Manhattan

by Michael Grant

  “Tea and—?”

  “Never mind.” She firmly took his arm and led him through the front door.

  Ill at ease in such a fine establishment, he squinted at his teacup. “Look how small these things are. And so delicate. How’s a man supposed to pick the damn thing up without breaking it?”

  She picked her cup in demonstration. “Gently. See? Just use your thumb and forefinger.”

  “I’d rather have a mug. And what are these things?”

  “Jam and clotted cream. You spread them on your crumpet.”

  “Clotted cream? It sounds like something’s gone bad.”

  “No, it’s good. Try it.”

  Despite his complaining, he ate his—and some of Emily’s crumpets. He especially enjoyed the clotted cream.

  The bill was exorbitant, but to Emily it was well worth it. It was the first time since they’d arrived in New York that she felt civilized. The last time she’d seen linen tablecloths and decent tableware was back in Ireland before the famine. Thinking of it made her sad to remember how things used to be.

  Shaking that unhappy thought from her mind, she said in a brighter tone, “Isn’t this a refreshing change from Mr. Coyle’s endless tureens of bad stew?”

  “Aye, I’ll give you that. But we can’t be eating crumpets every day.”

  “No, but with my own kitchen, I’ll be able to feed us something besides boardinghouse fare.”

  She took Michael’s hand. “I sense a new beginning for us, don’t you?”

  He grinned. “Aye. Our own new home. A baby coming. And with the money coming in from Mrs. Winslow, I’ll be able to save more money for my business. It’s all good, Emily.”

  Rushing to get everything in order before the first of the month, Michael found the last week in January a blur of activity. Over the course of several days, he borrowed one of Cully’s wagons to pick up furniture from various junk dealers throughout the city. Flynn and several of the men he worked with helped him move into their new home. Without any great mishap, Emily and Michael were finally in their new home.

  Michael looked around at the sparsely furnished parlor. “It’s not much, is it?”

  “It’s a start,” Emily said, trying, but failing, to sound as upbeat as she’d hoped.

  “It’s a damn site better than Mr. Coyle’s boardinghouse,” Henrietta added, making them all laugh. “Don’t worry, Emily, it’ll look a lot better when you get some curtains up.”

  “I’m sure it will. Meanwhile, I’m off to see my students and find out if I’ll still have them by next week.”

  After Lucy’s lesson, Emily asked to see Mrs. Ingersoll. The woman came into the parlor frowning. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No, not at all. It’s just that I wanted to tell you that I’m pregnant.”

  Mrs. Ingersoll gave her a tight smile. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you. As you can imagine, having a young baby will complicate my life somewhat.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, I won’t be able to travel.”

  “Oh, does this mean you will no longer be able to teach Lucy?”

  “No, not at all. My husband and I have rented a house on Fortieth Street where I plan to set up a classroom to teach French. Would it be possible for Lucy to come to me?”

  Lucy clapped her hands. “Oh, yes, I would like that.”

  Clearly, she was delighted at the prospect of going uptown for her lesson, mainly, Emily suspected, so she could get out of the house.

  Mrs. Ingersoll gave Lucy a sharp look. “I will have to discuss this with Mr. Ingersoll.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  At the door, Letta gave Emily a hug. “I am so happy to hear about the baby and your new home, but I’m sorry that we will no longer have our coffee and chats.”

  “I will miss that, too, Letta. But when we get settled in you must come for a visit.”

  “I will,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I will.”

  Breaking the news to Delia Hainsworth was a lot easier.

  “I understand perfectly,” she said. “You can’t very well travel about the city with a brand-new infant. By the way, I talked to my three friends and they want their daughters to study with you. They live in various parts of the city, so it will be easier if they agree to send their daughters to you. I’m sure they’ll agree.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Over the next several months, they settled into a comfortable routine. As Michael got used to being a foreman, he experienced less and less resistance from the troublemakers among the men, especially when they realized that his efficient ideas saved them extra work.

