, the City Council, the constables, they’re all out to keep us down. Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t just stay in the old country.”

“Because there was nothing to eat,” she reminded him with a gentle pat on the back. “And you’re wrong, actually. There are a few councilmen with Irish names, and at least one police detective that I know of.”

“An Irish copper? Now I’ve heard everything.”

“His name is Colin Cook,” she said. “They hired him to police Fort Hill.”

“Got a mick to keep the other micks in line, eh?”

“Exactly. He’s been promoted, though. He works in the new Detectives’ Bureau at City Hall now. He handles cases all over the city.”

“A detective, no less.” Brady turned toward her, a glimmer in his eye that made him look, for the first time this morning, almost like his old self. “How well do you know this fella?”

“Well enough to consider him a friend.”

“A detective, that’s not like a regular constable. They’re the ones to look into robberies and killings and such.”

“Yes, but Cook is only one of eight or ten detectives in that bureau. I’ll be happy to speak to him for you—I gather that’s what you’re getting at—but he may not know much more than you or I. And there’s no reason to think he could clear your niece’s name.”

“I’ll clear it myself, but first I need to find out what really happened. This Cook, he’ll have to know
something
.”

Nell offered Brady as reassuring a smile as she could muster up. “I’ll go to City Hall tonight and talk to him.”

Brady’s face fell. “You’ve got to wait till tonight?”

“I’ve got Gracie to take care of. Anyway, Detective Cook isn’t there in the daytime. He works four to midnight.” She patted Brady’s hand. “A few hours won’t make any difference. In the meantime, try not to dwell on it too much.”

He squeezed her hand, his eyes damp. “She looked a little like you. Not quite as pretty, I reckon, but pretty enough, with the same rusty-brown hair. You’re a fine young lady, Miss Sweeney, an angel. You’re doin’ the good Lord’s work, clearin’ my Fee’s name.”

If she
could
clear it. How would Brady take it, Nell wondered, if it turned out Fiona Gannon was just as guilty as she seemed?

About the Author

Patricia Ryan, aka P.B. Ryan, has written more than two dozen novels, which have garnered rave reviews and been published in over twenty countries. A RITA winner and four-time nominee, she is also the recipient of two
Romantic Times
Awards and a Mary Higgins Clark Award nomination for the first book in the Nell Sweeney historical mystery series,
Still Life With Murder
. Pat’s Evil Twin, Pamela Burford, is also a published romance novelist. Visit Pat’s website at
http://www.patricia-ryan.com
.