The Rogue of Fifth Avenue

by Joanna Shupe

  “Excellent.” Duncan stared hard into Frank’s eyes. “And I don’t mean to imply that you’re not worthy of Marion. However, she’s been promised to Livingston for years. His father is a close friend of mine. We’d like the two families permanently joined.”

  Distaste crawled across Frank’s skin. Duncan spoke of Mamie as if she were a commodity. Something to be bartered and traded. Not uncommon in Greene’s circle but repugnant all the same. Perhaps this was what Mamie wanted as well. Who was Frank to quibble with destiny? “I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll ensure she’s well taken care of. Legally speaking, of course.”

  Suspicion crawled over Duncan’s face. “Yes, legally speaking. Because any man who tries to get in the way of my daughter’s future is a dead man.” He jammed his derby on his head. “And I would really hate for that dead man to be you.”

  Mulberry Street ran through some of the worst parts of the Lower East Side, with the notorious Five Points intersection at its south end. Mamie tried to avoid that area whenever possible, even in the daylight. The Sixth Ward was dangerous at all hours, which was why she kept to the northern side.

  The streets here were vastly different than their spacious and clean uptown counterparts. Downtown, thoroughfares were jammed with people of all backgrounds, along with pushcarts, horses and goods for sale. Musty paper and dirty rags littered the alleys, providing makeshift pallets for those without permanent shelter. Laundry hung from windows, and in the summer it wasn’t uncommon to see fire escapes being used as beds.

  When large groups began immigrating here, blocks and streets quickly turned into neighborhoods based on religious or cultural identity. English was not the chief language amongst the neighbors and shop owners in these spots; instead, one could hear German, Hebrew, Russian, Italian, Chinese and more. Skin color of every shade was represented, everyone trying to find a foothold in this new modern era. Many children ran barefoot, their faces and clothes reflecting time spent mostly outdoors. And when one lived with five or six people in a tiny one-room apartment, who could blame them for not staying inside?

  Mamie visited families in five different tenement buildings in and around Mulberry Street. She had chosen each carefully. The wives tended to small children, usually while doing wash or sewing for pennies a day, and their older children worked in factories, shops or on the streets. The husbands of these particular families were either unwell, drunkards or missing. That left the women struggling to keep things together by themselves, and any little bit of money Mamie gave them made a huge difference in their monthly budgets.

  She spent a long time at the first home, a Polish family’s fourth-floor apartment. The husband was recuperating from a leg injury and the wife had two sick children preventing her from completing her promised work. So, Mamie fed and soothed the children while the wife feverishly sewed. Any offers to aid in the mending were steadfastly refused; the woman wouldn’t hear of it.

  The next two stops were quicker. One woman grabbed the money through a crack in the door, thanked Mamie and locked up tight. The other wife whispered that her husband was sleeping and accepted the money quietly.

  Two policemen loitered outside the adjacent building. Police were not an uncommon sight in the Sixth Ward but one didn’t usually see clusters of them. They ignored Mamie as she went inside, too intent on their chatter and cigars to pay her any mind.

  She carefully climbed the derelict stairs to the third floor. A bulb flickered in the ceiling, the walls coated with damp. This particular family, the Porters, had troubled Mamie for quite some time. The husband worked on the docks, but whatever money he earned mostly went to his gin habit and not the family. The wife took in laundry, but it wasn’t enough to feed their three small children. They’d rejected the Sixth Ward Advancement Committee’s efforts to convert them and therefore were unable to receive aid, so Mamie had added them to her distribution list.

  What bothered Mamie most were the bruises that often appeared on Mrs. Porter’s face and neck, as if she’d been choked or punched. When Mamie asked about them—while in the same breath offering her assistance should Mrs. Porter wish to leave her husband—the wife insisted the bruises were from falls, her own clumsiness to blame.

  Mamie didn’t believe it.

  When she reached the third floor, the sound of wailing children greeted her. There were four apartments on this floor so crying was nothing new . . . but this was more than that. This was gut-wrenching misery, the kind that came from injury or neglect.

