It was only when I posted the letter that I stopped to wonder how I would manage to juggle these two assignments. If I was in a sweatshop from seven until seven every day except Sundays, I wasn’t left with any time for finding missing heiresses. I didn’t actually know whether she was a heiress, but the English who had settled in Ireland had mostly done very well for themselves—unlike the Irish who had either starved or been driven from their homes during the potato famine.
I decided to start making inquiries right away. It should be possible to find out when a Mr. and Mrs. Michael Kelly had arrived in New York. I presumed they would claim to be married. I’d have to find out if the records were kept over on Ellis Island, and if they’d let me go over there to check them. But in the meantime a splendid notion had come to me. If Miss Faversham had any connections among New York society, then my acquaintance Miss Van Woekem would hear about her. I resolved to visit her this coming Sunday and sent her a note to that effect. Miss Van Woekem liked things to be done correctly.
On Sunday morning, at an hour when all good Christians would have returned from Sunday services and less good Christians like myself had finished taking coffee and pastries at Fleischman’s Vienna Bakery, I took the trolley car up Broadway, alighted at Twentieth Street, and walked to the charming brownstone on South Gramercy Park. In case you are wondering how an Irish immigrant girl like myself should have friends who live in such exalted parts of the city—I had briefly held the post of companion to Miss Van Woekem. For once I was not fired, but resigned from the position myself, for personal reasons. We had sparred considerably, the old lady and I, but had forged a mutual respect. She admired my decision to strike out on my own and had invited me to drop in from time to time.
The maid showed me into the first-floor drawing room, overlooking the park. Miss Van Woekem was sitting in the tall-backed armchair by the fire.
“Ah, Miss Molly Murphy, what a delightful surprise.” She held out her hand to me. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit? Not coming to reapply for the position, I fear. My current companion is a feeble little creature who cringes when I shout at her. No fun at all.” Her beaky, birdlike face broke into a wicked smile. “Come, seat yourself. Ada will bring coffee, or would you prefer tea?”
I took the armchair indicated on the other side of the fireplace. “Coffee would suit me very well, thank you.”
She was looking at me, head cocked to one side in another remarkably birdlike posture. “You’re looking well,” she said, “and more . . . established. You’re more sure of yourself since the last time we met. So tell me, is your detective business flourishing?”
“Hardly flourishing yet, but I am currently engaged in two interesting cases.”
She leaned forward in her chair. “Do tell me—all the details.”
She listened attentively while I told her about the garment factory, making annoyed tut-tutting noises as I described the conditions there. “If anyone can sort them out, then you can,” she said, “Now, about this missing girl.”
“Her name is Katherine Faversham. English landed gentry, living in Ireland. I thought that if she was staying with society friends anywhere in the city, you might hear of it.”
Coffee arrived and was poured. Miss Van Woekem took a sip, then looked up. “Faversham,” she said thoughtfully. “Faversham. The name doesn’t ring a bell. Of course, if she has married a penniless scoundrel, she might not wish to make her presence known to friends of the family. Although if she is married, her family presumably has lost authority over her and can do nothing.”
“My job is to locate her,” I said. “How they persuade her to come home is not my concern. When I find out under what financial circumstances she left Ireland, I’ll know where to start looking, but in the meantime I decided it couldn’t hurt to put my spies to work.”
Miss Van Woekem cackled. “Your spies. I like that. I have always wished to be a spy. In fact, if I had not been born a woman, I might well have volunteered my services to the government. I will keep my ear to the ground, my dear, and report back to you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I knew I could count on you. I am really glad that—”
I broke off at the sound of voices in the hallway outside. Before I could finish my sentence the door was flung open and a young woman burst in with a great rustle of silk.
“I’ve caught you at home, how wonderful!” She stood with arms open, a vision of loveliness in lilac silk, with a white fur wrap flung carelessly around her shoulders and an adorable little bonnet, also fur trimmed. “I wasn’t supposed to come to town this weekend, but Alicia Martin dragged me to a concert at Carnegie Hall last night and I’m so glad we went because it was an Italian tenor. You know how I feel about Italian tenors because you’ve promised to take me to hear Mr. Caruso the moment he comes to New York—and then we spent the night with Alicia’s aunt in a really interesting apartment in the Dakota. I’d always thought only poor people lived in apartments, but Alicia’s aunt isn’t at all poor and summers in Paris. Then this morning we were about to go strolling in Central Park but I said that I had to surprise my darling godmother first—are you suitably surprised?”