Bless the Bride

It seems appropriate to dedicate this to my husband, John. You have been the wind beneath my wings.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I am trying to re-create, as faithfully as possible, the world of 1903. This includes not only the sights, sounds, smells of old New York, but attitudes and prejudices. Some readers may be offended with the use of derogatory terms like “Chinaman” and with the opinions expressed by characters in the book. However much we find these offensive, they were usual for the time and as such, have to be included to paint the true picture.

CONTENTS

Title Page

Dedication

Author’s Note

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Historical Note

Also by Rhys Bowen

Copyright

One

Westchester County, New York, September 1903

“I think I may be in a spot of trouble,” I said.

Mrs. Sullivan looked up sharply from her needlework. I read a succession of expressions pass over her face—shock, dismay, disgust—then finally she said, “Oh, well, these things happen, I suppose. Luckily you have your wedding date planned and it wouldn’t be the first baby to arrive remarkably early.”

“What?” It took a moment for the penny to drop, then I started laughing. “No, it’s nothing like that. Actually I only meant that I think I’ve sewn the wrong sides of this bodice together.” I held up the offending handiwork.

She took it from me, examined it, then sighed. “Goodness, child. However did you manage to grow up without learning the rudiments of sewing? Did your mother not teach you anything?”

“If you remember, my mother died when I was ten,” I said. “After that I had to do my share of darning and patching, but that was about it. I’ve certainly never had to sew fine fabrics like this.”

“Then it’s fortunate that we’ve no bridesmaids’ dresses to make as well, isn’t it?” she muttered, not looking up as she started unpicking stitches. “Although it’s a shame we’ve no little flower girl. I always think they add something special to a wedding. I did suggest that we ask the Van Kempers’ granddaughter…”

“I don’t know the Van Kempers’ granddaughter,” I said. “I’d feel awkward having a stranger as part of my wedding procession. There was one little girl I was very fond of—little Bridie. I believe I told you about the child I brought across from Ireland who lived with me for a while. I did send an invitation to her family, but I’ve received no response, so I can only assume that they’ve moved on.” I sighed. Or that they thought a wedding in Westchester County sounded too grand for them, being the simplest of Irish peasants.

Mrs. Sullivan nodded and looked at me with genuine sympathy for once. “’Tis a shame that you’ll have hardly any guests of your own at the wedding, and no family at all—except those two brothers. Fugitives from the law, didn’t you say?”

“With the Irish republican freedom fighters,” I corrected her, although I suspected she remembered well what I had told her. “I don’t even know where they are anymore.” I stared out across the dewy lawn. A mockingbird was singing its heart out in the plum tree. It was so peaceful and safe here, while my brothers were off somewhere, still fighting for the Irish republican cause.

Daniel’s mother and I had been sitting on her porch swing, enjoying the sweet morning air before the day became too hot, while we worked on making my trousseau. At least, she had been doing most of the making while I did a lot of unpicking, each set of removed stitches leaving a trail of little dots on the creamy white silk.

It hadn’t been my idea, believe me. I already knew my lack of prowess with the needle and would have been quite happy to have left my wedding gown to a Manhattan dressmaker. This was Daniel’s idea. He thought it would be a great way for me to get to know my future mother-in-law better and to learn some housewifely skills from her at the same time. Actually I knew what his real reason was: he wanted me safely out of the city so that I wouldn’t be tempted to take on any more detective assignments.

In theory I had no objections to spending a couple of weeks in the pleasant leafy atmosphere of Westchester County while the city sizzled in the muggy August heat. I had looked forward to having nothing to worry about except finishing my trousseau on time for my September wedding. I had had my fill of danger and was ready to admit that had I been a cat, I would have used at least eight of my nine lives. The reality of my current situation wasn’t exactly as sweet as I had imagined. While Daniel’s mother had welcomed me politely for Daniel’s sake, she had also made it perfectly clear that I didn’t measure up to her expectations for her only son. She and Daniel’s recently departed father had scrimped and saved to give Daniel a good education. They had moved out to Westchester County so that he could mix with the best families. He had fulfilled their dreams by becoming the youngest captain in the New York police. He had been engaged to the daughter of one of those rich families, but then he had broken it off in favor of marrying me—Molly Murphy, recently come from a peasant cottage in Ireland, with no money, no background.

The fact that Daniel’s mother and father had come from similar beginnings was never mentioned. From the way she talked, one would have thought that she’d been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. I had endured her subtle criticisms with a patience verging on saintliness that would have amazed those who knew my usual quick temper, wanting for Daniel’s sake to keep the peace and even to make my mother-in-law like me. But after ten days my patience was wearing awfully thin.

She took the rest of the silk from me. “You’d better let me finish this and you stick to the undergarments,” she said. “In my young day they always said that if a woman wasn’t handy with her needle, her children would go in rags.”

“Then it’s lucky that I’m going to live in New York City where there are plenty of department stores selling ready-made clothes, isn’t it?” I replied sweetly.

She pursed her lips. “Ready-made clothes? You’ll make my son a pauper if you start off married life with ideas like that.”

“Actually I do know how to use a sewing machine, if someone likes to give me one for a wedding present,” I said. “I worked in a garment factory once.”

“A garment factory? Did you?” The disapproving look again, as if I’d dropped yet another notch in her estimation. “Daniel never mentioned that to me.”

I didn’t think that Daniel had mentioned a lot of things I had done while working as an investigator. My profession was a constant thorn in his side. But I didn’t want my future mother-in-law thinking that I had been reduced to working in a sweatshop. “I was on an undercover assignment to find out who was stealing dress designs. It was awful. You should see the conditions those poor girls have to work in.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said. “Well, I expect you’ll be glad that you won’t have to do such unpleasant things any longer. A lady detective, indeed. It’s not natural for a woman.”

“I had to earn my living or starve,” I said. “I imagine that it was much the same way that your family had to survive when they came from Ireland in the famine.” I paused to let it sink in that I was well aware that her family had come over to America with nothing. “It was either that or fish gutting in the Fulton Street Market, or prostitution.” I was attempting to make a joke but her lips were still pursed, so I added, “To be truthful, I’ve enjoyed running my own business, and the excitement.”

“Daniel’s been worried about you, you know. He doesn’t say much, but a mother can tell.”

“I know. But he didn’t have to. I’ve learned to take care of myself pretty well.”

This wasn’t exactly true. There had been times when I was lucky to come out of a situation alive. Those were the times when I had longed for the peace and security that I was now experiencing. Now that I’d had ten days of it, I was ready to go back to my world of excitement and danger. But I’d made Daniel a promise that I’d give up working when we married. I couldn’t go back on that now, could I? My thoughts turned to Daniel and the upcoming wedding and the cold feet returned. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to marry him. I loved him. I was just scared of becoming a wife, confined to the life that respectable wives led: tea parties, sewing and idle gossip, and children soon enough, knowing the way that Daniel and I made love.

“It’s too bad he can’t join us for Labor Day after all,” I said. “I’m sure you were looking forward to seeing him as much as I was.”

Mrs. Sullivan sighed. “You’ll soon learn that being a policeman’s wife isn’t easy. Meals at all hours, calls in the middle of the night, and sometimes hardly seeing your man for days. And the constant worry when he doesn’t come home on time. I went through it all those years with my husband. My hope for Daniel is that he’ll soon leave the force and go into politics. He has the connections, you know, and I’ve no doubt that Tammany Hall would back him. They’d love to see another Irishman in Washington.”

“But he loves what he does,” I said. “He’s good at it. I wouldn’t want him to give it up because I was worried.”

As I said it the thought crossed my mind that he was making me give up my job for that very reason. Or was it rather that my being a detective would not sit well with his colleagues—even open him up to ridicule?

“Did he tell you what important case he was working on that keeps him in the city?” Mrs. Sullivan asked.

“We made an agreement,” I said. “He doesn’t share his cases with me and I don’t share my cases with him.”

Mrs. Sullivan grunted her disapproval again. I stared out across the back lawn to the row of tall trees that separated this house from its neighbors. In the next backyard someone was mowing the lawn. I heard the click-clack of a mower and the sweet smell of new mown grass wafted over to me. There were roses blooming along the fence and the buzzing of bees mingled with the sound of mowing. Truly it was quite delightful here. I should just let my future mother-in-law’s criticisms wash over me and make the most of this time.

“I can’t blame Daniel for not coming out to see us,” she said. “He has no real reason to make the long, uncomfortable journey now that he doesn’t have to collect the furniture.”

“What furniture?”

“I offered him some choice pieces of our furniture for your new house,” she said. “But now that you’re apparently going to start married life in that poky little house of yours, I gather there’s no room for extra furniture.”

My saintliness was wearing thinner. “It’s a dear little house. I’m very fond of it. And it’s in a quiet backwater.” I wanted to add that her house, while pleasant enough, was no mansion. Not much bigger than mine, in fact.

“But the neighborhood,” she said. “I know that Daniel wanted you to start married life in a better part of the city, farther uptown.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the neighborhood.” I could hear my voice rising.

“Greenwich Village? My dear, it’s full of immigrants and bohemians, not the sort of people you’ll want your children to mix with.”

“Mrs. Sullivan,” I said, taking a deep breath to steady myself, “don’t tell me that when your own family stepped off the boat they went straight to the Upper East Side and lived in a mansion. They started off with nothing, in the slums. Daniel told me. And yet I’d say he’d turned out well enough. And in case you’ve forgotten—I’m an immigrant. I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.”

There was a long, frosty silence during which the lawn mower continued to click away, then she said calmly, “We’d better get back to work if we want these garments to be finished on time. I told you we’re expected at the Misses Tompkins for lunch, didn’t I? And after that I promised Clara Bertram that you’d come and play croquet with them. Clara is another of Daniel’s old friends and she does so want to meet you.”

I’ll bet she does, I thought. So that she can examine the fabric of my dress and find it wanting. I’d already encountered several of Daniel’s friends during this stay. I could see their surprised reaction that Daniel was marrying someone like me when he could have had Arabella Norton and a fortune to go with her.

I picked up the half-sewn white silk petticoat and was about to start stitching when the porch screen door opened and Colleen, the little maid of all work came out. “The post has just come, madam,” she said and handed Mrs. Sullivan several letters. Mrs. Sullivan glanced through them.

“These will be responses to our invitation to the wedding. The Van der Meers,” she said, looking pleased. “Oh, and Alderman Harrison. And there’s one for you, Molly. That’s not Daniel’s handwriting.”

She handed me the letter. I recognized the writing at once. “It’s my neighbor on Patchin Place,” I said, then couldn’t resist adding, “Augusta Walcott, of the Boston Walcotts, you know.”

Mrs. Sullivan looked suitably surprised. “The Boston Walcotts, in Greenwich Village?”

“She’s an aspiring painter. Would you please excuse me if I go and read this?” I didn’t wait for the answer but went down the steps and across the lawn until I was standing in the shade of an elm tree, out of sight of Mrs. Sullivan and the porch swing.My dear Molly, I read in Gus’s educated, fluid script, I can’t tell you how much we are pining for you. Life seems positively dull without having you around. And New York is beastly hot and uncomfortable, but Sid insists on staying put because of the articles she is writing on the suffrage movement. We imagined you sitting in the leafy shade, drinking iced lemonade and having a lovely time, and we were tempted to hop on the next train and come for a visit, but Sid pointed out that your mother-in-law might not approve of us and she didn’t want us to do anything that might cloud your future relationship. Sid is always so thoughtful, isn’t she?But then she had an equally splendid idea. Why don’t we give a small party for Molly, she suggested. All those friends who are not being invited to the wedding. Of course we started planning and scheming immediately. Should it be a Japanese theme, or Ancient Greek? Sid suggested an underwater motif and wanted us all to be mermaids, but that was really impractical as we wouldn’t be able to dance with tails on. So we’re still debating the theme but we thought that some time during the Labor Day weekend would work well, if you’ve nothing planned. Do let us know as soon as possible whether this suits you and we’ll go full steam ahead with the plans.We’ve seen your betrothed from time to time, although I can’t say he has paused to be sociable with us. As you know, he has been having the place completely redecorated. And the other day he stopped by with a load of furniture, presumably from his rooms, since it looked very dour and masculine. We peeked in a couple of times and we must say that it all looks wonderfully brand, spanking new—and the wallpaper remarkably tasteful. I think you’ll be pleased.We do hope you can come for Labor Day. Sid sends her warmest regards.Your friends Sid and Gus,P.S. I almost forgot. A man came to your house yesterday and when nobody answered, he rapped on our door and demanded to know where you were. He said he represented a most important man who had an urgent commission for you and left his card with us. He demanded that you to contact him as soon as possible. We told him we didn’t think you were taking any commissions at the moment but he said he was sure you’d take this one. He was quite insistent. So you might want to come back to the city a day or so before the party, just in case there is a juicy assignment waiting for you. Naturally we’ve said nothing of this to Daniel.

I reread the letter, then folded it. An urgent commission from an important man. I had promised Daniel that I would give up my detective business when I married, but I wasn’t married yet, was I? And if it was a simple, straightforward assignment, it would provide a nice fee to add to my coffers—so that, at the very least, I could go to a department store and buy ready-made undergarments without feeling guilty.

Daniel’s mother looked up as I came up the steps onto the porch. “Good news, I hope?”

“Delightful news, thank you. My friends in the city have planned a pre-wedding celebration for me, to take place next weekend. So I do hope you’ll forgive me if I go back to the city for a few days. I fear I’m more of a hindrance than a help to you in the sewing anyway.”

I thought she looked relieved if anything, but she said stiffly, “This celebration requires you to be away for more than one day, does it?”

“I know these friends,” I said. “Their parties are always elaborate costume affairs, so I’ll need to assemble a suitable costume somehow.”

“A costume affair—that seems an odd sort of wedding party to me.”

“It is Greenwich Village,” I reminded her. “And many of our acquaintances are artists and writers. They enjoy being creative in their celebrations.”

She went back to her sewing, one neat little stitch after the next.

“With your sewing skills, let’s just hope that it’s a Roman toga,” she said at last.

I laughed dutifully, although I couldn’t tell whether she intended to make a joke.

“I’ll be back in good time to help you with the wedding preparations and to do the final fittings on my dress,” I said.

“And I take it you’ll be staying for our luncheon with the Misses Tompkins and croquet with Clara Bertram today?”

“Of course,” I said. “I wouldn’t dream of missing out on luncheon with the Misses Tompkins.”

And this time she looked at me to try and guess whether I was joking.

Two

As the train gathered speed through the woods of Westchester County, heading south, I felt as if I had been released from a straitjacket (and trust me, I had been in one of those once—not an experience I wished to repeat in a hurry). I found I was smiling at my reflection in the window glass. I was going to be married soon, going to be a bride, and I was finally looking forward to my wedding. It was true, as Mrs. Sullivan had reminded me, that I had precious few guests of my own, but that didn’t matter. Those few who were coming were dear to me: old Miss Van Woekem, for whom I had once worked. Mrs. Goodwin the female police detective and her young protégée I had rescued. Gus and Sid, of course. I had put my foot down at that. No Gus and Sid, no wedding. But I felt a wave of sadness that I hadn’t heard from Seamus and his little family. There had been a time when they had been big part of my life, but I had had only sporadic contact with them after they moved out to Connecticut for Bridie’s health. She would have made such a perfect flower girl, I thought wistfully. Better than the Van Kempers’ granddaughter any day. And I smiled to myself, again.

I can’t tell you how good it felt as the train rolled across the bridge over the Harlem River and into the upper reaches of New York City. No more luncheons and croquet parties at which I had to watch my words, mind my manners, and put up with what I took to be veiled barbs. Maybe I was being oversensitive, but then, maybe not. And anyone who knows me can tell you that I’m certainly not used to being the demure miss. It had been taxing. And now I was about to be back among my friends with the added prospect of a lucrative assignment. And I might even have a chance to see Daniel—a jarring thought came to me. Daniel would not be pleased that I’d deserted his mother. And of course he couldn’t know if I took on that case. So a brilliant plan came to me. It probably wouldn’t be wise to stay in my own house if it was newly painted and plastered. Besides, it would hardly be fair if I occupied it alone before my wedding. Sid and Gus’s guest room would be a much better idea, I thought to myself as the train went into the tunnel before arriving at Grand Central Depot.

Before I went to Westchester County the city had seemed unbearably hot and stifling and I had longed to escape to the countryside. It was still hot, to be sure, but I saw only the bustling life of the streets—a city that was vibrantly alive. Patchin Place was by contrast a quiet backwater, while city life teemed around the Jefferson Market building and along Greenwich Avenue. I stood on the cobbles, feeling the heat radiating back from the rosy brick houses on either side of me, thinking how grateful I was to Daniel for giving in to me and allowing us to start our married life here. I knew it was a sacrifice for him. I knew he wanted a more prestigious address. I knew he worried that I would be unduly under the unhealthy influence of Sid and Gus. But he had seen how much the house meant to me, and how much I valued my friends, and had agreed to give it a try. I had pointed out to him that the house would probably be too small after a year or two, when the babies started arriving and we’d need a servant. He wanted me to hire a servant now, but there really was no need for one if I was home, doing nothing all day. And frankly I didn’t want the intrusion on my newly married life—certainly not somebody sleeping in the spare bedroom.

