by Rhys Bowen
We fell silent again while I considered things. “We don’t know for sure that he was sent here to make contact with the anarchist group, do we?”
“We don’t.”
“Have you managed to find them yet?”
“The anarchists?” He shook his head. “Not yet. All that we have is the vaguest of hints—intercepted messages between Europe and America that mean nothing to any of us. And between you and me, I’ve backed off from trying too hard. After I found out that John Wilkie had approached my wife to work behind my back, I decided he could do his own searching without the help of my informants.”
“So you’re off that case then?”
“Not officially. But let’s just say that it’s no longer my main priority.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “Anarchists are known to be ruthless. I don’t want to find that our house has been blown to pieces with a bomb.”
He smiled. “I don’t think that’s likely to happen. They only blow up important people—people whose death can bring a country to its knees.”
“So you don’t know which country they are aiming at?”
He shook his head. “Although we have reason to believe it’s either England or America. Apart from that, as I say, it’s all rumor.”
“What about those kidnapped babies?” I asked, daring to forge ahead now he had become so talkative. “Have there been any more of them?”
“Not since you left. Not since that awful mix-up when they returned the wrong baby. You heard about that, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Well, they are lying low at the moment. I think they realize that our scrutiny is on them.”
“Did you ever find out where the other baby came from? The one the woman claimed wasn’t hers?”
“We did. From the Foundling Hospital. It was one of theirs, taken from its bed.”
“What do you think happened to the real baby then?”
He looked grim. “We think they somehow let the real baby die, but they were given the ransom money and felt they had to return a baby or face possible murder charges. So they grabbed the first baby they could set their hands on without it being noticed immediately. The one they took was in the crib nearest to the door.”
“How horrible.” In spite of the heat I shivered. “I really feel for that poor woman. She has gone through a double agony now.”
“I know. It’s despicable. I only hope we manage to catch them. We’ve little chance if they don’t choose to strike again.”
“I did offer my services,” I reminded him. “I would have been the ideal person to watch out for potential kidnappers. I’d have blended in and they’d never have suspected.”
He turned to put his hands on my shoulders. “Molly Murphy, when are you ever going to learn that your detective days are over? You are never going to tail anybody again. You are going to be the perfect wife and mother.” There was a long pause. “Aren’t you?”
“Yes, Daniel,” I said, so sweetly that he burst out laughing, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me fervently on the mouth.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
His lips were warm against mine and I found myself responding to his kiss.
“I’ve missed you too,” I said and meant it.
Sixteen
Daniel had planned to stay for at least a couple of days, but on Monday morning he received a wire summoning him back to New York as quickly as possible. His mouth was set in a hard line when he burst into the bedroom as I sat at the dressing table, brushing my hair, still in my robe.
“I have to go back to the city,” he said.
“Bad news?”
“Not good. They intercepted a crate of explosives on a ship bound for England.”
“Linked to your anarchist group, I suppose?”
“I know nothing more yet, but I have to go back. The ship is being held in port.” He bent to kiss the top of my head. “Good-bye my love. Take care of yourself, won’t you?”
“I will, but more to the point, you take care of yourself,” I called after him, but I could already hear his feet running down the stairs. I felt sick and hollow inside. He was only going to the city twenty miles away, but the way he had said, “Take care of yourself,” had made it sound like a final farewell. I almost got up to run after him, to give him one final kiss.
Thank the Lord that Liam was no longer in the city, I thought, because a crate of explosives bound for England sounded like something the Irish Republicans might try. I finished dressing and came down to breakfast.
“Poor Daniel. They never give him a minute’s peace.” Mrs. Sullivan looked up from her boiled egg. Then she saw my face. “Cheer up, my dear. I know you miss him but you’re doing the right thing for the baby. And here’s something to cheer you—a postcard from your friends.”
I took it from her. It was a pretty view of the Tarrytown lighthouse. On the back was scrawled in Sid’s black jagged script:
We’ve arrived. Quite charming. Come and pay us a visit as soon as possible.
I looked up. “My friends are already staying at an inn in Tarrytown. They want me to come out to visit them as soon as possible.”
I had expected a lecture on not tiring myself with too much jaunting around but she said, “Of course. What a good idea. That will help you get over the disappointment of Daniel’s hasty departure, won’t it?”
This was working all too well. I decided to test the waters one stage deeper. “I thought I might stay at the inn with them for a night or two, if that’s all right with you. I do so enjoy the cool breezes on the river, and they suggest going to look at some of the mansions together, which I have been wanting to do.”
“I’ve nothing planned for the rest of the week. I was hoping we’d have Daniel here,” she said. “You go and enjoy the company of other young people. I’m sure it’s not much fun being stuck with a doddering old lady like me.”
I couldn’t quite tell whether she was being kind or admonishing me for choosing my friends over her. I took it as the former and went around the table to kiss her on the cheek. “You know I enjoy being here,” I said, “but I’m used to being on the go all the time and I find it hard to sit around doing nothing.”
“Just you make sure that you don’t tire yourself out,” she said. “If those friends want to take you off on jaunts all the time, you tell them no.”
