The Rogue of Fifth Avenue

by Joanna Shupe

  Frank’s throat tightened with the terrible possibilities.

  They walked a block before he trusted himself to speak. “I need a favor,” he told Otto. “The brewer.”

  “I gather you know him,” the other man said.

  “I do, but from a long time ago. Almost fifteen years.” He stopped and moved to the edge of the walk, where he and Otto could talk. “Dig up what you can on him. I’d like to know what he’s doing with Mulligan, if this pilsner thing is legit.”

  “All right. I can do that, if you’re certain.”

  Frank dragged a hand through his hair. Did he really wish to do this? He’d left home and never regretted it. Sent his mother money but nothing more. Why did he suddenly care?

  The image of Mamie cradling Mrs. Barrett’s son popped in his mind, her willingness to help these women, near strangers. He spent their funds on gin and women. Came home and treated her like trash. What kind of man is that? Not the one who courted her, I can guarantee it.

  Frank’s present was full of gray areas, blurred lines between good and bad. Murky legal waters only he could navigate. In his memory, though, his childhood had been very black-and-white, with clear villains. There hadn’t been a need to reevaluate those impressions as an adult . . . not until Mamie.

  Mamie was full of compassion and generosity, risking her own personal safety and standing in society to bring money to these families. She’d fought for them, even with him, and he was beginning to see that perhaps his judgment had grown clouded in certain areas.

  Perhaps he hadn’t always been fair.

  No, he didn’t work with middle- or lower-class clients. Instead, he helped the richest New Yorkers avoid trouble, legitimate or not. His law practice demanded it, as he didn’t work for free. Other than Mrs. Porter and springing his brother from the Tombs a while ago, Frank had avoided any case that wouldn’t pay him handsomely.

  So, was he a bad person because of it?

  He rubbed the sudden tightness in the back of his neck. Damn Mamie Greene and her do-gooder stubbornness. He didn’t need to feel guilty over the choices he’d made in his life. It was too late to change them anyway. He’d have Otto find out what he could on Patrick and then be done with the Murphies forever.

  “Just learn what you can and let me know. I’ll pay double your normal rate.”

  Otto’s brows shot up but he didn’t comment. He merely tipped his derby and walked away, leaving Frank alone on haunted, familiar streets.

  Mamie was in her room, counting money, when her mother knocked. “Marion, are you there?”

  She quickly stashed the few hundred dollars she’d saved, money that would be redistributed to her tenement ladies next week. When all evidence of the secret cache had disappeared, she called, “Come in, Mama.”

  Catherine Greene was a blond beauty. Florence, the middle Greene sister, was the spitting image of their mother, though their personalities couldn’t have been more opposite. Their mother followed the rules, never bucked convention. She paid calls and hosted dinners, never complained about the hours Daddy worked, and ensured the Greenes appeared at all the important social events.

  Mamie had once asked her mother if she’d ever longed to do more with her life than be a society wife. “Why on earth would I leave the top of the mountain to begin climbing once more?” Mama had replied.

  Mamie stopped asking her mother questions after that.

  “There you are,” Mama said as she approached the bed. “Your father wishes to see you in his study.”

  “Oh.” Apprehension slithered down Mamie’s spine. After her conversation with Chauncey two nights ago, she’d been nervous about where things stood. It felt as if a hammer blow might fall at any moment. “Do you know what about?”

  “Nothing terrible, I’m sure. If he were upset he would not have sent me.”

  True. Her father wasn’t one to delegate a dressing down. “All right.” Mamie slid off the mattress, shook out her gown and adjusted her bustle. When she felt put together the two of them walked downstairs. Her mother chatted about wedding plans the entire way and by the time they reached her father’s office, Mamie’s stomach had knotted into a ball.

  They entered without knocking. When she stepped into the room she nearly stumbled. Standing by her father’s desk was Frank Tripp.

