City of Darkness and Light (6 page)

“Nothing you could have done,” she said. “Our job is now to make sure you and your child are safely far away. Here you are.” She put a parcel on the bed. “I popped into Stewart’s department store on my way here and bought you necessities. I wasn’t quite sure of your size but I think they’ll do well enough for the moment.”

I opened the string around the package and found a plain white shirtwaist and dark blue cotton skirt as well as undergarments, petticoat, hose. They were almost as unattractive as the uniform Mrs. Goodwin was wearing, but I knew she meant well and they were certainly an improvement on the blackened, tattered remnants of my own clothing. And, mercy of mercies, she had added some strips of toweling, saying as I saw them, “I wasn’t quite sure how big your baby was, or even what babies wear, but I do know they get through a lot of diapers, so I thought these might keep you going.”

I thanked her profusely, went to the bathroom down the hall to wash and change and gave Liam a bath at the same time. His clothes were soiled but they would have to do until … I broke off that sentence. Until what? It was frightening to realize, for the first time since I fled from Ireland and arrived, penniless and a fugitive in this country, that I couldn’t envision a future. But when I emerged—washed, dressed in clean clothes, and with a relatively clean baby in my arms—I was determined not to let Mrs. Goodwin see my worry. My family had been though hell and survived. It would work out one way or another.

Six

“You stay here,” Mrs. Goodwin said as we prepared to leave. “I’ll go and hail a hansom cab for us. I don’t want you to be seen loitering on the street. We might be followed.”

I did as she said, waiting in the shadows of the foyer beside a large potted palm until she returned and swept us rapidly into a waiting cab. As we crossed Washington Square I called out suddenly, “Wait. I must see my house first.”

“My dear, do you think that’s wise?” Mrs. Goodwin put a warning hand on my arm.

I nodded. “I have to see for myself. I have to know.”

“Very well. Driver,” she leaned up to him, “take us first to Patchin Place.”

“I can’t get a cab up there. Too narrow for the horse and he don’t like backin’ up,” the driver said testily.

“Then go as far as you can,” she said. He looked at her police uniform and didn’t argue. There was a police constable standing guard at the entrance to Patchin Place. He was about to stop us but recognized either me or Mrs. Goodwin. The rest of the backwater was deserted except for another constable standing guard over what must have once been my home.

“I have to see for myself. I won’t be a moment,” I said. “Nobody’s around.”

Mrs. Goodwin sighed. “Then be quick. Your husband wouldn’t want you risking your life again, you know that.”

I handed Liam to Mrs. Goodwin. He promptly squalled and reached for me. Hardly an unobtrusive visit then. I swung myself down quickly and hurried toward my house. The brick façade still stood but there were black gaping holes where windows had been. The front door was burned and blistered and hung open and beyond it nothing that I could recognize as mine—just a pile of blackened rubble, still smoking in places. I tried not to picture Aggie’s charred body.

The constable put out a hand. “You can’t go in there, Mrs. Sullivan. It’s not safe.”

“What if there are some of my things that can be salvaged?” I asked. “My jewelry? Crockery? Anything?”

“You’re not the one to do that,” he said. “You’d better ask your husband. All I know are my orders are to let nobody in.”

I turned away and climbed back into the cab. We said nothing as we left Greenwich Village and went up Fifth Avenue. Liam had stopped crying and now clearly enjoyed the new sights and sounds. For me it felt as if I was passing through a dream world where ladies in elegant dresses and parasols strolled as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Why should they? They all had homes to return to. At last we turned east along Fifty-seventh Street and came to a halt outside an imposing brick house, with a flight of steps leading up to its front door and bay trees growing in pots on either side. Mrs. Goodwin descended first, took Liam from me as I climbed down. I went up those steps with great reluctance. This arrangement had been made in such a hurry and I wondered whether the occupants of the house, the lieutenant’s sister and her husband, had really had time to think their kind gesture through.

How would I react if Daniel had said to me, “I’m bringing a strange woman and her child to stay with us. An Italian gang has already tried to kill them once by bombing their house. They may well try again if they find out she is here”?

The knock on the front door reverberated and soon it was opened not by a maid but by a pretty young woman in an exquisite gown. She held out her arms to me.

