The Family Way Page 8

  “I had already met Liam when I spoke to Mr. Wilkie and I saw no reason to mention my encounter to him, since Liam had given me no information of any kind.”

  He was still staring at me, “And would you have gone to Wilkie if your brother had chosen to contact you again?”

  “I suppose it depends what Liam had wanted of me. If he had contacted me again I would have warned him that the police were after him and he should get out of the country immediately.” Another point occurred to me. “And if you had asked me to let you know if I made contact with my brother, I might have done so. But you choose not to share any information with me and keep me completely in the dark on your cases.”

  “I have to, Molly. You know that.”

  I stood up. “Your dinner is in the oven. You’d better eat it before it’s dried out.”

  He got up too. “Molly.” He put a tentative hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. We have to think what would be the best thing to do next. Your brother gave you no idea where he was staying, I take it?”

  “I told you once, Daniel. He wanted to get away from me as quickly as possible.”

  “I don’t want you going back to that part of the city in the hope of bumping into him again.”

  “I’m not stupid, Daniel. I’m not going to be used as bait to catch my brother.”

  He sucked in air through his teeth. “This is a tricky situation. I don’t want John Wilkie putting pressure on you either. I think the best thing would be to get you away from the city all together. I keep suggesting that you go to my mother during this hot weather, and that would seem like an admirable solution to remove you out of harm’s way.”

  I was about to stand up for myself and say I refused to be shipped off like a piece of baggage, when it struck me that this time it was an admirable solution. If I was not in the city I had absolutely no chance of running into Liam again. Sid and Gus could continue to be my spies while I was safely far away in the country.

  I nodded demurely. “Very well, Daniel. If that’s what you want.”

  He looked at me suspiciously for a moment, trying to gauge if there was any underhanded reason for my sudden meekness. Finding none he came over to me, put his hands on my shoulders, and kissed me. “That’s my girl,” he said. “I’ll send a wire to my mother in the morning to say that you are coming.”

  For the only time in my life I did not protest.

  Ten

  The rail journey north to Westchester County proved to be quite delightful after we crossed the Harlem River and city streets gave way to woodland and meadows. I tried to enjoy the vistas, but I was filled with the usual apprehension I felt at the thought of facing Daniel’s mother, coupled with concern over those I had left behind. I had told Sid and Gus that both the Secret Service and the New York police were actively looking for my brother, and I recounted what Daniel had told me. They promised to be extra careful, but seemed excited at the challenge. Daniel had assured me that he had been perfectly all right on his own for thirty-two years and would not starve to death in my absence. I didn’t tell him it wasn’t starvation I feared. Anarchists were known to be ruthless. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill if anyone got in the way of their plans. I knew that policemen like Daniel faced death every day, but I hadn’t been married long enough to become used to it yet.

  As I stared out the window I wondered whether Liam really was working with anarchists and what would happen to him if he was caught. Surely the death penalty. I shuddered and remembered the fatalistic way he had said, “Someone has to carry on my name.” He was practically the only family I had. A woman across the compartment was bouncing a healthy toddler on her lap and I pictured myself doing the same thing this time next year. It was hard to believe that I’d soon have a little one of my own. Then another face came into my head—that poor woman on Broome Street, so sure that the baby returned to her was not the right one. How could that have happened? What would she do now? Try to love a child that wasn’t her own? I felt almost sick at the thought.

  I was met at White Plains Station by Mrs. Sullivan’s man, Jonah, with the pony and trap and we set off through leafy lanes for the hamlet of Elmsford, some two miles away. I felt the cares and worries slipping away with the gentle swaying of the trap and the sweet smell of honeysuckle and green meadows. I should learn to stop worrying about things I couldn’t change and enjoy the life I had. I was going to be spoiled by Mrs. Sullivan, and … I remembered the best part … I was going to see little Bridie again. Bridie was the child I had brought across from Ireland who had become dear to me. In fact I would have liked to have her live with us when her father and brother went off to Panama to build the canal, but Daniel had objected. She was ten years old now and Daniel’s mother had volunteered to train her for domestic service, but had taken to her so well that I didn’t think service was in her future.

