by Rhys Bowen
“Don’t make any plans for her without consulting me,” I said, trying to measure my words. “I’ll ask my friends and see what can be done for her. I’m staying across the street at number Ten with two ladies while my own house is being decorated to be ready for my marriage or I’d ask you all to stay with me. It must be horribly cramped at Nuala’s place.”
“Aye, it’s not the most comfortable,” Seamus said. “But ’tis for only a short while. Nuala’s willing to take the girl in herself, having only produced sons, but I thought you’d know how to give her a better future than that. I don’t wish a life in the fish market for my daughter and I know my dear departed Kathleen wouldn’t want it either.”
I took a deep breath. “I will do my best, Seamus, I promise. And I won’t let Bridie wind up with Nuala, that’s for sure.” I smiled down at her. “We’ll find something for you, my sweet. We’ll stay in touch, and you’ll come to my wedding, won’t you?”
We parted, my head buzzing with this latest complication. Why was life never simple? I had thought how nice it would be to have Bridie in my wedding party and lo and behold Bridie appears, but now it was up to me to find a way to prevent her from living in that hovel and working in a fish market. Always too many things to worry about.
I made it back to the Bowery and squeezed into a car on the El back to Astor Place. As my straw hat was knocked to one side of my head I reminded myself that at this very moment I could be sitting on Mrs. Sullivan’s cool porch, sipping iced tea, and doing nothing more strenuous than stitching my petticoat. Daniel would probably be angry with me that I had returned to the city. I had taken on another case when I had virtually promised him that I wouldn’t and I was achieving nothing by it. In fact the thought actually crossed my mind that it might be more useful to have acquired some sewing skills—which shows you how despondent I felt.
I quickened my pace as I walked the shady length of Eighth Street. I turned into Patchin Place. Sid and Gus would have a pitcher of lemonade or some kind of exotic drink waiting, and I could sink into one of those chairs in their back garden. Ah, bliss.
I knocked on the front door. Nobody came. This was something I hadn’t expected. They had not mentioned that they might be going out this evening. And I’d left my key to my own house on the dresser in their spare room. I felt tears of frustration welling up as I stood in the deep shade of the alleyway. Now what did I do? They were usually so considerate. Surely they’d have left me a note. But perhaps they assumed that I carried my house key with me and that note they’d written lay on the hall table across the street. With little hope I rapped on their door a second time and waited. I’d just have to go to a coffeehouse and hope that they returned before too long.
I had just turned away when I heard my name being called. I spun around. Gus was standing there.
“Molly, I’m so sorry. We’re all out in the garden and we were debating so heatedly that we didn’t hear the door. You poor thing, you look worn out. Come in, do. Sid has made sangria. It’s divine. And everyone’s dying to meet you.”
“Everyone?” I asked. My mind went to the party they were giving for me at the weekend. They couldn’t have put it forward, could they?
“Our suffragist group. I mentioned to you that we were meeting tonight. Such wonderful women. So brave. You’ll adore them.” With that she dragged me inside and helped me off with my hat.
“Come along. Sid’s sangria will revive you in no time at all.” And she propelled me down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out to the small square of back garden. I had no idea what sangria was and I was too tired to speak or resist.
“Here she is at last,” Gus called. “And in serious need of revival.”
I saw faces looking up from deck chairs as we approached. A group of around eight women were sitting in the shade of the sycamore tree.
“Molly, what have you been doing to yourself? You look as if you’ve just walked across the Sahara Desert.” Sid jumped up and started pouring a red liquid into a glass, thrusting it into my hand. “Get this down you. You’ll feel better.”
I was placed into a wicker chair and sipped the drink I had been given. It was delicious—a sort of red wine punch with fruit in it, and it was icy cold.
“Let me make the introductions.” Sid perched herself on the arm of my chair. She was dressed in white linen trousers and an open-necked white shirt. The look was dramatic with her black bobbed hair. “I don’t believe you’ve met any of our suffragist sisters.”
“I did meet some of them when we marched on Easter Sunday,” I said, “but I don’t think any of these ladies were among them.”
“Easter Sunday?” one of the women asked.
“We were among a group of Vassar girls who joined the Easter Parade. We had banners: VASSAR WANTS VOTES FOR WOMEN. Not a very successful outing, I’m afraid,” Sid said drily. This was an understatement, as we’d been arrested and thrown in jail for the night.
“And not exactly wise,” an older woman said. She had a round, distinguished face and her gray hair was swept back into a severe bun. “The sort of people who attend parades want to be entertained, not informed. And they don’t want the firm foundation of their little universe shaken when they least expect it. I expect they pelted you.”
“They did. And we were arrested.”
“The arrest was not a bad thing,” the woman said, a smile spreading over her severe face. “It gets us a mention in the newspapers. It may even evoke the sympathy of other women—at least it may start them thinking. But you’re neglecting your duty, Elena. How about some introductions?”
“Elena?” I looked around the group and then of course I remembered that it was Sid’s real name. I had never heard anyone refer to her that way before.
