by Rhys Bowen
“Your mother will be here,” I reminded him.
“Oh, Lord. So she will.” He ran his hand through his dark curly hair—something he did when he was worried. “I hope the hansom cabs are able to get around by this afternoon. Did she say what train she was catching?”
“She just said this afternoon,” I replied. “Last time she got here around four.”
“I’ll try and make time to go to Grand Central,” he said. “We’ll never hear the last if she can’t get a cab.”
He wrapped a scarf around his neck, put on his cap, and off he went. I went back to clear away the breakfast and get Liam washed and dressed. I set Bridie to writing a note of welcome to put in Mrs. Sullivan’s room, but she sat at the table, chewing on her pencil, staring into space and distracted.
“Do you need to know how to spell a word?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I’m thinking of Tig and Emmy. I’m thinking of them out in all this snow.”
“I don’t expect even Aunt Hettie would be cruel enough to send them out on a day like this,” I said, but I wasn’t sure at all. I decided to go out and check around lunchtime. I had no leftovers today but I could buy them a baked potato. I went quietly upstairs and looked through my own things. Did I have any garments to spare that could be made into something a child could wear? Since everything I owned had been destroyed in the fire I had only the bare necessities these days. Actually that was a lie—I had several fine silk dresses courtesy of a rich and generous woman, but they were not the sort of clothes for doing housework and looking after babies. It was the sturdy and practical items I lacked. And Bridie had already given Emmy the few things she had outgrown. Who knew if Aunt Hettie had sold those too?
Outside, church bells were ringing, their sound unnaturally clear and sweet against the snowy silence. I felt the usual pang of guilt that I wasn’t taking the children to church; I suppose one can never shake off a Catholic upbringing. I made beds, swept the floor, feeling frustration brimming over. Luckily this brooding was interrupted by Sid and Gus, red-cheeked from the cold and eager to make Christmas puddings. Bridie joined in and by the end of the morning we had basins tied up with pudding cloth sitting on the shelf in the scullery. I didn’t know how good they would taste, but Sid had been very generous with the amount of brandy she had poured into the mix.
“Now you must come over to us for lunch,” Gus said. “Sid has made the most wonderful Tuscan bean soup, full of garlic and herbs. My dears, the place smells like a Continental train carriage!”
“Thank you, we’d love to,” I said, taking off my apron.
Bridie wrapped Liam in a blanket to carry him the few yards across Patchin Place. We sat in their warm and cozy kitchen, looking out at the snow-draped world, while Sid dished out ladles of thick and aromatic soup into big bowls.
“I’ll feed Liam a little of mine,” I said hastily when Sid started on a bowl for him. I didn’t want him choking on a bean, and I wanted to test how spicy it was too. Gus poured the adults a glass of red wine to go with it.
“Unfortunately I didn’t go to the baker today,” Gus said. “I really didn’t want to go out in that deep snow. So we’ve no lovely crusty bread to go with the soup.”
I had already taken a spoonful. “It’s delicious,” I said. I fed some to Liam, who smacked his lips and obviously agreed, leaning forward for more.
We ate in companionable silence. But I couldn’t help glancing over at that big iron pot simmering on the stove. “I don’t suppose you’d have some of that to share, would you?” I asked.
“Of course. Help yourself,” Sid said. “Do you want to take some for Daniel’s supper?”
“No, it’s not that.” I smiled. “Besides, my mother-in-law is supposed to be arriving today, if the train can get through the snow. She wouldn’t approve of this much garlic. Actually it’s those two waifs I told you about. I hope their unpleasant landlady hasn’t sent them out on a day like this, but just in case she has, I’d love to put some warm food in their stomachs.”
“Of course, you can take as much as you want.” Gus went over to the stove and started ladling soup into a big bowl.
“Just enough for them right now.” I held up my hand to stop her. “There would be no point in more than they can eat. It would get cold too quickly and I don’t want the landlady to know that someone else is feeding them, or she may stop giving them any food at all.”
“So she’s a landlady, is she?” Sid asked. “Not a relative? I thought they called her Aunt.”
“I went to see her yesterday. A more unpleasant woman you’ve never seen,” I said. “According to her their mother left the children with her, went out, and never returned.”
“Then why on earth did the mother leave her children with such a woman?” Sid asked.
“The boardinghouse is close to the docks. It may have been the first one she found…” I paused, thinking. “She might not have had much money, and she went to see someone she thought could help her.”
“Some kind of family connection, do you think?”
“I don’t know. The children speak with an English accent and they came from London. The father was Welsh and he died. I don’t know where the mother came from—perhaps she did have family here. She would have to have a compelling reason to bring two small children to America, away from their familiar surroundings, wouldn’t she?”
“America, land of opportunity,” Gus said. “Maybe with the father dead she thought she’d have a better chance of finding a job over here.”
I shook my head, still trying to make sense of this. “But if you hear the children speak, they sound as if their parents were educated people. It’s not as if she’d be looking for a job as a maid or in a factory. So why come here?”
“There must have been someone special she was hoping to contact here. Someone who could help her with the children,” Sid said firmly. “When you see them, ask them what their mother told them. Sometimes children take in more than we expect.”
