by Cathy Gohlke
Maureen swallowed the knot that threatened to choke her. He sees me? She closed her eyes for a moment. Not what Lord Orthbridge did to me, not the shame that covers me, the label the village cast upon me, not even the favors he fancies he can curry from me or my bed—but me. Can that be? She ran her hands up the sleeves of her cloak, as much to see if she and the moment were real as to ward off the chill of the January night. She let go her breath, mindful for the first time that she’d been holding it too long, then drew in a clean one.
She shifted her purse slowly to her other arm. She looked Joshua Keeton in the eye, waited, and said in the steadiest voice she could muster, “Will you offer your arm, Mr. Keeton? Will you offer your arm as you walk me safely home?”
Joshua’s pulse throbbed as he handed Maureen up the trolley steps Monday evening, as he paid their tokens, as he sat beside her on the ride through uptown Manhattan to Curtis Morrow’s publishing house. He’d determined not to read more into her willingness to accept his help than was warranted, but his heart, a disobedient renegade, would not listen.
That her information about “James” was linked to their search for human slavers, underground brothels, and forced prostitution, he had no doubt. Nor did he doubt that she was holding something back.
Joshua stole a glance at Maureen while her gaze was fixed out the trolley car window. She bit her lip and puckered her brow in concentration, a habit he’d memorized. I’ll guard you with my life, if you let me, and defy any man to lay hands on you. But what is it you’re not tellin’ me?
As they neared their destination, Joshua reached over Maureen’s head and pulled the stopping cord. The trolley slowed. He jumped to the ground, then offered his hand to help her down. The flush on her face told him that she’d been treated like a lady too seldom. A slight I’ll gladly remedy, given the chance.
The building they entered was five stories high, the publishing house claiming all floors. Joshua ushered Maureen through the firm’s swinging door on the fifth floor. A male secretary, just locking his desk for the day, nodded Joshua through, with one curious and appreciative brow raised to Maureen as he eyed her from head to toe and back again.
As Joshua turned the doorknob, Maureen caught his arm. “You promise you’ll take me away the moment I ask?”
Joshua put his face close to hers. “The moment you whisper.”
She drew a deep breath and nodded. He pushed open the heavy oak door.
“Miss O’Reilly.” Curtis Morrow, pulling his arms through his suit coat, rose from his seat behind a wide mahogany desk framed by a large picture window looking out on the darkened city. “I’m delighted that you’re here. Please, come in.”
Joshua felt Maureen stiffen, knew her senses stood alert. She turned to him, her eyes suddenly apprehensive. Immediately he opened the door to freedom and offered his arm. She hesitated, bit her lip, but remained where she was.
Joshua guided her to a deep armchair across from Curtis’s desk and took the matching leather chair beside her.
“I’m grateful you’ve agreed to confide in us, to help us, Miss O’Reilly,” Curtis began. “I understand Joshua has given you some idea of what we’re about and that you understand the need for absolute discretion.”
Maureen sat still as a statue.
“We have reason to believe that the man who calls himself James might have something to do with the disappearance of young women in the city. Joshua tells me that the man approached your sister the other night and that you think you might know him.”
Maureen nodded at last but still didn’t speak.
“Could you—could you tell us something about him? How you know him? Where you met him?”
Maureen locked her gloved fingers.
Joshua watched her face. “Can you assure Miss O’Reilly first that what she tells us will be in confidence, Mr. Morrow? That there will be no repercussion in any way for her or for her sister?”
“Yes, of course.” Curtis frowned, clearly surprised by the question. He leaned forward. “What can you tell us about the man?”
“I didn’t see him at the nickelodeon,” Maureen began. “He’d gone. But if he’s the one I think he is, his name is Jaime Flynn. He works for Ellis Island—somewhere in the Great Hall. I’m not knowin’ his precise position, but that was where I met him.”
“You’re certain he was employed by the immigration center? Did he wear a uniform?”
Maureen nodded again. “Yes—yes, he did.”
“And he interrogated you there?”
