The Family Way

by Rhys Bowen

  I managed to suppress any emotion when I replied, “What a good idea. Yes, I think I might be up to it.”

  Eleven

  We set off for Irvington after breakfast, the picnic basket at our feet and Bridie sitting up beside the driver. It was pleasantly cool as we passed along leafy lanes, with no sound except the gentle clip-clop of the pony’s hooves and the cooing of pigeons in the trees above. After an area of thick woods we came to a point where the road started to descend to the river below us, sparkling in the morning sunlight. A paddle steamer was making its way upstream and the sound of music floated across the water from its deck. Bridie gave a squeal of delight.

  “Sit still, or you’ll fall off,” Mrs. Sullivan warned, yanking on the back of her pinafore. The pony descended the hill slowly until we were riding down the main street with its clapboard stores and old brick taverns. It had as old a feel to it as any town at home in Ireland, like stepping back in time.

  “Should I inquire where the Mainwarings live?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager.

  “We’ll leave that for later,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “One does not pay a social call before noon.”

  I glanced across at her and thought how interesting it was that she started life as the child of Irish immigrants who fled from the potato famine, yet now behaved as if she’d been born with that proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. Perhaps that was why she wasn’t too keen on me—I reminded her of her own past, which she had chosen to forget. Jonah assisted us down from the cart, my back now stiff from sitting on the hard bench, and we went for a walk along the water front, with Bridie commenting excitedly about the river traffic that passed us. “Do you think the ship my father and brother went on was bigger than this one?” she asked as a cargo steamship came down carrying bricks and stone.

  “Much bigger,” I said. Her father and brother had gone off to Panama to help build the new canal and she hadn’t heard from them for months. I knew Seamus was not much of a writer, being barely schooled, but I wondered if they were all right. A few stories about the conditions at the canal had trickled through to New York and they didn’t sound good. Strangely enough, her father’s decision to go to Panama had been Bridie’s good fortune. Instead of living precariously in slums wherever Seamus could pick up laboring work, Bridie was now on her way to becoming a young lady and would no doubt end up as snobbish as Mrs. Sullivan if my mother-in-law had anything to do with it.

  When the sun became too hot we retreated to a riverside park and spread out our picnic cloth in the shade of a big elm tree. Then followed my absolutely favorite kind of meal: ham sandwiches, cold meat pie and pickles, tomatoes and radishes fresh from the garden, peaches and plums and currant bread, washed down with homemade ginger beer. We lay replete in the shade watching the boats on the river glide past us.

  “I don’t think we’ll bother about calling on those people today,” Mrs. Sullivan said, as we reluctantly packed up the remains of the meal. “Far too hot for social calls. We shall look as if we’ve been perspiring, and that would never do.”

  “Oh, but I’d really like to,” I said, more vehemently than I’d expected.

  She looked at me strangely. “But you don’t even know them.”

  “But my friend in New York would never forgive me if I was in the vicinity of her dear friends and didn’t call upon them,” I said.

  She frowned. “Surely, you don’t have to mention it to your friends.”

  I wasn’t sure how to proceed from here. “I only need to go through the motions and leave my card. It wouldn’t take long. How would it be if you and Bridie stay by the water where it’s cooler and I’ll see if their house is within walking distance?”

  “My, but you are determined in this matter,” Mrs. Sullivan said, dabbing her face gently with a cologne-soaked handkerchief. “We don’t even know if this is the same family.”

  “Is it likely there are two lots of Mainwarings in Westchester County? It’s not a usual name, is it?”

  “Well, no,” she admitted. “I can’t say I’ve come across anyone else with that name and I know a good many people in the county. Very well, if it means so much to you. Take the trap while Bridie and I will go to see if there is a soda fountain nearby. She has been such a big help to me recently that I think she deserves a soda or an ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?” Bridie’s face lit up. “Can it be strawberry flavor?”

  “Bridie, remember I’ve told you it’s not ladylike to ask for things. Help me up, child, and then help Molly.” Bridie did so. Mrs. Sullivan dusted herself off.