  Mamie hurried to the Porters’ apartment. The door stood open, the cries growing louder. She knocked before peeking in to see—

  Three policemen were inside, all gathered around a body on the floor. Was that Mr. Porter? Oh, God. What had happened? Was he dead?

  On the far side of the room, two more policemen surrounded Mrs. Porter, who was sitting in a chair, her face as white as flour.

  Mamie didn’t stop to think, she just went in. “Mrs. Porter, may I be of assistance?”

  Mrs. Porter glanced up, blinking at Mamie, and it took a long second before recognition dawned on her face. Angry cuts oozed blood from her left brow and the side of her mouth, her skin swollen and red. She tried to speak but nothing came out.

  The men all turned to Mamie. The oldest of the group, likely the highest-ranking officer, approached her. “And who might you be, miss?”

  Mamie drew herself up. “I am Miss Marion Greene. Daughter of Mr. Duncan Greene.”

  His brows dipped, skepticism plain on his face. “Of Fifth Avenue? You expect us to believe that Duncan Greene’s daughter would be down here in the Sixth with the filth? What, was Mrs. Astor unavailable today?”

  The men in the room all snickered, causing Mamie’s blood to heat. “Nevertheless, I really am Miss Greene.”

  He puffed up, raking her fiercely from head to toe, a slow, intimate inspection meant to demean and belittle her. “Well, no offense Miss Greene, but we don’t usually see girls like you down in these parts.”

  True, but that was hardly the point at the moment.

  She’d encountered men like this officer before: powerful men who believed women were feeble and fragile creatures. In her experience, the best way to deal with fools such as this was to be as direct and confident as possible. Show no weakness.

  One of the Porter’s small children was sitting on the floor, alone, crying. Mamie went over to pick him up, cradling him close and whispering soothing words to calm him. When the child quieted Mamie returned to where the officer stood. “Will you tell me what has happened, sir?”

  “That’s sergeant, miss—and I cannot see how this is appropriate for the delicate sensibilities of a proper lady with your upbringing. Perhaps you should find your carriage and return home. I don’t think your father would appreciate you down here.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot do so just yet, sergeant. Mrs. Porter is my friend. I wish to see if I may offer my assistance in this matter.”

  “Your friend?” he scoffed, his mustache twitching. Then he chuckled and glanced about to make sure his officers heard this as well. “You hear that, boys? Mrs. Porter’s got herself some fancy uptown friends.”

  Anger snaked its way over Mamie’s skin, scorching and burning, and she reminded herself to stay calm. They assumed she’d become hysterical and start screaming, grow red faced and irrational. Then they could dismiss her.

  However, if she remained logical and even-keeled, they would be forced to deal with her.

  “I wish to help her, if possible.” The child in her arms started to fuss, so Mamie gently bounced him.

  “That’s right noble of you, Miss Greene. However, I’m afraid there’s naught that can be done for Mrs. Porter. You see, we’ve just arrested her.”

  “Arrested her!” Mamie glanced over at Mrs. Porter. The other woman’s eyes were vacant and haunted, as if living through a nightmare. “For what?”

  The sergeant swept a hand toward the body on the floor. “For murder, Miss Greene. Now, if you don’
t mind, we have a job to do.”

  “But . . .” Mamie couldn’t wrap her head around it. Could they not see what had happened? “Mrs. Porter has clearly been beaten. If Mr. Porter has been killed by her hand, then surely it was in defending herself.”

  “That’s not an excuse for killing a man, miss. What happens between a husband and wife in the privacy of their own home is not our business and has no bearing on this case. The fact of the matter is that a man is dead and his wife is responsible.” He motioned to the policemen by Mrs. Porter. “Take her away, boys.”

  Mrs. Porter was yanked to her feet and led toward the door. Mamie watched in absolute horror as this hardworking, kind woman she’d known for over a year was marched off to jail. Had these policemen no compassion? No willingness to understand the true facts of what had transpired here?