I hoisted my carpetbag and picked my way over the cobbles to my house, eager to peek inside at Daniel’s renovations. I was about to put the key in my front door when I had second thoughts. I should find out first if anyone was inside. I didn’t want workmen reporting to Daniel that I had made an unscheduled appearance. It was hard to see past the net curtains, so I decided to go across the alleyway to Sid and Gus first. They seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of what was going on and would surely know if any workmen or painters were in my house.

I knocked on their bright red front door and felt a rush of pleasure at the thought of seeing them again. Eventually I heard the sound of feet and the front door was opened, revealing the strangest of apparitions. It was Gus, wearing a robe over what appeared to be a black lace corset and suspenders, holding up fishnet stockings. Since Gus was the more demure of the two, this in itself was shocking, but the fact that it was topped off with a police constable’s helmet made it even more astounding.

“Molly!” Gus’s face lit up as she recognized me. “We didn’t expect you so soon. How absolutely lovely to see you.”

“And you too. But do you make a habit of coming to your front door dressed like that?”

“Oh, dear,” she said, gathering her robe about her with only the mildest hint of embarrassment. “I hadn’t realized that my sash had fallen off my robe. Thank heavens it was you and not some man.”

“Most young women of your upbringing would have fainted dead away by now,” I said.

“Most young women of my breeding are currently being good wives and mothers and spending the summer in Newport or Cape Cod. I am already a lost cause in their eyes. But how rude of me to leave you standing in this awful heat. Come inside, do. Sid will be delighted.”

She ushered me into the cool darkness of their hallway and then called up the stairs. “Sid, put down that pen immediately. We have company.”

Footsteps came down the stairs and Sid appeared, wearing bloomers and an open-necked white shirt. “Molly,” she exclaimed. “How wonderful to see you. Isn’t it wonderful, Gus.” Then she noticed what Gus was wearing. “Dearest, did you actually open the front door in that extraordinary outfit?”

“I was trying it on,” Gus said. “I thought my robe was securely fastened.”

“But the policeman’s helmet?”

“Oh, yes.” Gus put her hand up to her head. “I’d forgotten about that. You see, Molly, we were trying to decide on a theme for your party. We thought a policemen’s and prostitutes’ ball might be fun, in honor of Daniel, you know. So I was just trying out whether I wanted to be a policeman or a prostitute.”

I started to laugh again. “My future mother-in-law was so impressed that I was going to a party hosted by one of the Boston Walcotts,” I said. “If she could only see you now!”

They joined in my laughter. “As stuffy as you feared, is she?” Sid asked, leading the way to the kitchen and taking a jug of lemonade from the ice chest.

“Worse,” I said. “My sewing skills are a disaster. I’ve had to have luncheon and tea with any number of her friends, where it has been hinted that Daniel was expected to make a much better match than me. You would have been so proud of me—I remained calm and demure throughout. Not one hasty word passed my lips. Close to sainthood, I’d say. But I couldn’t have stood it much longer. Any moment I was about to scream and hit someone with a croquet mallet. So your letter was a godsend.”

They were still smiling at me, as if I was an adored child returned to the fold. Sid led us through to their conservatory at the back of the kitchen and indicated that we sit in the shade of large potted palms that gave the space the feel of a jungle. She brought through a tray with lemonade and glasses.

“So you fled at the first opportunity,” Sid said.

I nodded. “It was the excuse I was waiting for. Honestly, I’m not designed for genteel idleness. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself when I’m married and have nothing to do but cook for Daniel and keep the house clean.”

“So you are going to remain true to your promise then.”

“I have little choice. Daniel’s career must come first.”

“Why?” Sid asked.

“Because—because he is the man and the breadwinner, and because he already has a flourishing career,” I said with slight hesitation.

“I suppose so,” Sid agreed with a sigh. “So you will have no interest in the calling card Gus mentioned in her letter. We should just throw it away, should we?”

They were watching me expectantly. I saw the smile twitch on Sid’s lips.

“I’m not married yet,” I said. “I can still make my own decisions. And if this proved to be a lucrative proposition—well, I think it’s healthy for a bride to start marriage with some money of her own, don’t you?”

Sid shook her head, smiling, went back into the house, and returned with the calling card.

“Frederick Lee.” I examined it, then looked up. “Is this the card of the important man or his emissary?”

“The emissary,” Gus said. “He wouldn’t give his employer’s name. Rather secretive about it, in fact.”

“And no hint of what kind of assignment this was?”

“None at all. I didn’t take to him, if you want to know—there was something in his air that seemed to say that you should be honored that he had selected you, and that there was no way you’d turn down the commission.”

“Probably a divorce then,” I said. “A rich man who didn’t want his identity known. In which case I won’t take it. I don’t care how much he offers me. I find it too sordid sneaking around and trying to catch people in compromising situations.”

“Hear, hear!” Sid said. “Our laws are so antiquated. When a couple no longer wishes to remain married, they should be able to shake hands and part amicably, without all this ridiculous subterfuge. If Gus and I ever decided to part ways, I know we’d be most civilized about it. Wouldn’t we, Gus?”

“I don’t want to think about it.” Gus turned away.

“Not that we ever will,” Sid said hastily.

I turned over Mr. Lee’s card. “His office is on the Bowery,” I said. “Hardly the best of addresses. I wonder what his employer does for a living?”

“I agree it’s not Fifth Avenue, but it’s quite respectable in its upper reaches around Cooper Union. Perhaps the employer is a lawyer,” Gus suggested. “I know I’ve seen law offices around there.… So are you going to pay him a call?”

I looked up from the card. “Why not? What have I got to lose? Just as long as Daniel doesn’t find out.”

“Our lips, as always, will be sealed,” Sid said.

“Now you must let Sid show you the wonderful articles she is writing,” Gus said. “The history of the suffrage movement. Most edifying and illuminating. Take Molly upstairs and show her the one you are writing at the moment, Sid.”

“I haven’t polished that one yet,” Sid said. “The prose is still rather rough. But she can read the one that was published this week.”

“It’s her best yet,” Gus said, sitting beside me as Sid went upstairs.

I had been the model of calmness for two weeks. Now my naturally impatient and curious nature had risen to the surface and was threatening to boil over again. I was dying to see what Daniel had done to my house and I wanted to find out about the mysterious Mr. Lee and his lucrative assignment. Sid and Gus were dear friends. They had been very good to me, but they had no concept of the word urgency. Life to them was one long game to be enjoyed and savored. I accepted the magazine that Sid offered me and read. Actually it was extremely interesting to read about the various states that had passed laws allowing women full participation in the governing process. Unfortunately New York was not one of them.

“This certainly reveals how far we have come,” I said, handing it back to her.

“No,” she said. “It shows how far we have to go. For every state that acknowledges women as rational beings who can only enhance the political process, there are four or five who think us fit only to scrub floors, bear children, and give tea parties.”

I nodded.

“We are hosting one of our meetings tonight,” Gus said, “so you will meet our fearless warriors for yourself. If you are here, that is, and the important Mr. X has not invited you to dine with him at Delmonico’s.”

“Oh, I don’t think that is likely to happen,” I said. “But I have to confess I’m impatient to find out more now. And I’m also anxious to see what Daniel has done to my house. Have you had a chance to peek inside yet?”

“No, we were not invited to have a look and one can see almost nothing through the net curtains.”

“I know,” I said. “I tried to look through them myself. I didn’t like the idea of going inside, in case someone was working upstairs.”

“I believe they are finished,” Gus said. “We haven’t spotted anybody for the last few days, have we, Gus?”

“As quiet as the grave,” Gus said. “And we have to admit to being equally curious. We’re dying to see if we approve of Daniel’s taste in decoration.”

“Then let’s take a look, shall we?”

They needed no urging to follow me across the street. I opened my front door cautiously and listened for signs of activity. The smell of new paint made my nostrils twitch, but there was no sound. I stepped into the front hall, followed closely by Sid and Gus. As Gus had predicted, the place looked brand, spanking new. The hallway was light yellow, the parlor, which previously had contained one rather dilapidated armchair, now boasted a new sofa and attractive striped wallpaper.

Sid gave a grunt of surprise. “The man has remarkably civilized taste for a policeman,” she said.

“And look, Molly. You actually have a dining room,” Gus said, peering through the next door.

“So I do.” The dining room now contained a dining set, complete with an impressive sideboard carved with grapevines. I had no idea where it came from. It certainly hadn’t been in Daniel’s rooms.

“Holy Mother of God,” I exclaimed. “I’m going to be the mistress of an elegant house.”

We went upstairs and the first thing I caught sight of through an open door was a large new four-poster bed.

“My, but that’s a handsome object,” Sid commented. “It’s clear what’s uppermost on his mind, isn’t it? And yours too, I expect.” And she chuckled.

To my annoyance I felt myself blushing. The young ladies I had been playing croquet with would have swooned at such a remark and had to reach for the smelling salts. Sid and Gus seemed to think it was perfectly natural to discuss such matters, as I suppose it was in bohemian society.

“Well, I say that Daniel has done you proud, Molly,” Gus said, wanting to spare my feelings. “I think the redecoration and the furniture are splendid. But you’re not thinking of sleeping here before the wedding are you?”

“I don’t think I should,” I said. “It wouldn’t be fair to Daniel when I’m sure he wants to surprise me. I was hoping I could stay with you until the party.”

“Of course you can. That way Daniel won’t even have to know that you’re in town,” Sid said. “Come on then. We should make our escape just in case the eager groom puts in an unexpected appearance.”

I glanced back at that bed as the other two made their way down the stairs. It certainly was impressive—so high and large that I couldn’t imagine how the moving men had carried it up the narrow staircase. For a moment I pictured Daniel and me.… I rapidly reined in where that thought was going. I had kept Daniel at arm’s length for too long, knowing how quickly the fire between us ignited. And now the waiting was almost over. I’m sure it wasn’t proper for a young lady to look forward to her husband’s lovemaking. Mrs. Sullivan had tried to give me gentle hints, warning me of men’s appetites and how we women must endure it for their sakes. To my credit I had managed not to smile.

Three

When we returned to Sid and Gus’s house, I was itching to seek out the mysterious Mr. Lee, but had to mask my impatience a little longer while Sid and Gus took me up to my room, fussed around making sure that the pillows were to my liking and I had sufficient drawer space, then swept me downstairs to prepare luncheon. In truth I enjoyed eating with them, especially because the meal consisted of crusty French bread and what Sid described as her four-P meal: pâté, Port Salut cheese, pears, and peaches. After Mrs. Sullivan’s stodgy and filling meals it was delightfully informal, but that business card was burning a hole in my dress pocket. Fortunately as soon as the meal was over, Sid was anxious to finish her article, so I took the opportunity to escape, making my way southward to the office on the Bowery.

The street number indicated that it would be at the bottom part of the street, where it joined Chatham Square, not at the more respectable northern end after all. So my curiosity was aroused even further. What very important man would have offices in an unsavory neighborhood south of Canal Street?

The day had now become uncomfortably hot and humid, with the threat of a thunderstorm later in the afternoon. I had no wish to walk a step further than necessary and tried to evaluate whether I’d be better off taking the trolley down Broadway and then cutting across Canal Street, or walking from my house to the Third Avenue El and not having to walk at the end of the trip. I decided on the latter and walked in the sedate quiet of Eighth Street, past Astor Place and the Cooper Union building to the nearest El station. I regretted this decision instantly as the train arrived already crammed full, and I was forced to stand between a large Italian woman who reeked of garlic and an equally large laborer who smelled as if he hadn’t taken a bath for weeks. All I could think was thank heavens the line was now electrified or we would have had smoke blowing in through the open windows to add to the mixture of unpleasantness.

I can’t tell you how glad I was to fight my way to the carriage door at Chatham Square. I came down the iron stairs into that teeming mass of humanity that is the lower Bowery. Trolley cars inched their way up the middle of the street, bells clanging impatiently to force delivery wagons, hansom cabs, and the occasional carriage out of their way. A constable stood on the corner, swinging his billy club in what he hoped was a threatening manner, as crime was rife around here.

I was already familiar with this area and unexpected memories resurfaced. I had stayed in a tenement on nearby Cherry Street when I first arrived from Ellis Island. That introduction to the city had not been the most pleasant of experiences—especially since I was accused of murder at the time and fighting for my very life. Then later I had worked undercover in a sweatshop on Canal Street. And when I was fighting to prove Daniel’s innocence after his arrest on trumped-up charges of taking bribes, I had rubbed shoulders with Monk Eastman and his gang, who ruled this part of the city. As I recalled the disturbing memories, a voice in my head warned me that it might not be wise to be entering this dangerous world again. But I pushed the images to the back of my mind, as that was all behind me now. Daniel was back safely on the police force. I had a bright future with him, and nothing to worry about at all. And if I didn’t like the sound of the assignment Mr. Lee was offering me, I simply wouldn’t take it.

Having sorted that out, I strode out with confidence. Even in daylight it was not the most desirable of streets. For one thing, the elevated railway ran along one side so that all the businesses beneath it were in perpetual shadow. Those businesses ranged from butchers and grocer shops to flophouses (advertising beds by the week—strictly no drinking allowed) to barbers with their striped poles (offering a hot shave and a haircut for ten cents). And then, of course, there were the saloons in abundance, not to mention houses of ill repute. Scantily dressed girls stood in doorways, their eyes scanning the crowd for likely customers. Their gazes passed me over as if I was invisible.

The saloons were doing a brisk trade, even this early in the afternoon. Drunken men—many of them Irish, I regret to say—staggered out and stood blinking in the strong sunlight as if they couldn’t believe where they were. Occasionally a man would be ejected forcibly and come flying out to land sprawling on the sidewalk. Women out shopping would draw in their skirts, grab their children, then step past as if nothing had happened. I remembered those saloons well. I had had to enter one or two on occasion and narrowly missed being thrown out myself, as women were not permitted inside. How long ago this all seemed. Recently my cases had been of a more respectable nature and this part of the city now felt dangerous and foreign to me.

I stared up at the street numbers. Mr. Lee’s address had to be around here somewhere. I finally found it next to a Baptist mission. From inside came the sound of children singing. Clearly the Baptists were trying to save souls on days other than Sunday. I went up a narrow, dark staircase and found myself outside a door on which a simple brass plate announced GOLDEN DRAGON ENTERPRISES. I opened the door and went in. There was nobody in an outer office, lit by an anemic gas bracket, but as I entered, a young man came through from an inner room. Not much taller than me, he was slim, fine-boned, and clean-shaven with black hair, and he carried himself with an air of elegance. His dark eyes narrowed as he looked at me appraisingly.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m here to see Mr. Frederick Lee,” I said and held out the calling card. “My name is Molly Murphy. I gather he has a business assignment for me.”

His expression didn’t change, but he bowed slightly. “I am Mr. Lee. So you came back to town after all. Your neighbors did not think you would be available to assist my employer.”

“I have been staying out in Westchester County,” I said. “Luckily I came back to attend a function and my neighbors told me of your visit. They seemed to think it was most urgent.”

“It is,” he said. “We are honored that you have decided to give up your valuable time to help us. Please come into my office, Miss Murphy.”

He ushered me inside and pulled up a chair for me. “Please sit down. I hope you managed to find me without too much inconvenience.” He also took a seat behind the desk. His flowery politeness was beginning to annoy me, especially as I could sense that he was in no way honored by my presence. “None at all,” I said coldly. “I have conducted cases in this part of the city before.”

“Ah. That will be useful in this particular matter.”

I looked around the room. Apart from the desk and chairs it was sparsely furnished with a large mahogany cabinet on one wall and shelves containing file boxes behind the desk. Suddenly there was a rumble and the whole place shuddered. It took me a second to register that the elevated railway ran by right outside his window. Hardly the sort of place where a rich client would choose to work or even keep an office.

“I understand that you are representing an influential gentleman,” I said. “Are you his lawyer?”

“Oh, no. Merely his secretary.”

“Then may I ask the nature of this assignment?” I asked.

“As to that, he will wish to tell you about it himself.”

“Then please escort me to him.” There was only the one door through which I had entered, and I came to the conclusion that this was an outpost of an empire, with Mr. Frederick Lee being among the lower ranks of employees. “I take it he is not in this building.”

“Indeed no.” Frederick Lee stood up. “I will be honored to escort you to him. He will be pleased that you have decided to assist him in this little matter.”

“I haven’t decided anything,” I said. “I’ll need to hear the nature of the case and the fee he is offering before I make any decisions.”

“My employer does not readily take no for an answer,” Mr. Lee said. “He is used to having his wishes fulfilled and his orders obeyed.”

“Then perhaps I should leave right away,” I said, “because I don’t take kindly to being bullied or ordered around. I run my own business and I’m not anybody’s lackey, Mr. Lee.” I rose to my feet. “Good day to you.”

He leaped ahead of me to bar the doorway. “I’m sorry. I spoke hastily, Miss Murphy. Please forgive me. Of course my employer appreciates your expertise and status, otherwise he would not have sent me to find you. This is a matter of great delicacy and he needs a detective with your kind of experience and finesse. Please at least let me take you to him and hear what he has to say. He is a very rich man and his generosity to those who help him knows no bounds. I can assure you that you will not be disappointed.”

I opened my mouth to point out that his generosity to his employee clearly knew quite narrow bounds, if this office was anything to go by, but I swallowed back the words at the last moment. I have to confess that I was intrigued and challenged. The least I could do was to meet this man, and if I didn’t like what I saw, then I was free to walk away.

“Very well,” I said. “Lead me to him.”

