He shook his head. “I’ve never felt this way about a girl before you. I never believed this happiness was possible, Molly. Would it be highly improper to try to kiss you?”
“It would completely wreck my reputation, as you very well know,” I said. “But since my reputation is already wrecked by coming here alone, I’ll allow you a quick peck on the cheek.”
His lips brushed my cheek and I was disturbed by the still strange sensation of his beard scratching me. I moved away, laughing. “Your beard. It tickles.”
“Then I’ll shave it off for you.”
“You’ll do no such thing. I think it looks grand. I’ll learn to like it.” I moved away from him. “Now enough frivolity. I want you to help me write this newspaper article and then you’ll know the right people to take it to.”
We spent a pleasant hour composing the piece and then walked together to Herald Square and presented it to one of Jacob’s contacts at the Herald. He seemed excited to get the scoop and asked me more questions and asked Jacob to take my picture.
“I prefer to remain anonymous, if you don’t mind,” I said. “It’s the conditions I wanted to feature, not me.”
After that we visited the bank to deposit the check, then had the promised lunch at a nice restaurant. I suggested Delmonico’s, but steady and sensible Jacob steered me in the direction of a French café just below Union Square. I insisted on paying, much to Jacob’s embarrassment. On the way home we walked around Wanamaker’s department store, looking in wonder at the items on the food counter—cans and bottles from all over the world, foodstuffs I had never even heard of—as well as the silk stockings from France and varieties of face makeup. I finally arrived home, tired but content, about five o’clock, having left Jacob to hurry off to a union meeting somewhere.
“Hello, all.” I hung my cape on the peg in the hall. No answer. Shamey was often out playing with his friends or earning dimes by running errands, but Bridie and Seamus were always around. I lit the gas in the kitchen then checked around the house. Nobody.
Then I noticed a piece of paper had been pushed through the letter slot. I picked it up and carried it close to the gas mantle to read. It was scrawled in poor penmanship:
If you want to see the little girl again Katherine must meet me at the end of Delancey Street at eight o’clock tonight. Tell her to come alone or no trade.
I stared at the paper, willing the words to say something different. Think, Molly, I commanded myself, trying to slow down my racing brain. The simplest thing to do would be to let Katherine go and trade herself for Bridie. Michael wouldn’t harm his wife, would he? But then she wouldn’t want to go with him either. If I told the police I would be risking Bridie’s life. Michael might kill her as soon as he spotted a police helmet. Or, I could say nothing to Katherine and go in her place. In the dark, with a shawl over my head, I could get close enough to snatch Bridie away, close enough to appeal to his better nature. I’d give him a chance to escape, promise to say nothing until he was safely far away, even give him money for a train ticket.
I wandered around the kitchen in a panic, straightening out the tablecloth, putting a jug back on the shelf, trying to come up with something better. But I couldn’t. Nothing really mattered at this point apart from saving Bridie. This man had killed at least twice before. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill a child, or to drag her with him as a hostage. And I didn’t want Katherine to be a hostage either. But then I didn’t want to be a hostage myself—or a dead body, for that matter.
Would I really be in danger, I asked myself. Delancey Street, from what I remembered, was full of life. If I cried out, someone would come to my aid. Shops would still be open at eight o’clock. Workers would be returning from work, saloons would be full. In fact it was a strange place to choose for such a meeting—unless Michael had decided that he could melt into the crowds of the Lower East Side and make it hard for anyone to follow him.
I took my shawl off the peg and wrapped it over my head, hiding that telltale red hair. Apart from that we were about the same stature. If I couldn’t get close enough, I’d yell for help. Passersby would grab the child for me. Thus reassured that I was doing the right thing I wrote a hurried note to Seamus and the boy. “Out with Bridie. Don’t worry. Back soon. Love, Molly.” No sense in worrying them too.
Then I let myself out and closed the front door behind me. It was a damp, cold, wintery night. Fog would be swirling in from the East River which might aid my cause. As I set off down Patchin Place I heard footsteps behind me. I spun around. Katherine was running down Patchin Place after me, wrapping a shawl around her as she ran.
“Wait, Molly. Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. Just out for a stroll.”