  As she passed, Mrs. Porter dug in her heels to slow down, now addressing Mamie, “My children. Please, see them placed with my neighbor. Tell them I love them.”

  Mamie nodded. “I will help you. I swear it. Do not worry, Mrs. Porter.”

  “Move along,” the sergeant barked behind them. “Get her in the wagon. Then tell the others to bring a stretcher for the body.”

  Mrs. Porter’s older son and daughter began to cry as their mother disappeared, the sound breaking Mamie’s heart. God, the pain of mothers and children being separated from one another must be absolutely unbearable. She whispered to the little boy in her arms, rocking him back and forth.

  “Now, I really must insist you leave, Miss Greene. We need to move this body and it’s not a sight for delicate eyes.”

  God save her from misogynists. “What happens next for Mrs. Porter?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “She awaits trial at headquarters, just down the street. Then it’s off to the Tombs, I suppose.”

  Not if she could help it. There was one person who could assist Mrs. Porter, one that Mamie happened to know quite well.

  And she was going to owe him a huge favor for this.

  Chapter Five

  “You need me to do what?”

  Frank stared across his desk at Mamie, who had stormed into his office a moment ago. She was disheveled and flushed, clearly agitated. He tried to quash the little burst of happiness over her arrival, especially as she was upset. This was no social call.

  And her request confirmed it.

  She snapped her gloved fingers in front of his face. “Frank, pay attention. I need you to represent a friend of mine who has been arrested.”

  Arrested? “What friend is this?”

  “You don’t know her. She’s being held at police headquarters on Mulberry Street.”

  At least it was a she and not a he. “That doesn’t make sense. They would only take her there if she were a resident of the Sixth.”

  “Because she is a resident of the Sixth. She lives on Bayard between Mulberry and Mott.”

  Frank straightened in his chair. “That’s nearly Five Points. How in God’s name do you know someone that lives down there?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “That is the wrong question to ask. You should be taking notes on her name, the charges against her and how you plan to get said charges dropped. Fast. She has three children who depend on her.”

  He rubbed his eyes tiredly. It was nearly six o’clock in the evening. He had dinner plans with a client at eight o’clock. There was no time for Mamie Greene, her sass and fire, or her mouthwatering body in a surprisingly drab dress. Nor did he have time to represent some tenement wife who could never afford to pay his rates and was probably guilty anyway.

  And still.

  This was Mamie asking. He hadn’t been able to forget her. Three days had passed since their dinner together and she was so deep inside his head that his cock twitched each time his carriage drove past Sherry’s.

  He was in a bad way.

  “Mamie—”

  “You’re not allowed to refuse, Tripp. A grave injustice has been done to this woman and you must set it right.”

  Hmm. As worked up as he had seen Mamie at various points of their acquaintance, she’d never been quite this worked up. It seemed she finally needed something from him, something that made her desperate and bossy.

  His heart thumped in his chest, desire humming like a swarm of bees in his blood. He was but a man, a man who traded favors and knowledge for a living. Legal expertise was his currency. So, how far was she willing to go for his help? And what did he want in exchange?

  Not that sort of favor, Frank. Remember, she is a lady.

  Nothing untoward, then. But he could ask for something in return. After all, she couldn’t expect him to perform this service out of the charity of his heart, could she? His heart held no charity; it had been forced out years ago.

  This required a negotiation.

  He rolled his pen between his fingers, thinking. “Before I decide to help this woman, to right this grave injustice you speak of, I wish to know what’s in it for me.”

  Her lips pursed, brows dipping low. “What’s in it for you?”

  “Yes, you know. What will I receive out of this arrangement that makes the endeavor worthwhile on my part.”

  “The knowledge that you have saved an innocent woman’s life is not enough?”

  He chuckled dryly. “Mamie, the city’s prisons are full of innocent people. I cannot save everyone.”

  “I’m not asking you to save everyone. Merely one woman who happens to be a friend of mine.”

