City of Promise (21 page)

Sol Ganz ate three pieces of corn bread, each piled high with Hatty’s superb preserves. “Mrs. Ganz,” he murmured, “made wonderful strawberry preserves. You will understand, Mrs. Brannigan, if I say these are almost as good.” Ganz carefully wiped his mouth with the
small linen napkin she’d provided and set it on the tray. “You’ve seen what I wrote on the back of my card, Mrs. Brannigan?”

“The initials T. P. Yes, I saw.”

“They are familiar to you?”

“I don’t think you’d still be sitting there, however good my cook’s strawberry preserves, if you did not know the answer to that, Mr. Ganz. What has Teddy Paisley to do with you?”

“I think the question is what he has to do with you.”

“Nothing now. Once, many years ago back in the Old Country, in Ireland, we knew each other. Over here . . .” Eileen shook her head. “He’s nothing to do with me.”

“I don’t believe Theodore Paisley agrees with that. Otherwise why would he have gone to such elaborate lengths to do you harm?”

Eileen raised her glance and looked directly at the pawnbroker. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Please, Mrs. Brannigan. Let us save each other the time wasted in playing cat and mouse. For one thing I know the reputation for absolute discretion which made your house the success it was. For another, since saving magazines and newspapers is my hobby, I know that on only two occasions has your name been mentioned in print. In both instances the stories were originated by Mr. Paisley and connected you with a scandal, and each was clearly designed to damage your business. On the second occasion the goal was achieved. Your house is no longer a source of income. Though it does not appear that’s the reason you sent your niece to me with a considerable hoard of jewelry. I take it you know the terms we negotiated?”

“I do, Mr. Ganz. For a pawnbroker you were fair. And,” glancing at his card which lay on the table next to the tea tray, “prompt. But none of that was my doing. My niece chose you on her own. And it has nothing to do with Teddy Paisley, nor does it explain your reason for taking the trouble to do such careful investigating of the rumors unfortunately attached to my name.”

“Rumors . . .” Ganz shrugged. “Forgive me, I don’t think that is a
fair characterization. You are indeed an O’Halloran from Armagh in Ireland. Your family truly are legendary pickpockets. All exactly as the story said. And you did spend the night in the Tombs for picking the pocket of a gentleman in Tiffany’s. Though apparently you never came to trial.”

“I never did,” Eileen said, “because the authorities were convinced the incident was staged to do me harm. As you have apparently surmised. But what, Mr. Ganz, leads you to associate that incident with Teddy Paisley? That part is a mystery to me, and I confess I want very much to know the solution.”

“My business,” Ganz said, “is made up of people who share information. It is in our best interests to do so. And while I myself do not deal in goods I am not quite sure belong to the person who is pawning them, that’s not the case throughout my profession.”

“I know you’re not a fence, Mr. Ganz. I made it my business to find that out as soon as my niece told me of her arrangement with you.”

Ganz broke into another small smile. “How is Mrs. Mollie? Well, I hope.”

“Very well, thank you.”

“I am glad to hear it. Your niece is charming. And I hear her husband is building French flats. Way up on Sixty-Third Street. Do you think anyone will want to live so far from the city, Mrs. Brannigan?”

“I think my nephew-in-law believes they can be persuaded to want exactly that, Mr. Ganz. And he’s a clever young man.”

“Good. I’m delighted. I shall then be getting my money back in November of next year, as we agreed. And you will have your jewels restored to you.”

“Teddy Paisley, Mr. Ganz. Why did you write his initials on the back of your card?”

“Ah yes. Your old enemy.” Eileen didn’t say anything and after a few seconds Ganz continued. “Who unfortunately seems to have brought his grudge with him from Ireland to America. I do not think he is satisfied with what he has achieved, Mrs. Brannigan. Perhaps because
you do not seem to be suffering enough from having lost your business. You are obviously living here in comfort. Even without your working ladies.”

Ganz paused and patted the few strands of hair that lay across his skull. Eileen still did not respond. “I think you should know,” he said, “this Mr. Paisley has it in mind to do more damage.”

She had come to the conclusion he’d brought just such news; nothing else made sense. Still, hearing him say the words made her shiver. Someone walking over your grave her mam would have said. Not if she could help it. “Can I ask how you know that? And exactly what you know?”

