accentuating her size while imparting a grotesque air of the infantile. The skirt ended several inches above the floor, revealing splayed feet clad in unlaced men’s brogans, the flesh oozing over them in flabby rolls. Were it not for her unbound hair, brown and lank but threaded with wiry gray filaments, she would have looked for all the world like a giant’s baby doll. Young, she wasn’t; yet she certainly didn’t have enough years on her to be Riley’s mother.
“Mother Nabby,” Riley said with a nod of greeting as he approached her. Leaning down close, he spoke too softly for Nell to hear above the applause from the adjacent dance hall. The vocalist announced that his next tune would be “Molly! Do You Love Me?” whereupon several audience members screamed, “Beautiful Dreamer! Beautiful Dreamer!” “I bow to public sentiment,” he said, and launched into that song instead.
Riley glanced in their direction, whereupon Mother Nabby did the same. Her tiny eyes, like raisins pushed into the pale, damp mound of her face, moved over the two of them in dispassionate appraisal. She raised a clay pipe to her mouth, took a puff, and blew out a contemplative plume of smoke. Unlocking a desk drawer with a key hanging around her neck, her massive arms wobbling like jelly, she retrieved a large anchor-shaped keyring with two old iron keys on it. She handed it to Riley, saying something to him.
“Denny!” Riley barked.
A boy Nell hadn’t noticed before jumped up from the floor in the corner, a book in his hand. He was a gangly youth of about fourteen, with overgrown hair and shabby clothes, good-looking despite his skinniness and a misshapen nose that was probably the result of a poorly healed fracture.
“Take these folks downstairs and show ‘em the flat,” Riley said as he tossed the key ring across the room to Denny.
The boy reached out to catch it, but fumbled, wincing when it struck his hand. As he scooped it off the floor, Nell saw that the middle and index fingers of his right hand were crooked, the knuckles distended.
“Mary and Johnny’s place?” Denny asked as he tucked the book into the waist of his trousers in back. “How come?”
“Stop askin’ so many questions and start earnin’ your keep,” said Mother Nabby in a husky rumble as she relocked the drawer.
“Since he’s going downstairs,” Riley told Mother. “I could use some Jameson’s.”
Shooting Riley a look of disgust for making her unlock the drawer again, Mother withdrew a shiny brass key tied to a red ribbon, and gave it to him. “Anything else?” she asked snidely.
“No, ma’am. Sorry to trouble you. Here.” He said, handing the key to Denny. “Bring me back a jug of Jameson’s from the coal cellar. Be sure and lock it up after, and come right back up. No holin’ up down there in a corner with your nose in that book. You hear me, boy?”
“Start earning your keep?” Denny grumbled as he led Nell and Will through the saloon toward the basement stairwell. “Any errand they got, no matter what it is, I hop to it. Nobody ever gave me nothin’ I didn’t work for, ever.”
“Where d’you think you’re goin’ with them keys, you little shite?” It was Finn Cassidy, striding toward them with an expression of fury.
Chapter 8
Backing up, Denny said, “R-Riley wants me to fetch him a jug of Jameson’s from—”
“Not that key.” Pointing to the anchor-shaped key ring, Finn said, “Those.”
“I, um, I’m s’posed to take these folks downstairs and show ‘em Mary and Johnny’s flat.”
“We’re thinking of renting it,” Will said.
“The hell you are,” Finn said. “My brother ain’t even cold yet. I ain’t got the place emptied out. All his stuff’s still in there. Gimme that,” he ordered, reaching for the key ring.
“Mother says I got to show it to ‘em,” Denny told Finn in a shuddering voice as he held the keys behind his back. “I don’t do what she says,
“Mother Nabby,” Riley said with a nod of greeting as he approached her. Leaning down close, he spoke too softly for Nell to hear above the applause from the adjacent dance hall. The vocalist announced that his next tune would be “Molly! Do You Love Me?” whereupon several audience members screamed, “Beautiful Dreamer! Beautiful Dreamer!” “I bow to public sentiment,” he said, and launched into that song instead.
Riley glanced in their direction, whereupon Mother Nabby did the same. Her tiny eyes, like raisins pushed into the pale, damp mound of her face, moved over the two of them in dispassionate appraisal. She raised a clay pipe to her mouth, took a puff, and blew out a contemplative plume of smoke. Unlocking a desk drawer with a key hanging around her neck, her massive arms wobbling like jelly, she retrieved a large anchor-shaped keyring with two old iron keys on it. She handed it to Riley, saying something to him.
“Denny!” Riley barked.
A boy Nell hadn’t noticed before jumped up from the floor in the corner, a book in his hand. He was a gangly youth of about fourteen, with overgrown hair and shabby clothes, good-looking despite his skinniness and a misshapen nose that was probably the result of a poorly healed fracture.
“Take these folks downstairs and show ‘em the flat,” Riley said as he tossed the key ring across the room to Denny.
The boy reached out to catch it, but fumbled, wincing when it struck his hand. As he scooped it off the floor, Nell saw that the middle and index fingers of his right hand were crooked, the knuckles distended.
“Mary and Johnny’s place?” Denny asked as he tucked the book into the waist of his trousers in back. “How come?”
“Stop askin’ so many questions and start earnin’ your keep,” said Mother Nabby in a husky rumble as she relocked the drawer.
“Since he’s going downstairs,” Riley told Mother. “I could use some Jameson’s.”
Shooting Riley a look of disgust for making her unlock the drawer again, Mother withdrew a shiny brass key tied to a red ribbon, and gave it to him. “Anything else?” she asked snidely.
“No, ma’am. Sorry to trouble you. Here.” He said, handing the key to Denny. “Bring me back a jug of Jameson’s from the coal cellar. Be sure and lock it up after, and come right back up. No holin’ up down there in a corner with your nose in that book. You hear me, boy?”
“Start earning your keep?” Denny grumbled as he led Nell and Will through the saloon toward the basement stairwell. “Any errand they got, no matter what it is, I hop to it. Nobody ever gave me nothin’ I didn’t work for, ever.”
“Where d’you think you’re goin’ with them keys, you little shite?” It was Finn Cassidy, striding toward them with an expression of fury.
Chapter 8
Backing up, Denny said, “R-Riley wants me to fetch him a jug of Jameson’s from—”
“Not that key.” Pointing to the anchor-shaped key ring, Finn said, “Those.”
“I, um, I’m s’posed to take these folks downstairs and show ‘em Mary and Johnny’s flat.”
“We’re thinking of renting it,” Will said.
“The hell you are,” Finn said. “My brother ain’t even cold yet. I ain’t got the place emptied out. All his stuff’s still in there. Gimme that,” he ordered, reaching for the key ring.
“Mother says I got to show it to ‘em,” Denny told Finn in a shuddering voice as he held the keys behind his back. “I don’t do what she says,
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