Away in a Manger (15 page)

“The Walla Walla?” Daniel perked up and looked interested. “So the Eastmans are involved, huh? Did he say what was in the packages?”

“He didn't know. He was instructed not to open them. But he suspects it was purses and wallets stolen on the street.”

“So I was right. The big gangs are taking over what used to be petty crime. That indicates to me that we're doing a good job at keeping major crime at bay, and the gangs are having to become opportunistic. Or it could be that Monk has had other things on his mind. He's being indicted for armed robbery and it looks as if they might finally be able to pin this one on him.”

“He'll go to jail?”

“For a token amount of time, I expect, but the gang might take the opportunity to find a new leader. And it may be a case of ‘While the cat's away the mice will play.'” He patted my hand. “Anyway, these matters don't concern you, Molly. I want my family to look forward to a grand Christmas together. Go ahead and buy the Christmas tree. Decorate the house. Make the cookies.”

“I wanted you to be there to choose the Christmas tree,” I said.

“We'll see what the doctor says.” He closed his eyes as if talking had made him tired. “And, Molly.” His eyes opened again, suddenly alert. “Don't get yourself involved in any way with these boys and the gang, understand. They may be young but some of them are vicious little thugs.”

“Don't worry,” I said. “This afternoon you'll be pleased to know that I'm doing something you'd quite approve of. I'm visiting Miss Van Woekem. It's her eightieth birthday.”

“Well done,” he said. “That's the spirit. Please give her my heartiest congratulations too.”

*   *   *

As I left the hospital I went over what had been said—the lies spread about Daniel; the gang involvement in pickpocketing; and his clear delight that I was moving in the right social circles. There was something of his mother in him after all. I also realized that I had deliberately failed to mention my underlying reason for my social call. I didn't like deceiving my husband, but on this occasion it was better that he had nothing to upset him. And maybe today I could find out a little more about a family called Everett.

I came home and changed into one of my fancy gowns—rose-colored silk with pleating and tucking in the bodice and a spray of silk roses over the shoulder. It was never a dress I would have chosen for myself, but it had been pressed upon me by a wealthy woman, after my home was blown up, and I had accepted her offerings gratefully. And today it was proving a godsend, as I'd otherwise have had no dresses suitable for an afternoon social call in Gramercy Park. I pinned up my hair carefully, easing wayward curls into place, then put on my cape with the hood carefully adjusted over my hairstyle.

“My, don't you look elegant,” my mother-in-law said as I came down the stairs.

“I have to pay a brief social call,” I said. “An elderly friend is celebrating her eightieth birthday.”

“An elderly friend? Clearly of the right social class, if you're dressed up like that.”

“Miss Van Woekem,” I said. Then my cheeks went pink. “Of course. You know her.”

“We have met,” she said. “You are starting to move in exalted circles, Molly.”

I laughed nervously. “Not really. But I felt I should pay my respects on her eightieth birthday.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

“I hope you don't mind staying with the children a little longer.”

“Not at all,” she said. “I've no wish to go out when the sidewalks are so treacherous. Take care yourself that you don't slip over.”

“I will.” I kissed her cheek.

I left Liam sleeping, Bridie knitting with some yarn that Daniel's mother had brought with her, and Sid and Gus busy making paper chains with Tig and Emmy. Then I set off. Snow flurries had picked up again and the sky was heavy with the promise of more snow. I toyed with the idea of taking a cab, but with Christmas coming and my husband sick in hospital, I couldn't sanction the additional expense. I had presumed the police department would take care of Daniel's hospital bills, but after what he had told me, I realized that I couldn't take that for granted.

So I walked down Waverly Place to Broadway and decided to brave the trolley instead. It wasn't that far up to Twentieth Street, but too far to walk on frozen sidewalks with snow blowing in my face. As I walked up Broadway to the nearest trolley stop I saw two boys, standing together in a doorway, watching shoppers pass them, rather like wolves examining a herd of deer. What's more, I recognized both of them. One was the boy who had recruited Tig to run his errands. The other was Malachy, Bridie's cousin. We had stayed with his family when we first arrived in New York and they had returned the favor by foisting themselves on me when they were thrown out of their apartment. The boys had always been trouble and I wasn't at all surprised that the older two had become Junior Eastmans.