  I found I was smiling when, at long last, we turned off the lane into Mrs. Sullivan’s driveway. The house was one of those simple older homes built of local bluestone in the days when the Hudson Valley was a sleepy backwater of small farms. That had all changed when the railroad granted speedy access to the city and the barons of industry built their own extravagant mansions along the river’s banks. Mrs. Sullivan’s house was not in any way extravagant but was of pleasant appearance with a climbing rose spilling over the porch and French windows opening onto a lawn bordered by a spreading elm and oak tree.

  Bridie came rushing out to meet me at the sound of the horse’s hooves, her face alight with excitement. As I was assisted down from the trap she flung her arms around me. She had grown since I saw her last and was looking healthy and well-cared for, her hair neatly braided and her pinafore edged with lace. Mrs. Sullivan followed her out onto the porch and gave me a surprisingly warm welcome.

  “Well, there you are,” she said. “Isn’t this nice.” And she let me kiss her on the cheek. Bridie took my hand and tried to drag me up the stairs. “Come and see your room, Molly. I picked fresh flowers for you and the pillow on your bed has lace around the edge that I sewed myself,” she said.

  “Heavens, child, give Molly a chance to catch her breath first,” Mrs. Sullivan scolded, but with a smile. She turned to me. “She was up with the sun this morning, so excited about your arrival.” She led me through to the spacious front parlor. “Sit down and we’ll have Bridie bring us some iced tea before you do anything else.” She examined me critically. “You’re looking tired, my dear. It’s not good for you to exert yourself too much. I’m sure the city heat was overwhelming in your condition. I kept telling Daniel he should send you out here for the whole summer.”

  “He wanted me to come out to you, but I didn’t want to leave him alone when he has to work so hard.”

  She nodded. “I was exactly the same when my man was with the police. I expect you’ve gathered by now that it’s no fun being a policeman’s wife. If his father had had his way, Daniel would have gone into the law and then into politics instead of following his footsteps into the police force. Of course there is still time to pursue a political career.”

  “Daniel loves his job,” I said. “I think he even enjoys the danger and the long hours.”

  “Maybe he’ll change his mind when he has a family and wants to spend more time with them,” she said. “Ah, that’s right, Bridie. Put the tray down on that table and see if you can pour very carefully without spilling. Good girl.” She turned to me. “She’s turning into a grand little helper. She’ll make some man a fine wife someday.”

  Bridie came to perch on the arm of my chair, waiting impatiently to show me the room she had prepared for me. At last she was allowed to lead me upstairs. The windows were open and the sweet scent of roses and newly mown grass wafted in. Doves were cooing on the rooftop. There were flowers on my bedside table and clean white linens on the bed. It all looked very inviting and I reminded myself that I could have been enjoying it all summer, but for my own stubbornness.

  Mrs. Sullivan refused to let me do
a thing. She set up a wicker chaise for me under the oak tree and instructed me to put my feet up. “You can’t be too careful at this stage,” she said. “I’ve some fine white knitting yarn if you’ve a mind to start on a little jacket.”

  I lounged in the shade, sipping iced tea and nibbling on plums from a tree in the orchard. This is the life of Riley, I thought. The contentment lasted all of an hour before my thoughts turned to Liam and Daniel and what was happening in the city. I fetched my note paper and wrote to Sid and Gus, asking them to let me know the moment they had any news, then to Daniel, emphasizing the warm welcome his mother had given me. Then I made a valiant attempt at starting the little jacket before, I’m ashamed to say, I nodded off to sleep in the shade.

  I was glad I had that afternoon nap as my sleep was disturbed that night. My windows were open and I was jarred awake by unfamiliar nightly noises—the hoot of an owl, the bark of a fox. When I did fall asleep it was to troubled dreams and someone holding up a hideous and malformed infant to me. “That’s not my baby!” I screamed and awoke sweating. Maybe it was a good thing that I had removed myself from the tensions of the city. Soon I’d learn to slow myself to the calm rhythm of the countryside … at least I hoped I would.

