12 The Family Way (17 page)

She named a very reasonable price and started to relate times of meals and house rules, then left us to spruce up before we went to find Sid and Gus. After asking a policeman and then a stallkeeper if they had seen two ladies, one of them with black-bobbed hair, carrying with them sketching equipment we found them easily enough, down at the river, at an area of green grass on the other side of the railroad tracks. Gus had set up an easel in the shade of a willow tree and was sketching Sid, who posed on a rock at the water’s edge, looking like a sleek, dark Lorelei. Gus cried out to Sid as she spotted us approaching and Sid almost fell into the water in her haste to join us.

“Well, here you are at last,” she said giving first Bridie and then me warm hugs. “We wondered when we were going to see you. We hoped you’d be here on Friday to welcome us. We didn’t like to call upon your mother-in-law without an invitation, knowing what a stickler she is for proper manners.”

“I couldn’t come sooner. Daniel was visiting this weekend,” I said. “In fact I was afraid I’d be stuck at the house even longer, but then he was summoned back to New York at the crack of dawn today.”

Gus gave me a wry smile. “That doesn’t sound like the devoted wife—couldn’t wait for her husband to leave?”

“Of course I enjoyed seeing him,” I said, “but it’s a relief to get away from my mother-in-law for a while.”

“That bad, is it?” Sid asked.

I was conscious of Bridie standing beside me, shyly hanging on to my skirt. “To be fair to Mrs. Sullivan, she is looking after me admirably. Spoiling me, in fact. But she won’t let me do anything and I’m chafing to get back to work.”

“Get back to work?” Gus said. “Molly, dear, what kind of work are you talking about? You’re not still trying to find your brother, are you?”

“No, I’m relieved to say that Daniel thinks he’s left the city,” I said. I glanced down at Bridie. “If you like you may take off your shoes and hose and play at the edge of the water,” I said. “And you’d better take off your clean pinafore too. We don’t want that to get dirty.”

I helped her out of them and she ran off delightedly, picking her way barefoot among the rocks. I turned back to my friends. “I didn’t want to mention this in Bridie’s hearing, but remember the other matter—the letter I showed you from the people in Ireland?”

“And you asked if we knew anyone called Mainwaring,” Gus looked at Sid for confirmation.

“I’ve located the Mainwarings,” I said. “They live out here, in Irvington.”

“In Irvington, fancy that,” Sid said. “And was your Irish lass working for them?”

“She was, until she got herself into trouble,” I said.

“That sort of trouble?” Sid asked.

I nodded. “Yes, that sort of trouble. So Mrs. Mainwaring sent her to a local convent…”

“Isn’t that a case of closing the stable door after the horse has bolted?” Sid said.

I had to laugh. “You didn’t let me finish. This convent takes in unmarried mothers and lets them stay until they have had their babies, then the nuns find adoptive families for the infants and the young women are able to come back into society.”

“Admirable,” Sid said.

Bridie gave a squeal as a big ship passed and its wash created a wave that splashed around the rocks.

“Careful,” I warned, noting that the hem of her skirt was now all wet. We watched her as she turned to give us an apologetic grin.

“But what if they want to keep their babies?” Gus said. “I know that I should find it hard to give up a child.”

“Gus, dear, you have money. That alters everything. Most of them would have nowhere to go with a child,” Sid said. “They’d be outcasts. Shunned by society, denied employment. And think of the stigma on the child to be known as a bastard all its life.”

Gus sighed. “I suppose that’s true,” she said. “It seems so unfair, doesn’t it? The man in question gets on with his life and the woman is ruined. When will our society ever accept equality and fairness for women?”

“Not until we have the vote,” Sid said. “But Molly hasn’t finished her story yet. So you found the poor girl hiding her shame with the nuns, did you?”

“That’s just it,” I said. “This is where the plot thickens. I found that she had indeed been with the nuns and given birth to a child. She was supposed to return to the service of Mrs. Mainwaring who had generously said she’d have her back, but she never showed up. And the nuns said she ran off one morning without saying good-bye.”

“Perhaps she didn’t want to return to a place where they knew of her downfall,” Gus said. “She had unhappy memories. So she went to try her luck in the big city where nobody knew her.”

