Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)

TWO

Intrigued now, I fought my way through the crowd to catch up with her. Why another woman should want to dress up as a street urchin, I had no idea. The only other female detective I had met in New York City was Mrs. Goodwin, but she was employed by the police and wore a uniform. I was determined to keep this woman in sight until I could find a suitable opportunity to confront her. At least I didn’t have to worry about her fighting temperament.

Then I heard the rumble of an approaching El train over our heads. The young woman suddenly dashed up the steps to a station platform. I went to follow her, but I didn’t have a ticket. She pushed through the barrier and onto the train while I was left fuming and waiting in line at the ticket booth. For the second time in one evening I was furious with myself. If she truly had been another woman detective, then maybe we could have worked together and helped each other on occasion. God knows how hard it is to survive as a woman in a man’s world and how lonely such a profession can be.

My small back alley of a street called Patchin Place was in wintry darkness as I approached it, picking my way along the narrow trough that had been cleared through the snow. As I fished in my pocket for my front door key I realized I dreaded the prospect of an empty house on a cold dismal evening. I’m really not a creature designed for the solitary life at the best of times, and at this moment I longed for nothing more than a roaring fire, hot drink, and good company. I knew where I could find all of the above, but I hesitated to burst in on my neighbors so late in the evening, especially when they were entertaining friends whom I had not yet been invited to meet.

For a long moment propriety battled with longing. Being of a Celtic disposition, of course longing won out. I picked my way across the street and knocked on their door. It was opened by Sid wearing her customary gentleman’s velvet smoking jacket, her Turkish cigarette in its long ebony holder resting gracefully between her fingers. She was the picture of bohemian elegance but she was eyeing me with horrified suspicion.

“What do you want?” she demanded. “Go on. Clear off.”

“Sid, it’s me. Molly,” I said.

A surprised smile spread across her face. “Bless my soul, so it is. What on earth are you doing out this late, dressed in that extraordinary manner? No, don’t tell me. Gus will want to hear it too, and I know our guest will be thunderstruck to meet you.” She was already chuckling as she ushered me into the house and then threw open the drawing room door with a dramatic gesture.

“Prepare to be astonished, Gus,” she said. “And as for you, Elizabeth, here is a street urchin hot on your tail.”

I stepped into the delightful warmth of their drawing room. A big fire was blazing in the hearth. The heavy burgundy velvet drapes shut out the chilly night. A low table held a brandy decanter and steaming mugs as well as a copper bowl of figs, dates, and nuts. My friend Gus was sitting in the high-backed Queen Anne chair on one side of the fire, a beaded black shawl around her slender shoulders, while the person on the other side of the fire was my fellow urchin, whom I had lost on the train station. Her cap was now removed to reveal a fine head of dark hair. She had half risen from her seat and was eyeing me with fear.

Gus recognized me immediately and came toward me, arms open. “Molly, my dearest, pray tell what is going on. Is this some festival we are missing? The night of the street urchins? Surely not the Holy Innocents?” She dragged me toward the fire. “Goodness, your hands are freezing. Sid has just made some toddy for Elizabeth. Sit here while I fetch you some.”

I was firmly pushed into Gus’s seat by the fire and felt my hands and feet tingling back to life. My fellow urchin was eyeing me with interest as Gus returned with a steaming mug and thrust it into my hands. “Take a sip of that and then tell all,” she said.

I sipped and felt a delicious glow spreading down through my body. “Holy mother, that feels good,” I said. “I thought I was about to lose my hands and feet to frostbite. What a ridiculous idea to dress up as a street urchin on a night like this.”

“I came to that same conclusion myself,” the visitor they had addressed as Elizabeth said in a rich, cultured voice. “You must have had a very good reason for doing so.”

“I was following a man into an unsavory area,” I said. “Women who loiter on the sidewalk are liable to be arrested for prostitution. Urchins are invisible and plentiful, especially since every crossing currently has a sweeper or two in attendance, as you’ve just found out.” I smiled at the woman who threw back her head and laughed.

“You saw me, did you? Dismissed by a pint-sized bully. What a humiliation. But he looked a tough little devil and I had no wish to take him on and come home with a split lip for my pains.”