I smiled. “I will. But don’t worry. They are very considerate, and they like nothing better than to sit writing and painting. I may take my own sketchbook with me. This will be my last chance to improve my painting skills, I fear.”
I ate a hearty breakfast and then I went upstairs to pack.
“Can I come with you?” Bridie asked as I crossed the hall. “I want to go back to the river.” She stood there looking so plaintive that my heart went out to her. Of course she wanted to be with me and she had had such a good time at the river. But how could I possibly do any investigating into Maureen if I had a child with me?
“I don’t think Molly will want to be bothered with looking after you,” Mrs. Sullivan said, and I saw Bridie’s face fall even more.
My good nature won out. “Of course it would be no bother to have her with me,” I said. “If I take a room at the inn, there’s no reason a little person like Bridie can’t share it. If you can spare her for a couple of days, that is?”
Mrs. Sullivan put an arm around Bridie. “There now. See how lucky you are that you’ve such kind people around you. Go upstairs and pack yourself some clean undergarments and hose. And put on the fresh white pinafore too. We don’t want you going away looking like a ragamuffin.”
Bridie bounded up the stairs with such glee that I was glad of my decision, however inconvenient it was going to be for me. An hour later we were ready with a carpetbag packed.
“I want to go swimming, but I don’t have any kind of bathing costume,” Bridie said. “The boys were swimming in their underpants. What can I swim in?”
Mrs. Sulliva
n looked appalled. “Young ladies do not swim in the river, Bridget,” she said using her proper name. “Whatever were you thinking?”
“Then when can I swim?” Bridie asked. “It looks as if it would be fun. The boys were having fun. They were squealing and laughing when they jumped off the dock.”
Mrs. Sullivan’s lips pursed. “The only time we are permitted to swim is at the seashore, when there is a proper bathing machine and we do not have to risk exposing our legs.” She gave us a frosty stare. “Remember what I told you, that a lady never shows even an ankle. It is not seemly.”
“No, Mrs. Sullivan,” Bridie said. She looked at me and I winked.
“And make sure you wear your sun hat at all times, Bridget,” Mrs. Sullivan called after us as we went toward the trap. “If you don’t you’ll get freckles and no man would want to marry a woman with a freckled face.”
As we climbed into the trap together I whispered, “We’ll see if we can find you a bathing costume in Tarrytown. Maybe they have one at the dry goods store. Only you have to promise not to tell Mrs. Sullivan.”
She gave me a wide-eyed smile. “I promise,” she whispered.
This time the journey seemed to take forever, although it was only a mile or so. The mare plodded along slowly until Bridie and I were both bursting with anticipation. And not just because I had escaped from my mother-in-law’s scrutiny and was about to see my dear friends, but because I finally would have a chance to find out exactly what happened to Maureen O’Byrne. Jonah drew up outside The Lighthouse Inn and we went into the cool reception area, where the smells of a recent breakfast—coffee and bacon—mingled with that of furniture polish and fresh flowers. Jonah carried in our bags and the stout innkeeper came bustling out of the kitchen when I rang the bell, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Are Miss Walcott and Miss Goldfarb available?” I asked.
“They went out about half an hour ago, ma’am,” the lady innkeeper replied.
“Do you have any idea where they might have gone? I’m their friend and have come to meet them.”
She glanced out of the glass-paneled front door. “They took their sketchbooks with them and I think I heard them say that they were going to paint by the river.”
“Then we’ll go and see if we can locate them in a minute,” I said. “But before we go, I wondered if you might have a room for the two of us. We’d like to stay here for a few days so I can enjoy the company of my friends.”
She looked worried. “Oh, dear. I’m afraid we’re rather full at the moment,” she said.
I reminded her that my two friends from New York were staying with her at my recommendation and I had hoped to give them a surprise and join them. Her face softened. “Well then,” she said. “If you don’t mind a small room and two flights of stairs I’ve a single room in the attic and I could probably squeeze a cot in for the young lady.”
She led us up two steep flights of uncarpeted wood stairs that twisted and turned until we came out to a narrow landing. She was breathing as hard as I was as she opened a door.
“Mercy but it’s a climb, isn’t it?” she said. “Are you sure you’ll be able to manage it?”
The room was indeed small with a sloping attic ceiling, but it was charming, and the open window caught the breeze from the river. The gauze curtains billowed out, revealing a superb view of sparkling water and the New Jersey shore on the far side. It was simply furnished with single bed with a handmade quilt on it, a writing desk in the window, a washing stand with a flowery china basin and jug, and a corner closet. But it was painted pale yellow and the wallpaper had blue irises on a yellow background. An all around cheerful room.
“It will do just fine,” I said. “I’ll take it. I’m not sure how long I’m staying yet.”
She named a very reasonable price and started to relate times of meals and house rules, then left us to spruce up before we went to find Sid and Gus. After asking a policeman and then a stallkeeper if they had seen two ladies, one of them with black-bobbed hair, carrying with them sketching equipment we found them easily enough, down at the river, at an area of green grass on the other side of the railroad tracks. Gus had set up an easel in the shade of a willow tree and was sketching Sid, who posed on a rock at the water’s edge, looking like a sleek, dark Lorelei. Gus cried out to Sid as she spotted us approaching and Sid almost fell into the water in her haste to join us.
