by Nancy Moser
“Lucia. Stop working. You must eat.”
Lucy looked up from her sewing, and with that one small act moved from one world to another. Ever since Rowena and her mother left after their fittings, Lucy had been consumed with executing the changes. She’d not looked up or even held a thought beyond the work. The work. The work.
Tessie tugged at her sleeve. “Come on now. It’s lunchtime. You working through will make us all look bad.”
With the mention of food, Lucy realized she was hungry. And as she looked across the room she found her eyes had trouble focusing. She rubbed them as Mamma set a lidded tin of vegetable soup before her and broke a hunk of bread from a fresh loaf.
Mamma looked around. “Where is your sis—?”
Suddenly Sofia burst in from the storeroom. Her face was a mask of panic. She ran into her mother’s arms.
“What happened?” Mamma asked as she stroked her hair.
“He . . . he . . .”
Lucy knew exactly who he was. She looked toward the storeroom and spotted a shadow pass the open door.
Bonwitter.
Lucy marched into the storeroom. Where is that man? Just let me at him.
“Looking for someone?” Bonwitter asked.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his hands in his pockets. Calm. Unconcerned. Haughty.
Lucy strode toward him, moving close enough that he felt the need to stand erect and step away. “What did you do to my sister?”
There was a flicker of panic, quickly shrouded in arrogance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He did. He knew very well.
But Lucy also knew he’d never admit any wrongdoing. Types like him never did but seemed to feel a sense of entitlement, as if all the laws of the land, and the moral commandments under God, only applied to everyone else.
He resumed his leaning. “Don’t you have something to do, Miss Scar-pel-li?”
His words made her offer a soft laugh. Oh yes. She did have something to do. Something very important to do.
Lucy turned on her heel and left without offering him the satisfaction of another spent word.
She’d have the last word. Of that, she was certain.
Where Lucy’s thoughts had previously been consumed with her work for Rowena, after lunch, they were consumed with Bonwitter. She suspected he was stealing stock, but proving it . . .
Midafternoon, she got her chance.
Dorothy came in from the storeroom and announced, “That muslin you wanted is being delivered, Mavis.”
Mavis was busy cutting out a pattern for a tennis dress. “Good,” she said. “I’m on my last bolt.”
Lucy remembered the conversation when Mavis had mentioned they were down to four bolts and Bonwitter had said he’d just ordered ten more. Ten, plus the one bolt that was currently left . . .
“It’s being delivered now?” Lucy asked.
“As we speak.” Dorothy took up her needle.
Lucy set her sewing aside and went to the necessary. She kept the lamp off, closed the door, and was drawn to the spy hole in the wall.
Directly in her line of sight were Bonwitter and a deliveryman. The man was setting ten bolts of muslin on the stack, making eleven all told. But then, as soon as the man left, as if on cue, Bonwitter took six of the bolts and put them somewhere out of Lucy’s sight. Was he creating a stash he could pick up later?
Lucy rushed to the storeroom, hoping to see where he was putting the goods.
When she entered, she saw him arranging a tarp over a row of barrels. He started, then continued his work. “What do you want, girlie?”
Lucy went to a shelf and chose a spool of thread from stock. She held it up for his inspection, then left. Her mind whirled. Back at her worktable she set the unneeded red thread aside. Then took it back.
Perhaps it could be useful. . . .
Lucy’s nerves remained on edge the rest of the workday. As soon as Bonwitter left, she hurried back to the storeroom, to the tarp over the barrels.
And there they were. Six bolts of muslin, slipped behind the barrels. Obviously, he planned to come back some other time and spirit them away through the alley door.
Was he cocky enough to do it during the day? Or would he wait for darkness? Lucy guessed the latter, when all good thieves did their best work.
Lucy returned the tarp to its place. She thought about telling the others, or at least Mrs. Flynn, but feared Bonwitter would come up with an explanation as to why some of the bolts were separate from the rest.
