by Rhys Bowen
I turned away and crossed the street to my front door. Daniel’s mother appeared from the kitchen, wearing an apron, her hands floury, but her eyes anxious.
“Molly—what news, my dear?” she asked.
“He’s still alive. They think he’ll make it just fine.” Then to my utter embarrassment I burst into tears. She came up and put her arms around me, patting my back awkwardly.
“My poor dear girl. Don’t cry. It will be all right.”
“I hope so,” I sniffed between sobs.
She led me down the hallway and took off my coat and hat as if I was a child. “I’ve made us a cup of tea and some of those jam tarts that Liam likes so much,” she said as she sat me down at the kitchen table and went to pour me a cup of tea.
“There. Get that down you.” She put the cup down in front of me and pushed a plate of still-warm tarts across the table to me.
I drank, gratefully, the sweet hot liquid bringing warmth back to my body.
“Where’s Liam?” I asked.
“I put him straight to bed,” she said. “He was overtired and overstimulated by the time I picked him up. Your friends don’t realize that babies can’t take too much excitement. I couldn’t quieten him myself. It took Bridie lying down with him on her bed. She’s certainly got a way with him, hasn’t she? But he’s asleep now and she’s sitting in his room, keeping an eye on him.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I was so worried about leaving them that long, but I didn’t want to leave Daniel either.”
“Of course you didn’t. So tell me all about it. I only got the bare bones from your neighbors. Only that he’d been shot.”
“That’s right,” I said. “From what I’ve been told he found out that a new officer had taken it upon himself to arrest one of the leaders of the Cosa Nostra—you know, that’s the Italian gang who have been causing such trouble.”
“The ones who bombed your house?”
“That’s them. And Daniel went after this man because he knew it was going to cause more harm than good. They must have walked into an ambush. The other policeman was killed. Daniel was lucky. The bullet went clear through his shoulder.”
“Praise the good Lord for that,” Mrs. Sullivan said.
“But he’s lost a lot of blood. They’ve given him morphine and he’s sleeping. I’ll take you to see him tomorrow.”
“He’s strong. He’ll pull through, with the good Lord’s help,” she said, more to convince herself than me, I suspect.
“Of course he will,” I agreed. We sat there, looking at each other.
“He’ll be home and we’ll have a grand Christmas,” she said firmly. She got up and went over to the shelf. “I’ve brought a Christmas pudding. And I’ve made mincemeat ready for pies. And some candied peel and sugar plums.” She stopped and looked up. “Oh, but I see you’ve made a pudding yourself.”
“I thought I’d give it a try,” I said. “I don’t know how successful it will be. I’d never made one before. I’m sure yours will be much better.”
“Well, two puddings are always better than one,” she said, but I could tell she was trying to hide her annoyance. “By the way, who were those strange children at your neighbors’ house?”
“They were two little beggar children we found on the street. Bridie felt sorry for them, and now we’re going to try and find their mother.”
“It’s not wise to take in street children.” Mrs. Sullivan shook her head. “You don’t know anything about them.”
“Well, these ones came from England and they have obviously been raised well. Their manners and way of speech are beautiful. And you should hear the little girl sing.”
“So how did they get here? Do you think they were kidnapped?”
“It’s a big mystery,” I said. “I was hoping that Daniel could help me locate their mother. According to them she brought them to America, then one day she went off and left them at an awful boardinghouse. And she never came back.”
“Dear me. What a tragedy.” She poured herself a cup of tea and brought it back to the table. “So many sad stories in a city like this, aren’t there?”
“At least we can do a little to help these children,” I said. “Sid and Gus plan to take them in and feed them, and I’m going to try and look into why they came to America and whether they might have family here.”
“You’re a good woman, Molly,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “But don’t let your heart go ruling your head. You’ve your own child to care for, and who knows how much attention your husband will need as he recovers.”
“I know.” I stood up and managed a smile. “I’d better get on with our dinner,” I said. “I’d planned a lovely meal for us all. Daniel has been coming home at a good hour and I thought…” I pressed my lips together. “Never mind. He’ll be home soon.”
Thirteen
I found it hard to sleep that night, alone in the big bed without Daniel’s comforting body beside me. Every time I turned over and felt the cold space where he normally lay, the worry would surface again. The doctor said the gunshot had missed vital organs and he was going to be all right. But he’d lost a lot of blood. And what about gangrene? Wasn’t that always a danger with wounds? And would he recover full health, able to return to work? What if he didn’t? And then those worries mingled with thoughts of Tig and Emmy. How could I hope to trace their mother now, when I had so much on my plate and so many worries?
The night seemed to stretch on and on. On Monday morning I wanted to go to see Daniel, but I didn’t think the hospital would let me flaunt visiting hours twice. So I busied myself with my normal routine, making breakfast, bathing Liam, getting a load of his diapers out on the line. It was a sparkling bright day so I bundled up the two children and let them play in the snow outside in the street. I found Sid and Gus just emerging from their front door.
“The children didn’t come here like we told them to,” Sid said. “So Gus is going in search of them and I’m going to the shipping company’s office.”
