Sons of an Ancient Glory (23 page)

She told herself that Bobby was all right. With his hulking size and his heavy fists, why wouldn't he be? Deciding that this was as good a time as any to go off on her own, she had set about making her way deeper into the city.

She hoped to find a respectable area, a place with nice homes and families who would be looking for healthy girls to do housework and the like. When she'd first heard the loud music and seen the men going in and out of the public houses, she hadn't meant to come this close. But the tempting food odors had gathered her in like a net.

Unable to stop herself, she had eventually drifted in closer to the taverns, reasoning that perhaps she could find a job that would allow her to eat until she found something more permanent. She was beginning to fear she might swoon and end up facedown in a pile of rubbish if she did not soon manage a meal.

She had almost mustered her courage to go inside the public house when the two dandies came staggering out. Young, they were—astonishingly young, Quinn thought, to be flaunting brocade vests, gold watch fobs, and glittering rings. Still, they looked like gentlemen, and so when one stopped her and asked in a slightly slurred tone if she had need of assistance, she wasn't afraid. Not until the other began to laugh like a drunken lout and asked if he, too, could be of assistance.

Alarmed by the way he reached for her, Quinn backed off and tried to run. They caught her easily and began to drag her along between them.

Quinn's initial reaction was rage. The old fury that Millen Jupe had bred in her flamed to a blaze, and she began to twist and try to claw her way free of the two soaks. But weak as she was from the hunger and exhaustion, she had no strength left for such a struggle. When she realized their intent to haul her off down a dark alley, she managed only one feeble cry for help.

“Stop fighting, you little slut! We're not going to hurt you. If you weren't after some fun yourself, you wouldn't be down here in the first place!”
The taller of the two—the one who had first approached Quinn—held her arm behind her back in a relentless viselike grip. Every time she attempted to wrench away, he would yank, hard, taking Quinn's breath away with the pain.

The other one, the one with the foolish little spectacles perched on his nose, held her by her other arm as he helped his cohort drag her into the darkness.

When Quinn first heard the shouts at the entrance of the alley, she panicked, thinking it was another of their kind, coming to join the others in their sport. But after another moment, a gunshot exploded and feet pounded down the alley toward them.

“Police! Hold up there, or this time I won't miss! Let that girl go! Let her go right now, i say!”

Quinn had never swooned in her life, but she came very near now to passing out in the street. She had the Irish combination of grudging respect and fear for the law, but at this moment, the glint of a copper star on a sturdy chest and a pistol in a large hand brought an enormous wave of relief roaring through her.

As soon as they saw the policeman, both swells dropped Quinn as if she were a leper. But when they would have turned and run toward the other end of the alley, the officer stopped them in their tracks with another pistol shot.

“Move a hair and the both of you will leave the bowery in a meat wagon!”

Quinn couldn't see the policeman's face very well in the darkness, but when he turned to her his voice was kind.

“You all right, Miss? Have these two hurt you at all?”

Quinn shook her head, her teeth chattering from fear and a fresh seizure of weakness.

“All right, then, get on with you two!” the policeman ordered. “We'll be getting out of this alley and into some light.”

The officer formed a small caravan of his three charges, first gripping Quinn with a protective arm, then prodding the two surly drunks with his pistol all the way to the alley entrance.

When they reached the street, he gave two shrill blasts of his whistle, then turned to make a thorough inspection of Quinn. “What are you doing down here, lass? The Bowery's not a safe place for little girls or decent women.”

“I'm not a little girl!” Quinn bit back. “But I take your meaning right enough about this place!”

The policeman had a pleasant, good-looking face and a jaunty smile. “Ah, you've just come across! I might have known. And looking for a position, I'll warrant.” He went on without giving Quinn so much as an instant to reply. “Well, you'll not find any decent sort of work down here, lass. If it's service you're hoping for, you'd do well to go uptown.”

Quinn was about to ask for more information about this “uptown” when another policeman came rushing up to help with the two soaks, who now stood muttering in thick tongues to each other, all the while glaring at Quinn.

The second officer—a younger version of the one who had rescued Quinn—appraised her molesters with a humorless grin. “Why, sure, I've seen these two fine gentlemen only recently, Sergeant Price! Just this past week, if I'm not mistaken. On
that
occasion they were even heavier on their feet than they are tonight. Giving one of the dance-hall girls over to Karringtons a bit of a problem, they were!”

“Get the wagon and give them a ride,” said the one called Sergeant Price. “Perhaps a night's stay in the stinkhole will sober them up a bit.”

The taller of the two dandies flushed crimson. “A night's stay?” he sputtered. “We're not staying anywhere tonight but at home, you ignorant paddy!”

Quinn's hand flew to her mouth at this unheard-of defiance of the law. Sergeant Price leveled his gun, while the other policeman stroked a wicked-looking wooden stick.

“Have it your own way, son,” said the sergeant in a low rumble of a voice. “If you'd rather be dealing with us, sure, we're up for it.”

The swell went pale. Wide-eyed, Quinn stared with weary relief as the young officer herded the two, staggering, down the street.

Sergeant Price turned back to Quinn, frowning. “So, then—do you have a place to stay, lass? Or anyone who can give you a bit of help? Family, perhaps?”

Quinn hesitated—apparently too long, for he gave a knowing nod. “On your own, is it? Well, then, I expect we'd best be taking you to one of the department's lodging houses for women, at least for—”

“Can we be of some help, Sergeant?”

Surprised by the female voice that had come up behind them, Quinn whipped around to find two well-dressed ladies appraising her and the policeman. She found herself looking into sharp, probing eyes in a face that was angular and austere. In spite of the overwhelming heat, the tall lady with the unnerving gaze was dressed in a severe black suit. Her companion, not quite so tall or forbidding in appearance, studied Quinn with a faint, uncertain smile.

