Now there was only the bed to conquer. It was the word that came to mind, as if she stood before a mountain.
This particular bed with its odd carvings was wide enough for three adults or six children, or even more, if they were turned sideways. She could imagine all of her brothers as she had last seen them, packed like a row of sardines in a can. And they would have thought themselves in heaven on such a thick mattress under layers of sheets and quilts.
She climbed in. The sheets were homespun, which surprised and pleased her both. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but the weave of the linen against her cheek was familiar and comforting. They had been washed so often that they felt as soft as silk; they smelled of fresh air and just a touch of carbolic because this was a household that observed Lister’s antibacterial practices. But the pillow slips smelled of lilac.
In all her life she had never slept with even a single pillow, and now here she was confronted with four. It was like sharing a bed with a herd of overfed and indolent cats. Elise fell asleep with one of them clasped to her chest, like a doll.
? ? ?
ANNA FINISHED THE letter to Cap and Sophie and climbed into bed, where Jack was reading the Police Gazette with a severe expression that was almost a scowl. Without looking up he transferred the folded newspaper to his right hand and lifted the other arm. Anna scooted closer to put her head on his shoulder and the arm dropped into place, as solid as a club.
She said, “Still thinking about the bridge?”
He hesitated for just a moment, then put the paper on the bedside table and turned toward her. The heavy shadow of his beard made him look like a ruffian of the first order. Somehow this big, very masculine being had found a way into her life and bed in just two months’ time. She didn’t know which one of them was more surprised. Or pleased.
“What are you grinning about?”
Anna rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “Nothing in particular. What are you scowling about?”
“Was I scowling? I was reading the Police Gazette. I suppose Margaret gets more satisfaction out of it than I do.”
“Jack.”
He drew in a very deep breath and let it go, slowly. “Sometimes it’s hard to leave work behind on Mulberry.”
“I like hearing about your work.”
The corner of his mouth jerked. “Even you might not have the stomach for some of it.”
This reminded her of Hawkins, who had not been able to stomach what had happened to Janine Campbell. From there her thoughts went to the missing boys. The inquest into their mother’s death had ended just a few days ago, and the boys had already slipped her mind. It made her angry and sad and unhappy. She was going to say as much to Jack when he spoke up.
“There was a fight in one of the tenements on Elizabeth Street,” he said. “Have you ever been in any of them?”
“When I was an intern, yes.” Dark halls barely wide enough for a man of normal size, damp walls, the smells of mildew and rats and cooking and human waste. And the noise. The noise was what Anna remembered mostly.
Jack said, “We arrested a stevedore for killing his son. Caved the boy’s head in because he tried to protect his mother.”
He was quiet for a long minute. Anna waited, wondering if he needed to tell the whole story, to shake the images out of his head. She could imagine a dozen different situations that ended just this way, because she had seen them herself. It was another thing they had in common.
She asked, “The mother?”
“She’ll end up in the poorhouse. Maybe she’ll be able to keep the oldest girl with her, but the other three will be parceled out to one of the Catholic asylums. The only thing I know for sure is this: the minute they’re out of that room the greedy slob of a landlord will have another family in there.”
They were quiet for a moment. The night was clear and cool, and the breeze from the window was comforting. Anna took Jack’s hand and threaded her fingers through his.
“And to top it all off,” he went on, “we were called out to Bellevue because they had an unidentified dead woman.”
And now she was surprised. “They must have twenty mortalities without names every day. Do they call the detectives every time?”
“This woman was young, dressed in silks and brocades. If her hands are any indication she never worked a day in her life.”
“So where did she come from?”
“A cabby dropped her off, but he was gone before anybody thought to question him. She had a purse on her, mostly empty. There were no obvious wounds I could see, no marks on her throat. They’ll do a postmortem.”
Anna traced along his knuckles with her thumb. “It is unusual. I wonder why a wealthy woman would ask to be taken to Bellevue.”
“Somebody will come looking for her, and the autopsy will explain the rest. If you want to see the postmortem when we get it, I can do that.”