With Patrick’s help she pushed her way through the crowd and over to the piano. Nellie had been taught to play by her mother when she was a young girl, but she was a bit out of practice. Although it hardly mattered. The crowd was so boisterous she doubted anyone would notice the occasional missed note. She began playing her mam’s favourite Irish ballad. As the rest of the room burst into song, tears sprang to Nellie’s eyes. It was the sound of her home, of the fire warming the small front parlour. Of Nellie playing the piano while her mam sang in her sweet voice, her da looking on with love in his eyes.
Her parents had both lost their own parents in the Irish potato famine. They’d been driven off their land by the wealthy landowner because the crop failures meant they had been unable to pay their rent. When her mother’s parents had died in poverty, Nellie’s mother had been placed in a workhouse, where she remained until she was old enough to go into service as a maid for the same landowner who had driven her family off their land. That’s where she had met Nellie’s father. He had also returned to the same land and worked as a tenant farmer. Her parents had been happy together, but childhoods spent in poverty and the resulting ill health had shortened their lives, leaving Nellie an orphan at a young age.
Through her tears she looked around the room. Everyone was singing and waving their tankards of beer in the air. She wasn’t the only one who was remembering their home back in Ireland, their family and a time before poverty and misfortune had made them leave their homeland.
Her gaze moved to Dominic Lockhart. He was the only one not singing. Instead he was looking round the room and scowling. Nellie played the wrong note and her voice quivered. How dare he scowl at her people. Yes, they were poor and, yes, they had perhaps drowned their sorrows in a bit too much drink, but a wealthy, privileged man like him had no right to disapprove of them.
It was time to put an end to this charade. It was time to tell him to sling his hook and take his disapproval, his snobbery and his reprimands with him.
Nellie finished the song early, slammed shut the piano lid and pushed her way back through the crowd. This game she was playing with Dominic Lockhart had lost all appeal. She wanted him and his disapproving scowl gone and out of her life. Despite the noise of the crowd, despite the fact that her assistants would hear her, Nellie would let him know in no uncertain terms to leave this public house and never bother her again.
‘Nellie, m’dear, that was wonderful as always. You’re a talented wee thing, that you are.’ Patrick Kelly grabbed her around the waist and pulled her towards him.
Nellie gritted her teeth in annoyance. Dealing with the antics of a drunken man was the last thing she needed right now. ‘For goodness sake, man, let me go, or you’ll be feeling my knee so hard between your legs you won’t be able to walk for a week.’
Patrick laughed and tightened his grip on her waist. ‘Come on, girl, give us a little kiss.’ His rough, unshaven face came towards her, his wet lips parting, his breath smelling of beer and pipe smoke.
Nellie put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away. He flew back, crashing against a nearby table, and fell in a drunken heap on the floor, overturning several tankards on the way down, much to the patrons’ disgust. It seemed Nellie was stronger than she thought. She’d only given the man a small shove to let him know he was wasting his time.
She looked up from the startled Patrick Kelly to see Dominic Lockhart, glowering down at the prone man, his fists clenched tightly, his face rigid, his feet planted wide apart as if he was ready for a fight.
He had jumped to her defence. Who would have thought it? After a lifetime of fighting her own battles Nellie was unsure what to make of this apparent gallantry. All she knew was her heart seemed to be swelling in her chest and warmth had flooded her body. He looked so manly standing over the prone Patrick. This strong, red-blooded man was acting as her champion, ready to defend her honour. Nellie had to admit it was rather nice and decidedly flattering.
Behind him she saw a row of angry faces, faces that did not think Mr Lockhart’s defence of Nellie was anything to be impressed by. ‘There weren’t no need for that,’ one angry voice said.
This was not good. Not good at all. Patrick might be a bit of a lecher who had trouble keeping his hands to himself, but he was well liked by the other men in the bar and Dominic Lockhart was an obvious stranger. A wealthy, well-dressed stranger who certainly did not belong here. His gallant behaviour had put him in imminent danger.
Conversation had died and everyone in the now silent bar had turned to face them.
‘You had better leave. Now,’ Nellie whispered.
‘Not until this man apologises for treating a lady in such a disrespectful manner.’ Mr Lockhart’s voice sounded loud in the suddenly quiet room as he continued to glare down at Patrick.
She took hold of his arm. ‘No, the best thing you can do is leave.’
He stood his ground.
‘Come on.’ She pulled at his arm. Several men helped Patrick to his feet, then, as one, they turned towards Dominic, their faces belligerent, their bodies tense as if itching for a fight.
Nellie tried to laugh it off. ‘No harm done, lads. It was just a
