The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

“I will,” I said. “Thank you.”


With the letter in my gloved hand I went out into the heat of Sixth Avenue. I walked until I was standing in the shade of a sycamore tree before I stopped to examine it. Of course I knew that P. Riley Associates was no more, and that I had promised Daniel I would give up all such nonsense when I married him. That meant that I should throw the letter straight into the nearest rubbish bin. But then I told myself that it might be a belated payment for services rendered long ago and I couldn’t risk throwing good money away. I looked at the envelope and saw the stamp with King Edward’s head on it. From England then. I opened the envelope and found no money but a single sheet of cheap lined paper, such as one would find in an exercise book. I also saw from the address at the top that the letter came not from England but from Ireland, from County Cork.

Dear Sir or Madam:

We are but simple folk and can’t pay you much money, so if you’re one of these big swank detectives then I’m thinking you’ll not want to be bothered with the likes of us. But we’re more than a little worried about our niece Maureen O’Byrne. She sailed for New York on the Majestic out of Queenstown just under a year ago, hoping to make a better life for herself in your country. Indeed things seemed to fall into place instantly for her. She hadn’t been there more than a week or two when she wrote to us saying that she’d landed herself a good situation as under-parlormaid with a Mrs. Mainwaring and she hoped soon to be sending money home when she’d paid off her passage.

She had not given us an address to write to, so we could only wait for more news. Well, we waited and waited but heard nothing more. So now a year’s coming up and we’re concerned about her welfare. She was always a good girl and devoted to her uncle and me, as we were her closest relatives since her poor mother and father died. Something must have happened to her, or she would have written, I’m absolutely sure. Even if she couldn’t send any money she would have at least written a note at Christmastime.

As I said, we are not wealthy folks and I have no idea what your usual fee might be, but we’ve a little set aside for our funerals and we’re willing to do what’s necessary to learn about our Maureen. Anything you can do to help will be appreciated. Please reply to the above address and God love you for your efforts.

Yours faithfully,

E. M. O’Byrne (Mrs.)

P.S. I have enclosed a picture of Maureen to help you with your inquiries. As you can see, she’s a pretty girl, dainty, almost fairylike. We used to tease her that she was a changeling as we’re all heavyset and dark in the family except for her.





Two

I stood staring down at the picture of Maureen. It had obviously been cut from a family group and showed her stiff, uneasy, and unsmiling; her hands folded in an unnatural position. Her hair was light, but it wasn’t possible to tell the true color. I slipped the picture back into the envelope then reread the letter. By the time I had finished reading, my head had started buzzing with ideas. The missing girl had done something she was ashamed of and didn’t want them to know. She’d run off with an unsuitable man, or she’d been sacked from her situation in Mrs. Mainwaring’s household and didn’t want to write until she had found herself a new post. If I could locate this Mrs. Mainwaring, no doubt this matter could be solved quickly. It shouldn’t be too hard—Mrs. Mainwaring must be a lady of some substance if she ran a household big enough to employ more than one parlormaid. And I knew people who moved in those circles. The first person to try should be my old friend Miss Van Woekem—she knew the Four Hundred personally. Or maybe some of my friend Emily’s Vassar pals, or of course Gus came from a most distinguished Boston family who would have connections in New York. It wasn’t definite that the lady lived in New York, but given that the girl landed here and found a situation immediately, one could surmise …