  When I awoke the next morning I was full of energy and wanting to be doing something. I went for an early morning walk, read the paper, tried to help clear away breakfast but was told to go and sit down.

  “I’m not used to being idle,” I said.

  “You have to learn to do what’s best for the baby,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “When it arrives you’ll think back wistfully to the time when you had a minute to rest. Make the most of it.”

  She did allow me to deadhead the geraniums, but refused any more strenuous gardening. “If you feel up to it,” she said, “we’ve been invited to tea with my neighbors, the Blackstones. Letitia Blackstone was a famous society beauty in her youth.”

  I was all set to say I was too tired. I tended to agree with Sid and Gus that society gossip was very tiresome, especially when one didn’t know any of the people who were being talked about and when one’s mother-in-law was likely to drop hints about the sort of girls Daniel might have married.

  “We needn’t stay long and they are anxious to meet you,” she added. “You’ll probably find that some of the ladies attending came to your wedding.”

  After that I had to agree. I could see she really wanted to go. She looked pleased. “They are very well connected and could be useful to Daniel someday.”

  We were driven in the pony and trap by Jonah. The Blackstones’ house was much grander than Mrs. Sullivan’s—a proper mansion with a portico, terraced gardens, and a small ornamental lake. My mother-in-law mentioned at least a dozen times what a good match Letitia had made and how happy her parents had been for her.

  Tea had been set up in the shade of trees beside this lake and there were several other ladies present, mostly of Mrs. Sullivan’s generation. I was made a great fuss over when I arrived.

  “To think that Daniel is going to be a father at last,” Mrs. Blackstone said as she escorted me to my chair. “And you despaired that he’d never marry, Mary.”

  “Whatever happened to that other girl—the Nortons’ daughter, wasn’t it?” an older woman asked from her deck chair.

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Arabella Norton had been Daniel’s intended when I first met him.

  “I gather she’s married—into a Philadelphia Mainline family, so in fact a better match than…” the speaker broke off and cleared her throat in embarrassment.

  “And is your family from this area, my dear?” another of the women asked me, rapidly changing the subject.

  “Molly is from Ireland,” Mrs. Sullivan said for me, before I could disclose that I’d come from a peasant’s cottage.

  That pretty much put an end to the topic of conversation, since we knew no people in common, and the talk reverted to local matters. I sat and listened as they discussed people and events that meant nothing to me, eating my slice of cake and sipping at my tea. My attention wandered to a pair of mallards on the lake, to a flock of chickadees in the tree above us while unfamiliar names washed over me.

  “Don’t tell me they mean to divorce? I know he behaved badly but how shocking that she really plans to divorce him. Rather shortsighted of her, when you consider the fortune he will inherit one day. How tragic for Marjorie. And they are related to the Wetherbys, aren’t they?”

  “The Wetherbys? That big brick house on the road to White Plains?”

  “You know, Estelle Wetherby. You met her at a dinner party at the Van Horns.”

  “Was she the one whose daughter married that Mainwaring fellow?”

  I was instantly alert and sat up in my seat.

  “Leonard Mainwaring? That’s right. She did. Estelle thought it was a good match at the time, but I’m not so sure personally. Of course he has plenty of money and comes from an important English family but…” The women leaned closer into a tight little group from which I was excluded. Their voices were lowered.

  “But he was a bit of a rake, wasn’t he? Got into trouble with gambling debts?”

  “And an eye for the ladies, so I heard. Perhaps he’s settled down now he’s married. They often do, don’t they?”

  “Do they live nearby?”

  “Closer to the river, don’t they? Estelle told me once. Irvington, I think.”

  “Big fancy house, so I hear. At least Estelle’s daughter has got something out of it.”

