Away in a Manger Page 18

  “I’ve thought of a couple of little things,” I said. “I won’t be long.”

  The streets were packed with shoppers carrying baskets laden with provisions, stacks of packages. Everyone was doing last-minute Christmas preparation and there was a feeling of excitement and gaiety in the air. Children were standing on street corners singing carols for pennies. Delivery boys forced their way through the crowd carrying great turkeys and geese and hams. It was hard not to be caught up in the festive mood, and as I neared Mrs. Jenkins’s boardinghouse, I asked myself whether this was a wise move. I had promised Daniel I wouldn’t do anything dangerous. If Jack Hobbs was there, I’d find an excuse to leave.

  The house looked more rundown and forbidding in the gloomy light. Heavy clouds threatened more snow and the wind off the Hudson cut like a knife. I almost turned around and went away again. But those children deserved the truth. I banged on the front door but there was no reply. I’m afraid I heaved a sigh of relief that it had not been opened by Jack Hobbs. Then it occurred to me that Mrs. Jenkins would be doing what the rest of the world was today—her last-minute shopping for the holidays.

  I walked away, standing at a distance to see if a curtain twitched and I was being observed, but nothing moved. Then I started prowling the shops on the surrounding streets. At last I was in luck. I watched her coming out of the butcher’s with a basket covered in a cloth. I decided that a crowded street was the very best place to confront her. I went up to her.

  “Why, Mrs. Jenkins,” I said. “Just the person I was looking for.”

  She stared at me, frowning. “Who are you?”

  “Don’t you remember? I came to your place to take a look at a room?”

  “Ah, yes. Will you be wanting it now?”

  “I think not. And I was also the first person to take an interest in the children.”

  “And what children would they be?” she asked.

  “The ones that Eustace Everett paid you to look after.”

  I did get a reaction to that. She almost stumbled on a clump of snow, then picked up her pace, pushing through the crowd. I hurried to keep up with her.

  “So I’m curious,” I said. “Did he want them kept alive because he was too softhearted to kill two innocent children?”

  She shot me a swift glance. “Him? Softhearted?” And she made a sound that was halfway between a snort and a laugh. Then she realized, of course, what she had said.

  “Thank you,” I replied. “You’ve made this very easy for me. I’ll be passing along the information to my husband, the police captain.”

  “You’ve got nothing on me,” she said defiantly. “I took those children in and fed them out of the goodness of my heart. There’s no crime in that.”

  “No, you’re not to blame if someone paid you to look after two children, even if you did take his money and then send the children out into the streets to beg. But, as you say, it’s not a crime.”

  “Then leave me alone and stop bothering me,” she said, shouldering her way past two women, who turned to glare at her.

  I stepped out into the street, getting my feet wet in the muddy gutter, and drew level with her again. We were now approaching her house. Any minute now she’d go inside and slam the door on me. Jack Hobbs might even be there now.

  “As I said, it’s no crime. However, being implicated in the murder of their mother—now that’s another matter.”

  She spun around and for a moment there was a look of terror in her eyes. “What are you saying? That I killed their mother? I had nothing to do with that. Nothing, do you hear?”

  “Mr. Everett might say that you did, to save his own skin. How else did you get your hands on the locket she never took off? I wouldn’t be surprised if the police didn’t come to the conclusion that she was killed in your house and then dumped in the river.”

  “No.” She was shaking her head violently now. “No. That’s a lie. It wasn’t like that at all.” She looked up and I heard a sigh of relief escape from her. “Jack!” she called. “Thank God you’re back. This woman is making all kinds of accusations. Tell her I never…”

  But I had decided that discretion was the better part of valor. I dodged back into the crowd, slipped into the crowded grocer’s shop, and watched as they looked for me, then went off home. At least I’d given them something to think about. At least I knew the truth, that Eustace Everett had been paying her to keep the children. Until when? Until his uncle died and he took over the estate and the business? But if it was found that he had been trying to poison his uncle, I could now have Hettie Jenkins called in as a witness, and in spite of her hard outer shell, I suspected she’d crack quite easily to save her own skin.