  “It will probably be more fitting to have you call on the Mainwarings alone, rather than three strangers descending on them at once,” she added.

  I let out a sigh of relief. We walked back into town and asked for directions to their house. It seemed they were well-known in the vicinity, but not, one got the feeling, well-liked.

  “Oh, yeah, the Mainwarings,” the greengrocer didn’t elaborate and went back to piling peaches onto his display. “Big house. Up the hill. You can’t miss it.”

  So Jonah and I set off, back up the hill. When the pony and trap reached the top there facing us was a gateway worthy of a palace, its brick columns topped with seated lions and the gates themselves of fancy ironwork.

  “In here, Jonah,” I said.

  Mrs. Wetherby was probably right in thinking that her daughter had made a good match. Jonah got down to open the gate and through we went, up a driveway lined with flowering shrubs. There were fountains playing in the forecourt and the portico, with its marble columns, was as grand as described. I was beginning to have second thoughts about this whole mission. If Mrs. Mainwaring was part of Westchester society, then word would undoubtedly get around that I had been looking for her housemaid, and that word would finally reach Mrs. Sullivan. She would then know that I’d made up a story and conned her into going to Irvington in the first place. She’d probably even tell Daniel, which would not be a good idea.

  I was almost ready to have Jonah turn the trap around and retreat again when the front door opened and a nursemaid in crisply starched uniform came out pushing an impressive perambulator. She looked at me with interest, nodded, then went on walking. A gardener appeared from the side of the house. “You’ll want some water for the pony, no doubt,” he said to Jonah. “Hot day like this. Bring the trap around this way.”

  So I had to dismount whether I liked it or not and walked with trepidation up the marble steps to the front door. I handed my card to the maid who opened it and asked if Mrs. Mainwaring was at home. I was ushered into a cool marble foyer with a sweeping staircase on one side.

  “She’s resting, ma’am,” she said. “May I tell her what this is about?”

  “I’m inquiring about a maid who might have been employed here,” I said. “Her family in Ireland is anxious to track her down.”

  “What was the maid’s name, may I ask?”

  “Maureen O’Byrne,” I said.

  I saw her expression falter, just a little. “Maureen,” she said. “Oh, yes. She was here.”

  “But not any longer?”

  “Not any longer,” the girl said.

  “How long ago did she leave?”

  “About six months ago, ma’am.” She was looking around as if she was trying to find a reason to conclude this conversation and leave me.

  “Do you know why she left?”

  “Harriet, with whom are you gossiping?” came an imperious voice from the top of the staircase. The mistress of the house stood there, tall, slim, and haughty-looking, dressed in a gray, silk tea dress.

  “This lady wants to know about Maureen O’Byrne, ma’am,” the girl said, her voice sounding taut and nervous now.

  “Who is she?” The words were snapped out.

  “Mrs. Daniel Sullivan from New York, Mrs. Mainwaring,” I called up the stairs. “I received an urgent letter from a family in Ireland, who are trying to trace their niece. In her last letter home she wrote that she had fou
nd employment in your household.”

  Mrs. Mainwaring came slowly down the stairs, taking in the cut of my clothing and the quality of my hat, I’ve no doubt. She was working out whether I was somebody of sufficient importance to talk to. In the brighter light of the foyer I could see that she was not as young as I had expected and her face was rather gaunt. Not a great beauty and with a hard look to her eyes.

  “Maureen left our employ several months ago,” she said.

  “Could you possibly tell me where she went?”

  “I have no idea.”

  I decided I had better stretch the truth a little if I wanted to learn anything more. “I should have mentioned that I am currently visiting my mother-in-law—Mrs. Sullivan of Elmsford—who is a friend of your mother’s.”

  “Oh, I see.” The gaunt look softened a little. “And what connection does Maureen have to you?” Again her eyes traveled over my outfit. Not the best quality, she was thinking, but not entirely shabby either. “Is your mother-in-law with you?”