  She purposely didn’t look at him for more than a passing glance, yet her brain memorized every detail. Handsome, tall and a strong jaw. Wearing a brown suit that showed off his wide shoulders and tapered waist. Dark hair that had been oiled back, causing his cheekbones to stand out in sharp relief. Full lips she’d felt on her mouth, her neck . . . and other places.

  Oh, yes, she’d seen quite a bit in that quick glance, enough to weaken her knees as she approached her father’s desk.

  He doesn’t want you, Mamie.

  Right. As delicious as the other night had been, he’d made his intentions perfectly clear. She lifted her chin and wiped any trace of expression from her face. No matter how much his departing words had stung the other night she refused to let him notice. She had her pride, after all. “Hello, Daddy. Mr. Tripp.”

  Frank executed a neat bow. “Miss Greene.”

  Her father gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Marion, we need to discuss your marriage agreement.”

  Mamie clasped her fingers together and tried not to panic. It was merely a discussion, nothing to get hysterical over. “I’ll stand, if you don’t mind. What about the agreement?”

  “We’ve heard back from the Livingstons. Chauncey has signed the agreement.”

  The air actually left her lungs and she couldn’t breathe for a long second. It seemed everything in the room froze as the weight of those words sank in. Chauncey had signed. Now only one outstanding signature remained before the agreement was binding. Hers.

  She wobbled, actually dizzy, and wondered if she was going to faint. Everyone stared at her, so she drew herself up and tried to appear calm. “With the clauses intact or has he made amendments?”

  “With the clauses intact. He has asked for leniency on the time allowed to pay the penalties, should they be necessary, and I’ve agreed.”

  “I see.” She dug her nails into her palms, grateful for the sting. The sharp bite of pain kept her from fleeing the room in terror.

  Chauncey’s reservations over the infidelity and progeny clauses must have resolved themselves, perhaps when she’d suggested forgoing the marriage altogether.

  God, why had she opened her mouth?

  “So you need me to sign?”

  Her father lifted a shoulder. “Not exactly. I am your legal guardian and would therefore sign on your behalf.”

  Oh. Then it was done? With two strokes of a pen her entire life had been turned upside down.

  You knew this day was coming. You have no reason to complain.

  Yes, but she’d hoped to find a way out of this. After the other night, after Frank, it was clear she’d be miserable in a loveless marriage.

  She tried not to let her gaze drift to the man responsible for her epiphany. “I see. Then I’m uncertain why I’m needed.”

  Her father dropped into his chair and gestured to his lawyer. “Frank, perhaps you’d best explain.”

  Frank cleared his throat. His eyes held no teasing warmth, no blazing lust. His expression was flat, just a shade above bored. “Mr. Livingston has asked for your full participation. Legally, your father may represent you, which makes the agreement binding. But Mr. Livingston prefers you consent of your own free will. That you understand the terms and initial the agreement yourself.”

  “Why?” her mother asked, voicing the question before Mamie could.

  “He said there had been some doubts expressed. He is ensuring those doubts have been satisfied.”

  Their conversation from the other night. She didn’t know whether to be grateful to Chauncey or furious with him for raising the issue.

  “What does that mean, doubts?” Her father scrutinized her face. �
��Doubts from you?”

  “Of course not,” her mother said. “The two of them have known one another for ages. What on earth would cause either of them to doubt the match?”

  Mamie couldn’t answer. She didn’t trust her voice at that moment. Part of her feared she might confess everything if she started speaking, like a dam that crumbled under the pressure around it.

  The silence in the room felt heavy, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air. She didn’t dare look at Frank. Instead, she focused on her father, who appeared none too pleased about this latest turn of events.

  He sat forward in his heavy leather chair. “Marion, I asked you a question. Why does Chauncey believe you are experiencing doubts about this marriage?”

  “I discussed this with you a few days ago,” she lied. “The clauses in the agreement.”

  “Those were Chauncey’s issues and he’s now conceded them.”

