by Joanna Shupe
“Not when it is information she cannot control and will merely cause her pain.”
Mamie crossed her arms over her chest. “We cannot hide this from her. A policeman threatened her children. She has to understand what’s happening outside these walls to her loved ones.”
“Absolutely not. Trust me, I’ve dealt with people who are imprisoned. It can be very difficult for them to hear of problems with friends and family, especially when they’re powerless to help. Giving Mrs. Porter bad news about her children could cause her to plead guilty and go to prison, in which case we lose.”
“I understand you’re worried about the case but what about her? What about her children? She has a right to know. Testifying may put Katie at further risk.”
“And we will tell her later, after it’s over.”
Her brows knitted. “That is quite a callous attitude.”
“Perhaps, but I am here to win cases, Mamie. That’s why you asked me to represent Mrs. Porter in the first place. I’m trying to keep her from going to prison.”
He did not want to lose—nor did he want this case to drag out for months. Between Byrnes and the firm’s partners, he needed to wrap this up quickly, get Mrs. Porter’s charges dismissed and move on with his life. That meant convincing Mamie to marry him and not making an enemy of Duncan Greene. None of that could happen until Mrs. Porter’s case was behind him.
“And I am here,” she said, “to look out for Mrs. Porter’s best interests—and that includes her children.” She put her hands on her hips. “She is your client. You should also be looking out for her best interests.”
“I am, with regard to her legal troubles. Not her personal life.”
“No matter the cost? Even if it puts Katie in more danger?”
He didn’t care for the way she stared up at him, as if she’d never seen him before. As if she’d just learned he enjoyed kicking puppies. He put out his hands, pleading with her. “You make it sound as if I don’t care what happens to Katie. I do—but my primary concern is keeping Mrs. Porter from the electric chair. The only way to do that is to proceed as planned. Then Mrs. Porter can leave prison and keep her family safe.”
“It’s wrong to keep that information from her. I don’t care how you justify it. It’s wrong.”
“And having her put to death is better?”
A policeman strode down the hall and walked past, rendering conversation impossible. Mamie pressed her lips together, her lids narrowing dangerously as she waited. When they were alone again, she stepped closer. “I do not like this at all. I vehemently disagree about keeping Mrs. Porter ignorant of what’s happening.” Her finger pointed at his chest. “Hear me now. If something happens to any of the three Porter children, I’m holding you personally responsible. And you will not like the consequences.”
She moved around him, skirts swishing, and started down the corridor. “Where are you going?” he called after her.
“To a place where I won’t be required to lie.”
Chapter Seventeen
Frank pushed open the heavy wooden door of the Little Water Street Brewery. He’d come downtown tonight to meet with Jack Mulligan, who’d provided Frank with a stack of information on Detective Edward Porter, none of it good.
Turned out Detective Porter was deep in the pocket of some of the most corrupt men in the city. Powerful men who didn’t appreciate having their names associated with words like bribery, fraud and murder. If necessary, Frank would use this information to help Mrs. Porter’s case, those powerful men be damned.
Plus, there was another surprise Mulligan had uncovered, one so useful Frank wasn’t telling a soul about it yet.
In the meantime, he had a lot to do. Plans to make, a hearing to prep for. He should be in a room with Otto, discussing facts and strategy.
Or, he should track down Mamie. He hadn’t seen her since she departed the prison in a fit of pique, and he needed reassurance she wasn’t angry with him. She may not have liked it, but he was right. Worrying Mrs. Porter over things beyond her control was not healthy.
And yet, despite all that, his curiosity had carried him someplace else entirely after his meeting with Mulligan.
The brewery was housed in an unassuming brick building. When he entered, the sight of large round copper kettles greeted him, sort of like the gin stills he used to see in back alleys as a child, only much grander in scale. The inside air was warm, with a sweet malty aroma. Cases of full bottles were stacked along the wall, ready for delivery. And Patrick was part owner of all this? Frank couldn’t wrap his head around it. His brother, a brewer.
