Away in a Manger (20 page)

“Off again?” my mother-in-law asked, her face a mask of disapproval.

“I've more shopping to do,” I lied. “Christmas is only a few days away.”

“Anyone would think your husband earned a princely amount the way you are spending,” she commented.

“It's Christmas,” I replied. “I still need to order the turkey and we have no candy canes or sugar mice for the tree yet. Just lots of little things, you know. I'm certainly not being extravagant.”

I think I heard a
hmmph
sound as I headed for the front door and felt guilty that I had lied to her. It was true I did still have shopping to do, but it would have to wait until more important matters had been taken care of.

The East River looked gray and unfriendly as I walked down Wall Street toward the Montague Coffee Importers building. The river had actually frozen around the docks and I could hear the sound of ice groaning and grinding with the movement of the water. It sounded as if the river was alive and angry and I shuddered as I thought of Margaret's body floating there.
There will be justice for you,
I thought.

This time I was met immediately by a rather grand young man in a high, stiff collar and black suit. I told him that I'd come to see Mr. Everett.

“I am Phipps, his personal secretary,” he said. “May I assist you? Mr. Everett is extremely busy at the moment.”

“It is a personal matter and he is expecting me,” I said. “Please tell him that Mrs. Sullivan has returned and hopes he has good news for her.”

He went away, but returned almost immediately. “Mr. Everett says he is not aware of anyone called Sullivan and has no appointment with you.”

“But he saw me only two days ago,” I said. “Clearly he has forgotten my name.”

I wasn't about to wait any longer, but pushed past him, heading for the stairs. Phipps gave a little cry of surprise and tried to grab my arm. “I'm sorry, madam, but Mr. Everett is extremely busy and has no time to see you today. He has a lot of work to finish before he heads out to Long Island for his engagement party tomorrow.”

“I need to speak to him and I'm going to speak to him, and you'll not stop me,” I said. Then I pushed past the astonished Phipps, went up the second flight of stairs, and let myself in to Everett's office. The supercilious young man was at his desk again and looked up at me with a frown. “I thought I made it clear to my secretary that I was not to be disturbed,” he said. “If this is some kind of charity call, I do not have time today.”

“You don't remember me, Mr. Everett? I came to see you two days ago, about your cousin's children. I brought you the locket to give to your uncle.”

He stared at me coldly. “Locket? What locket? I've never seen you before in my life.”

For a second I was lost for words. “Are you suffering from amnesia?” I demanded angrily. “I brought you a locket that had belonged to your cousin Margaret. You promised to take it to your uncle.”

He even managed a smile now. “I'm afraid I have no recollection of any such meeting.”

“I'll go and find the young man who escorted me to your office last time,” I said. “I have a witness that I was here, don't I?”

“Young man?” He looked puzzled. “The only person you would have met was Phipps. He mans the outer office and ascertains that only legitimate callers are shown up to me. And you've never seen this woman before, have you, Phipps?”

“Never, sir,” Phipps answered smoothly.

“It wasn't Phipps. A young man with red hair. Skinny.”

“I'm not aware of any such man working here. Are you, Phipps?”

“No, sir,” Phipps answered again. “I've been here every day. The lady could not have passed me.”

“You see?” Eustace Everett's expression bordered on triumphant. “Now I suggest you leave before there is any unpleasantness. I understand that they lock away delusional women in the asylum on Ward's Island, and I would hate to see you wind up there. If you don't leave now I will call the police.”

I was about to tell him he was welcome to do that. My husband was a senior officer and he'd end up being the one in trouble for stealing my locket. But I swallowed back the words at the last second. My husband was incapacitated at home, and there was a faction in the New York police department who wanted him ousted. I could no longer rely on the police to be on my side.

