Chapter Two
Winnifred enjoyed her studies—the academic aspects of it, at least—but she took great delight in Saturdays and Sundays, when she could be at her flat, as herself.
Fred could be forgotten for a time. She wore a regular corset and a dress that, while plain, was at least more flattering than the oversized jackets and trousers she wore at school.
She didn’t even mind that her Saturdays were spent going to the market and cleaning the flat—mundane but necessary chores she hadn’t time to undertake during her on-campus days.
She would walk along Cornmarket, past Christ Church Cathedral, feeling at ease in a way she didn’t outside of those two days of freedom.
She wasn’t hiding, and she wasn’t afraid.
Until a knock sounded at the door of her flat on a Saturday afternoon.
No one ever visited. She hadn’t a single friend in the entire city.
Fred certainly didn’t. More likely than not, ’twas the landlord looking in.
He did now and then but not so often as to make her worry about her secret being discovered.
He must’ve known Fred’s time at Trinity was nearly over.
Likely, the man wanted to know how long after the term ended the two siblings meant to continue living here.
Winnifred opened the door, fully expecting to see the older man there.
Only with great effort did she keep her mouth from falling agape.
Standing on the threshold was the black-haired stranger from the tree at Trinity.
The one who had seemed friendly enough—perhaps a touch too friendly—but had, in the end, tossed her vulnerability back at her.
“May I help you?” That he was supposed to be entirely unknown to her would, she hoped, explain away the slight quiver in her voice when she spoke.
“Forgive me, miss,” he said. “I was told Fred Fitzsimmons lives here.”
Good heavens. “He does, ya.”
“Could I speak with him?”
Worse and worse.
“He’s not here just now. He’s near to finishing his studies at Trinity, he is, and spends a great deal of time with his studies and books.”
“But he does live here?” the man pressed.
“He does, he does. I’m his sister.”
The man nodded in a way that indicated she’d solved a mystery for him. “You bear a resemblance to him.”
“I’ve been told that before.” She even allowed a little smile. “I never know if he ought to be flattered or I ought to be insulted.”
His eyes danced with amusement. How long had it been since she’d shared a bit of amusement with someone? Years, really.
“Do you know how long your brother will be away?” he asked.
She shook her head. “When he’s engrossed in his studies, there’s not a thing that can distract him.”
“I got that impression, yes.”
With that, the stranger had presented Winnifred with an intriguing and risky opportunity. True to her curious character, she embraced it.
“Have you met Fred?” she asked.
He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, his posture both casual and friendly.
“I have. On campus yesterday, in fact. I fear I inadvertently insulted him. I thought I was being clever, but I am not nearly so funny as I often imagine myself to be.” He looked genuinely embarrassed. “I’d hoped to apologize to him.”
It was an unexpected bit of kindness. No one ever showed Fred the least consideration. ’Twas as much her fault as anyone else’s. She had to keep people at a distance; she could hardly blame them for not treating her with warmth.
“I don’t know when he’ll be back,” she said.
The man’s brow pulled a bit, as if sorting a question. “Would you allow me to leave him a note? I do wish to offer my apologies.”
Winnifred hesitated a moment, allowing her intuition to make an assessment. In the end, she didn’t feel the least in danger. “On one condition,” she said.
“And what is that?” He seemed to sense the hint of humor in her tone and matched it.
“You tell me your name.”
His smile fully bloomed. “I suppose I haven’t told you that yet, have I?”
“You’ve not.”
He dipped his head in greeting. “Liam Rafferty, at your service.”
She returned a small curtsy. “Winnie Fitzsimmons.” She’d found it best, on the rare occasion when she gave her name, to shorten it so as not to put in anyone’s mind the presence of “Fred” in her name.
An overabundance of caution was far better than discovering too late that she’d not been cautious enough.
“We’ve writing implements here in the parlor. ”
He was soon situated at the rolltop desk, paper at the ready, along with ink, pen, and blotter. She continued her housework as he drafted his note.
How odd it was that, after four years of not having a single visitor in the flat, she didn’t find herself the least uncomfortable with Liam here, and he a stranger. Was she simply lonely? Or was there something about him, in particular, that was calming and comfortable?
“Are you also a medical student?” she asked, though she knew the answer, having conversed with him as Fred.
“No.” He spoke as he wrote. “I am studying engineering, though I am also finishing my time at university this term.”
Winnifred took up her dust rag and set herself to the task of wiping down the shelves. “What is it you wish to do once you’re done at Trinity?”
“I’ve hopes of being accepted into the Institution of Civil Engineers of Ireland. With their backing, I should be able to obtain an apprenticeship and, eventually, work designing bridges.”
“Bridges?”
He looked up from his letter and met her eye. “Do you disapprove of bridge designers?”
“Not at all. I’ve simply never met one.”
“We are a rowdy bunch, I should warn you.” Mischief danced in every inch of Liam’s expression.
“Are you?” She popped a hand on her hip and assumed a look of doubt.
“Mathematics does things to people, Miss Winnie. Makes a person want to rebel, to shake off the conventions and—” He shook his head and sighed dramatically. “I cannot continue this ruse. We are a boring lot, every one of us.”
She laughed lightly, appreciating the bit of absurdity. “And what of medical students? Do you believe they are a rowdy bunch, forever turning their noses up at convention?”