Several men were on the far side of the space, gathered around the kettles. At Frank’s approach, one of the men elbowed a taller man next to him and pointed.
The taller man turned. It was Patrick, with a pencil and journal in his hands. He frowned at Frank then murmured something to the other two men by his side. The others walked away and Patrick slipped the pencil behind his ear. “I thought I was clear the last time we saw each other.”
Frank held up his hands. “I’m not here to cause trouble.” He looked around. “I found myself curious about the brewery. Perhaps I could buy you a beer and we could talk.”
A muscle jumped in his brother’s jaw, indecision in Patrick’s eyes. “Why?”
Hell if Frank knew. There was no good answer for that. He’d turned his back on his family fifteen years ago. Why now? Why seek out some connection when it would only do harm? Still, something in him needed to try, at least to get some answers to questions that nagged at him. “Because I like your pilsner.”
Patrick spun and began to walk away, his slight limp reminding Frank of his brother’s childhood injury. “You can buy a glass anywhere in lower Manhattan.”
“Patrick, I . . .” He hurried after the other man until he caught up. “I want to know my brother. Can you spare me a few minutes, please?”
“Didn’t think you fancy uptown swells knew the word please.”
“If I say it again will you sit down with me?”
Patrick cursed and came to a halt. “Are you going to leave if I say no?”
“Absolutely not. If I took no for an answer I’d never win a case.”
The side of Patrick’s mouth hitched. “You always were the most stubborn of all of us. Fine. Come with me.”
Frank followed his brother deeper into the building. Patrick stopped at a door with a metal handle and pulled it open. A blast of cold air escaped as his brother disappeared inside. He quickly returned, two brown bottles in his hand. When the cabinet was sealed tight once more, they set off down the corridor and ended up in an office. Patrick dropped into the chair behind the desk and motioned for Frank to take the empty chair on the other side. He popped the tops off the bottles and held one out to Frank. “Do you need a crystal glass or can you stand to drink out of a bottle?”
“I’m fine with the bottle.” Frank accepted the beer and took a long drink. “Truthfully, it’s very good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Patrick grumbled and leaned back in his chair. “And I know it’s good. I spent five years of my life perfecting it.” He put his mouth on the lip of the bottle and drank.
“Why beer? Why a brewer?”
Patrick made a noise that almost sounded like a laugh. “Alcohol is in our family’s blood, wouldn’t you say?”
Frank nodded grimly. Sad, but true. “And you’re married?”
“I am. Rachel’s her name. We have two daughters.”
God, he was an uncle. A flash of Mamie cradling Mrs. Barrett’s baby went through his mind and emotion clogged his throat. “Congratulations.” He meant it. He never wished Patrick any ill will. He’d never wished any of his family harm, except for his father. He swallowed another mouthful of pilsner. “What happened to Colin?”
“You don’t know?” When Frank shook his head, Patrick said, “I figured you would’ve kept an eye on him, even after you left.”
“No. I just wanted to forget.”
Pa
trick grimaced. “We all felt that way.” He took a drink then sighed heavily. “Fell onto some train tracks and got run over by a train. Killed instantly, they said. He was drunk at the time, of course.”
“She had to be relieved.” No need to spell out who she was.
“Not at first. She was . . . lost. She’d spent her whole life under that bastard’s thumb. When he died she was torn up. Worried about money. It took almost a year before she realized she’d be all right, that the pain was over.”
Frank had a similar experience when he went off to boarding school. Always flinching when someone reached out to him. Looking over his shoulder for a threat. It had taken a long time before the sense of danger left his system. “And what of Laura and Sarah? I thought they went to work somewhere in the Tenderloin.”
“That’s just what Mama told him. The old man had started to talk about using them as a source of income, loaning them out to his friends, so Mama let him think she’d sent them off to a high-class brothel. She protected them.”