  I bought some mistletoe from a boy on the street then came home to find everyone at the tea table. Tig and Emmy went back across the street. We ate supper and put the children to bed.

  Around eight o’clock there was a tap on the door. I leaped up, convinced it would be news from the pharmacy. But instead it was Gus. “Molly, dearest,” she said. “We have a few friends over and it’s all very jolly and we wondered if you would like to join us. Daniel too if he feels up to it, of course.”

  I glanced into the parlor where Daniel and his mother were sitting. “I don’t think I should desert my dear ones, however tempting it sounds,” I said with a smile. “But thank you for the invitation.”

  “If you change your mind, you know where to find us,” she said. “Ryan is there and asking after you.”

  Ryan O’Hare, flamboyant Irish playwright, was one of my favorite people.

  “I’ll test the waters,” I said, and closed the front door.

  “Was that Miss Walcott?” asked my ever sharp mother-in-law. “Everything all right?”

  “They are having a small gathering of friends and wanted to know if we’d like to join them,” I said. “I told them Daniel wasn’t up to it yet.”

  “You should go,” Daniel said. “You enjoy their kind of socializing.”

  I looked from him to his mother. “If you don’t mind? I’d just pop in for a little while.”

  “Daniel and I will keep each other company,” his mother said. “We’ll do some reminiscing about the good times when his father was alive.”

  “Fine, then.” I smiled, ran upstairs to change into a more respectable gown, and then put on a shawl to cross the street. “I won’t stay long.”

  Gus’s face lit up when she answered the front door. “You’re here. That’s splendid. Come on in,” she said. “As you can tell, the party is in full swing.”

  Her words were almost drowned out by the loud laughter coming from her front parlor. I felt suddenly hesitant, as one does being introduced into a lively company. Now that I was a wife and mother I rarely went to social functions at night. I was definitely out of practice. Faces looked up at me, some of them curious, some smiling in recognition. Ryan leaped to his feet and came toward me. His outfit no longer shocked me—a white shirt with frills, a black-velvet waistcoat and tight black-velvet trousers. He looked like a stage pirate, or Lord Byron, back from the grave. “The love of my life returns to me,” he said. “I have been quite wasting away pining for you, my darling Molly.”

  “I see you’re still full of blarney,” I said, laughing as he grabbed me around the waist. “Since when have I ever been the love of your life?”

  “I’m cut to the quick,” he replied. “I just hope that brute is treating you well and not beating you too often,” he remarked, leading me to sit beside him on the sofa.

  Sid introduced me rapidly to those I didn’t know. Gus put a glass of hot-buttered rum into my hand. It was all so jolly and carefree, until I remembered that upstairs in bed were two children whose futures were still uncertain.

  “Someone told me that you two had become parents,” a male guest commented. “More virgin births at Christmas?”

  Amid the laughter Sid explained the circumstances. “But Molly is hoping to reunite them with their family,” she added.


  “That won’t be so easy if Eustace Everett has his way,” I said.

  “Eustace Everett?” Ryan looked at me, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Not my bosom friend exactly,” he said, “but let’s just say we frequent the same club.”

  “I’m surprised any New York club would admit you, Ryan,” Sid said.

  “God forbid, not that kind of club,” he said, laughing. “Do you think I would ever be seen dead inside one of those stuffy men’s clubs? The club I’m referring to is a more private sort of affair … where gentlemen like me go to … meet other gentlemen like me. It’s called the Stallion Club.”

  There was more laughter and ribald remarks.

  “And you’ve seen Eustace Everett there?” I asked.

  Ryan was still chuckling. “Frequently, darling. Always hoping to make a lucky connection, but of course he never stands a chance with gorgeous chaps like me around.”

  I stared into the flames of the fire, trying to suppress my grin. Eustace Everett at a homosexual club! I have you now, I thought in triumph.

