Author's notes: This is an odd one for me. The anime, Emma: A Victorian Romance, is not generally to my taste. But it was a very nice slice-of-life romance set in a historical time period and setting and I couldn't help but love it. And know what I know of that time period there was plenty of opportunity for a tie-in with more…actiony faire. This is a companion story set parallel to the series with occasional overlap and tying up some loose ends. Enjoy and please review.
Belfast, Ireland. 1895…
It was a windy, rainy day in Belfast. Out in the bay the sea rolled and roiled with the anger an entire people. In Dillon's Public House, a man in a dark overcoat and peak cap was calm and serene even as the rushing winds lashed at the wall of the building. The barkeep silently refilled the man's tankard of stout. The man had barely spoken in over an hour, the bar tender knew not to engage him in conversation. Although his face was calm, collected, and even pleasant, something in his eyes warned him inside was raging a hurricane far worse than the storm outside.
The stranger at the bar was tall, brown of hair, with eyes a deep blue. A mischievous smirk spread his lips with a sarcastic edge. The barkeep pegged him as a man who found the world a bad joke and there was nothing to do but laugh at it. Several subtle glances between the stranger and other men scattered throughout the pub would have gone unnoticed by a less attentive barkeep, but the man had to strain himself not to let his hands shake as he placed the stranger's tankard back down in front of him. Something was about to happen, and the barkeep wasn't looking forward to it.
Perhaps seeing the worry on the bar tender's face, the stranger accepted his refilled drink with a hearty smile. "There, there now good man!" he tipped his drink in a slight cheers. "The storm will pass soon! Likely to get a bit worse before getting better though, but surely this establishment can withstand the squall!"
"Oh, yes! Indeed!" the bartender nodded, wishing it really was just the storm that worried him. "I don't believe I've seen you here before. And I sense a Dublin accent to your voice Mister?"
"Professor," he corrected before pausing for a sip of the thick, strong stout. "Professor Guinness," he lied with a broad smile. The bartender knew better than to call him out on the deception.
"So hear to teach, are you?"
"Indeed! Many a man here needs a lesson or two. Not to worry though! Just leave it to the Professor," he finished with a wink that sent a shiver down the barkeep's spine.
"Shamus!" another stranger sitting at a window near the door harshly whispered. The Professor turned instantly and a carriage rumbled past on the cobbles seconds later. Professor Guinness turned to chug down his stout in a matter of seconds and slapped some coins down on the bar. "Fine brew, old son! But I'm afraid I must be off. My prized pupil has just arrived," he said with a carnivorous grin. The barkeep was silent as the Professor and half a dozen others briskly walked out the door. His breath caught in his mouth as he realized that was the new Royal official's carriage, pulling into his townhouse next door!
Outside the wind seemed to die a moment and the rain softened, even the seas calmed slightly. The ancient land sensed a remedy to its woes as the seven men strode towards the town house. His Lordship was slow to exit the carriage and already two man-servants were rushing about the luggage. His Lordship's face was turned down, covered by a lace handkerchief, his tall top hat shrouding his features in shadow. The servants froze as the seven men closed in, though the Professor thought for certain he noticed a twinge of recognition in their faces. The latest English overlord of the Belfast went still as he half turned towards the seven.
"Top of the evening to you, your Lordship!" the Professor said cheerfully. "We are your welcome committee from the good people of Ireland!" his grip tightened on the revolver in his pocket.
"NO!" a young woman's voice rang out as the front door of the townhouse burst open. A maid rushed out, her horrified eyes locked on the young man at the Professor's left. "SEAN, DON'T!" a police constable rushed out hot on her heels, pistol drawn. "IT'S NOT HIM! IT'S A TRAP!" the crack of a pistol cut the girl off, she slumped lifeless to the dirt.
"SINEAD!" Sean Barry wailed in wild fury as his pistol emerged from his pocket and fired. The constable toppled over with a bloody hole in the left of his chest. Instants later Barry rushed to the girl's side, crumbling to his knees in sobbing wails. The Professor saw the man in the top hat drop his handkerchief in shock. The girl was right, it wasn't his Lordship! His peripheral vision caught the window shutters of the townhouse bursting open.
"NOW!" the flaring face of the real Royal official glared down from the second floor. "KILL THE FENIAN BUGGERS!" he roared as more policemen appeared in the windows, aiming rifles down on the Professor and his men!
Despite himself, the Professor couldn't help but smile. "Well look at you!" he muttered. Impressed the English could manage a bit of cleverness.
