LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter 8

      Ireland

      Cresta made it a point the next morning to order a breakfast tray as early as possible and eat in her room. She did not want to encounter Captain Keogh in the restaurant. There were reasons for this, and she prayed she had not overplayed her hand. When she finished, she left the tray on a table in her room, went downstairs, and exited the hotel, but first asked the doorman where a certain address might be located. The doorman was kind enough to write out on paper the directions, and she thanked him for his trouble.

      The address she was seeking was 106B Killarney Avenue. This would be an adventure. Cresta departed the Castle Hotel at around ten o’clock on the morning of April 20, 1875, dressed in her blue plaid afternoon suit, accented with black satin bows on the skirt, two smaller bows on the long-sleeved jacket, her black silken blouse tied into a bow at the neckline. What else but a smart black bonnet with tiny veil, black boots, and a small (totally useless) umbrella? Cresta did not care for the current trend in handbags, which were silly little bits of satin or lace on a string called reticules. She preferred a more masculine (yes, that was the word) leather bag to carry her things. Perhaps if she were going to a ball or to the opera, it would be different, but she was not. Today she was going to find her relative, Kiernan McDade.

      The directions made it appear as though her destination was not that far from the hotel. She first turned right out of the hotel and walked along Great Denmark Street to Parnell, from there to Summerhill, along to Killarney…which was not the same as Killarney Avenue, and she discovered that when she hit Portland Row. She’d missed a turn someplace. And it was farther than she’d thought. And the boots hurt her feet. Well, she could not stop where she was. No tea rooms, no benches. So she made her way back to Buckingham and, off that street, found a Killarney Avenue. She was also lost and had no idea where she was. Looking at the numbers on the houses, she saw 416 D, and that didn’t seem very close at all to 106 B.

      It was then Cresta noticed the two men following her. How long they had been there, she didn’t know. Both were dressed as day laborers in turtlenecks and frayed tweed pants with scuffed boots. One tipped his cap and asked if the Missus needed any assistance. The Missus replied that she did not. She was…meeting her uncle. The other man doffed his cap and said the Missus seemed lost. Both of them were licking their lips. The first one reached out and tugged at Cresta’s leather bag, and the other reached for her arm.

      “She ain’t a Dub, mate. I say she’s alone. Why don’t we take the missus here fer a gobbler? Or is it the gibblets? Eh?”

      The other man laughed. “No matter. Lane over there. That’ll do, I’m thinkin’.”

      Cresta had no idea what was going on, but just then a wooden cane came down on the back of the first lout’s head, knocking him to the ground. The other thug had no time to run before the same cane was driving into his gut and then swung to land on his neck. The first man took off as well as he could, leaving his mate rolling around on the ground.

      She looked up at her benefactor.

      “Myles! How do you come to be here? I thought we said goodbye!”

      The Lieutenant Colonel was dressed as a civilian on this day, grey tweed suit and bowler. He directed her back along the lane, the way she’d come in and sat her down on a low concrete wall.

      “You said goodbyes. I did not. Good thing I did not pay attention. Why in the world are you in this part of town?”

      She showed him the little piece of paper and her directions. Kiernan McDade, 106 B Killarney Avenue. She told him this was the relative she’d come to see.

      It seemed with the snap of his fingers, Keogh summoned a small carriage with two horses and driver. Handing Cresta inside, he directed the driver to take them to the Pavilion Restaurant on the River Liffey. As the horses trotted along, Cresta looked at Myles.

      “You followed me?”

      “Not exactly. When I came down this morning, the doorman reported that ‘the young lady with the red hair’ left the hotel about a half hour before, turned right onto Great Denmark Street, and vanished. The old fellow does not have a very good memory but said he had written out some directions for you and you were looking for Killarney. He just could not remember if it was Killarney Street or Killarney Avenue. It has taken me a bit of time to find someone who had seen you. Fortunately, your hair made that a little easier.”

      She laughed. “I suppose a lot of Irish people have red hair.”

      “Yes, but the doorman also said you were wearing a blue tweed suit with black trim and a black bonnet. That helped tremendously. Now who is this Kiernan McDade?”

      She shrugged. “He is related on my father’s side, I believe. His wife is named Celia. I’ve never met either of them.”

      “You crossed the ocean to visit people you have never even met? By yourself?”

      She stuck out her chin. “I am a widow. I believe I can travel without male escort.”

      “Not anymore you won’t.”

      Upon reaching the Pavilion Restaurant, Myles paid the driver and assisted Cresta down. The Pavilion was a remarkable structure which sort of reminded her of the Taj Mahal but on a much smaller scale, sitting on bright green grass next to the lazy River Liffey. Actually, Cresta was pleased because she had been getting hungry and assumed her companion would be buying lunch. Before lunch, though, Myles led Cresta to some padded benches decorating an outdoor patio. A waiter came over, and drinks were ordered. Keogh said nothing until the waiter returned with the drinks and a tiny table he plunked down between the two of them. When he left, they sipped.

      “Cresta. I do not wish to sound preachy or overbearing, but while you may be a widow, you are a very beautiful widow, and it will not do for you to be out and about on your own. Let me explain why. Those two men you encountered on Killarney Avenue? Do you know what they intended?”

      Shamefully, she said she did. “Yes. They were thinking to rob me. One had his hand on my leather handbag. I did not think of it when I exited the hotel, or I should have left it in my room.”

      By this time, Myles had removed the bowler hat and put it on the bench along with his walking stick. Very urbane and gentlemanly, it was a polished wooden walking stick with a striking silver dog’s head on the top. When he turned to her, he sighed and took her hand in his.

      “No, my dearest lady. Do you have any idea what they were talking about?”

      “Yes. It was the strangest thing. They were talking about turkeys. One of them mentioned the gibblets and the other was talking about gobblers.”

      Immediately, he chided her with a sharp “Shhhh! Do not repeat those words while in Ireland! It is not because we hate turkeys either. Both those

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