by Holly Bush
“Iron balls wrapped on each finger,” MacAvoy replied.
“The referee examined his hands. Didn’t he see it?”
“Must have been paid off, that damn Hallman,” MacAvoy said.
Alexander bent over the man lying on the bed. Thompson reached up and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him closer yet. Tightly. “Who were those men?” he whispered hoarsely.
“I don’t know,” Alexander said truthfully. But even if he did know their names and locations, he would manage them himself. He didn’t need Thompson on his heels at his work or with the woman he . . . the woman he what?
Thompson squeezed his arm again. Alexander could tell it was costing him to do so. The big man was weak. “My sisters must be protected.”
“They are safely home. Both of them are worried about you.”
Thompson shook his head.
“We know you can take care of yourself, James,” MacAvoy said. “I’ll do what I can to find out who those two were and keep an eye on the girls and Payden. Murdoch’s on her own.”
James choked a laugh and winced when his lip cracked open again. He wrapped his hand around Alex’s collar and yanked him closer still. He looked him in the eye without blinking. “I don’t believe you,” he whispered.
“Who is Payden?” Alexander asked.
“The youngest Thompson. I call him the ‘prince,’ the way they spoil that boy, but he’s unaffected. A good lad, only thirteen or so now.”
Thompson tried to say something but grabbed at his throat with the effort. MacAvoy handed him a schoolroom slate and chalk. Thompson glared at his friend but took the chalk in hand and started to scribble.
“I WILL know who those men were,” MacAvoy read from the chalkboard. He looked up at Alexander. “You may as well tell him now. He’ll find out eventually.”
“I don’t know who they are.” Alexander sat down in the chair by the bed, suddenly dizzy and wishing the interrogation would come to an end.
“But you know something,” MacAvoy began and stopped when the door opened.
“That’s enough,” Elspeth said as she swept into the room. She walked to Alexander and put her arm under his. “Can you get up?”
He looked up at her, at her tense and unsmiling face, and knew even when she was upset or angry, he’d still want to be near her. They stared into each other’s eyes, and then a throat was cleared somewhere in the room. He looked over to see Thompson and MacAvoy glaring at him, glancing at Elspeth, but concentrating on him. He looked back steadily.
“Let me help you up,” she said. “You’re shaking.”
He held on to her arm and went back across the hall, plopping down on the bed, exhausted.
“Out, Elspeth,” Mrs. Murdoch said. “Robert. Get his shirt and boots off.”
“Muireall is staying,” Elspeth replied.
“Go!”
He watched her leave and submitted himself to all the hands pulling and pushing him and prodding his stomach and chest. He let out a hiss.
“Broken rib. Just one, I think,” Mrs. Murdoch concluded. The eldest sister wiped his face with a warm towel, and he could have cried with the feeling of it. She scrubbed gently at certain spots and picked stone and gravel out of his hair. He would have fallen asleep if the sister hadn’t rubbed the cuts on his hand with an ointment that stung so badly his eyes teared.
“Now, Mr. Pendergast, you wouldn’t want Elspeth to know you were crying like a little boy over some medicine, would you?” Mrs. Murdoch said with a smile that could not be called friendly. She pulled him to a sitting position with the help of the young man, Robert, and she wrapped his chest and ribs tightly.
“Drink this,” the elder sister said, propping him up with one arm under his head.
“What is it?”
“I don’t care what happens in your household when someone is ill or hurt, but in this household—and you are here under our care because you are too weak to go another step—the women decide what shall be done for illness or injuries. Drink it. My brother has already drunk his,” Muireall Thompson said.
She’d added that last comment knowing that he would not allow himself to appear defeated in front of James Thompson. She was formidable and unsmiling, even though he smiled up at her as much as he could.
“Was that meant to be a challenge, Miss Thompson?”
“Women don’t indulge in silly competitions, Mr. Pendergast. We have the more serious business of keeping our family together and afloat to occupy us. Drink this,” she said, and he did.