“I would like to tell you. That’s why I bothered to come here rather than simply decide it to be none of my business. I have the jewelry after all, and I acquired it on what are frankly advantageous terms. So if I never see the interest . . . ,” he shrugged again.

It took her only a few seconds to see where his line of reasoning led. “Given that it’s my niece and her husband who are to pay you the interest, you appear to be telling me that whatever you know concerns them.” She spoke calmly, but bright red dots had developed on both her cheeks, and she knew if she reached for anything her hand would tremble. Mollie was only her niece by marriage. She did not share the O’Halloran blood that carried the Paisley curse. But given all that Teddy Paisley knew, it was safe to presume he knew Mollie Brannigan Turner to be the most precious thing in Eileen’s life. “Mr. Ganz. Tell me your price.”

“Not money,” he shook his head. “I have grandchildren, Mrs. Brannigan. And like you, I am a person who thinks of the future. Already I know your nephew-in-law’s scheme is clever and likely to succeed. I believe his flats are going to be profitable.” He paused. They looked at each other. “What I want is to make an investment. I will pay with something that will make it impossible for Mr. Paisley to threaten you or yours ever again.”

“What?” Eileen demanded.

“Not yet,” Ganz said quietly. “I’m sure we both agree that good business is based on trust.”

Eileen knew that to be so, but that didn’t mean she was prepared to go further than she had with a man she’d met in the last hour. Which did not preclude her allowing him to believe she might. “I should like to know what your price will be, Mr. Ganz. For this valuable service I am to take it on trust you will perform.”

“Invaluable, I assure you. As for my price, I wish an interest in the buildings Mr. Turner is to erect.”

“You speak of buildings. Only one is to be constructed.”

“At first,” Ganz said. “But you pawned your jewels so Joshua Turner could purchase other lots in, you’ll forgive me, the
farshtunkene
East Sixties. He did that because he is planning more buildings. All to be let to a class of people whose housing needs are presently not served in this city. There is nowhere else for them to live, Mrs. Brannigan, so they will rent your nephew-in-law’s French flats. However many he builds. I wish to share in the profit that plan will generate. And before you answer, allow me to assure you that without my intervention it is unlikely Mr. Turner’s plans will come to fruition.”

“Why did you come to me rather than going directly to Joshua?”

“Because you and I are both old and wise. Mr. Turner is young and passionate and in the grip of a dream he will not wish to share.”

Eileen nodded. “Very well. I have a twenty percent interest in whatever he builds. I will give you twenty percent of my interest.”

“Half of your interest,” Ganz said.

She did not hesitate. “Agreed.”

“No. Not agreed.”

“But you just said . . . Mr. Ganz, I have been dealing with you on the assumption you are a reasonable man of business. If you are a fool or a mad man you are wasting my time. Which is it?”

“Neither. Mrs. Brannigan, I have it on good authority that Mr. Paisley intends to write an article saying that the young man who is building the new flats up on East Sixty-Third Street is not the one-legged
war hero he seems to be. He is instead someone who connived with the enemy before the war was ended.”

“That’s not true.” Eileen knew that Joshua’s wound had not been gained in battle. Mollie had told her so to avoid her ever asking him about the loss of his leg. But that wasn’t particularly damaging information, even if somehow Teddy Paisley was in possession of it. Being some sort of turncoat was an entirely different matter. “Joshua would never have colluded with the enemy. Surely you know his parents were abolitionists and fervent patriots.”

“I know,” Ganz said, “that Joshua Turner’s half sister was Ceci Lee. That she was married to Royal Lee, one of the conspirators who tried to burn down New York before the war ended and was hanged in City Hall Park.”

“Those are not secrets, Mr. Ganz. Anyone who cares to take the trouble can ascertain those facts.”