Should I confront Malachy now, I wondered, but then I decided against it. I didn't want the other boy to find out where I lived and thus put my neighbors and Tig and Emmy in danger. Instead I decided to pay a call on Malachy's mother. She might be the most objectionable woman ever born, but she did have a sense of right and wrong, and still wielded some influence over her wayward sons. I didn't think she'd approve of picking pockets. Whether she could stop it was another matter, but at least I'd give it a try.

The trolley came along, its bell clanging. It was packed full, as usual, and I didn't think my silk dress would fare well from being jammed against so many bodies. It was only a short ride, but I was grateful to get off again at Twentieth Street. The windows of the stores on Broadway—Lord & Taylor and the other dry goods stores on this block—glittered with brightly lit snow scenes and enticing gift ideas. I realized I should bring a gift to Miss Van Woekem myself, so I went into Lord & Taylor and, having seen the prices, settled on a pair of embroidered handkerchiefs. Old ladies can never have enough handkerchiefs, I decided. I had them wrapped and then set off along Twentieth for Gramercy Park.

The gardens in the center of the square looked like a Christmas card scene, pristine behind their iron railings, untrodden, and with tree branches frosted with snow. Old memories came flooding back as I went up the steps to Miss Van Woekem's front door. The maid who answered it clearly did not recognize me as the drab peasant girl, newly arrived from Ireland, who had once worked there. I have to say that gave me a certain sense of satisfaction.

“Mrs. Molly Sullivan calling upon Miss Van Woekem,” I said, and presented my calling card. “I trust she is at home.”

“She is, madam. Please come in.” The maid closed the front door behind me then took the card on a tray through to the front parlor. As she opened the door I heard voices. So Miss Van Woekem had other people to wish her well. I heard the conversation break off and then Miss Van Woekem's commanding voice saying, “Show her in, by all means.”

My cape, scarf, and gloves were taken from me and I smoothed down my silk skirt before entering the room. Several women were sitting there, surrounding Miss Van Woekem, who occupied the big Queen Anne chair by the fire. She smiled and held out her hand to me. “Molly, my dear child. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Forgive the intrusion,” I said, going over to kiss her on the cheek, “but I saw the announcement of your birthday in the society column and felt that I had to stop by to give you my congratulations—on your birthday and the engagement of your goddaughter.” I handed her my package. “And I brought you a small token.”

She took it, smiling up at me. “How very kind. Do take a seat and join us. My maid was about to serve coffee and cake.” She introduced me to the various women, none of whose names meant anything to me, but then I hardly ever read the society columns. I took a seat on an upright chair beside the sofa on which two middle-aged matrons sat. They nodded to me pleasantly.

“You live in Manhattan, do you, Mrs. Sullivan?”

“I do. Close to Washington Square.”

“Washington Square? Really?” The larger of them raised an eyebrow. “Is not that area overrun with students and immigrants these days?”

“And bohemians?” the other woman added. “One hears that artists and writers and the like are taking over that part of the city. We had a friend who had to move from Fifth Avenue because it was no longer a good address.”

“I live on a little backwater and am not troubled by outsiders,” I said, smiling sweetly.

Luckily at that moment a trolley was wheeled in, laden with various cakes and a coffee service. Coffee was served and the women beside me fell upon the cream cakes as if they hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. I couldn't help thinking that Tig and Emmy, who really were close to starving, had eaten more daintily.

“So tell me, do you know the bride-to-be?” one of the women asked me.

“I'm afraid I don't,” I replied.

“Such a lovely girl. So tragic that her parents were both killed in the accident. Of course it has left her quite a wealthy woman, but one needs the guidance of a parent, doesn't one?”

“Miss Van Woekem has been a godsend to her. Having her to stay here while she introduced her to society.”