  “My caseload is very full.” He scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “Perhaps if you spoke to my secretary she might be able to find you some time next week—”

  “Fine!” She threw up her hands and let them fall at her sides. “What do you want in exchange, Frank?”

  He stared at her, unsure. Part of him hadn’t expected her to capitulate so quickly. The other part had expected her to suggest the payment, not leave it up to him.

  Dear God, the things he wanted in exchange. Prurient, inappropriate, dirty things . . . things that would make a Fifth Avenue princess’s hair stand on end. Fuck.

  He cleared his throat. Really, he wished to spend time with her. As ridiculous as it sounded, he liked being around Mamie. She was smart and funny, more insightful than other ladies he knew. If he asked himself why he’d chased her these past few months the answer was to simply be near her.

  There might not be a romantic future between them . . . but they could be friends of a sort. He would keep the evening respectable.

  But not too respectable.

  Thinking back to their dinner, the bargaining chip became crystal clear.

  “A night of billiards. You and me.”

  She rocked back on her heels, confusion etched on the lines of her face. “Billiards? You wish to play a game of pool with me?”

  “Not one game—many games. Best of seven. And at my home.”

  “I . . . Frank, I cannot be seen playing billiards with you at your home. That would be . . .”

  “Exciting? Stupendous? The most memorable evening of your life?”

  Her lips quirked and he thought for a moment that she might smile. Instead, she said, “You have a very high opinion of your company. And what I meant was that it would be scandalous—and not the good kind.”

  “Worried at what Chauncey might say?”

  “More like I’m worried about my father and the rest of society.”

  “What if I promised no one would see you enter or exit my home? And my staff is incredibly discreet.”

  “From generous experience, no doubt,” she muttered. “Have I really a choice? Is there any way I could offer something else, something less . . . intimate?”

  He thought of her bent over his billiards table, her long torso stretching to set up her shots . . . A shiver went through him. “No, absolutely not. Unless you wish to find another lawyer to help your friend.”

  “You are the very devil, Frank Tripp.” She stared at the wall for a moment, toe tapping while her jaw worked. Raising
his arms, he laced his fingers behind his head, ready to wait her out. In the end, she would see there was no use dissembling. This was the price for his help, full stop.

  Finally, she faced him, her chin high. “All right, I agree to your ridiculous billiards tournament. Now, get moving. You need to hurry to headquarters and have my friend released.”

  Satisfaction flooded him, a victory so sweet he had to smother the giddy laughter filling his chest. Rising, he buttoned his coat. “Then I shall do so, Your Highness, and report back to you directly. What is your friend’s name?”

  “We’ll discuss this in the carriage. I’m coming with you.”

  That got his attention. “Like hell you are. Mamie, you’re not traipsing about downtown amongst the thieves and criminals. Let me do this for you.”

  She glanced heavenward then spun on her heel. “You’re wasting time. I’ll be damned if I sit home and wait while her fate is decided.”

  He followed her blindly, momentarily distracted by her use of a curse. You’ve seen her pick pockets. She probably knows just as much about the criminal element as you. Maybe more.

  Shit.

  “Best of nine,” he called to her back. She shot him a disgusted look over her shoulder and he couldn’t help but grin widely.

  Indeed, he was doomed.

  As a girl, Mamie had once met Edwin Booth. The famous actor had been very kind to her, shaking her hand and exchanging a few words now lost to the sands of time. What she could still recall was how those around him had treated the actor, as if he were a god sent from Mount Olympus down to Earth. Everyone had vied for his attention, calling and shouting to him, reaching out in the hopes of touching greatness. They’d practically thrown rose petals for the man to tread upon.

  Walking into New York City Police Headquarters with Frank was a similar experience.

  Upon leaving his carriage, he was bombarded by officers, other lawyers and detectives bellowing his name and shaking his hand. It was relentless. Frank slapped backs and accepted cigars, a smile splitting his face as they made their way inside. The center of attention, everyone’s friend. He loves this. He was born to do this.