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

"You, girl. Look lively!" The cook's voice jarred me back to reality. "The entr@ee is ready to be put into the dumbwaiter. Carry it carefully."

I carried the platter of smoked salmon, caviar on tiny triangles of toast, deviled eggs, and kidneys wrapped in bacon across to the lift without mishap, no small feat given my trembling hand. Cook was already ladling soup into two tureens. It took all my concentration to carry them successfully to the lift. After that I was so busy I didn't have time to think. Plates came down and had to be ferried to the sink in the scullery. Warm plates were sent up for the fish course. Covered silver salvers with fillets of sole followed them. Then Cook grabbed my arm.

"Here, girl. This is the caper sauce. Run

it up to them and keep stirring all the time. I don't want a skin to form. Go on, up you go."

I ran up the back stairs, stirring the sauce as I went. There was loud conversation coming from the dining room. As I reached the serving room and handed the sauce boat to George I heard the alderman tap his knife against his glass. "If I might have your attention, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "I think it's time to propose a toast to our distinguished guests. Looking at you all, I can see that we've garnered the flower of the Irish in America at this table. I want to tell you how proud I am of you all. All of us came from humble backgrounds with no prospects in the old country and each one of us has made our mark on society in the New World. This just goes to prove there is no stopping the Irish!"

A loud cheer from the table.

"And to you, Daniel, my boy, on behalf of New York's finest, a special toast. You all know Daniel Sullivan, don't you? Ted Sullivan's boy--finest cop to ever walk the beat. Daniel hasn't even turned thirty yet and he's already a captain. We expect great things of you, Daniel. And you can tell your men that there will be a special bonus for working the St. Patrick's Day Parade. And drinks all around from me for the officers on duty that day."

"Thank you, Alderman. You're very generous, as usual."

I tried to spot Daniel through the crack in the door. Instead I caught a glimpse of other faces I recognized. The famous Irish tenor who had sung on Ellis Island, and Billy Brady, the comedian, too. They were sitting on either side of Mrs. McCormack, who looked like royalty in her velvet gown and rubies. On any other occasion I would have loved to witness such a grand festivity. Instead I crept back down the stairs to the safety of the kitchen.

I didn't have to go up again during the rest of the meal. I obeyed orders in a daze. It was better not to think, because I couldn't come up with a good solution, anyway. I helped Daisy put away the clean dishes as Ruby finished washing them. Then Daisy was sent up with the coffee, which Mr. Holmes would serve in the drawing room.

I heard the sound of a piano, then the famous tenor started singing. So the two vaudevillians had been invited to provide the entertainment! Then a female voice joined in-- Mrs. McCormack, the former toast of Broadway! She had a lovely voice. We stood in the servants' hallway, listening.

Then Mrs. Brennan appeared. "They must have finished their coffee by now. You, Molly. Go up and see if the cups have been returned to the tray. If they have, you may bring them down. Make sure you are not obtrusive. Hug the walls and only move when you are not being observed."

"Couldn't Daisy--" I began. I didn't want to give the alderman another chance to notice me.

"Daisy has other duties. Get a move on."

I had no choice. I went up the stairs, through the swing door, and along the grand hallway. The Greek statues stared down at me with disapproving looks. The drawing room door was half open. A huge fire roared in the marble fireplace at the far end of the room. The heavy velvet drapes were closed. In spite of the room's enormous size it gave the impression of being overfull. Little tables of knickknacks, more potted palms, stuffed birds under glass domes were dotted between the heavy velvet sofas and armchairs. The alderman was sprawled in one of the armchairs. Daniel was perched on one end of a sofa, next to a pale young woman and the tenor. He had his back to me as he concentrated on the entertainment. In one corner stood a grand piano, at which Mrs. McCormack was seated. At the moment she wasn't in the spotlight, but playing light background chords for another performer. Billy Brady was standing at the piano. He had a rich, stirring voice and he was reciting the famous Irish ballad, "The Wearing of the Green." It was one that I knew and I stood in the shadows against the wall and listened, as enraptured as the rest of his audience.

"So pull the shamrock from your hat, and throw it on the sod.

But never fear, 'twill take root there, though underfoot 'tis trod.

When laws can stop the blades of grass

from growin' as they grow

And when the leaves in summertime their color dare not show,

Then I will change the color, too, I wear in my caubeen,