  “They pertain to me as well. I do not wish to produce children on your timetable.”

  Frowning, her father drummed his fingers on the surface of the desk. “Fine. Tripp, strike that clause from the agreement.”

  Frank took a pen off the desk, flipped to the correct page, and drew a line through the clause. “Just need you to initial the change.” He handed the pen to Mamie’s father. “Mr. Livingston will also need to initial the change, but I cannot foresee his objection.”

  Her father scrawled his initials and then held the pen toward Mamie. “There. Now we’re ready for your signature and this can all be put behind us.”

  Hardly. This felt like the beginning of a long unhappy road, not the end. She stared at the pen in her father’s fingers, the moment stretching. She tried to think of every reason to march forward and sign.

  Her promise to her father.

  Her sisters.

  Not disappointing her mother or Chauncey.

  Tradition and status quo.

  None of those reasons caused her feet to move, however. She stood rooted to the floor. I wish for more than a loveless marriage to a man in love with someone else.

  “Marion,” her father said, his voice sharp with impatience. “Sign this now.”

  “No.”

  The word had escaped her mouth before she could stop it. Her mother gasped while Frank massaged the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Mamie didn’t drop her father’s gaze, however, not even when his skin flushed with anger. He rose slowly from his chair and put his hands on his hips. “Did you just refuse?”

  Think, Mamie. How could she possibly make him understand? Then a realization occurred. He wouldn’t understand. This was a business transaction for him, a way to blend his family with the son of his closest friend.

  She needed her mother.

  Spinning on her heel, Mamie locked eyes with her mother. “Mama, I need more time. I just . . . please.”

  Mamie hardly ever asked her mother for anything; she’d been the dutiful eldest daughter for so long. She wasn’t like Florence, who was demanding and troublesome. Or quiet and stubborn, like Justine. Mamie had never been rebellious, not with her parents. She prayed her mother understood the desperation behind the request.

  Her mother’s gaze softened and she rushed forward to wrap Mamie in an embrace. “Oh, my darling. Of course. There’s no rush, is there, Duncan?”

  Mamie breathed in her mother’s familiar rosewater scent while she awaited her father’s reply. Please, give me more time to figure a way out of this mess.

  “Catherine,” her father started. “She’s had years. It is past time to get this over with.”

  “One or two more months won’t hurt. Will it, Mr. Tripp?”

  Mamie snuck a glance at Frank, who shook his head. “No, madam. She may sign when ready.”

  “There, it’s settled.” Her mother released Mamie and linked their arms together. “Two more months—”

  “One,” her father snapped. “One more month, Mamie. Then you’ll be signing, if I have to force your hand to do it.”

  Mamie let out the breath she’d been holding. A month. It wasn’t much, but four weeks was better than nothing. “All right.”

  “And it goes without saying, but if there is another man behind this postponement I will ruin him. I’ll burn everything he cares about to the ground if he dares to get in the way of preventing this.”

  She swallowed and merely nodded once. She didn’t trust her voice.

  “We’re done here. You ladies may go,” her father said. “Tripp and I still have a few more things to discuss.”

  Mamie bid her father good-night and quickly left before he changed his mind. She didn’t dare address Frank, lest she compound her father’s belief that the attorney was the reason for her reticence.

  Besides, she planned to see Frank later tonight anyway.

  Chapter Thirteen

  An awkward silence filled Greene’s office after Mamie and her mother departed. Frank’s head spun, his thoughts too jumbled to make sense of what had just happened. Before leaving, Mamie had defied her father and somehow convinced her mother to agree. Beyond being impressed at her maneuvering, he was dashed relieved. Which was ridiculous, considering where things stood.

  Let’s see, the police are watching my house. Byrnes may blackmail me at any moment—or worse, tell the world what he saw. Mulligan somehow has learned of my darkest secret, one I’ve kept buried for fifteen years. Mrs. Porter may be found guilty and subsequently electrocuted.

