CHAPTER SIX

Hiding in Manhattan was not my best plan, but it had been my only plan. I had been hiding for a week now and hadn't been back to Brooklyn. No one had come to see me and that was just as well. I wasn't sure I wanted to see anyone.

I had been thinking quite a lot about Pip this week and the current situation of the working-class kids surrounding me. The idea of being a maid in some well-to-do household in the Upper East Side appealed to me as much as a hole in the head did, but it would get me off the street. I felt selfish for thinking only of myself though and tried not to entertain these thoughts.

"Is everything in order, Sir?" I asked when the grocer returned with the bags of goods.

The corners of the man's eyes crinkled as he smiled at me. "Yes, indeed. I have an inventory list for you as well." He handed me the piece of card stock that had all the items packed in the bags.

A quick glance at the list told me I had everything I needed. I returned the man's smile. "Thank you very much, Mr. Marks."

"You're quite welcome, Miss O'Rourke. Be safe, now."

I hoisted the bags into my arms and eased myself out the door of the grocer's store. It was a quick walk back to the Manhattan Girl's Lodging House and I made quick work of unpacking the bags and placing items into the icebox before the wicked summer heat could invade the perishable items.

"You are a true gem, Angel!" I turned to face the Lodging House matron, the very portly but kind Mrs. Whitney. I smiled at her. "I didn't know how I was going to make it to the grocer's today between all the house chores."

"It was my pleasure, Mrs. Whitney," I told her, though I didn't mention how grateful I was to not be selling papers on the street this entire week. I'd been running her errands, which had got me thinking about perhaps being hired as a maid. "Is there anything else that can be done?"

Mrs. Whitney paused in counting out the coins she was to give me for my task. "Yes, actually. My daughter has a dress that needs to be picked up from the seamstress. I trust your judgement, Angel. Would you mind terribly in collecting it?" She counted out the extra money to give me to pay for the dress. "Please make sure there is white lace trim around the bust. I paid extra for it; I expect it to be there."

I took the money from her and placed it in the small drawstring purse I had hidden in my skirts. "I won't let you down, Mrs. Whitney."

"I know you won't, my Angel girl." With one last smile, Mrs. Whitney pushed up her sleeves again and disappeared upstairs to continue cleaning and I was dismissed to complete my errand.

The walk to the dress shop was pleasant enough. The air was warm but not stifling which was surprising for a June afternoon. The shop was in a fancy, well-to-do part of the Upper East Side in Manhattan, which I had frequented in my days as a society girl. I was acutely aware of the other people on the street with me; well-dressed gentleman in waistcoats and hats with beautiful girls in gorgeous dresses on their arms.

And then there was me. My hair was left down around my shoulders, desperate for a haircut but I hadn't the money to do so, and my plain white blouse and green skirt combination made me stick out pretty obnoxiously. How strange it was to be walking the same street I had not two years ago in a dress that cost at least ten dollars and here I was again and my entire outfit did not cost me more than a dollar. Life was strange that way.

I squared my shoulders and entered the dress shop, a small bell hanging over the door tinkling as the door swung open. Then man behind the counter had his back to me, working quite diligently on a pretty orange summer gown that looked to be made of satin or some such shiny fabric.

"Give me just a moment! I want to pin this section in place so I don't lose my mark," the man said without turning around.

"That's quite all right. Take your time," I told him and folded my hands before me. I considered myself a fairly patient person so I supposed a few more minutes wouldn't kill me completely.

Strangely, however, I watched the man's entire body stiffen, his hands paused midair in front of the dress. He turned on his heel and his eyes swept over me, his entire face souring visibly.

"An Irish girl, are you? Why are you in my shop?" he asked in a tone I hadn't heard in a long time.

My English was fairly good, thanks to my time as a society girl. I had practiced very hard with Diana to get my Irish accent to soften, since I had known that the Irish were discriminated against and I had been attempting to blend into elite Manhattan society. Had my accent returned since I had no longer a need to hide it? I couldn't tell, but maybe he could hear it.

"I-I'm here to collect a dress for Mrs. Josephine—" I began to say but he waved his hand to cut me off.

"I don't care why you're here," he barked which I felt was ironic because he had asked me why I was there. "You need to leave. Now."

I was flabbergasted. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I am here to collect a dress. I have money to pay for it."

He barked a wry laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you do. Stole that money, too, did you? You micks are all the same. Get out. Now."

