The Face in the Mirror

by Rhys Bowen

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Postscript

  Also by Rhys Bowen

  About the Author

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  THE FACE IN THE MIRROR

  Rhys Bowen

  Minotaur

  Chapter 1

  New York City

  February 1904

  Happily ever after: that is how I should have been feeling what I should be writing. After five months of marriage to a dashing man who adored me, finally mistress of my own home and never having to worry where the next penny was coming from again, I should have been blissfully and completely content with my lot.

  I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t. My mother would have said it was my ungrateful nature coming to the surface again, but luckily she was no longer around to criticize my every move.

  Don’t misunderstand me: I loved Daniel with all my heart. I was thrilled to be married to him and relieved that I no longer had to work for a living, to face danger and uncertainty every day. But the truth was, I found that I now craved that excitement. When I had been a private investigator, I never knew what was coming next, what challenges tomorrow’s mail would bring. There were definitely times when I was mortally afraid, and came within an inch or two of losing my life, but there was also the satisfaction of bringing justice to victims and solving complicated cases by myself with no help from the police—even outwitting the police on occasion.

  The other speck of concern in my life was that we’d been married for five months and there was still no sign of a baby, although goodness knows we’d practiced often enough. Our lovemaking had always been passionate and still remained so. So why had I not yet conceived? A murmur of doubt at the back of my mind whispered that something had gone wrong with me when I’d had a miscarriage a couple of years ago. I had never told Daniel about it—since he was in jail at the time, wrongfully accused, and I thought there was no way that we could be married. But it still haunted me.

  So here I was, finally married and secure, and horribly bored. Our little house didn’t take long to clean. Daniel was rarely home for meals, since a police captain keeps the most impossible hours, so I found myself with time on my hands and no good way to fill it. So I was glad when my neighbors Sid and Gus showed up on my doorstep early one morning. I should explain that their real names were Elena Goldfarb and Augusta Walcott (of the Boston Walcotts). Both were young women of breeding, education, and money who had chosen the Bohemian life and thus given themselves controversial nicknames. They were my closest friends and I adored them.

  “We’ve been to the French bakery and have croissants still warm from the oven,” Gus said. “Come on over.” She was wearing a pretty woolen cape lined with white fur and looked like a drawing from a Christmas card, fitting in well with the remnants of the last snowstorm still lingering on the cobblestones of Patchin Place, our little backwater of calm in the heart of bustling New York City.

  I glanced back at the kitchen, where a pile of Daniel’s white shirts was waiting to be ironed. “I really should be getting on with my housework,” I said.

  “Fiddlesticks,” Sid retorted. “You are turning into a shadow of your former self, Molly Sullivan. I hope that married life is not making you into a simpering female.”

  “Of course not.” I tossed my head defiantly, like one of the young colts I’d seen in the fields back in Ireland.

  “Come on, then. What are we waiting for?” Gus was already crossing Patchin Place to her own front door. I removed my apron, grabbed a shawl to put around my shoulders, and followed. It was a crisp February day and our boots slithered over those snowy cobblestones. Gus opened the door and I stepped into comfortable warmth. The delicious smell of brewing coffee was coming from their kitchen. Sid threw back the hood that had covered her startling black and cropped hair, took off the black velvet cape, then went to stir the coffee while Gus put the warm rolls into a basket on the kitchen table. I needed no invitation to sit and tuck in.

  “You don’t know how good this is.” I beamed at my friends. “I’ve not seen a soul for the past week, apart from the grocer and butcher, and they are hardly scintillating conversation.”

  “Sorry we deserted you,” Gus said, “but we had to attend our ladies’ suffrage conference up in Boston.”

  “Was it wonderful?” I asked wistfully. Daniel did not approve of the suffrage movement, thinking it dangerous and foolish to give women the vote. Sid and Gus had asked me to join them, but it was out of the question.

  “It was,” Gus said. “We had an inspiring talk from Alice Duer Miller and a visit from a suffragette from England, where they are taking amazing risks for our future. Sid and I have come back fired with enthusiasm and plan to start regular meetings at our house so that we can become a hub for the movement in New York.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I said. “I hope to join you.”

  “We’ve set up our first for next Tuesday evening,” Sid said. “The other delegates from New York have promised to come.”

  “I hope it’s not the one evening that Daniel comes home early,” I said.

  “He allows you to socialize with your own group of friends, surely?” Sid frowned.

  “Of course, but you know his feelings on votes for women.”

  “My dear, I know all men’s feelings on the subject. Why wouldn’t they object? They’ve had the monopoly for so long. They are not going to relinquish it without a struggle.”

  “Molly can tell Daniel that it is a meeting of our literary society,” Gus said. “We know he approves of that.”

  I chewed on my lip, hating to appear weak and feeble in front of my friends. “He wouldn’t object but we spend so little time together at the moment that it would seem wrong to abandon him if he does happen to have a free evening.”

  “Such a devoted little wife,” Sid said, patting my arm. “Isn’t she, Gus?”

