Authors: Jill Marie Landis
“Like I said, because you are privy to things that happen on the streets. Because you have contact with women from the brothels. You do, don’t you?”
She closed her eyes and gave a slight shake of her head. “Yes, of course, when they come to us.”
He had the feeling there was something she was hiding.
“Would you rather I speak to your husband after all?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m the one who can help you. I grew up in the city.”
“Have you ever heard the name Megan Lane?”
Mrs. Henson’s face was completely impassive. Staring across the room, she fingered a small wooden cross hanging from a thong around her neck. “I have no recollection of it.”
“Have you ever heard the name Dexter Grande?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. Her hand gripped the cross. She said nothing.
“Mrs. Henson? Do you know him? Do you know where Grande is?”
Tom had searched through years of orphanage, school, and cemetery records in his search for Megan Lane. He’d gone through adoption decrees and whatever relevant paperwork had survived the war.
“Where did you hear that name? Dexter Grande?” Elizabeth Henson whispered.
“From a woman who works in the archives of the office of the mayor. She helped me comb through the Records of the Disposition of Destitute Children. She had no proof, but she has heard tales of a man named Dexter Grande who ran a gang of street thieves. He was supposed to be a Fagan of sorts, straight out of the pages of Dickens.”
Tom noticed the woman’s hand trembling as she lowered it to her lap. “Dexter Grande is dead,” she said.
“You knew him?”
Her eyes had taken on a faraway look. “I knew him a long time ago. Before the war.”
“Can you tell me anything? Anything at all?”
“Dexter Grande fancied himself a mastermind behind a band of street thieves, small children mostly. There were a few trusted older boys, but when they were around fourteen, he sometimes forced them out. Most of them, anyway. Younger children were more malleable and ate less.”
“How did he come by these children?” Tom had a feeling he already knew but he wanted to hear it firsthand.
She shrugged. “Anywhere he could. There were so many orphans.” She sighed. “There still are.”
The records Tom had seen attested to as much. Yellow fever often struck the city with a vengeance. It had in the mid-fifties when Megan Lane disappeared. Relatives too poor to feed orphaned children often turned them over to institutions. From Elizabeth Henson’s reaction, Tom was certain that she knew even more than she was willing to say. He glanced out the window and lowered his voice.
“Did you belong to Dexter Grande’s street gang?”
She raised her eyes to meet his. Hers were wide, round, and very blue. Blonde curls showed beneath the brim of her hat. Laura Foster, his client, was a lovely woman too — fair-haired and blue-eyed. This woman could very well be her sister. Elizabeth Henson
did not match the brief description Mrs. Foster had given him, but looks changed over time.
Was it possible that after meticulously combing through records and interviewing people all over New Orleans, he had inadvertently stumbled upon Megan Lane?
“Were you part of Grande’s gang of thieves?” he asked again.
“His tribe.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “He called us his tribe.”
Us.
“Did Grande find you in an orphanage?”
She started to stand, then sank back to the bench as if her legs wouldn’t hold her. She stared through the open doorway to the dark street beyond.
“No, I know exactly where I came from and I know who my people were. I’m not proud of where I’ve been or what I’ve done, Mr. Abbott. It’s not a story I will tell. Ever. Believe me when I say I’m not the one you are looking for.”
“Is there anyone who might know for certain that Megan Lane was in the tribe?”
“No. If so, they’re all gone now anyway. Disbanded. Besides, we all swore never to reveal anything about Dexter Grande or our lives. It was a blood oath.”
“That explains why there is so little information on the streets. You took the oath as well?”
She reached up to wipe her brow. There was no breeze tonight. The air was close and humid.
“I took the oath, yes, but now I am beholden to a much higher Power than Dexter Grande.” She smoothed her skirt, her calm smile back. She stood up and looked down at him. “I am reborn, Mr. Abbot. I don’t like to look back on those times or talk about them. That’s really all I can say.”
He got to his feet, still not convinced that she wasn’t the very woman he’d been searching for. But he was not willing to push her any further tonight.
“You’re absolutely certain there is no one who might remember Megan Lane? It would mean so much to her sister in Texas to find her. Think of what it might mean to Megan herself.”
