“But of course,” Sid said, as if people showed up on her doorstep at nine o’clock every night demanding magnifying glasses. “Come in, do. We were just about to have coffee.”
Sid’s Turkish coffee late at night was a guarantee of no sleep, but I missed the reassurance of their company, so I accepted and was taken through to the kitchen, where Gus was putting a pot of water onto the stove.
“Molly!” she exclaimed. “Have they found Nell’s killer yet? We tried to find out when her funeral will be, but the police have not released her body to her family. What a tragic business for them. We are extremely cut up about it too, are we not, Sid?”
“Positively melancholy,” Sid echoed. “Poor Gus has been quite out of sorts since you left and even worse since she heard of Nell Blankeship’s death, Molly. You should see the painting she has started—all dark swirls, like deep gloomy pools.”
“Don’t mind me,” Gus said, “I always get this way with the approach of winter.”
“Then we must whisk you south to the sun,” Sid said. “Florida, do you think?”
My heart lurched at the thought of Sid and Gus going away, then Gus shook her head. “We couldn’t abandon Molly, and Ryan will expect us to hold his hand while his play opens in the city. Let’s just go out and fill the place with flowers and oranges tomorrow. That should suffice.”
“Here is the requested object.” Sid handed me the magnifying glass she had found in a drawer. “Are you planning to become Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”
I laughed. “No, I just wanted to examine this photograph more closely.” I placed it on the table.
“That is the English girl who you were trying to trace—the one they said had drowned in the East River.” Sid peered over my shoulder. “Molly, you are not still pursuing this inquiry, are you? Wasn’t Nell also looking into this girl’s disappearance when she was killed?”
“Molly—I thought we gave you enough stern warnings,” Gus added.
“I promised to do nothing foolish, and I plan to keep that promise,” I said. “This is another matter altogether. I wanted to examine the necklace she is wearing. I think I might have seen it in New York.”
“She pawned it, perhaps.”
I hadn’t thought of that possibility. Katherine could well have pawned her jewelry to keep herself and Michael going and Letitia Lowenstein could have bought the locket quite legitimately at a pawn shop. Nothing underhand involved after all.
I put the magnifying glass to my eye and examined the locket. In closer detail I could see that the stones were arranged in a design that looked like forget-me-nots. How very appropriate, I thought. I am not going to forget you, Katherine! And I am going to find out how Letitia Lowenstein came by a very similar locket. I remembered Mr. Mostel lamenting that his son showered his lady friends with jewelry. Had Ben acquired this particular jewel? It was too much of a coincidence that he had come across it in a pawn shop. Yes, Mr. Ben Mostel, I must really check into you, I thought as walked home across Patchin Place.
The next day was Friday, the fourth since our strike began. It was obvious to me that Mr. Lowenstein was going to be content to have us standing out in the street until the moment he wanted work to commence again. Then it would be a case of accept my conditions or I find replacements. Only then would it start to get ugly. I hoped that my meeting with Mr. Mostel yesterday might bring things to a swifter conclusion. If he had announced the unveiling of his new line, as planned, then Mr. Lowenstein would want us back at work by sometime next week. It would be interesting to see when he made his move.
Around midmorning, Jacob came running up, waving a copy of the New York Herald. “Look, they printed my photograph,” he exclaimed and we gathered around to see. Under the headline GARMENT WORKERS DEMAND BETTER CONDITIONS was a picture of our picket line. Jacob had chosen to focus on the frailest-looking girls. Little Fanny was positively sagging against her picket sign. The girls looked like frozen waifs. The whole scene was most appealing.
“It’s wonderful, Jacob,” I said. “If this doesn’t stir up public sympathy, I don’t know what will.”