  When I came home a little later I was still trying to decide how to make the best use of this newfound information. I could confront him with it, but that really would be playing with fire. If he had killed Margaret and her brother and was currently poisoning his uncle, I might not live to regret my action. Then I came up with a brainwave: I would go to Miss Van Woekem and tell her everything. She was Julia’s godmother. She would not want her to enter into a marriage with a man who would only cause her grief. I resolved to visit her first thing the next morning. I shared my intention with Daniel as we lay in bed together that night. For once he made no objection, but added, “As long as it’s just Miss Van Woekem, and you let her make up her mind what to do with this knowledge.”

  “Of course,” I said sweetly.

  * * *

  I had forgotten it was Sunday as well as Christmas Eve. Mrs. Sullivan greeted me with her hat on. “Is the mass still at eight o’clock?” she asked. “You’ll need to hurry and get those children ready.”

  Oh, dear. I couldn’t tell her that I only went to mass if she was visiting. “I think I’ll leave Liam with his father,” I said. “Daniel’s certainly not going to go to mass today. But I’ll make sure Bridie is ready to go with you.”

  “With me?” She raised an eyebrow. “You’ll not be coming yourself then?”

  “Someone should help Daniel dress and feed him breakfast,” I said.

  “Daniel would not want you to miss your Sunday obligations,” she said frostily. “That was not how we raised him.”

  I gave in. It was easier to go to mass than to create a scene. I got Bridie ready quickly, put on my coat, scarf, hat, and gloves, and we walked down to Washington Square. It was freezing cold in the early morning and the clouds were heavy with the promise of more snow soon. The church was not much warmer—small oil heaters dotted around did little to take off the chill and the congregation huddled together, trying to keep warm. Luckily the priest wanted to be through as quickly as we did and rushed through the mass at breakneck speed, earning another complaint from my mother-in-law as we walked home.

  “I’ve never heard the Holy Mass said with such irreverence,” she said. “Like a galloping horse that man was.”

  I smiled to myself. When we got home I helped Daniel wash and get dressed, washed and dressed my son, then cooked flapjacks and bacon before I made my escape. “I’m going to visit Miss Van Woekem,” I announced as I cleared away the breakfast things.

  “And the roast for Sunday lunch?” Mrs. Sullivan asked, already with a look of disapproval on her face. “You’re planning to be back in time to serve a roast, I’ve no doubt?”

  “It should go into the oven at eleven if I’m not back by then,” I said. “I’ll peel the potatoes first and have the cabbage ready in the saucepan.”

  “Anyone would think you cared more for that old lady than your own family,” Mrs. Sullivan muttered as I went about my work.

  “It’s not entirely a social call,” I said. “I heard something last night that she should know. Something about her goddaughter’s intended.”

  “Spreading gossip is not wise or healthy.” She scooped the cabbage stalks into the waste bucket.

  “It’s more than gossip, I’m afraid. It’s criminal behavior and she needs to be told about it before it’s too late.”

  She stood in front of me, her hands on her hips. “Why you have to concern yourself with other people’s lives is something I’ll never understand,” she said. “Is your son going to grow up getting a brief glimpse of you occasionally? I thought you agreed to give up this ridiculous detective work when you married, but it seems to me you’re carrying on with it more than ever.”

  “I’m really not,” I said, fighting to keep a pleasant expression on my face. “All of this has to do with Tig and Emmy. You’d like to see them reunited with their family, wouldn’t you? And the man who killed their mother brought to justice?”

  “You think you can do that?”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “Well, you’d better get going then,” she said. I kissed my son, my husband, and Bridie, and off I went. Gramercy Park lay sleeping under a snowy blanket. A couple of carriages stood at the curb, their horses and drivers looking sorry for themselves in the bitter cold. I knocked at Miss Van Woekem’s door and was admitted by a surprised maid.

  “She doesn’t normally accept callers at this hour,” the maid said, and ushered me into the smaller back parlor, where the old lady sat with a shawl around her shoulders, reading the morning newspaper.