“My dear Mrs. Sullivan,” she said. “Come in, do. What an ordeal you’ve been through.” She half dragged me into the house. Mrs. Goodwin hesitated on the doorstep.

“And this is Mrs. Goodwin, a fellow detective in the police force, who was kind enough to accompany me here,” I said.

“Of course. I’ve heard all about you from my brother,” the young woman said. “The men are secretly impressed by you, although they would never say so to your face.”

Mrs. Goodwin actually smiled. “Kind of you to say so.”

“Come in, do,” our hostess insisted. “Take some tea with us.”

Mrs. Goodwin shook her head. “I’ve already been up all night on duty, so if you don’t mind, I’ll bid you both farewell and head for my bed.”

I took her hand. “Thank you so much. You’ve been very kind.”

“Not at all. Glad to help,” she said gruffly as if trying to hold back any display of emotion. “Good luck to you, Molly, my dear.” She went down the steps, waved, then got back into the cab, leaving me in the front hall with the lieutenant’s sister.

“This is so good of you, Mrs.…” I began, realizing that I still didn’t know her name.

She laughed. “I am Dorothy, but I’m usually known as Dodo. And when my brother telephoned me with your terrible news I told my husband that you had to come to us without delay.”

“I hope he didn’t object,” I said warily.

“My husband adores me, Mrs. Sullivan. And do let me call you by your first name—I try to dispense with too much formality under my own roof, although my husband, whose upbringing in lofty circles was rather more formal than mine, sometimes frowns upon the liberties I take.”

I smiled at her. “You may certainly call me Molly,” I said. “I have a group of friends who abhor formality so the use of first names isn’t at all strange to me.”

“Splendid.” She beamed at me. “But don’t let’s stand here a second longer. We should get the little one settled in his nursery and then we can have a cup of coffee in peace.” She patted Liam’s cheek. “What an adorable child. I know he’s going to be great friends with my little Cuddles.”

“My husband said you had a baby. Boy or girl?”

“A little boy. Almost a year old now. Officially he’s named Alfred Homer Walton Phillips after his father, but who can call a baby those awful names? So he’s Cuddles to me, although Alfred disapproves of baby talk. Come upstairs and I’ll introduce you.”

She led me up a broad stair, to a luxuriously appointed landing and then up a second, less grand stair, chatting all the way, and then opened a door at the front of the house. “Here we are, Nanny,” she called. “Here’s your new charge.”

A plump elderly nurse appeared from a back room.

“Nanny used to look after Alfred when he was a baby,” Dodo said. “And now she’s come out of retirement to take care of little Cuddles. Alfred wouldn’t hear of another nursemaid raising his son.”

“Master Alfred is currently taking his morning nap,” Nanny said, putting a warning finger to her lips that we were talking too loudly. “And it looks to me as if this young man is ready for sleep as well.”

She took Liam from me and he didn’t protest, looking back at me wide-eyed.

“I will come up to nurse him about noon,” I said.

“Good heavens,” Dodo exclaimed. “He is not on a bottle? Don’t you find that terribly inconvenient?”

I felt them both staring at me as if I was some creature straight from the jungle, and blushed. “I don’t think I keep to your kind of social schedule,” I said. I turned back to the nursemaid. “I’m sorry about the state of his clothing. We were both left with nothing after the fire. So if he could possibly borrow some items from little Alfred, until I can shop for new ones, I’d much appreciate it.”

“Madam apprised me of what happened. I’ve already looked some things out for him,” Nanny said. “Don’t you worry. All taken care of.”

Dodo took my arm. “And my poor, poor darling. You’ve obviously lost all your clothes too. Never, mind. You and I will have lots of fun going through my wardrobe.”

“Oh, no, really,” I said, now feeling overwhelmed with embarrassment and emotion. “I couldn’t possibly borrow your clothes. How and when could I return them to you?”

She laughed gaily. “But I want to give them to you, silly. I’m tired of so many of my dresses, and one can’t be seen in public in them more than a couple of times or people start to talk, don’t they? Besides Alfred loves to show me off in new dresses. He’s such an angel. He caters to my every whim.”