“He . . . befriended me.” Maureen’s color deepened.
“Befriended you?” Curtis repeated.
The misery in Maureen’s face made Joshua pity her, but he could not help her—or any women—unless he and Curtis knew how Flynn and men like him operated, how they approached unsuspecting women in the first place.
“It all happened so quickly.”
Joshua nodded, encouraging her.
“Along the way to America, Katie Rose came down with the chicken pox, you see. And when we got to Ellis Island, the doctor wouldn’t let her pass—he insisted they keep her in their hospital, in the infectious disease ward.” Maureen dug her thumb into her gloved palm. “And then I learned that they didn’t want to let women in alone at all. They thought—” She bit her lip.
“It’s a tough go for women alone,” Joshua interjected. “They make it hard for respectable women like Miss O’Reilly and her sister to pass through.” He drank in her glance of gratitude.
“I was terrified that I’d never see Katie Rose again, that they’d send her back to Ireland; the nurse said they might unless I could establish residency and employment and sponsorship.”
Maureen paused for breath. “This man, this Jaime Flynn, overheard our dilemma somehow. He stepped along beside and sympathized with my plight.” She shook her head. “I trusted him—a little. He’d the accent of a man born near County Meath.” She looked to Joshua, whose jaw tightened at his imagination of the smooth-operating Flynn.
But he nodded. “That’s exactly what Katie Rose said about him—that he was from home.”
“That’s all?” Curtis probed.
Maureen colored more deeply. “He gave me thirty dollars. And he said if they gave me any trouble about passin’ through, he knew someone who would vouch for me as family. He could work it all out—even a job.”
“I’ll wager he did,” Joshua murmured but caught Curtis’s warning glare.
“How did Mrs. Melkford come into the picture, Miss O’Reilly?”
“She came at just that moment and vouched for me, offered to help me—saved me from goin’ with him, really.”
“That was the last you saw of the man?”
“Well, no.” Maureen shifted in her seat. “That day—that day you call ‘Thanksgiving’—I learned Colonel Wakefield was dead.”
Curtis nodded. “And Drake burned your letter of invitation. I suspect that left you in a precarious position.”
Joshua could see the wheels whirring in Maureen’s brain.
“I’d no idea what would become of us, but then I remembered that Jaime Flynn had given me an address—for a place of employment.” Maureen studied the hands in her lap. “I was afraid, not knowin’ what position it might be, for I feared what sort of man he was.” She looked up, and Joshua saw pleading in her eyes. “But I couldn’t go back to Ireland or let Katie Rose be returned. I couldn’t tell Mrs. Melkford that the Wakefields had refused to help. She might have been obliged to report me.”
Joshua nodded his understanding.
“I led Mrs. Melkford to think that the Wakefields had recommended I go for a position to the address Mr. Flynn had written. Darcy’s Department Store—a respectable store, she believed.”
“So you applied on the recommendation of Jaime Flynn?” Curtis asked.
“I . . . I forged a letter of character recommendation from Mrs. Melkford and told them—told Mr. Kreegle, the man who interviews new girls—that the Wakefields had recomme
nded I go there.” Maureen looked from Curtis to Joshua and back again.
Joshua grimaced inside but forced his face to remain unflinching, encouraging, for Maureen’s sake. That she should be caught in such a need—I should have trailed her, spurned or not!
“I told him that I lived with the Wakefields, at Morningside, and that my sister was bein’ held at Ellis Island’s hospital until I could establish employment.” She shook her head. “Such a tale—and so many . . .”
“Necessity is often the mother of invention, is it not?” Curtis smiled sympathetically. “But you never mentioned Jaime Flynn to the management at Darcy’s?”
“No. I wasn’t certain what that would mean to them, but a missionary society lady and gentry—well, I hoped those recommendations would carry respectability.” Maureen’s eyes pleaded.
“Your instincts served you well, Miss O’Reilly,” Curtis affirmed. “You’re quick on your feet.” He seemed to be thinking of something else but caught himself. “But what about Flynn?”
