The Amersham Rubies
Page 4
Three
When we returned to Sid and Gus’s house, I was itching to seek out the mysterious Mr. Lee, but had to mask my impatience a little longer while Sid and Gus took me up to my room, fussed around making sure that the pillows were to my liking and I had sufficient drawer space, then swept me downstairs to prepare luncheon. In truth I enjoyed eating with them, especially because the meal consisted of crusty French bread and what Sid described as her four-P meal: pâté, Port Salut cheese, pears, and peaches. After Mrs. Sullivan’s stodgy and filling meals it was delightfully informal, but that business card was burning a hole in my dress pocket. Fortunately as soon as the meal was over, Sid was anxious to finish her article, so I took the opportunity to escape, making my way southward to the office on the Bowery.
The street number indicated that it would be at the bottom part of the street, where it joined Chatham Square, not at the more respectable northern end after all. So my curiosity was aroused even further. What very important man would have offices in an unsavory neighborhood south of Canal Street?
The day had now become uncomfortably hot and humid, with the threat of a thunderstorm later in the afternoon. I had no wish to walk a step further than necessary and tried to evaluate whether I’d be better off taking the trolley down Broadway and then cutting across Canal Street, or walking from my house to the Third Avenue El and not having to walk at the end of the trip. I decided on the latter and walked in the sedate quiet of Eighth Street, past Astor Place and the Cooper Union building to the nearest El station. I regretted this decision instantly as the train arrived already crammed full, and I was forced to stand between a large Italian woman who reeked of garlic and an equally large laborer who smelled as if he hadn’t taken a bath for weeks. All I could think was thank heavens the line was now electrified or we would have had smoke blowing in through the open windows to add to the mixture of unpleasantness.
I can’t tell you how glad I was to fight my way to the carriage door at Chatham Square. I came down the iron stairs into that teeming mass of humanity that is the lower Bowery. Trolley cars inched their way up the middle of the street, bells clanging impatiently to force delivery wagons, hansom cabs, and the occasional carriage out of their way. A constable stood on the corner, swinging his billy club in what he hoped was a threatening manner, as crime was rife around here.
I was already familiar with this area and unexpected memories resurfaced. I had stayed in a tenement on nearby Cherry Street when I first arrived from Ellis Island. That introduction to the city had not been the most pleasant of experiences—especially since I was accused of murder at the time and fighting for my very life. Then later I had worked undercover in a sweatshop on Canal Street. And when I was fighting to prove Daniel’s innocence after his arrest on trumped-up charges of taking bribes, I had rubbed shoulders with Monk Eastman and his gang, who ruled this part of the city. As I recalled the disturbing memories, a voice in my head warned me that it might not be wise to be entering this dangerous world again. But I pushed the images to the back of my mind, as that was all behind me now. Daniel was back safely on the police force. I had a bright future with him, and nothing to worry about at all. And if I didn’t like the sound of the assignment Mr. Lee was offering me, I simply wouldn’t take it.
Having sorted that out, I strode out with confidence. Even in daylight it was not the most desirable of streets. For one thing, the elevated railway ran along one side so that all the businesses beneath it were in perpetual shadow. Those businesses ranged from butchers and grocer shops to flophouses (advertising beds by the week—strictly no drinking allowed) to barbers with their striped poles (offering a hot shave and a haircut for ten cents). And then, of course, there were the saloons in abundance, not to mention houses of ill repute. Scantily dressed girls stood in doorways, their eyes scanning the crowd for likely customers. Their gazes passed me over as if I was invisible.
The saloons were doing a brisk trade, even this early in the afternoon. Drunken men—many of them Irish, I regret to say—staggered out and stood blinking in the strong sunlight as if they couldn’t believe where they were. Occasionally a man would be ejected forcibly and come flying out to land sprawling on the sidewalk. Women out shopping would draw in their skirts, grab their children, then step past as if nothing had happened. I remembered those saloons well. I had had to enter one or two on occasion and narrowly missed being thrown out myself, as women were not permitted inside. How long ago this all seemed. Recently my cases had been of a more respectable nature and this part of the city now felt dangerous and foreign to me.
I stared up at the street numbers. Mr. Lee’s address had to be around here somewhere. I finally found it next to a Baptist mission. From inside came the sound of children singing. Clearly the Baptists were trying to save souls on days other than Sunday. I went up a narrow, dark staircase and found myself outside a door on which a simple brass plate announced GOLDEN DRAGON ENTERPRISES. I opened the door and went in. There was nobody in an outer office, lit by an anemic gas bracket, but as I entered, a young man came through from an inner room. Not much taller than me, he was slim, fine-boned, and clean-shaven with black hair, and he carried himself with an air of elegance. His dark eyes narrowed as he looked at me appraisingly.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m here to see Mr. Frederick Lee,” I said and held out the calling card. “My name is Molly Murphy. I gather he has a business assignment for me.”
His expression didn’t change, but he bowed slightly. “I am Mr. Lee. So you came back to town after all. Your neighbors did not think you would be available to assist my employer.”
