Bless the Bride Read online

  I went back to my first plan, which was visiting all the missions around Chinatown. This proved to be fruitless. Some were only open on Sundays. The ones that were open were little more than church halls that ran Sunday worship, nightly language classes, Bible study, and sometimes Saturday socials. No places for a fugitive girl to stay or be hidden. So I now considered the options: if she had been kidnapped by an enemy, as Lee Sing Tai had hinted, then I had no hope of finding her. If he was a big noise, as Mrs. Chiu had described him and Frederick Lee had indicated, then presumably he knew how to send out spies to put pressure on those enemies to get her back. The fact that he hadn’t succeeded already indicated to me that it wasn’t an enemy who had taken her. Unless—a new disturbing thought came to me—unless that enemy had killed her and disposed of the body. But this again was out of my scope.

  The other possibilities were that she was being hidden within Chinatown by someone like Mrs. Chiu—someone who took pity on a frightened young girl. But then how would she ever have met a person like Mrs. Chiu if she wasn’t allowed out? How would she have known where to run and which door to knock on? Which left the third possibility: she had left Chinatown.

  The next obvious thing to do was to pay a visit to the closest police station—the Sixth Precinct on Elizabeth Street—on the chance that she had been picked up for prostitution and was being held in jail. I was rather leery about going to the police, as my visit could possibly get back to Daniel, who would not be pleased. But I decided that I could take the risk. A constable at the desk there was not likely to recognize me and I could always give a false name if asked. I made my way up Mott to Bayard and then across to Elizabeth. It was remarkable how quickly the flavor of the neighborhood changed. The moment I was out of Mott I was back in a lively Italian scene—noisy streets, children everywhere, laundry hanging from balconies, street vendors calling out wares.

  The Sixth Precinct police station was a short way up on the left. I paused outside, staring up at its severe brownstone facade, plucking up the courage to enter. On the way up the street I had worked out a plausible story, but I had to give myself a good talking-to before I went up the five steps to the front door and stepped inside to musty coolness. Police stations, in my experience, all had the same kind of smell—pipe smoke and disinfectant from the holding cells down below and a sort of dustiness as if they were never properly cleaned. A young man was sitting behind a tall oak counter that shut off a large room beyond. He jumped up when he saw me.

  “Can I help you, miss?” He looked ridiculously young, with a fresh-scrubbed schoolboy face, and he gave me an eager smile. I wondered how long it would take in this profession before the enthusiasm wore off.

  “Yes, you can help me,” I said. “I’ve been sent from one of the missions in Chinatown.” (Well, that wasn’t an outright lie. Miss Clark had wished me luck in finding the girl.) “And I’m looking for a young Chinese woman, newly arrived in this country. Is it possible that such a woman has been brought in here by your officers during the past week?”

  “A Chinese woman? We don’t see many of those,” he said. “In fact I don’t think I’ve ever seen one, except an acrobat on the stage in the vaudeville once. You should see the contortions she could get her body into—”

  He stopped abruptly as an older officer glanced up from his paperwork.

  “So she hasn’t been brought in here?”

  “Maybe when I wasn’t on duty. I could go and ask, if you like.”

  “Thank you. Most kind of you,” I said.

  He gave me that endearing smile again. I rather thought that the ladies of the trade would have him wrapped around their little fingers. He turned away from his desk and had only taken a few steps past the partition into the big room beyond when I heard voices coming down the stairs behind me.

  “I don’t like this any more than you do, Kear, but you have to understand my position. I’m getting my arm twisted to look into this.”

  I froze, not sure what to do next. I had recognized the voice as Daniel’s. I had nowhere to run. I waited for doom, trying to make my brain come up with a good explanation of what I was doing in a police station in a bad part of the city. My brain refused to cooperate. I opened my handbag and pretended to be looking in it, just praying that they’d be so occupied with their conversation that I wouldn’t be noticed.

  “You’ve always been straight with me, Sullivan. I’ll do my best,” said the other voice. They were right behind me now. I hoped they’d go on past and out to the street. Instead I heard feet on the tiled floor coming toward me. I heard the click as they opened the gate leading to the room beyond; then they passed me as if I were invisible.

  I only had a second before Daniel turned around and saw me. I tiptoed to the front door and ran down those steps, dodging into the nearest shop. It was a baker’s and I took my time, choosing some rolls, until the baker lost patience with me. “Do ya want to buy something or don’tcha?” he barked. “I’ve got a store full of busy people and you’re keeping us all waiting.” There was no sign of Daniel as I came out again and merged into the crowd.

  One thing was certain, I wasn’t going back into that police station. If the young constable knew nothing of a Chinese woman, then it was fairly certain that she was not being held there, judging by the amount of interest she would have caused. The fact that a woman wearing Chinese dress would stand out as an oddity made me decide to try something else. Chinatown was essentially only three or four streets—Mott, Pell, Doyers, and Park. That made a limited number of ways out—five to be exact. Surely there were nosy or observant people at the entrance to each of those streets who would have noticed a young Chinese woman, in Chinese dress. Unless, of course, she had escaped in the middle of the night. Which didn’t seem very likely, given the locked doors and the houseboy sleeping at the top of the stairs. I wondered if she could have lowered herself from the balcony. But then she would have left the rope, or whatever she had used hanging there as evidence of her escape.

