We Shall Carry On
Chapter 4
"Alright, George. We're here. Now we wait."
"Sir, do you think someone like Jimmy will ever be able to join the police force?"
"I don't know, George. I suspect eventually societal norms will allow for a more inclusive work force. I hope so anyway."
"Yeah...Because Jimmy is really very good at what he does...what we do. At least the Pinkertons are a little more farsighted."
"Indeed, they are."
"Constable, Detective. Over here."
Crabtree and Murdoch looked toward the voice in the shadows. Jimmy was beckoning to them and they went to him.
"Well, Jimmy. What have you?"
"Detective, I think something is going to happen tomorrow night."
"Oh..."
"Yes. I've overhead pieces of conversation which I have put together. This is what I think is going to happen. There is a ship sailing tomorrow night, a freighter. Word has it that the O'Shea brothers are going to escape in a shipping crate headed for Ireland."
"Ireland! They're going to be in a crate all the way to Ireland!" George said incredulously.
"No, George. I'm sure they would only be there until they were out of port," explained Murdoch.
"But if they do sail, sir, we might never be able to catch them," Jimmy added.
"So we had better get our plan together. This will be our only chance to get them and I don't intend to let them escape."
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It was another night when William didn't get home until very late. It was after 4:00am before Julia heard him come in. She had lain awake waiting for him this time. "I can't wait until this business is all finished so we can go back to reasonable hours," she said to herself. The steps creaked as he slowly, tiredly, made his way upstairs. She was waiting at the top. When he saw her, his weary face broke into a smile. They embraced and held each other for a long moment.
"I think we might have them by this time tomorrow."
"Oh, William. That's wonderful."
"We'll see. We'll see."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"So many things have to come together just right. One mistake and the O'Sheas will be out of my jurisdiction forever."
"You have a plan, right?"
"Best laid plans..."
"Well, you need to go to bed, to sleep, right now. Get a little rest before you execute your best laid plan."
Smiling, William walked toward her bedroom with his arm around her.
"Sleep. Sounds good."
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The morning brought quite a bustle about Station House Four. Murdoch had gathered all the lads together to explain exactly what was to happen that evening on the dock.
"I don't need to remind you all that we are doing this for Inspector Brackenreid. That means there is no room for error. The O'Sheas will be ours tonight. So...men, get moving."
After his pep talk the men of Station House Four broke into various groups and began their preparations for the evening's activities.
"Sir..." George tentatively addressed Murdoch.
"Yes, George?"
"You seem a little worried, sir."
"Worried? You think I'm worried? George! So many things can go wrong tonight. Of course I'm worried."
"But it's a good plan, sir."
"I hope so, George. I hope so."
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From time to time friends had spelled Margaret from her bedside vigil. But she was again there with her Thomas. The boys had come by once but she didn't want them to dwell on the dire condition of their father. Margaret's sister had come to help care for the lads. Thomas's injuries were serious, but doctors assured her he could recover, more or less. It was the head trauma that had everyone worried. He had not woken up and seemed to give no sign that he would.
"Thomas, love. You've had a nice sleep now. I insist that you wake up." Tears rolled down her cheeks, she felt for the millionth time. "The boys need you, the Constabulary needs you...I need you. You're tougher than this. I know you can get better. Please, Thomas. Get better."
Margaret squeezed his hand and for a moment she thought she felt him squeeze back. But no. His hand lay limp in her own. She sat back in her chair, closed her eyes and prayed.
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Murdoch paced around his office, back and forth, back and forth.
"Sir, why don't you go out for a bit, get some air? There is nothing more we can do now but wait."
"Alright, George. Maybe I will. For a little while."
Once outside, Murdoch got on his bicycle and rode as hard and fast as he could, releasing much of the tension the was building up in him. Everyone depended on him tonight. What if he failed? He couldn't even think of the prospect. Catching these scoundrels was the least he do for the inspector...the very least.
At last he found himself at the Asylum. Julia sat at her desk, turning as she heard a rustling behind her.
"William! What brings you here?" But one look at his face and she knew. Rising, she went to him, embracing him. She could feel his heart pounding."It will be alright, Love," she began, using the endearment that they rarely resorted to. "You'll get your man, or men. I'm sure. Try to relax." He sighed and hugged her tighter. "Come. Sit. I'll send for tea."
William pulled a chair up to hers.
Finally he spoke. "I can't let the inspector or Mrs. Brackenreid down."
"You won't. All you can do is do your best. And you always do your best. Please don't be so hard on yourself."
William felt better just by being near Julia. His confidence slowly began to rebuild.
"You're right, Julia. I can't second guess the whole thing."
Tea came and the two spent the next hour together, chatting quietly until he rose to leave. Julia hugged him, kissed him and sent him on his way. For his part, William did feel better. If the night would only hurry up and come, so he didn't have this interminable wait anymore.
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George entered the morgue unheard as Emily hummed a tune to herself as she worked. He stood at the top of the ramp watching her for a minute or two. Yes, Emily was the one he loved. He was sure of it. That's why he'd felt so bad when she had courted Garland.
"Ahem!"
Emily jumped. "George! You scared me. I didn't hear you come in."
"Sorry, Emily. I just came by to say hello and see if you were free for lunch. The cafe now serves hot hamburger sandwiches and they use a bun instead of bread slices."
"That would be delightful, George. Let me wash up and I'll be right with you."
"I've heard that ketchup sauce goes very good with the sandwich. I wonder...do you think a nice slice of cheese would be good on it?"
"Cheese? Oh, no, George. That sounds awful."
As she pinned her hat on, George offered her his arm and they walked out of the morgue to lunch.