“It must be a great worry for you,” I commiserated, “but I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon enough.”
“He’d better. This time I’ve laid down the law. Any more failed exams and you’re not getting another penny from me, I told him. You’ll be out earning your living by the sweat of your brow like your father had to. That shook him up, Miss Murphy.”
“I’m sure it must have.”
He pulled his watch out of his vest pocket and glanced at it. “I must get back to work, Miss Murphy. I’ve enjoyed our little chat and I like your thinking. I’ll come up with some outlandish sketches over the weekend and by this time next week we may have found out the traitor in our midst.”
He escorted me from the coffeehouse, bowed, and we went our separate ways. As I walked away I tried to digest all that I had learned. He truly didn’t seem to remember Katherine and somehow I couldn’t picture him ordering her murder—which meant that if anyone ordered her death it was the foreman, Seedy Sam.
And concerning the other matter of the purloined designs, Mostel’s son now stood clearly at the head of my list of suspects. He had opportunity and he had a motive, if he was angry with his father for cracking the whip and stopping his pleasurable lifestyle. It was clear that he needed more money than his father was giving him and I presumed Mr. Lowenstein would come up with a handsome finder’s fee. I wondered if he was sweet on Lowenstein’s daughter, or if he was also only courting her in an effort to slight his father. However, if he were the traitor in the camp, the designs could move smoothly from one garment shop to the other without either party in the transaction going near the workplace. Which meant I would have no way of catching the suspects, and thus no way of being paid. I’d also have to tread very carefully if I wanted to make an accusation against Mostel’s son. Parents do not take kindly to suggestions that their offspring are not all they should be, however plain this might be to the rest of the world. It occurred to me that I should check up on the infamous Ben Mostel and see if I could uncover any other unfavorable facts against him.
I rejoined the picket line outside Lowenstein’s. Nothing much had happened during my absence, except that frail little Fanny had fainted and was currently sitting in Samuel’s being revived with a bowl of their best chicken soup. We stood, stamping our feet to keep warm until darkness fell and the icy blast from the East River made us decide to call it a day.
Jacob had a meeting of the United Hebrew Trades and I went home, grateful for a chance to warm up and get some sleep. I came in on a peaceful domestic scene, Bridie in her nightgown sitting on her papa’s knee and Shamey curled up at his feet as Seamus told them a story. As I listened, I caught the words and realized that the story was about their mother, Kathleen, and their life back in Ireland. I climbed the stairs thinking of my own half-forgotten life back in Ireland. Was it really less than a year ago that I had lived in a cottage and gone to our plot to dig potatoes in the rain and walked on the cliff tops in the wind and gazed out at the ocean, wondering what would become of me? Never, in my wildest dreams, could I have pictured this.
Major Faversham’s letter, along with the pictures of Katherine and Michael, were lying on my bedside table. I really should be writing that letter to him, telling him the sad news of his daughter’s demise. I couldn’t put it off much longer. I took out paper, pen, and ink, then sat, studying the photograph of Katherine again. The haughty face stared back at me, head held proudly, dressed in all her finery. Such a waste. Just like Nell—two lives that held so much promise, both cut short. Tears of compassion welled up in my eyes.
Then I blinked away the tears and stared harder at the photograph. I had asked Daniel if the body pulled from the East River had been wearing any jewelry and the answer had been in the negative. I took the photo under the gas and peered at it harder, wishing I had a magnifying glass. The locket Katherine was wearing around her neck was very distinctive—it was heart-shaped, and had a flower design on it in what looked like precious stones. My heart started racing. Now I knew what had disturbed me when I first saw Letitia Lowenstein. She had been wearing an identical locket around her neck.
Twenty-one
All thoughts of a hot bath and rest were put aside. I rushed down the stairs again, clutching the photograph, past the astonished O’Connor family and across the street to Sid and Gus.
“Dear God, don’t tell us something else is wrong,” Sid said, looking at my face. “I don’t think we could take another tragedy.”
“No, nothing is wrong,” I said, “but I wondered if you might own a magnifying glass.”