“Of course,” Sid said. “Ladies, this is our dear friend and neighbor Molly Murphy. And Molly, let me begin with the most distinguished of our company: may I present Carrie Chapman Catt? She is the current head of the North American Woman Suffrage Association and she has deigned to grace our little gathering tonight.”
“Nonsense, you make me sound like visiting royalty,” Carrie Chapman Catt said in her rich, deep voice. “We’re all foot soldiers in this together, you know. These are my fellow infantrywomen: Sarah Lindley, Annabel Chapman, Hortense Maitland, Mildred Roberts, and Felicia Hamm. I’m delighted to meet you, Molly. I hope you’re a fellow champion of the cause.”
“She’s about to join the ranks of the enemy,” one of the younger women quipped.
“Meaning what?” Carrie asked sharply.
“She’s getting married in a couple of weeks.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll cease fighting for the cause,” Carrie Chapman Catt said fiercely. “I myself have been married twice and have never been under my husband’s thumb.”
“And I don’t intend to be under my husband’s thumb either,” I agreed. “I’ll most definitely still be a supporter of votes for women.”
“Well said, Molly.” The speaker was a beautiful young woman with porcelain white skin and hair that was deepest copper. “I’ve been enduring the same teasing from our more militant sisters. I’m Sarah and I’m also getting married in a few weeks. So we shall be twins—the two redheads who will defy the odds and remain true to the cause after they marry.”
“I’ll wager you won’t have an easy time of it, Sarah,” another of the women said. “Your intended seems horribly conventional and old-fashioned to me.”
Sarah flushed. “Well, he has been raised in that kind of society, so I admit that my task won’t be easy, especially if we go back to England.”
“Your future husband is English?” I asked.
“The honorable Monty Warrington-Chase,” Gus said with a grin. “Son of an English peer. Our sister Sarah will be a lady one day.”
“She may be able to influence her husband in the House of Lords,” Carrie said. “The women of England are having a tougher time than we are, but in spite of it are acting with greater bra
very and audacity—throwing themselves in front of carriages, chaining themselves to railings. Foolhardy, but one must admire their courage.”
Sid touched my arm. “So Molly, we’re dying to hear about this assignment. What could the mysterious rich gentleman have wanted that has wearied you to the point of exhaustion?” Her eyes twinkled as she said this.
I looked around the group. It was somewhat unnerving to have those earnest faces staring at me. “Oh, but I don’t think I should interrupt your meeting,” I said. “I should go up and change out of these crumpled rags and leave you to your discussion.”
“As to that, I believe we’ve agreed upon everything that we can tonight,” Carrie said. “Elena will continue to write her series of articles on injustices to women, and we hope that some may be published in the national press.”
“And Annabel and I will try to persuade Mr. Samuel Clemens to join us at the rally next month,” the sharp-faced girl said—I believe she was Mildred. “His endorsement could really give our cause the boost it needs. He has a wonderful way with words.”
“Well, he would have, wouldn’t he, being a famous author,” another of the young women said drily.
“Samuel Clemens?” The name was somehow familiar to me.
“Molly, you remember. Samuel Clemens is the author Mark Twain. He came to one of our parties once.”
“So he did.” A picture came into my head of the white hair and bushy eyebrows, and a surprising endorsement of women’s suffrage.
“So tell us about your adventures today while I go and make another pitcher of sangria,” Sid said. “Only talk loudly enough so that I don’t miss anything.”
“Well,” I began, enjoying the shock I was about to give them. “You’ll never guess where I have been today—” I looked around. “Chinatown. My employer is a Chinese man of great wealth.”
“Mercy me,” someone muttered, but the others merely looked interested. Nobody swooned or reached for smelling salts as proper young ladies should have done.
“And what can you possibly be doing for a Chinese man of great wealth?” Gus asked, pretending to be shocked when I knew that little could shock her, in spite of her delicate appearance.
“Ah, well, I don’t think I can share the details of my assignment,” I said. “I assured the gentleman that I would keep our dealings confidential. He is most insistent that I not discuss it with Daniel.”
“Phooey,” Sid said. “As if we’d breathe a word to Daniel. And now that you have tantalized us with the mention of Chinatown, you can’t leave us in suspense.”
“We simply must know, Molly,” Gus said. “Is it something awfully sordid? Will we blanch and swoon at the mere mention of it?”
They chuckled.
“Well, I suppose there is no harm in telling you, as it seems such a prosaic task,” I said. “I’ve been asked to recover a piece of jade jewelry that has been stolen.”
“What a letdown,” Sid said. “A stolen piece of jewelry. That sounds more like a straightforward job for the police.”
“That’s what I said, but he claimed that the police would do nothing to help a Chinese person. He sees them as the enemy.”
“And how does he expect you to recover this stolen jewel?” Sid demanded, leaning back from her route to the kitchen. “Does he think you’re in touch with fences and crooks?”
“I’ve already tried all the pawnshops in the area,” I said, “and most of the jewelers within a mile or so. Frankly I don’t know what else he expects me to do or even why he hired me. Tomorrow I’ll have to go and admit to failure, I’m afraid. And lose a fat fee.”