He knew immediately there was some laudanum in the brandy. He could taste it. But soon he didn’t care as the drug, his weariness, and his injuries let him drift away into sleep.
The household was completely quiet. MacAvoy had stretched out on a chair near James’s bed, and Muireall had thrown a blanket over him. Payden finally settled down after all the excitement, especially after Kirsty told him and Robert about their narrow escape. Of course, she embellished the story, and the boys were mesmerized. Muireall came to Elspeth’s room shortly after helping their aunt into bed, not long after midnight.
“So tell me. Tell me everything,” she said.
Elspeth did, leaving nothing out. How lucky they were to get home safely, she thought afterward.
“You have no idea who these men were or what they wanted?”
“None, Muireall. I wish I had noticed something, but I was so concerned for James I most likely missed clues if they were there, and they said nothing as to their purpose.”
“I heard your Mr. Pendergast climbed into the ring to help you and put his back to MacAvoy to fight off the crowd. Why would he do that?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I haven’t been forward with him, and when he and his sister met us at the outdoor market, he spoke to me for a moment but then quickly gathered his sister and left.”
Muireall pulled the tie of her robe tight around her waist, staring off into the corner of Elspeth’s room. She looked back finally, puzzled and maybe a little envious. “He looks at you with such longing.”
It was such an unusual comment from her eldest sister, exposing tender feelings rarely seen from Muireall Thompson. Was it true? Did he look at her in the same way she felt about him? She did not want to be in an unequal relationship, pining after a man who took no notice of her. Was she pining? Yes, she probably was. Even with all the tension and fear surrounding them in the alley, when he’d taken her in his arms, she would have been perfectly content to stay there. Maybe even forever. She looked up when Muireall broke the silence.
“You must be very careful with this man, as well as the men following you. We don’t know anything about him. I don’t trust him. And don’t ask me why, Elspeth. It has always been my job to protect this family, and I will do so even if I earn your censure. You must promise to be very careful and to trust me.”
She shook her head. “When will I be old enough to understand your concern? Granted, if it is as serious as you imply, then when I was twelve or thirteen or even eighteen, I was too young to understand, but I am twenty-two years old, Sister. When will I be old enough?”
Muireall went to the door. She spoke without turning. “Not today.”
Alexander climbed slowly out of a warm oblivion. He opened one eye a slit and wondered why this bed and its surroundings did not look like his own bedchamber. But the mattress was soft and the blankets were heavy, and the light was filtered coming through some yellow draperies, making him want to close his eyes again. He turned his head slowly, realizing he was stiff and not sure why. Then he saw her and knew where he was and why he was there. She turned her head from the book she was reading.
“Ah. You’re awake. I was wondering if I should wake you,” she said.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly one o’clock. How are you feeling?”
“Like I lost a fight.”
“You did not lose a fight,” she said and closed her book. “I suppose you’ll be fussing that K
irsty and I were able to lend a hand.”
He smiled as much as the cuts on his mouth would allow. “My manly feelings are delicate. Perhaps you won’t share that you and your sister came to my rescue.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You told me last night that you were taking that beating so we could escape.”
She wasn’t looking at him, just staring off to the other side of the room, holding her book in her lap.
“Thank you anyway,” he whispered.
She stood suddenly and went to the door. “I’ll send Robert to you since you are probably ready to be dressed.”
He watched the door close behind her and sat up on the edge of the bed, holding his wrapped midsection gingerly. He was dizzy, but it was manageable, he thought, and he realized he was very thirsty and even hungry. He downed the glass of water sitting on the low table beside the bed. Laudanum. Yes. That explained the thirst and the very deep sleep.
The door opened, and the young boy who had helped get his boots off the night before came in. There was another boy with him who looked remarkably like Elspeth. The same auburn hair and brown-green eyes. The two boys stared at him.
“Don’t you have to let go your water?” the one named Robert asked.