She had to catch him in the act, and more than that, follow him to see where he took the goods. Only then . . .
But if Bonwitter had done this before, if he had a large stash of supplies, how could Lucy prove that he had stolen these particular bolts?
So evolved her plan.
She was going to mark them. Yet for that act she needed a witness—and not Mamma or Sofia, for their testimony would be tainted by their familial ties. She thought of the other women. Who had the most clout and was the most trustworthy?
Lucy went back to the workroom and gathered the red thread and a needle. “Dorothy, could you help me with something in the storeroom, please?”
Dorothy looked curious, but followed. Once in the back, she asked, “So? What do you need me for?”
“I need you as a witness.” Lucy showed Dorothy the six bolts.
“But why are they here, and not on the—?” She put a hand to her mouth. “Bonwitter?”
Lucy nodded. “He hid them here to pick up later.” She held up the needle and thread. “I’m going to mark them with a red X.”
“What good will that do?”
“When we find the goods elsewhere, it’ll prove they’re from our shop.”
“We?”
“Me. Unless you want to come along . . .”
“I want to see Bonwitter get his comeuppance as much as anyone, but I have children at home. I can’t risk losing this job and . . .” She shrugged. “Are you sure you want to do this, Lucy?”
Not really. “I have to do this. I have to rid this place of him, for all our sakes.”
Lucy began sewing a small X along the fold of the fabric. “You see me doing this, yes?”
“I see you.”
“So you will vouch for me if he’s caught?”
Dorothy hesitated. “If it gets that far, I’ll vouch for you.”
Lucy bit off the thread from the first X and moved to the second.
“Do you think he’s going to pick them up tonight?”
“If he’s smart, he will. Every minute these bolts are hidden is a risk.”
Dorothy shook her head. “You’re assuming Bonwitter is smart.”
“He is smart. But I’m smarter.”
Dorothy crossed herself. “May God protect you.”
“You shouldn’t have to do the cleaning tonight, Lucy,” Mamma said. “Not when you barely got any sleep last night, working on Miss Langdon’s dress.” She nodded toward Sofia. “Sofia can sweep up.”
Sofia draped herself over Mamma’s upholstered chair, one leg dangling across its arm. “If Lucy wants to do it, let her.”
Mamma pinged her leg with a finger. “You reap what you sow, child.”
“Sew, mother. S-E-W. I sew all day. And I’m tired.”
“And we aren’t?”
Sofia got up with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll go.”
“No,” Lucy said. “I really want to do the cleaning tonight.” I need to do it.
Mamma studied her face, and Lucy had to look away from her discerning eyes. Then Mamma put a finger beneath Lucy’s chin and lifted it. “What are you up to, Lucia?”
“I’m making things better for us, Mamma. I promise.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
Papa always said, “Volere è potere: Where there’s a will there’s a way.”
Hopefully, she possessed both.
Lucy entered the shop in darkness—and kept it that way
. She felt her way through the lobby, then the workroom, and into the storeroom. Pale moonlight from an alley window offered a shadowy scene.
Lucy had pondered long and hard about where she could hide. She didn’t want to be hemmed in because she wanted to be able to slip out the back and follow Bonwitter with his goods.
She chose another row of barrels a short distance from the ones in question. With difficulty she rocked one forward, away from the wall, and squeezed into the created space. By looking through the gap between her barrel and its neighbor, she had a good view.
Lucy tried to get comfortable. A mouse squealed as she did so and skittered to some new hiding place.
There. She was settled.
All she could do was wait.
Chapter Seven
Lucy opened her eyes.
It was dark. Her back hurt, her legs were cramped—
Then she remembered where she was, hidden away behind some barrels, waiting for—
Boots sounded upon the wood floor. She heard the expulsion of air as effort was expended.
Lucy peered through the space between the two barrels that formed her hiding place. Bonwitter was removing the bolts of muslin from their hiding place and stacking them one upon the other.
Once they were manageable, he carried them to the back door, which he’d left ajar. He pushed it open with a shoulder, then closed it behind him.
