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
- Newsletter Sign-up
“Agreed,” the three of them said in unison.
“One thing,” Jack began, as they walked across the road. “Let’s avoid trouble. The thugs are bound to shout insults and slurs. Ignore them. Don’t answer. Don’t speak at all. Keep your eyes open, lads, and be alert, sharp-witted. We must not get into a brawl. Our aim is to rescue that young woman unharmed and scram.”
“Well said!” Patrick exclaimed, and covered his mouth as he marched forward alongside Blackie.
When they arrived at the edge of the Bank, the four men paused and put their handkerchiefs in their pockets. All of them gagged for a few seconds; the stench was stronger here, almost overpowering. Each wondered how long they would last in there.
Patrick said, “Let’s get this over fast. You take the lead, Finn, and get us to the house. It smells putrid in the Bank. I want us out in a few minutes.”
“I’ll take the lead, course I will,” Finn muttered, and covered his mouth with his hand.
“There are three chaps in their shirts and braces, sitting just ahead of us on a broken wall, smoking, holding what look like tin cups. Ignore them; walk past them,” Jack warned. “Whatever they say.”
“I bet that’s not tea in the tin cups,” Blackie muttered. “Booze most likely.”
The four of them launched themselves into the Bank, moving at a fast pace, staring ahead. Fortunately, the three men ignored them. They looked weary, hungover and out of sorts. Patrick thought they didn’t have an ounce of fight in them. Poor sods, he thought, they hardly have a life. It must be rough for them. Work. Booze. Struggle. They’d never know happiness.
Finn explained, “Here it is, Green Street! Let’s look for number eight.” Within seconds, the four of them were standing in front of the door.
It was Finn who knocked. The next moment they were staring at the woman who opened the door. Dressed in a black frock, she wore a stained white pinafore.
She was tall, slender, and had fair hair, and blue eyes. But her face was lined, and she had a dejected air about her. Her eyes were dead and seemed empty of life.
“Are you Finn, then?” she asked, and looked at him keenly. “Come to fetch Moira?”
“Yes, that’s me, Finn Ryan, Mrs.…”
“I am Mrs. Walton, but call me Jane. Come in, then. I’m Tommy’s cousin, well, cousin by marriage.”
They all entered the small room and introduced themselves.
“Seems ter me ye’ve come inter the Ham Shank like a bloody posse.” She half smiled. “Smart of ye, though; it’s not particularly safe. Every bloody man that lives here will start a brawl for no reason—”