“I hope they are all right,” Gus said. “I’m just worried that they got into trouble with Aunt Hettie for coming to our house yesterday. I did warn them not to tell her, but you know how children are.”
“She might even have spies on the street who reported them,” I said, bending to pick up Liam, who had slithered onto his bottom and was lying on his back, looking helpless and surprised.
“I wish we could get them away from that woman.” Gus shook her head. “If they do show up here while we’re out, please take care of them, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“And when will you be going to see Daniel?”
“Visiting hours aren’t until noon. I got into trouble for creeping into the ward after hours yesterday so I’d better obey the rules today,” I said.
“If Tig and Emmy come, you can show the children how to build a snowman,” Gus said to Bridie as she turned to leave.
“I think Tig and Emmy would rather be inside, out of the snow, don’t you?” Bridie muttered to me as Sid and Gus went off down the street. “They have enough snow every day.”
“You’re probably right,” I agreed.
“We could start on a snowman anyway,” Bridie said. “Will you help?”
“Why not?” I laughed and we started to roll a ball of snow. We had a good-sized first ball when Bridie looked up and said, “Here they come now!”
Tig and Emmy were running toward us. There was no sign of Gus.
“Well, here you are after all,” I said. “Miss Walcott went to look for you. Did something keep you?”
“We weren’t going to come,” Tig said. “It didn’t feel right coming here. We have to take home money or Aunt Hettie will be angry.”
“I’m sure Miss Walcott and Miss Goldfarb would be happy to give you some money,” I said, looking at his worried face.
“We can’t keep accepting things,” Tig said. “Mummy wouldn’t think that was right. And it’s not too cold today. So we went back to our usua
l patch. Then the big boy asked me to run an errand again for him and said he’d give me a dime. So I ran the errand and there was this pawnshop. And I looked in the window and … And I saw Mummy’s locket.”
“Your mother’s locket was in a pawnshop window?” I asked. “Are you sure it was hers and not one like it?”
He nodded. “I know it was hers. It has her initials on it. So I thought she must be in the city right here somewhere, because she never took her locket off.”
I looked around, hoping that Gus might be coming back, then made a decision. “We’ll leave the snowman until later. Liam’s probably had enough snow for one day. Let’s go inside and get warm, and then I’ll leave Emmy here while Tig and I go and look at this locket.”
I peeled off their cold, wet outer layers, then introduced the children to Mrs. Sullivan.
“How do you do, ma’am,” Tig said, holding out his hand solemnly. “Pleased to meet you.”
Emmy smiled shyly when offered a jam tart. She took a bite. “These are very delicious,” she said. “You’re a good cook.”
Mrs. Sullivan gave a surprised smile, then looked up at me.
“Do you mind keeping an eye on the children while I take Tig?” I said. “He’s found his mother’s locket.”
“You do what you have to do,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “I’m sure the little girl will be no trouble. And it will do Bridie good to have another girl to play with.”
So Tig and I set off. Instead of heading north to the corner opposite Wanamaker’s where Tig swept his street crossing, he directed me south when we came to Broadway.
“Your errand was quite a distance,” I said. “Were you delivering a letter?”
“No, not a letter,” he said. “Just a package. Nothing special.”
I glanced at him. The offhand manner of speaking was not like him. For a moment I found myself wondering whether the nice manners and innocent demeanor were only an act. But then we turned onto Houston Street and on the corner of the Bowery was the pawnshop. Tig hurried ahead of me, scared, I think, that the locket would have disappeared. But he pointed excitedly at the window.
“There it is. Right at the front on that black-velvet pillow. See.”
It was a pretty oval gold locket, almost an inch long. There was a delicate row of tiny seed pearls around the border and on the face three letters had been engraved. I read them, an M, an E, and an M.
“Do you know what the letters stand for, Tig?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Her name is Margaret, that’s all I know.”
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go and find out.”
I pushed open the door and stepped into the pawnshop. Inside it was dark and smelled musty. An elderly Jewish man came out of a back room. “Good morning, madam. And how can I help you today?” he asked. He spoke English with a strong European accent.
“You have a locket in your front window.”
“Ah, yes. Pretty little thing, isn’t it? I’ve only just put it out. You’re in luck.”
“Might I see it, please?”
“Of course.” He went and slid open the window backing, reaching past a violin, a pair of Chinese dogs, and a leather briefcase to retrieve the velvet pillow. He brought it over to me and put it on the glass counter. “Here it is. Twenty-two-karat. And fine workmanship too.”
“Would you be able to tell me when this locket was brought to your store and who pawned it?”
“I am only employed here, not the store owner,” he said. “He should have all the details. But I can tell you it must have been brought in more than three months ago, or it wouldn’t be in the window for sale. We give the customers three months’ grace to retrieve their objects.”
“And how can I find out who pawned the item in the first place?” I asked.
He was looking at me warily now. “Is there any suspicion that it might have been stolen?” he asked. “We run a respectable shop here. If we’d thought it was stolen we would never have accepted it.”
“It belongs to this boy’s mother,” I said. “He recognized it in the window. But his mother is missing and we are trying to trace her. She may well have pawned it herself, intending to retrieve it again.”
