Delaney. Part XII

Except for the slow, quiet clacking of Adrienne’s crutches upon the cobbled walk, the approach of the three women in the wee hours of Thursday morning is undetectable. Jackson’s body jolts when Shelly whispers, “Hey!” His nerves have been set upon a hair trigger. The Rourk brothers are tucked behind a stack of pallets at Drogheda Port near the mouth of the River Boyne as the sun threatens to come up over the Irish Sea.

“Where have you been?” Ash says in an angry whisper, “The ship is on the horizon. It’ll be here in minutes.”

“There’s been a slight change in plans,” Shelly says, looking down at Adrienne. “You have another passenger.”

“Who the hell is this?” Ash’s voice is an octave higher and a few decibels louder than he means it to be.

“This is Adrienne,” Magdalene says, “and it’s not Shelly’s fault. I told her I wouldn’t leave without the child. We came over together, all the way from London and I was not about to leave her.”

“Adrienne was scheduled to be cleansed.” Shelly doesn’t want the Murder Factory’s euphemism to be lost on Ash, so she continues, “To be eliminated. I had to falsify records in half a dozen places. It took me longer than planned to make the cleansing look believable. We got off to a late start and our pace is … well, let’s just say that running is not an option.”

“I’m grateful to you, sirs.” The child speaks with a south Asian inflection woven into her English accent. “And to Magdalene. The home was not a good place, and I’m glad to be …” Her final words are garbled as Shelly puts three fingers against the girl’s lips, firmly enough that she must take a step backward with her crutches. There is a distant barking of dogs.

“The dogs.” Says Shelly. “They’ll be finding their way here.”

A group of people with luggage begin collecting around the dock as a bell from onboard the ship announces its arrival.

“We’ve no papers for the kid!” Ash exclaims. “It was all we could do to manage papers for Magdalene. To do so we had to falsify a marriage certificate.”

“Marriage?” Asks Magdalene.

“I’m sorry. We didn’t have the kind of information we needed for a birth certificate and citizenship papers. It proved easier to forge a marriage certificate.”

“And to whom, may I ask, am I married?”

If Magdalene could see, she would observe Ash’s head dropping sheepishly and his Adam’s apple dip and rise with a large, silent swallow.

“Well, to me, ma’am. If you please.”

Above her vacant blue eyes, her eyebrows arch in curiosity.

“It would have been nice to have a say in my own marriage; but given the circumstances.”

“Not legally married, of course.” Ash sputters.

“So, I have been illegally married, then?”

“Enough, the dogs are getting closer.” Jackson has opened the trunk which the Rourk boys have brought from London and he is pulling clothes from it and tossing them to the ground.

“In here!” he says, looking at the girl. And without a word Adrienne clacks over to the trunk and lays down inside it. She is small enough that she can lay without touching either end, but her twisted legs press up against the sides. Jackson puts her crutches in with her and piles cloths on top, then closes the lid.

“Can you breathe, child?” He asks.

A muffled, “sort of,” rises out from her luggage-shaped sarcophagus.

Jackson stands and moves to Shelly, stepping right into her personal space.

“If I were to write,” he says. “I wonder… I wonder if you might reply to my correspondence.”

“Jackson,” there is a heaviness upon her brow, “I’m sorry if I have given you the wrong impression. I’m not really looking for that kind of relationship.” She does not add “with you” to the sentence, but Jackson feels as though it is her unspoken intent. As if she’s not opposed to a relationship entirely, just not with him.

“Well,” he says a little winded. “May I at least write to let you know how we have fared upon arrival and report to you how our charges,” he glances over to Magdalene and the trunk, “have gotten along?”

“That would be nice.” She says, the heat of her rejection cooling a little.

“We’ve got to get going!” Ash says as a brigade of guards rush down Port Street, dogs barking and yanking upon leashes. Ash plucks three boarding passes from a breast pocket and looks to the line forming before the docked ship, but there is a rumbling among the crowd and a group of soldiers form at the top of the gangplank.

“What do you mean passage to England is deferred?” Someone from the crowd is shouting. “We have tickets to board this ship. For today!” And there comes a general uproar among waiting passengers.

A man in uniform is speaking into a megaphone from the rail of the ship as a lone passenger from England, a Franciscan Friar, disembarks.

“Your tickets will be honored at a future date. But England will not be allowing anyone from Ireland to enter the country upon our return.”

A disturbance breaks out among the would-be passengers, and it becomes difficult to hear the man in uniform until at last, one word rises above the noise:

“Plague.” He says. “There is plague in London. And the Bengali people are rising in revolt. The place is in chaos and for now, the City of London Corporation has put the country on lockdown. I do not know when the order will be lifted.”