  As he traveled about the city he was ever on the lookout for discarded furniture to add to their meagerly furnished home. Of course, there was never a scrap of wood to be found in the poorer neighborhoods; it was all used for firewood. But it was different in the upscale parts of the city. On Fifth Avenue, he found a beautiful mahogany dining room table and eight matching chairs. A week later he found a fine oak bed outside a mansion in Union Square. He was amazed at what these rich people left at the curbside. As far as he could tell, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the furniture he picked up. Flynn said he’d seen that sort of thing all the time. Rich people routinely threw away perfectly good furniture in favor of the current fashion. Michael thought they were daft. But it was their loss and his gain.

  Emily, too, was settling in. As her pregnancy progressed, she found it much easier not having to travel to Gramercy Park three days a week. She had turned her parlor into a classroom of sorts with a mix of desks and chairs. She was delighted when Michael brought home six school desks that had been salvaged from a school building fire. A little cleaning up and they would be suitable for her students. In addition to Lucy and Abigail, she now had three other students. Mary, Beatrice, and Nora were all from wealthy families, but they, too, were attentive and quick learners. With all five students in one place it became easier to work out a curriculum geared to the level of each student.

  It was a bright Monday morning in early June when Emily’s students began to arrive. As usual, Lucy was accompanied by Letta. Mr. Ingersoll had reluctantly given his permission for Lucy to travel, but only if Letta came with her. Emily was delighted with that arrangement. It gave her an opportunity to resume their coffee and chats after class.

  When all the girls were seated and settled down, Emily said, “All right, girls our new term for today is faire des courses. Does anyone know what that means?”

  They all shook their head no.

  “Faire des courses means to go shopping.”

  Abigail’s hand shot up. “Miss Emily, yesterday my mother and I went shopping at A.T. Stewart’s store on Chambers Street. Then we went to Constable’s on Canal Street where they keep elegant silks and satins and velvets. My mother always goes there to get her best things.”

  Emily smiled. “That’s very interesting.” Abigail could always be counted on to interrupt the class with some tidbit of information. But she was so exuberant about it that Emily couldn’t be angry with her.

  As Emily walked between the desks leading her students in reciting today’s list of words, she was startled to see an angry bruise on Lucy’s neck just at the collar line. Lucy had been acting unusually timid—perhaps frightened was a better word—since she’d arrived for her lesson. She stumbled over her words and seemed more distracted than usual.

  At the end of the class, as all the other girls hurried into the kitchen to sample Henrietta’s cookies, Emily said, “Lucy, could you stay behind a minute?”

  “Yes, Miss Emily.” Lucy remained in her seat.

  Emily sat down next to her. “Lucy, is everything all right?”

  “Yes.” Her answer came too quickly.

  “I couldn’t help but notice you have a nasty bruise on your neck. What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  Emily could see she didn’t want to talk about it, and she knew it wouldn’t be w
ise to push her. “All right, why don’t you join the other girls in the kitchen.”

  The idea of making cookies for an after-class snack was Henrietta’s idea. It was a great way for the young girls to socialize while they awaited their chaperons to pick them up. The other girls seemed to enjoy their time together, except Lucy, who always hung back from the group.

  Emily took a tray of tea and cookies into the parlor where Letta was waiting for her. As Emily poured the tea, she said casually, “How are things at home for Lucy?”

  “Well enough, I imagine.”

  Emily sat down on a chair close to Letta. “I think there’s something wrong with Lucy.”

  “Whatever do you mean?

  “Did you see the bruise on Lucy’s neck?”

  Letta nodded as she stirred her tea.

  “Letta, I know it isn’t a servant’s place to gossip about their employers, but—”

  “No, it is not.” Letta said firmly.

  “But I have to ask you these questions because I believe Lucy may be the victim of some kind of abuse.”