  A pretty puzzle. A young woman, vanished into thin air—unless … was I being set up? I had been used and duped before, being a little on the naïve side when it came to trusting humanity. What if the young bride had not proved satisfactory? What if he had killed her or had her killed and disposed of the body somewhere, then had hired me as his alibi? Judging by his attitude toward her, this was a good possibility. I should walk away now, I told myself. But I couldn’t until I had tried every avenue. I never like to give up on anything—and I was becoming increasingly worried about that poor girl. Coming from a village in China to the middle of New York City must have been a terrible shock. If she had tried to run away, I rather thought that she would find she had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. I just hoped I wasn’t too late and she was already in the claws of a Bowery pimp.

  It occurred to me that I had once seen Mrs. Goodwin working on a case on Elizabeth Street. I looked up and down the street hopefully, but the only police presence was a stout constable with sweat running down his red face on this hot day. He was lingering near a fire hydrant, keeping a watchful eye on a group of young boys who were waiting their chance to set off that hydrant and play in the fountain it would cause.

  I approached him, asking him if he’d seen Mrs. Goodwin recently. But he was a Sixth Precinct man and he didn’t even know who she was. It seemed beyond his comprehension that the police were now using women as detectives. “And downright foolish,” he added. “If they’re using women on the force now, then that’s the beginning of the end.”

  So I went back toward Mott Street, noticing any business that was in a good position to observe people coming and going from Chinatown. There were street vendors aplenty and they were in the best position to notice a fleeing Chinese woman, if she hadn’t made her escape in the middle of the night. The aroma of roasting sweet potatoes and grilling corn from one of those carts reminded me that it was past lunchtime. I was luckily fortified with that soda bread, but buying a roasted sweet potat
o and an ear of corn was a good excuse to ask those vendors if they had seen a Chinese girl and showing her picture around.

  “Those stinking Chinamen know better than to come out here,” one of the vendors said in a heavy Italian accent. “We learn ’em good if they show their faces outside Mott Street.”

  “But if you saw a woman?”

  “They don’t have no women,” he said. “And we keep our girls well away from them.”

  I moved on, munching on my corn with satisfaction, around to the Bowery where I worked my way down toward Pell, asking questions along the way. One woman had seen a Chinese girl and my hopes rose until it transpired that she was one of the acrobats advertised at the vaudeville show at Miner’s Bowery Theatre. I continued on, past Pell to Doyers and then to the other end of Mott, then up Mott again to Park Street. I had covered all the exits with no luck. Plenty of people had seen the half-Chinese offspring of people like Aileen Chiu as they went to school outside the neighborhood or went to play in the park at Mulberry Bend. But nobody had seen a Chinese girl, in Chinese pantaloons and a brocade blouse from the old country.

  “Don’t tell me they’re letting them bring in women now,” was a phrase I heard more than once. “Enough is enough. They keep themselves to themselves and that’s all right, but bring in women and they’ll start breeding like rabbits.”

  The depressing thing was that I didn’t find one person with a good thing to say about their Chinese neighbors, even though, according to Aileen Chiu, they were good husbands and fathers, didn’t get drunk or get into fights—if you didn’t count the bullets that flew when the tongs were at war.

  Ten

  I was just trudging back up the Bowery, wondering what to do next, when I spotted a face I recognized. Monty Warrington-Chase was crossing the street toward me. He was striding out with a determined look on his face as if he was on his way to urgent business. I was about to greet him, but he passed right by me without noticing. He’s just escorted Sarah to her job at the settlement house, I thought, and he’s anxious to get out of this part of the city as soon as possible. I thought of Sarah and how warm and funny and generous she seemed to be, and then of cold, superior Monty and wondered how happy that marriage would be. At least I knew that Daniel and I were compatible and would make each other laugh. Was Sarah and Monty’s marriage as much of an arranged affair as little Bo Kei’s to Mr. Lee?

  Of course the moment I thought of Sarah, I had a brilliant idea. If my girl had ventured a block or two beyond Chinatown, she might have found one of the settlement houses, and they did have beds for destitute women. They would have certainly taken her in. I decided that I would go and enlist Sarah’s help right away. So I headed back up Elizabeth, across Canal, and located the settlement house. It was a tenement building like the others on that street, and the only things that distinguished it were the bright yellow painted front door and bright curtains in the windows. The front door opened and I went inside. It didn’t smell like the usual tenement either, but more like a hospital with plenty of disinfectant. A bell jangled as I opened the front door and immediately a young woman appeared.

  She appraised me, then smiled. “How can I help you?”

  She was simply dressed, but the cut and quality of the cloth were evident, as was the smooth, educated tone of her voice.

  “I was wondering if I could speak with Sarah Lindley.”

  “I’m afraid Sarah’s not here today,” she said. “And I don’t know when she’ll be in again. She sent word that she is so occupied with wedding preparations that she can’t promise if or when she can return. She is to be married soon, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said. “I just saw her fiancé so I assumed he had escorted her here as usual.”