“I’ll do that,” I said. “The unpleasant Mrs. Jenkins suggested that the mother had run off with a ‘fancy man’ and didn’t want the children as an encumbrance.”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Gus said.
“But the children speak of her with such fondness,” I insisted. “I can’t believe any mother who loved her children would walk out on them.”
“Then something’s happened to the mother,” Sid said.
“I don’t know how we’d ever find out what,” I said.
“Do we know their full names?” Gus asked.
“I know their last name is Jones. The boy is Thomas and the girl is Megan. The mother’s name is Margaret.”
Sid shook her head, making her bobbed hair bounce. “Jones. That won’t be easy. How many Joneses are there in the world?”
“But you could check the ship’s manifest that brought them here,” Gus said. “That might give you some sort of clue. Maybe an address in London?”
“It’s worth a try,” I said. “I have been feeling so bad that I can’t do more. I went through my own clothing, but I have really nothing to give away since our house was burned down.”
“We have scarves and shawls in abundance,” Gus said. “Happy to find them if you don’t think the dreaded Jenkins woman will take them away like she did the scarf that Bridie knitted.”
“Maybe the children could sneak them in and hide them somewhere,” I said. “That way she’d never know.”
“Then let me see what we’ve got.” Gus ran out of the room and I heard her bounding up the stairs. A little later she returned with armfuls of fur and knitted items. “Take your pick,” she said, dropping them into a chair.
I had to laugh. “Gus, you are the most generous and the most impractical woman I have ever met,” I said. “As if we could give them mink without it being stolen from them in a second.” I rummaged through and found a plain black wool scarf. “This would be great for Tig,” I said. “And the green shawl for Emmy. She’s
so tiny it would cover her like a blanket.”
“Tig?” Sid asked, looking up from wrapping greaseproof paper around the soup bowl. “Is that his nickname?”
“It seems to be.” I examined the scarf and shawl. “Are you sure you want to spare these? They are lovely.”
Gus smiled. “We have more things than we need, Molly. Of course you must take them.”
“Are you going to take the soup now?” Sid asked.
“Yes, I should take it right away before it gets cold. I can wrap it in the scarves I’m taking them.” I looked back at Liam and Bridie. “But I can’t take the children with me on a day like this. And Liam needs to go down for his nap before I dare leave him. So I’d better put him down first…”
“They can stay with us until you get back,” Gus said. “We’ll play with him and make him good and tired!”
“I think I want to go with Molly,” Sid said. “I’d like to see the children for myself.” She looked up at Gus. “Is that all right with you, if I leave you to take care of the children?”
“You know I adore playing with the children,” Gus said. “You go. We’ll have a grand time together.”
I went home to get my cape. Sid met me, dressed in a double-breasted overcoat and a black beret, looking ridiculously Parisian. We set out. It was not easy going—we were up to our ankles in snow and my feet were soon wet through and miserable. But the thought of those poor children shivering in threadbare and inadequate clothing kept me going. Broadway was unnaturally silent. A few people trudged past, bundled unrecognizably. Shop windows were spattered with snow and the glow of kerosene lamps inside the few that were open on Sundays threw odd patterns onto the snow. But the crossing sweepers were out in almost full force. A narrow path had been scraped clear across Tenth Street and the boys and their brooms stood ready to sweep away the slush for any pedestrian who wanted to cross.
But Tig wasn’t one of them. I gave a sigh of relief that Mrs. Jenkins had shown some compassion and not turned them out today. Then I spotted Emmy in her usual doorway. I went over to her. “What are you doing here alone? Where is your brother?” I asked. My heart was thumping with worry.
“Someone gave him a dime to run an errand,” she said. Her eyes went to the things we carried. “Is that food?”
“It is indeed,” I said. “And this is my neighbor, Miss Goldfarb, who made this lovely soup.”
Emmy’s eyes opened wider, then she looked up at Gus and smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “You are another kind lady.” She took the spoon politely and began to eat.
Sid was staring at her with a look of disbelief. “You must be frozen, you poor little thing,” she said. “Have you no warmer clothes?”
“I did have some once,” she said. “But I grew too big. And Aunt Hettie must have taken the others away.”
“This Aunt Hettie of yours needs talking to!” Sid said angrily. “There should be a law about treating children like this.”
“But there isn’t, is there?” I said.
“When women have the vote we’ll change everything,” Sid said. “We’ll pass sensible laws. I will have to run for Congress.”
We looked up as Tig came running back. His cheeks were bright red from the cold and his breath sounded ragged, coming in bursts from his mouth like a dragon’s fire.
“She’s brought us more food,” Emmy called. Tig needed no urging. He took the spoon he was offered and started shoveling food into his mouth. It was only when he was done that he looked up at Sid.
“This is my friend, Miss Goldfarb,” I said. “She made the soup. And she’s brought you things to keep you warm.” I held out the shawl and the scarf.
Tig took the scarf, looking up at us with wonder while I wrapped the shawl around Emmy. “I suggest you hide them and don’t let Aunt Hettie know you’ve got them. Maybe you can think of a place where she’d never look.”