He took his derby hat from a hat stand in the outer office. “This way, if you please. It is only a short walk. I hope you won’t find the heat too oppressive, but it makes little sense to hail a cab for such a small distance.” He led the way down the stairs. Another train rumbled past overhead as we came out onto the street.

“This way. Please watch your step. The street is not the cleanest, I’m afraid.” He took my arm, gripping it firmly above the elbow, and steered me across the street, between a trolley and a knife grinder’s wagon. When we safely reached the curb he released me. “It’s always an adventure crossing the Bowery, isn’t it?” he said. “Never mind, we’ll soon be out of the hubbub.”

I was curious to know where we were going. There was nowhere within walking distance of the Bowery that I could think of as a respectable residence for a rich man, so I presumed we’d be going to another office. Maybe we’d be heading south to Wall Street and my client would be a wealthy banker. Or perhaps he was in shipping, but surely we were walking away from the docks.

“Up here,” he said and steered me into a side street. I looked up and read the street name: Mott Street. I also noticed immediately that it was unnaturally quiet and empty after the hustle and bustle of the Bowery. And looked different, somehow. Brightly colored balconies festooned the buildings, which were topped with ornate curved roof gables. Some of the balconies were gilded and carved with what looked like mythical beasts. Lanterns and bird cages hung on them. Then I noticed the names over stores and restaurants. Yee Hing Co., Precious Jade Chop Suey House, On Leong Merchants’ Association, and notices pasted up on poles and billboards in Chinese characters. I was being taken into a place I had only heard about until now: Chinatown.

Four

At that moment a door opened in a building to our right. A man poked his head out and looked up and down the street before darting out of the doorway and scurrying fast down the block as if the hounds of hell were after him. He was dressed in baggy pants and a dark blue cotton jacket. On his head was a skullcap and down his back hung a long pigtail. It was my first glimpse of a Chinaman and I watched him with interest.

Then all the rumors I had heard about the Chinese and their habits rushed into my head. They smoked opium. They ate puppies. They stole women for the white slave trade. I glanced uneasily at Frederick Lee. Was it possible that I was being stupidly naïve and was being lured into captivity? My rational brain quashed this instantly. If anyone wanted to capture white women for prostitution, there would be no need to seek out someone who lived miles away in Greenwich Village when there were plenty of girls who were willing and able and already offering their services just around the corner.

“Why do you think that man is running like that?” I asked Mr. Lee. “He looked as if he was in some kind of danger.”

“No Chinese likes to be out on the street longer than he has to,” Mr. Lee said. “Surely you know that our Italian neighbors on Mulberry take great delight at beating and kicking us, even setting our queues on fire.”

“Your what?”

“The pigtails that Chinese men wear. They are a constant torment. Small boys love to tug at them. Larger louts even try to cut them off.”

We passed a storefront. What appeared to be scrawny cooked ducks hung by the necks in a row, and in front was a tank full of live fish swimming around. Two older men were chatting at the doorway, both wearing similar long pigtails.

“Then why continue to wear them if they pose such danger? They do make the Chinese stand out as different, don’t they?”

“It is a hard decision to make, unfortunately. Back in China any man who does not wear his hair in the queue is thereby insulting the Emperor and thus subject to instant beheading. So a man who cuts off his queue can never go home again.”

“That’s terrible,” I said. “Barbaric.”

“No more barbaric than the way we are treated in America,” Mr. Lee said calmly. “What about the Chinese out West who were driven from their homes, or locked in their cabins and burned alive? Is that not barbaric?”

“Extremely,” I said. “But why would anyone do this?”

“Because we look different, and because we work hard and prosper. Always a recipe for hate.”

I glanced across at him. “You use the word ‘we,’” I said. “You’re not Chinese, are you? You don’t look like these men.” But as I said it I realized that what I had taken for an arrogant stare was, in fact, a slight difference in facial features—the high, flat cheekbones and the narrower-than-usual eyes.

“I am half Chinese,” he said. “I am one of the few of the first generation to be born here. My father had to flee from the West Coast after the Gold Rush when the persecution started. He came to New York and has prospered. I received a good education. I have been brought up between two cultures but consider myself an American.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “So do I take it your employer is also a prosperous Chinese gentleman?”

“Extremely,” he said. “He owns many businesses, including a large import company. He brings things like porcelain and fine silks over from China. Ah, here we are now.” We stopped outside a storefront. GOLDEN DRAGON EMPORIUM was written in golden letters over the doorway and under it presumably the same thing in Chinese characters. In the window brightly colored plates and cups, jade statues, and carved ivory daggers and balls were displayed. “Please be kind enough to wait here for a moment. I will go and announce our presence to my employer.”

“May I know his name?”

“My employer is Lee Sing Tai,” he said. “You may have heard of him. As I told you, he owns many businesses—cigar factory, importing, this store, that restaurant.”

I shook my head. “I know nothing about the Chinese.”

“You will address him as Mr. Lee, or Honorable Mr. Lee.”

“Oh,” I said, as light dawned. “The same last name as you. So that’s why you work for him. You’re related?”

“Not exactly, but we are both members of the Lee clan. In a way we are all related. This is how things work among the Chinese—we rely on our clan for support. And Lee Sing Tai knew my father when they were still in California. This is why he employed me.” He held up a slender hand. “Now please wait here. I will not keep you but for a moment.”

With that he darted inside the shop. I heard harsh, unfamiliar words spoken and Mr. Lee emerged again. “They say that our employer is upstairs in his residence and will receive us. This way, please.”

He led me up a flight of steps beside the shop. He used a key to open a front door, then we climbed a long flight of stairs before we came to a second closed door. He knocked on this and it was opened by a young boy, dressed in Chinese garb, who bowed to us. Mr. Lee snapped some words to the boy, who gave me a curious glance before he scurried away, leaving us standing in a foyer. I looked around me. Another flight of stairs ascended up into darkness to our left. Ahead of us was a large, intricately carved screen, inlaid with what seemed to be semiprecious stones, depicting a mountain scene with cranes standing among reeds. It blocked my view of the interior of the apartment.

“That’s a beautiful screen,” I commented.

“Chinese always have something like a screen at the front of their dwelling,” Frederick Lee said. “It is to deter evil spirits from coming in. They will not enter if there is not a straight path for them.”

“People still believe that, do they? Or is this just for tradition’s sake?”

“Of course they believe it.” He sounded shocked. “Is it any stranger than praying to a statue in a Catholic Church?”

“I suppose not, although we don’t really pray to statues,” I said. “Actually—” I broke off as the boy returned. He said something in Chinese to Frederick Lee.

“My employer will receive you now,” he said, and led me around the screen and into a large living room. I almost had my breath taken away at the sumptuousness of the surroundings. The furniture was of a black wood I took to be ebony and it was intricately carved, inlaid in places with mother-of-pearl. On the floor were exotic carpets, again with designs of mythical beasts on them. There were bright red silk hangings draped around a large jade statue in one corner and more lovely pieces of jade and ivory on shelves and side tables. On the walls were hung jeweled ceremonial swords and daggers, as well as scrolls of Chinese characters and painted scenes of mountains and flowers. The air was thick with a scented kind of smoke, and I noticed in a far corner little sticks glowing in front of yet another jade figure.

And in the midst of all this a man sat on a high-backed chair, looking for all the world like an exotic emperor on a throne. He was not young, and a long wispy white mustache drooped at the corners of his mouth. He was not wearing a skullcap and his head appeared at first to be bald, until I saw that he had hair at the back of his head, falling in a long dark queue. Although he was surrounded by these exotic objects, he was dressed in a smart Western business suit, with an immaculate white shirt and ascot. He held a cigar in one slim bony hand and puffed on it as we entered the room.

“I bring you Miss Molly Murphy, as you requested,” Frederick said, bowing slightly before retreating behind the screen again.

Lee Sing Tai waved the hand bearing the cigar at me. “Excellent. Excellent. I knew you would come, Miss Molly Murphy. I knew you would not let me down. Very well. Sit. Sit.”

He pointed at a long bench, piled with brocade pillows. I perched on it cautiously because it looked extremely slippery. Also I was feeling ridiculously nervous and at the same time angry with myself for being intimidated.

“I understand you have a commission for me to carry out?” I said. “I asked your employee about its nature but he was not very forthcoming.”

Lee Sing Tai tapped ash into an exquisite blue-and-white dish. “You will take tea with me,” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer but clapped his hands. The boy came into the room and bowed low. An order was given. The boy disappeared.

“Chinese tea is very fine,” he said.

“I know. I’ve drunk it. It tasted almost perfumed.”

“That was Lapsang Souchong,” he said. “In my household I prefer to drink Keemun. The king of teas, they call it. I am only one who imports it to this country.” He spoke English with a heavy accent, snapping out individual words rather than delivering a fluid sentence. “But important families in New York City come to me for their tea. Rockerfellers. Astors. You have heard of them?”

“Of course,” I said.

“I supply them tea and silk and many other things.” There was a quizzical smile on his face as he said this. “You would be surprised which distinguished people come to Lee Sing Tai to be supplied with what they need.”

He didn’t even glance up as the boy came in, carrying a red lacquer tray. I noticed that the servant moved silently and was wearing black cotton slippers. He put the tray on a side table and poured tea into two little round cups. Clearly Frederick was not to be included and indeed he had made himself scarce. Then the boy placed one of the cups on a smaller tray and carried it to me, presenting it with a bow. I took it and savored the smoky aroma. It was scalding hot and I hoped I wasn’t expected to drink it yet. Luckily the boy served his master, then came to me with a bowl of little almond cakes. I took one and nibbled politely.

“Delicious,” I said. Lee Sing Tai watched me eat and waited for me to take a sip of the tea. It was still very hot and I was used to having milk and sugar in my tea, but I sipped dutifully.

“This assignment you have for me, Mr. Lee. What is the nature of it?” I asked.

A spasm of annoyance crossed his face. “The tea is not to your liking?”

“It’s very nice,” I said. “Only rather too hot for me at the moment.”

“Tea is good for hot days,” he said. “You drink tea. You cool down. Better than water.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is.”

“The Chinese know better how to remain cool in this heat. We have known it for thousands of years.”

He went back to sipping from his own teacup. I was growing impatient. “Perhaps we might discuss our business while we wait for the tea to cool?”

I sensed from his expression that I might have committed some kind of faux pas, but frankly I didn’t care. I wasn’t the one who was looking for a job; in fact I really didn’t need one at the moment. “I need to know what sort of assignment you are offering,” I went on, my confidence returning, “as I am busy preparing for my upcoming wedding at this moment and actually I am planning to give up my business.”

He took a long sip of his own tea. I noticed how he deftly pushed the wispy strands of his mustache out of the way as he drank.

“I should let you know immediately that I don’t handle divorce cases,” I said.

This elicited the ghost of a smile. “Chinese have no need for divorce cases,” he said. “Private life is kept private. Don’t your people have a saying, ‘a man’s home is his castle’? This we too believe.”

“So if it’s not a divorce case, then what is it?” I persisted.

“Such an impatient young woman,” he said. “You would not make suitable bride for Chinese man.”

“Then it’s lucky I’m marrying a fellow Irishman.”

“I know. The famous Captain Sullivan.”

I must have shown my surprise because he said, “Do you think I would not have my people do a thorough search on a person I wished to hire? So one thing I have to know before you and I proceed with this matter—do you discuss your business with your future husband?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “My business dealings are entirely confidential. Whatever is spoken between you and me goes no further than this room.”

“Ah, so. This is what my spies tell me about you, but I wanted to hear it for myself. I had to make sure you were trustworthy. This is a matter of great delicacy.”

By now I was almost ready to grab him and yell, “Tell me what it is, for God’s sake!” but I practiced my newfound patience a little longer. I was certainly intrigued by him. Even if we had met somewhere other than in this elaborate room, I would have assumed him to be a man of power.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “I wish you to recover a precious possession that has gone missing.” I noted that he could not say the r in the word “precious.” It came out closer to “plecious.”

I digested what he had just said before asking him, “When you say missing, do you mean that you have mislaid it or that it has been taken from you?”

“Both,” he said.

“Stolen, you mean?”

“In a way. Taken. Carried off.”

“Mr. Lee,” I said, “if something has been stolen from your residence, then surely this is a matter for the police.”

“The police?” His lip curled in an expression of disdain. “Do you think that the New York police will help me recover a lost item? Do you think they would come to the aid of a Chinese person, even if that person is as prominent in the community as Lee Sing Tai? They stand by when we are beaten by thugs. We have to pay them protection money if we want them to patrol our streets, to prevent our shop windows from being smashed. No, I could not call upon the police in this matter. Besides, I do not think they could help me.”

“I don’t see how I could help you recover a stolen object,” I said.

“You are a lady detective, is that not correct?”

“Well, yes, that is correct,” I said.

“And should a detective not have the skill to pick up the trail of a missing possession?”

“Might I know what is this possession you speak about?”

“To begin with, I will show you this,” he said. He reached across to a side table, took a brocade envelope from it, and opened it carefully, drawing out a large medallion of carved dark green stone. “Examine it carefully,” he said.

He handed it to me. It felt cool to the touch, almost as big as my hand and carved with strange curling, intertwined beasts. It was attached to a chain of heavy gold by an ornate gold clasp.

“The missing piece is identical to this?” I asked.

“Not identical. The missing piece depicts the dragon and the phoenix—the beasts of good luck and good health,” he said. “But it is the same dark green emperor jade and the gold work is the same. You will know it if you see it. There are few pieces of such quality in this country.”

I turned the piece over in my hand. It was still remarkably cool. “Do you have any suspicion about who might have stolen it?”

“We will not discuss my suspicions at this moment, except to say that I believe that whoever has taken this jade will try to sell it. You will conduct a search for it in the obvious places first—pawnshops, jewelers—and if it can’t be found there, we will take the next step.”

He held out his hand and I passed the jade back to him. He sat calmly folding the brocade around the piece of jade again.

I frowned. Something didn’t make sense here. I plucked up the courage to break the silence. “Mr. Lee. I am given to understand that you run an empire of businesses. Do you not have employees enough to visit every pawnshop and jeweler in the city?”

He held my eyes with his cold, frank stare. It was like being observed by a snake. “Have you noticed many Chinese men in other parts of the city?”

“None at all,” I said.

“Do you know why this is? We are hated, despised. Bullies take great delight in setting upon us with no excuse whatsoever. If we try to fight back, we find ourselves arrested for disturbing the peace, and even deported. Therefore we keep to ourselves as much as possible and do not stray far from this small area they call Chinatown. But there are other reasons I do not wish to hand this task to an employee. It requires a woman’s touch.”

“You do not employ any women?”

He actually smiled this time. “There are almost no women in Chinatown—at least no Chinese women. The American government does not allow Chinese men to bring over their wives and daughters. And respectable Chinese women are not allowed out in public.” He leaned forward suddenly, tapping ash into the little dish. “So Miss Molly Murphy, I require your services for a good reason. I need someone who can be discreet and ask the right questions. I want this item returned to me quickly and with as little fuss as possible. So will you take my assignment or not?” He paused, holding me with that reptilian stare, then added, “I assure you I will make it worth your while if this prized possession is returned to me quickly.”

He sensed my hesitation. “Well?” he said. “What is your answer? Do you think you are up to the task?”

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Lee,” I heard myself saying.

“Splendid.” He clapped those bony hands together. “Very well then. Off you go. Good hunting, as they say in your country.”

I stood up. Frederick reappeared and came to my side to usher me out.

“You will report back to me tomorrow,” Lee Sing Tai said. “Let us hope you have good news for me by then.”

I started toward the door.

“And if you find this piece, you will get a description of the person who brought it in,” he called after me.

I turned back. “Do you have your suspicions about who this person might be?”

“No more questions,” he snapped. “Off to work now.”

As I looked back at him I saw the heavy drapes at the back of the room twitch as if suddenly dropped. Someone had been watching me.

Five

Frederick Lee insisted on escorting me back to the Bowery, then took his leave.

“I wish you success,” he said. “Until tomorrow then. Please come to my office and I will escort you as I did today. I do not want you walking through Chinatown alone.”

Since it had seemed a particularly deserted place I wondered why he felt the need to protect me. Surely not the reputed white slave trade? Or was it rather that I was an outsider, did not know how to behave, and might offend with my Western ways? We parted and I stepped into the shade of the elevated railway, trying to collect my thoughts. Why had I agreed to do this? On the surface the assignment seemed simple enough, but something wasn’t quite right. Lee Sing Tai had sought me out in order to have a female detective retrieve a piece of jade jewelry. Granted it was attractive enough, but how much could such a piece of jade be worth? Enough to pay me a generous fee for its recovery? Then I concluded it must have some kind of sentimental value—some link to his past life in China. If not, then he could certainly afford to pay a jeweler to re-create it here or even have another one shipped from his homeland. That would make more sense than sending a detective running all over the city hunting for it.

Oh, well, mine was not to reason why. No doubt all would become clear when I found the piece and delivered it safely to him. I mapped out a plan in my head. There were pawnshops aplenty along the Bowery, as is usual in a place where drinking, gambling, and prostitution abound. If someone had stolen the item for money, then he’d want to get rid of it as quickly as possible, so I should start here.

