by Rhys Bowen
As we approached the lane leading to our house I said casually, “Mrs. Mainwaring suggested that I go to look at some of the fine mansions nearby.”
“There certainly are some fine homes closer to the river,” Mrs. Sullivan agreed. “Mr. Washington Irving’s Sunnyside, and the Octagon House. But I expect she means that monstrosity that Vanderbilt has constructed at Hyde Park. Some people would be impressed by all those pillars and whatnot.”
“She also said there was a convent nearby that was worth a look?” I suggested, wondering if I was stabbing in the right direction. “Interesting old buildings with some history?”
She frowned. “A convent? I don’t know what she was referring to. There’s only one convent that could be described as nearby and that’s the one in North Tarrytown. I wouldn’t say the buildings have any architectural merit. It used to be the old fever hospital before the nuns took it over in the last century. Depressing-looking place if you ask me, up on a hill and exposed to the gales. All Gothic arches from what you can see of it. And of course you can’t go inside. They are an enclosed order.”
“Oh, then it can’t be the same one,” I said. “This one takes in mothers and babies. Mrs. Mainwaring said they did wonderful work.”
Mrs. Sullivan was eyeing me curiously now. “They take in fallen young women. Not the sort of place for respectable people like you or me. And I wonder why this Mrs. Mainwaring is so keen on it? Is she a Catholic? I’ve not seen her at any Catholic charitable functions in the county.”
“I’ve no idea,” I said, with a shrug of the shoulders. “Not everyone’s idea of interesting architecture is the same. Perhaps she likes places of Gothic horror.” I smiled, to show that this was of no importance.
“Mrs. Mainwaring sounds most disagreeable. I’m glad I didn’t accompany you and that you have no reason to visit her again.” She dabbed at her forehead. “I think we have had enough excursions for the time being. It’s not good for you to go running around the countryside in your delicate state. I noticed when you climbed into the trap that your ankles are starting to swell up.”
When we reached Mrs. Sullivan’s house and went inside I found a letter from Sid and Gus waiting for me on the hall table. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” I said. “My friends have written to me. Would you excuse me, please?” And I took it up to my room to read.
I think we have combed every inch of the Lower East Side, Gus wrote in her neat sloping hand, and haven’t seen anyone resembling your brother. If he is still here, he is not venturing forth, at least during daylight hours. Sid has decided enough is enough and has other fish to fry—she’s been asked to write an article on the state of the suffrage movement in America for a British journal. And I must admit I yearn to get back to my painting. We really did our best, Molly. We have left your note with Sarah, just in case she spots your brother.
Of your dear husband we have not seen hide nor hair. He must be going to work at an ungodly hour before we’re awake and returning after dark. Really you should persuade him to take up a more sensible profession, Molly. The man will wear himself out before he’s forty.
Oh, and remember the incident of the wrong baby we reported to you? It made all the newspapers and now there is a general public outcry to catch the kidnappers. Could it be that this is what is keeping Daniel busy to all hours? Frankly the publicity will not help, I’m afraid. The kidnappers will surely lie low until the fuss has died down.
I trust you are enjoying the tranquility of the countryside with no such drama. It is still frightfully hot in the city and Sid talks of renting a cottage out in the Hamptons.
Your devoted friend,
Gus
I folded the letter and put it onto my bedside table. Again I experienced that simmering frustration. Surely I could have found my brother by now? Surely I’d have been able to come up with the answer to the wrong baby—at least I could have given it a darned good try. I liked a case I could sink my teeth into. And now here I was, cut off and powerless in Westchester County while the rest of the world had come to a standstill. It seemed that nobody was making any progress in any direction, almost as if we were all suspended in a giant limbo of summer heat. And now it looked as if Sid and Gus would be heading out to the tip of Long Island—too far away for me to contact them if I needed them.
I gazed out of the window. Jonah was raking the grass. “I wonder,” I said. I picked up my writing set and wrote back, telling them of the trip to Irvington, the beauty and tranquility of the river.
There are some charming little inns along the Hudson and the breeze is delightfully refreshing. There are also some very fine residences—no doubt Gus will know their owners and could even secure herself an invitation to one of them. If you’ve a mind to escape from the city, you could do worse than come up this way and thus do a good deed by saving your poor friend from dying from boredom and from lectures on being a good homemaker. Is it really essential that I know how to preserve plums?
After I had given the letter to Jonah to take to the mail, I felt a trifle guilty at making such a preposterous suggestion. I was always prevailing upon their good nature, wasn’t I? They could exist quite happily without me but I really needed them. I had grown up with no close female friends, the local girls thinking that I was strange because I wanted to read and educate myself, and dreamed of a better life. It had been such a treat to discover women with whom I could share opinions, hopes, and fears. But would they not grow tired of such an annoying neighbor eventually? It was too late now. The letter was already winging its way to New York.