“And Mr. Paisley has taken the trouble. But according to my sources—You understand what I told you about talk in my line of business?” Then, after Eileen nodded agreement, “I am given to understand that while the war was still going on, while he was supposed to be a soldier in the army of the North, Joshua Turner spent some months living with his sister on her plantation, and that Mr. Paisley knows this to be a fact and plans to reveal it an article in a newspaper. Her husband was a slaveholder, Mrs. Brannigan, a spy who was to die after trying to burn our city to the ground. What do you think will be made of the information that Joshua Turner lived in the home of such a man, that he had ample opportunity to tell him things about New York City that might aid that man in his attempt to destroy it? Do you imagine that after such revelations anyone will wish to rent a flat in Joshua Turner’s new buildings?”

Eileen took a few moments, waiting for her heart to stop its fierce pounding before she said, “One half of my holdings. I agree, Mr. Ganz. As long as you can assure me you can prevent the publication of this story.”

“Oh yes, I can prevent it, Mrs. Brannigan. I assure you of that. I need, however, one more question answered before I can be comfortable with an arrangement between us. Why does Teddy Paisley hate you so much?”

Eileen stood up and walked to the window. University Place looked the same as always, but in her mind’s eye she saw not the familiar street but the green hills of Armagh. She saw a yard where a boy’s body lay broken and bleeding beside a horse trough, and a woman’s body was stretched on the ground nearby, her arms reaching toward the child but unable to reach him because she was dead.

“The Paisleys,” she said, “were also a dipping family. Like us they made their living by being what the New York police would call a ‘ring of pickpockets,’ but which, in Ireland when I was young, was considered rather a clever way to earn a living. Particularly if you did most of your work over in England. That said, the Paisleys were not like the O’Hallorans. They weren’t as celebrated for one thing. For another we’re Catholics and they are Protestants. Have you any idea what that means, Mr. Ganz? Particularly in Ireland.”

“I’m a Jew, Mrs. Brannigan. You don’t have to tell me what religious hatred can do.”

“Years ago, when Teddy Paisley and I were both children, our families were engaged in a feud that had already gone on for generations. One night there was a fight. The O’Hallorans came out the victors. Teddy Paisley’s mother was killed and his brother was left crippled for life.”

“And were you and Teddy Paisley involved in this fight?”

“Not directly. We were far too young. But I was in the back of the wagon that carried the O’Hallorans to the Paisley’s place that night, tucked down in the straw. I was supposed to stay there, but I remember getting to my knees and peeking over the side.” She paused, hearing again the shouts of the battle and seeing the blood. Then, long practiced in the art, Eileen pushed the memory aside. “After his mother died,” she said, “Teddy’s sister brought him to New York. He came when he was twelve, many years before I arrived. I doubt he
knew I was here. I was Eileen Brannigan after all. I never used the O’Halloran name in New York. But this place . . . Eventually,” her voice grew softer at the memory, “they all came to Mrs. Brannigan’s. Teddy Paisley along with the rest. He walked in one evening, saw me, and walked out.”

She’d been speaking with her back to him, now she turned. “Will it surprise you, Mr. Ganz, if I tell you that Teddy Paisley and I have never spoken a single word to each other in our entire lives. Not the night he came here and not before.”

“But after all these years, he still recognized you?”

“Of course. And I recognized him.”

“How is that possible?”

“Because,” she said, “some things are not forgotten. There was a meeting back in the Old Country when Teddy and I were children. A formal occasion which required the presence of the entire O’Halloran clan along with that of all the Paisleys. It was to arrange a division of territory, so we could end the dipping war. All we O’Hallorans were lined up on one side and the Paisleys on the other. My da and my grandda spoke with Teddy’s da and his grandda. We young ones, we just looked at each other. When the meeting ended everything was said to be settled and an agreement signed. In real blood, mind you. Every single member of the family contributed a drop of it. A week later there was the fight I told you about. The O’Hallorans attacked the Paisleys, but if you believe my da’s story, the Paisleys broke the blood promise first.” She shrugged. “The dead were dead and the maimed maimed, whoever’s fault it may have been.”

After a few seconds of silence Ganz said, “So this whole thing, this burning desire to see you ruined and your niece and her husband ruined, this is from a feud in the Old Country?”

“The Irish, Mr. Ganz, are good at a number of things, but they are better at nothing than at hating.”

Ganz nodded. “Apparently so, Mrs. Brannigan. Now, here is what you are to do.” He leaned forward and spoke quietly for a number of minutes.