Her face lit up and I saw that she might have once been a very handsome young woman. “I've nothing to pay you with,” she said. “Of course, you can see that, can't you? But youll have my devotion and gratitude to my dying day if you can show them I had nothing to do with it. Youll have given me back my life.”
“I really can't promise anything, so please don't get your hopes up too high,” I said cautiously.
“If anyone can do it, I know you can.” She was still beaming at me as if I was some kind of celestial being, which made me un-comfortable. “You've got that look about you.”
“Where do you come from, Miss Lomax?” I asked.
“New York, miss. I was born in Yonkers.”
“To Irish parents?”
She shook her head. “No, miss. Scottish Presbyterians.”
I grinned. “Then for somebody without Irish blood, you've a good command of blarney.”
She looked puzzled. I reached across and patted her hand. “No matter,” I said. “But I will try my best for you.”
She drained the last of her mug of tea, then got to her feet. My conscience was wrestling with me. Could I, should I just let her go back onto the streets?
'Thank you again, with all my heart,” she said and opened the Front door.
“Just a minute, Miss Lomax,” I called after her. “How will I know where tofindyou if I have news? Do you have somewhere to stay?”
“You'll find on my patch of Broadway, miss. Right where you got out of the cab is where I sell myflowersevery evening.”
“But where do you live? Do you sleep on the streets?”
“Oh no, miss. A group of us girls shares a room down by the docks, in an alley off Water Street. Not exactly what you'd call a respectable neighborhood. I wouldn't want you contacting me there.” She looked up shyly. “I'll stop by your house from time to time, with your permission?”
The struggle with my conscience was still going on. I could take her in here, couldn't I? I'd be gone to the Flynns' mansion and she could maybe help look after the little ones. I knew it was a risk. She could, after all, be a complete crook. She could bring gangster cronies to take over my house. “Look, Annie,” I began. “May I call you Annie?”
She grinned. “A darned sight better than what most people call me these days.”
“Annie—I'11 be gone to Senator Flynn’s house in a while. You could stay here—”
She shook her head violently. “Oh no, miss. That wouldn't be right. You don't even know me, and besides, this fellow who supplies us with the flowers and lets us sleep in the room, he wouldn't take kindly to me sleeping somewhere else. He likes to keep us where he can see us, in case we do a bunk with more than our share of the profits. You're already doing more than enough for me. And if you can clear my name—well, I'll just tell that fellow what he can do with hisflowers, right?”
And she laughed.
I watched her walk down Patchin Place with a lump in my throat. Why had I agreed to do something that might be beyond my capabilities? And of course I knew the answer. Because that pitiful figure might have been me. I too had arrived in New York with nothing but the clothes on my back. I too had faced starvation and it was only by luck that I was not selling flowers or worse on the streets of the city. I'd had more than my share of luck. Maybe it was Annie Lomax’s turn.
Six
As the train pulled out of Grand Central Terminal with much huffing and puffing on a sticky June afternoon, I rested my head against the velveteen upholstery and heaved a sigh of relief. I was finally on my way!
It had been an emotional scene as I left Patchin Place, with Bridie clinging to my skirt and Seamus gruff and teary-eyed as if I was setting out for the North Pole and not the Hudson.
“You will come back, won't you, Molly?” Bridie had asked. “You won't forget about us?”
“Ill be away for a week or two, you goose,” I said, laughing as I ruffled her hair. “Who knows, in that time your father might have found a fine new job and have taken you all to live on Park Avenue.” I glanced at Shamey, who held a half-eaten piece of bread and drip-ping in one hand. “But in the meantime, I've left a stocked larder for you and a little money for emergencies.” Thanks to the retainer, I thought, as I prized Bridie’s hands from my skirt. “And no swimming in the East River, remember?”
In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)
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