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IN THE CAB that took her from the ferry to Waverly Place, Sophie dozed, slipping in and out of quicksilver dreams. She was in Brooklyn and New Orleans, in Mrs. Campbell’s austere kitchen, in the lecture hall where she had realized that yes, she wanted to be, she would be a doctor. She was a doctor. Tomorrow she would spend most of her day at the Foundling Hospital, where the nursing sisters took in infants who were too sick to save, and others that Sophie would treat. Some she would send on, to orphan asylums or back to their families. She could close her eyes and see many of those faces. They came to her in all colors. They came to her for help.
7
JACK MEZZANOTTE FOUND a bench in Washington Square Park and sat down to wait until three o’clock, when he could knock on Anna Savard’s door without looking like a smitten schoolboy. The sun was warm on his face and he was bone tired, but he was not so short on sleep that he would shock the neighborhood by dozing in public. A patrolman was sure to pass by and then he’d never hear the end of it.
Two nursery maids came to a stop to talk, both of them rocking their carriages to keep their charges quiet while they sent quick sidelong glances in his direction. Jack picked up his newspaper and hid behind it. There was a surplus of spinsters in the city, the long-term effects of the war still in evidence. So many young women without hope of families of their own. They made him think of his sisters, which in turn made him sad.
Thinking about Anna Savard, by comparison, didn’t make him sad. He certainly spent too much time thinking about her. An educated woman of strong opinions, self-sufficient. The nursemaids—pretty, educated to the point that they could read and write, keep track of household accounts, do needlework and mending, with families and reputations good enough to gain employment looking after the children of the wealthiest families—they were more likely to marry than Anna or Sophie Savard. Or than his own sisters.
With that thought he caught sight of Anna headed his way. She had turned into the park from Fifth Avenue, walking quickly so that her skirts swirled around the toes of her boots and the edge of her cape—a deep evergreen color—kicked up with every step. Jack wondered if she was wearing split skirts today, as she had the first time he saw her in that church basement, locking horns with Sister Ignatia. He wondered if the hair she had coiled at the back of her head would curl once released from its pins.
She didn’t see him sitting there and would have passed without taking any note.
“Pardon me, Dr. Savard.”
She turned on point, alert, her frown shifting to surprise. “Detective Sergeant Mezzanotte. What are you doing here?”
He gestured to the bench. “Sitting. In the sunshine.”
She looked up at the clock in the university tower. Her walk had put high color into her cheeks and at the very tip of her nose.
Jack said, “It’s about half past two. You aren’t late.” And at her puzzled expression. “We have an appointment at three; did you forget?”
He waited until she took a seat on the very edge of the bench and folded her hands in her lap. She wore gloves embroidered with ivy.
“Is that your work?” He gestured to her gloves.
She frowned, not understanding him.
“The embroidery.”
“No. You’re interested in embroidery?”
“Only because I see so much of it. Both my sisters embroider, for various churches and for some well-to-do ladies who have less time or inclination.”
She lifted a shoulder, almost apologetically. “The only kind of sewing I do is very different. You have two sisters?”
“And five brothers. And you?”
“I had an older brother, but he died when I was young. Now I have Sophie. And Cap.”
She looked away into the depths of the park. Her eyes were the color of tarnished copper, tawny browns shot through with green.
“I’m sorry about your friend Mr. Verhoeven,” Jack said.
There was a small silence. “Thank you,” she said finally. And: “You have news about the Russo boys?”
“No,” Jack said. “But there is someone to interview who might be of help. If you care to join me.”
Her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. “Today? Now?”
“Unless you have other appointments.”
She seemed to bristle a little, as though she disliked the idea of being waited for. “Close enough to walk?”
“A half hour, at a reasonable pace.”
She got up, and so did he.
“I’ll take your bag,” he said, but she swung it away from him.
“Peremptory of you, wouldn’t you say?”
She was in a prickly mood. He looked forward to this walk.