Stunned, Frank could only blink. Almost everything he’d believed his entire life was a lie. He downed more pilsner. “Where did they go instead?”
“A garment factory uptown. They didn’t have it easy, that’s for certain. But had to be easier than earning money on their backs.”
“And they’re married now?”
“They are. To good men who take care of them. I don’t see them often, maybe once or twice a year.” Silence descended and Patrick sipped from his bottle. Then, he said, “Why now, Frankie? Why show an interest in your family after all these years? Back then, you couldn’t get away from Five Points fast enough.”
How could he even explain it? In the past few weeks, his whole life had turned upside down. No, longer than that. Ever since the first time he chased after Mamie in an attempt to keep her out of trouble. The instant she had smiled he’d felt it deep in the pit of his stomach. When she’d opened her mouth—challenging him, taunting him—he had felt it in an even lower, more personal, part of his body. The woman was enticing and maddening. He was never letting her go.
And that had changed everything.
He wasn’t certain how much of that to share with Patrick, however. “I . . . met someone. She’s opened my eyes to a few things. Likes to point out when I’m wrong. I never thought any good would come from that household. I thought it was best to start over and try to forget.”
“I can’t blame you. God only knows what would’ve happened to you before Colin died. I just . . . it’s not easy seeing you. The fancy lawyer in his fancy suit, hobnobbing with all the uptown Knickerbockers . . .” Patrick set his bottle on the desk. “Maybe it’s better for all of us if you just stay gone.”
“Have you told her you’ve seen me?”
“No, I haven’t said a word. She’s not in great health and I fear it would only upset her.”
Frank absorbed that, his thoughts in a tangle. Perhaps Patrick was right. Perhaps it was best for everyone if Frank went back to ignoring his family. His whole life had been built around the lie that he was a blue blood himself. If the truth were discovered, he’d no longer be able to hold up his head in this city. Mamie would never marry him. And even if she forgave him for lying, her father would ship her to a convent before he’d allow her to marry a man raised in Five Points.
He stood and held out a hand. “Damn fine beer, Patrick. You should be very proud.”
Patrick rose and shook Frank’s hand, his expression wary. “Take care of yourself, Frankie.”
Mamie snuck out of the kitchen door, the cool spring evening wrapping around her. The note on her pillow had been simple: Meet me in the gazebo at midnight.
As angry as she was with Frank, she couldn’t refuse the request. She wanted to see him. Alone, in the dark. Where she could pretend there weren’t a hundred reasons why they could not be together.
She became a different person with him, a confident and bolder woman. One who lifted her skirts on a desk at the end of a workday. Her cheeks heated even in the chilly air. Mercy, the feel of him inside her had been glorious.
The gravel path whispered beneath her feet. She didn’t spend much time in the gardens, though her mother insisted it look pristine year-round. A bevy of gardeners attended to every path, shrub and stick because nothing less would do for the Greenes. That time and money could certainly find a much better use in the world, considering all the suffering.
When she reached the gazebo at the back of the property, she stepped in, a welcome smile breaking free for her vexing and handsome lawyer.
Only it was not Frank who stood there. Chauncey waited instead.
Her smile dimmed significantly and she folded her hands. Thank goodness she remained fully clothed and hadn’t decided to attend this rendezvous in a state of undress. “Hello, Chauncey.”
“Mamie.” He crossed the wooden floor and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Stunning, as always.”
He was a bit disheveled and she could smell spirits on his breath. Brandy, if she wasn’t mistaken. “Thank you. I was surprised to get your note. A bit late for a call, don’t you think?”
“I haven’t seen you this week around town. Have you been ill?”
“No, merely busy.” With Frank, Katie, Mrs. Porter. There hadn’t been time for balls and dancing.
“With what?” Her expression must have shown her shock because he followed up with, “Forgive me, but our families wish for us to be seen together at as many events as possible. You’ve ignored my requests for an escort and have not been out. I grew concerned.”
