Gladys arrived at the table again, carrying a tray of cups and saucers, which she put down, and then arranged them around the table. After rushing off, she returned within seconds with two large brown teapots on a tray, as well as a bowl of sugar and a jug of milk, plus teaspoons.

“Shall I pour?” she asked, looking at Patrick.

“No, I’ll do it. We’re all a bit famished, Gladys. Would you please take the orders from the others? I’ll have the steak please. Thanks.”

Gladys had already taken her pencil out and was writing his order on her pad. Then she moved on, going to Moira next. Once Gladys had their orders, she hurried off without one of her usual funny comments.

The girl had stunned her into silence. She was almost in awe of her; that incredible beauty was perfection. Who was she? She looks like a real lady, Gladys thought. An aristocrat. And her clothes were good. Really fine. Hand-me-downs, mebbe. The mystery girl, she decided. Who is she? And that Jack! Well, he was already stuck on her; that was a fact. But then he was a widower, after all. And he had been for a long time.

It was Finn who started the conversation with Moira, asking her about her trip over from Ireland, and wondering aloud if she had come alone. She said she had traveled with someone she knew. Suddenly everyone was chatting with her, obviously taken by the young woman and wanting to know her better.

Only Blackie remained silent, sipping his cup of tea. An observer by nature, he knew that shortly he would have to become the inquisitor.

None of the others were asking her the right questions. At least, not the ones he would want answers to: Who had she lived with until now? Who had brought her up? Had she worked?

He had realized, almost immediately, that she wasn’t an ordinary girl from an everyday family. She might be that actually, perhaps, but somehow she had acquired a great deal of polish and quiet confidence. A belief in herself. There was no doubt in his mind that she had been tutored by someone, or learned from someone in the upper class, tutored to become a lady in the best sense of the word. But if that was so, why had she been set adrift, sent to England, where she knew only Tommy O’Hara, a poor boy from Galway? Who in turn had sent her to a cousin in the Ham Shank.

Settling back in his chair, as Gladys entered the room with a large tray, Blackie decided he had a mystery to solve. Later. He was hungry now. Well, that’s normal for me, he thought, his mouth watering at the smell of delicious food.