“What she needs is to have my father let her alone,” Breda said tartly. “If you’ll forgive the plain speaking, my lady. She’s forty-four years old, and doesn’t need an extra mouth to feed. To be perfectly honest, and God forgive me for saying so, it might have been better if the little mite hadn’t survived, and—ah no, I don’t mean that. I only hope this time it is her last. Mind your step now, for we have to cross here. And there is Cillian, if I’m not mistaken. My youngest brother. He should be at school, the little scallywag.”

Breda stomped over to where a cluster of urchins, some barefoot, others wearing outsize boots, were playing a game of marbles. The smallest but cleanest, presumably Cillian, stood up at her approach, throwing his arms around his sister’s waist; and Margaret laughed, for his winsome smile immediately dissipated Breda’s frown as she crossed to join them.

“It’s this house here,” Breda said, “first floor. There’s only Mammy, for Agnes had to go back to work yesterday at the biscuit factory over in the Liberties, and the boys all work near there at the brewery, where my father is employed. My other sisters are in service like me, in a big house in County Kildare. That just leaves Padraig, who is at school, and the little one, too, of course.”

“Baby Liam. He cries all the time,” Cillian informed them solemnly. “And so does Mammy.”

Breda pressed a penny into her young brother’s hand. “Away and buy yourself a barley sugar now. And it’s back to school tomorrow or else.” Breda’s smile faded as she got to her feet. “Mammy cried like a watering spout for a month after Cillian was born too. Come on then, my lady. Let’s go in and see if we can cheer her up.”

TWO HOURS LATER, THEIR MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, they found themselves at the Shelbourne Hotel. The foyer of the hotel was as opulent as its frontage promised, with highly polished marble floors, gilded cornicing, marble pilasters, and a series of arches leading to the public rooms. It could not have been more of a contrast to the three cramped rooms in which Breda’s family lived across the Liffey.

“I am Lady Margaret Montagu Douglas Scott, a guest of Lord Powerscourt,” she informed the maître d’hôtel who greeted them. “I believe the carriage is stabled here? l would like to take tea, and then have the carriage sent round in perhaps an hour?”

“Certainly, my lady. Your maid may wait in the foyer.”