  I apologized for my visit, but told her she’d realize why I had to come straight away. Then I related the whole story—everything I knew and everything I suspected. She was a good listener and said not a word, her head on one side like an attentive sparrow, as I talked.

  “Some of this I can prove,” I said. “Some I can’t. Until we know what was in that powder that is being tested I can’t go to the police. But I do know that he took the children’s locket and then denied it to my face. And I do know that he frequents a club for homosexuals. And that he intercepted a letter to Mr. Montague from his daughter. And dismissed the housekeeper right afterward.”

  She picked up a little bell on the table and rang it fiercely. I thought I was about to be thrown out, that I had crossed a line by besmirching the name of Julia’s intended, but when her maid came in the old lady said, “Help me up, girl. Fetch my coat and hat. And tell Sims to bring round the carriage.”

  “You’re going out, ma’am?” the maid asked.

  “That should be quite obvious. Now get a move on, girl. We haven’t all day to waste.”

  “Where are you going, Miss Van Woekem?” I asked.

  She looked surprised that I didn’t know. “We’re going to see that justice is served,” she said.

  Twenty-five

  An ancient but impressive carriage pulled up in front of the house. Miss Van Woekem arranged her fur around her shoulders and was helped inside. I climbed in beside her and tucked the rug over her knees.

  “And where do we find these children?” she asked me. “We’ll need to take them with us. Mr. Everett will not have the nerve to turn me away.”

  So we went first to Patchin Place. Tig and Emmy were bundled up and wrapped in rugs, then we set off for the longer ride across the East River by one of the bridges in the north of Manhattan, then through the borough of Queens, and finally out into the bleak countryside of Long Island. It was like entering another world—a land of snow and silence.

  “Where are we going?” Emmy asked nervously. “Are we going back to England?”

  “You need a boat for that, silly,” Tig said.

  “We are going to meet your grandfather,” Miss Van Woekem said. “Make sure you are on your best behavior.”

  “Will our mummy be there?” Emmy asked.

  I glanced at Miss Van Woekem, both of us unsure how to answe
r this.

  “I’m afraid not,” I said.

  We were cold, stiff, and tired from the jolting by the time we entered the gates and arrived at Fairview. Julia had spotted the carriage and came out to meet us.

  “Aunt Olivia, what a lovely surprise,” she said, her face alight with joy. “So you changed your mind and decided to join us for Christmas after all?”

  “I have come on a mission,” the old lady said as she was helped down from the carriage. “I have brought these children to see their grandfather.”

  “Their grandfather?” Julia looked confused.

  “They are Margaret Montague’s children, recently arrived from England,” Miss Van Woekem said. “And this is my dear friend, Mrs. Sullivan, who was gracious enough to accompany me.”

  Julia looked at me, puzzled, then gave a tinkling laugh. “So you were here on a secret mission when last we met. You brought the present from Godmother, didn’t you?”

  I smiled and didn’t deny it.

  We stepped into the delightful warmth of the house. There was now an enormous Christmas tree in the foyer and the children gazed at it in wonder. Servants helped us off with coats and hats. If one of them recognized me from my previous visit, they were too well trained to say so.

  “First you must have a hot drink,” Julia said. “Your hands are freezing. Pratchett, tell cook to make us all hot chocolate. And bring some cookies for the children.”

  She led us through to the morning room, where a huge fire blazed in the hearth. I perched on the edge of my chair, so tense I felt I might snap at any moment. Miss Van Woekem seemed so confident, but she had not seen how wily and dangerous Eustace Everett could be. The hot chocolate had just arrived when we heard the clatter of boots down the tiled hall and Eustace himself came in.

  He looked at us with surprise. “Aunt Olivia, what a pleasant surprise,” he said, then frowned as he turned his gaze to myself and the children.

  “I have brought some friends with me,” Miss Van Woekem said. “I believe you have met Mrs. Sullivan, but not your young cousins. This is Thomas and this is Megan. Your cousin Margaret’s children, who have come to see their grandfather.”