  “Not today. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Then please come through into the parlor. I believe it’s unoccupied at the moment.” She led me through to the room on the right. A young man was sitting on a sofa reading a newspaper, which he folded hastily when he saw us.

  “I thought you were on kitchen duty this morning, Teddy,” she said. “Don’t tell me you’ve already finished?”

  Teddy flushed and got to his feet. “Well, no, but the girls seemed to have it all under control so I thought—well, dash it all, Hermione, a fellow isn’t exactly cut out for peeling potatoes.”

  “This fellow had better learn if he’s going to stay here,” the girl said. “Go on. Off with you. We need privacy. And don’t take the paper with you.”

  She shook her head, smiling as he left. “That one’s not going to last long. It’s too much of a shock for some of them who have been pampered all their lives. Sarah was one of our best, unfortunately. It’s too bad we’re losing her. Do sit down, Miss…?”

  “Murphy. Molly Murphy,” I said. “I’ve come to you with a strange request. I’m looking for a missing Chinese girl. I wondered if you’ve ever come across one at the house?”

  “Actually we have a girl here at the moment,” she said. “Frankly we’re not sure what to do with her next.”

  “You do? How long has she been with you?”

  “Only a few days.”

  “Then this sounds like the girl I am looking for. Could I possibly see her?”

  “May I ask why?” Her face took on a guarded look again.

  “I’ve been asked to find her by her family.”

  “Her family?” The expression changed to one of incredulity. “Her family is looking for her? We had no idea she had a family. They usually don’t. Well, that can only be good, can’t it? We were wondering what would become of her. She’s not at all well, you see. I should warn you that we think it’s possible she has tuberculosis—consumption, you know. So she could be infectious, but I’ll bring you to her if you want to take that risk.”

  “Yes, I do.” My heart was thumping with excitement. She wasn’t well. Was that the reason she ran away?

  Hermione led me up well-worn linoleum stairs, one flight and then two. The third flight was plain wood, narrow, and steep. “It’s quite a climb,” she said, “but awfully good for the figure, all this running up and down.”

  As we came onto the landing a door opened and another young woman came out, this one wearing a large white apron and a white cap over her hair.

  “How is the patient, Marigold?”

  “A little better. She’s eating well, but she still has that terrible cough.”

  “She has a visitor, and maybe some good news,” Hermione said, and ushered me into the room.

  The frail Chinese girl lay propped on her pillows looking like a porcelain doll. The girl in my photograph had looked healthy and robust. This one looked as if she was wasting away, but she sat up as we came into the room.

  “Hello,” I said, smiling at her. “Do you speak English?”

  “Little bit,” she said. She was eyeing me warily.

  “Are you Bo Kei?” I asked.

  She frowned as if she didn’t understand.

  “Bo Kei? You came from China as a bride?”

  She nodded, her eyes still darting as if she might be considering flight.

  “Bride of Mr. Lee Sing Tai?”

  Her expression changed. “Lee Sing Tai?” She spat out the words in staccato fashion; then she actually raised herself up and spat onto the floor.

  “Annie, that’s not nice,” Hermione said. “No spitting. Not hygienic.”

  The girl lay back again as if exhausted.

  From her outburst it was clear that she wouldn’t be too keen on going back.

  “He is looking for you,” I said.

  “No! Why he look for me? Not want me no more,” she said, turning her gaze away. “Send me away. No son.”

  “Send you away? He sent you away?”

  She nodded. “No give him son. No use, he say.”

  “I don’t understand. You came from China a month ago, is that correct?” I asked her. “One month?”

  He
rmione touched my arm. “What’s this about coming from China as a bride? We took Annie in when she was thrown out of a local brothel. Usually they turn them out with a very different sort of disease, but in this case they were worried she had consumption and would pass it to clients.”

  “A brothel?” I asked, completely confused now. “Then she’s not the girl I’m looking for. And why do you call her Annie?”

  “That’s the name she gave us.”

  I sat on the bed beside her. “Annie? How long have you been in America?”

  She wouldn’t meet my gaze. “Five year,” she said.

  Something that had been said passed through my mind—something about Lee Sing Tai bringing in another bride before this, and then sending her back to China because she didn’t produce a son.

  “Did you come here as the bride of Lee Sing Tai?” I asked. “Did he have you brought here?”

  She nodded, her face expressionless as if she was made of stone.

  “And you didn’t give him the son he wanted, so he sent you to a brothel?”

  She nodded again. I looked up and met Hermione’s concerned eyes.

  “Annie, listen,” I went on. “He’s brought in another girl from China, but she has run away.”

  “She smart girl,” Annie said. “He bad man. Bad man.”

  “I’m trying to find her,” I said. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

  “Maybe she come place like this.”

  I looked up at Hermione again. “Are there other settlement houses around here? Other places where a girl might seek refuge?”

  “There’s the Henry Street Settlement and the University Settlement on Eldridge, but they are farther away from Chinatown and I don’t know how she would have come across them,” Hermione said. “There are a couple of Christian women’s hostels, but I don’t know if they’d take in a destitute Chinese girl.”