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Chapter Seventeen
The Selkie seemed strangely empty without Callahan laughing with the patrons or stepping into the kitchen to see what was taking Mrs. Gallagher so long to dish up another pot of stew. Bridget wasn’t on her own. Mrs. Gallagher was in the kitchen, as usual, and one of the barkeeps was there. It was a slow afternoon, and she didn’t need any more help.
Still, she had kissed Callahan goodbye this morning, fully expecting he would not come home tonight. Perhaps that was why the kiss had been a bit longer than it should have been. She hadn’t resorted to begging him to stay or pointing out all the reasons accompanying Sean MacDonald to a rally against the Act of Union was a poor idea. Could she be blamed if she had attempted to use a different method to persuade him to come back alive and whole?
He had certainly taken the kiss as an offer. He’d pulled away and looked down at her with dazed blue eyes. “And what exactly are you promising me when I return, lass?” he’d asked.
She’d stammered something about wanting him to be safe, but the cocky smile he wore when he pulled his cap on said he didn’t believe a word.
And now she spent an eternity checking her pocket watch every three minutes and drawing circles on the top of the bar with her finger.
At about three o’clock, when she assumed the rally was just underway, Aoife MacDonald walked in. She was alone, but she sat at the table Innishfree usually took. Bridget had been taught a woman never went to a pub alone, not unless she was selling herself. But then she’d never expected to feign employment as the owner of a pub. She could hear her eight-year-old self, after a night when her father had come home drunk and violent, loudly vowing she would never, ever step foot in a pub.
How her youthful declarations seemed to mock her now. She’d sworn she would never fall in love with a man like her father—charming and handsome and willing to use those traits in a swindle. And now she was half in love with Callahan Kelly, a man the epitome of everything about her own Irish father she had hated.
Bridget didn’t know if Aoife had come to ferret information out of her or to have someone to while away the hours until the men returned. Even if she hadn’t been worried Sean MacDonald would kill Callahan, there was plenty to worry about. Peel had declared the rallies against the Act of Union illegal and ordered them to cease. No doubt soldiers or law officers would be there to arrest men or worse. Perhaps MacDonald would be arrested, and then Callahan would come home safely.
She made her way to the Innishfree table, glass of wine in hand, and sat it in front of Aoife, taking the seat opposite. Aoife lifted the glass and offered it up. “It’s early for a nip, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“It feels as though it could be midnight to me,” she answered.
“The rally will last an hour. Two at most,” Aoife said. “They’ll be on their way back by four or five.” She didn’t need to specify that they wouldn’t return if arrested or beaten.
“I wish I could have gone,” Bridget said. She hadn’t meant to say it, but it was true. There might be a few women at the rally, and she might have gone if she liked, but Callahan thought MacDonald unlikely to confide in him if Bridget was there. The women in Innishfree were subordinate. Bridget had pointed out that just because the women weren’t ostensibly in power didn’t mean they didn’t know everything that went on or that they didn’t have a hand in it. Callahan had agreed. Now she wondered if he’d suspected Aoife would come in to The Selkie and wanted Bridget here in case Aoife was feeling chatty.
“You haven’t been married long.” Aoife sipped her wine. “I suppose you still want to be with your husband every moment.”
Bridget looked down. “I do miss him.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full reason she’d disliked staying behind.
“Is that why you were with him at the railyard last night?” Aoife asked.
Bridget’s eyes snapped up to meet Aoife’s. Aoife had dark brown eyes that revealed nothing when Bridget stared at them.
She tried for an innocent smile. “How do you know we were out walking?”
“Michael saw you. He thought it a wee bit strange you were so far from home.”
Bridget waved a hand. “We didn’t mean to walk so far. Did Michael tell you the awful discovery? A man had hanged himself in the rail car.” She lowered her voice. “I didn’t want to see his face and made Callahan leave with me.” It sounded so convincing, Bridget almost believed herself.
“It’s a tragedy,” Aoife said, eyeing her over the wine glass.
“Yes. I can’t think why he would do it.”
Aoife didn’t blink. “People lose their way. They make wrong decisions.”
Bridget didn’t dare breathe.
“You think you know someone, and then it turns out they’re not at all who you thought. They lie to you or steal something of yours.”
Bridget gripped her hands under the table and tried to keep her expression one of interest. She knows about the paper I took. She knows!
“Do you know what I mean then?” Aoife asked.
“You can’t trust anyone these days,” Bridget said, trying to sound cheerful.
Aoife shook her head. “No, you can’t. So you be careful, Bridget Kelly. Very careful. Dublin is a big city—a dangerous one as well.”
“Sure it is,” Bridget said, her voice barely a whisper. She knew a threat when she heard it. But was the threat for her or Callahan? Or perhaps both? Had Aoife come here to kill her? She doubted it. The pub was too public, and she was protected here. But Callahan was alone with MacDonald.