He hooked his arm over the back of the desk chair and turned enough to continue conversation with her. “From my experience, they are a varied bunch. Some are quiet and withdrawn. Some are surly and unfriendly. Some are arrogant.”
Again, Winnifred found herself asking a question that did not necessarily have an answer flattering to herself. “In which of those ‘somes’ do you place m’ brother?”
A flash of wariness passed through Liam’s eyes, quick but lingering enough for her to see it. He did not wish to answer entirely truthfully, it seemed. “He is quiet.”
“He is.” She turned back to her dusting, wishing she hadn’t pulled that thread.
Fred had to be dour and withdrawn. ’Twasn’t safe otherwise.
But hearing she’d been quite successful at it did not precisely buoy her spirits.
She ought not to have asked. Having a visitor, one she enjoyed talking with, was spoiling her for company.
She was allowing herself to imagine having a friend in this bustling city.
Mere weeks, she reminded herself. In mere weeks, she could return to Kinnelow.
The parlor also served as a dining room.
Some flats and homes in Dublin were finer than that, with dedicated spaces for the various functions of a home.
She hadn’t the income for such luxury. She was, indeed, unspeakably grateful that the people of Kinnelow had scraped together enough to see her not living in a hovel or a dangerous corner of the city.
Having dusted the shelf on which she kept her dishes, she took a plate from the stack on the table where she’d placed them and moved to place it in the hutch alongside the others.
“I hadn’t meant to upset you.”
Liam’s voice, directly behind her without the least warning, startled her to the point she dropped the plate.
A horrendous bouncing echo of shattering porcelain spread as pain through her chest. She was trying so very hard to keep her expenses as low as possible.
To return to Kinnelow with a bit of money left over would help her replenish the doctoring supplies needed there.
“Oh, Miss Winnie. I am so sorry.” Liam immediately bent and began picking up the broken pieces.
“There’ll be too many tiny bits,” she said. “I’ll fetch the broom.”
The flat was small, and her errand was quickly accomplished. He’d not moved from the spot by the time she returned. To her surprise, Liam insisted on being permitted to sweep up the mess. She chose not to argue.
“I truly am sorry,” he said as he worked. “I hadn’t meant to startle you.”
“Have you always moved so stealthily?”
He flashed her a smile. “My da always used to say I must’ve spent too much time with the dock cats.”
“And do cats also like designing bridges?”
His low, rumbling laugh trickled through her like warm water. Heavens, a person could very easily grow accustomed to hearing that sound fill the walls of her home.
He’d finished sweeping and held the dustpan in his hand. “I’m not certain where your bin is.”
She held her hands out. “I’ll take it.”
He gave her back the broom and dustpan, but his eyes held her there when she ought to have simply seen to the mess. “You are quite different from your brother, Miss Winnie,” he said softly.
“Am I?” Something in his tone brought a hint of heat to her cheeks, something she could usually prevent.
“I could not ignore that he decidedly preferred that no one talk with him. Here, however, I have felt entirely welcome. You must hail from a very friendly corner of Ireland.”
“From a tiny corner: a village called Kinnelow.”
“I’m not familiar with Kinnelow,” he said.
“Few people are.” And thank goodness they weren’t. The anonymity of the place was part of the reason she could manage her current role. “’Tis in County Wicklow. The largest town in the county is Bray, and it is hardly the bustling metropolis Dublin is.”
“But maybe that’s why you’re so welcoming,” Liam said. “Dublin hasn’t made you cynical.”
As far as compliments went, it was a good one. “I have enjoyed your visit. We live a very quiet life here in this little flat, and it has been nice to have company.”
His smile was soft and empathetic. “Perhaps I might call on you again.”
Winnifred shook her head. “M’ brother would not be best pleased if I had callers.”
“He denies you the companionship of friends?” A thin layer of alarm had entered his words.
She had best tread lightly, lest she find herself with a rescuing knight attempting to save her from herself. “No, he is simply so very uncomfortable with people that having this house bustling and busy would be a misery to him.”
“But not to you?” Liam pressed.
“I am here to support him as he finishes his schooling. I can endure the loneliness a bit longer.”
He seemed as if he meant to argue further. The topic was too fraught with pitfalls.
Winnifred offered a quick dip of her head, then turned to leave and empty the dustpan into the bin and put the broom away.
Doing so would afford her time enough to regain her footing and her resolve not to risk everything she’d accomplished the past four years.
Indeed, she remained in the kitchen longer than necessary, reminding herself of all that was at stake and how very careful she needed to be.
I have mere weeks remaining. I cannot risk everything now.
When she returned to the parlor, Liam had left. On the writing desk was a piece of parchment containing a brief note addressed to “Mr. Fitzsimmons.”
Winnie picked up the letter and moved to the armchair in the corner where she sat most days. As nervous as she was curious, she read it.
Mr. Fitzsimmons,
I called at your flat today to offer my apologies for my ill-executed attempt at humor when I sat near you under a tree in Library Square.
My jest caused you pain, and for that, I am truly sorry.
I hope that, should our paths cross in the future, you will permit me to offer you a greeting.
I, in return, will solemnly vow to do my utmost not to be a muttonhead.
Yours, etc.
Liam Rafferty