Inclining his head to each, the sergeant gave a smile. “Miss Crane,” he said politely, then, “Mrs. Deshler.” His eyes went from the women to Quinn. “Perhaps you can at that. The young miss here will be needing temporary lodgings while she looks for a position. I was about to take her to one of the department's lodging houses for the night.”

The tall lady with the disturbing eyes raked Quinn up and down. “Are you healthy, girl?”

Quinn hesitated, then gave a grudging nod. Had it not been for the sergeant, she might have told the cross-looking woman it was none of her affair at all whether Quinn O'Shea was healthy or diseased. When a cough unexpectedly shook her, she half-hoped the other would turn and run.

Instead, the black-clad lady merely continued to inspect her. “You're a Roman, I suppose?”

Irked by the woman's gall, Quinn remained steely-eyed silent.

“If it's a bother, Miss Crane,” the sergeant put in, “I'll just be taking the girl with me.”

“Not at all, Sergeant. Mrs. Deshler and I will take her to the Shelter, if you will be so kind as to accompany us.”

“Aye, I will,” said the policeman—ever so eager, Quinn thought, to oblige. No doubt he could not wait to be shut of her.

Well,
she
would have a say as to where she spent the night, she would!

“That will not be necessary,” Quinn said with deliberate emphasis. “I have friends in the city.”

The policeman looked at her as if she were daft. Abruptly, he took her arm, saying, “I'll have a word with the girl, ladies, if you will excuse us.”

Not waiting for their reply, he moved Quinn a few steps away from the two women. Still holding her arm with a firm grip, he turned to face her. “Now see here, lassie, you'll be going with Miss Crane to the Shelter. It's a far sight better than one of the police lodging houses. They'll give you something to eat there, at least, and a bed to sleep in.”

Quinn glared at him. “Have I broken the law?”

He reared back a bit. “What's that?”

“Have I broken any law at all, Sergeant, that gives you the right to say where I'll sleep?”

His mouth twisted. “My badge gives me the right, lassie, and you'd do well to be remembering it.”

Quinn flared. “If I haven't done anything wrong, then I can't think it's any of your business where I happen to be lodging.”

He was riled, but was obviously making an attempt to hold his temper with her. With a long, exaggerated sigh, he softened his tone somewhat. “Here, now, lass—what's your name anyhow?”

“Quinn O'Shea.”

“Well, see here, Quinn O'Shea,” he went on in a long-suffering sort of tone he might have used with a disobedient child, “the Women's Shelter is a decent place. You'll be safe there. And you'll be fed until you find a position. In fact, if you like, Miss Crane might even allow you to work to earn your keep until you locate something more permanent. She's a fine Christian lady—

“A bit of a sour one, it seems to me.”

“A fine Christian lady,” the policeman repeated, raising his voice slightly, “who has dedicated her life to helping get young girls and women off the streets. And Mrs. Deshler, the lady with her? Why, isn't she a prosperous widow from uptown—who just might be able to help you locate a position? She contributes her time as well as her generous financial support to the Shelter.”

The sergeant paused, then added, “I'm telling you, girl, you'd be doing the wise thing to go along with them and make no more trouble.”

It was the remark about the wealthy widow that decided Quinn. If she were truly a rich lady from “uptown,” as the sergeant said, then indeed she might assist Quinn in getting a job.

“I'll take no charity,” she said stubbornly.

“Well, that's fine, lass. An honorable attitude,” the sergeant replied, already guiding Quinn back to the two women, who stood waiting. “Let's be telling the ladies here what a fine, respectable girl you are. You're just the sort they like to help, don't you see?”

Without delay, Quinn found herself securely tucked between the sergeant and the black-suited Miss Crane. “You ladies must be more careful about being out so late at night,” he said conversationally.

“The Lord protects His own,” said Miss Crane, her eyes straight ahead. “The kingdom's work must be done when it can.”

“Ah, that's so,” murmured the sergeant.

Feeling very much out of place in their company, Quinn walked along for a time in silence. Suddenly, a thought struck her.

“I couldn't find Bobby,” she said, tugging at the sergeant's arm.

“Bobby?”

“My friend, Bobby Dempsey. I was supposed to meet him on the docks, but he never showed. If you see him, would you tell him where I've gone? Please, Sergeant?”

The policeman stopped, studying Quinn with a disapproving look. The two women also stopped to wait, Miss Crane with an exasperated look on her gaunt face.

“You're too young a lass to be having anything to do with the likes of the dock workers!” scolded the sergeant. “They're a rough bunch of fellows, don't you know?”

“He's not a dock worker!” Quinn shot back. “At least, not yet. Why, if it hadn't been for Bobby Dempsey, I'd hate to think where I might be now!”

Gentling her tone a bit—the man was a policeman, after all—Quinn pleaded, “Please, Sergeant, say you'll try to find him. Just to make sure he's all right, and to let him know where he can find me.”

The sergeant studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Aye, then, if I run into your Bobby Dempsey, I'll be sure to tell him where you are.”

“The women at the Shelter are not allowed visitors.”

Quinn turned to stare at the one called
Miss Crane.
Something in her voice seemed to hold a threat with every comment.

Quinn decided then and there she did not like the woman at all. Not at all. “I will not be there but a short time,” she said, addressing her words to Mrs. Deshler, who gave her a vague smile. “Only for as long as it takes me to find a good position for myself.”

Silently, Quinn hoped this…Shelter…turned out to be a sight more cheerful than Miss Crane, the “fine Christian lady” who seemed to be in charge of the place.