  “Get away with you!” I laughed, slapping her hand. “You’ll make me wish I’d never married if you go on like this.”

  “Of course we’re glad you’ve married,” Sid said. “We’re glad we don’t have to worry about you when you’re out at night, following dubious people.”

  “I miss it,” I said. “I loved the thrill of the chase, and even the element of danger sometimes.”

  “So Daniel still won’t let you help with his detective work, then?’

  “He will not,” I replied. “He claims it goes against police ethics.”

  Sid spluttered over her croissant. “Since when were the New York police known to be ethical?”

  “Daniel is as straight as a die,” I said; then I added, “Most of the time. And anyway, citing ethics is an excuse, I suspect. The truth is, he doesn’t want to be ragged by his fellow officers that his wife solves his cases for him.”

  “His loss,” Gus said, helping herself to more coffee and offering the pot to me. I declined politely. Sid liked to make coffee almost thick enough that the spoon could stand up, but I endured it for the pleasure of their company. “I’m sure you’d be really valuable to him, Molly, if only he’d let you help. Think of all those times when you outwitted the police.”

  “There were also times when she nearly got herself killed,” Sid reminded.

  “Yes, that too,” I agreed. “I’m sure I will adjust to a more stable kind o
f life. It just takes time.”

  “And when the babies start coming, you’ll look back on this time with longing,” Gus said, smiling at me.

  Oh dear. I wished she hadn’t brought up that subject. When the babies start arriving. In my mind, that statement was already turning itself into “if” and not “when.”

  “We thought we’d go and pay a visit to that new painter who has taken a studio on Eighth Street,” Gus said. “You remember those studios where our friend Lennie has his space?”

  I did. I had posed for him naked once and chose to forget it. “I should get back to ironing Daniel’s shirts,” I said, making my friends both chuckle. “But I will definitely try to come to your gathering on Tuesday.”

  I didn’t bring up the subject to Daniel until Tuesday morning. In the meantime, I was a model wife, and those shirts, looking as pristine and white as the sooty New York air would allow, hung on hangers in his wardrobe. As I served him breakfast on Tuesday, I remarked, “Are you expecting to be home this evening?”

  He smiled up at me good-naturedly. “How long have we been married? When can I ever know in advance whether I’ll be home early or late? Just when I think I have an evening free, another body is found in an alleyway. Right now, it’s two gangs going at it hammer and tongs for control of the Lower West Side.

  “Are the Eastmans one of them?” I asked. “Or is it the Hudson Dusters?”

  Daniel wagged a finger at me. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he said. “In this case, there is altogether too much killing going on. Nightly reprisals, I’m afraid. Just be glad when your husband comes home safely each evening.”

  I turned away, facing the sink and looking out on our small square of backyard. “So if you don’t think you’ll be home, I might go to a small literary gathering at Sid and Gus’s, if that’s all right with you?”

  As I turned back, he looked surprised and amused. “Since when did you ask my permission to do anything?”

  “I’m not exactly asking permission,” I said. “It’s just that we have so little time together that I would hate to be away if you finally had an evening to yourself.”

  Daniel got up and came over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “We’ll make some time together soon, I promise.”

  “So I’ll leave you something for your supper and go to Sid and Gus’s little gathering, then?” I said, resting my head against him and enjoying the feel of his chin against my cheek. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

  “Go and enjoy your literary discussion.” Daniel released me, squeezing my shoulder as he walked past me. “I must be on my way. Duty calls.”

  After he’d gone, I felt a little guilty because the only literature we were going to discuss that evening would be pamphlets espousing the suffragist cause. But then I chided myself for those guilty feelings—why should I need my husband’s permission for anything? He didn’t ask my permission for anything he did during his hours away from me. Thus cheered, I looked forward to the evening’s gathering.

  Chapter 2

  There was already a lively buzz of conversation as Gus led me into their drawing room and I gave a quick look of satisfaction at the scene before me. A roaring fire was crackling merrily in the hearth, its flames twinkling in the crystal glasses and decanter of port that resided on a low table, along with a plate of cheese straws and another of nuts, dates, and figs. The gas lamps were turned low and the faces glowed red in half shadow. I tried to see if I recognized any of them, but I did not, apart from Sid, who sat in the high-backed armchair. She held out her hand to me:

  “Molly, you came. I’m so glad. Everybody—this is our neighbor and good friend Molly Sullivan. I don’t think you’ve met any of these women before, Molly. But they are all dedicated workers for our cause.” She rattled off names and I tried to take them in. All I noted was how diverse a group they presented; some younger than I, some middle aged. Some fashionable, some dowdy. It was impressive how many women were willing to fight for the right to vote. I felt another twinge of guilt that I should be doing this in secret rather than announcing to my husband that I was planning to join in the fight. I’d never been known to back down from a good battle before my marriage.

  “A new recruit. Splendid,” a statuesque older woman said.

  “Molly used to be a detective,” Sid announced with enthusiasm, making me blush.

