“You won’t ever see the finished garment,” Sadie said. “They have finishers who put the pieces together.”
“So who designs these latest fashions? Do they come from Paris or something?”
“Listen to her! Paris? Such ideas.”
I laughed. “Well, I don’t know anything about it. I’m new. I always thought that fashions came from Paris.”
“I think old Mostel designs his own, doesn’t he?” The girls looked at each other.
“Yes, and he thinks he’s the cat’s whiskers too.”
“I can’t imagine him designing ladies dresses.” I grinned at them. “He doesn’t look like a fashionable kind of man.”
“You should see his family,” Golda said, leaning confidentially close. “Oy vay, but do they live like kings. He’s here working away at the business every day, making sure nobody steals a yard of his precious ribbon and his wife and children are out spending his money as fast as he can make it. And when you see them, they go around with their noses in the air, like they were born aristocrats and not just arrived from a stadtl, like the rest of us.”
“They’re immigrants too?”
Golda nodded. “Only they came here twenty years ago. He arrived with nothing but the sewing machine from his father’s tailor shop—and look what he’s made of himself. You have to hand that to him.”
“On whose backs, though, Golda?” Sadie asked. “With our sweat and our labor.”
“Hush, Sadie, you shouldn’t talk like that. You never know who might be listening,” Golda said.
“You mean there might be spies?” I asked innocently, looking around me for any face that might have betrayed shock or embarrassment. “Tattletales who report back to the boss?”
Golda touched the side of her nose. “You never can tell.”
What did that mean, I asked myself as we went back to work. Did she know that one of the girls present was a spy for the boss—in which case did she have any idea if any of the girls might be a spy for someone quite different? I’d have to make friends with Golda and see if she’d divulge any of her secrets.
At home in my room that night I made a list: Befriend Golda. Get to know the sample makers. They have the means—see designs first. But motive? Old women. Rheumatism. One is Max’s cousin.
The trouble was that stealing designs from under Max’s nose required courage and bravado. I couldn’t picture any of those downtrodden girls taking such an appalling risk. Of course, the most likely suspect was our foreman Seedy Sam. He looked to be the type who wasn’t above shady behavior and he had access to Max’s office. Maybe I’d eat my sandwiches at my machine in the future, so that I could keep an eye on him.
The sweatshop had become my life so completely that I had almost forgotten the advertisement I had placed in the Irish newspaper. I was therefore stunned when, in the middle of my second week, I received a letter from Ireland.
Collingwood Hall
Castlebridge
County Wexford, Ireland
Dear Sir,
I saw your advertisement in the Dublin Times. I am trying to locate my only daughter Katherine. The foolish child has run off with one of our estate workers, an undesirable young man called Michael Kelly, and it appears that they took a ship to New York. Naturally I want her found and brought home as soon as possible, although I fear it is already too late where her reputation is concerned. As you can imagine, this is breaking her mother’s heart. My wife is bedridden and of very delicate constitution. I cannot leave her or I would have undertaken this assignment myself. Please advise by return of post whether you will take on this commission and the fee you would require.
Yours faithfully,
T. W. Faversham, Major, Retired
Now this was just the kind of job I had imagined when I made the absurd decision to become an investigator. I wrote back immediately to Major Faversham, telling him that I would be delighted to find his daughter for him, that I needed as many details and photos as he could send me, the amount of money she might have taken with her, plus the names of any friends or relatives she might contact in the United States, and that my fee would be one hundred dollars plus expenses. My conscience got the better of me and I had to add, “In matters of extreme delicacy such as this, our junior partner, Miss Murphy, usually handles these cases with the required finesse and discretion.”