"ERIN GO BRAGH!" Sean Barry roared, standing from his position beside his murdered love. He fired his revolver wildly at the house, most of the others did the same. Sean was riddled with bullets in seconds, falling beside his lover to be with her forever in eternity. The Professor turned to glance down the street both ways and saw just what he knew he would. Redcoats, over a dozen on either side, closing in! Must have been hiding in the tenement buildings. It was a fine trap indeed. But after years of fighting for Ireland's freedom, Professor Shamus Devlin had come to expect the unexpected.
"Martin!" Devlin barked. "Give his Lordship a smoke!" Martin Kennedy nodded, pulled two round balls form his coat and rolled them towards the house. The grenades ignited with smoke charges, billowing a thick screen of in seconds. The pathetic gunfire from the constables inside the town house ceased, their visibility masked. Only Barry and one of the other lads had been hit by the poorly trained constables, but now the redcoats were in range. They stopped, took aim. Devlin furiously fanned the hammer of his revolver, his finger tight around the trigger. Six redcoats fell before the rest fired their volley. Devlin and his men dove to the ground in the nick of time. Several more of the dozen redcoats on either side toppled over in bloody heaps. A devilish smirk curved the side of Devlin's mouth. The bloody idiots caught themselves in a crossfire.
"Harry! Exit stage right!" Devlin shouted. Harry Brosnan immediately drew a stick of dynamite from his coat, lit it and flung it towards the redcoats to the right of them. The five remaining Fenians flattened on the cobbles. After the deafening blast they stood and rushed past the crater strewn with bloody remains and rounded the corning into the heart of the city.
Somewhere behind them, Devlin could hear his Lordship bellowing with rage. His shouts were drowned out by a sudden gust of wild wind. Again the rain pelted down like divine punishment and the sea roiled and roared in the bay. The eye of the storm had passed over. Again the fury raged. As the five of them leapt into a manhole to make good their escape, Devlin wondered if the storm would ever end.
…one month later…
"I'm tired of people here in England acting like they have it so hard!" Harry Brosnan sighed beside Devlin, gazing out over the side of the ship as they prepared to disembark into London. "I tell you it's a great grand situation they've got here! They should try a few months in Ireland. Most of them wouldn't last a month! The fops around here would be lucky to last a week!"
"Now, now Harry," Frank Kennedy said. "None of that talk now. When in Rome…" his voice trailed off, confident Brosnan knew the old proverb.
"Wish we were! The food would be better! Though all they have is wine to drink," Harry replied glumly. "Not to worry though," he said cheerfully, his accent having changed from Ulster to Cockney. "I can be a proper Englishman! British as good Queen Vic!" he chuckled.
"Oh!" Devlin gasped in mock surprise. "So your father is German, you're half German, and you married a German?" he asked. All three laughed. "Well, lads, you know the plan. The two of you make your way to the Bonnie Prince Pub for your living quarters. I shall be staying with Dr. Burke at his Saving and Loan office. I'll be along to see you this evening."
"Off to visit your old stomping grounds?" Brosnan asked.
"Indeed. And no doubt you'll be offering your valuable services to the nearest theater?"
"Of course!" the aspiring young actor said. "Shoot, I may find a new line of work in that grand profession yet!"
"Well don't forget where you've come from, man!" Kennedy grunted.
"I'm hurt that you should even suggest!" Brosnan lurched back as if struck. "In any case I trust you'll be needing a job. I'll see if I can't get you a billet on the stage crew. Or perhaps you'd care to finally putting that fine singing voice of yours to work?" Kennedy hung his head in embarrassment. Fine a voice as he had, he dared not sing out until downing a pint or two.
Eventually the cue opened up and the three Fenians disembarked. The Irishmen weaved naturally into the throng of the streets and in seconds could just as well have been natives. They arrived at the Bonnie Prince soon enough and with a friendly nod Devlin strode on. Left alone in the enemy metropolis with his thoughts, the Fenian leader sighed deeply.
Sean Barry was a good lad. And his love, Sinead, a decent girl. A Protestant girl, but one could not have everything. Her father and mother were of a well-to-do Protestant Loyalist family. Her father had seen her and Barry meeting on a street corner the week before the assassination attempt and twisted her arm until she spilled the beans about the attack. She was working as a maid in the townhouse and her father had lied that she told him of her own free will, as much to save himself as her. War was a cruel mistress.