“Just say ‘take a piss,’” the other one said and took a step forward. “I’m Payden Thompson. You’re the one who let those ruffians beat you up to save the girls.”
“I would like to use the chamber pot, if there is one available.” Alexander kept a straight face, although it was difficult with these two boys.
“There’s a water closet down the hall, but you don’t look like you could make it that far,” Payden said. “There’s a pot under the bed. I’ll get it for you.”
Payden reached under the bed skirt and pulled out a pot with a lid. The two boys stood looking at him until Robert bent down and carried the pot to the corner of the room. “Here you go, sir. Do your business, and Payden and me will help you get dressed.”
Alexander gingerly made his way to the pot.
“Aunt Murdoch told me to ask if your piss was bloody,” Payden said.
Alexander looked over his shoulder. “Doesn’t look to be. Is your aunt always this nosy?”
“Always,” he said with a laugh.
Alexander limped back to the bed and sat down, feeling out of breath. All of his clothes had been cleaned and folded while he slept. Robert and Payden got his stockings on him, his pants up and buttoned, and his arms in his shirtsleeves, although that did take some maneuvering. He couldn’t move his right arm much at all without making his broken rib scream. By the time they had his boots on him, he could have laid down for a nap, but he knew he had to get home. His housekeeper would be wondering where he was as he always told her and the staff when he would be gone overnight. God forbid she sent a note to his mother.
“Can you walk yourself?” Robert asked.
“I can. Where’s the closest trolley stop? Or does your family keep a horse that I could get myself home on? I’ll have one of my men return him in short order.”
“We don’t keep horses. James says they’re too much trouble, and Muireall says they’re too much money. Aunt says we’re sheep people, whatever that means,” Payden explained.
Alexander smiled and accepted the boys’ hands to help him up. “Then I’ll have to get myself to a trolley station.”
“Mrs. Murdoch says you are to come downstairs directly to the dining room,” Robert said. “It’s never good to cross Mrs. Murdoch, so you’d best go.”
“I don’t suppose it is. Lead the way men,” Alexander said and limped along slowly. He eased his way down the staircase, Robert steady at his side and Payden clamoring down the steps to announce his coming and then back up the steps again to ask why it was taking so long.
Alexander finally found himself at the dining room table with the eldest sister at one end, the aunt at the other, and the other Thompsons seated between. He was seated as far away from Elspeth as was possible to be. She did not even glance his way.
“Just soup for Mr. Pendergast,” Mrs. Murdoch said to the woman serving—Robert’s mother, if he wasn’t mistaken.
He took a deep breath and reached for his water glass.
“Please wait for the prayer, Mr. Pendergast,” Mrs. Murdoch said and proceeded to give the blessing followed by a few sentences in a language Alexander did not recognize.
Mrs. Murdoch dipped everyone’s soup from a massive tureen brought from the kitchen on a cart. A basket was passed to him with hot, sliced, yeasty-smelling bread. He felt as if he could eat a loaf of it.
He picked up his soup spoon and was mortified to see that his hand was shaking, but he got the chicken soup to his lips. It was delicious! So good, in fact, that he could say he’d never tasted anything as good. The bread was just as good too, hard crusted and thick and warm in the middle. Conversations were happening at the table, but he heard little of it, concentrating on his food until he heard his name mentioned and looked up at the elder sister.
“I imagine someone will be here for you shortly, Mr. Pendergast.”
“Excuse me?”
“I sent a note to your parents’ home a few hours ago informing them that you were injured and would need help getting home. The messenger said that the woman who read the note told him to wait for a reply and the message she sent said someone would be over as soon as she could reach her husband at his factory.”
“You contacted my mother?”
“I did, Mr. Pendergast. Did you think we were some family of barbarians? Unable to be Christian-like in our thoughts and deeds? You are unable to travel on your own and don’t have a conveyance.”
Then they heard a knock at the front door and heard the housekeeper open it and speak to visitors. Shortly after, the dining room door opened and his mother, father, and Annabelle followed the housekeeper inside. The eldest sister rose and went toward his family. He rose as well, flinching as he tried to straighten his back. He put his hand on the table to steady himself.