Lucy scrambled between the barrels and ran to the alley window. She spotted Bonwitter climbing into a small cart. As soon as the horse began to move, she slipped out the door and hurried after it, dodging behind boxes and barrels in the alley, keeping him in her sight.
She thanked God the streets of New York would not allow Bonwitter to travel quickly. She only hoped she could be quick enough.
Eighty-nine Bowery. Eighty-nine Bowery.
Lucy repeated the address as she hurried back home. This was the place Bonwitter had stopped and removed the bolts of muslin from the cart. He’d gone inside, and she’d waited until she saw a light go out. He must live there too. She hoped he lived there. If it was just a warehouse he might find a way to weasel out of her accusations. “I don’t own that warehouse. The goods inside aren’t mine.”
It would be hard to prove. But if he also lived there . . .
Eighty-nine Bowery. Eighty-nine Bowery . . .
Lucy was the last to get up. Again.
Sofia stood in the doorway of the bedroom. “I don’t see why Lucy gets to sleep in, day after day.”
Her sister sat up in bed and hung her legs over the side as if they were leaden. What was her problem?
Sofia smelled coffee brewing. Mamma sidestepped her chores in the kitchen to stand beside her in the doorway. “Two nights in a row, Lucia?”
“I . . . I cleaned the shop, remember?”
Mamma lowered her chin, pinning her with stern eyes. “Did you?”
“I said I did, didn’t I?”
Something was up. It wasn’t like Lucy to snap at their mother. And the fact that Mamma didn’t chastise her for it . . . Once again, Sofia felt left out. She’d noticed Lucy getting into bed late, but had no idea what time it had been.
But Mamma did have something to say. She entered the bedroom and faced Lucy. “I cleaned the shop, Lucia. When you didn’t come back, I went downstairs and found the shop dark—and dirty. I swept the floors and took out the trash. Would you care to explain yourself?”
Lucy looked toward the window, then down to the blanket. Sofia was glad to see her discomfort. Her saintly older sister was in trouble? It was a momentous occasion.
Mamma tipped her head toward the kitchen. “Go get us some coffee, Sofia.”
“No,” she said. “I deserve to hear too.”
With a sigh, Mamma obviously decided not to fight both daughters. She sat beside Lucy on the bed. “What’s going on, daughter? It can’t be good, otherwise there would be no need for secrecy and deception.”
Lucy glanced at Sofia, but Sofia didn’t move. No way would she miss this.
“I suspected Bonwitter of stealing and last night I caught him, and—”
Mamma gasped. “You confronted him?”
“No, no. Even I wouldn’t dare that. But I saw him do it, and followed him to a building. I saw him take six bolts of muslin inside.”
Sofia sat on the end of the bed. “No wonder Mavis keeps having to ask him to order more.”
Lucy nodded. “When Mr. Standish comes in today, I’m going to tell him in front of all the ladies.”
Mamma studied Lucy a long moment. “Do you really think he’ll react well? Most men wouldn’t like having their business ability shown up by a young woman. After all, he hired Bonwitter. He gave him the power he’s misused.”
“But why wouldn’t he want to know Bonwitter is a thief? Mr. Standish is in business to make money. If Bonwitter is taking that money . . .”
Sofia offered another opinion. “He’s more than a thief. He tore my book in half, he grabbed me, and he’s grabbed some of the others too. He’s evil.”
“That’s a strong word, Sofia.”
She risked saying more. “But, Mamma, what good has he ever done any of us?”
Mamma hesitated, then said, “He pays our wages. If we confront him . . .”
Lucy spoke up. “Actually, Mr. Standish pays our wages—and his. When I tell him, all the other ladies will attest—”
Mamma looked pensive. “You need to tell Mr. Standish in private.”
Sofia didn’t like that idea. “But I want to be there. I’m the one who’s suffered under him.”
Mamma shook her head, the decision final. “Lucy needs to talk to Mr. Standish alone.”