I paused again at the entrance to the first pawnshop. Why steal that particular piece of jade from a household that was full of treasures? I hadn’t asked if other items were missing. Perhaps he had set me on the trail of this one because it was so easily identifiable. I stepped from the heat of the sidewalk into the cooler darkness of the pawnshop. The shop had a musty smell as if a lot of old and forgotten things were stuffed away here. The man behind the counter was an elderly Jew with a long white beard. He listened carefully, but shook his head.

“We don’t see Chinese in here. They’ve nothing to pawn,” he said. “You know why? They only came to this country with the clothes on their backs. They left their wives and families at home and they still plan to make their money and go back where they came from. So no jewels, because there are no ladies.”

In the next pawnshop I was not treated as politely. “Don’t deal with no chinky Chinese stuff,” he said. “Who’d want it? And I don’t trust those Chinamen further than I can throw them. Slit your throat the moment you turn your back, that’s what they do.”

I got variations on these speeches from other pawnshops close to Chinatown. As I moved farther away, along Canal Street in one direction into the Lower East Side and then in the other toward Broadway, I faced a cold indifference. No, they’d never seen anything like the piece I was talking about. A Chinaman never set foot in their shops, and if he did, they’d show him the door quickly enough.

I began to see how daunting this task might be. If a robber had taken the jade piece because he needed cash, then he hadn’t used a nearby pawnshop. And if he had delivered it to a fence, then I had no way of proceeding. I knew no fences. I had come into contact with the two large gangs that ruled Lower Manhattan between them, and I had no wish to deal with either again. I knew I had been lucky to come away with my life on one occasion and I had managed to seek Monk Eastman’s help when I was truly desperate. But I also knew him to be fickle, sadistic, and ruthless. I couldn’t count on any assistance a second time.

The obvious thing would be to ask Daniel. He would know every fence in the area. But he was the one person I couldn’t go to. Most frustrating. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that I’d have to appear before Mr. Lee Sing Tai the next morning and admit my failure. And come away with no fee for my labors. But I wasn’t about to give up yet. There were plenty of jewelers, especially along Hester and Essex and those crowded streets of the Lower East Side where the Jews had settled from Eastern Europe, bringing their craft as goldsmiths with them.

I began to work my way along Hester, up Essex, then Delancey, and Rivington. Most of the shops dealt in secondhand jewelry or bought gold to melt down, but nobody seemed interested in jade.

“It’s not worth that much,” one of the jewelers said. “It’s only semiprecious.”

“I wouldn’t find a customer for it,” another said. “My customers only want gold.”

As the afternoon wore on I was hot, tired, and growing more despondent by the minute. My overriding impression was of an extreme distrust of the Chinese. I was warned several times about getting involved with them. One man actually said, “You haven’t gone and married one of them, have you?”

I wondered what had made him say that, until an old Russian, more astute and interested than the others had been, listened carefully to my description. “Dragon and phoenix intertwined?” he said. “That sounds like a bride-piece to me. Dragon for virility and power, and phoenix for fertility and health. I saw that kind of thing when I was in Shanghai, waiting for a ship.”

When I looked puzzled by this he added, “We fled from Vladivostok, you know. Our home was destroyed in the war with Japan, and Russia is no place to be right now.”

I had had enough for one day. The soles of my feet were throbbing from those burning sidewalks. The thin muslin of my dress was sticking to my back with sweat. I decided to call it a day and make an early start in the morning, although I was already telling myself that I was not likely to be any more successful than I had been today.

Workers were leaving sweatshops, indicating how late it had become. Those girls worked a twelve-hour day at least. I watched them walking three or four abreast, arm in arm, chatting and laughing with the relief of being in the fresh air and free after the long day of toil. The pushcarts had come out too in abundance and I had to thread my way between stalls selling roasted chickpeas, live chickens, pickles, buttons, and lace—in fact anything that could be sold to earn a few coins. Usually I savored this lively scene, but at this moment all I wanted to do was escape from it to the peace of Patchin Place, where a bath and a cool drink would await me.

I was on my way back to the Bowery and the El station when I heard the most improbable sound: someone was yelling my name. I turned around, unsure that I was actually the one being called, and saw two figures running toward me, fighting their way through the crowd. It was my long-lost Irish children, Bridie and Shamey, followed by their father.

“Molly. Look, Pa, it’s Molly!” Bridie was shrieking, not caring whom she pushed aside to reach me.

Shamey made it first with his big, almost man-sized strides. He went to hug me, then thought better of it, wiping his hands down his shirtfront instead, but smiling at me delightedly. “We thought you’d gone away,” he said.

“I thought you must have gone away,” I replied, putting my arms around both of them. “I sent you an invitation to my wedding but I got no reply.”

“We came back to the city,” Shamey said. “We’re living with Auntie Nuala for a while.”

“Goodness gracious. What on earth made you do that?” I demanded, as that lady’s abode did not hold pleasant memories for me.

Seamus had caught up to us, his round Irish face streaming with sweat. “Molly, it’s grand to see you again. We went to your old house, but there was nobody there except for a painter and he said a young couple was to be moving in. So we thought you’d gone away.”

“The young couple is Daniel and myself.” I stepped aside as there was a shout and a cart full of bolts of cloth came rumbling down the street. “I’m getting married in less than two weeks.”

He tipped his cap to me. “Lord love you. God’s blessings on you and your husband.”

I smiled. “I sent you an invitation to the wedding. Now I hope you’ll be able to make it.”

“If we’re still here in two weeks.” Seamus wrinkled his forehead. “Not exactly sure how things will be going.”

“Where do you think you might be?”

He frowned again. “I heard they were looking for men willing to take a ship down to Central America,” he said. “There’s plans to build a canal through a place called Panama, clear through the jungles. When it’s done they say that ships will be able to sail from the Atlantic to the Pacific without going ’round the Horn. So I signed on and I’m taking young Shamey with me. We want to be on the spot when the contract gets signed and get first pick of the jobs. They say the pay’s good and I reckon it will set us up for life.”

I looked from one face to the next, my unease growing. “You’re taking Shamey with you?”

“I am. He’s a good little worker and almost a man.”

“I’ll be twelve soon,” Shamey said, “and I can lift really heavy things, can’t I, Pa?”

There was such pride in his voice that I couldn’t yell out what I wanted to: Don’t let him go!

I turned to look at little Bridie. She had also grown, but she still had that frail and delicate air about her, holding on to my skirt as she looked up at me with those sweet blue eyes. “You’re never thinking of taking Bridie down to some heathen jungle?” I demanded, stroking that baby-fine hair.

“No, it would be no place for a young girl,” Seamus said. “That’s why we came to look for you. I was hoping that you’d find her a position in service. Mother’s helper or maid of all work. She’s a willing little worker and she learns quickly.”

I could feel my anger rising. Bridie was a sweet young child. She deserved a childhood, not starting out as a servant before she’d had a chance to play and learn. I wanted to volunteer to take her in myself, but then I remembered that I was about to get married. I could hardly start married life with someone else’s child in our household, could I? And I remembered that back home in Ireland many young girls were put into service when they were not much older than Bridie. I myself had been left with three young brothers to raise after my mother had died. But it wasn’t a fate I would wish on anyone else, especially not on a delicate child like this.

“Don’t make any plans for her without consulting me,” I said, trying to measure my words. “I’ll ask my friends and see what can be done for her. I’m staying across the street at number Ten with two ladies while my own house is being decorated to be ready for my marriage or I’d ask you all to stay with me. It must be horribly cramped at Nuala’s place.”

“Aye, it’s not the most comfortable,” Seamus said. “But ’tis for only a short while. Nuala’s willing to take the girl in herself, having only produced sons, but I thought you’d know how to give her a better future than that. I don’t wish a life in the fish market for my daughter and I know my dear departed Kathleen wouldn’t want it either.”

I took a deep breath. “I will do my best, Seamus, I promise. And I won’t let Bridie wind up with Nuala, that’s for sure.” I smiled down at her. “We’ll find something for you, my sweet. We’ll stay in touch, and you’ll come to my wedding, won’t you?”

We parted, my head buzzing with this latest complication. Why was life never simple? I had thought how nice it would be to have Bridie in my wedding party and lo and behold Bridie appears, but now it was up to me to find a way to prevent her from living in that hovel and working in a fish market. Always too many things to worry about.

I made it back to the Bowery and squeezed into a car on the El back to Astor Place. As my straw hat was knocked to one side of my head I reminded myself that at this very moment I could be sitting on Mrs. Sullivan’s cool porch, sipping iced tea, and doing nothing more strenuous than stitching my petticoat. Daniel would probably be angry with me that I had returned to the city. I had taken on another case when I had virtually promised him that I wouldn’t and I was achieving nothing by it. In fact the thought actually crossed my mind that it might be more useful to have acquired some sewing skills—which shows you how despondent I felt.

I quickened my pace as I walked the shady length of Eighth Street. I turned into Patchin Place. Sid and Gus would have a pitcher of lemonade or some kind of exotic drink waiting, and I could sink into one of those chairs in their back garden. Ah, bliss.

I knocked on the front door. Nobody came. This was something I hadn’t expected. They had not mentioned that they might be going out this evening. And I’d left my key to my own house on the dresser in their spare room. I felt tears of frustration welling up as I stood in the deep shade of the alleyway. Now what did I do? They were usually so considerate. Surely they’d have left me a note. But perhaps they assumed that I carried my house key with me and that note they’d written lay on the hall table across the street. With little hope I rapped on their door a second time and waited. I’d just have to go to a coffeehouse and hope that they returned before too long.

I had just turned away when I heard my name being called. I spun around. Gus was standing there.

“Molly, I’m so sorry. We’re all out in the garden and we were debating so heatedly that we didn’t hear the door. You poor thing, you look worn out. Come in, do. Sid has made sangria. It’s divine. And everyone’s dying to meet you.”

“Everyone?” I asked. My mind went to the party they were giving for me at the weekend. They couldn’t have put it forward, could they?

“Our suffragist group. I mentioned to you that we were meeting tonight. Such wonderful women. So brave. You’ll adore them.” With that she dragged me inside and helped me off with my hat.

“Come along. Sid’s sangria will revive you in no time at all.” And she propelled me down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out to the small square of back garden. I had no idea what sangria was and I was too tired to speak or resist.

“Here she is at last,” Gus called. “And in serious need of revival.”

I saw faces looking up from deck chairs as we approached. A group of around eight women were sitting in the shade of the sycamore tree.

“Molly, what have you been doing to yourself? You look as if you’ve just walked across the Sahara Desert.” Sid jumped up and started pouring a red liquid into a glass, thrusting it into my hand. “Get this down you. You’ll feel better.”

I was placed into a wicker chair and sipped the drink I had been given. It was delicious—a sort of red wine punch with fruit in it, and it was icy cold.

“Let me make the introductions.” Sid perched herself on the arm of my chair. She was dressed in white linen trousers and an open-necked white shirt. The look was dramatic with her black bobbed hair. “I don’t believe you’ve met any of our suffragist sisters.”

“I did meet some of them when we marched on Easter Sunday,” I said, “but I don’t think any of these ladies were among them.”

“Easter Sunday?” one of the women asked.

“We were among a group of Vassar girls who joined the Easter Parade. We had banners: VASSAR WANTS VOTES FOR WOMEN. Not a very successful outing, I’m afraid,” Sid said drily. This was an understatement, as we’d been arrested and thrown in jail for the night.

“And not exactly wise,” an older woman said. She had a round, distinguished face and her gray hair was swept back into a severe bun. “The sort of people who attend parades want to be entertained, not informed. And they don’t want the firm foundation of their little universe shaken when they least expect it. I expect they pelted you.”

“They did. And we were arrested.”

“The arrest was not a bad thing,” the woman said, a smile spreading over her severe face. “It gets us a mention in the newspapers. It may even evoke the sympathy of other women—at least it may start them thinking. But you’re neglecting your duty, Elena. How about some introductions?”

“Elena?” I looked around the group and then of course I remembered that it was Sid’s real name. I had never heard anyone refer to her that way before.

“Of course,” Sid said. “Ladies, this is our dear friend and neighbor Molly Murphy. And Molly, let me begin with the most distinguished of our company: may I present Carrie Chapman Catt? She is the current head of the North American Woman Suffrage Association and she has deigned to grace our little gathering tonight.”

“Nonsense, you make me sound like visiting royalty,” Carrie Chapman Catt said in her rich, deep voice. “We’re all foot soldiers in this together, you know. These are my fellow infantrywomen: Sarah Lindley, Annabel Chapman, Hortense Maitland, Mildred Roberts, and Felicia Hamm. I’m delighted to meet you, Molly. I hope you’re a fellow champion of the cause.”

“She’s about to join the ranks of the enemy,” one of the younger women quipped.

“Meaning what?” Carrie asked sharply.

“She’s getting married in a couple of weeks.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll cease fighting for the cause,” Carrie Chapman Catt said fiercely. “I myself have been married twice and have never been under my husband’s thumb.”

“And I don’t intend to be under my husband’s thumb either,” I agreed. “I’ll most definitely still be a supporter of votes for women.”

“Well said, Molly.” The speaker was a beautiful young woman with porcelain white skin and hair that was deepest copper. “I’ve been enduring the same teasing from our more militant sisters. I’m Sarah and I’m also getting married in a few weeks. So we shall be twins—the two redheads who will defy the odds and remain true to the cause after they marry.”

“I’ll wager you won’t have an easy time of it, Sarah,” another of the women said. “Your intended seems horribly conventional and old-fashioned to me.”

Sarah flushed. “Well, he has been raised in that kind of society, so I admit that my task won’t be easy, especially if we go back to England.”

“Your future husband is English?” I asked.

“The honorable Monty Warrington-Chase,” Gus said with a grin. “Son of an English peer. Our sister Sarah will be a lady one day.”

“She may be able to influence her husband in the House of Lords,” Carrie said. “The women of England are having a tougher time than we are, but in spite of it are acting with greater bravery and audacity—throwing themselves in front of carriages, chaining themselves to railings. Foolhardy, but one must admire their courage.”

Sid touched my arm. “So Molly, we’re dying to hear about this assignment. What could the mysterious rich gentleman have wanted that has wearied you to the point of exhaustion?” Her eyes twinkled as she said this.

I looked around the group. It was somewhat unnerving to have those earnest faces staring at me. “Oh, but I don’t think I should interrupt your meeting,” I said. “I should go up and change out of these crumpled rags and leave you to your discussion.”

“As to that, I believe we’ve agreed upon everything that we can tonight,” Carrie said. “Elena will continue to write her series of articles on injustices to women, and we hope that some may be published in the national press.”

“And Annabel and I will try to persuade Mr. Samuel Clemens to join us at the rally next month,” the sharp-faced girl said—I believe she was Mildred. “His endorsement could really give our cause the boost it needs. He has a wonderful way with words.”

“Well, he would have, wouldn’t he, being a famous author,” another of the young women said drily.

“Samuel Clemens?” The name was somehow familiar to me.

“Molly, you remember. Samuel Clemens is the author Mark Twain. He came to one of our parties once.”

“So he did.” A picture came into my head of the white hair and bushy eyebrows, and a surprising endorsement of women’s suffrage.

“So tell us about your adventures today while I go and make another pitcher of sangria,” Sid said. “Only talk loudly enough so that I don’t miss anything.”

“Well,” I began, enjoying the shock I was about to give them. “You’ll never guess where I have been today—” I looked around. “Chinatown. My employer is a Chinese man of great wealth.”

“Mercy me,” someone muttered, but the others merely looked interested. Nobody swooned or reached for smelling salts as proper young ladies should have done.

“And what can you possibly be doing for a Chinese man of great wealth?” Gus asked, pretending to be shocked when I knew that little could shock her, in spite of her delicate appearance.

“Ah, well, I don’t think I can share the details of my assignment,” I said. “I assured the gentleman that I would keep our dealings confidential. He is most insistent that I not discuss it with Daniel.”

“Phooey,” Sid said. “As if we’d breathe a word to Daniel. And now that you have tantalized us with the mention of Chinatown, you can’t leave us in suspense.”

“We simply must know, Molly,” Gus said. “Is it something awfully sordid? Will we blanch and swoon at the mere mention of it?”

They chuckled.

“Well, I suppose there is no harm in telling you, as it seems such a prosaic task,” I said. “I’ve been asked to recover a piece of jade jewelry that has been stolen.”

“What a letdown,” Sid said. “A stolen piece of jewelry. That sounds more like a straightforward job for the police.”

“That’s what I said, but he claimed that the police would do nothing to help a Chinese person. He sees them as the enemy.”

“And how does he expect you to recover this stolen jewel?” Sid demanded, leaning back from her route to the kitchen. “Does he think you’re in touch with fences and crooks?”

“I’ve already tried all the pawnshops in the area,” I said, “and most of the jewelers within a mile or so. Frankly I don’t know what else he expects me to do or even why he hired me. Tomorrow I’ll have to go and admit to failure, I’m afraid. And lose a fat fee.”

“It’s strange that he was so insistent about seeking you out in particular,” Gus said. “Surely anyone could pay a call on the pawnshops and jewelers.”

“I agree,” I said. “I have to believe there is more to this than he’s telling me. Maybe I’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Weren’t you worried about going through Chinatown?” one of the women asked. “One hears such fearful stories.”

“Oh, balderdash,” Sarah said before I could answer. “It’s no more dangerous than any other part of the city. Even less, as the Chinese don’t get drunk and accost women.”

I looked at her with amazement. “How do you know so much about it?”

She laughed. “I work just a stone’s throw from Chinatown.”