“Well, here you are at last,” she said giving first Bridie and then me warm hugs. “We wondered when we were going to see you. We hoped you’d be here on Friday to welcome us. We didn’t like to call upon your mother-in-law without an invitation, knowing what a stickler she is for proper manners.”
“I couldn’t come sooner. Daniel was visiting this weekend,” I said. “In fact I was afraid I’d be stuck at the house even longer, but then he was summoned back to New York at the crack of dawn today.”
Gus gave me a wry smile. “That doesn’t sound like the devoted wife—couldn’t wait for her husband to leave?”
“Of course I enjoyed seeing him,” I said, “but it’s a relief to get away from my mother-in-law for a while.”
“That bad, is it?” Sid asked.
I was conscious of Bridie standing beside me, shyly hanging on to my skirt. “To be fair to Mrs. Sullivan, she is looking after me admirably. Spoiling me, in fact. But she won’t let me do anything and I’m chafing to get back to work.”
“Get back to work?” Gus said. “Molly, dear, what kind of work are you talking about? You’re not still trying to find your brother, are you?”
“No, I’m relieved to say that Daniel thinks he’s left the city,” I said. I glanced down at Bridie. “If you like you may take off your shoes and hose and play at the edge of the water,” I said. “And you’d better take off your clean pinafore too. We don’t want that to get dirty.”
I helped her out of them and she ran off delightedly, picking her way barefoot among the rocks. I turned back to my friends. “I didn’t want to mention this in Bridie’s hearing, but remember the other matter—the letter I showed you from the people in Ireland?”
“And you asked if we knew anyone called Mainwaring,” Gus looked at Sid for confirmation.
“I’ve located the Mainwarings,” I said. “They live out here, in Irvington.”
“In Irvington, fancy that,” Sid said. “And was your Irish lass working for them?”
“She was, until she got herself into trouble,” I said.
“That sort of trouble?” Sid asked.
I nodded. “Yes, that sort of trouble. So Mrs. Mainwaring sent her to a local convent…”
“Isn’t that a case of closing the stable door after the horse has bolted?” Sid said.
I had to laugh. “You didn’t let me finish. This convent takes in unmarried mothers and lets them stay until they have had their babies, then the nuns find adoptive families for the infants and the young women are able to come back into society.”
“Admirable,” Sid said.
Bridie gave a squeal as a big ship passed and its wash created a wave that splashed around the rocks.
“Careful,” I warned, noting that the hem of her skirt was now all wet. We watched her as she turned to give us an apologetic grin.
“But what if they want to keep their babies?” Gus said. “I know that I should find it hard to give up a child.”
“Gus, dear, you have money. That alters everything. Most of them would have nowhere to go with a child,” Sid said. “They’d be outcasts. Shunned by society, denied employment. And think of the stigma on the child to be known as a bastard all its life.”
Gus sighed. “I suppose that’s true,” she said. “It seems so unfair, doesn’t it? The man in question gets on with his life and the woman is ruined. When will our society ever accept equality and fairness for women?”
“Not until we have the vote,” Sid said. “But Molly hasn’t finished her story yet. So you found the poor girl hiding her shame with the nuns, did you?”
“Perhaps she didn’t want to return to a place where they knew of her downfall,” Gus said. “She had unhappy memories. So she went to try her luck in the big city where nobody knew her.”
“Either that or the child’s father showed up and whisked her away,” I suggested.
“Do we have any idea who the child’s father might have been?”
I shook my head. “She wouldn’t tell Mrs. Mainwaring or the nuns. But they seemed to think that he couldn’t or wouldn’t marry her.”
“So she escaped from the nuns as soon as possible, did she?” Sid said. “A girl after my own heart. I wouldn’t want to be cooped up with a lot of old women.”
“You’ll find it hard to track her down now, Molly,” Gus said. “My bet is that she went back to New York and got a job there.”
“I hope it’s as simple as that,” I said, “because there is something worrying about her disappearance. One of the other girls who is staying at the convent said that Maureen left some prized possessions behind—a statue of Our Lady carved by her grandfather and her tortoiseshell hairbrush. So now I’m intrigued. What would make her rush off in such a hurry that she left her hairbrush behind, or her prized statue?”
“She saw a chance to escape and took it?” Gus suggested.
“But she was due to leave the convent any day. She had no need to escape.”
“Maybe she wanted to get away before the Mainwarings came to collect her and she was taken back to them,” Gus suggested.
“She could always have run away from them at her leisure.”
“That is a mystery,” Sid said, “but I can’t for the life of me see how you’d solve it.”
“There are a couple of avenues I’d like to pursue, now that I’m here,” I said. “The girl I spoke with mentioned a friend Maureen had had while she was at the convent. This girl has left the convent and gone home to Cortland, so I understand. I thought Maureen might have confided her plans to another girl there. If you are planning something daring you usually like to sound out your idea to someone else, don’t you?”