It did cross my mind that if Sid and Gus came to the Hudson, I’d have a perfect excuse to escape occasionally and wondered if I might push my luck by asking to learn how to drive the pony trap. Obviously not at the moment as Mrs. Sullivan was still recovering from today’s outing. She was sitting on the sofa and fanning herself with the magazine she had been reading as I came into the room. “I don’t know if it was quite wise of us to go on an excursion in weather like this,” she said. “I feel like a limp rag and it must be even worse for you. You must put your feet up immediately and have Bridie bring you an ice bag for your ankles.”
“I’m really just fine,” I said.
“Nonsense, you’re looking quite drawn and tired around the eyes,” she said. “I should never have let you go on that wild goose chase to visit Mrs. Mainwaring. You should take it easy for a while, at least until the weather changes.”
I chose the wicker armchair by the French window.
“You had a letter from your friends then,” she said. “Good news from the city?”
“No news of any consequence,” she said. “They have seen nothing of Daniel which means he is still working incredibly hard.”
“That poor boy will work himself into the grave. We must do something about it, Molly.” She leaned over to me. “His father had connections with all kinds of political figures and I know they’d be only too happy to introduce Daniel to the world of politics. He only has to say the word.”
“I don’t think he wants to go into politics, Mother Sullivan,” I said.
“He’ll change his mind once he has a family,” she said, and went back to her magazine.
I decided to take the risk. “My friends say they are finding the city unbearably hot,” I said. “I told them how lovely it was by the river today and suggested that they come and stay at an inn out here.”
“I suppose they could always stay here,” she said.
“Very kind of you, but I think they’d prefer the breezes on the river. And they do like their privacy. But of course they’d love to pay a visit to you—maybe to luncheon or tea.”
“Of course,” she said, looking relieved.
Conversation turned to other matters but the seeds were sown. Now all I had to be was patient. I spent two days as a model prisoner, lying with my feet up, even finishing the back of the tiny jacket with not too many dropped stitches. I made an attempt at a watercolor painting of the roses. I read a
book. I helped pick raspberries for jam. And all the time a thought was nagging at my brain. When can I go to the convent and find out what happened to Maureen?
Then on the afternoon of the third day I received a letter from Gus.
Molly, as usual you make the most brilliant suggestions. As Sid said, we have already enjoyed the ocean this summer. It should surely now be the turn of the river and the way you describe it, it does sound inviting. Added to which we can visit you and take a trip upstream to relive our happy time at Vassar. I seem to recall we spent the night once at a delightful little village called Tarrytown. It had a magnificent view across the river where it widens into the Tappan Zee. I presume the inn is still there—can’t remember its name, but it was something charmingly romantic and rural like Green Gables or Sleepy Hollow—didn’t Washington Irving live nearby? Either way, I’m sure we’ll be able to locate it, or one like it. So expect to hear from us in a few days. I can’t remember how close you are to Tarrytown. Would you be able to take a look for us and see if our inn is still there?
By the way, we finally saw your industrious husband and told him that we were thinking of staying on the Hudson ourselves. He said it was a capital idea but we were to make sure you did nothing too strenuous. So you see, Molly, we have been charged with watching over you.
I heaved a sigh of content. Now that my friends were expected in a few days, I permitted myself one small stretching of the truth.
I came out to the porch where Mrs. Sullivan was resting on the swing after another session of jam making. I sat beside her. “You remember my friends—the two women who were my bridesmaids? Misses Elena Goldfarb and Augusta Walcott?” I mentioned the names to remind her that Gus came with family connections and my strategy obviously worked as she nodded and said, “Of the Boston Walcotts, wasn’t it? Such a charming young woman. Such good manners.”
“Well,” I continued. “I believe I mentioned to you that they were thinking of coming to stay on the river nearby. I’ve received another letter from them. They wondered if I could check on a little inn they remember in Tarrytown. Unfortunately they can’t recall its name but have described it to me. Tarrytown is not too far from here, is it?”
Mrs. Sullivan’s lips pursed in a gesture I had seen all too often. “Do your friends know of your condition?”
“Of course.”
The pursed lips remained in place. “I don’t call it very considerate of your friends to want you to go running all over the place for them in this heat.”
“Oh, I’m sure they wouldn’t want me to exert myself,” I said hastily. “It’s not as far as Irvington, is it? Only a mile or so? So if you could spare Jonah one morning, maybe I could do marketing for you at the same time and thus save you a trip into town.”
She was still frowning but at last she said. “Well, we are running low on sugar. And there is a butcher in Tarrytown who provides excellent chickens. I thought we might treat ourselves to a roast chicken after our industrious jam making.”
“I’d be happy to run those errands for you,” I said. “Would you like me to go in the morning?”
“I think that would be all right,” she said. “You could take Bridie with you. You know how she loves the river and she has been such a willing little helper with the fruit picking.”
I could find no good reason not to take Bridie, but I didn’t want her reporting back to Mrs. Sullivan that I’d been to a convent. Maybe I could send Jonah off with her to get an ice cream while I snooped around. But at least I’d succeeded in the first part of my plan. By this time tomorrow I’d know the truth about where Maureen O’Byrne had gone.
Thirteen
I chose to set off early so that we would be back before the heat of the day. It was another pleasant ride, shaded by trees the whole way. Bridie chattered excitedly about what we were going to see and whether one could swim or catch fish in the river.