There is a near rebellion on the dock. The Franciscan Friar holds his hands up in an attempt to quell the fracas, but several men force their way up the gangplank, followed by a group which is surging forward. A mass of guards from atop the gangplank rally and march down toward the boarders, bayonets pointed forward.

The men at the head of the throng stop as chests meet blade points, but the force of the onboarding crowd does not abate. Bayonets slice into flesh and there is shouting from the front of the pack, “get back, get back! They’re killin’ us!” It takes a moment for the pressure to be relieved and for the crowed to back away. When they retreat, several men fall lifeless and bleeding to the gangplank. Panic sets upon the onlookers.

The bodies are kicked by the guards into the roiling waters below as the gangplank is retrieved. Sails are filling with air as the ship begins to back slowly from the dock. Three men on shore jump into the water to drag those floating at the mouth of the River Boyne ashore.

The Friar is bent down to bless one of the dead as Shelly approaches.

“Brother! Come quick. We need you urgently.”

Brother O’Brien tries to make a calculated guess as to where he may be needed most until Shelly pulls him to his feet.

“There is not time, Brother. Please.”

Ash and Jackson are carrying the steamer trunk while Magdalene follows gripping Ash’s elbow.

“There is a young child inside this trunk,” Shelly says breathless. “A girl.” Brother O’Brien looks at the trunk quizzically. “The girl has a handicap. And this lady, here, the both of them have escaped from the Murder Factory and need refuge. The hounds are nearly here, Brother. Can you help them?”

It doesn’t take a genius to discern that the cancelation of the ship to England has turned the plans of these people into something quite desperate. The barking of dogs makes their doom obvious.

“Follow me.” He says.

“I won’t be going with you. I need to get as far from the escaped residents as possible.” Shelly says. And before Jackson can say goodbye she is gone.

Brother O’Brien is leading the party to the front of a long queue boarding carriages or bicycle rickshaws headed back to town. Some complain at the disregard for line etiquette until they see the Friar heading the procession. “Sorry Father.” They say. “Didn’t see you there.”

When they arrive at the front of the line a man is just about to load his wife and children onto a carriage.

“Pardon me, sir.” Brother O’Brien says. “We are in a rather delicate fix that requires some urgency. Would you mind.”

The gentlemen glares into the Friar’s pleading eyes, and then rolls his own. He beckons for his luggage from a porter who has just secured them to the top.”

“Bless you.” The Brother says.

“Think nothing of it,” the man replies with only a trace of annoyance.

In an instant the trunk is tied to the roof and Magdalene, the Rourk brothers and the Friar are shut into the Handsome Cab. Brother O’Brien taps upon the ceiling, and the carriage jolts into motion. Out the window they can see the Brigade and their dogs circling the place where they had been waiting, dog’s noses in the air searching for the scent. One or two pull their handlers toward the front of the queue where the rickshaws and carriages line up to take on passengers. They start down the street, but the carriage is well on its way.

“Thank you, Father.” Ash says. “It was a rather close call.”

“We won’t be able to conceal your two friends.” He replies. “Bloodhounds are on the trail. But we can go through town where they might lose the scent in the thick of so many. You say there is a child in the trunk above us?”

“Yes, Father.” Magdalene says. “Here name is Adrienne. She’s eight.”

“Are there clothes in the trunk,” O’Brien asks.

Ash and Jackson nod their heads.

“Yours?” He asks the men. They nod again.

“There is a secondhand clothing store in town. We can sell the clothes there. And madam,” he says looking to Magdalene. She detects he has turned his head ever so slightly in her direction. “I’ll need to ask that you remove what you are wearing after we arrive. You and the girl. We can purchase other outfits there. It’s not foolproof, but it may put the dogs off our trail.”

“Thank you, Father.” Ash says.

“And, I’m not a Father.” Brother O’Brien corrects. “That is, I’m not ordained. The corporation allows us to minister to the colonists, but ordination doesn’t mean much anymore. Since our Bishop died, we’ve not kept up with the Catholic hierarchy in these parts, if any is left. Father Fitzpatrick was the last to be ordained. It’s just no longer practical.”

At the corporate thrift shop they pull the trunk from the top of the carriage and carry it out of view. Adrienne rises from her tomb and they manage to sell the brothers’ clothes for a few scrip and purchase outfits for Magdalene and Adrienne. The clothing is more worn and less well-fitting than what they have discarded at the shop, but at least their scent has mostly been left behind.

Brother O’Brien along with Magdalene and Adrienne bid the brothers goodbye.

“We’re staying at the Corporate Arms. I shall come to the Friary to see that they are well.” Ash says. “I’m afraid the Friary is not a permanent solution. One night only. It’ll be one of the first places the brigade checks for escaped Murder Factory residents. I’ll find refuge for them elsewhere. Come in a few days and I will tell you where they’re staying.”