After a week hiding in the sewers, the five survivors of the botched assassination made their way out to the country, where a rather angry letter from General McGuinness was waiting for them. Their commander in Dublin expressed his opinions of them and their parents for letting the Brotherhood down. His letter ended with the instructions "Get off this bloody island, you dumb sods! Get to London and wait for orders. Devlin, you know where to go."
And know he did! Devlin had in fact helped to found the Irish Republican Brotherhood's London branch. A few scant years ago whilst serving as a tutor to a well-to-do English family's children. Dr. Burke and his small banking office and the Bonnie Prince Pub were all part of it. Nothing had yet come of the London branch. No grand attacks or riots, but it brought in much needed revenue to the movement and a pub was always a fine spot to put ones' ear to the streets. People being particularly forthcoming with information after a pint or two.
Devlin's thoughts fell on the English family whose investment had made it all possible. The esteemed gentleman Richard Jones was a shrewd businessman, but not as cold and unfeeling as he often let on. An ambitious man who rose from humble beginnings. A challenge to the gentry, who longed to be counted among them. Not a bad sort, but rather skilled at making himself seem one. Though when opportunity came, Mr. Jones was kind enough to invest in smaller businesses. Hadn't completely forgotten where he came from, that one. Devlin resolved to pay the old bloke a visit.
Making his way from one street to another, Devlin realized he was in the neighborhood of another old acquaintance. The dear old governess Kelly Stoner, with whom he had shared a pupil for years. Just as her home was in his sights, who should come strolling up to her front door but young master William Jones!
Devlin leaned against an iron-bar fence across the street from Mrs. Stoner's residence. William was all grown up now! Hadn't noticed Devlin, either he had been away too long or the young man was as absent minded as ever. The lad wasn't quite twenty, but greatly resembled his father. A proper, if soft-looking, gentleman in a fine suit and top hat. Devlin smirked that he had taught him well enough.
William strode causally up to Mrs. Stoner's front door and knocked. Several seconds passed before the door swung open, catching the young man off guard and slamming into his face. Devlin couldn't resist soft laugh from his vantage point across the cobbles and casually lit a cigarette. A young maid gasped in horror at having struck a guest in the face and after a brief pause rushed past William to retrieve his hat. William's stupefied gaze never left her, not until the Mrs. Stoner appeared in the doorway. Devlin sighed, perhaps he hadn't taught the lad so well after all.
Not wanting to intrude upon them, Devlin relaxed through a few cigarettes waiting for his former pupil to emerge. Eventually the young blonde man exited the house but seemed more distracted than before. Devlin tossed aside his smoke and crossed the street. "Well top of the afternoon to you, William!" The young man nodded to him briefly then froze and turned to him in shock.
"Professor Devlin!" William gasped.
"As ever was, young master! The prodigal tutor has returned!" A hearty handshake and compassionate greeting followed between the prized pupil and revered teacher.
"What brings you to London, Professor?"
"The winds of destiny, it seems. Trinity College has grown rather dull. Thought perchance Oxford or Cambridge might have need of me. And for what reason should you, young master, be visiting your dear old governess? Adulthood proven too strenuous has it? Longing for her firm resolve, not doubt," Devlin said with a chuckle. William looked shocked and roundly denied the playful accusation. "Now, now William! You never could tell when a man was having a game of you!"
William sighed. "I'm sorry, Professor. Maybe I'm truly not cut out for all this."
"Nonsense, lad! And for heaven's grace, call me Shamus!" William seemed to relax. "So how fares your father then?"
"Quite well. Oh, surely you must come and visit us soon!" William's eyes lit up at the thought of his favorite tutor once again visiting the Jones estate. Devlin assured him he'd visit on the morrow and with another firm handshake the young man boarded his carriage.
No sooner had Devlin approached Mrs. Stoner's front door than it flew open and the same young maid flew past him and out to the sidewalk. She desperately looked both ways down the street. Devlin noticed a pair of gloves clutched in her hand and remembered William's hands had been bare a moment ago. The maid was a brunette, slightly shorter than William, with soft brown eyes and a pair glasses perched on her nose. Not a day older than William, and at once very plain and very pretty. Devlin saw then why William hadn't been able to take his eyes off her.
"I'm afraid he's quite gone, girl dear," Devlin softly chuckled. The maid gasped, noticing him for the first time. "Worry not, girl dear, I'm an old friend of your madam. Might I ask your name?" The girl blinked and bowed her head in bashfulness. Devlin decided he liked her.
"Emma," she said with a nodding bow. "My name is Emma."
Devlin's smirk widened. "Shamus Devlin," he introduced himself. "And I could do with a cup of tea if you and your mistress wouldn't mind."