  The talk moved on to other people I didn’t know, but my brain was buzzing. Mrs. Mainwaring, of the right social class and with a big enough house to be able to afford more than one parlormaid! I couldn’t believe my luck. Now I had to work out how I could manage to pay a call and find out if they had employed Maureen O’Byrne.

  * * *

  I gave myself a stern talking to when we returned home. I was not supposed to be pursuing any kind of work. I should have handed over this case to another detective by now. But it was no good. I was experiencing that familiar feeling, like the hound who picks up the scent of the fox, that we were finally on the trail of the quarry. I was convinced that I’d found the answer and would soon locate Maureen O’Byrne for her relatives. I waited until we were sitting at the supper table before I asked casually, “How far away is Irvington?”

  “Irvington? About three miles. Charming little town on the Hudson. Do you know it?”

  “I’ve never been there,” I said, “but I’ve been told that it’s very pretty and the river should be delightfully cool in this weather. Is there any kind of transportation that I could take to go there one day?”

  “Transportation? You’re not in New York, my dear. We’ve the pony and cart if Jonah is free to drive.”

  This was looking promising. I pressed on. “I heard your friends mention a family called Mainwaring. A friend of mine in New York knows some Mainwarings in Westchester County. In fact she’s been to stay with them. I wonder if it’s the same family.”

  “It’s an unusual name,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “It probably would be. I’m not personally acquainted with them but I have met Mrs. Mainwaring’s mother, Estelle Wetherby, so it would be acceptable to pay a call upon them if we happen to be taking a trip in that direction.”

  Oh, Lord. I hadn’t counted on my mother-in-law wanting to come with me. That would make things rather difficult. But I could hardly ask to borrow her pony trap and go without her.

  She seemed quite taken with the idea. “We could take a picnic one day. That sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it, Bridie my dear?”

  “To the river? Can I come?” Bridie wriggled excitedly.

  “Of course. I’ll arrange it with Jonah.”

  “Can Jonah show me how to catch fish? He promised.”

  “We’ll see,” Mrs. Sullivan said.

  So things were finally moving along. All I had to do was to come up with a person in New York who might possibly be a friend of Mrs. Wainwaring. Not Si
d or Gus. They were frowned upon by polite society and tried to steer clear of it. I thought of other young women of good family I might know. I had become acquainted with several of Sid and Gus’s Vassar classmates and I remembered Fanny Poindexter, who had died so tragically a year ago. Dead women tell no tales, I thought. She’d be perfect. Now all I had to do was to wait patiently.

  The next day brought no letter from Sid and Gus, which meant that they still hadn’t found Liam. Also no letter from Daniel, but he was not good about writing. Men aren’t. They only resort to letters if there is something important to say that can’t wait. But at least I took it to imply that he hadn’t caught Liam either. Mrs. Sullivan showed no intention of making the trip to Irvington and I began to wonder if she had forgotten. I couldn’t think of a way to remind her about it without seeming overeager and rude. So I had to lounge around the house and garden, trying to fill the hours with my sad attempts at knitting, or with writing letters while Mrs. Sullivan busied herself with household matters, pausing to give me the occasional lecture on the correct cleaning of silver or the right way to mend a scorch mark on a tablecloth. To my annoyance she decided that the plums were ready for bottling and took Bridie and me with her to the shed while she hunted for suitable jars. I had a horrid feeling that this might be a process taking several days and wondered if she’d possibly let me go to Irvington alone.

  Indeed the next morning we were rounded up after breakfast to pick plums. By afternoon she had great pots of plums bubbling on the stove and by nightfall there were jars sitting on the kitchen window ledge to cool.

  “I hope you made a note of everything I did, Molly,” she said. “I know you live in the city now, but there will come a time when you’ll have to preserve your own fruit.”

  As we sat down to a late cold supper she looked at us in satisfaction. “A job well done,” she said. “I think we deserve a day off, don’t you? Why don’t we take that trip to the river tomorrow. Are you feeling up to it, Molly?”