  “She found the heat too oppressive to undertake the trip,” I said, not mentioning that she was currently eating ice cream at the bottom of the hill.

  “Well, you’d better come in and sit down, I suppose,” she said. She turned to the girl who was hovering in the background. “Bring some iced tea through to the Blue Room, Harriet.”

  “You’re most kind,” I said and followed her through to a small sitting room at the back of the house. It had a fine view of the river and was decorated with blue Chinese plates. The sofa was upholstered in blue silk and the walls painted white with blue panels inset. A pretty room, one of good taste. She indicated I should sit and I did.

  “I’m sorry, you asked what connection I had to the girl,” I went on, thinking that for once the truth might be the best plan of action. “At one time I used to own a small detective agency in New York City. Naturally I gave it up when I married. However this letter arrived out of the blue a week ago. I intended to pass it on, but when I was at a gathering of one of my mother-in-law’s friends—Letitia Blackstone? You probably know her—”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’ve met Mrs. Blackstone.”

  “—and your name was mentioned, it seemed too fortuitous to ignore. I’d like to be able to put these peoples’ mind at rest. I do hope you’ll forgive the intrusion.”

  “Of course,” she said, none too graciously. “And I wish I could help you more. Maureen was indeed in our employ. She was a pleasant enough girl, good looking, nice personality, hard worker, but with too much of an eye for the young men, I’m afraid. She got herself…” She paused and coughed as if the words offended her sensibilities too much to utter. “… in the family way.” And she blushed bright red, picking up the fan that hung at her belt and fanning herself. Harriet reappeared carrying a crystal jug and glasses on a tray. She put it on a Chinese lacquered side table. We watched in silence as she poured and handed each of us a glass.

  “So you dismissed her,” I said as Harriet departed.

  “I am not a monster, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said. “We sent her to the nuns. There is a convent not far away who make it their mission to take in fallen girls, such as Maureen. They allow them to stay until they have had their babies and then try to find good homes for the children. They do wonderful work and have saved many a poor girl from complete ruin.”

  “What is the name of this convent?”

  “The convent of the Holy Innocents, very appropriately,” she said. “I believe the sisters are of a French order. They came down from Quebec originally. I’m not Catholic myself so these things are somewhat of a mystery to me.”

  “And that was the last you saw of her, when you sent her off to the nuns?”

  “It was,” she said. “And I’m surprised. She was a good worker and we offered to take her back when she had fully recovered. But she never came.”

  “She might have felt too ashamed,” I suggested.

  Mrs. Mainwaring shook her head, “I very much doubt it. I got the impression the young woman thought a lot of herself. Ideas above her station, you know.”

  “Then she might have gone off in search of a better position.”

  She gave me what can only be described as a withering stare. “What better position would be open to a girl from the bogs of Ireland with no education, background, or family? Girls like that wind up with the only job open to them—and we all know what that is.” She paused to let this sink in.

  “Is it not possible that she has married the young man who is the father and kept her child?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “She would not name the father, but I got the distinct impression that he was not in a position to marry her.”

  “It wasn’t one of your staff then?”

  “No,” she said curtly. “It was definitely not one of my staff. I would have found out and forced him to marry her.”

  I had been sipping the iced tea, which was deliciously refreshing.

  “I’m sorry I can be of no further help to you, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said, putting down her own glass and making it perfectly clear that this interview was at an end. “The girl could be anywhere by now.”

  I got to my feet. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Mainwaring. You have my card. If she does contact you again, would you please let me know?”

  “She would not be getting a reference from me, Mrs. Sullivan. I made a more than generous offer and it was rejected. My generosity cannot be relied upon twice.”

  As we came out into the foyer a butler was passing. “Soames, is Mr. Mainwaring back yet?” she asked.

  “I believe not, madam,” he said.

  “If he does show up in the next hour or so, please remind him that we are expected for dinner with the Rothenburgers,” she said. “And that he promised to say good-night to his son.”

  “Certainly, madam. I will tell him—” a significant pause “—if he comes home in the next hour or so.”