“It’s strange that he was so insistent about seeking you out in particular,” Gus said. “Surely anyone could pay a call on the pawnshops and jewelers.”
“I agree,” I said. “I have to believe there is more to this than he’s telling me. Maybe I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Weren’t you worried about going through Chinatown?” one of the women asked. “One hears such fearful stories.”
“Oh, balderdash,” Sarah said before I could answer. “It’s no more dangerous than any other part of the city. Even less, as the Chinese don’t get drunk and accost women.”
I looked at her with amazement. “How do you know so much about it?”
She laughed. “I work just a stone’s throw from Chinatown.”
This seemed to me the most unlikely statement possible. Sarah did not look like a girl who had done a day’s work in her life. She was about to marry an English peer. And the area around Chinatown was one of the most squalid in the city. “You work there?” I spluttered out. “Doing what?”
“Sarah is our champion do-gooder,” one of the women said before Sarah could answer. “She is resolved to save the poor, single-handedly.”
Sarah flushed. “I volunteer at a settlement house, on Elizabeth Street just up from Canal.”
“A settlement house? What exactly is that?”
“An experiment, actually, in which educated, upper-class young people live and work among the poor, thus improving the standard of their living. We work mainly with destitute girls and women, some of whom we’ve saved from prostitution.”
“There are certainly plenty of brothels on Elizabeth Street,” I said, and did get surprised looks this time.
“I worked on a case there once,” I explained. “So does your family approve of your work?”
“Not really, but they tolerate it, knowing my temperament,” Sarah said. “Most of my fellow workers actually live at the house, but my mother was so upset at the idea that I just help out by day. And so now she puts up with it, knowing that I’ll be safely and suitably married soon and living far away from slums.”
“I’ll wager that your future husband doesn’t look kindly upon it,” one of the other young women commented wryly.
Sarah was still smiling. “Well, no, Monty is trying to force me to give it up immediately. He worries about my walking alone through those streets. In fact he insists on escorting me to and from Elizabeth Street even though I keep telling him that I am perfectly safe, but I believe he has visions of my being carried off as a white slave.”
This brought much merriment from the other women.
“Anyway, his wish will soon be granted,” Sarah continued, “as there is a lot of preparation to be done for the wedding. Gown fittings, seating charts—don’t you find it an absolute bore, Molly?”
“I do, rather,” I agreed. “In fact I’ve just fled from my future mother-in-law’s house, where I was told that my sewing skills were sadly lacking and my future children would be walking around in rags. She nearly died when I pointed out that there were department stores in New York with ready-made clothes for my children.”
They laughed again.
“And does your future husband approve of the work that you do, Molly?” Carrie Chapman Catt asked.
“Not at all,” I said. “He’s a captain in the police department and he doesn’t think that being an investigator is a suitable job for a woman—especially as it treads on his toes.”
“But you’ll give it up when you marry, surely?” Sarah said.
“I suppose I’ll have to. I’ve more or less promised him that I will, but I can’t see myself sitting at home getting bored either.”
“We can find plenty for you to do for the cause,” Carrie said.
I grinned. “I don’t think he’d be thrilled about that either.”
“Aren’t young men a bore,” the sharp-faced girl said. “The world would be a much better place without them.”
“It would rather limit the future population, Mildred,” Carrie Chapman Catt said mildly.
“I wish humans could just split apart like amoebas,” Mildred said.
“Don’t you mean amoebae?” one of them teased.
I began to feel as I always did in such educated company, that my own education was sadly unfinished. I’d had to stop my lessons with the girls at the big house when my mother died. Sid returned with t
he sangria and glasses were refilled. I must say it was delightfully refreshing. I forgot that it was mainly red wine until a pleasant feeling of ease came over me. The other women seemed similarly affected.
“I suppose I should be getting home,” one of them said at last.
“There’s no hurry,” Gus replied. “Stay for dinner if you like.”
“I’m afraid that Monty will be coming for me any moment,” Sarah said. “We are to have a late supper with his friends at the Waldorf, and he insisted on coming here to fetch me. You know how he likes to escort me everywhere. In a way it’s sweet, but it can be so annoying.”
As if on cue there was a thunderous knocking from the front of the house.
“The bridegroom cometh,” Sid said as she disappeared inside. We heard the sound of a male voice and a few seconds later Sid reappeared.
“The bridegroom cometh, but it’s the wrong bridegroom,” she said with a wry look on her face.
Striding down the hall with a face like thunder was Daniel.
Six
I got to my feet a little unsteadily, as the alcohol in my two large glasses of sangria was now making itself felt.
“Daniel!” I exclaimed.
“What on earth are you doing here, Molly?” he asked, then remembered his manners and tipped his hat. “Good evening, ladies. Miss Goldfarb. Miss Walcott.”
“Captain Sullivan.” Gus returned the compliment. “We persuaded Molly to leave darkest Westchester County so that we could give a small party in her honor.”
“Ah, I see. How kind of you, but you might have told me, Molly. If I’d known you were coming back to the city, I would have made time for us to select the last few items of furniture together.”