“He comes to the department store sometimes. He apparently has some dealin’s with the owners and such, above stairs.” Maureen hesitated. “One evenin’, just after closing, I saw him enter the staff elevator with a young girl.”
“An employee of Darcy’s?”
“No.” Maureen shook her head again slowly, as if trying to remember and state clearly what she’d seen. “No, I’m certain she was not. She wasn’t American nor here long. Still in her native dress, she was. Jaime carried her bundle and . . . and behaved toward her as no gentleman would.”
Curtis sat back in his chair. “He didn’t seek you out?”
“Not then. But he came to my counter some days later. He pressed for the money I owe him, and he seemed angry that I was clerkin’ at all. He’d expected I would be hired—that I’d be workin’ upstairs, too.”
“Upstairs? Is that another sales floor?”
Joshua’s fists clenched, his instincts rising.
“No, it’s nothin’ to do with merchandise—at least not tangible goods.” Maureen placed a hand to her reddened cheek. “They call it the floor of promotion.”
Maureen knew she was in too deep to stop now. Either Curtis Morrow was completely trustworthy or Joshua had been completely duped. I’m trustin’ in your good judgment, Joshua Keeton. Do not fail me.
She told of the girls coming and going from the fourth floor and out on the town, of the wealthy gentlemen who frequented the store, of all that Alice and Eliza had told her.
She told the mesmerized men sitting before her of her friends who were there one day and gone the next, of the night she’d gone back for her purse, of the crying sounds she’d heard beyond the wall. And that she was certain it was Eliza and Alice that Jaime Flynn and another man had dragged to a truck and stolen away in the night.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Joshua nearly shouted.
“Because I didn’t know if I could trust you! I’ve not known who to trust. For the love of Mary and Joseph, the policeman on the corner helped the monsters get away!” She hesitated, knowing she sealed her fate, but pressed on. “I didn’t see his face, but I’m thinkin’ the other—the man who helped Jaime Flynn—was Drake Meitland.”
She could not mistake the sudden fire in Curtis Morrow’s eyes.
“How do you know?”
“I never forget a voice.” She shivered at the memory.
“Where could he have taken them?”
Maureen shook her head miserably. “I don’t know, but it must have been some distance. He was missin’ from church that Sunday. Dorothy said he was away on business.”
“I remember. Real estate doesn’t take him out of New York. What night were they taken?”
“That Thursday evenin’, perhaps forty minutes or so after closin’.”
“Three days—time enough to go out of state and return by Sunday night or Monday morning. Any chance either of them saw you, suspect you?”
“I don’t think so.”
Joshua paced the floor behind her. She felt his growing frustration but didn’t turn around.
Curtis stood, his mouth flattened into a grim line, and leaned toward the window. “Darcy’s and Meitland. The link we’ve been looking for, respectable on the outside, rotten at the core—right under our noses.” He slammed his fist into his hand. “Neither woman had family in the city?”
“Not that I could learn, so I’d no one to tell—no one who would listen.”
“Girls no one will miss—at least not right away,” Joshua pronounced angrily.
I miss them! Maureen swallowed her sob.
Curtis turned, his face a study of concentration. “Joshua tells me that you’ve been looking for a new position, Miss O’Reilly.”
“I must pay Jaime Flynn back if I’m ever to be rid of him. But I was demoted, and they’ve cut my wages to a rate that I’ll never be able to pay. Finding another position without references . . . They said I stole, but I swear to you, I did not!”
“The necklace, Olivia told me. You were set up.” Curtis waved the accusation aside. “They’re determined to keep you poor and afraid, to force you into submission so you’ll come willingly to their ‘fourth-floor promotion.’”
Maureen sighed heavily, humiliated and frustrated that Katie Rose had shared such a tale with Olivia but relieved that at last someone understood, someone believed her. “Poor and afraid,” she repeated. “I must tell you, Mr. Morrow, they are successful in their venture. For I am poor and very much afraid.”
“I have a proposition for you, Miss O’Reilly.” Curtis leaned across his desk.
