Molly (6 page)

“I am,” said Molly simply. “Put up your dukes.”

Harry looked at her clenched fists and let out a guffaw. This was great sport. “Come on then,” he laughed, licking his thumb.

Now, Molly had learned to fight the hard way in the playgrounds of Brooklyn, but for a moment she had forgotten the art, and a well-aimed punch from Harry landed right in her eye. Molly drew back and Harry laughed with glee, thinking she was going to turn and run.

Memory flooded back. Molly’s hands were still hard and callused from housekeeping and shop work.

Miss Molly Maguire brought a haymaker up from the ground and Harry Petts collapsed on the cobbles.

“Good-oh!” cheered Mary, who had rushed up to help. “That showed him. Ain’t you the greatest, Molly.” Molly raised her arms in a triumphant boxer’s salute and then froze. Standing at the end of the alley and staring at her with amused interest was none other than Lord David Manley.

Molly was suddenly aware that her hair was coming down at the back, that her hat was askew, and that, from the throbbing in her right eye, she was about to develop the shiner of all time.

Lord David strode forward to meet her. Molly blinked slightly at the impact of his charming smile. His hand was outstretched.

“By Jove, ma’am,” he cried. “That was a great hit!”

To his surprise, the strange girl ignored his outstretched hand. “Did you just stand there watching like a great palooka?” she said scornfully. “Seems to me you Englishmen are a spineless lot. Here, boys!” The twins came running up like eager puppies and stared at their rescuer with worshipful admiration. Molly pulled out her purse and selected a few pennies. “Go buy yourselves some candy.”

“Candy, miss?”

“Allow me to translate,” said Lord David in a cold voice. He had recognized in the smartly dressed young lady the schoolgirl who had so freely insulted him in his own study. “The lady means sweeties.”

“Oh, miss,” said Bobby. “Thanks ever so. If ’n ever you need help, miss, you just call on us.

“I will, indeed,” laughed Molly, still ignoring Lord David. “Come, Mary.”

Mary climbed into the carriage after her sister, her face averted from Lord David.

Miss Molly Maguire leaned back in the carriage and unfurled her lacy parasol. Lord David was tall and, even though she was seated in the high-sprung open carriage, Molly saw through the lace of her parasol that Lord David’s tanned face was on a level with her own. She thought privately that he was looking very handsome indeed. His gray suit had been tailored by the hand of a master and his tall silk hat accentuated his height. She felt irrationally angry at the little twinge of attraction she suddenly experienced for this man. She lowered her parasol. She smiled sweetly at his lordship. In impeccable upper-class English accents Miss Molly Maguire said, “So long…
buster
!”

The carriage bowled off, leaving Lord David staring after it.

The twins took one look at his angry face and then down the alley to where Harry Petts was struggling to his feet and took to their heels.

Harry Petts stumbled toward Lord David. “If I get me ’ands on ’er, I’ll wring ’er neck, that I will,” he was muttering. Lord David barred his way.

“You obviously have not learned your lesson, laddie,” he said in his light, pleasant voice. “If I catch you bullying again, then you will have me to deal with.”

Harry stared in awe at Lord David, from his polished boots to the top of his silk hat, and cringed back against the wall of the alley. Keeping his eyes fixed on his new adversary, he edged his shoulders around the corner, and then turned and ran as hard as he could.

Lord David began to walk toward his home, following the direction that Molly’s carriage had taken. He was furious with that cheeky girl. How dare she! Who was this little upstart American who looked at London’s biggest marriage prize as if he were something lying in the gutter?

It was just as well that he was shaking the dust of Hadsea from his polished heels. He need never see her again. Now… just why was that thought so depressing? Why should he calmly walk off and leave that cheeky girl to have the last word? He was well aware of his powers of attraction. Then he should have his revenge. He would have that little American trembling breathlessly in his arms before the month was out. But how to break down her guard? He needed an ally. Then he remembered Roderick, Marquess of Leamouth. Roddy, with his engaging ways, his mop of golden curls, and his Greek profile. Roddy, who could charm the heart of the most bitter dowager. That was it! Roddy would court the young one and he the older. And what girls in the whole of the British Empire could stand an onslaught like that?

Several days of elocution lessons, dancing lessons, deportment lessons, and dress fittings had passed. The glorious sunset that was Molly’s eye was fading nicely.