She couldn’t decide whether she was touched or annoyed. “There have been some friends in need recently. My schedule should return to normal in a few days.” After the preliminary hearing and Mrs. Porter was released from prison.
Chauncey’s brow furrowed. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“I don’t understand. What are you supposed to do? About what?”
“Never mind that. Let’s sit and visit, shall we?”
She exhaled and debated this request. Though she was exhausted, perhaps this was another opportunity to press her case about ending the marriage agreement. “Fine.”
They both sat on the wooden bench that ran along the interior of the gazebo. The night was quiet, the occasional rustle of underbrush the only sound. Mamie had fond memories of tea parties out here with her sisters as a young girl. Justine had always brought stale bread to feed to the birds and squirrels.
Chauncey took her hands between his. The simple contact startled Mamie, then she forced herself to relax. It was merely Chauncey, a man she’d known all her life. They had danced many times, and she’d taken his arm in escort. The bare touch had been unexpected, that was all.
“Mamie, have you thought any more about signing the agreement? My father prefers to finalize everything as soon as possible.”
She tried for a diplomatic answer. “I’m still not convinced we’d suit.”
“That is ridiculous. We grew up together. Our families are the same station. We’re of the same world, you and I.”
“There’s more to compatibility than just an address, Chauncey.”
His hands tightened on hers. “Are you worried about my . . . lady friend? Because I assure you that will not be a problem.”
She didn’t wish to say it, but she did not give a fig about his lady friend. It was time to stop dancing around the subject. She had to be honest with him—or as honest as possible, under the circumstances—because she was not signing that agreement. “I just don’t believe I’m cut out for marriage.”
“Not cut out for marriage?” His brows shot up to his forehead. “Why not?”
Because I’ve fallen in love with someone else. “I like my independence. Why should I turn my life over to you just to make our families happy?”
He nodded once, his lips pressed tightly. “It’s as my father said. You’re nervous about the physical aspect of our marriage.”
Mamie blinked up at him.
“I . . . No, that is clearly not what I—”
She broke off as he leaned in, his hands clamping her upper arms to hold her close. “We’ll be compatible. I’ll show you. I’m a very good lover, Mamie. Everyone says so.”
Oh, God. Was he . . . ?
Before she could protest or try to edge away, Chauncey had his arms around her and his lips pressed to hers. Stunned, she froze while his mouth worked over hers. The lack of response didn’t seem to bother him, however, because he pushed his tongue past the seam of her lips and into her mouth. The wrongness of it hit her and she tried to push against his shoulders, to move him off her. What was he thinking, attacking her like this?
Turning her head to the side, she was able to break their kiss. “Chauncey, stop. This is a bad idea.”
He began licking her throat, his grip not loosening for one second. “No, this is what you need.” A large hand covered her breast. “Once I’ve had you then you’ll see. I know how these things go. Sometimes girls like you just need a little coaxing.”
Fear, cold and sharp, slid through Mamie’s veins. “You’re wrong. I don’t want this. Chauncey, stop.” She pushed harder but couldn’t budge him.
“Relax. Stop fighting me. It’ll go easier if you stop fighting.” He pushed her down on the bench, following to lie atop her. “I know what I’m doing, Mamie. You’ll see.”
Her legs were trapped in her skirts, her body at an awkward angle and weighted down by Chauncey’s bulk. She tried to buck him off, but he wouldn’t move. Panic filled her lungs, her breath coming fast and short. Was he planning to take her by force to show off his prowess? Had he gone mad? “Please don’t do this. Get off me.”
“Shh. You just need to get used to it. The first time is always difficult.”
“No, absolutely—”
He clapped a large palm over her mouth, his fingers digging into her cheek, and she felt him working at her skirts with his free hand. She yelled beneath his grip, a muffled shout of terror and anger that didn’t faze him. Instead, he nibbled her throat as she struggled and pounded on his shoulders. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t draw in enough air.