I forced myself to keep calm. “You will regret this, Mr. Everett,” I said. Then I let Phipps usher me down the stairs. I was furious with myself for handing over the locket—the one piece of proof that the children really were Mr. Montague's grandchildren—to a man who obviously would do anything in his power to prevent new heirs from usurping his place. I knew I had taken an instant dislike to him—I saw him as arrogant and self-satisfied. I should have done some investigation into him first—asked Miss Van Woekem what she thought of him. And now he had the locket.

I stood on the bleak waterfront, looking up when a tugboat gave a mournful
toot
nearby. And an awful suspicion crept into my mind. Had Margaret first come to visit him—to sound him out? To ask for his help in smoothing things over with her father? And had he agreed to help her? Offered to escort her to the estate on Long Island, only to kill her along the way and throw her body into the river? But maybe he couldn't bring himself to kill two children, so he had paid Hettie to look after them. Or maybe Hettie and Jack had somehow found out what he had done, and he was paying them for their silence? It seemed all too possible now. And completely unprovable. I seethed with frustration. Was there anything I could do? I could tell Daniel and he might have a bright idea. But Daniel was recovering from a dangerous injury and should not be upset. I could confront Hettie and get the truth out of her, but Jack Hobbs was a dangerous man. I could go to Miss Van Woekem and warn her about her godchild's fiancé. But again it would all be my word against his. If Julia was really in love with him she would hear nothing against him, and I might risk losing the friendship of the old lady.

Besides, presumably Julia would already be out on Long Island, getting ready for her party. And it struck me that maybe I should risk everything by going out there myself, before Eustace could get there and inform the servants that I wasn't to be admitted. There was to be a big party tonight. Could I pose as a guest? The only problem was that there would certainly be a reception line. Eustace would spot me and I'd find myself hauled away by the police. I had to admit that his threat of sending me off to Ward's Island asylum certainly made me think twice about doing anything too risky. I had been to that place to rescue a girl who had been wrongly committed, and I knew how difficult it was to get out again, once one was locked up.

But if I went to the house now, before Eustace arrived … might I just have a chance? I had never been out any farther than Brooklyn and Coney Island, and I wasn't even sure if trains went in that direction. Probably not from Grand Central Terminus, as I didn't think there was a railway bridge across the East River to Long Island. If I crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, would I find a train or a trolley that would take me to the right railroad station? I was horribly conscious of time. Daniel knew some of what I planned to do. I had mentioned Eustace Everett to him. My mother-in-law thought I was out spending Daniel's money. So I would be fine for a while, but I had no idea how long it might take to reach Great Neck. And if I made it that far, what then? All I knew was that it was the Montague estate in Great Neck. Would that be enough to find the place?

I walked back to the nearest El station and asked hopefully at the ticket booth. The ticket agent shook his head with disinterest. “Never had no call to go out to Long Island,” he said. “Coney Island. I can tell you how to get there. That's the place to go, in good weather, that is.”

“But I need to go to Great Neck,” I said.

“Where the swanks live?” He looked at what I was wearing with something like a smirk on his face.

“Never mind.” I turned away, biting back frustration.

“Excuse me, ma'am.” A man in a business suit tipped his hat to me. “But did I overhear you wanting to take the train out to Great Neck?”

“That's right. Is there any easy way of getting there?”

“Not too bad, if the ice hasn't frozen the points on the train tracks. You get off the El at the Thirty-fourth Street station and there's a ferry across to Hunters Point. The train depot is right there in Long Island City. Make sure you take the Port Washington branch. The train stops in Great Neck.”

“Is it very far?”

“Shouldn't take you more than an hour.”

“Oh, that's wonderful. Thank you.” I beamed at him.

He tipped his hat again and went on his way. I boarded the El, found the ferry across the East River, and was soon standing on the platform waiting for the Port Washington train. Houses soon turned to rural market gardens as we moved away from the city. And then just a bleak expanse of snow with the occasional lonely house or small village clustered around the train station. I began to regret my impulsive behavior. What if I couldn't get back until this evening? What if Eustace arrived and had me arrested? But he had lots of work to do, so he said, so I had at least an hour or two's start on him. I still wasn't sure what I'd say when I showed up at the front door. But then a brilliant idea struck me. There was going to be a big party. They would surely be taking on extra help. I'd go to the back door and try my luck. All I needed was a chance to see Mr. Montague and tell him the truth. That shouldn't take too long. And by the end of the day I might be returning to Tig and Emmy with good news. That bucked me up no end.