“Either that or the child’s father showed up and whisked her away,” I suggested.

“Do we have any idea who the child’s father might have been?”

I shook my head. “She wouldn’t tell Mrs. Mainwaring or the nuns. But they seemed to think that he couldn’t or wouldn’t marry her.”

“So she escaped from the nuns as soon as possible, did she?” Sid said. “A girl after my own heart. I wouldn’t want to be cooped up with a lot of old women.”

“You’ll find it hard to track her down now, Molly,” Gus said. “My bet is that she went back to New York and got a job there.”

“I hope it’s as simple as that,” I said, “because there is something worrying about her disappearance. One of the other girls who is staying at the convent said that Maureen left some prized possessions behind—a statue of Our Lady carved by her grandfather and her tortoiseshell hairbrush. So now I’m intrigued. What would make her rush off in such a hurry that she left her hairbrush behind, or her prized statue?”

“She saw a chance to escape and took it?” Gus suggested.

“But she was due to leave the convent any day. She had no need to escape.”

“Maybe she wanted to get away before the Mainwarings came to collect her and she was taken back to them,” Gus suggested.

“She could always have run away from them at her leisure.”

“That is a mystery,” Sid said, “but I can’t for the life of me see how you’d solve it.”

“There are a couple of avenues I’d like to pursue, now that I’m here,” I said. “The girl I spoke with mentioned a friend Maureen had had while she was at the convent. This girl has left the convent and gone home to Cortland, so I understand. I thought Maureen might have confided her plans to another girl there. If you are planning something daring you usually like to sound out your idea to someone else, don’t you?”

“It depends if she was the secretive type or not,” Sid said. “And if she was worried that the other person might spill the beans to one of the nuns.”

“There aren’t any other girls at the convent who were close to Maureen then?” Gus asked.

“The nuns I spoke with weren’t entirely welcoming and seemed reluctant to let me speak to any of the girls. I was told there were no girls still there who knew Maureen. They don’t stay long. The nuns turf them out as soon as they are recovered from the birth. They only have a certain number of beds and more girls waiting for them than they can ever accommodate.”

“I’m sure of that,” Sid said. “A place like that would even be in demand for girls from good families who behave foolishly and find themselves pregnant. And their families would probably pay well for the privilege.”

“I don’t think good families would send their daughters to that convent,” I said. “It looked awfully bleak and forbidding.”

“So your plan is to go to Cortland and speak with the one girl who did know Maureen?” Sid asked.

“It is.”

“Where exactly is Cortland? The name is familiar but I can’t quite place it.”

“You remember,” Sid said. “It’s the stop before Peekskill on the train, isn’t it? We used to count the stations because we couldn’t wait to get back to Vassar.”

“Oh, yes,” Gus said. “You’re right, as usual. So not too far then. Only half an hour by train at the most.”

“Then we’ll come with you, Molly,” Sid said. “We love any excuse for a little jaunt.”

Oh, dear. Much as I loved my friends, having them along when I was trying to do my work was always a liability. They had never had to work and were inclined to treat any assignment as a big game. But I couldn’t say no. Besides, when Bridie related our escapades to Mrs. Sullivan a trip up the river together would sound harmless—and I could claim the young woman we went to visit was a friend of my friends.

“Wonderful,” I said. “I’d enjoy the company.”

“We can check on train times when we go home for lunch,” Gus said. “How long do you have, Molly? Do you have to get back to your mother-in-law’s by nightfall?”

“No, I’ve taken a room at the inn where you are staying. I told Mrs. Sullivan that I’d be joining you for a few days. So I’m free to do what I want.”

“Isn’t that perfect, Sid?” Gus said. “We have a chance to join Molly in another of her escapades. And we thought that when she got married she’d turn into a boring and respectable housewife.”

“I can’t say I ever really thought that,” Sid said.

They both looked at me and laughed. And I felt a wave of happiness run through me, too.