  This was clearly a household of tension, I thought, and I wondered if all the tension was caused by the brittle Mrs. Mainwaring. Perhaps Maureen had good reason not to wish to return here after her confinement and had managed to find something better.

  “You have a little boy then,” I said because I felt uncomfortable standing in the foyer. “My congratulations.”

  She smiled then. “My husband comes from an old and distinguished family. An heir is important to him.” Her eyes went to my own shape. “I’m sorry I could not be of assistance to you.”

  I stepped out into the heat of the afternoon and had just been assisted back into the pony trap when I heard the scrunch of wheels on the driveway and an automobile came toward us, driving fast. It screeched to a halt only a few yards from us. The pony danced and snorted nervously and a young man jumped out, vaulting neatly over the closed door. He was handsome in a way that would go down well on the Broadway stage—hair parted in the middle, jaunty little mustache, wearing a striped blazer and white flannels. He came up to me.

  “Sorry about that. Didn’t see you until the last second. Hope I didn’t scare the little mare too much.”

  “She seems to have calmed down, thank you,” I said.

  “Been visiting my wife have you? That’s splendid. She needs more visitors. Needs to get out more.” He gave me a once over with his eyes then added, with a rakish smile, “And I wouldn’t object to seeing a pretty face around here once in a while. Do you live in the neighborhood?”

  I adopted a polite tone, not wanting to be accused by Mrs. Mainwaring of encouraging her flirtatious husband. “No, I’m staying with my mother-in-law in Elmsford and I just paid your wife a courtesy call, because the family is acquainted with your mother-in-law.” I saw no reason to tell him the truth. He was the sort of man who’d have no interest in the hiring and firing of servants.

  “Well, do call around again. Bring your husband with you,” he said.

  “My husband is unfortunately hard at work in the city.”

  “Nose to the gri
ndstone type, is he?”

  “A police captain,” I said.

  Did I detect a flicker of alarm in his eyes?

  “Well, bless my soul. It takes all types, I suppose. I’d better let you on your way then.”

  And he ran up the steps into the house.

  Twelve

  Bridie sat beside the driver, sticky but content as the pony walked slowly home. Mrs. Sullivan fanned herself. “So what was she like, this Mrs. Mainwaring?” she asked as we left Irvington behind us and plunged once again into the shade of the trees. “Are you glad you made all that effort to visit?”

  “Not really,” I said. “She didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms. I rather got the feeling that I was a little beneath her and thus not worth the effort.”

  “I told you it wasn’t a good idea to make social calls unexpectedly in this heat,” Mrs. Sullivan gave me a triumphant look. “People are not at their best when they are perspiring and she was probably in no mood to be sociable.”

  “Well, I’ve done my duty to my friends and don’t need to go back,” I said. “But I’m glad we came to Irvington. It was delightful by the river, wasn’t it?”

  “The ice cream was certainly delightful,” Bridie said, echoing the words in such a grown-up way that it made us smile.

  We lapsed into silence. I was wondering how I could come up with a way to visit the convent that had taken in Maureen. It had been hard enough to convince Mrs. Sullivan to visit the Mainwarings. I couldn’t at the moment think of a good excuse to visit a convent. I wasn’t known for my religious fervor, in fact I’d only agreed to being married in the Catholic Church for Daniel’s sake. I certainly didn’t think my mother-in-law would believe I had another friend whose sister was a nun and would want me to call upon her.

  I sighed. It was hopeless. A wicked little idea crept into my mind that I could pretend to have received an urgent summons to go home, then go instead to a local inn and investigate at my leisure, but deceiving my mother-in-law left a bad taste in my mouth and it was bound to lead to complications with Daniel when his mother wrote to ask him why I was needed at home so urgently and I hadn’t turned up. I sighed. Why couldn’t I give up my former life gracefully and accept this new stage of my life? I knew the answer. Because I was so close. The convent was nearby. A few questions and I’d find out the truth. I’d most likely be able to write to the folks in Ireland with news of Maureen. All I needed was one day to myself. This required some serious thought.