The next event on the girls’ social calendar seemed a simple one. They were to stand behind Lady Fanny on a makeshift platform in Hadsea High Street and watch her take the salute as the local Boy Scout troop marched past. Then when she handed prizes for merit to deserving boys, they were to hand her the appropriate books. Nothing could be simpler.

The girls looked as cool and pretty as salads in organza dresses of palest green and large, shady straw hats bound with wide silk ribbons of the same color.

Lady Fanny looked impressive in an afternoon suit of white raw silk that she had had designed especially for the occasion. It had military epaulets in gold and scarlet silk and the bosom of her long, straight jacket was embellished by crossed gold cords. Her long skirt, hobbled in the latest fashion, had seemed so divine on the models in the showroom but now seemed to be in danger of bursting at the seams under the pressure of Lady Fanny’s mannish strides.

The girls were sitting primly on the sofa in the drawing room while Lady Fanny rehearsed her speech.

“My lords, ladies and—
cough, cough
—gentlemen… Oh, dear, I
would
get a cough at a time like this. What—
cough, cough, garrrh
—am I to—
cough
—do? It is nearly time to go.”

Molly looked at Mary and Mary looked at Molly.

“I know you said we weren’t to mention it,” said Molly, “but you
have
got a terrible cough and we have got a bottle of Maguires’ Leprechaun Dew in our trunk upstairs.”

“I’ll—cough—try
anything
,” said Lady Fanny weakly.

Molly reappeared a few minutes later, holding a bottle. The leprechaun looked evilly at Lady Fanny and Lady Fanny looked doubtfully back. She was about to refuse when she was overtaken by another fit of coughing. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and straightened her smart military shako. She
must
be all right for the parade. Lady Ann Abbott, her dearest rival, was to be present. She picked up the bottle of Maguires’ Leprechaun Dew and after eyeing it for a few seconds with all the enthusiasm of Juliet viewing Friar Lawrence’s phial, she swallowed half the contents.

“Dear, goodness me!” she exclaimed. “That was unexpectedly pleasant. Come, girls, let us go. Chins up and best foots forward… I mean feets… feet. Oh, dear!” she ended with a surprisingly girlish giggle. “I feel simply marvelous.”

Molly stood nervously behind Lady Fanny on the rostrum and wondered what to do. Should she risk the Maguire fortunes by informing Lady Fanny that Maguires’ Leprechaun Dew was 140 proof? Surely they had enough money already. Lady Fanny was sitting with her hands on her knees and a vacant smile on her face, rather like the end man at a minstrel show waiting for Rastus to elucidate.

Molly took a tentative step forward. But it was then that she heard the first strains of the band. Molly cried listening to bands the way other women cry at weddings. To her, the sound of a marching band was all the essence of lost summers and lost childhood rolled into one. Lady Fanny, the rostrum, the dignitaries, the mayor, the Boy Scouts, and Hadsea all faded away to be replaced by the smells and noises of childhood New York. Her ears rang with the rattle of the elevated trains, the shrill cries of the street vendors, the fox-trots of the forties, and the shrill squeals of her friends of the Brooklyn playgrounds. Molly Maguire stood with a lump in her throat and the tears of homesickness rolling down her cheeks, unaware that Lady Fanny had risen to her feet and, instead of taking the salute, was waving merrily and shouting “coo-ee” to the ranks of startled Boy Scouts.

Molly recovered just as the first scout mounted the platform to receive his prize. “James Benson,” she whispered in Lady Fanny’s ear. “Prize for tracking.”

“Darling, darling, boy,” cooed Lady Fanny, stroking the startled Boy Scout’s arm. He was a tall, attractive-looking boy with an unruly thatch of thick brown hair. Lady Fanny’s hand had moved from his arm and was now tenderly ruffling James’s hair. “We won a prize for tracking, did we?” she murmured. “Such a dear, clever boy.” James Benson retreated hurriedly and almost fell down the steps. “Next!” shouted Lady Fanny with a joyful, predatory eye. There was an anxious rustling movement among the dignitaries. All was not well. Lady Fanny Holden, the model of upright behavior and strict discipline, was behaving very strangely indeed.

Molly felt that she must do something, but Mary was already handing Lady Fanny the next prize and murmuring, “Joseph Willicombe, sports prize.”

Joseph was the smallest of the scouts, with a face like a cherub. He had rosy cheeks and black curly hair and a surprisingly red and sensuous mouth for one so young.