This seemed to me the most unlikely statement possible. Sarah did not look like a girl who had done a day’s work in her life. She was about to marry an English peer. And the area around Chinatown was one of the most squalid in the city. “You work there?” I spluttered out. “Doing what?”

“Sarah is our champion do-gooder,” one of the women said before Sarah could answer. “She is resolved to save the poor, single-handedly.”

Sarah flushed. “I volunteer at a settlement house, on Elizabeth Street just up from Canal.”

“A settlement house? What exactly is that?”

“An experiment, actually, in which educated, upper-class young people live and work among the poor, thus improving the standard of their living. We work mainly with destitute girls and women, some of whom we’ve saved from prostitution.”

“There are certainly plenty of brothels on Elizabeth Street,” I said, and did get surprised looks this time.

“I worked on a case there once,” I explained. “So does your family approve of your work?”

“Not really, but they tolerate it, knowing my temperament,” Sarah said. “Most of my fellow workers actually live at the house, but my mother was so upset at the idea that I just help out by day. And so now she puts up with it, knowing that I’ll be safely and suitably married soon and living far away from slums.”

“I’ll wager that your future husband doesn’t look kindly upon it,” one of the other young women commented wryly.

Sarah was still smiling. “Well, no, Monty is trying to force me to give it up immediately. He worries about my walking alone through those streets. In fact he insists on escorting me to and from Elizabeth Street even though I keep telling him that I am perfectly safe, but I believe he has visions of my being carried off as a white slave.”

This brought much merriment from the other women.

“Anyway, his wish will soon be granted,” Sarah continued, “as there is a lot of preparation to be done for the wedding. Gown fittings, seating charts—don’t you find it an absolute bore, Molly?”

“I do, rather,” I agreed. “In fact I’ve just fled from my future mother-in-law’s house, where I was told that my sewing skills were sadly lacking and my future children would be walking around in rags. She nearly died when I pointed out that there were department stores in New York with ready-made clothes for my children.”

They laughed again.

“And does your future husband approve of the work that you do, Molly?” Carrie Chapman Catt asked.

“Not at all,” I said. “He’s a captain in the police department and he doesn’t think that being an investigator is a suitable job for a woman—especially as it treads on his toes.”

“But you’ll give it up when you marry, surely?” Sarah said.

“I suppose I’ll have to. I’ve more or less promised him that I will, but I can’t see myself sitting at home getting bored either.”

“We can find plenty for you to do for the cause,” Carrie said.

I grinned. “I don’t think he’d be thrilled about that either.”

“Aren’t young men a bore,” the sharp-faced girl said. “The world would be a much better place without them.”

“It would rather limit the future population, Mildred,” Carrie Chapman Catt said mildly.

“I wish humans could just split apart like amoebas,” Mildred said.

“Don’t you mean amoebae?” one of them teased.

I began to feel as I always did in such educated company, that my own education was sadly unfinished. I’d had to stop my lessons with the girls at the big house when my mother died. Sid returned with the sangria and glasses were refilled. I must say it was delightfully refreshing. I forgot that it was mainly red wine until a pleasant feeling of ease came over me. The other women seemed similarly affected.

“I suppose I should be getting home,” one of them said at last.

“There’s no hurry,” Gus replied. “Stay for dinner if you like.”

“I’m afraid that Monty will be coming for me any moment,” Sarah said. “We are to have a late supper with his friends at the Waldorf, and he insisted on coming here to fetch me. You know how he likes to escort me everywhere. In a way it’s sweet, but it can be so annoying.”

As if on cue there was a thunderous knocking from the front of the house.

“The bridegroom cometh,” Sid said as she disappeared inside. We heard the sound of a male voice and a few seconds later Sid reappeared.

“The bridegroom cometh, but it’s the wrong bridegroom,” she said with a wry look on her face.

Striding down the hall with a face like thunder was Daniel.

Six

I got to my feet a little unsteadily, as the alcohol in my two large glasses of sangria was now making itself felt.

“Daniel!” I exclaimed.

“What on earth are you doing here, Molly?” he asked, then remembered his manners and tipped his hat. “Good evening, ladies. Miss Goldfarb. Miss Walcott.”

“Captain Sullivan.” Gus returned the compliment. “We persuaded Molly to leave darkest Westchester County so that we could give a small party in her honor.”

“Ah, I see. How kind of you, but you might have told me, Molly. If I’d known you were coming back to the city, I would have made time for us to select the last few items of furniture together.”

“It was all rather spontaneous,” I said. I was conscious of those interested faces watching us. “Please excuse me, ladies.” I went over to Daniel before there could be any kind of scene. I wasn’t sure if he’d be angry with me for leaving his mother, but I wasn’t taking any chances. “It’s good to see you, Daniel,” I said when we were safely in the conservatory. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he said, looking down at me fondly. “I’m itching to show you the improvements I’ve made across the street. You haven’t seen them yet, have you?”

Now I was in a quandary. I didn’t want to tell an outright lie to him, but I realized that he would probably have wanted to do the grand unveiling himself. “I just peeked inside,” I said, “in case you were there.”

“And what did you think?”

“From what I saw it looked wonderful, Daniel. Like a brand spanking new house. So elegant. You’ve worked a miracle.”

He smiled and I saw the tension lines leave his face. “I’m rather satisfied with it myself. Shall I give you the grand tour now then?”

“Why not?” I beamed up at him. “I can’t wait.”

“What about your friends and the little gathering?”

“They can do without me for a while. I’d rather be with you,” I said. I poked my head back out of the door. “Daniel is going to give me a tour of his improvements across the street.” I gave Sid and Gus a long, knowing look. Luckily they were both quick on the uptake and said nothing.

I slipped my arm through Daniel’s as we emerged onto Patchin Place.

“It was good of those ladies to give you a nice little party,” he said. “Those women are presumably their friends. I don’t recognize any of them.”

I realized then that he thought that this small gathering was the party.

“Oh, no,” I said. “This is just some of Sid and Gus’s friends stopping by. I came down to help with the planning for the real event.”

“A fancy affair then, is it?”

“Who knows, with Sid and Gus.” I smiled at him. “You’re welcome to come, of course, but it will be with their more bohemian friends—ones we couldn’t invite to the wedding itself.”

He sighed. “I have no time for parties at the moment in any case. I’m on the job day and night.”

“A big case, is it?”

He nodded. “And one I’d rather not have taken on. But the order came from high up and I couldn’t refuse.”

“And I don’t suppose you can tell me any more about it?”

“You know I can’t, but it’s probably one of the most difficult things I’ve been asked to do. So forgive me if I haven’t been the most attentive bridegroom.”

“So what brought you here tonight?” I asked. “You haven’t taken to secretly visiting my friends, have you?”

He laughed. “Hardly. I wanted to know if there had been a delivery for the house today. I gave their address. It’s the last of the curtains.”

He fished for his key outside our front door, then opened it with a flourish. “I shouldn’t carry you over the threshold this time. It would be bad luck,” he said. “After you, ma’am.”

I was proud of my acting ability. I was suitably awed and excited by everything he showed me, especially the bed. “That’s some handsome bedroom we’ve got there, Daniel,” I said.

He slipped his arms around my waist. “Are you as impatient as I am to be making use of it?”

“You know I am.”

He kissed me. It felt wonderful, but as I melted into his arms I felt a shiver of guilt that I was deceiving him by taking on this case. Maybe it was a good thing that I hadn’t succeeded completely. A couple can’t start off life together with deception.

“So how are the preparations progressing at my mother’s house?” he asked.

“She has everything under control,” I said. “The invitations have been sent, the menu for the wedding breakfast planned, and she is sewing my wedding dress as we speak.”

“Splendid. So you’re getting along well, are you?”

“She’s being kind,” I said diplomatically, “and very patient. My sewing skills are sadly lacking and she’s had to take over the brunt of the work.”

“She won’t mind that.” His arm was still around my waist as we came down the stairs together. “She needs something to keep her occupied. She still misses my father terribly. Maybe one day we can find a bigger house and she can join us.”

I tried not to let my alarm show. “One day,” I said. “I think it’s important to start our marriage on our own, don’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said.

“And we will go and visit her regularly,” I went on.

We reached the street. “So you’ll be going back to her later this week?”

“After the party,” I said. “I have to do a little shopping for my trousseau. My attempts at undergarments have turned out rather disastrously.”

He actually laughed at this. “I can imagine. How fortunate that we live in a big city, isn’t it?”

We came out onto the street. The dying twilight had streaked the western sky with pink and the houses stood as dark silhouettes.

“Take care of yourself, Daniel,” I said, slipping my hand into his.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“You know I do,” I said.

The door opposite opened at that moment and Sarah came out, accompanied by a tall, angular young man with light ash-blond hair. His face was fine-boned and his hollow cheeks made him look almost frail. However, I presumed this was a normal quality of aristocrats. In fact his face was so pale that in the semidarkness he looked like a ghost. Sarah smiled when she saw us.

“Oh, Molly, there you are. I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye to you. And now I can introduce you to my fiancé. Monty, this is my new friend, Molly Murphy. And Molly, this is my future bridegroom, Montague Warrington-Chase.”

“How do you do, sir.” I nodded politely. “And this is my future bridegroom, Captain Daniel Sullivan,” I said.

The men shook hands.

“Dashed annoying, this wedding business, isn’t it?” Monty said in drawling upper-class English tones. “I’m rather of the opinion that an elopement might have been the best idea.”

“Oh, Monty.” Sarah slapped his hand. “You know our families would have been furious if we’d deprived them of a proper wedding with all the relatives and all the trimmings.”

“Luckily our wedding will be a modest affair,” Daniel said, “and my mother is organizing most of it. I have the excuse of being stuck in New York on a case.”

“A case?” Monty’s voice sounded sharp. “You’re a lawyer, sir?”

“Daniel is a police captain,” I said.

Monty gave a brittle laugh. “Silly of me. When we were introduced, I assumed you were a sea captain. But then you don’t have the requisite beard, do you?” He tipped his hat to us. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I have to take Sarah home to change. We are expected at the Waldorf. I wish you all the best for your future—Miss Murphy, Captain Sullivan.”

We parted with additional pleasantries. Halfway down Patchin Place, Sarah looked back. “Come and visit me at work, Molly. I’d love to show you what we’ve accomplished.”

“I will,” I promised.

“Sarah, I thought I made it clear that I want you to stop working,” came Monty’s voice as they walked down the alley.

“Now does that sound familiar?” I looked up at Daniel with a grin. “Is that something that all bridegrooms say to their brides?”

“She works? Where does she work?” Daniel asked.

“She volunteers at a settlement house on Elizabeth Street.”

Daniel gave a snort. “Then I can understand why he wants her to stop. I would too. That’s a rough part of the city for such a delicate-looking little thing.”

“I know, that’s what I thought.”

Daniel continued to stare after them. “You know, I’ve seen that English fellow somewhere before,” he said. “Somewhere I wouldn’t have expected.…”

“Where?”

He frowned, then shook his head. “Can’t remember. No matter. I expect it will come to me. I should be getting back to work. No peace for the wicked.”

“Oh, are you wicked? I didn’t know I was marrying a wicked man. What fun.”

He laughed and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Enjoy your party with your lady friends. I’ll be in touch.” Then he was gone.

Seven

The next morning I rose to the smell of fresh brewing coffee and came down to find that Gus had been to the French bakery on Greenwich Avenue and had returned with the morning papers, croissants, and brioches. If Sid hadn’t insisted on making Turkish coffee so thick that the spoon stood up in it, the breakfast would have been perfect. As it was, sitting with my friends amid the exotic plants of their conservatory, I thought eating fresh pastries and reading the paper a fine way to start the day. I scoured the papers to see if there was any hint of this big case that Daniel was working on, but there were only the usual petty crimes.

“So you’ll be going back to work for your Chinese gentleman, I take it, Molly?” Gus asked.

“I’ll have to go back and report to him, but when he hears that I’ve scoured the pawnshops and jewelers, I think he’ll have no further use of my services.”

“Maybe that’s for the best, now that you’ve seen Daniel’s face yesterday when he learned you were staying with us,” Sid said, tearing off a hunk of croissant and dipping it in her coffee.

“I know. That’s what I was thinking,” I said. “I’ve got to admit that my career as a lady detective is over and a life of domesticity looms ahead.”

“You make it sound like banishment to a penal colony.” Gus laughed.

“Not as long as the two of you are across the street,” I said. “I’ll enjoy having more time to spend with you.”

“So will we,” Sid said.

“By the way,” I said, remembering what had been forgotten in the fluster of the previous evening, “you’ll never guess who I ran into on the Lower East Side? Seamus and the children.”

“They’re back in New York? That should make you happy.”

“Indeed it does not,” I said, and related the full story.

“Panama—now that sounds like an adventure,” Sid said. “I’ve always wanted to cut a path through the jungle and meet anacondas and jaguars.”

“But not with a small boy in tow,” I said.

“They’re surely not taking the little girl with them?” Gus asked.

I shook my head. “They want me to find her a position in service—nanny’s helper or the like. Poor little thing. I think she’s far too young for that. I’d take her in myself only I don’t think Daniel would approve and it’s no way to start a marriage.”

“We’ll put on our thinking caps,” Sid said. “Maybe Gus knows a family who would like a companion to an only child. But I’m afraid the thinking will just have to wait until after the party. We still haven’t settled on our theme, have we?”

I left them heatedly discussing the theme for my party and made my way down to Mr. Frederick Lee’s office. He had an expectant, worried look on his face as he admitted me.

“Any luck, Miss Murphy? Did you find the missing item?”

“I don’t wish to be rude,” I said, “but I wasn’t sure your employer wished you to know the details of my assignment. You left the room while he spoke to me.”

Frederick Lee nodded solemnly. “I only understood it concerned something that was precious to him. Something that he wanted recovered as quickly as possible.”

“Then I’m afraid I have no good news for him yet, Mr. Lee. I have searched diligently in the immediate area with no success.”

He sighed. “My employer will not be pleased.” But he himself looked almost relieved. “Oh, well, we had better go and deliver the news to him.”

“I can go on looking,” I said. “I’ve only covered a fraction of the jewelers and pawnshops in New York City. But the thief could just as easily have gone across the bridge to Brooklyn or to any other outlying community. It’s like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

“It certainly seems hopeless, but I’m sure my employer will not want you to abandon the quest.”

He took my elbow to steer me across the Bowery. At this hour it was full of women doing their morning shopping for the day’s meals while a gaggle of children clung to their skirts or raced ahead. The moment we turned into Mott Street the contrast was absolute. Here was silence and emptiness. There were no women and no children. We passed a couple of young Chinese men wearing the dark blue baggy jackets and pants that seemed to be the uniform of the Chinese. Their hands were tucked into their sleeves. They avoided my gaze and hurried by, heads down. I felt a stab of pity for them, living amid so much hostility and knowing that they would never have the chance to truly belong here, to get married and live normal lives.

The pity was short-lived, however, as Frederick Lee grabbed my elbow again and shoved me forward at a quicker pace. “Those men,” he whispered. “They are Hip Singers.”

“What kind of singers?” I looked back with interest.

“Don’t look at them,” he hissed. “Pretend they are invisible.”

“What’s the matter with them?” I too found myself whispering.

“Hip Sing is the rival tong,” he said. “Have you not heard about the tong wars? There has been terrible bloodshed between Hip Sing and On Leong, which is our tong. At the moment there is a truce, but it’s very fragile and the least little thing can set sparks flying again.”

“I see,” I said, realizing now why the man yesterday had looked up and down the street before he hurried away. “So are tongs like gangs?”

He looked shocked. “Oh, no, not at all. They are benevolent societies. They offer us protection and loans and even a place to stay. Like your American gentlemen’s clubs.”

“Our gentlemen’s clubs don’t often condone killing each other.”

“We have to defend the honor of our tong if the Hip Sing mob kills one of our own,” he said. “They are not to be trusted. We are a merchant’s association made up of civilized men; they are a bunch of rabble who work in the laundries and the cigar factories.”

He stopped talking as a door opened and two elderly men came out, each carrying a cage with a bird in it. They held the cages up as they walked solemnly down the street.

“What was that?” I asked.

“They are walking their birds. They do it every morning so that the caged birds get fresh air,” he said. “Just as you Americans walk your babies in their buggies.”

“You say ‘we Americans,’” I said to him. “Actually I’m Irish. I’ve only been here two years and I don’t think of myself as American yet. But you were born here. Don’t you think of yourself as American?”

“I would if I felt that I belonged here,” he said. “But as the child of a Chinese man, I can never become a citizen. So I will never truly belong.”

“Never become a citizen, even if you were born here?”

“That’s right. Thanks to the Exclusion Act. But I wouldn’t belong in China either. I am neither fish nor fowl.”

“That must be hard for you.”

He shrugged. “It is my fate. There’s not much I can do about it.”

We reached the storefront of the Golden Dragon Emporium. I noticed that it was next door to a building that proclaimed itself as the On Leong headquarters. So my employer must be heavily involved with the tong to have set up shop beside them. Again I waited until Frederick Lee informed me that we could go up to Lee Sing Tai’s apartment. It was a complete reenactment of the day before. Waiting until the boy admitted us. Waiting in front of the screen until we were told to enter and the man himself sitting as before, in the high-backed carved chair. The drapes were half drawn and shadows hovered in the far corners. I glanced back at that curtain from which someone had observed me yesterday. I wondered who that person had been and whether he was there again, but I decided it wouldn’t be wise to ask questions. Instead I stood in the doorway until my employer waved an elegant hand, directing me to sit on the bench and at the same time dismissing Frederick Lee from his presence.

