I let my thoughts wander as I stood on that sidewalk, stamping my feet to keep them warm. It had become cold and windy again, with the threat of more rain. After Lowenstein had left a tremor of fear had gone through the line of girls.
“He’s going to fire us all. We’ll be out in the street,” I heard one girl sobbing.
Rose strode up and down the line. “You’re not using your brain, Gina,” she said. “If he doesn’t get this place back in full operation in a week, he’s not going to win the race to get his new line of clothing into the stores, is he? And there is no way that he can hire and train a whole new set of girls in one week. All we have to do is be strong and wait this one out, and stick together. Right?”
“That’s right, Rose. You tell her!” voices shouted encouragement.
We broke for the night when darkness fell. We didn’t think that Mr. Lowenstein could do much overnight and the girls were cold, hungry, and exhausted. Jacob put his hand on my shoulder as the strikers dispersed.
“Come and have a bowl of soup and a glass of wine with me. You must be ready to drop.”
I smiled at him. “My feet are about ready to fall off. Other than that I’m fine.”
He took me to a small café and we had borscht, which Jacob told me was a Russian beet and cabbage soup, served with coarse brown bread and a glass of red wine. I felt my strength returning immediately although that may have been because Jacob was sitting opposite me. He had the sweetest smile and the way he gazed at me from behind those owlish specs was quite heartwarming. We sat chatting until the café owner started sweeping around our feet. Jacob wanted to walk me home, but I could see that he was as tired as I.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” I said.
“But I do worry,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept thinking what if they find out the connection between you and Nell? What if they think she told you more than she did, and they come looking for you?”
This was something that hadn’t crossed my mind before and I rather wished he hadn’t mentioned it.
“Nonsense. They could have no way of knowing that Nell was asking questions on my behalf. I’m perfectly safe,” I said, “and I intend to stay that way. I’m heading straight home to a hot bath and bed.”
I waved, smiled, and set off with more bravado than I actually felt. He stood on the sidewalk watching me until I reached the corner of the block and turned out of sight. Jacob—an added complication in my life. He was obviously smitten with me. What did I really think about him? He was kind and wise and had a good sense of humor. If I could only shake off my last remaining dreams of Daniel Sullivan, then I could allow myself to fall for a man like Jacob Singer.
Next morning it was back on the picket way at first light. A cold day with frost in the air. The girls stomped their feet and clapped their hands together to stay warm. I wondered how long this standoff would continue. Until Mr. Lowenstein had his own designs completed or he had managed to acquire designs from Mostel’s, obviously. In which case I should do something to speed things up.
I’ve never been known for my great patience. Another of my major faults, or cardinal sins, according to my mother. I would always be the one who dipped her finger in the cake batter or who opened the oven to see if the Yorkshire pudding was rising and thus made it go flat. So by the third day of standing outside Lowenstein’s, I was suffering more from boredom than from cold, hunger, or fear.
I knew that I had promised Jacob that I wouldn’t pursue Nell’s killer, but I was itching to get back to Mostel’s again. I told myself that it was only because I wanted to get the business of the designs sorted out and with Lowenstein’s out on strike, that could never happen. But at the back of my mind loomed the question of Nell and what she had found out. And Mostel’s was the one concrete link I had in the chain of Katherine’s disappearance and Nell’s death.
I slipped away from the line, on the pretext of finding a washroom, found a nearby stationer, bought paper and envelope, looked longingly at the new fountain pens displayed in the glass counter, then persuaded the clerk to let me use his pen and ink. As soon as I had money, I would buy myself one of those new fountain pens so that I could write notes anywhere—along with the watch that was so necessary to my profession, of course. Having left the store, my head swimming with such grand ideas, I was soon reminded that if I didn’t conclude a case soon, I was not likely to have the money for food, let alone luxuries.
The message I had penned was to Mr. Mostel, asking if he could meet me at Steiner’s Coffee House on Lower Broadway, sufficiently far away from prying eyes. Half an hour after I delivered it, he appeared at the door of the coffeehouse.
“Miss Murphy?” he said, sitting down at the table beside me. “You have news for me?”