“I see.” He peered over the counter at Tig. “You think it looks like your mother’s locket, do you, son?”
Tig nodded. “I’m sure it’s her locket,” he said.
The man went on staring, then he said, “I can go and ask the boss what he remembers. He’s upstairs in his apartment, if you can wait a moment.”
And he disappeared through a back door. The locket lay there on the pillow. I had an absurd desire to grab it and flee with it. But Tig and I stood like statues until we heard the heavy tread of feet coming down stairs again. The man reappeared. “The boss does remember. It wasn’t a woman who brought in the locket,” he said. “It was a man.”
“A man?” My worst fear was being confirmed. Mrs. Jenkins had suggested that Tig’s mother had run off with a “fancy man.” Perhaps she had good reason to say this. Perhaps she had seen them together. After all, her husband had died. What better reason to come to New York than to meet up with a former love? But abandoning her children? What mother would ever do that?
“Do you have a name for this man?” I asked.
“He said it was an older man. A rough type,” he said. “He doesn’t have the card any longer because the piece was not retrieved in the proper time. But he thought the name might be something like Hobson.”
“Hobbs?” Tig exclaimed. “It sounds like Uncle Jack.”
We both turned to him. “Uncle Jack? Who is he?”
“He’s a man who lives at Aunt Hettie’s house,” Tig said, his face red and animated now. “His name is Mr. Hobbs, but she said we should call him Uncle Jack.”
“I think I met him,” I said before I realized that I had not told the children I’d paid a secret visit to their Aunt Hettie. Tig looked at me questioningly.
“I went to see your horrible aunt,” I said. “Oh, don’t worry. I pretended I wanted to rent a room from her. But this man Hobbs was coming in as I was leaving. A most unpleasant fellow if ever there was one.”
Tig nodded. “Aunt Hettie is very friendly with him. We can hear them talking and laughing together late at night. But he’s horrible too. We heard him saying once that she’d been good to us for too long and it was about time she got rid of us.”
“And what did she say?” I asked.
“She said he knew why she couldn’t do that yet.”
“So the locket belonged to this lad’s mother, but it was his uncle who brought it in?” the man asked impatiently.
“I think it’s highly likely that they stole the locket from this boy’s mother,” I said. “He’s not really their uncle, I’m sure. Neither is the woman they call Aunt Hettie really their aunt. They could well be criminals. My husband is a police captain and I’ll have to tell him about this. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be accused of accepting stolen goods.”
“Of course not,” he said hastily. “But we definitely accepted the locket in good faith. And what proof do you have that the locket belongs to this boy’s mother?”
“Her initials are on the outside,” I said.
“And inside there are two locks of hair,” Tig blurted out, stepping up to the counter now and trying to grab the locket. The pawnbroker picked it up before Tig could take it and clicked open the catch. Inside, behind a glass compartment, were two locks of white-blond hair, one tied with a blue ribbon, one with pink.
“They were from Mummy and her brother when they were babies,” he said, “but she said they looked just like mine and Emmy’s.”
“I guess the young man does recognize the piece then,” the man said. “That is pretty conclusive, I’d say. So the question is, what do we do now? If a relative brought it in, then it hardly counts as stolen. It’s more a family dispute, I’d say.”
“He’s not a real relative,” I said. “This boy and his mother arrived recently from
England. They were staying in a boardinghouse and the children were left in the custody of the landlady while the mother had to go away. The children refer to this woman as Aunt Hettie, and the woman’s friend as Uncle Jack, but in no way are they related. In fact I strongly suspect they went through his mother’s things while she was gone, and helped themselves.”
The man frowned. “The problem is that my employer loaned out good money for this. In good faith.”
“I’d be prepared to buy it if you offer me a fair price,” I said. “That way you would be spared any embarrassment if his mother returns and finds her locket is missing, and has been stolen and pawned.”
He paused then, weighing this up. “It is a piece of the best quality,” he said. “I couldn’t let you have it for less than ten dollars.”
I thought of Christmas coming, and my husband in hospital, and the need for money to buy presents. “I’m a policeman’s wife,” I said. “And my husband is currently in a hospital bed, having been shot by a gang. Ten dollars is above my means, I’m afraid. But I simply can’t leave the locket here to be purchased by a stranger. I suppose I could manage five dollars now, and if we find proof that the locket was stolen, then we’ll say no more about it. And if it wasn’t … then I’ll pay you the rest of the ten dollars when I can.”
There was a long silence during which a German cuckoo clock on the wall ticked away merrily. Then he said, “I’ll write you out a bill of sale then, putting in what you’ve just said.”
He wrote in beautiful copperplate script.
“You have beautiful handwriting,” I said.
He smiled. “In my old country I was a clerk for a firm of lawyers. I used to write the briefs.”
He finished the bill, then passed it to me to sign. I paid him the five dollars, thinking that there would be precious little left for food this week, and I could hardly ask Daniel for more in his current state. Then the man placed the locket in a little leather box and handed it with a solemn bow to Tig.
“I hope you soon have good news of your mother,” he said.
* * *
“How do you think Uncle Jack got hold of Mummy’s locket?” Tig asked as we made our way back home. “She never took it off.”