“Mr. and Mrs. Pendergast? I’m Muireall Thompson. I sent you the note.”
“Stand up, Payden,” Mrs. Murdoch hissed. “There are females standing in the room.”
Alexander caught Payden’s eye as he stood quickly. The boy grinned and then looked down when he realized his aunt was still watching him. The housekeeper was adding chairs to the dining room table, and his sister had already seated herself beside Kirsty and accepted a cup of coffee. She glanced at him in concern. It was then Alexander realized his mother was hurrying around the table even as the eldest sister was introducing everyone.
“Oh my goodness! Alex! What happened? We shall call for a doctor immediately!”
“I’m fine, Mother. I’m going to be sore, but I don’t think there’s anything life threatening.”
“Did you break a rib, Alex?” his father asked and gestured to the side he didn’t realize he was holding.
“Mrs. Murdoch said just one. She believes it will stitch together.”
“It will heal if he is careful and does not move it out of place. His face will recover in time, of course,” Mrs. Murdoch said and stood. “Although I doubt he will be quite as pretty as before.”
He smiled at the old woman. He couldn’t help himself. She was as wily as any con man could ever be, and her victims would be mostly unaware. “Ah, Mrs. Murdoch. You thought I was pretty? How quaint.”
“What happened?” his father asked.
“Alexander got caught in a riot at the bare-knuckle match my brother James was fighting in. He’s upstairs ’cause the lily-livered one who fought him had iron balls wrapped around his hands. He punched him right in the throat!” Payden put his hand to his neck to demonstrate.
“Oh dear,” his mother said.
Mrs. Murdoch told the boy to be quiet, and Muireall came to stand behind his chair, as if she would muzzle him if necessary. Kirsty and Annabelle were giggling, and Elspeth was just looking at him as if to say that this was her family, the good and the
interesting both.
“A bare-knuckle match?” his father said. “I’ve always wanted to see one of those.”
“You’d never see a better one if you saw James fight! He’s the Philadelphia champ!” Payden said.
“But how did you get injured, Alexander?” his mother asked.
“Two men followed Elspeth and me when we went in the ring after James was knocked out. MacAvoy, he’s James’s corner man, was fighting off the crowd until he could get James out of the building, and that’s when Mr. Pendergast got in the ring. He and MacAvoy gathered us all up and hurried us out,” Kirsty said. “But then those men chased us, and Alexander was injured helping us get away.”
“You were at the fight, Miss Thompson?” his mother asked.
Kirsty blushed. “I’d always wanted to see James win a fight, and this one was held very close by.”
“Do they let ladies into the bare-knuckled matches?” his father asked.
“Oh no,” Kirsty said. “We wore pants and stuffed our hair up in our hats.”
“Ah,” his father said and turned to Muireall. “I’m so sorry to have disturbed your luncheon. Are you ready Alexander ?”
“I’m going,” MacAvoy interrupted as he stuck his head in the dining room door. “James ate a little, and I ate a lot. Thank you, Mrs. McClintok. Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had . . . Mr. Pendergast!”
His father turned around completely. “Do I know you?”
“Not likely, sir. But I know you. I work at the mill moving the bales. I’ve seen you there, and the others said you own the whole thing,” MacAvoy said while turning his hat in his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you,” his father said and stretched out his hand, “Mr. . . . ?”
“Malcolm MacAvoy, Mr. Pendergast,” he said and shook his hand.
“And you were part of this daring rescue of Mr. Thompson and his sisters?”
MacAvoy nodded to Alexander. “He came in the ring and landed a few punches on those rats, Padino’s men. I got the sisters out the door and he got James out, as he was barely walking by then. We split up as there were a couple of big clods following the sisters. I took James home in the wagon, and Pendergast here took the girls. I didn’t make the connection between the two of you, but I should have. But the clods caught up and gave him what for.”