I could feel the blood draining from my face. I had never been called a racial slur before. I felt embarrassed, my chest tightening with shame. "Sir, if I could simply purchase the dress, I will certainly leave your store," I said with the last remaining scraps of manners I felt.

"I'm not selling a dress to a filthy mick! Out!" he shouted but this time he came around the counter.

His hand gripped my upper arm roughly and he hauled the door open, effectively tossing me onto the street. There was a stoop outside the door and the toes of my boot caught the step the wrong way and I toppled directly onto my face on the sidewalk below. I pushed myself up to sit on my knees, my hands stinging from the scraps I'd sustained from the fall.

"Now get before I alert an officer, you filthy mick," the man said and the slammed the door shut behind him.

The people around me on the street hushed up throughout the entire exchange, gawking at me as if I'd just grown three heads. Nobody said anything to me or offered to help me off the ground. I was humiliated and there was a soreness in my chest like I was about to cry, my throat closing up.

"Are you all right, Angel?"

I was very surprised to hear Racetrack's voice and even more surprised to see him standing over me with his hand extended.

"No," I admitted. "It's been a long time since someone as treated me so poorly."

"I'm sorry," he said and it sounded like he meant it.

I grasped his hand and leaned my weight on him, allowing him to help me up off the ground. I smoothed out my blouse and brushed dust and dirt from my skirt. I still felt like I wanted to cry but I could not, in good faith, find it in myself to cry in front of Racetrack. My pride wouldn't let me, though I knew he would never make me feel shame for it.

"Thank you, Race." I rubbed my thumb across the broken skin of one of my palms, frowning. "I suppose it's luck that you happened upon me today. I think I would've just sat there on the ground and cried."

Race gave me a warm smile. "Then it's good I happened along. It ain't right for pretty girls to be cryin'."

Deciding to ignore the endearment, I pressed on, "How is it that you happened along today? This isn't exactly your neck of the woods." I offered him a wry smile.

Race grinned at me. "As it happens, I was out this way visiting my bird and it was quicker to cut through this way so I could head back to Sheepshead."

"You saw Pip? How is she doing?" When Race began walking, I fell in step beside him. "I saw her a few days ago. I can't believe she actually wants to attend finishing school and become a nanny."

"It's just a means to an end, Angel, like everything else." Race tossed me a sidelong glance. "Between you and me, she ain't gonna last a week. She'll boot those kids through a window. She ain't got the patience. But I can't tell her any of that."

I dug my elbow into his side playfully. "That's because she'd throttle you!"

That made Race laugh. "True. There are things ya just don't tell ya girl because they'll either get mad or they'll worry. I ain't keen for her to do either so I just keep it to myself."

"Not your best plan, but it'll do," I teased him.

We came upon the Duane Street Lodging House then and I swallowed my pride long enough to allow the House Mother to clean and bandage my hands for me. The alcohol she used on the scrapes hurt like a bitch and I had to force myself not to flinch at the pain.

"I forgot to ask, Angel: how's the king doing?" Race asked on our way to go wrangle up some dinner.

"Oh, he's all right. I've been spending a lot of time in Manhattan this week so I haven't really been around," I explained airily. "But I'll tell him you asked about him. I'm sure that'll do wonders for his ego."

Race just grinned at me. He ended up buying me dinner as penance, it seemed, for seeing my humiliation this afternoon. I didn't think it right to object, especially when he reminded me that he had money to spare. We chatted for a bit until it was time for Race to go back to collect Pip and make sure she got home safe.

"Could I get a glass of whisky?" I asked the waiter when he came back to collect the money from the dinner check.

He eyeballed me. "How old are you?"

"I have money. So let's forget the age, yeah?" I said bluntly.

His tone changed immediately. "Sure, of course. Coming right up."

An hour later, I had put away two glasses of whisky. My vision was swimming and my entire body felt warm as the whisky spread from my belly throughout my body. It was no wonder that people drank whisky to keep warm.

I supposed it was time for me to face my fears to get my ass back to Brooklyn. I had stalled long enough in Manhattan and I didn't fancy doing any more errands if I was to be treated like the filth on the underside of a boot. Being knocked around brought forth some very ugly feelings inside and I needed to shove them back down or else I felt I would drown in them.

That did not stop me from ordering a third glass. Perhaps I thought the alcohol would give me some nerve and allow me to march myself back to Brooklyn and put Sean Conlon in his place. Mostly I think I was just plying myself with alcohol so I wouldn't have to feel anything when I went back to Brooklyn and inevitably got my ass beat again for leaving.