  And yet, despite all that terrible news, the knot in his stomach had eased considerably when Mamie postponed her engagement by a month.

  He was definitely in deep over this woman.

  “Have a seat, Frank.” Duncan indicated one of the chairs across from his desk.

  Frank walked over, lowered himself down, and braced for an unpleasant conversation.

  Duncan sat and folded his hands on the desk. “You and I have known each other a long time. I’ve trusted you with some of my most personal matters and you’ve never disappointed. I am asking for you to be totally honest with me.” He paused and stared directly into Frank’s eyes. “Are you aware of any reason why my daughter is unwilling to marry Chauncey Livingston?”

  “No.”

  The quick emphatic denial must have appeased Duncan’s worst fears because he relaxed slightly. “I believe you.”

  Thank Christ. Frank did not wish to find himself in the middle of this family squabble. If he had to lie to protect himself then so be it. That was better than ruining Mamie’s life as well as his own.

  “Nevertheless,” Duncan continued, “has she said anything to you about her feelings on the wedding?”

  Frank considered his words carefully. Under no circumstances could he admit the truth, but he’d learned a crumb could often buy him time when cornered. “At dinner, she discussed her charity work and how she’d encountered many different women in the city. I think she’s discovering the world is bigger than upper Fifth Avenue.”

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Young girls today are more independent, with jobs and apartments of their own. The number of divorce cases I’ve handled in the last year—”

  Duncan put up his hand. “I don’t want to hear about your divorce cases. And I fail to see how these loose lower-class shop girls have anything to do with my daughter.”

  “It’s in the wind, Duncan. Women are marching in the streets downtown and suffragettes are pushing lawmakers for change. Mamie is likely caught up in the causes of her generation, which puts marriage fairly low on the list of priorities.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Being a wife doesn’t mean she cannot undertake a cause. If that were her concern I could talk her out of it.”

  Good luck with that. Mamie was as stubborn as they came. “Perhaps,” he said. “But she’s very—”

  “It’s another man, I’m certain of it.”

  Frank swallowed. “How can you be certain?”

  “Because of here.” He
pointed to his stomach. “My gut. It’s right every time. And my gut is telling me that some man has caught her eye and been filling her head with lies.”

  “Well, she only asked for more time, not to put the wedding off entirely. So perhaps she wishes to enjoy a few more weeks of independence. You know how busy the betrothal parties and fittings can be.”

  “It’s not that. She was bothered by the infidelity clause. I think I’ll have her followed, see if I cannot—”

  Panic caused Frank to blurt, “No, you shouldn’t do that.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  He tried to think of a compelling case, one that would prevent Duncan from following through on this idea. Money was certainly no impediment to hiring a team of Pinkerton detectives so Frank would need to go with morality. “Because she will resent you for it. Your daughter is stubborn and proud, smart and resourceful. She’ll realize you’re spying on her and that will only serve to drive her away. I know she’s always been your favorite, but this could ruin your relationship with her. Forever.”

  “You’re saying I should trust her.”

  “I am. If you give her the month, she’ll sign the agreement. She and Livingston belong together. Everyone knows it.”

  Duncan rubbed his jaw. “You are quite confident of my daughter’s opinions, especially from only one dinner.”

  “Most young women are the same,” he said and lifted a shoulder, hoping to sell the world’s most egregious lie. No other woman Frank had met was like her. Stealing money and redistributing it downtown . . . befriending tenement wives and helping with their children . . . learning to gamble in Tenderloin dives . . . Who else could compare with his beautiful little thief?

  You’re in love with her.

  He froze. Love? Good God, where had that come from?

  No, not love. Lust. Most definitely lust. That was all—and any further dissection of his thoughts and feelings was out of the fucking question.

  Still, the single shocking word reverberated in his head, like he was on the witness stand and his brain was questioning him.

  Whereas you’ve chased her about the city for months.

  Whereas you are jealous of Chauncey Livingston, a man more useless than a glass hammer.