In Dublin's Fair City (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #6)

“We’re in trouble, Johnnie,” Cullen whispered. “You’ll not have heard the news yet, but we had a little run in with the police and we have to get away from here. I need you to take a message to your mistress.”


Fear registered in the groom's eyes. “They have guests for dinner, sir. It's more than my job's worth to disturb her.”

“Then do you have access to pen and paper, man? I’ll write her a note.”

“I have pen and paper up in my room. You’d better come up.”

We went up the rickety outside staircase and into a low-ceilinged room. Johnnie found Cullen a notepad and pen and ink, and Cullen sat composing a note.

“Take this to the butler and tell him he has to get it to your mistress somehow or other. It's a matter of life and death. Do you understand me, boy?”

The frightened groom nodded, his eyes as wide as saucers. “And we’ll need to borrow a couple of horses.” “Borrow our horses, sir? Without asking the mistress?” “We’ve no time to waste, Johnnie. We must get out of the city while we still can.”

I’d been taking no part in this, but now I was listening with growing alarm.

“Hold on there,” I interjected. “It's no use asking for a horse for me. I can’t ride. I’ve never ridden a horse in my life, apart from sitting on an old cart horse and being led around a field once.”

“Damn,” Cullen swore under his breath. “Then you’ll have to ride pillion behind me.”

“I’m not sure about this. Not until her ladyship...,” Johnnie began.

“I’ll take good care of the damned horse and make sure it's returned. I can’t say better than that. Now are you with me, or will I have to take out my pistol and shoot you?”

The boy looked terrified. “I’m with you, sir. Just as long as I don’t get in trouble.”

“I’ve explained all in my note, Johnnie boy. You just deliver it as soon as we’ve gone. I promise you won’t get in trouble on our account.”

“Very well, sir. What horse should I give you?”

“One that won’t be required in the morning or missed too quickly.”

“Then it had better be Old Traveler. The master don’t ride him no more, not since he bought that devil Satan.”

“Old Traveler—he's got the wind to make the journey, has he?”

“Oh yes, he's a grand horse. Steady as a rock.”

“Then be a good lad and saddle him up for us.”

“And while you’re doing that, do you have bandages and antiseptics?” I asked. “Mr. Quinlan has been wounded.”

“Only for the horses, miss,” the boy replied.

“Better than nothing,” I said. “Bring me what you’ve got.”

He returned. “Let me take a look at that wound, Cullen,” I said.

“We’ve no time now.”

“At least let me put a clean pad on you and bandage you up so you don’t start bleeding again while the boy saddles up the horse.” “Very well.”

I eased away his shirt and heard the boy gasp when he saw the dark bloody mess that was Cullen's side. I didn’t feel too well myself, but I dabbed it with antiseptic, put on a pad, and bandaged him as tightly as I dared.

“That will have to do, Molly,” Cullen said. “We can’t wait another minute. For all we know, the roads will already be watched.”

We went down to the stable below. The groom was hefting a saddle onto the back of what seemed to be an enormous horse. I couldn’t believe this was happening. The past weeks had turned into an ever-expanding nightmare, the kind of dream in which one runs from onemonster to the next. Was it ever going to end, I wondered, or would it finish in that greatest nightmare of all—a walk up the steps to a gallows?

The horse was saddled and bridled. Johnnie was about to lead it out when we heard the sound of boots on cobbles.

“You, in there,” a voice barked. “I need a mount, immediately.”

I had been right about the nightmare ever growing in intensity. It was Justin Hartley, and he came into the stable. I shrank back into a corner, but Justin only cast a cursory glance around until he spotted Johnnie. “Oh, you’ve a horse saddled up for me already have you? My man must have informed you I was going out.” He stepped toward Traveler and then flicked his whip at Johnnie in anger. “Not that horse, you fool. Lord Ashburton has told me I may ride Satan, and I’ll ride none other. Now get him saddled up for me right away before I give you a dashed good thrashing.”

“Right away, Mr. Hartley, sir,” the boy said, and led out a handsome black horse. Cullen and I stayed motionless in our corner until Justin Hartley swung himself up into the saddle and galloped off into the night.

“A most unpleasant fellow,” Cullen muttered to me. “But that was a close shave.”