“Oh yes,” Miss Van Woekem said. “Most surprised.”
“You don’t seem overwhelmed with delight at seeing me.” The young woman pouted.
“I am very pleased to see you, of course, Arabella, but, as you may notice, I already have company.”
“Oh.” The girl’s mouth formed a perfect circle and she appeared to notice me for the first time. I saw her taking in the cut and quality of my clothes. “Oh, I didn’t realize. Have I burst into the middle of an interview for a position in your household? I’m awfully sorry.”
“I am entertaining a good friend,” Miss Van Woekem said calmly. “Allow me to introduce you. Miss Murphy, this is my goddaughter, Arabella Norton. Arabella, this is Miss Molly Murphy, a famous private detective who was actually trying to capture that odious man when he shot President McKinley.”
“Really? How amazingly exciting. I think I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?”
“Maybe.” I knew exactly where I had seen her before but I didn’t trust my mouth to utter more than one word. Luckily she kept on babbling.
“A woman detective—how frightfully interesting and brave. You should meet my intended. You two would have a lot to talk about, although I don’t know what he will think of a woman doing his job.”
Then, to my horror, she turned back to the door. “Daniel, do stop sulking out there and come and say hello. I promised you we’d go walking in two seconds, but you have to meet this fascinating female detective.”
I took a deep breath as Daniel Sullivan stepped into the room. He was wearing a smart black-and-white check suit I hadn’t seen before with a white carnation in his buttonhole. His unruly dark curls were slicked down and parted. His derby was clutched in his hands. His face said clearly that he also wished himself anywhere else but here at this moment. “Miss Van Woekem,” he said, bowing slightly. “I trust you are well.”
“In better health than you at the present, I surmise, Daniel.” Although I had told her nothing, the old lady had been very quick to grasp the situation when I left her employment. “And this is Miss Murphy.”
“Miss Murphy.” Daniel’s eyes didn’t meet mine as he bowed.
“And she’s a detective, Daniel. Did you ever hear of such a thing?” Arabella slipped her arm through his and drew him close to her. “You two must have a lot to talk about.”
“Arabella, we are interrupting a private conversation,” Daniel said. “I really think we should be going.”
I got to my feet. “No, it is I who should be going. We have already concluded a most delightful coffee hour and I have friends waiting for me at a restaurant. Please excuse me.” I took the old woman’s hand. “Thank you for the coffee and for an enjoyable morning.”
“Do come again soon, my dear.” She patted my hand, a gesture which was most unlike her. “I hope to have news for you.”
I stumbled from the room, down the hall, and out of the front door. Arabella’s high, clear voice floated after me. “Where on earth did you meet her, Aunt Martha? What extraordinarily dreary clothes.”
I kept walking fast until I came to Park Avenue, then I turned and started walking south. The wind in my face was bitter, but I kept on walking. If I slowed down then I’d have to think, and if I thought, then the conclusions I’d come to would not be pleasant. I knew that Daniel was engaged to another woman, but he had sworn that he loved me and planned to break that engagement as soon as possible. And so I had kept hope in my heart. Now, seeing them together, I was forced to admit that such hope was ill founded.
Seven
I came into the front hall at Patchin Place to find most of it taken up by an enormous hat stand made of the antlers of some unknown giant beast.
“What in heaven’s name?” I asked.
Sid poked her black, cropped head around the drawing room door. “Don’t you adore it?” she asked. “Mrs. Herman across the street is going to live with her sister in South Carolina and was getting rid of items that were too big to move. This was so wonderfully ugly that we just had to have it. Gus is going to hang her painting smock on it up in the studio.”
My mind was already moving beyond painting smocks. “Across the street, you say?”
“Yes, you know, the old lady at Number Ten. With the cats—who are all travelling to South Carolina in baskets, you’ll be pleased to hear.”
“So Number Ten will be vacant? Will she be selling it, do you know?”
“I don’t think she owns it. Gus will know better than I. She’s the one who takes an interest in the neighbors. Help me carry the monstrosity up to her studio and you can ask her.”
We picked up the hat stand between us and womanhandled it up two flights of stairs.