  A visibly upset Letta abruptly put her cup on the table, sloshing tea into the saucer. “Emily, please don’t ask me these questions. I can be terminated for talking about anything that goes on in the Ingersoll household. And if I’m dismissed, I’ll not get a good reference from them.”

  “I understand,” Emily said, reluctantly. “We won’t speak of this again.”

  At dinner that night, Henrietta noticed that Emily seemed preoccupied. “Emily, is there anything wrong?”

  Emily put her fork down. “As a matter of fact, there is.”

  “My dear, what is it?”

  “I’m worried about my student, Lucy Ingersoll.”

  “Is she not grasping her lessons?” Michael asked.

  “I wish it were as simple as that.”

  “Well, then, what is it?

  “I think Lucy’s being abused,” Emily blurted out.

  Henrietta dropped her fork. “Oh, my God!”

  “Why do you say that?” Michael asked sharply.

  “It goes back to the first time I met her. She seemed extraordinarily timid and withdrawn.”

  “Aren’t most twelve-year-olds? Henrietta asked.

  “Not like that. I also noticed that she flinched at every little sound in the house. She’s afraid of something.”

  “Afraid of what?” Michael asked.

  “I’m not sure. When I first started teaching her I suggested that we do our lesson in the park. She was delighted at the prospect, but her mother said Mr. Ingersoll didn’t want her in the park.”

  Henrietta’s eyebrows went up. “Gramercy Park? My goodness, whyever not?”

  “I don’t know. I finally convinced Mrs. Ingersoll to let us go. I can tell you Lucy was visibly relieved to get out of that house.”

  “Are you sure you’re not imagining all this?” Michael asked.

  “I am not imagining it,” Emily said sharply. “While we were in the park, three girls her age came by rolling their hoops. She didn’t know who they were. Michael, they’re neighbors for God’s sake.”

  “Is there anything else?” Michael asked, not convinced there was anything amiss.

  “Today, I saw a large bruise on Lucy’s neck.”

  “Oh, my heavens …” Henrietta muttered.

  “And I can’t tell you how many times I would come for my lesson and Lucy and her mother were at the doctor’s.”

  “I understand your concern,” Henrietta said. “But I think you’ll have to admit, it is all quite circumstantial.”

  “I know. I just feel there is something I should do.”

  Michael shook his head. “Mr. Ingersoll is a wealthy and influential man in this city. I can’t imagine the likes of him abusing his own daughter.”

  “Who says it must be Mr. Ingersoll,” Henrietta asked.

  Michael had no answer for that.

  Emily put her napkin down. “Gaylord is coming to dinner on Sunday. I’ll ask his advice.”

  In the short time Henrietta had been living with them, she continuously surprised Emily. The cookies were one example. The cookies, which were absolutely delicious, were her grandmother’s recipe, Henrietta explained. And then there was the cooking. Emily had no illusions about her cooking skills, still, she thought she must be a better cook than someone who has lived a life of leisure for many years. Wrong again. It turned out that Henrietta was something of a gourmet cook. Unfortunately, there was no money for gourmet fare, but Henrietta could turn the toughest piece of beef into something wonderful. After Emily turned out a meal of mutton with dubious results, it was tacitly agreed upon that Henrietta would have dominion over the kitchen.

  At precisely five o’clock that Sunday, Gaylord arrived for dinner armed with a bottle of claret.

  As Gaylord entertained them with descriptions of the new quirky, weird, and strange boarders who had taken their place at Coyle’s boardinghouse, Emily’s mind was only on Lucy. As dinner was winding down, she couldn’t hold her questions in any longer. “Gaylord, I would like to ask your advice about something.”

  He poured more wine in their glasses. “Of course.”

  She told him everything she’d told Michael and Henrietta. When she’d finished, the usually buoyant reporter looked grim. “Emily, you may have tapped into the ugly, under-side of the upper class in this city. There are dozens of religions and charitable organizations that tend to the needs of the poor and destitute who are victims of child abuse. But it must never be suggested that such despicable activity could ever happen in our better households.”

