In a Gilded Cage (Molly Murphy, #8)

“You’ve asked Hatcher about the Boswells, then, have you? The man knows China like the back of his hand.”


I looked up at Mr. Hatcher as he gave a regretful shrug. “I can’t say I ever ran into a couple called Boswell. Of course, you said you were speaking of twenty-five years ago, and I have only been working in the Orient for the past eighteen years.”

“But perhaps you might have heard tales of a missionary couple who died in the cholera epidemic and a baby who survived.”

“Which year would that be?” Hatcher asked.

“Eighteen seventy-seven or -eight.”

Hatcher frowned. “There was no cholera epidemic that I know of that year. I remember when I arrived in the mid-eighteen-eighties a sister of the Catholic mission said how fortunate they had been to have been cholera-free for the past ten years. But of course the disease is never completely eradicated and China is a huge country. If your couple had been working far from civilization then they would have been exposed to all manner of foul diseases.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t be of more help, Miss Murphy.” Dr. Brown shook my hand.

“Maybe the young lady should leave you her card,” Mr. Hatcher suggested. “Then we could contact her if we happened to hear anything that might be of use to her.”

“You’re most kind,” I said. “And maybe if you could possibly put me in touch with any missionaries who were working up-country at that time?”

“I could probably do that,” Dr. Brown said. “Leave your card with me and I’ll go through my records to see which of our missionaries might now be retired and easily available. I’m afraid most of them are so devoted to the cause that they die out in China. So many poor heathen souls waiting to know the Lord, and the workers are so few, you know.”

I fished in my purse and offered him my card. I noticed Mr. Hatcher leaning forward in his seat to get a look at it. Really, it was amazing that the man’s nosiness had not gotten him into trouble in a place like China!

Having completed my missionary inquiries, I went home, grabbed a bite to eat, and hastily changed into a more fashionable outfit. It was a little cold for the shantung two-piece costume I had acquired from famous actress Oona Sheehan while working on an assignment for her, but I was prepared to shiver a little to make sure I looked right. I caught the El down to South Ferry and lurked out of sight until I saw Anson Poindexter emerge from his office building. I noticed which cab he hailed, but I couldn’t hear the directions he gave the cabby. As soon as the cab pulled away, I went into the building and up the stairs to Farnsworth and Poindexter, Attorneys at Law. As I had hoped, a young male clerk was still hard at work. He looked up in surprise as I entered.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re actually closed for the day. I’m just doing some filing.”

“Oh, dear me, how vexing. So Mr. Poindexter has gone then, has he?” I tried to play the spoiled upper-class miss.

“Yes, ma’am. Left just a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, what a pity. I took tea with his wife this afternoon and I promised her I’d pass him a message, as I was going to be visiting my accountant in this area. And now I’m too late and I’ve let Fanny down. You don’t happen to know where Mr. Poindexter went, do you?”

“I believe he said he was going straight home, ma’am.” The clerk was looking at me strangely.

“Really? Because Mrs. Poindexter was under the impression he was going to the theater.”

Did I notice the hint of a reaction to this last word?

“No, I’m pretty sure he said something to Mr. Farnsworth about ‘heading home.’”

“In that case my services weren’t needed and I can go about my business with a clear conscience, can’t I?” I gave him my most charming smile.

I suspected that Anson Poindexter would have said he was heading home even if his intentions were quite different. I had no choice but to go home myself. Not for the first time, I lamented the fact that I was a woman. A male detective could follow a man to his club, could chat with a cabby more easily and blend among men without arousing suspicion. I had taken this assignment blithely confident that I could carry it out. Now I started to wonder exactly how I was going to keep tabs on the wandering Mr. Poindexter.





Twelve