He started thumbing through the small black notebook, scowling in concentration. “You found out something last night at Delmonico's?” I asked excitedly.
“Not Delmonico's. Afterward. In the saloon. They didn't recognize me, see, because I was still in my waiter's gear. They didn't think anyone could overhear them.” He was clearly rattled, otherwise he'd never have babbled on to me like this. “I can't really believe… I mean, him of all people, and I never took it seriously.” He looked up, almost surprised to see me still standing there. “Look, why don't you clear off. I've got work to do. This is no time to have a woman around die place.”
“Should I pop in later to see if there are any errands you want run?”
“I won't need errands run. I'll be out and about.”
“I could keep an eye on the office for you and greet potential clients.”
“I don't want you poking around when I'm not here. Go on. Hop it. Oh, and if you see your friend Captain Sullivan, you might tell him that Paddy would like a word with him, on the quiet, so to speak. I'll be at the usual place this evening.”
I was dismissed. The thought of going back to the room with two lively children and Nuala next door was not appealing, but I had nowhere else to go. The weather didn't encourage strolling the boulevards. If I'd had my way, I'd have been swimming in the East River with the boys, but the only swimming ladies were allowed to do was out at Coney Island, where Daniel had taken me one Sunday. And that wasn't what I'd call swimming—a little discreet bobbing at the edge of the waves in bathing suits with so many frills that they weighed a ton.
Little boys were splashing one another with water from a horse trough on Broadway. A few drops came in my direction. “Whoops. Sorry, miss,” the boys called, grinning. I smiled back.
It seemed that boys were allowed to get away with anything. My mind went back to my adventure in boy's costume and the way I had passed through the streets as if invisible. I liked that. Sometime I'd use it again, when Paddy Riley finally trusted me enough to send me out on a job. He obviously didn't trust me with anything yet, though, or he'd have wanted me around today when he had important work to do. I wondered exactly what he had overheard last night that had disturbed him so.
I checked on Seamus when I got home. He was still drifting in and out of consciousness while Nuala applied cold flannels to his forehead, his face ashen-gray. What on earth would happen to those children if he died? Would it be better to send them back to Ireland to a mother who was dying of consumption, or leave them here with that dragon of a cousin? I tried not to think about it as I took the children to St. Patrick's Cathedral to light a candle for their da, then we rode the trolley up to Central Park, where they had a grand old time for the rest of the day. I had quite a grand old time myself. There is something about grass and trees and water that makes the world seem all right again.
The next day Seamus was awake but still looking as pale as a ghost. Nuala asked me to run some errands for her. Calves'-foot jelly and marrow-bone soup would be nourishing, she said. This brought up the matter of money. I was down to almost nothing myself, except for the pittance Paddy was paying me and Miss Van Woekem's two dollars. I was willing to spend that, but what would happen if Seamus was out of work for a while? I certainly couldn't afford to support a whole family.
My head was filled with troubled thoughts as I bought the calves' feet and barley for barley water, started a good soup cooking and set the children some lessons to keep them occupied. They seemed to like playing at school and told me I wasn't strict enough to be the schoolmistress and that I needed a cane. I left them practicing their penmanship on their slates and decided to go and see whether Paddy Riley was back in his office and in need of my services.
It was late afternoon and the August heat was intense. The poor horses were flecked with foam as they dragged their delivery wagons and hansom cabs. One was lying in the gutter, cut free of its shafts, dying. People walked past, unconcerned. The horse's owner stood by the wagon looking bewildered. I hurried on by, wanting to do something but knowing there was nothing that could be done. Dying horses were too frequent a sight in this city.
My white blouse was sticking to my back as I reached the mews. The alleyway was cooler, nestled in the shadow of taller buildings, and I dragged myself wearily up Paddy's steps, praying he was there, and looking forward to a drink of water. It seemed I was in luck. The door swung open to my touch. Paddy himself was taking a snooze at the table.