She led me back down the stairs to an elegant sitting room where coffee and cakes were waiting for us. To have gone from bleak despair to this in a matter of hours was almost too much to bear. Dodo was the soul of kindness, trying to press so many items of clothing on me that I was mortified with embarrassment, feeling rather like the beggar at the gates.

“Really all I need is enough to tide me over,” I said. “I didn’t have this many dresses to begin with. My husband is only a policeman, you know.”

“But I want to give them to you,” she said. “Humor me, Molly dearest. Don’t you see—then I’ll have a splendid excuse to tell Alfred I have absolutely nothing to wear and he’ll have to increase my dress allowance.”

She had a maid carry armfuls to my room, adding shoes, hats, even a fur stole to the pile.

“I’m sure I’ll be able to go shopping soon,” I said, “so I’ll only need clothes for a day or two.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course you can’t go shopping,” Dodo said. “My brother says you must remain in complete seclusion so that nobody knows where you are. A matter of life and death, Molly.”

Privately I thought that the way Dodo chatted incessantly meant that she would probably divulge my presence to her friends. I could just hear her telling the thrilling tale of how she rescued the poor woman whose house was destroyed by a bomb. But I also decided that none of her friends was likely to have connections to an Italian East Side gang. However I did see her point about going shopping. The department stores that stocked the kind of clothes I could afford were on busy streets and there was always a chance I’d be noticed.

Later that day I was outfitted, fed Liam, then watched him and little Alfred crawling around on the nursery rug, eyeing each other with interest. As I stood there my gaze was drawn to a picture on the nursery wall. It was a beautiful girl of around eight or nine, sitting on a rock beside the ocean with a shell on her lap. She was looking out to sea with wide blue eyes and her light blonde hair blew out in the breeze. She looked so ethereal that it was almost like seeing a supernatural being. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I recalled Sid’s mention of the painter Reynold Bryce. And Daniel’s remark, “Didn’t he do all those portraits of the angelic child, copies of which now grace half the nurseries in America?”

“Is that one of Reynold Bryce’s paintings?”

Dodo looked pleased. “Why, yes. It is. Only a copy of course. The real ones are all in famous museums, but it’s so lovely, isn’t it? Cuddles’s godmother gave it to him as a christening present.”

As the dinner hour approached Dodo insisted in coming up with me to select a dress to wear for dinner and chose something grander than I’d ever have considered for myself—also with a lot more froufrou. She even insisted on lending me her pearls as they completed the outfit so well. I half expected the master of the house to query why I was wearing his wife’s dress and his wife’s pearls when I was introduced to him that evening, but he showed no indication that anything was amiss. He greeted me civilly enough and expressed condolences about my unfortunate current state, but I wondered if he had actually been consulted about my stay and would have approved of it. I definitely got the impression that he would not have been as generous with his wife’s possessions as she had been. As we sat at dinner the first question he asked was how long I thought I might be staying.

“Only until alternative arrangements can be made, Mr. Phillips,” I said.

“Where do you think you will go?” he asked.

I decided not to mention France. “My husband wants me far away from the city.”

“Very wise.” He looked relieved. “You can’t be too careful. Who would ever have thought that these ruffians would dare to strike in the middle of New York City? Too many immigrants these days, I’m afraid. And it was a mistake to admit these wilder types from Southern Europe. They don’t respect the law as we do. Brigands and cutthroats the lot of them.”

“Don’t be so gloomy, Alfred,” Dodo complained, reaching across to slap his hand as if he was a naughty child. “We’re supposed to be cheering up poor Molly, not worrying her even more. We’re going to make her very welcome and give her a lovely time with us. You should see how happy Little Cuddles is to have found a playmate. They absolutely adore each other.”

Actually they had been crawling over each other, taking toys away at will, but I thought it wise not to say this.

“I’m sure he’ll have a brother or sister soon enough,” Alfred said.

“I’m not sure that I want to give up my figure again so soon,” Dodo said. “And it really was most uncomfortable going through childbirth, wasn’t it, Molly.”

Alfred coughed. One did not mention pregnancy in mixed company.

We had just had coffee served to us when there was a thunderous knock at the front door. Dodo gave a little gasp. “It’s them. They’ve found you, Molly.”