Which meant once again, Lucy would get the glory all to herself.
Lucy’s stomach danced uncomfortably when she heard Mr. Standish’s voice in the lobby. She stole a glance at Mamma, who offered a level look.
Patience.
Unfortunately, patience was a virtue Lucy sorely lacked. When she heard her boss talk on and on with a customer and Mrs. Flynn, she felt she would burst from the waiting. Stop your talking. Come in here. Don’t you realize I have something important to tell—
Lucy pricked her finger, forcing her back to reality. She put it in her mouth to stop the bleeding. Poised in such a fashion, she saw Mr. Standish enter the workroom.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said in his usual jovial manner.
He began his rounds, strolling between the worktables, chatting with all the women. Lucy restrained herself from rising and going to him. She had to wait her turn. Soon enough he would come to her table and—
When he stopped at Mamma’s place, Lucy could wait no longer. She rose and joined them.
“Well, hello, Lucy. How are you?” His face changed from cheery to concerned. “Is something wrong?”
Lucy ignored Mamma’s disappointed look. “May I speak with you, sir? In private?”
He looked taken aback but swept an arm toward the storeroom.
What a perfect location for our talk.
Lucy moved to the stack of muslin before turning toward Mr. Standish to begin. “I’m afraid I have some awkward, unfortunate news for you, sir.”
“Is something wrong with your apartment?”
She shook her head vehemently. “Not a thing. We’re very grateful for it and are very happy there.”
“So your news involves . . . ?”
Lucy got right to it. “Mr. Bonwitter.”
It was clear by his expression that her answer was unexpected. “Go on.”
She decided to start with the most profane, to ignite her boss’s high morals. “He’s been very inappropriate with many, if not all, of the women working here.” She hesitated but a moment before adding, “Including my young sister.”
Mr. Standish looked appropriately appalled. “In what way? I mean . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind. Any forwardness, any impropriety is unacceptable.”
Lucy pointed to the spy hole. “In addition to the unwanted
physical contact, I believe he’s been spying on us.”
At first Mr. Standish didn’t see the hole in the wall, but then he stooped and peered through it. “I don’t see anything.”
“That’s because the lamp in the necessary isn’t turned on.”
He drew in a breath, and a hand went to his mouth. “That’s unconscionable. Deplorable.” He looked at Lucy. “It’s unacceptable.”
She nodded sadly, then moved back to the stack of muslin. The joy she was experiencing was surely sinful, yet she couldn’t wait to tell him more. “Unfortunately, there is another item to discuss.”
He ran a hand across his face. “And to think I trusted that man.”
It was the perfect opening. “He has fully betrayed that trust, sir. For he is a thief.”
“A—?”
She pointed to the muslin and told the entire story, from her first suspicions to the actual theft. “I followed him. I saw him bring the bolts into this building.” She pulled out the slip of paper that contained the address.
“He lives here.”
It was a statement. “I suspected as much when he didn’t come out again.”
“I simply can’t believe a man who has charge of all the accounts would betray my trust in such a manner.”
Lucy felt a wave of panic. Didn’t he believe her? “If you’d like to ask Mavis, she can attest to the discrepancy in the muslin stock.”
“No, I don’t need—”
Lucy didn’t want there to be any question, so she entered the workroom and asked Mavis to come out back.
“But why?” Mavis asked.
“Just come.”
Lucy presented Mavis to Mr. Standish. “Tell him about the odd things occurring with the muslin stock.” Mavis looked uneasy, as if she thought she would get blamed, so Lucy added, “I’ve told him about Mr. Bonwitter stealing.”
Mavis relaxed and told what she knew.
Mr. Standish kept shaking his head. “And did he . . . was he inappropriate with you?”
Mavis was totally at ease now. “Of course. He gets grabby with all the girls whenever he gets a chance.”
“Thank you, Mavis. I appreciate your candor. That will be all.”
“You going to sack him?” she asked.