Again she closed her eyes long enough to take a calming breath. When she opened them she admitted, “The only tribe members’ names I’ve heard mentioned since I returned are Terrance and Lawrence, the Grande twins. If they are still in New Orleans, they may be able to tell you where to find a woman named Anita Russo, if she’s still alive. She used to care for the children when they took ill. They may know where Anita is, if they’re still here. She may lead you to others.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Henson.” Revitalized, Tom smiled as he waited for her to lead the way outside.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Mr. Abbott,” Elizabeth warned. “Tribe members lived in a shadow world, existing on the wrong side of the law. If you do find them, the Grande twins won’t be willing to answer your questions, so take care. Be very wary. They’re dangerous.”
M
addie fell asleep sometime just before dawn and awoke with a start when the child beside her rolled over and kicked her in the shin. She lay there in silence as the sun’s warm yellow light crept through the east window. Curled on her side, she surveyed the room.
The twins were already gone, no doubt headed back to New Orleans to celebrate their previous night’s deed. She lingered in bed a while longer, thinking the child beside her was asleep.
“Who are you?”
Maddie nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt the whispered words against her ear. The girl was leaning over her, staring down into her face.
Still wrapped in her fine red cape, the child scooted over to make room. Her ink-black curls were a tumbled mess. Her eyes, an intriguing violet, were swollen from sleep and tears.
“Well?” the girl demanded. “Who are you?”
“I’m the one looking after you. Who are you?”
“I’m Penelope Charlotte Perkins. I’m eight and a half years old and I live at Langetree Plantation. At least I did until those two awful men stole me from my nanny. Where are they?”
The child certainly showed no fear. Maddie had expected her to start squalling for her mother.
“They’re not here.”
“Good. They kept telling me I was in danger. They told me to shut up too. Are they coming back?”
“Yes. Soon. But don’t worry. You’re safe.”
For now.
Penelope looked Maddie in the eye. “My papa is going to be furious with all of you. You had better let me go.”
Maddie had no doubt about it.
The child had mentioned a nanny and her papa. What if there was no heartsick mother at home pining for her? Perhaps this lovely child’s father, too busy to be concerned with her safety, had handed her over to a nanny. Perhaps the man didn’t deserve her —
Maddie’s mind began to dart in dangerous directions.
“What about your mother?” she asked.
“Mama cries a lot. Ever since the baby died.” Penelope gave a heartfelt sigh. “She doesn’t come out of her room much anymore, either, but Papa says that she’ll get better. I was in the way so he was sending me off with Nanny for a while. Just till Mamma is feeling better.” She shrugged. “Who knows how long that will be though. She’s not been happy since the baby died. I don’t think she cares where I go as long as I’m not around. I was headed to Paducah to visit my Aunt Gail for a spell when those two kidnappers stopped our carriage and grabbed me.”
Maddie tried not to picture the already brokenhearted woman in mourning at Langetree Plantation. Surely she cared about this child too. Did she know her daughter was missing? Had word reached them yet?
“Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”
Penelope shook her head, and the ringlets that weren’t in tangles managed to bounce prettily. She sighed and leaned against the wall. If she was at all frightened, it didn’t show.
“Narry a one. We waited so long for the baby to get here, but then he was born dead. Papa said it was simply too much for Mama to bear. I couldn’t do anything to cheer her either.” She sighed. “It’s better I’m not there, I suppose. I’m just in the way.” She paused to look around. “I really don’t want to stay here though.”
Maddie tried to swallow around the lump in her throat and pictured her own little one, her firstborn. A daughter with blue eyes and ivory skin who’d lived no more than six hours.
The child would have been sixteen by now.
Near old enough to make me a grandmother.
Penelope wrinkled her nose. “Why is this place such a mess?”
“I wasn’t expecting visitors.”
“Are you going to tell me your name?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you going to take me home?”
“Not today.”
“Then how about you take me to Paducah? That’s where I was headed. It will be a lot more fun at my Auntie Gail’s than at home, that’s for certain.”