“Miss Murphy,” he said, nodding civilly. “You will take tea with me?”

He clapped his hands and the tea tray appeared. He waited until the leaves had settled, then poured it with ceremony, handing me the cup with two hands. I noticed the length of his fingernails—they stuck out a good inch or so, like claws. Again the tea was too hot to drink immediately, but I’d learned to be silent until I was spoken to.

“Is it a fine day outside?” Lee Sing Tai asked at last.

“Very fine.”

“Not too hot?”

“Not as yet.”

“That is good. I may venture forth. My songbird needs more fresh air than he receives on the balcony.”

He lifted his teacup to his lips and took a sip. I followed suit, almost bursting with impatience to get this interview over. There was a strange feeling of unreality and foreboding that hovered over me in the half-light of the room. At last he put down his teacup. “You had a successful day yesterday?” he asked.

“If you mean did I find your missing jade piece, the answer is no, I’m afraid,” I said. “I did my best, I can assure you. I visited every pawnshop, every jeweler within a mile or so of here. The pawnshop owners all told me that they never saw Chinese jewelry and they would have remembered if a Chinese person had come into their stores. The jewelers told me that jade was not worth much and they would only buy gold or silver.” I paused, taking a deep breath. “So I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you. I could go on looking further afield, of course. There are hundreds more pawnshops and jewelers in the rest of Manhattan, and hundreds more across the bridge in Brooklyn and up in the Bronx and on Staten Island—but I can’t see that it would be worth paying me for what would surely be several days’ work after which I could well come up empty.”

He sat there, staring across the room as if I didn’t exist. The silence was overpowering and I began to feel uneasy. If he came from a country where men were beheaded for not wearing their hair a certain way, was he about to punish me for my failure? I decided to take the initiative.

“Mr. Lee,” I said, “something about this doesn’t make sense to me. You could have employed anybody to ask questions in pawnshops. If the piece has been stolen, isn’t it likely that it’s gone to an underworld fence? I’d have no way of knowing how to contact such people. I’m a private investigator, not a police detective.”

“It will not have gone to a fence,” he said.

I wanted to tell him that we were wasting each other’s time and walk out of there. But I hate to give up on anything. “You haven’t made clear to me why this particular piece of jade is worth so much to you,” I said. “It must have some special significance or you would merely have had a copy made to replace it.”

“You are a shrewd young woman,” he said. “I knew this when I hired you.”

“So why did you hire me?”

“To find a missing prized possession, I told you.”

“Of course it’s possible that the person who stole it intends to keep it, in which case I can be of no further use to you.”

“I did not say it was stolen,” he said. “It was taken. That is not the same thing.”

“You have an idea who took it?”

He nodded.

“By a member of your household?”

It was a stab in the dark but I saw a flash of reaction. Then his eyes narrowed. “The situation is delicate.”

“Mr. Lee. I don’t see how I can help you unless you tell me all the facts. I think you have hired the wrong person. Surely one of your employees could go after a member of your household. He wouldn’t have gone far from Chinatown, would he?”

There was a long pause. “I wish you to continue your search, Miss Murphy,” he said at last. “I told you that a precious possession was missing. I had little hope that you’d find the jade but I wanted to see how diligently you pursued this and I wanted to observe your powers of deduction. I should now tell you that another of my possessions is missing.”

“Stolen, you mean? At the same time?”

“Stolen—of this I am not sure. But missing. Definitely missing.”

“More valuable than the jade?”

“More valuable.”

Now we were finally getting somewhere. “Could I have a description of this object?”

He reached across to a side table and handed me a leather folder. “A picture of the missing possession,” he said. “Open it.”

I opened the folder. It was a photo frame in red leather. And inside was a portrait of a young Chinese girl. She was dressed in what looked like a padded silk jacket with bone buttons and a little round collar. Her hair was pulled back into a thick braid that was draped over one shoulder. I looked for any kind of jewel or adornment she might be wearing but could see none.

“I’m afraid I don’t see the article you are referring to.”

He jabbed the glass of the photo frame with his long fingernail. “Bo Kei. My new bride,” he said. “My bride is missing.”

“A person? The valuable possession you’re referring to is a person?” He must have picked up the shock in my voice.

“A most valuable possession, Miss Murphy. She cost me a lot of money. I had her brought over from China only a month ago. As you know, your government makes it impossible for Chinamen to bring their women into this country, so I paid a high price to have her brought here by devious routes. I paid her father a high bride price too.”

“You bought a woman?” I was still staring at the young fresh face looking shyly at the camera.

“That is the way in my country. We have no foolish notions of falling in love, as you people in America do. Marriage is a business proposition. Each side must benefit. I am no longer young, Miss Murphy. I need a son before I die—so I bring in strong new blood from my own part of China. And now she is gone.”

“So what do you think has happened to her?” I was still shocked and fighting to keep my composure.

“I wish I knew,” he said. “I am most worried. Maybe an enemy has kidnapped her, or she has run away. In either case I want her returned to me immediately, together with the jade bride-piece that was given to her.”

“You say an enemy may have kidnapped her. Do you know that you have enemies who might do something as bad as this?”

“Any rich and powerful man has enemies, Miss Murphy. And in my case I am closely aligned with the On Leong tong. Maybe you have not heard of this, but we have been at war with Hip Sing.”

“Frederick Lee told me about this,” I said.

He pursed his lips. “There has been a truce in recent times, but this peace is fragile and who knows if it will last forever.”

“Would stealing your bride break this truce?”

“Naturally. If someone wants to hurt me, to embarrass me, to make me lose face, what better way than to steal my bride? We of the On Leong would want justice and revenge and so the bloodshed would start again.” He paused. I couldn’t think what to say next, but he added. “On the other hand, she could have run away.”

”Do you have any idea why she might have run away?” I asked, thinking that it would have taken something really horrible to make being alone in a strange city like New York seem preferable to remaining in a pampered life amid such rich surroundings.

He frowned as if he considered this question impudent. “Of course I have no idea,” he snapped. “She would have a good life here. She was treated well. She had clothes. Good food. Any sensible young woman would be proud to become wife of a rich and powerful man.”

But old, I thought. And she looked so young in that picture. Maybe having intimate relations with an old man like him was too big a shock for her. Maybe he demanded too much of her too soon.

“Mr. Lee,” I began cautiously, “I have visited you twice now. It is not very easy to get into your residence. How and when do you think she was kidnapped or escaped?”

“This is what I ask myself. As you see, I keep my door locked at all times. It is a long way down from my balcony. I have a houseboy. I have a cook. I have employees working in my emporium next door. Nobody could enter or leave this place without being seen.”

“She didn’t go out and not come back?”

“Of course not. Chinese woman does not go out unescorted. In China she would travel in closed litter. Here in New York she does not leave her dwelling. It is not correct and it is not safe.”

I took another deep breath, realizing how easy it would be to offend him. “And would it have been possible for her to escape at night? What I mean is, did she share a bed with you?”

He looked indignant and pursed his lips. “When I want her, she is brought to my bed. When I am done, she is dismissed. But houseboy, he sleeps on mat in front of screen. Like guard dog for house. Who could get past him?”

But somehow she had either managed to escape or been taken by a clever kidnapper. I thought about the latter.

“If she was indeed kidnapped by your rival tong, then this isn’t a task I could undertake. As an outsider in your community, there is no way I’d want to stick my nose into a Chinese tong’s affairs. And I’d have no way of finding out anything, not speaking your language.”

“Of course,” he said, dismissing this with a wave of his hand. “I have taken this fact into consideration. Already my spies have looked into the possibility most carefully, but so far they have learned nothing. If she has been kidnapped, then she is either well hidden or has been spirited far away.”

“When exactly did she go missing?”

“Five days ago now.”

“That’s a long time. She could be anywhere.”

He shook his head. “How far could she get on her own, huh? She would have no money—nothing but the jade, and no Western clothes. A woman in Chinese dress would soon be noticed if she ventured outside our community. And she knows nothing of New York. Where would she run?”

“I don’t suppose she speaks much English, does she?”

“As a matter of fact her English is good. She was educated by Western missionaries. It was for this very reason that I selected her—I thought that it would be good that she has some knowledge of Western ways if she is to be useful to me here in the future. Now I fear that she has run looking for church people and is being hidden by them.”

“Ah.” I nodded. We were finally getting to the point. “You want me to visit the missions for you.”

“Exactly. This is a job for a white woman, a Christian woman. You will know the right questions to ask. You will bring my bride back to me. You will tell her that she now belongs to me and obeys me. Her behavior disgraces her family in China.”

“Which denomination were these missionaries?”

“I do not know one type of Christian from another. They are all equally annoying—and interfering with our people, trying to convert them from our religions to yours. But you will find no shortage of mission houses near Chinatown. They try hard, these Christians.”

“And if your bride won’t come with me?”

“Then you will come to me and I will have her brought back. But it must be done discreetly. Word of this must not reach fellow Chinese. I should lose face in their eyes. They would say Lee Sing Tai cannot even control his woman—how can he control powerful tong? This must not happen, you understand. It is important beyond anything.”

I wanted to say that the happiness of his bride should be important above everything, but he obviously didn’t see it that way. To him a woman was the same as a piece of jade.

“Find her and I will make it well worth your while,” he said. “It is for her own happiness as well as mine. If she does not return to me, then there is no hope for her. She cannot stay at mission forever. She cannot return home to China, even if she had the money to do so. Her family would not take her back after this disgrace. So where would she go? Only the houses of low women would welcome her. Tell her this. Make sure she understands that she is being foolish and childish. If she returns to me and behaves as a good wife should, then no more will be said and she will lead a happy life.”

I had been feeling no enthusiasm for this assignment, but I did see his point. Much as I disliked his calling her his possession, she was his wife, and as such he had legal rights over her. And how would she survive? I had tried to survive alone in New York City when I first arrived and had nearly starved and frozen to death. How much harder would it be for a Chinese girl? It was all too likely that she’d be lured or snatched into prostitution.

I got to my feet. “Very well, Mr. Lee. I will do my very best to find your bride and bring her home to you.”

He almost smiled. At least his face twitched in what could be interpreted as a smile. “I am pleased to hear this, Miss Murphy. I look forward to your returning to me soon with good news.”

He was about to clap his hands when I picked up the photograph in its leather case. “May I take this with me? It might help jog people’s memories.”

“Take care with it, and return it to me safely,” he said.

“I will.”

He clapped his hands. The houseboy and Frederick Lee appeared and I was escorted from the room. I couldn’t help looking across at the red silk drapes as I waited for them to appear. I thought I saw a hand holding those drapes. A hand with long fingernails.

Eight

Frederick Lee said nothing as he escorted me down the stairs and out into the street. The street was still empty, but I could hear the distant clatter of commerce from Mulberry and the Bowery.

As Frederick took my elbow to steer me down the steep outside steps, a young man came flying up the steps, nearly colliding with us and butting me in the middle. At the last minute he checked himself, realizing that he was almost touching a white woman’s skirt, and looked up into my face with astonishment.

“Why this person visit my father?” he demanded, not apologizing but glaring at me angrily for being in his way. And his very choice of the words, “this person,” made my hackles rise. I wondered for a moment whether he believed I was a prostitute until he added, “If she is missionary lady, then too bad. She won’t make my father change to her religion or make him change his ways.” He gave a scornful laugh, still looking at me as if I wasn’t a person at all.

I fought back my desire to tell him exactly what I thought of him, knowing I couldn’t reveal the reason for my visit. Also I was puzzled by his calling Lee Sing Tai his father.

“Your esteemed father requested to speak with this young woman,” Frederick Lee answered for me. He spoke with cold and measured formality.

“For what reason?” This young man spat out the words in clipped syllables like the man he had called his father but not with the latter’s command of English.

“As to that, it was personal business between Miss Murphy and your esteemed father,” Frederick said. “Even I was sent away while they were in discussion.”

“Even you? You are only secretary. I am his son.”

“A paper son. Very different,” Frederick said.

“In the eyes of the American law I am his son. That’s all that matters.” And with that he pushed past us and continued up the stairs.

“I must apologize for this man’s rude behavior,” Frederick said as we continued down the street.

“That was Mr. Lee’s son?” I asked. “But I thought he had no sons. I thought the reason for bringing…” I bit off the words at the last second. It was probable that Frederick Lee did not know his employer had brought in a young bride from China, or that she was now missing. That was why he had been dismissed from the room while we spoke.

“He is only a paper son,” Frederick said scornfully. “Bobby Lee.”

“A paper son? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the term.”

He looked surprised. “Perhaps the practice is not well known outside of Chinatown,” he said. “The Exclusion Act prevents Chinese men from bringing in their wives, but merchants are allowed to send for their sons. So one of the only ways for a Chinese man to come into this country is to pretend that he is the son of a merchant already here. This is simple to do. Your authorities do not read Chinese to understand our birth certificates. So if a young man in China is also from the Lee clan, who can prove he is not a true son? So he pays money, sometimes a lot of money. Mr. Lee accepts him as a son and he is allowed to enter. There are many paper sons in Chinatown.”

“And he becomes a true son in the eyes of the law over here? He will inherit if Mr. Lee dies?”

“This is clearly what Bobby Lee hopes. But my employer is a clever and cautious man. I am sure he has drawn up legal documents that state that Bobby Lee is not a son of his body. At the moment Bobby Lee is useful to him in his business. However, if he were to have a true son, as he so fervently hopes, then you can be certain that Bobby would be pushed aside or even sent back to China.”

“He doesn’t seem a very pleasant young man,” I said.

“He is not, and he has let the idea of being Lee Sing Tai’s son go to his head. He behaves as if he owns half of Chinatown. Such a man makes enemies, but unfortunately he is well positioned in On Leong, so we can say or do nothing.”

“Does he live with his father?” I asked, wondering how much he knew about the missing girl.

“He does not. He runs his father’s cigar factory in Brooklyn and he lives in rooms above the factory.”

We continued down Mott Street. “May I ask if Mr. Lee wants you to continue your search for this—jade?” he asked. “I know it’s not my business, but I just wondered…”

I glanced at him. “If Mr. Lee had wanted you to know, I suspect he’d have included you in the meeting,” I said. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but…”

“I quite understand,” he said. “It’s only that I—”

At that moment a voice called out after us. We turned to see Bobby Lee standing on the steps, beckoning. He barked out something in Chinese.

Frederick Lee flushed. “Please excuse me, Miss Murphy, but my employer wishes to have another word with me. If you would kindly wait here in the shade…”

“That’s all right,” I said. “I’m sure I can find my own way without anyone to escort me.”

“If you’re quite sure?”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “You’d better get back to your employer. I rather suspect he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

He nodded gratefully and hurried back down the street. I was about to go on my way when I realized that I should find out from Frederick where all the various church missions were located around Chinatown. There must be several of them if missionary ladies were seen as a problem. So I stepped under the shade of a balcony and waited. I studied the red silk lanterns hanging from the balconies, the scrolls of Chinese characters pasted to walls and windows, and then I noticed something that I had overlooked before. Across the street, presenting a hostile brick face to the world, was a Catholic church. A small board announced: CHURCH OF THE TRANSFIGURATION, FATHER BARRY, and mass times. There were no messages in Chinese here and the studded oak door was firmly shut. It appeared that the Catholics did not want to welcome their Chinese neighbors.

The street remained eerily empty until the two old men appeared again, bringing their caged birds back from their morning outing. I was busy observing them and jumped a mile when a door behind me suddenly opened. I half expected to be grabbed and dragged inside, but instead I turned around and found myself looking at the most unexpected person. She was a big-boned Irishwoman of middle age with a round, fresh-scrubbed face and faded red hair twisted up on top of her head. She was wearing a white apron over her summer dress, and she held a bucket in one hand and a scrubbing brush in the other.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, dearie,” she said, in an Irish accent even broader than my own. “Just coming out to do the step. I do like a nice clean front step, don’t you?” And she gave me a warm, friendly smile. “I saw you passing by yesterday. And I notice you’re wearing a ring on your left hand. So I thought I’d be bold enough to find out whether you’ve joined our ranks yet.”

“Ranks?”

“Are you marrying that nice Chinese boy I saw you with? Frederick Lee, isn’t it?”

“No! What gave you that idea?” I suppose I sounded shocked.

“Well, you don’t look like one of those earnest missionary ladies, so I couldn’t think of any other reason an Irish girl would be walking through Chinatown on the arm of a Chinaman. There’s quite a few of us, you know.”

“Married to Chinese men?”

“Exactly. Mrs. Chiu’s the name. Aileen Chiu.” She held out her hand to me. I shook it. It felt as rough as old leather.

“Molly Murphy,” I said.

“A fellow Irishwoman. I knew it.” She beamed at me. “What part of the old country are you from?”

“County Mayo. Near Westport.”

“Are you now? I’m from Limerick myself. I couldn’t wait to get away, but now I long for those green hills and that soft rain, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “Especially when the weather is as hot as it’s been lately.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” she said. “Like most of the neighborhood, we’ve taken to sleeping on the roof this summer, it’s been so unbearable in the house.” She hesitated then said, “Look, this may seem forward, but would you like to come in for a spot of tea, Miss Murphy? The kettle’s always on and I don’t get much company from the outside.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’d like that very much.” It had occurred to me how useful she might be, watching the street from behind her lace curtains. And besides, I liked the look of her face. I followed her into the darkness of a small entry hall. Only a couple of steps inside we came upon a screen, similar to the one in Mr. Lee’s apartment with a large painted dragon on it.