I tried to keep my voice quite disinterested as I asked, “And the groom? What do you know of him? The name was not familiar to me.”

“I haven't met him personally,” one of them said, “but I understand that the Everetts are an old Philadelphia family.”

“So he doesn't live in New York?”

“He does now, I believe. Is that not so, Miss Van Woekem?”

“What is that, Mrs. Farnham?” The old lady looked up at the summons. “Eustace Everett? Yes, he is now a dedicated New Yorker with a pied-à-terre at that monstrous Dakota building. But of course he spends a lot of time with his uncle out on Long Island, since he is now the heir and will take over the business when his uncle dies.”

“Shipping, is it now?” one of the other ladies asked. “Imports?”

“That's right. Montague's Fine Java. They're tea and coffee importers. Mr. Montague's father made a fortune with the insatiable demand for coffee.”

I had a mouthful of a rather crumbly cake and a crumb went down the wrong way. I rapidly put my napkin to my mouth as I coughed.

“The groom's uncle is Mr. Montague?” I asked when I was sure I could speak without spluttering.

“That's right. Such a lovely house in Great Neck on the Sound. Julia is so looking forward to hosting parties there in the summer.”

“The young couple will live there then, will they?” one of the women sitting next to me asked.

“Some of the time. Of course when Mr. Montague dies they will inherit. And one understands that he is in the poorest of health. It can only be a matter of time.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” one of the women mumbled.

“Tell me…” The large lady beside me leaned forward in her seat. Crumbs fell off an ample bosom. “Wasn't there some sort of tragedy or scandal with that family? Years ago?”

Various heads nodded. “Didn't the daughter run off with a servant?” The voice was lowered as if we might be overheard.

“Something like that. The music teacher, I believe—brought over here to give her singing lessons. Anyway, the father disinherited her. Cut her off completely and made Eustace his heir. Fortunately for your goddaughter, Miss Van Woekem.”

The old lady smiled and I knew her well enough to read into her expression that she wasn't too fond of Mr. Eustace Everett.

*   *   *

I took my leave as soon as I dared without seeming rude, claiming that I had left my child with the nursemaid and he would need feeding. Miss Van Woekem took my hand, holding it in her cold and bony claw. “Come and see me more often, Molly, my dear. Bring the little one. Bring Daniel. I need young people around me, especially at this time of year.”

“I will.” I smiled into that sharp, birdlike face. “Daniel is currently in hospital, recovering from a gunshot wound, but as soon as he's up and around again we will most certainly be delighted to come and visit.”

“Your husband is like a cat with nine lives,” she said, eyeing me somberly. “And I believe he must have used up eight of them. Come to that, so have you. It's time you retired to the country and took up a less strenuous occupation. Let's talk about it when you visit next.”

I smiled and nodded, then kissed her cheek and took my leave. Was I being foolish ignoring so many warnings? Was it time we gave up a life tinged with danger and settled down to raise a family? But not just yet, I thought. I had finally found the missing piece of my puzzle. Margaret Everett Montague must have been the daughter who ran off with the music teacher and who had been cut off without a penny. And when her husband died and she could no longer cope with two children on her own, she had swallowed her pride and brought them back to America, hoping that her father would see the children and forgive her.

And then she had vanished. Or had she seen her father, been turned away once more, and killed herself in a fit of despair? Anyway, I knew where Eustace lived and I would have a chance to find out. And if the grandfather saw those adorable children, surely he would accept them and welcome them into his home. I felt a great bubble of optimism as I walked to the trolley stop.

 

Seventeen

Being of a rather impetuous nature I was tempted to go to the Dakota building right away and seek out Eustace Everett. But then I made myself see sense. He would probably be at work in his uncle's office, wherever that was. And when I approached him I would need proof—I'd take the locket with me for him to show to his uncle.

I arrived home to find Bridie over at Sid and Gus's house and the kitchen full of paper chains.

“As you can see we've started the preparations for Christmas,” Gus called out merrily. “Sid is popping popcorn so that we can string it for the tree—which is very good of her, seeing that Christmas is actually not her holiday.”