 

Twenty-two

My spirits fell again when I alighted from the train at Great Neck station. Having been told that this was the place where rich people lived I had expected a lively little town, an outpost of civilization. Instead I stood looking at a few dreary houses and goods sheds with no sign of life.

“The Montague estate? Fairview?” the ticket collector asked. “It's about two miles out of town.”

“I don't suppose any buses go there, do they?” I asked.

This made him laugh. “It ain't the city, ma'am. What point would there be in a bus? It's only people like the Montagues and their pals who go out there and they all have automobiles to drive themselves. You should see the big, swank automobiles. My, and they drive them so fast. Killed a little kid in Douglaston last year, one of those young gentlemen did. Wrote a check, there and then. As if money could make up for a lost child.”

I nodded agreement. “So I've no way of getting out to the estate? No hack I could hire?”

“You may be in luck,” he said. “Joe Clancey is supposed to be delivering supplies for their party. I don't think he's left yet. If you go down to your right, you'll see his store.”

I was in luck. I found him loading crates of milk into the back of an already full wagon. He was a typical Irishman with a big red face, bright red hair, and side-whiskers. Of course he'd be delighted to give a fellow Irishwoman a ride, he said. I could tell him all about the old country. So the trip passed pleasantly. The narrow road had been cleared of the worst snow and we moved along at a good pace. I made careful note of the route, thinking that I'd have to walk all the way back to the station. Through the skeletons of trees I spotted one impressive house, and then another. But we kept on going. At last we came to a pair of wrought iron gates. They were open and through we went—up to a house that resembled the Palace of Versailles, which I had actually visited that summer. It was hardly less grand, with a fountain playing in spite of the cold and presumably formal gardens now buried under snow. Mr. Clancey drove his wagon around to the back of the house and immediately servants came streaming out to unload it.

“And who might this be?” the cook asked, noticing me as I climbed down from the wagon.

“I'm one of the extra help they requested for the party,” I said. “Molly's my name.”

“You should have been here two hours ago,” she said.

“There was some mix-up,” I said. “Another girl couldn't make it and I was only told this morning to get myself out here as soon as possible.”

“Well, I expect you're still needed. There's plenty to be done,” she said. “Go and find yourself a uniform in the housekeeper's closet and report to her.”

Inside was the sort of hustle and bustle that was just short of chaos. Big pots bubbling away in the kitchen. A poor young kitchen maid standing with tears streaming down her cheeks as she chopped a pile of onions. Maids and footmen swept past, carrying wheels of cheese, hams, boxes of petit fours, presumably all ordered from the city. If things progressed at this pace all day I wouldn't have a chance to speak to anyone!

I found a maid's uniform and was just tying my cap when the housekeeper herself appeared. “And you've also been sent from the agency?” she demanded in a voice that wasn't exactly welcoming.

“Yes ma'am,” I said. “They came to find me at the last minute. A girl was taken sick, they said.” I gave her my best smile. “You must be the housekeeper.”

“That's right. I am Mrs. Carter. And your name?”

“Molly, ma'am.”

She examined me critically. “You've a nice manner to you. You've worked in a big house before?”

“Oh, yes, ma'am. Several big houses in the city. But I only help out occasionally now that I've a husband and son to take care of. With Christmas coming this seemed too good to turn down.”

She actually smiled. “Then you'll know how to clean silver,” she said. “Edith is already working on it in the butler's pantry.”

“Very good, Mrs. Carter,” I said, and almost bobbed a curtsey before I decided that was taking things too far. I went along a dark hallway and found a skinny young woman working away at a pair of candlesticks.