“Watch yourself,” Aileen warned as she steered me around it. “My man insisted on it. He’s a Christian, you know, but he can’t do away with all the old Chinese superstitions. ‘We have to have a screen, Aileen,’ he says to me when we are furnishing the place. To keep out the demons. And he still has an altar to the ancestors. Aren’t they funny, bless them?”

She led me around the screen and into a fine living room that looked out onto the street. It was well-furnished in American style with a comfortable plush sofa and armchairs, marble side tables, and lace curtains at the window.

“Sit down, my dear,” she said, gesturing to the sofa. “Kitty!” she called. “Kitty, where are you—we’ve got company.”

A girl of about ten came running into the room. She had light hair and skin like her mother, but her eyes were almond-shaped like those of her Chinese father. It was an extremely attractive combination. She gave me an inquisitive stare.

“My daughter Kitty,” Aileen Chiu said. “My youngest. I’ve three older girls and a boy. Our boy goes to college—Princeton, no less, but he’s home for the summer.” She turned to the girl who was lingering in the doorway, still staring at me with interest. “Kitty, tell Ah Fong that we want tea and see if he made any of his soda bread this morning.” She nodded to me. “We’ve a marvelous cook—he can cook anything, you know. Not just Chinese. Makes better soda bread than me.”

The girl went running off and I heard her calling out something in Chinese in a high little voice.

“You seem to have a good life here,” I said, looking around the room.

“I came to this country with nothing and I don’t think I could have done better,” Aileen Chiu said. “Certainly not if I’d married some drunken lout of a lazy Irishman. My man owns four laundries—two in Brooklyn and two here in Manhattan. He provides well for us and he’s a good father too.” She smiled, then the smile faded as she stared out at the net curtains. “Of course, it’s a trifle lonely at times. We’re neither one thing nor the other, you see. The Irish will have nothing to do with me; neither will the Chinese.”

“That must be hard,” I agreed.

“We survive. There are the other Irish wives to take tea with and sometimes we go to a theater and out to a picnic on Staten Island on Sundays, so I can’t complain. But how about you, my dear? I don’t often see a white woman coming up Mott Street, unless it’s on one of these slumming tours.”

“Slumming tours—what are they?”

She laughed. “Oh, it’s the latest craze, so they tell me. This man called Chuck Connors—he gives guided tours of Chinatown, as if we’re exhibits in a zoo, you know. He plays up all the vices—gambling and opium dens, houses of ill repute, and the tourists are suitably shocked and titillated. The young women pretend to swoon at the horror and degradation of it.”

She was still chuckling as her daughter brought in a tray of tea things and put it on the table in front of her mother. “Should I pour?” she asked.

“No, you go and get on with your schoolwork. I can do my own pouring,” Aileen said.

“But Ma—it’s the summer vacation,” the girl protested. “Nobody else has to do schoolwork.”

“You know how keen your father is that you get on,” Aileen said. “Look how well your brother and your sisters have done. You don’t want to let us down, do you?”

The girl sighed and stomped upstairs.

“My Albert is very keen on education,” she confided. “He was quite a scholar back in China. Of course I had no schooling myself, but I can see the value of it. If you’ve enough education you can move where you want in society, can’t you?”

“That’s very true,” I said. I watched her pour the tea and then hand me a slice of soda bread, liberally dotted with raisins. I ate with relish before I paused to ask, “Is there really that much degradation going on in Chinatown?”

“Of course there’s plenty of gambling. One thing about the Chinese—they are all gamblers. They’ll gamble on how many buttons the next man to come into the room has on his jacket or whether it will be fine the next day. Some of them will bet their clothing when they’ve spent their last cent and have to be given a sack to wear home. My man is more sober in that department than most, but I have to keep an eye on him.”

“And opium? Are there really opium dens?”

“Oh, yes. They’re here, all right. That stupid Connors fellow has concocted a fake opium den that he shows to his tourists—he hires actors to play the part of addicts. The real ones are hidden away, but they’re here, all right. And it’s not just the Chinese that visit them either. There are plenty of white men sneaking in at night.”

As we talked I noticed that she kept a steady eye on the street beyond. I tried to phrase my question tactfully. “Mrs. Chiu—you have a good view of the street here and you obviously see a lot of what goes on—you didn’t notice a young Chinese woman going past, about a week ago, did you?”

Her eyes opened wide in surprise. “A young Chinese woman? Out alone on the street? My dear, there are no young Chinese women. Why do you think the men marry us? And if there were, they wouldn’t be allowed out on the street. There are a couple of small-foot wives—you know, the poor creatures with the deformed, bound feet?”

“I thought Chinese wives weren’t allowed to come into the country?”

“These ones are older women who came here before the Exclusion Act. I feel sorry for them, personally. They’re virtually prisoners in their own homes. At least I can walk down the street to visit my neighbors, but they can’t even walk that far. You should see them hobbling. It’s something pitiful. If they ever go out it’s only in a closed carriage, door to door, even if they’re only visiting a couple of houses down.”

I returned to my original question. “So if a young Chinese girl had come down the street, you would have noticed?”

She tilted her head on one side with a puzzled look. “What’s this all about? Why these questions about a Chinese girl? You’re not from the authorities, are you? On the trail of a prostitute?”

“So there really are Chinese prostitutes here?”

“Of course there are. Not that they’re ever allowed out either, but one hears rumors of what goes on.”

“I assure you I’m not from the authorities.” I took a sip of my tea while I tried to come up with a good reason for my question without giving away why I had been hired.

We ate in silence until suddenly she looked up. “Wait a minute. If you were with Frederick Lee, then it’s true—old Mr. Lee Sing Tai did bring in another bride from China. Don’t tell me she’s gone?”

“How did you hear about this?”

“Their cook is friendly with Ah Fong. There’s not much that Chinese servants don’t know about. He’s brought in a bride from China before, you know.”

“And what happened to her?”

“From what I hear she couldn’t produce a son so he got rid of her. Sent her back to China as likely as not. So this one’s run away, has she?”

“I really can’t talk about it,” I said. “Mr. Lee would be furious if he found out that anyone else knows his business.”

Aileen Chiu laughed. “Listen, my dear, when you live in a narrow society like this, it’s hard to keep secrets, and servants love to talk. So he’s hired you to find her, has he?”

I nodded. It seemed pointless to deny it at this stage and I had now made a useful ally.

“Surely she can’t have gone far.” Aileen Chiu was frowning in a puzzled way. “The police would have picked her up if she’d strayed beyond Chinatown. They seem to think that all Chinese women are prostitutes.”

“So she could be in jail, do you think?”

“It’s possible. And if not, where else could she go? She won’t have had money of her own. What did she hope to achieve by it? If he wants her found, he’ll find her. He’s a big noise around here with fingers in every sort of pie. And he’s got the police in his pocket too.”

“Really? He spoke of the police as his enemies.”

“Don’t you believe it. He’s well in with the Sixth Precinct. He pays them good bribe money to keep out of his business interests—and out of On Leong interests too.”

“So presumably he could have found out from the local police if his bride had been picked up and arrested?”

“Although maybe he wouldn’t want to admit something like that to white men. It’s all a question of losing face. They’re very big on losing face, these Chinamen. He wouldn’t have hired an outsider like you—and a woman at that—unless he wanted to try and keep the affair secret from the local community. So where does Lee Sing Tai think she might have gone?”

“She was educated by missionaries, so he thinks that maybe they have taken her in and are hiding her. I gather that there must be quite a few missionaries operating around here?”

“There certainly are. All the denominations out there competing to save poor Chinese souls. It’s pitiful really. They lure the young men in with the offer of English language lessons and then they start preaching at them.” She chuckled. “Of course the Chinese aren’t stupid. They take the language classes and slip out before the sermon starts.”

“You presumably know the various missions around here. Can you suggest where I should start?”

“You can’t do much better than start with Miss Helen Clark. If any girl’s been wandering the streets, Miss Clark will have snapped her up—interfering, do-gooding busybody that she is. Always poking her nose where it’s not wanted.”

I had to smile at her sudden outburst of anger.

“It may be unchristian of me to speak like that of someone who thinks she’s doing the Lord’s work, but she’s caused a lot of trouble. If she spots a child out on the street, she assumes it’s a slave and she kidnaps it, making it go to her classes. And if she hears of a white woman marrying a Chinaman, she’ll try to break up the union.”

She paused to take a gulp of tea and I nodded with understanding before she put the cup down firmly and added, “And she tries to come into Chinese homes to instruct their occupants on Christian living—the nerve of it. She tried to get in here once. I’m a good Catholic, I said, and so is my man and my children have been baptized at the Church of the Transfiguration across the street, so we need none of your help to get to heaven, thank you.”

“And where would I find this Miss Clark?” I asked.

“If she’s not out prowling the streets, she’s got her school at 21 Mott, just down the street. Of course it’s still summer vacation, so she may not be giving classes. If she’s not there, you can always try the Morning Star Mission on Doyers, or there’s the Evangelical Band at 4 Mott—but that’s mainly just a Sunday school.”

“Do you think any of these might have taken in a Chinese woman if she’d come to them?”

She frowned. “I’ve never heard of them having beds to offer. It’s just the hall and a little room for making tea. But you could try the Rescue Mission also on Doyers. They try to rescue fallen white women, but I don’t suppose they’d say no to a Chinese girl if they thought she was some kind of slave.”

“Rescue Mission on Doyers,” I muttered. “Thank you. You’ve given me plenty to start with. And if I wanted to check with the police, would it be at headquarters on Mullberry?”

“No, dearie. We’re in the Sixth Precinct here. The police station’s on Elizabeth, just up from Canal.”

“Then I should be going,” I said. “Thank you for the tea and the chat.”

“Come back anytime,” she said, eyeing me wistfully. “I’d love to talk more about the old country, although it was a hard life, wasn’t it? Never enough to eat.”

“It was,” I agreed.

“So all in all we’re better off here.” She said it as if she was trying to convince herself, not me.

Nine

I took my leave, promising to return and having extracted a promise from her not to say anything about my commission in case it got back to the ears of Lee Sing Tai. Noting the ease with which she liked to gossip, I couldn’t be sure that she’d keep to it. There was no sign of Frederick Lee when I came out into Mott Street, but a vendor’s cart was standing at the curb nearby selling vegetables to a line of Chinese men and a couple of half-caste children. Even the vegetables in the basket looked strange—beans as long as my forearm, huge hairy cannonballs (God knows what they were), and tiny little white sprouts. The vendor was a fellow Chinese and was certainly doing a lively trade.

I picked my way past the fresh horse manure and looked for 21 Mott and Miss Clark. I found her in a bare upstairs room, lined with rows of benches, supervising a couple of little half-Chinese girls as they put out hymn books. She was quite the opposite of what I had expected—although no longer young, she was beautiful and elegantly dressed. No wonder she could lure those poor woman-starved Chinese men into services on Sundays. She looked at me with surprise and suspicion until I explained the reason for my visit. Then a smile spread across that lovely face. “So you’re doing the Lord’s work too—trying to save poor girls from a life of degradation. God bless you, my dear.”

I didn’t like to say that my employer wasn’t the Lord but a rich Chinese gentleman. “So you haven’t seen a young woman like this? She didn’t come to you?” I held out the picture.

She shook her head. “And it’s a great pity that she didn’t. I would have given her sanctuary. If she spoke English I might even have managed to find her a position as a servant safely far from the city. I’ve done that for girls before, you know—if they have not descended too far into a life of vice. I have to be careful whom I send to wholesome Christian families. One can’t risk a corrupting influence.”

“So if she didn’t come to you, where do you think she might have gone?” I asked.

“I rather fear the worst, my dear. One has only to walk a few yards from here to the Bowery where every second establishment is a house of ill repute.” She looked up as one of the little half-caste girls called out, “All done, Missie Clark.”

“Nicely done, Elsie. We’ll make a fine Christian of you yet,” Miss Clark said, patting the child on her shining black hair.

She turned back to me. “You see how much we can do if we catch them early enough. Of course these girls do have the benefit of Irish mothers who have been raised as Christians so it is not such an uphill battle to claim them for the Lord and keep them from the sins of the flesh. Sometimes I despair for the full-blooded Chinese, though. It’s a struggle to make them turn from their heathen ways. Even those who profess to be Christians still worship idols in secret. But one does what one can.” She patted the child again. “Run along now and wash your hands and then we’ll work on your letters some more. You too, Alice.”

“Thank you for your time,” I said and went to take my leave.

“If you’ll write down your address for me, Miss Murphy, I will keep my eyes open. I try to rescue girls from degradation whenever I can, so who knows? Maybe I will hear of your girl.”

I considered Miss Clark and her evangelizing as I made my way down the stairs to the street. Having witnessed the sordid establishments on the Bowery, I found it hard to believe that the Chinese were more prone to vice than their Western neighbors. But one of Miss Clark’s sentences stuck in my mind: “If they have not descended too far into a life of vice.” Those words immediately conjured up what I had witnessed on the Bowery—those girls lounging in provocative poses on stoops while nattily dressed men lurked nearby. It was all too possible that if little Bo Kei had not been picked up by the police, she might have been nabbed by a pimp. I saw how easily she could have been incited into one of those brothels—a young girl who knew nothing of the city and of Western ways. “Don’t worry, my dear, we’ll take good care of you and hide you from that Chinese monster.” And then she’d be trapped.

I can tell you I wasn’t anxious to make the rounds of the brothels, asking questions. I was all too likely to wind up kidnapped and trapped inside one myself, if the stories one heard were true. That’s when I remembered that I might have an ally who could help me. My friend Mrs. Goodwin was a police matron who had now been turned into a female detective like myself. Only she was working officially on undercover assignments for the police. So in order to find her or leave a message for her I’d either have to go all the way back to Tompkins Square where she lived, or to police headquarters on Mulberry. Since the latter was also where Daniel worked, I wasn’t in a hurry to do that. So I decided to try all other avenues first, and if I came up with no leads, then I’d visit Mrs. Goodwin’s house on my way home.

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 potato 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?”

Hermione 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.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I stayed in one near the Battery myself when I first arrived in New York. They were extremely strict—and devout.”

Hermione smiled. “That’s why we make a point of being completely open and impartial. No hint of religion here, only humanitarianism.”

Annie touched my hand. “This girl—she come from same nuns like me?”

Nuns! Why hadn’t I considered that the missionaries might be nuns?

“Yes,” I said. “I believe she came from the nuns.”

Annie gave the ghost of a tired smile. “We call them white ghost ladies. They dress all white, like ghost.”

I stood up. “Is there a convent of any kind around here?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know of a convent. I’ve seen nuns in the streets occasionally, so they may be attached to local churches.”

I took a business card out of my purse. “I’m going on the hunt again, but if the girl should turn up here, please keep her and send someone to find me.” I gave Annie a reassuring smile. “Nice meeting you, Annie. You’re in good hands now. You’ll get well soon.”

“Okay, miss,” she said flatly.

We started the long descent, our footsteps echoing on the bare boards of the stairs.

“She won’t get well, you know,” Hermione said when we were safely out of earshot. “Frankly we’re in a pickle here. We don’t know what to do with her. We shouldn’t really keep her or she might infect the other women who come here, but there’s nowhere to send her.” She paused, sighing. “Poor little thing. So she came over here as a bride, did she?”

“It appears so. And she didn’t give him a son, so he got rid of her.”

“Sent her to work in a brothel. That’s disgusting.”

“From what I’ve learned of this Chinese gentleman, his people look upon women as objects to be traded and disposed of.”

“Horrible.” Hermione shuddered. “I wish you luck. I hope you find this girl before her lord and master does.”

“So do I,” I said. “Please give my best to Sarah when you see her.”

And so I left the settlement house with my head in turmoil. From what I had now learned from Annie, did I really want to find Bo Kei? And if I found her, how could I possibly deliver her back into the hands of Lee Sing Tai?

Eleven

I visited the other settlement houses but, as I suspected, they hadn’t seen my Chinese bride. So I began to look for Catholic churches and more specifically, for nuns. It was midafternoon and I was growing rather hot and weary. But I was now filled with a sense of urgency that I must find the girl before anyone else did.

I began to wish I had been a better Catholic. If I’d made a point of going to mass in New York, I’d have known where to find the churches here in the Lower East Side. But I’d too many sins to confess now to make me want to go back to church—and my few encounters with judgmental priests hadn’t convinced me otherwise. So I wandered aimlessly around, trying first the Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral on Mulberry. Here I moved warily again, as we were close to police headquarters. But nobody at St. Patrick’s had seen a Chinese girl.

“They don’t ever leave Chinatown,” a young priest told me. “Not if they know what’s good for them. And as for girls—well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Chinese woman out in public.”

I wasn’t sure where to go next until an idea came to me. I had help on the spot, so to speak. So I made my way to Cherry Street, where Seamus and his children were now living with his sister Nuala and her brood. I can tell you that climbing the five flights to that tenement brought back painful memories of my arrival in New York. How far I’d come since then. Now I was safe and secure and about to be married to a wonderful man. I found renewed energy to bound up the last few of those stairs.