Across the booth from me, the figure of a man slid into the seat. I blinked a few times to clear my vision when I realized it was Mick, a pirate smile curling his lips all ready.

"You look like hell," he observed.

"Go swing on it. I'm not in the mood," I told him.

This seemed to amuse him, as everything I said seemed to do. "A little fight in you tonight, eh, Angel? Remind me to get you drunk more often."

"Go to hell." I reached for my newly filled glass and took a sip.

"What did you do to your hand?" Mick asked after a moment. The mirth was now gone from his voice and he seemed quite serious.

"I got thrown out of a dress shop today for being Irish, tripped on my feet and fell flat on my ass," I said, suddenly angry. "And I shouldn't even have been in Manhattan this week but Spot Conlon decided to smack me across the face for no reason so I couldn't stay there. Do you want to make fun of me for that, too?"

I had lashed out at him but Mick didn't even seem fazed. "I'm sorry, Angel. About the dress shop and Conlon."

The blood roared in my ears from my anger but his tone actually made me feel better. He was condescending to me and he wasn't laughing at me. "Thanks," I muttered.

"So is Conlon no longer your sweetheart?" Mick asked, taking my glass of whisky from me to take a drink of it himself.

"I don't know," I said honestly, frowning.

"I don't mind filling the position, you know, Angel." The pirate smile was back on his smug face. "All you need is a good breaking in like a colt and then you'll be good to go."

My face warmed in my embarrassment. "That's very rude of you. I am not a mare."

Mick sat back in the seat, the picture of arrogance and mirth. "Relax. I was just trying to see what sort of girl you were."

I glared at him. "What sort of girl I am is none of your business."

"Ah, so you have been broken in! No wonder you're so moody!" Mick grinned. "Do you like it rough, little Angel? You like being held down?" His fingers inched across the table and he wrapped his hand around my wrist.

I yelped and stood up so fast that I knocked the half-full glass of whisky off the table from hitting it so hard. I yanked my wrist from his grasp, the blood roaring in my ears again. "Don't ever speak to me again. How dare you assume things about me. You know nothing."

"It was only a joke, Angel. Now sit down. You're drunk," Mick said flippantly but I wasn't hearing him.

I put the last of my money on the table. "I'm going home, you ass. Don't pretend to care about my state now," I hissed at him.

The cool night air was a refreshing rush to my senses as I swung the door of the bar open and stepped outside. He was right, however, that I was in no condition to be walking around. The world had been spinning under me since the second I stood up but I was angry and that filled me with enough momentum to at least get my ass outside.

Now that I was here, however, I wasn't sure what to do.

"Come on, Angel. Stop this." I whirled around to face Mick, who was hovering in the doorway of the bar, his larger form blocking the light making him look ethereal. "Come back inside."

"Don't speak to me like I'm a child," I told him. "And leave me alone."

When I turned around again, however, I almost ran myself right into Sean Conlon who was standing before me looking irritated. He wasn't looking at me, I noticed after a few moments, but over my shoulder at Mick who was still standing in the doorway of the bar.

"Ah, good. I'm glad you're here; our Angel girl is a little drunk and she'll need escorted home," Mick told him easily. "I'd be happy to do it myself actually."

Sean ignored him for a moment then and turned his eyes to mine. He smoothed his hand along my hair, holding my face in the gentlest way. "Are you hurt?" he asked me.

I shook my head, which was the wrong choice because it just spun the world around me a little faster. "I'm okay."

"We need to talk about what happened," he said and then frowned. "But not tonight. Can I walk you home?"

"Yes, please," I said quietly.

Sean then turned his attention back to Mick. "I don't know why you were here with her, but don't speak to her again. I'll kill you if you do."

Sean was pulling me away then, his arm around my shoulders to keep me walking as straight as possible. My head was growing more foggy by the second. I was becoming very tired and my limbs felt like they were filled with lead.

Just before I passed out, however, I thought I heard Mick say, "Of course, Boss. It won't happen again."

Author's Note-

Pride Month always puts me in a fierce, feminist mood and it occurred to me that I've never allowed you guys to see Lissa's heritage get discriminated against. I've only ever mentioned it briefly, so I decided to fix it. Hope that's okay! I also hope this chapter wasn't too jam-packed with different things; I got excited and just went for it!

Thanks so much to my baes last chapter: coveredinbees14, Hakunaaaa Matataaaa, CatherineA, and Guest! And thank you to the ghost readers as well, impatient and patient alike. You all mean the world to me.

Carryin' the banner!

xx Wicked