Rose O'Toole
Part 1
Dark circles shadowed Rose O'Toole's green eyes. Three worrisome weeks at a boarding house in New York's notorious Five Points section left Rose with fingernails gnawed down to nubs. On that April morn, she tied her long, auburn hair into a neat bun, bundled her few possessions in a sack and bid farewell to the boarding house, praying never to return. The streets of New York stank of such rot and disease that Rose feared that even if she scrubbed her skin raw with the strongest soap she'd still carry the stink. With a note from her cousin clenched in her fist like a charm to ward off evil, she set off. As she walked down the street, she made sure to keep her eyes on the ground, partly to avoid stepping in pig shit or some other kind of filth, partly to avoid meeting the aggressive eyes of the men that lingered in the doorways of saloons and brothels. She learned from previous trips onto the city streets that the sight of a pretty, young girl invited numerous crude advances.
For a young woman such as Rose, fresh from the green hills of Ireland and never knowing the touch of a man, New York had been a shock. In the broad light of day, right on Mulberry St., she saw a shameless woman hike her skirt and beckon any man that strolled by to come between her thighs for twenty-five cents. In a wink, a man who shockingly could have passed for Rose's dear departed Da, accepted the whore's offer. With the whore pressed against an alley wall, skirts raised, legs splayed wide, the man unbuckled his trousers and with nary a "How do you do," rammed his cock up into her, grunting like the stray pigs that rooted in the garbage. Mouth agape, Rose watched in disbelief and then moved on when she heard the snickering of dirty-faced children who clearly were not as appalled at the public fucking as Rose was.
A month ago, Rose made the voyage from Ireland because her cousin, Kathleen, promised her a job in the household of the Bordunes, the richest family in America, where Kathleen held the prestigious position of Ladies Maid. Rose arrived in New York in high spirits and went directly to the Bordunes' palatial home, where she met Kathleen at the back servants' entrance. To Rose's surprise, after a brief hug, Kathleen told Rose to leave.
"But what about the maid position?" Rose asked. She'd journeyed too far to leave without an explanation.
Kathleen glanced fearfully over her shoulder and then hissed, "I can't explain i'tall now. Someone's coming. You must go. I'll send word when it'd be a good time to return."
Rose started to panic. "I don't know a soul in New York, save for you. Where will I go? How will you find me?"
Kathleen retreated into the servants' entrance and whispered, "Go to Mrs. Fitzpatrick's boarding house on Mott. I'll write to you there. Hurry now, off with you."
"Kathleen," Rose started to protest, but Kathleen shut the door and rushed away.
The next three weeks became the most harrowing time in Rose's life. She found Mrs. Fitzpatrick's boarding house in the decayed heart of the Five Points. Mrs. Fitzpatrick, a toothless crone with a face that had not smiled in many a long year, charged Rose six cents a day for the privilege of sleeping in a crowded cellar with up to fifteen other women and their children. Rose's world became a five-foot by three-foot cot of flea-infested rags. Rose had a lovely shawl of delicate Irish lace made by her Ma to give to Kathleen by way of showing thanks for helping Rose land a position with the Bordunes. Rose guarded it carefully, keeping it close to her at all times. It did not matter. On her second day in Mrs. Fitzpatrick's, she awoke to find the shawl gone. Asking the other women where it went got her a wall of sullen stares.
Every day that passed, Rose asked if a letter came from Kathleen. With growing desperation, she watched what little money she had disappear. Forced to choose between eating and lodging, she went hungry. She lay awake at night, weak from hunger, worn from worry, trying to ignore her fleabites and the constant rattling cough of a nearby child. The cellar air was sickly; every breath Rose took was already inhaled and exhaled by a score of other people.
With only a few cents remaining, the letter from Kathleen finally came.
Rose,
Come tomorrow morn to the back entrance. I've had a word with the butler, Mr. Burton. Don't let his gruff ways put you off. He's a good sort. He'll give you a job.
Kathleen
The sun chased away the early morning damp as Kathleen made her way uptown to the Bordune home. The squalor of the Five Points gave way to busier avenues, the sidewalks thronged with people all walking briskly, everyone with an urgent place to be and too little time to get there. Weak from days without eating, Rose's uptown trek became a test of will. Her shoulders stooped. Her feet dragged. When she reached a neighborhood of stately homes, her legs buckled. She held onto a wrought iron fence and felt the world tilt at a crazy angle.
So odd, she thought, how the pavement rushes up to me. How could this be?
Unconscious, she hit the sidewalk.
Part 2
"Miss, do you need a doctor?"
Her eyes fluttered open. A man knelt at her side. His eyes were the darkest brown to match his wavy hair, parted on the side and pushed back from his brow. He had a strong jaw covered in a trimmed beard and high cheekbones.
"Yes, yes, I am fine," Rose accepted his outstretched hand. "I felt a bit dizzy, tis all."
The man was a head and a half taller than Rose and wore an elegant frockcoat with a herringbone suit, burgundy satin vest, black leather gloves and a white silk cravat. He helped her to her feet, and as he did so, Rose noticed that he leaned on an ebony, silver-tipped cane.
"When was the last time you've eaten?"
Dazed, she dusted off her dress. "I...I don't rightly know."
