Tell Me, Pretty Maiden by Rhys Bowen Page A

murdered.
    “Life must go on,” Miss Sheehan said sadly, as if reading my thoughts. “I chose a new maid as different as possible from Rose so that I was not reminded of her. Madame Bernhardt’s own maid suggested her. They come from the same town in France, so one understands.” She paused, looking at me critically. “So how are you, Molly? From what Grania writes you had a most harrowing time.”
    “Yes, it wasn’t too pleasant,” I said. “No thanks to you.”
    She reached out and touched my hand. “I felt so awful when I realized what I had let you in for.”
    “You knew from the very start what you were doing,” I said angrily. “You used me.”
    “Yes, but I never thought . . . ,” she said. “Molly, I would never have exposed you to such danger, had I known. I thought it was a simple assignment. Can you ever forgive me?”
    She took my hand and smiled her most enchanting dimpled smile. Against my better judgment, I felt myself soften and managed a weak smile of my own.
    “And could you possibly bear to tell me all about it? I only have Grania’s account and she has left out a lot of details I would dearly like to know.”
    “All right,” I said, and started to recount the events. I tried to be as brief as possible and to stick to the main facts, but it was hard to tell the story without dwelling on my brothers and on Cullen. As she listened she put a lace handkerchief up to her mouth. “Our brave Irish boys,” she muttered. “Such a waste.”
    “As you say, such a waste.”
    We sat there looking at each other.
    “He was a fine man, wasn’t he, Molly?”
    “One of the best,” I agreed.
    “And did he speak often of me?” she asked.
    I didn’t like to say that he had long forgotten her. “All the time,” I lied.
    “If only I could have been there,” she said. “But I have a duty to my public. They count on me, Molly. I brighten their little lives.”
    For a while I had been feeling pity for her. Now that vanished as easily as a pricked bubble. “I can’t stay long, Miss Sheehan,” I said. “I have brought the clothes that I had to wear when I left the ship, because my own were not available to me. I’m afraid you’ll need to have your maid give the outfit a good cleaning.”
    I had started to open the bag, but she waved me away. “Keep them, please. You should have helped yourself to any of my clothes that you wanted. Couturiers are always giving me things to wear. I have far too many. Come and see—is there anything else you’d like?”
    She took my hand and tried to drag me toward her bedroom. She was trying to be friendly, and I have to admit I was sorely tempted. Who wouldn’t want to help themselves to a Worth gown or two? But I remained steadfast. “You are most kind, but no, thank you.” There was the little matter of the money she still owed me. I hated asking for money but I had completed the assignment for her, hadn’t I? And almost been killed in the process. She did owe it to me. I took a deep breath. “If you want to repay a debt,” I said, “there is the money you promised me.”
    “Promised you?” She looked up with dramatic surprise.
    “When you asked me to deliver your luggage, remember? An extra hundred dollars?”
    She flushed prettily. “Oh, that. Of course. How silly of me. I’d completely forgotten.”
    Obviously, a hundred dollars was a mere trifle to her. She fished around in her purse, then gave me an embarrassed smile. “I appear to be out of checks,” she said.
    “You can mail it to me,” I said. “You have my address.”
    “Of course,” she said with relief, then looked around with impatience. “Yvette? What has happened to tea?”
    “Coming, Madame,” came a voice from far away. “They are sending it up in the service elevator at this moment.”
    “You see. Tea is on the way.” Oona patted the seat beside her again. “And while we wait, I have to confess that there was another reason I brought you here. I have another