“My dear boy,” trilled Lady Fanny. “And you are our best at sports. And so small. Are you
small
, boy?”

“Yes, my lady. Please, my lady,” said Joseph with wide-eyed wonder.

“Marvelous,” breathed Lady Fanny, staring at Joseph’s red mouth. “Now, Joseph, you will give Lady Fanny a nice big kiss, won’t you?”

The boy looked wildly around at his scout master for help but the scout master’s face was like wood. Lady Fanny swooped down and kissed the horribly embarrassed boy on the mouth.

A ripple of shock ran through the crowd. Lady Ann Abbott gave tongue. “What’s the matter with you, Fanny?” she hissed.

“Nothing,” said Lady Fanny, turning one pale, cold eye on her rival. “You’re just jealous because of my smart suit.” This was said in such accents of concentrated venom that the rest of the dignitaries could not find the courage to stop her ladyship. But Lady Fanny’s pink cloud had dwindled away, leaving her with a nagging ache behind the eyes and a sudden hatred of the whole world.

A small, thin, cross-eyed scout was standing waiting. “Henry Beddings. Fire-making,” said Molly desperately.

Lady Fanny stared down at the scout with hatred. “Fire-making!” she exclaimed bitterly.

“Of all the stupid things to give a prize for. I know you. You’re the one who tried to set fire to my hedge last autumn. I’ll fire-make you, you little pyromaniac.” She tried to swipe Henry with his prize and missed. The boy scuttled down from the platform, and Lady Fanny threw his prize after him. Then suddenly feeling very weak, she collapsed into her chair and fell sound asleep.

Molly realized that she must do something to save Lady Fanny’s reputation. She moved quickly to the front of the platform.

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” she cried. The unexpected American accents caught everyone’s attention. “Lady Holden is suffering from a very bad cough. She should have stayed in bed. But she is very conscious of her duty and took some very strong medicine so that she would be able to perform the prize-giving. The medicine is extremely strong and, as you can see, Lady Holden is suffering from its effects. It takes great dedication to duty and to the welfare of Hadsea to attempt to speak despite the influence of a strong drug. I suggest we give three hearty cheers for Lady Holden.”

Molly had never looked more beautiful. The crowd, glad to have a little excitement, and the dignitaries, glad to be relieved of embarrassment, cheered wildly.

Molly held up her hands for silence. “And now,” she cried, “I would like James Benson, Joseph Willicombe, and Henry Beddings to receive three cheers for behaving like true Boy Scouts in unusual and embarrassing circumstances.” More wild cheers.

Then Molly delivered her master stroke. “We are, however, fortunate in having with us today Lady Holden’s dear friend who, I feel sure, will be glad to stand in for her. Lady Ann Abbott.”

Lady Ann Abbott sailed to the front of the platform, her bosom heaving with gratification. She pulled down the front of her sensible tweed jacket, casting a pitying look at her fallen rival. She, Ann, had been looking forward to telling Fanny exactly how badly she, Fanny, had behaved. But enough was enough. Lady Abbott was having her moment of triumph and could afford to be magnanimous. Poor, dear Fanny should never hear of her disgrace from
her
. Which was exactly what the clever Miss Molly Maguire had planned.

Lord David and his friend, Roddy, Marquess of Leamouth, walked thoughtfully away from the prize-giving.

“She’s divine, you know. Absolutely divine,” said Roddy. “I wouldn’t do anything to upset her for the world.”

“She’s a militant baggage,” snapped Lord David. “Didn’t you see the way she stood up and made that speech? Not a feminine nerve in her whole body.”

“Oh, not
that
one,” said Roddy. “Her sister. The quiet one who stood at the back. What’s her name?”

“Mary,” replied Lord David, who had made it his business to find out as much as possible about the Maguire sisters.

“Mary,” breathed Roddy.

Lord David smiled at him indulgently. “You’re always falling head over heels in love with unsuitable females.”

“This one’s not unsuitable,” said Roddy. “She’s an angel.”

“An angel who sounds as if she hailed from one of the less salubrious parts of New York,” said his friend dryly.

“Snob,” said Roddy, turning back for a last look at Mary. “I’ll lay siege to Miss Mary Maguire, David, but my intentions will be honorable.”

Lord David smiled to himself. Roddy’s intentions were
always
honorable. That was part of his charm.

“And,” Roddy was going on, “when do we get a chance to get close to the girls?”