Silver Dreams (6 page)

He squeezed through the narrow opening he allowed himself and closed the door without a sound. "I know, but it couldn't be helped. Honest it couldn't. I've got in a dreadful fix this time, Lizzie."

She only needed one look at him to know that he was telling the truth. She'd never seen her brother look worse. His clothing was rumpled and soiled, as if he'd been sleeping in an alley. His hair, usually neatly parted in the middle and ending in groomed waves behind his ears, was a dull, matted mass of tangles. His hazel eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and he had an overall look of desperation about him. "What in heaven's name happened to you, Ross?"

"It was awful, Lizzie. You can't imagine.”

Truly, she couldn’t.

“I've been in jail."

"Jail!" Elizabeth clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from alerting her father on the other side of the door.

She was suddenly propelled along the hallway by Ross's grip on her elbow. "Criminy, Lizzie," he grumbled. "The old man'll be on us in no time with your big mouth."

They hid in a small alcove under the stairs, and even in the dim light from a hall lamp, Elizabeth could see the ravages of the last miserable hours on her brother's face. "All right, Ross," she began as calmly as she could, "tell me what happened."

"Okay, but it's going to sound worse than it is."

She gave him a look of stern disapproval. "Somehow I think it's going to be worse than it sounds."

He sighed and leaned against a wall. "I was at this place, Lizzie, where all of us guys go. It's a...well, a 'house' of sorts over on Delancey. You know, women and such..."

"I know, Ross," she snapped. "You don't have to spell it out. That's why you were arrested?  For being with a prostitute?"

"No, not really. I don't think the cops would have bothered with that. They charged me with bookmaking."

"Bookmaking! You were taking bets in a brothel?  Ross, how could you be so stupid?"

"Shhh, Lizzie. You're raising your voice again. I told you it would sound really bad. It's not like I've done it a lot of times. In fact, this was only the third time. I set up in a room and just wait there for the bettors to come up and give me their race picks. I take their bets and collect on the previous night's winnings. Then later a guy comes up, an Italian I think, and gets the money. Minus my ten percent, of course. But tonight the runner never showed, and a bunch of cops did."

Elizabeth shuddered to think of it. Her brother had resorted to criminal activity, and just after he'd started his new job at the bank.

"Why in the world would you do something like this, Ross? Did you need money so badly?"

He looked at her sheepishly. "'Fraid so, Lizzie. Plus, I owe some guys a couple of favors, and this was the way they wanted me to pay them back. They aren't the kind of fellas you can argue with."

"Well, what's going to happen now?  How did you get out of jail?"

"I got out on bail. I called Charles Townsend."

"Papa's attorney?"

"What choice did I have?  I couldn't stay in that place another night. The people in there are real rotters. I feel like I've still got their vermin crawling on me."

"Is Charles going to be able to get you off?"

"There's going to be a trial in a few months, you can count on that."

"Oh, Ross, Papa's going to find out. You won't be able to hide this."

Ross nodded glumly. "Charles only gave me tonight to tell him. He's threatened to spill the beans to Father tomorrow. But he's hoping he can keep the whole incident out of the papers. It wouldn't do for this story to leak out. Father'd probably kill me then."

That was close to the truth. Winston Sheridan avoided public humiliation at all costs. He said no newspaper editor could afford to have his reputation sullied or his integrity questioned. Readers wouldn't stand for it. If Ross's arrest became fodder for the Manhattan gossip mill, Winston would be devastated. "When are you going to tell him?" she asked.

"Right now I guess. I can smell Cook's rack of lamb coming from the dining room and I don't want to miss supper. The food in the slammer is no better than garbage."

Elizabeth shook her head in wonder as Ross ambled back toward the drawing room to face their father's anger. Either my brother has an indomitable spirit, she thought, or he's the most addle-brained soul that ever lived! She very much feared that the latter was true. One fact was certain...Ross refused to grow up and accept responsibility for his actions. He had just turned twenty-six, and in the years since he'd graduated from Columbia he'd not only failed to take significant steps forward with his life, he seemed to be continually sliding backwards.

Elizabeth headed toward the stairs and the safety of her room. She didn't want to be anywhere near the drawing room when her father's voice shook the foundation of their house. Poor Papa, she thought. He truly has had to endure an awful lot from his children.

She was half way up the stairs when she suddenly halted in mid step. A cold chill gripped her and she grasped the banister to steady herself. Delancey Street! Did Ross say the house of prostitution was on Delancey? Max Cassidy's words came back to her in a nightmarish rush.
"I've got an important appointment over on Delancey..."

"Dear God," she said. "This is just the sort of story Max would chase." There wasn't a second to lose. Elizabeth ran down the stairs and grabbed her cape from the entry closet. She was just about to exit the front door when Bridey came into the hall.

"Miss Lizzie, where are you going at this hour?  It's past dark."