It was Nuala herself who opened the door. She looked me up and down, hands on hips. “Well, would you look what’s turned up on our doorstep again,” she said.

“That’s a nice welcome, if ever I heard one, Nuala,” I said. “I’m glad to see you looking well.”

“So has your fancy man thrown you out?”

I laughed. “On the contrary. I’m about to be married. To a police captain.”

Nuala looked back into the dark room beyond. “You hear that, boys!” she yelled. “You’d better mind yourselves when Miss High-and-Mighty is around these days, ’cos anything you say will be reported back to the police.”

Several suspicious faces peered out of the darkness. I couldn’t see much of them, but I didn’t like what I saw. Nuala’s boys were now looking like the typical Irish louts.

“I won’t trouble you long, but I’ve a job for young Shamey, and your boys too, if they’d like to help.”

Shamey was called to the door. I wasn’t invited inside. When Bridie heard it was me, she rushed to me and flung her arms around me again. Shamey came with more of a swagger, to impress the cousins, I suspected.

I told him what I wanted. “All the churches in the area, where there might be nuns living. Your aunt Nuala probably knows where they are. Ask if any of them has taken in a Chinese girl. If they have, come and find me immediately.”

“Are you paying him for doing this?” one of Nuala’s boys demanded, pushing past Shamey to face me. He was now almost as tall as me, with a voice that hovered between boy and man.

“You too, if you’d like to help.”

“How much?”

“Are you out of your mind?” His older brother grabbed him by his shirtfront and thrust him aside. “She’s obviously helping the police. Didn’t you hear what she said? Monk’d kill you.”

“So you’ve joined Monk Eastman’s gang now, have you?” I asked.

“Junior Eastman.” The boy stuck his chest out proudly. “Monk says I’m real useful to him.”

“Then I think I’ll leave the nuns to Shamey,” I said. “You’ll do your best for me, won’t you, boy?”

Shamey nodded, but with a half glance back at his cousins to see their reaction. “Come and report to me as soon as you hear anything. You remember where I live, don’t you? And at the moment I’m across the street with the two ladies. You can leave a message with them if I’m not there.” I ruffled Bridie’s hair. “I’ll see you soon then. And you’ll come to my wedding. I need a flower girl. We’ll make you a pretty dress.”

As I bent to hug her she whispered in my ear, “Let me come with you now. I don’t like it here. Those boys, they’re bad. They drink and they fight.”

“Darling, I can’t take you right now,” I said softly, “because I’m sleeping in someone else’s house. But I promise you I’ll take care of you and we’ll find a grand place for you. You just need to stick it out for a few more days—be brave for me—all right?”

She nodded. But after I left, I had terrible second thoughts. Was she actually safe there? I thought about asking Sid and Gus if I could bring her to share my room, but then I resolved to take her with me when I returned to Daniel’s mother’s house.

I started back in the direction of Chinatown. Churches. Where would a Chinese newcomer go, looking for nuns? Then, of course, I remembered the blank brick wall that was the face of the Church of the Transfiguration on Mott itself. It had never crossed my mind that she might be there, still in the neighborhood. Surely she wouldn’t have stayed so close, within easy reach of Mr. Lee, would she? But she might have gone there for help. Perhaps she had found nuns there who had spirited her away to their convent. It was worth a try, anyway. I went back to Mott, which had become quite lively at this time of day. There were men going into restaurants, returning home with bags of provisions, standing together talking, sitting drinking tea. A few half-Irish children kicked a ball around, but there was not a woman in sight. I tried the heavy oak door of the church and it opened to my touch, leading me into a different world. The quiet peace and muted light through the stained glass windows was in contrast to the gaudy colors and loud, staccato speech outside. I stood, breathing in the tranquility, trying to collect my thoughts, and as usual wondering what on earth I was doing getting involved again in something so complicated. A piece of stolen jewelry was one thing, but now I had no idea how I should proceed if I found the girl. I was being paid to carry out a commission. Was it up to me to make a judgment on the moral validity of my assignment? Maybe that’s why I wasn’t a good detective like Daniel, who had learned to prevent himself from becoming personally involved in his cases.

The church was silent and empty apart from an old Italian woman, dressed all in black, praying at a statue of St. Anthony. I went up to her and asked where I might find the priest. She pointed at the confessional where a red light was on. I went and sat beside it, waiting patiently, and eventually he came out.

“Were you still waiting for confession?” he asked, in a voice that still betrayed a hint of the Irish.

“No, thank you, Father. I was wondering if a young Chinese woman had come here, seeking sanctuary.”

“She did indeed.” His lip curled with distaste. “Wanted my help in getting her away from some man. Probably her pimp, since the only women here are prostitutes. I told her there was nothing I could do for her.” He folded his arms expressively over his cassock. “This used to be a good Italian and Irish neighborhood, you know, before those Chinese came and took over. And the last thing we want is Chinese women here—then the men won’t ever want to go home again if their womenfolk are allowed to come here, and there will be no getting rid of them.”

“So a young Chinese woman did come to you—about five or six days ago?”

“My housekeeper found her hiding in the church after the last mass of the day, when she went in to tidy up the hymnbooks. Brought her to me. I told her I was sorry but I wasn’t going to get involved in Chinese business. They’re a violent people, you know. You should see the killings that went on when the tongs were at war. Men shot and stabbed in broad daylight as they walked down the street or sat in the restaurants. I have to make sure I stay out of it.”

“So you sent her away—where did you send her?”

“I’ve no idea. I told my housekeeper to feed her and then get rid of her.”

“May I speak to your housekeeper then?” I asked

“I suppose so. What is your reason for seeking out this girl?”

I was about to say that I had been hired by her husband to find her, but instead I heard myself saying, “I want to help her.”

“Come along then,” he said. “Herself should have some tea on the table about this time. No doubt she can tell you in great detail what she told the girl—she loves the sound of her own voice.” As he talked he made his way through the church, through a back room, and opened a door that led into the rectory.

“Mrs. McNamara,” he called. “We’ve got company for tea.”

A woman came scurrying down the hall toward us, wiping her hands on her apron as she came. For a moment I thought I was seeing a ghost, as she looked just like the woman who ran the shop at home in Ballykillin.

“Tea’s all ready, Father,” she said and gave me a broad smile. “And there’s plenty for visitors too.”

We went together into a rather shabby dining room where a table was laid with teacups, scones, and fruitcake.

“Sit yourself down, my dear,” the priest said. “What was your name?”

“Molly Murphy, Father.”

“That’s as good an Irish name as you can get, isn’t it?” He nodded to Mrs. McNamara. “We don’t get too many Irish at the church anymore. It’s all Italians these days. And Polish. Not like the old days, is it, Mrs. McNamara?”

“Indeed it’s not, Father. Most of them don’t even speak English and I hardly ever get a good chat, except with the father here.”

“Never stops,” he muttered to me.

Tea was poured and I ate heartily of the scones and cake.

“Miss Murphy’s here asking about that Chinese girl you found. Any idea where she went?”

“No, Father,” Mrs. McNamara said. “You told me to get rid of her, didn’t you? So I had to send her on her way.”

Then she did a strange thing. I looked up and caught her eye, and she winked at me.

“I’d best be going then,” I said. “I really don’t know where to look now. Maybe she’s hiding out in one of the local parks, but that would be dangerous for a young woman alone.”

“I’ll see her out, Father,” Mrs. McNamara said. “You put your feet up for a while.”

She led me through the rectory to a door at the other end. As soon as we were out of earshot she whispered to me, “She’s upstairs now, the poor thing. And I’m that glad you’ve come for her because I hadn’t a clue what I was going to do with her.”

“She’s here? In the rectory?” I asked, my voice echoing louder than I intended through that high hallway.

She put her fingers to her lips. “Shh. We don’t want himself to hear. Well, I couldn’t just turn her out with nowhere to go, could I? So I put her in one of the rooms on the top floor. His reverence never goes up there—can’t climb all those stairs any longer. So I’ve been feeding her and trying to find what to do with her next. I’ve always been too impulsive, you know. Let my heart rule my head. I’d never have married that drunken lout McNamara if I’d stopped to think about it. But, my, he was handsome when he was a lad. How I suffered for it afterward. Knocked me around something terrible, he did.”

“Is he still alive?”

“He is not, God rest his poor soul. Killed in a street brawl, five years after we came to America. I came to the good Father here as housekeeper twenty years ago.”

I was trying not to show my impatience.

“So do you think you could take me up to see the girl now? I’ve come to take her off your hands.”

“Thank the Blessed Virgin for that,” she said. “I mean, what could I do with the poor thing? She couldn’t stay up in our attic forever.” She glanced back down the hall. “Come on then. Tread quietly or you’ll have himself snooping after us. He’ll have nodded off in a minute and then we’ll be all right.”

She started up the stairs. I followed. My heart had been beating fast ever since I had found out that Bo Kei was hidden here, but as we climbed flight after flight of stairs, it was positively pounding in my chest. Mrs. McNamara was breathing heavily in front of me and paused on the landing to say, “My old legs are not cut out for this sort of thing any longer. Five flights. It’s too much for a body.”

As she put her hand on the door handle there was the sound of scurrying beyond. The door opened to reveal a white figure, trying to duck down behind the bed.

“It’s all right, my dear,” Mrs. McNamara said. “You can come out. This young lady has come to help you.”

The white figure stood up and I saw that she was wearing a white nightgown. Her black hair hung in a heavy braid over one shoulder and she was looking at me with terrified eyes. I recognized her from her portrait.

“Bo Kei?” I asked gently.

She nodded.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” I said.

“Who are you?” She said the words carefully. “Why you want me?”

“My name is Molly.” I paused. What did I say next? I’ve come to deliver you back to your husband? I wished I knew how the law stood in New York. Could she legally be forced back to her husband? Was she officially his possession? Was I going against the law by hiding her? I didn’t think Daniel would take kindly to finding his own bride fined or in jail for aiding and abetting a fugitive. But neither did I want to send her back to a man like Lee Sing Tai. I needed time to think. If I could get her to Sarah’s settlement house, then she’d be safe for the moment and I could buy myself some time. “I’ve come to help you get away from here,” I said.

“Where go?” she asked.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“You can’t take her out onto the street around here. She’d be seen,” Mrs. McNamara said. “That man’s spies are everywhere and you can’t let her go back to him, the monster.”

“Did he treat you badly?” I asked.

She nodded. “He make me do bad things. He say I belong to him now. He pay my father plenty money. He want I give him son pretty damned quick.”

“So you definitely don’t want to go back to him?”

“I no go back. I kill myself first.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “We must think how to get you away from here, and then we can plan your future.”

“She’ll need some clothes first,” Mrs. McNamara said. “She came here in her nightgown.”

“How did you escape?” I asked.

She gave me a shy smile. “I hear church bell and look down on street. I see there is church, so close. So I wait see which day is Sunday. When it’s hot night, master sleep on roof. He have boy bring me to him, and when he don’t want me no more, he send me away again. So this night he think boy take me downstairs. But I come back up again. I hide on roof. When master sleeps I go on roof as far as I can, and when I can’t go no more, I jump to next roof.”

“Goodness,” I said. “How far was it?”

“Far,” she said.

“Weren’t you scared?”

“I think if I die, is better than to stay with him.”

“How did you get down from the next roof?”

“Down iron stair outside,” she said.

“Fire escape,” Mrs. McNamara corrected. “She came down the fire escape—can you believe the nerve of it?”

“Fire escape,” she agreed. “And then down pipe to ground.”

“Wearing your nightdress? Didn’t people see you?”

“Middle of night. Nobody in street. I wait in alleyway and hide in garbage. When people go church, I go too.”

“In your nightdress? Or did you have clothes with you?”

A sly smile crossed her face. “I steal sheet from laundry hanging on next roof. Throw down to street. I put it over head like this.” She demonstrated. “Make me look like nun. People not look at nun. I go in church and I wait. I think where there is church, there will be nuns. They will help me. They will not want me to live in sin.”

“Live in sin?”

“The brute never intended to marry her. He brought her over here as his concubine,” Mrs. McNamara said, hands on hips.

“I go to hell if I am with a man and not married to him. That is what nuns say.”

I put my hand on her arm. “That’s not true. If you were forced to do things you didn’t want to, then it’s not your fault. You won’t go to hell, I promise you.”

She gave me a sad smile. “When man come to mission and say that rich Chinaman in America want me for bride I am happy. Nuns say Western life very civilized, say it’s good I live in Christian country where women are respected. And I be bride of rich man. Never go hungry. But I come here and I find he already has one wife. He call me wife number two, but that is not true. Jesus say only one wife.”

“So he already has one wife?”

She nodded. “She old woman. Very mean. Not want me there. She call me concubine. Tell me terrible things.”

So those had been the fingers I had seen of the person behind the drapes. The old woman who did not welcome a new young bride.

“She tell me I no better than slave. I have to do what master want. Do what she want. And if I no give master a son pretty quick, he put me away, send me to house of fallen women.”

That was no idle threat, as I had witnessed.

“I’ll do what I can to help you,” I said. “Where would you like to go?”

She gave a helpless shrug. “I know no one in America. I can’t go home. No money and family not want to feed me. That’s why they sent me to nuns when I was small. Too many daughters. Not want to feed me. But then when man come to village, my father happy to get money for daughter he didn’t want.”

It sounded as if she’d had a rotten life all around so far.

“Were the nuns kind to you?”

“Nuns okay. Very strict,” she said. “Punish with stick. But I learn reading, writing. I like learning. I good student, so not punish much.”

At the very least she could be a nursemaid or companion, I was thinking.

“So what I do now?” she asked.

I was trying to think. What on earth could she do? “I tell you what,” I said. “You stay here until it’s dark. Then I’ll come back with clothes for you and we’ll find a way to get you out of Chinatown without anyone seeing you.”

“Okay!” Her face lit up. “You kind lady, come save Bo Kei.”

I’m a lady who is about to get herself in a lot of trouble, I thought to myself.

Twelve

I left Bo Kei and followed Mrs. McNamara down the stairs and out of a side entrance onto Park Street. This was still part of Chinatown, but at least I wasn’t directly opposite Mr. Lee’s Golden Dragon Emporium and his front balcony. It might be possible to spirit away Bo Kei from here, as halfway down Park Street the flavor turned from Chinese to Italian. Since I couldn’t do anything until it was dark, I decided to go home. I had been on my feet since early morning. One big advantage a male detective has over a female one (and there are many) is that they wear much more comfortable shoes. Female shoes are not designed for walking miles, and my toes were throbbing in the heat.

I boarded the Third Avenue El at Chatham Square and endured being packed like a sardine until I was finally back in home territory. Sid and Gus’s front door was rarely locked, so I let myself in, not wanting to disturb them if they were involved in their creative pursuits. Instead I heard the sound of laughter from the back garden. I went through and found my hosts sitting in the shade with a third woman. I went to back away, but I was too late. Sid looked up.

“Molly! The wanderer returneth. Or is it the conquering hero?”

I laughed uneasily. “I don’t know about that.”

“Have you located your missing piece of jade?” The third person turned to face me. It was Sarah.

I pulled up a wicker chair beside them and nodded my greeting to Sarah. “The answer is yes, in a way.” I paused, looking from one expectant face to the next.

“And you’ve recovered it and your employer is overjoyed?” Gus added.

I took a deep breath. “I’m really not sure I should be telling you any of this. In fact my employer would probably be furious, but I do need to discuss this with someone, and you’re the wisest women I know.”

“We shall remain silent as the grave.” Sid gave Gus a grin.

“Well, this is how things stand,” I said. “It turns out that the missing prized possession was not jewelry after all. It was a woman whom he had imported from China to be his concubine.” Then I related the whole story, ending with her daring escape across the rooftops. They were suitably horrified and angry.

“We must rescue her instantly,” Gus said as she handed me a glass of lemonade.

“But what are you going to do with her?” Sarah asked. “If this man is powerful among the Chinese community, is it wise to incur his wrath? They are ruthless people, you know, and he may well seek vengeance.”

“What, come as far as Greenwich Village to gun us down?” Sid didn’t seem overly concerned.

“Probably send an emissary to do so,” Sarah said. “We’ve had dealings with the Chinese at the settlement house and we’ve received awful threats when a prostitute manages to flee from one of their brothels and comes to us. In fact we’ve a young woman with us now. She escaped from a Chinese brothel.”

“Actually she was thrown out, because she has developed consumption,” I said.

Sarah looked astonished.

“I met her,” I said. “I was at your house today.”

“You were?”

“I thought that maybe the Chinese girl might have fled there. And I expected to find you there.”

“Ah,” Sarah said, and she sighed. “I’m afraid I won’t be going there again.”

“Too busy before the wedding?”

“Not exactly. Monty has forbidden me to work there anymore. He doesn’t want me running the risk of being in such a dangerous neighborhood, he says, although I keep telling him I’m in no danger.”

“And you will obey because he has forbidden you?” I asked.

She flushed. “I don’t have much choice, do I? In a month’s time he’ll be my husband and then I must obey him. I’m sure he’s only doing it for my own good, and I don’t want him to have to worry about me and to give up his precious time to escort me to and from the house.”

“I saw him this afternoon.”

“At the settlement house?” Her eyebrows shot up.

“In that general area, coming from the direction of Elizabeth Street. He looked as if he was in a hurry and he walked straight past me. I assumed he’d just dropped you off at the house.”