Free Oh Danny Boy by Rhys Bowen Page A

grave. “And you are making it your mission to rescue him? Oh no, Molly. No, no, no. Please tell me this is not the big case you’ve just mentioned. You are not thinking of helping him?”
    “I’m afraid I’ll have to.”
    “I don’t understand you, Molly,” Sid said. “One minute you tell us that he is the most odious man on earth and you never want to see him again, then you go running to his side the moment he summons you. That is how I expect the weaker members of our sex to behave, but not you.”
    I flushed. “I can’t turn my back on him when he needs my help, Sid.”
    “I should have thought a spell in jail would be good for him. Give him time to mull over his failings.” Sid crossed her legs with finality.
    “People die in The Tombs.” I was conscious of raising myvoice. “The conditions are awful in there, and I’m not going to let him die.”
    “And what about you, Molly?” Gus asked in her calm, sweet voice. “Surely Daniel Sullivan wouldn’t expect you to put your own safety at risk? Gangs, bribes, false evidence—it all sounds highly dangerous and quite beyond your sphere of experience. Your common sense must tell you that you can’t get yourself mixed up in this kind of thing.”
    “Don’t worry. I won’t be personally involved in that side of it. Daniel has a friend who is going to talk to the gang tonight. By tomorrow I should know more.”
    Gus reached across and took my hand. “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish,” she said. “Apart from everything else, there is a maniac at work on the Lower East Side, killing young women and dumping their bodies in the street, in case you’ve forgotten. There was another one in The Times today.”
    “Prostitutes, Gus, dear,” Ryan said, waving a frilled wrist. “Nobody could ever mistake our Molly for one of those.”
    “If she’s snooping in the wrong place at the wrong time they could,” Gus said, fixing me with a firm stare. “Leave it to his lawyers and his friends in the police force, Molly.”
    “But he has no friends in the police force, that’s the trouble,” I said. “They’ve all deserted him. There’s no one except for a half-addled prizefighter and me.” Then, to my horror, I did what I had never done in public. I started to cry. This whole day had been too much for me.
    Of course after that they were instantly kind and sweet, fussing over me.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, hastily collecting myself. “I don’t know what came over me. Let’s have Ryan pour the wine and sit down to dinner, shall we? I’m sure I’m worrying over nothing and everything will sort itself out just fine.”
    Unfortunately I didn’t believe my own words.

EIGHT
    At least I didn’t dream the nightmare again that night, but I awoke with a terrible headache. I suspected it must have been the wine I’d served the night before, or maybe it was the prospect of having to face Arabella today. Then I remembered my pathetic performance of the evening before and was mortified. To have sat there in front of my friends, blubbering like the weak females I despised. What on earth was the matter with me? Daniel Sullivan, that was the answer. I was perfectly fine when he wasn’t in my life. The moment I got myself mixed up with him again, I became an emotional wreck. Well, no more. I’d go first to hear Gentleman Jack’s report on the Eastmans, then I’d pay a call on Arabella Norton. After that I’d make sure that Daniel had a competent lawyer and leave the rest in his hands.
    Having taken command of my life once more, I washed, dressed, and headed for Daniel’s apartment in Chelsea. The headache still felt like a tight band around my head, but I told myself that I’d feel better the moment I found out that Gentleman Jack had contacted the Eastmans successfully and that they’d be willing to help Daniel. If Monk Eastman wasn’t willing to help, I’d no idea what I’d do next, but we’d cross that bridge when we came to it, as my