"Bridey, don't tell on me. What I've got to do is very important. Tell Papa I'm lying down...that I wasn't feeling well enough for dinner." Elizabeth grabbed the maid's hand. "It's true, really...I'm not at all well at the moment. I really
should
lie down."

"But supper is ready."

"I'll eat when I get ba...get up. That's all you need to say, all right, Bridey?" The maid cast a forlorn gaze to the ceiling. Elizabeth stood on her tiptoes and kissed the woman's soft cheek. "Thanks, Bridey. I love you."  She could just make out the maid's fervently mumbled prayer to Saint Frances as she bolted out the door to find a cab.

The sidewalk in front of the
Gazette
building was nearly deserted when the cab stopped by the curb. A few dim lights burned deep in the building's interior, evidence of a minimal staff working the night shift. Probably in the print shop since newspaper presses were never idle. What was the chance of finding Max Cassidy in his office at this hour? Not good, Elizabeth admitted dejectedly. If he wasn't there, she'd just have to find out where he was.

She instructed the carriage driver to wait for her while she tried the front entrance to the building. The door was locked, but her pounding aroused the attention of a night watchman in the lobby who peered over a counter at her. He came around to see what she wanted and slid back the glass panel of a small window in the door. "What is it, miss?" he inquired. "We're closed."

"I know, but I'm looking for Max Cassidy. Is he here?"

"He's been gone at least three hours. Said he was going home for once."

Elizabeth fixed a look of utter hopelessness on her face, turning her lips down into a pitiable pout. "Oh, dear, now what shall I do?"

"Is there a problem?" the watchman asked, taking the bait.

"I'm afraid so. You see I'm Max's sister come all the way from Boston on the train this evening. I would have gotten here well before closing except the train was delayed, making us several hours tardy."

"Well, I'm sure Mr. Cassidy has gone to the station to meet you, miss. He wouldn't leave a young lady like yourself to wander the Manhattan streets after dark."

Elizabeth added an extra measure of desperation to her voice. "No, no he wouldn't, but you see, he didn't expect me until tomorrow. I discovered at the last minute that I could leave today, and I didn't have time to alert Max of my early departure. He thinks I'm still in Boston."

"You could try his flat then. Like I told you, Max said he was headed home."

Elizabeth feigned an attempt to smile bravely despite her misfortune. "You'll think I'm the biggest ninny, but I haven't the faintest idea where Max lives. I've never been to New York before. And in my hurry to leave Boston, I regrettably left Max's address on my bureau." 

Elizabeth's eyes started to mist over causing her to consider the possibility that she might go into acting if a career in journalism failed her. She let her shoulders sag in defeat. "Oh, I just don't know what I'm going to do!  I haven't any money for a hotel, and...and..."  Oh, yes, her breakdown was imminent.

The door to the
Gazette
offices opened, as she knew it would, and the night watchman patted her arm. "There, there, Miss Cassidy, I have an idea. I know what I'm about to do is against the rules, but I'm going to get Max's address for you. It's what I'd hope someone would do for my own sister if she were in such a pickle."

Elizabeth regarded the kind man with a grateful batting of her moist eyelashes. "Would you do that for me, sir?  I'd be so thankful."

"Indeed I will, miss. I'm sure Max will thank me for this in the morning. No more fretting now."

A few moments later, with Max Cassidy's address in her hand, Elizabeth climbed into the cab and instructed the driver to take her a few blocks from the
Gazette
building. Soon they were in front of a modest four-story brownstone. "Wait here for me," Elizabeth told the driver. "I'll be as quick as I can."

Max lived on the third floor at the end of a narrow, dark hallway lined with cheerless plain doors. Elizabeth would have been able to pick out his flat even without the tarnished brass numbers on the doors, for his was the only apartment that showed light spilling out from underneath the entry onto the faded red carpet of the hall. Also, a persistent clacking sound emanated from his flat, evidence that someone was intently hitting typewriter keys. This had to be a reporter's home all right. She knocked loudly to distract him from his work.

The door opened to a significantly different Max Cassidy than Elizabeth had left at Flanagan's a few hours before. His dark hair was tousled onto his forehead as if he'd run his fingers through it dozens of times. He still had on the pin-striped shirt she'd seen him wearing that afternoon, only now the sleeves were rolled up past his elbows revealing a coarse dusting of dark hair on his forearms. His gray suspenders hung uselessly at his sides. The waist of his trousers slouched at his hips. After a quick but thorough glance, Elizabeth took care to avoid looking at this fashion indiscretion.

But it was Max's eyes that were most unusual of all, for when he looked at her, their deep blue color lost the dazzle of self-confidence and darkened to smoky blue-gray, like a thundercloud heralding a storm. They widened with shock before Max blinked hard as if convincing himself that Elizabeth were indeed in his hallway. She allowed herself a brief inward smile in spite of her serious errand. So it was possible after all to shake the unflappable Max Cassidy.