Tig was wrapping the scarf around his neck and tucking it into his jacket. Emmy was hugging the shawl to her in delight. “It’s so warm,” she said. “Lovely and warm.”
“No,” Sid said angrily. They both shrank away, expecting her to want her items back. “I can’t leave you out here in this weather. I simply can’t. Come on. I’m taking you home with me right now.”
Tig looked at her uncertainly. “But I’ll lose my patch sweeping here if we go away. And we don’t know you. Mummy said we weren’t to go with strangers.”
“Miss Goldfarb is a very kind woman,” I said. “And she’s right. Nobody should be outside on a day like this.”
“I suppose so,” Tig said, looking at Emmy for confirmation. “I already made a dime for running that errand. Aunt Hettie can’t expect more money than that on a day like this, can she?”
We started the walk home, each of us holding a child’s hand. “So why did you come to America, Tig?” Sid asked as we came to Fifth Avenue. “Do you have relatives here?”
“I’m not sure. There is somebody,” Tig said. “Mummy was sick for a long time and then Daddy died, so we were all alone in London. So Mummy said that things would be better in America and we’d have someone to take care of us.”
Oh, I thought with sinking heart. Mummy had been sick for a long time. Perhaps their mother knew she was dying and wanted to see that her children were safe somewhere. But perhaps the end came quicker than she had planned, and she never managed to get in touch with the person she thought could help her.
“Did your mother say where this relative was? Did she mention a name?” I asked him.
Tig frowned, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. She said she’d be gone for a little while and then everything would be all right for us. But she hasn’t come back yet and it’s been ages and ages.” He looked up at Sid with a desolate face. “And she doesn’t even write.”
“We’re going to do everything we can to try and find your mother, Tig,” I said.
“How?” he asked.
“This lady was a real-life detective,” Sid said. “She’s good at finding lost things.”
“Really?” He looked up at me, more hopefully now.
I nodded, giving him an encouraging smile, even though an inner voice was whispering that I had no time to search out lost relatives at this moment.
“So was your mother American, Tig?” Sid asked. “Did she come from here?”
“I don’t know.” He looked at Emmy for confirmation.
“Did she speak like the other people in London or more like people here?”
He wrinkled his nose, trying to remember. “Not like my father. He had a different way of speaking. But not like Aunt Hettie either. More like you, miss.” He looked up at Sid. “She has a soft, gentle voice. She used to read us stories and sing to us.”
“Emmy has a beautiful singing voice,” I said, looking down at the little girl who was holding my hand. “You must hear her sing Christmas carols.”
“Gus can play the piano for you,” Sid said.
“Who is Gus, your husband?” Emmy asked.
“She’s my friend,” Sid said with a smile. “You’ll like her. She’s also very sweet and gentle, like your mom.”
Tig was frowning, stomping silently through the snow. I suspected he was worried about going home with a stranger, however nice we seemed. I remembered what Daniel’s reaction had been when I told him about the beggar children—that people are not always what they seem. That the sweetest-looking children are sometimes the biggest scoundrels. In truth we did know so little about them. I just hoped Sid was not making a mistake, bringing the children into her house.
“We’re almost home,” Sid said as we approached the Jefferson Market building.
“Oh, that’s the castle you told us about,” Tig said, finally showing some animation. “We went to see the Tower of London once.”
“Did you go down to the dungeons?” Sid asked.
“Yes, we did.”
“And were you scared?”
“A little bit.”
“So was I,” Sid s
aid.
“You’ve been to London?” Tig asked.
“Several times. It’s fun, isn’t it? Where did you live?”
“We lived near the river. My daddy worked at the docks.”
“I thought you said he was a singer,” I said.
“He was. But it’s hard to find work singing and sometimes he didn’t make much money. Then Mummy got sick and we had to pay doctor’s bills, so my daddy went to work loading ships. That’s how he got killed. Something fell on him.”
“How very sad,” I said. “Your poor mother, with two little children and no relatives nearby.”
“She cried for a long time,” Emmy said.
We turned into Patchin Place.
“Is there anything else you can tell us about your mother that might help us find her again?” Sid asked.
“She had a pony,” Emmy said. “When she was a little girl she had a pony called Squibs.”
“Anything more? Did she talk about her brothers or sisters?”
Tig shook his head. “She didn’t like to talk about it because it made her sad.”
“Mrs. Sullivan!” A voice yelled behind us and footsteps echoed, unnaturally loud, against the silence of the snow. I turned to see a constable running toward me. His face was familiar and I remembered he’d been sent to deliver messages to Daniel before.
“What is it, Constable Byrne? If you’re looking for Captain Sullivan, he’s not here,” I said.
“You have to come right away, Mrs. Sullivan.” He gasped out the words. “There’s been a shooting. Captain Sullivan has been shot.”
Eleven
The world stood still.
“He’s been shot?” I forced out the words. “Where is he? What happened?”
“It was not too far from police headquarters on Mulberry Street. One of the new guys thought he’d go and arrest one of the big shots in the Cosa Nostra—the Italian gang, you know?”
“I know,” I snapped, fear and frustration boiling over.
“And the captain heard about it and went to stop him. And there was shooting…” He looked as if he might burst into tears himself.