  “Just because they have money doesn’t mean they’re not immune to such bad behavior,” Michael said indignantly.

  “True enough. It’s just that you’ll never find our affluent brethren discussing such a distasteful topic. And it’s not just child abuse. You’ll never hear anyone in that circle talk about wife beating, alcoholism, or rampant gambling.”

  “So, they are immune,” Emily said in exasperation.

  “I’m afraid so. Let’s assume your hunch about the little girl is true. And let’s assume the culprit is Mr. Ingersoll. To whom would you go to for relief?”

  “The police I suppose.”

  Gaylord shook his head. “Out of the question. The police in this city are under the thumb of the mayor. Did you know that they are all appointed annually at the discretion of the mayor?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Under those circumstances, they will do nothing to jeopardize their positions by taking on some one of the stature of Mr. Thaddeus Ingersoll.”

  “So, what’s to be done?” Henrietta asked.

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done.”

  Michael slammed his hand down on the table. “I can’t accept that, Gaylord. We have a baby coming soon. I don’t know if it’s to be a boy or girl, but I can’t accept a world that would allow my daughter to be abused without some sort of justice and reckoning.”

  Gaylord drained his glass. “Well, I’m sorry to say, there it is. Now mind, it’s only my opinion, but I do believe I’m right about this.”

  Despite what Gaylord had said, Emily vowed to keep an eye on Lucy and if she saw any more signs of abuse, she would go to someone. Who that someone might be, she had no idea.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was the beginning of the workday and Michael was supervising the loading of the wagons for the day’s work. There wasn’t much for him to do. Having convinced the men that loading a wagon properly would save them time and effort, they automatically loaded the materials in proper sequence. But how many men should go on what job was another problem he’d been watching. Today, he would address that.

  As the men were getting ready to climb onto the wagons, Michael tapped Larkin on the shoulder. “I want you on the Fifth Avenue job wagon today.”

  “What for? I’m always with this crew.”

  “That job is going to finish up today, I don’t need six men there. You’ll go
with the Union Square gang. They need all the help they can get.”

  “Why me? You’re always picking on me, Ranahan.”

  “It’s not just you.” He pointed at three men. “Foley, Dunn, Clark, all of you will go with the Broadway crew.” When he heard the muttering, he said, “Listen up, men. We’re here to make money for Cullinane Construction. If Cully makes money, we get work. If he doesn’t make money, we’re out of work. Any questions?”

  There were none.

  It had been raining since six that morning and Fifth Avenue was a sea of mud. The gloomy, overcast day matched Michael’s sour disposition. He couldn’t get the conversation they’d had last night with Gaylord out of his mind. He kept hearing the reporter’s words, I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done. He shook his head in bewilderment. What kind of city was this where a young girl could be abused and nothing would be done?

  At the end of the work day Michael was riding up front next to Flynn, while the other men sat in the back of the wagon. As they neared Fourteenth Street, Michael saw another wagon coming towards them. It was the only time he smiled all day. The overloaded wagon was being pulled by a large white horse that reminded him of Shannon, Emily’s spirited stallion back in Ireland. Of course, unlike Shannon, this horse’s head hung in defeat and he had difficulty keeping his footing in the slippery mud. Whatever pride and dignity he may have had in his youth, had long since been beaten out of him.

  Suddenly, the horse stumbled and went down on his knees. As Michael watched in horror, the carter, cursing furiously, jumped down from the wagon and began beating the poor horse unmercifully. Passersby hardly gave him a second look. Other carters, annoyed at the delay, maneuvered around the fallen horse and continued on their way without a glance.

  Without thinking, Michael jumped off the wagon and reached the man just as he was raising his whip to deliver another blow. He ripped the whip out of the surprised man’s hand and brought it across his face. As the stunned man fell to the ground, Michael roared, “Leave him alone, you bloody beast. Can’t you see he’s worn down?”