Maureen pulled back, clasping her purse.
Before she could bolt from her chair, Joshua interjected, “Make plain your words, Morrow, or she’ll be out that door and I with her.”
Looking thoroughly rebuked, Curtis stuttered, “I beg your pardon, Miss O’Reilly. A respectable position is what I intended. Respectable, if unusual.”
Maureen waited, not entirely at her ease.
“Continue working at Darcy’s, doing just what you’re doing. But keep your eyes peeled for anything that might have bearing—more women going to the fourth floor, Flynn coming or going, women disappearing. Pay special attention to the wealthy clients who walk through the store. Note who takes advantage of this escort service. See if you can learn their names, and report them to me.”
“I’m in the cellar now. I don’t see anythin’. And . . .” She faltered. “I don’t know how much time I have. I think they’re tryin’ to . . . make me invisible.”
“Invisible?”
Joshua turned to Maureen. “So no one would notice if you disappeared—like your friends.”
Maureen nodded, worried.
“This has gone too far.” Joshua stood as if to challenge Curtis. “It’s too dangerous. Maureen cannot go back to Darcy’s. We’ll handle this.”
“She’s our only link, our only way to find out who’s behind the disappearances. Flynn’s not working alone—he’s nothing, a tool. Even Drake has to be a pawn—or more likely a middleman. He’s desperate for my investments, and I know the money’s not going into real estate; two of my deeds are phony. There must be power—wealth—behind it all. Perhaps a network, a ring of some kind, but someone’s at the top. We need to find where the girls are taken, if they’re sold, what happens to them. If they’re transported across state lines—”
“She can’t—”
“One week,” Curtis urged, cutting off Joshua’s protest. “One week to watch, to wait, to learn whatever you can. During that week I’ll get closer to Drake, push him to let me in on riskier, higher-paying investments. I’ll let him know I’ve heard a word or two about his side ventures, press him, see where that goes. If he lets me into his confidence and I can do this without your help, Maureen, you’ll be done. You can leave Darcy’s without a word, and I guarantee you a permanent position here, in my firm. Or I’ll work one out elsewhere, if you prefer. If we need more time, we’ll discuss the next s
tep, and that will be up to you. I can’t deny that it might be dangerous, but we’ll do all we can to watch and intervene if things get out of hand.”
“They’re already—” Joshua got no further.
“If I help you—now, this week, and later if needed,” Maureen demanded, “will you find Alice and Eliza? Will you not quit until you find them? And will you protect Katie Rose—at all costs?”
“Maureen, it’s not safe,” Joshua interrupted, protection, frustration, pleading plaguing his voice.
“I swear it.” Curtis extended his hand to seal the deal. “If Joshua is unable to watch over both of you, I’ll assign someone else to watch over Katie Rose. She’ll never know, but she’ll be safe.”
Maureen clasped his hand. It’s a firm grip—a good sign.
Joshua threw up his hands.
“Two things,” Maureen insisted.
“Yes?”
“Pay me now.” Maureen felt her face warm. “I’m hungry, and my rent is due.”
Curtis nodded, pulled out and opened his wallet. “And the second?”
“Tell me why—why are you doing this?”
Curtis folded dollar bills and placed them squarely into Maureen’s outstretched palm. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in the whole affair and in Drake Meitland, in particular.”
Olivia didn’t know what to make of the note from Curtis Morrow. She wanted to trust him, to believe in him. Her every inclination was to do so after his help in finding Maureen and Katie Rose and after weeks of what must be considered more than friendship between them. But why he wanted Olivia to take Maureen in at a moment’s notice when Maureen had flatly declined help before, and how he’d achieved with Maureen what she so clearly had not been able to do, Olivia could not guess.
It’s what I’ve wanted, isn’t it? It’s what Father would have wanted. But how is it that Curtis is so involved with Maureen and her needs? Is that even appropriate? He’s asked me not to confide his involvement to anyone, but should I not at least tell Dorothy and let her decide whether to talk with her husband about his business partner?