Seventeen

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of sausage and flapjacks at the inn, we set off early for the train station. Bridie was excited at the thought of going on a train. She tried to restrain herself in the presence of two strange ladies, but was dancing around like a colt at the start of a horse race. Overnight, I had lain awake in my unfamiliar single bed, listening to the sounds of the river while thoughts raced through my head. An idea had come to me which I subsequently mentioned to Sid and Gus as we walked through the busy early morning streets.

“I have Maureen’s photograph with me. I should show it around at the station. Maybe someone might have remembered her catching a train.”

“You could show it around town too,” Sid suggested. “She could have found someone to give her a ride. Where exactly is the convent?”

“It must be more than a mile from here, on the far northern fringe of the town. Up on a hill.”

“So it would be a long walk down into town, especially for one who had recently given birth,” Sid said. “And I expect it’s quite a lonely road, isn’t it? Not much traffic?”

“It was quite lonely,” I said. “Certainly no buildings nearby and not much sign of houses beyond.”

“Then probably any passing cart would have offered her a ride down the hill,” Sid said. “We’ll have to find out who might go up and down that hill into town.”

“Splendid idea, Sid,” Gus said. “But Molly isn’t up to walking for miles at the moment. We should look into renting a little horse and buggy of some sort. Then we can go around the neighborhood at will.”

“You know how to drive a horse and buggy, do you?” I asked.

“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?” Gus looked surprised. “We always had our own little pony and cart to drive around the estate when I was growing up.”

“You led a very privileged life, dearest,” Sid said.

The station with its fretwork-carved roof appeared ahead of us, with the river beyond—early morning mist was curling over the river’s surface and hiding the far bank. The air was delightfully cool. After we had bought our tickets I showed Maureen’s portrait to the man in the ticket booth and asked if he might have seen her.

“When was this?” he asked.

“I think it must have been two months ago.”

He looked at me as if I was mad. “My dear young lady, do you know how many day-trippers come out this way during the summer? Trainloads of them. If I remembered any particular young lady she’d have had to be a corker or else have something wrong with her. This one looks nice enough, but I see a lot of pretty young ladies every day.” He looked at Sid, with her cropped black hair and black silk jacket. “I’d remember you, miss,” he said. “Would the young lady in the photograph have been wearing something out of the ordinary?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “She had been staying at the convent with the nuns. I expect she would have been wearing something demure and suitable.”

“With the nuns. One of those girls, huh?” He gave us a knowing look. “I’d have remembered her when she arrived then, but not when she departed.”

A discreet cough behind us hinted that someone else was now waiting in line. We thanked him and moved on. I tried my picture again with the porter and the man who blew the whistle, but got no reaction from either of them.

“You wait until later in the day,” the porter said. “This platform will be filled with young ladies, come up for the day from the city.”

“But this would have been early in the morning,” I said. “One of the first trains.”

He stared at the photograph again then shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. But then my wife always tells me I’m an unobservant kind of guy. I never even notice if she’s got a new hat.”

We heard the sound of puffing and the train approached, sending up a plume of dark smoke. Sid helped me up the high step into the compartment and the others clambered in beside me. Then with a lurch we set off, the puffing slow to start with but rapidly gathering momentum. Mist drifled across the track from time to time. Ships appeared and were swallowed into mist and as we traveled we watched it curl upward, as the sun’s heat warmed the air.

Sid and Gus kept Bridie informed as we proceeded northward. She looked fearfully at the great stone wall of the prison at Ossining and asked if the convicts ever escaped. Then the train came to a halt in Cortland. We were the only people to disembark, and we walked through a deserted station forecourt. This was a sleepy country town with only a few shops and cottages to be seen. We went into the nearest store, a pharmacy, and asked if they knew where the Robbins family lived. There was a young girl at the counter but an older man came forward to speak with us.

“You mean old Josiah Robbins?” he asked.

“We’re looking for a Miss Emily Robbins,” I said.

“That would be his granddaughter. She’s back from her travels now, so we hear.”

“And where would we find her?”

“They all live out on the family estate. About two miles from town. A fine house, it is. Honniton, that’s the name of it. But we call it the Ice Palace around here. Old Man Robbins had it built about thirty years ago. He made his money from ice, you know. Owned the ice lease for this stretch of river. Who’d have thought that a man could get rich from selling frozen water, eh?” He shook his head.