I stood on the Manhattan shore and looked across at Ward’s Island, overwhelmed with anger and frustration. To know that my girl was in that terrible place and that I had no way of rescuing her was driving me crazy. What could I do? If Daniel had returned he might know how to approach this. But then he might also tell me that it was none of my business. The girl had been destined for that very asylum when I kidnapped her myself. And who knows—in spite of the reputation and the moans and the groans, maybe she would receive some treatment there that could help her.
Of course that’s when I thought of Dr. Birnbaum. He was well known in his field. He could probably gain entrance to such an institution and he could see if Jessie was all right and being cared for. Feeling much better, I hurried to the nearest El station, and sat impatiently while the train crawled slowly southward through Manhattan until it reached Eighth Street. Soon I found myself at the Hotel Lafayette. I hardly expected Dr. Birnbaum to be in his rooms in the middle of the day, but I could leave a note for him, and by the end of the day I’d have an ally who could save Jessie for me.
“Dr. Birnbaum?” the man at the reception desk said. “I’m afraid he’s not here.”
“I realize that,” I said, trying to sound calm, “but I wish to leave a note for him to be delivered the moment he returns. It’s urgent.”
“If it’s urgent, I’m afraid that’s not going to do much good,” he said. “The doctor was called out of town unexpectedly this morning.”
“How long will he be away?”
“I couldn’t tell you but he did take quite an amount of baggage with him.”
“You don’t happen to know where he went?”
“It is not my job to ask the guests where they are going, miss,” he said solemnly. “It could have been back to Europe, I suppose. He did tell us to retain his room, so I expect he’ll return in good time. If you care to write the note, I’ll see that he gets it as soon as he returns.”
I wrote on hotel stationery, but my heart just wasn’t in it. How could I possibly wait to see when Dr. Birnbaum might return, knowing Jessie was in that place? Then I decided I wasn’t going to wait. Mrs. Goodwin would probably be home in bed by now and I was going to risk waking her.
I hurried to Tompkins Square, hammered on Mrs. Goodwin’s door, and was finally rewarded by slow footsteps coming toward me. It was clear she had been in a deep sleep.
“Oh Molly, it’s you,” she said. “What drama do we have today?”
“A terrible one,” I said, and spilled out the whole story. “We have to do something,” I concluded. “They wouldn’t listen to me. It will take an official visit from the police before we can get her out of there.”
“Very well.” She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. Captain Paxton was the senior officer in the raid on the Sicilians, so he would have to be the one to take this up.”
She went upstairs to get dressed and I left her feeling more hopeful. It was now in the hands of the authorities. They would make that hatchet-faced nurse admit them and release Jessie back to me. I realized I might be taking on a long-term problem, that supporting another person would not be easy, but I’m always of the Mr. Micawber school of thought that “something will turn up.” So I walked home with a spring to my step, already planning how I might make Jessie’s bedroom more cheerful, or perhaps give her mine so that she got the morning sun.
I waited impatiently all day. There was almost no food in the house, but I dared not leave to go shopping, in case I missed Mrs. Goodwin. Evening came and still no Mrs. Goodwin. Still no Daniel, either. I paced the house like a caged animal, up and down the narrow hallway, waiting for that knock on the front door. By eight o’clock I realized she wasn’t going to come.
I told myself to calm down and stop fussing. Obviously Captain Paxton had more on his mind than the fate of one girl. I couldn’t expect him to drop everything, to risk jeopardizing his case against the Sicilian gangsters just for me. That night I dreamed about Ward’s Island, but it wasn’t Jessie who was locked up there, it was me. It was a horrible nightmare with half-human creatures dancing around me, screaming and moaning and laughing. They prodded me with sticks and one of them said, “This one’s sane,” and another shouted, “Not for long!” at which they all cackled with laughter and a voice in the background whispered, “You’ll never get out, you know.”
I woke screaming, then lay in the darkness with my heart pounding. I had to do something today. I couldn’t wait any longer. As soon as it was light I made my way to police headquarters. As I walked up Mulberry Street I saw her walking ahead of me, in conversation with a male police officer. I didn’t stop to think that perhaps I shouldn’t approach her when she was on duty. I’m afraid I yelled out her name and broke into a run. She turned in surprise and waited for me.
“Molly, my dear, I can’t talk now,” she said. “We’re on our way to interview a girl in a brothel. I get off duty at ten and I’ll come straight to your house.”
So I had to wait yet again. At least she’ll have good news when she comes, I kept telling myself. At last there was the knock on the door and I ushered her inside.
Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)
Rhys Bowen's books
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