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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Jack nodded. “I agree. I did a bit of research last week and, apart from everything Pat’s said about it, I’d like you two lads to know that it’s full of crime, rioting and fiendish brawls. The poverty level is high, and there are criminals and prostitutes living among the decent people who also live there. In other words, it really is a dangerous little world unto itself.”
“Who do live there?” Blackie asked.
“Mostly the Irish, descendants of the Irish immigrants who came over from the ould sod in the 1840s. That’s when the houses and cottages were built,” Jack explained.
“It looks like a cramped slum, from here at least,” Blackie announced, his face grim.
“Aye, it is,” Jack answered. “Hundreds of houses and cottages were built cheek-to-jowl in the late eighteenth century and are still being built.”
Finn, who had been rendered speechless by the vile stench of the Bank filling the air and its deprived, poverty-stricken appearance, now said, “Who in God’s name would send a young woman like Moira Aherne here?” He shook his head, frowning. “We’ve got to make her leave with us today.” He gazed up at Patrick, and asked, “Who would do this? Send her to a cesspit, a hellhole?”
“Someone who didn’t know what it was really like. And you’re right; we must not leave her there. She must leave with us. As I told you all on the tram, Mrs. Wilson is willing to employ her as a maid, provided her butler and housekeeper are happy with her manner. She will live in, be in service, and Mrs. Wilson, a nice woman, will make sure she’s looked after properly by the housekeeper, Mrs. Caulfield. I got all that finally settled yesterday.”
Blackie, his dark eyes filled with worry, asked Finn, “She does know we’re coming, doesn’t she? Ye did send a note, didn’t ye?”
“No. The postman told me it wouldn’t be received. Ye see, the postmen are afraid ter go into the Ham Shank. No post gets there.”
Patrick exclaimed, “Does she know about us? Does she expect us?”
“Yes, she does,” Finn answered. “Tommy O’Hara gave a message ter a friend of his coming ter Leeds several weeks ago.”
“What was the message?” Jack probed, puzzled.
“That Moira was to stay at home on Saturdays, because I would go there the first Saturday I was free.”
Mollified a little, Jack turned to Patrick. “So, we go into the Ham Shank, find the house—” He glanced at Finn. “You’ve got the address, right?”
“I do,” Finn replied.
“Then let’s go,” Patrick said. “Here’s the plan. We go in, tell her to pack what few things she has and leave taking her with us. We’ll go to the Blue Door Café for a bite of dinner, then take her directly to Mrs. Wilson’s house in the Towers. Agreed?”