  “Mercy me.” The older woman fanned herself. “A member of the police force?”

  “No, a private detective,” I said. “I used to run my own small agency.”

  “Splendid,” someone else echoed the older woman. “Just the kind of woman we need. One who has lived in a man’s world. Not easily intimidated.”

  “And Molly is recently married, with time on her hands to help us,” Sid went on.

  “I have to say that my husband is not a big supporter of our cause,” I added hastily, “but I do want to help.”

  “Many of us have husbands who are not in favor of votes for women.” And the large woman looked across at a shadowy figure in the corner, who nodded.

  “Molly won’t be deterred by a disapproving husband, I’m sure,” Sid went on cheerfully. “She was fearless when she ran her detective agency.”

  I really wished she’d stop. Didn’t she realize how different things were now? I was glad when Gus called the meeting to order and began by relating what had happened at the conference in Boston.

  “How exciting,” a young woman called Martha said. “I wish Papa had let me go. It is so tiresome being dependent on others for money and the freedom to travel.”

  “We should start a travel fund,” Gus said, looking around for approval. “Didn’t you suggest that once, Mrs. Clements?”

  “Yes, I believe I did,” the woman in the corner answered. Her face was veiled in shadow so that I couldn’t get a good look at her, but the voice sounded small and tired.

  “Weren’t you also at the conference, Mrs. Clements?” one of the younger women asked, sounding surprised. “I know you were planning to go.”

  “Yes, I had hoped to go,” she answered softly, “but I’m afraid circumstances prevented it.”

  The meeting continued with lively discussion: fund-raising, public awareness, the ability to appeal to all classes of women were discussed one by one. I had been the quiet observer to start with but had just found my voice when there was a knock on the front door. Gus went to it and returned, saying, “Your spouse is here, Molly.”

  “Oh dear.” Embarrassed, I got up and went to the door.

  Daniel stood there, smiling. “I managed to get away quite early after all, and since you claim we never spend any time together, I wondered if you could drag yourself away from literature and share a bottle of wine with me?”

  He held out the bottle he was carrying. Then raised the other hand. “And hot chestnuts. I know you like hot chestnuts.” Of course, I couldn’t refuse and had to leave the party, trying not to show my regret.

  The next morning I went across the street to my friends’ house and apologized for running off.

  “It’s all right, Molly. We understand,” Gus said. “Besides, the meeting broke up soon afterwards. Mrs. Clements left immediately after you did, and I suppose the others felt that they should go too.”

  “What an inspiring group of women they were,” I said. “I feel quite a coward compared with the way they are prepared to defy society.”

  Sid looked at Gus, then at me. “Tell me, Molly. What was your impression of Mrs. Clements?”

  “The lady in the corner? Soft spoken. Didn’t say much. Rather shy, I’d have said.”

  “That’s just it,” Sid retorted. “She is one of our leaders, or was until now. A strong, forceful woman, a great public speaker. Last night was completely out of character for her.”

  “She dithered. She seemed unsure of herself and couldn’t wait to get away,” Gus said. “We are concerned about her, Molly. We wondered what was wrong.”

  “Could she have been feeling ill
?” I said. “If she had a bad headache, for example, she would not have felt like joining in the conversation.”

  “Then why not stay home? We’d have understood. But she wasn’t just withdrawn, she was jumpy. Sid noticed how her hand shook when she reached for a cheese straw.”

  “Does she drink?” I asked.

  “Absolutely not. Hardly touches the stuff,” Gus said. “We’re worried about her, Molly. As I said, she is a pillar of our movement. Everyone looks to her for leadership. Something must be very wrong.”

  “Then pay her a call and find out,” I said.

  “The trouble is that we really don’t know her socially, apart from our meetings,” Gus said. “We can’t just go barging in, asking what is the matter.” She sighed. “Oh well, I expect it will right itself in good time. But we can’t afford to lose one of our champions. Not when our cause has such fragile support.”

  “The trouble is that men will never take us seriously,” Gus said. “They see us as helpless, fragile little things without a brain in our heads.”

  “Because that’s the way they want to see us,” I said. “Daniel doesn’t see me as helpless, but he does want to protect me. I suppose it’s natural.”

  “Rubbish,” Sid said. “What about Queen Victoria? She ruled a whole empire. We can do anything if we’re given a chance.”

  I felt quite inspired as I went back to my own house. In fact, I was sitting at the kitchen table, drafting a list of ways we could bring more women to our side when there was a knock at my front door.

  I opened it and saw a strange woman standing there. She was dressed in an expensive-looking Persian lamb coat, her face shaded by a large brimmed black hat.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, thinking first she might be collecting money for charity and then deciding that the clothes were too good.

  “Mrs. Sullivan,” she said in a soft voice, “it’s Carrie Clements. We met last night at your neighbor’s house.”

  And I remembered the woman who had been sitting in the corner, whose face I had never seen clearly—the one Sid and Gus were so worried about.