Murphy's Law (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #1)

Either she was crazy or her vision was poor, because she was clearly mistaking me for someone else. I decided to say nothing and hung my head, looking repentant.

"We're all sailing for America in the morning," the woman went on. "How was I going to stand all that time at sea without my headache powders?" She turned away, coughing.

The first policeman touched his helmet. "Sorry to have troubled you, missus. And you, too, miss. Good luck in America."

They went, leaving me staring at the woman. She was younger than I thought at first, but hollow eyed and very thin.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but you've made a mistake. I'm not your sister."

A smile crossed her tired face. "You think I don't have two good eyes in my head?"

she demanded. "I was watching out of the window and I saw those two fellows following you and I decided no good was going to come of it. I've no love of the English police myself. I don't know what you've done but you don't look like a criminal to me." She opened her door wider. "Come on in with you. There's a kettle boiling on the grate."

She closed the door behind us. Two young children, a boy and a girl, were sitting by a poor excuse for a fire. They looked up at me with big, wary eyes.

"Hello," I said. "My name's Molly. What's yours?"

The woman put a hand on each of their heads. "This one is Seamus like his daddy and the little scrap of a person is my Bridie." Seamus continued to stare and managed a defiant half smile. Bridie hid her face under the quilt. "They've not been themselves since we left home and came here," she went on. "They don't know whether they're coming or going, poor little mites. I'm Kathleen O'Connor." She held out her hand.

"Molly Murphy," I said. "I'm very pleased to meet you, and very grateful to you, too. I know nobody in this whole town."

She poured boiling water into a teapot. "The landlady tells us not to cook in the rooms but the food she prepares isn't fit for man nor beast. And sit yourself down. You look ready to drop. were those two policemen really after you?"

I glanced at the window, half expecting to see them still lurking nearby. "I'm afraid they were." I took a deep breath. "Look, you should know I'm on the run. It's possible those policemen were already onto me. So I ought not to stay here long. I don't want to get you involved. ..."

"You think I'd turn a fellow Irishwoman over to the English police?" she demanded. Her accent was very different from mine, with all those harsh arrrr sounds of the north. "Whatever you've done, I'm sure it can't be that bad."

I glanced across at Kathleen's children. She seemed to pick up my meaning.

"You two will be wanting your tea soon, I'm thinking," Kathleen said to them. She fished in the purse that hung from her waist. "Here's twopence. How about taking your sister down to the fish shop on

the corner and bringing us back twopence worth of chips?" She handed the money to the boy, who grabbed his sister's hand. "Come on, Bridie," he said. "And you better walk fast this time 'cos I'm not waiting for you."

The little one looked back fearfully at her mother. "Go on with you," Kathleen said, wrapping a scarf around the child's neck. "You need some fresh air or you'll not sleep tonight."

The door closed behind the children and Kathleen turned back to me.

"I killed a man," I said and watched it register on her face. "I didn't mean to."

"This man you killed?" she asked.

I stared into the fire. I had kept the whole thing blocked from my mind since it happened. Now I saw the details as if it was all happening in front of me--Justin bursting into my cottage, standing there with that insolent smile on his face, telling me there was no point in struggling because he owned me just as much as the beasts on his farm. For the first time in my life words had not been a good enough defense. What had kept the local boys at bay didn't work on Justin. He'd merely laughed and thrown me back across the kitchen table. Then there was the sound of my dress ripping as he got impatient and then my mighty kick that surprised even me, the surprised look on his face and the sickening sound of his head striking our stove ... and all that blood.

"He was trying to ... have his way with me, you know." I couldn't bring myself to say the word rape. "I pushed him away. He slipped and hit his head."

"Well then," she said, but I shook my head. "It won't make any difference with the jury, will it? He was the landowner's son. English gentry. You don't get away with killing the gentry, do you?" I kept staring into the fire. The hopelessness of the situation was catching up with me. "He tore my dress," I said and opened my shawl to show her. Suddenly I was very near to tears, but I don't cry in front of strangers.

"The beast," she said gently, in a way that brought me even closer to tears. "He deserved everything he got and more. Don't you worry. I'll not give you away. They're all beasts, these English. Why else would my Seamus have had to get away to America, leaving us to fend for ourselves these two years?"