Patrick and Jack walked on each side of Moira. Finn was stepping out in front of the three of them, carrying Moira’s carpetbag. Blackie was striding behind Moira, his uncle and Jack. She was literally surrounded by the men, and well protected. This was the way they left the Ham Shank, Moira safe between them, and they kept this arrangement through the streets of Leeds.

They didn’t talk much on their way to the Blue Door, the café they were heading to, just a word or two now and then. Mostly they were lost in their own thoughts. Although they didn’t know it, Finn and Jack were both thinking about Moira’s unusual beauty, mentally comparing her to actresses on the stage.

Patrick was wondering how old she was, certain she was at least seventeen, while Blackie was pondering her personality.

He had been struck at once by her unique looks, her vivid coloring, but he was immediately struck by the fact that she was outgoing, warm and friendly. “Vivacious” was the word that stayed in his mind.

He was most aware that she was well-mannered, and certainly she had self-confidence. He couldn’t help wondering about her background and who had brought her up; Moira was no raw country girl like some of those who came over from his home county.

At the back of his mind, there lingered the thought that Tommy O’Hara, Finn’s friend, had been concerned enough to make sure she knew someone reliable when she came to England. He had done his best, but sadly he hadn’t had the right information about the Bank. Sending her there could easily have been her death sentence.

We probably rescued her just in time, Blackie thought, and shuddered unexpectedly, as dreadful images rushed through his head.

He liked women, got on well with them and always treated them with respect and deference. A smile flickered on his mouth as he remembered Mrs. O’Malley, who had mothered him, and Cook at Lassiter Hall, who had fussed over him and fed him. Good women who had made sure he survived when he was a child. It was because of them he was strong and well built.

Once they reached Briggate, they were minutes away from the Blue Door. Jack turned around and beckoned Blackie. “Go ahead to the restaurant, Blackie, with your uncle. They know him well.”

“That’s a good idea,” Patrick said, also swinging around. “They’ll give us a good table; I’m sure of that.”

The two of them hurried forward, and once they were ahead of the others Patrick said, in a low voice, “Moira’s clinging to Jack’s arm like a barnacle to a boat. I think he didn’t want to upset her by going into the restaurant himself, leaving her side.”