The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

“You want me to betray my own brother?” I rose to my feet.

“It’s a question of whether family loyalty should come before the greater good. If this group is planning something that involves the killing of innocent people, for example—where would your loyalties lie then? And how would it look if the wife of a distinguished police captain might be implicated as an accessory if you did not turn in your brother?”

“Would you turn your own brother in to the authorities, knowing that he’d be hanged when all he tried to do was rescue our other brother from jail?” I stood there, hands on hips and really angry now.

“Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement,” Mr. Wilkie said softly. “I may be able to find a way for him to stay here in America, with a new identity—a chance for a new life, if he agrees to give up his connections to the Brotherhood. What do you say—wouldn’t you rather your brother was here safely, able to make a good life for himself?”

“Of course I’d want that,” I said, “but I’m not my brother. That decision would have to come from him. But this is all a moot point, Mr. Wilkie. Liam has not tried to contact me and I think it’s unlikely that he will for the very reason you suggested. He would not want to implicate me in any of his schemes.”

Mr. Wilkie had also risen to his feet. “I’ve taken enough of your time, Mrs. Sullivan, and I’m truly sorry to have caused you any distress. All I can say is that I will do what is within my power to help your brother if he puts himself in my hands. You’ll tell him that at least, won’t you, if he shows up on your doorstep one night?”

“I’ll tell him that,” I agreed. “If he shows up on my doorstep.”

Mr. Wilkie picked up his hat and placed it on his head. “Then I take my leave of you. Oh, and I see no reason to mention this conversation to your husband. He doesn’t know anything yet about your brother’s possible involvement in this matter. Good day to you, Mrs. Sullivan.”

“And to you too, Mr. Wilkie,” I said.

“I can let myself out,” he said and went.





Eight

I slumped back onto the sofa, the wind knocked from my sails. Actually I felt quite sick. He wanted me to work for him as a spy all right, but only to ensnare my own brother. I had sensed that Liam was in danger, but I hadn’t realized how serious his situation was. And now I realized that I could never attempt to seek him out to warn him. It was all too possible that John Wilkie would have someone tailing me wherever I went and I wasn’t going to risk leading his men straight to Liam.

No wonder Liam had looked so anxious when I stopped him in the street. I tried to think how I could get word to him that the authorities were looking for him. If I couldn’t go into the Lower East Side myself I’d have to send someone else. The person that came immediately to mind was Sarah. Her settlement house was only a block away from where I had encountered Liam. If he was staying nearby there was a good chance she’d see him. I must somehow get a letter to her, that she could hand to Liam, warning him. But that posed another problem. I couldn’t risk going to that settlement house in case I bumped into Liam again. If only Sid and Gus were here.

I jumped as there was a knock at the front door again. Who could that be now? Maybe Mr. Wilkie regretted what he had just asked me to do and was returning to apologize. And to think that two days ago I had complained about being bored. I smoothed down my skirt and opened the front door.

Standing before me was the most welcome sight in ages.

“Molly, we’re back!” said my dear friend Augusta Walcott, usually known as Gus, as she wrapped me in a hug.

“I’m so delighted to see both of you,” I said, turning to hug my other friend, Elena Goldfarb, nicknamed Sid, in turn. “Come on in. I’ve lemonade or iced tea.”

“Just what we hoped,” Sid said. “We’re parched after that long uncomfortable train journey. We had to wait for the connection in Providence for over an hour. Some sort of trouble on the line.”

They followed me through to the kitchen and sat at my kitchen table.

“So how was Newport?” I asked as I put a kettle on the stove. “I kept thinking of you enjoying that ocean breeze.”

“The breeze was fine,” Gus said. “And the sea bathing was delightfully cool, and we went for a sail or two. Those were the good parts.”

“And the not so good?” I asked.

Sid grinned. “Nonstop social functions—croquet and tennis parties and luncheons, dinners, formal balls. Also Gus’s cousin was determined to set her up with a young man.”

“A ghastly young man,” Gus added. “He talked with a lisp and sprayed when he said his esses. And he talked about himself all the time and how wonderful he was and how brilliantly he played tennis.”