“I’m sorry I frightened ye, little colleen,” Blackie apologized. “I was lost, though. Well, so I thought. Ye were a welcoming sight, I can tell ye that.”

“Never been on the moors before then?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“So where do ye live?” Emma asked, riddled with curiosity about Blackie.

“Leeds. Do ye knows it?”

“No, I’ve never been. What’s it like then?”

“Ah, ’tis a wonderful place, Emma. A great industrial city with wonderful buildings, a fine Town Hall, very imposing it is, to be sure. And there are shops, Emma, the best of them in arcades—”

“What’s that? An arcade? I’ve never heard of it,” Emma said, looking at him intently.

“Ah, a place to feast the eyes, sure an’ it is. An arcade is like a wide passageway between two big buildings, but it has a roof over it, and shops line each side, selling beautiful things. Jewels, handbags, silken scarves, woolen jumpers, all kinds of things for ladies. And for men too. And there are also restaurants in Leeds, for delicious meals, and theaters. I can go on and on talking about Leeds, on the heads of the Blessed Saints, I can. And they say the streets are made of gold. Imagine that.”

Emma stopped abruptly and stared at him, a startled expression on her face. “Are they real gold?”

Blackie chuckled. “No, mavourneen, they’re not. It’s just a saying folks have. What they mean is that there are jobs aplenty in this great city, and work for everyone. And ’tis the truth. I came ter Leeds ter live with me uncle Patrick, and I learned ter be a carpenter and a builder. Uncle Pat and me, well, we’ve got a lot of work. We’re a success. I’m building a guesthouse right now for Lord Robert Lassiter of Bolton Manor.”

Emma, looking very impressed, and also extremely interested, asked, “Could a girl like me make her fortune in Leeds then?”

Blackie hesitated. The city was no place for a scrawny young girl. He was about to answer negatively when he recognized the passionate gleam in her eyes, the ambition that burned fiercely. “Sure an’ ye could, mavourneen. But not now, Emma, not yet. ’Tis a fine city, but dangerous too, for a girl like you.”

“Hey, what’s that word mean that ye call me … ‘mavourneen’?”

“Ah, ’tis just a word of affection, Emma, like ‘love,’ or ‘dear.’ It’s a nice name. I like ye. Ye seem like a nice girl and I think yer probably clever too. Yes, ye would easily get a job in the city. I can guarantee that ye could sell things in stores, for instance, or find work in one of the manufactories making the fine dresses.”

“If I came ter yer great metropolis as ye call it, would ye show me the ropes?”

“Sure, on the Heads of the Blessed Saints, I swear I would.”