“We don’t have no fishing poles with us,” Jonah said, “but I’ll ask the mistress if I can take you fishing someday, if you’ve a mind to learn.” Clearly Bridie had become the favorite of the household.
Tarrytown was another of those charming riverside towns with clapboard and brick houses lining narrow streets that descended to the river, which had here begun to widen into something closer to a lake. Jonah said it was called the Tappan Zee, presumably by the early Dutch settlers in this region, and today it sparkled in sunshine, with the hills on the distant Jersey shore adding to the pleasing appearance. On the shoreline was a ferry dock and beside it a low white lighthouse, presumably to remind mariners heading downstream that the lake diminished into a river again just beyond. I soon found not one but two charming inns with views of the river, checked out the bedrooms and inquired about availability. I bought sugar at the grocers and paid for a chicken at the butchers, to be collected on our way home. Then I suggested that Jonah take Bridie down to the riverfront and let her look at the fishermen, and at the ferry crossing to New Jersey while I ran some personal errands. I also slipped him some money and suggested an ice cream.
Now for the real business of the day. I inquired about the convent in the dry goods store, where Mrs. Sullivan had asked me to buy white baby ribbon, and was given directions—up on the hill in North Tarrytown.
“Is it within walking distance from here?” I asked.
The woman behind the counter looked at my figure, then shook her head. “It’s a mile or more, I’d say.” She turned to the man serving at the other counter, “Wouldn’t you agree, Seth?”
Seth nodded. “More than a mile,” he said, gloomily, “and uphill too. A good way out of town.”
The shopkeeper was looking at me with interest and I sensed that she was trying to decide whether I was one of those fallen women, in need of the nuns, or not. I was about to say that I was looking for a young relative who had gone there when I hit upon an absolutely marvelous idea.
“I’m thinking of offering one of those young women employment as a maid,” I said.
She nodded with enthusiasm. “I’ve heard of folk around taking the girls into service afterward,” she said. “That’s a good Christian act, for you.” She glanced across at Seth again, whom I presumed was her husband. “You were going to make that delivery of the canvas in North Tarrytown, weren’t you? You could run this lady up to the convent.”
“I was going to wait until later,” he mumbled, but the woman said firmly. “It has to be done sometime and it might as well be now.”
He sighed, took off his apron, and started for the back door, glancing back at me. “Come on, then,” he said. “Can’t wait around all day.”
So I rode beside the uncommunicative Seth through the town and up the hill until the houses gave way to meadows and small farms. Then we left the road for a narrow rutted track, bordered by tall somber evergreens until we turned a corner and there before us was a grim building of rough-hewed gray stone. It was only about two stories high at this point, but it had square towers at both corners facing the river and I glimpsed a higher sloping roof of what was probably the chapel on the far side, adorned with a simple cross. No windows looked out toward us, but in the middle of the wall was a big wooden door. It was about the most uninviting building I had ever seen and reminded me of the medieval strongholds of my childhood in Ireland.
“This’ll be it then,” Seth said. “How long do you reckon you’ll be?”
“Not more than fifteen minutes or so,” I said, eyeing that foreboding door. “Will that suit you?”
“I suppose so,” he said grudgingly. He didn’t offer to help me down, so I clambered down from the seat none too elegantly, I suspect.
“If I come out and you’re not here, I’ll walk up the track to meet you,” I said.
“No point. I have to come this far to turn the cart,” he said. “You’d best wait in the cool until I get you. And don’t let those nuns lock you in there.” He gave a dry chuckle. “There are some as say that girls go in there and aren’t seen again.”
I
could tell that this was his attempt at humor, but all the same I felt a chill run down my spine as I walked toward that massive door with as much bravado as I could muster. I rapped firmly on the knocker and waited. I heard Seth turning the cart around and then the horse clopping away before suddenly a panel right in front of my face slid back and a voice from the other side said, “Can I help you?”
I handed my card through the dark slot to an invisible female person. “Mrs. Molly Sullivan of New York,” I said. At the last moment I decided to keep to the story I had invented. “I wonder if I might have a word with the mother superior. I’m in need of a servant and I understand that there might be a young woman staying here who would fit my needs.”
“I’ll see if Mother is available,” the voice said. “Please come in.”
The enormous door creaked open and I stepped into cold darkness. After the bright sunshine I could hardly make out where I was, but gradually the figure before me came into focus. She was a young girl, wearing a light-colored pinafore that failed to mask the large round belly beneath it. She looked absurdly young to be having a child, no more than a child herself, and she smiled at me shyly.
“I’ll take you into the parlor,” she said. “This way please.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“It’s Katy, ma’am. Katy Watson.”
She held open a door for me and I stepped through into a dismal, Spartan room. It had a vaulted ceiling and a stone floor like a dungeon, and the dungeon effect was completed with a small barred window, overlooking a courtyard with a kitchen garden and beyond that a high brick wall. The furniture in the parlor consisted of a table with a Bible on it and a couple of shabby upholstered chairs, both the worse for wear. Katy indicated that I should sit on one of them.
