Chapters (71)
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Part Two
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Part Three
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Part Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Part Five
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
- About the Author
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Now, as he walked down Town Street, his mind skipped around. Unexpectedly, memories of the Bank, known as the Ham Shank, flooded him. What a horrific slum it was, a stinking cesspit of rubbish, rotten food, bad people among the decent, and men who boozed and hurt women, and probably their children, and started to booze again.
He had seen terrible poverty in Ireland sometimes, but no slums like that, because his corner of Kerry had been remote and rural.
It should be burned to the ground, he thought. If ever they do that, I’ll go there and help them, and cheer them on heartily.
Moira Aherne. What had she been doing there? What a mystery she was, although he didn’t believe anyone else thought that about her. Everyone appeared to love her, and Mrs. Wilson in particular.
Only today Mrs. Wilson had come out to the garden, had brought him lemonade because it was a warm August day. She was kind that way.
After oohing and aahing about the terra-cotta slabs, she had stayed a bit longer to sing about Moira’s talents, and praised her a lot.
Blackie believed Moira was not who she said she was, claiming to be the daughter of the housekeeper and butler in the household of Lady Henrietta Fitzgerald Chandler. He had noticed Moira’s breeding, for that was what it was, that stood out the first moment he had come face-to-face with her.
She had what he thought of as classical looks, and a speech pattern that was used by aristocrats, and although her clothes were plain, they were well cut and of good fabrics. She had a certain style.
Yes, Moira Aherne was somebody else, not who she said she was. He got glimpses of her often at Mrs. Wilson’s little mansion in the Towers. And when they bumped into each other in the house or garden, Moira always spoke to him nicely and moved on swiftly. Somehow he felt she was out to make trouble. She was too interested in what he was working on, and where he had been.
He sighed. Moira Aherne was not a problem for him. Nor was the Ham Shank. He was still fretting about the missing girl, Alf’s girlfriend, Gwen, even though it was not really his concern either. She had never come home, nor had her body ever been found, in all these weeks. He believed he was right in his thinking. She had been taken, snatched up by somebody bad who’d made off with her. Her poor mother was distraught and the whole Armley community was still talking about it.
Yes, the world was hideous, hard and cruel, and he could not change it.