“I have been staying out in Westchester County,” I said. “Luckily I came back to attend a function and my neighbors told me of your visit. They seemed to think it was most urgent.”
“It is,” he said. “We are honored that you have decided to give up your valuable time to help us. Please come into my office, Miss Murphy.”
He ushered me inside and pulled up a chair for me. “Please sit down. I hope you managed to find me without too much inconvenience.” He also took a seat behind the desk. His flowery politeness was beginning to annoy me, especially as I could sense that he was in no way honored by my presence. “None at all,” I said coldly. “I have conducted cases in this part of the city before.”
“Ah. That will be useful in this particular matter.”
I looked around the room. Apart from the desk and chairs it was sparsely furnished with a large mahogany cabinet on one wall and shelves containing file boxes behind the desk. Suddenly there was a rumble and the whole place shuddered. It took me a second to register that the elevated railway ran by right outside his window. Hardly the sort of place where a rich client would choose to work or even keep an office.
“I understand that you are representing an influential gentleman,” I said. “Are you his lawyer?”
“Oh, no. Merely his secretary.”
“Then may I ask the nature of this assignment?” I asked.
“As to that, he will wish to tell you about it himself.”
“Then please escort me to him.” There was only the one door through which I had entered, and I came to the conclusion that this was an outpost of an empire, with Mr. Frederick Lee being among the lower ranks of employees. “I take it he is not in this building.”
“Indeed no.” Frederick Lee stood up. “I will be honored to escort you to him. He will be pleased that you have decided to assist him in this little matter.”
“I haven’t decided anything,” I said. “I’ll need to hear the nature of the case and the fee he is offering before I make any decisions.”
“My employer does not readily take no for an answer,” Mr. Lee said. “He is used to having his wishes fulfilled and his orders obeyed.”
“Then perhaps I should leave right away,” I said, “because I don’t take kindly to being bullied or ordered around. I run my own business and I’m not anybody’s lackey, Mr. Lee.” I rose
to my feet. “Good day to you.”
He leaped ahead of me to bar the doorway. “I’m sorry. I spoke hastily, Miss Murphy. Please forgive me. Of course my employer appreciates your expertise and status, otherwise he would not have sent me to find you. This is a matter of great delicacy and he needs a detective with your kind of experience and finesse. Please at least let me take you to him and hear what he has to say. He is a very rich man and his generosity to those who help him knows no bounds. I can assure you that you will not be disappointed.”
I opened my mouth to point out that his generosity to his employee clearly knew quite narrow bounds, if this office was anything to go by, but I swallowed back the words at the last moment. I have to confess that I was intrigued and challenged. The least I could do was to meet this man, and if I didn’t like what I saw, then I was free to walk away.
“Very well,” I said. “Lead me to him.”
He took his derby hat from a hat stand in the outer office. “This way, if you please. It is only a short walk. I hope you won’t find the heat too oppressive, but it makes little sense to hail a cab for such a small distance.” He led the way down the stairs. Another train rumbled past overhead as we came out onto the street.
“This way. Please watch your step. The street is not the cleanest, I’m afraid.” He took my arm, gripping it firmly above the elbow, and steered me across the street, between a trolley and a knife grinder’s wagon. When we safely reached the curb he released me. “It’s always an adventure crossing the Bowery, isn’t it?” he said. “Never mind, we’ll soon be out of the hubbub.”
I was curious to know where we were going. There was nowhere within walking distance of the Bowery that I could think of as a respectable residence for a rich man, so I presumed we’d be going to another office. Maybe we’d be heading south to Wall Street and my client would be a wealthy banker. Or perhaps he was in shipping, but surely we were walking away from the docks.
“Up here,” he said and steered me into a side street. I looked up and read the street name: Mott Street. I also noticed immediately that it was unnaturally quiet and empty after the hustle and bustle of the Bowery. And looked different, somehow. Brightly colored balconies festooned the buildings, which were topped with ornate curved roof gables. Some of the balconies were gilded and carved with what looked like mythical beasts. Lanterns and bird cages hung on them. Then I noticed the names over stores and restaurants. Yee Hing Co., Precious Jade Chop Suey House, On Leong Merchants’ Association, and notices pasted up on poles and billboards in Chinese characters. I was being taken into a place I had only heard about until now: Chinatown.
If you enjoyed The Amersham Rubies, please check out these other books by Rhys Bowen:
The Molly Murphy Mysteries
The Last Illusion
In a Gilded Cage
Tell Me, Pretty Maiden
In Dublin’s Fair City
Oh Danny Boy
In Like Flynn
For the Love of Mike
Death of Riley
Murphy’s Law
The Constable Evans Mysteries
Evanly Bodies
Evan Blessed
Evan’s Gate
Evan Only Knows
Evans to Betsy
Evan Can Wait
Evan and Elle
Evanly Choirs
Evan Help Us
Evans Above
Table of Contents
The Amersham
Excerpt: Bless the Bride
Other Books by Rhys Bowen