Maddie had no idea when she would release Penelope, or how. She did not dare give Miss Penelope Charlotte Perkins false hope. The less said the better until she figured out exactly what she was going to do. She’d gone against Terrance a time or two in her life, with dark results.
“I’m starving,” Penelope announced, looking toward the stove.
Maddie rolled off the cot and shook out her skirt. She, too, was surprisingly hungry.
“There’s nowhere for you to run to and there are gators around,” she warned, “so you stay put while I go see to my morning necessaries. Then you can help me check the crab trap and the fishing line out on the dock if you do as I say.”
The girl gave her no trouble. Maddie helped her wash up and let her pull up the crab trap, then fixed a breakfast of fried catfish and grits.
“I need cream,” Penelope said, staring down at the pile of grits.
Maddie laughed. “You’ll have to settle for a cup of black coffee, missy. There’s no cow around here.”
“Why ever not?”
“We had one,” Maddie said, feigning a serious expression, “but a gator ate it.”
That, she thought, should keep Miss Perkins from wandering off anytime soon.
At Penelope’s insistence, Maddie brushed out the child’s hair and tried to restyle the crushed curls. She replaced a decorative silver comb in the shape of a bow tangled in the long strands.
“I had two of those,” Penelope informed her. “Did you steal one? Those little sparkles are real diamonds.”
Maddie looked at the finely wrought piece. “I did not steal the other one. You probably lost it on the road somewhere.”
Penelope folded her arms, clearly angry. “That comb was worth a lot of money.”
“I’m sure,” Maddie agreed. “But I don’t have it.”
“One of those big brutes probably took it.”
Brutes?
Maddie thought. It was a perfect description of the twins. She bit back a smile. “Has anyone ever told you to mind your tongue or it will get you in trouble?” she asked.
“My papa likes me to speak my mind. He says standing up for myself will get me far in life.”
Maddie pondered that as she continued fighting Penelope’s hair.
“Nanny does my hair better,” Penelope noted, “but I suppose this will have to do.”
“Indeed,” Maddie agreed. “I’m sure you’re used to far better. You have a grand house, do you?” Maddie twisted up another lock of the child’s thick hair.
“Oh, very grand. One day I heard Papa tell someone he stole it, but when I reminded him stealing is a sin, he explained he didn’t actually
steal
it. He meant that he was able to buy Langetree Plantation by paying the back taxes. Before that he and Mama and I lived in New York. Did you know that saying you
stole
something can be a figure of speech?”
“I do now.” Maddie wanted to add that there had been
carpetbaggers getting things for a steal all over the South since the war. Mr. Perkins was not the only one getting a whole lot for practically nothing.
“Sometimes Papa says he got it for a song. Can you imagine getting something for a song? How silly.”
Silly? Dexter had always bragged that Maddie was his little golden songbird. She had earned them quite a bit of coin singing on street corners until he gave her other, more important duties. Her own childhood had been nothing like little Miss Perkins’s; that much was certain.
“You’d be real pretty if you had a nice gown on and fixed up your hair some,” Penelope decided.
Maddie looked down at her navy serge dress, one of the few articles of clothing she owned. There wasn’t a hint of adornment on it. Nothing she owned was what Penelope Perkins would consider “nice.”
Penelope looked over her shoulder at Maddie. Her violet eyes widened, sparkling with unshed tears, yet she raised her heart-shaped face in defiance and looked Maddie straight in the eyes.
“When
exactly did you say I would get to leave?”
“I didn’t,” Maddie reminded her. She took a deep breath and wondered how long she had before the twins returned.
L
ong before noon the next day, Tom was up and out of his apartment. He bought a newspaper from a young vendor on the nearest corner, then caught a hansom cab to the New Orleans Police French Quarter Precinct. Except for a growth of dark stubble, he appeared nothing more than a well-dressed man out for a stroll.
It wasn’t long before he was seated in the office of Detective Frank Morgan of the metropolitan police. In America’s most cosmopolitan city, where trouble simmered like a pot of gumbo, Frank Morgan was a man who spent day and night fighting a losing battle against crime. He wore the expression of a man overworked and underpaid.