THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. ALL OF THE CHARACTERS, ORGANIZATIONS, AND EVENTS PORTRAYED IN THIS STORY ARE EITHER PRODUCTS OF THE AUTHOR’S IMAGINATION OR ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY.

“The Amersham Rubies” Copyright © 2011 by Rhys Bowen. All rights reserved. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

ISBN: 978-1-4299-2510-5

www.minotaurbooks.com

Contents

The Amersham

Excerpt: Bless the Bride

Other Books by Rhys Bowen

County Mayo, Ireland, in the last years of the 19th Century.

“Liam’s got a message for you.” My youngest brother Malachy burst in through our cottage door, bringing with him a great gust of wind that sent ashes swirling in the grate and threatened to put out the peat fire.

“Not another. Who is it from this time?” I asked. “Not that awful Ted Shaughnessy again.” Several boys in the village had been pestering me to go to the midsummer’s eve dance with them, but they were all clod hopping louts, having never read a book in their lives and interested only in girls and beer. Every night I prayed that I’d find a way out of this place and wouldn’t end up married to one of them.

“Not Ted Shaughnessy,” Malachy looked back at the open door. “Tell her, Liam.”

The two older boys sauntered in, flinging their lunch pails down on the floor for me to pick up.

“From the big house,” Liam said. “From the mistress herself. She wants to see you.”

“Lady Hartley wants to see me? What about?”

Liam looked at me scornfully. “You don’t think the mistress of the manor discusses her business with the likes of me, do you? The butler told Mr. Murphy and Mr. Murphy told me when he handed me my pay packet.”

“Pay packets?” I had forgotten what day it was. I looked around and realized that someone was missing. “Where’s Da?” I asked.

“Off down the pub as fast as his legs could carry him, of course,” Liam said.

“Oh no. You didn’t try to stop him?”

“I don’t enjoy getting hit around the head myself,” Liam muttered.

I sighed. “You’d better all give me your pay packets right now since there won’t be much left of Father’s this week.” Since our mam had died he had taken to drinking. Lately he was more drunk than sober, and he took it out on us children, which was why I was eighteen years old and still stuck at home. I couldn’t leave until the boys were grown up and safely on their own.

My thoughts returned to more cheerful subjects. “So when does the mistress want to see me?”

“As soon as you can get there, I suppose,” Liam said.

“Supper is all ready in the pot.” I glanced at the open door. “I suppose I can trust you to serve yourselves and not set the place on fire if I go now.” I grabbed my shawl from the hook beside the door. “Tell Da where I am if he shows up.”

With that I ran out, standing for a moment on the doorstep and letting the breeze blow in my face. It was a lovely clear evening with the sun still setting over the ocean on the western horizon. At this time of year it didn’t go down until almost 10 p.m., so I had plenty of time to get to the big house and back before it became dark. It was a good mile’s walk and I didn’t relish it in the darkness.

I think I ran most of the way. Anyway I was quite out of breath and in a state of excitement by the time I went through those imposing gates and up the main driveway. What could the mistress want me for? She had hardly seen me for years, since I stopped taking lessons with Miss Vanessa and Miss Henrietta, although at one time I rather suspected that she was fond of me. Fond enough to invite me to share her girls’ schoolroom and governess anyway. Of course my mother’s death had put a stop to that when I was fourteen, and anyway Miss Vanessa and Miss Henrietta had been sent away to finishing school in Switzerland soon afterward. I had heard that Miss Henrietta was coming out this summer and there was to be a ball at the house. My pulse quickened—was it possible that Lady Hartley had remembered me and wanted me to come to the ball? Suddenly I felt like Cinderella. I stood and smoothed down my unruly hair, hesitating to go up the steps to the front door. But then the servants’ entrance wasn’t correct either, was it? I was neither servant nor tradesperson, even though my family did live in a peasant cottage and the menfolk worked on the estate. But hadn’t the mistress herself asked to see me? I took a deep breath, went up those steps, and yanked on the doorbell. The housemate’s face when she opened it was one of supercilious surprise.

“What do you think you’re doing ringing the doorbell as if you were somebody?” she demanded. “Don’t you think I’ve got enough to do with a house full of fine people and more arriving every moment? I thought you’d be Mr. Justin. He’s supposed to be arriving on the afternoon train.”

My pulse quickened again. Mr. Justin, the handsome older brother, was now an army officer and rarely came home. And I wasn’t going to be talked down to by any housemaid.

“Would you be good enough to tell the mistress that I’m here,” I said in my most superior voice. “She sent a message that she wanted to see me.” Then I watched and waited with satisfaction as she walked away. Soon there came the tap of light heels on the marble floor and the mistress appeared looking rather flustered.

“Oh, Molly,” she said. “Good of you to come so quickly. We are all at sixes and sevens at the moment with Henrietta’s ball tomorrow. I expect you’ve heard all about it. I was hoping my son would have arrived by now. Never mind. Come through for a moment.” And she ushered me through into the small reception room on the right. “I’ll come right the point,” she said. “I’ve a favor to ask. You’ve been properly educated with nice manners, so I thought that maybe I could call upon you—“

Hope surged within me. She was going to asked me to accompany someone to the ball!

“—to assist some of the ladies with their toilet before the ball. They won’t all bring their maids with them and our maids will be too busy. So I can count on you, can’t I, my dear?”

“Yes, of course,” I heard myself mumbling. So I was to be a servant after all.

“You’d better see if we’ve maids uniform that will fit you.” She started back toward the door. “And if we don’t, perhaps you have a black dress you can wear. No bright colors.”

As we came out to the hallway the front door opened and two young men came in, both resplendent in army uniform. I recognized Justin Hartley immediately. He had become even more handsome since I saw him last. I saw him eyeing me appraisingly and then recognition dawned. “Good God, is it not little Molly all grown up?”

The way he was looking at me made me blush.

“Molly is kindly going to assist the ladies before the ball tomorrow,” Mrs. Hartley said. “How are you, my darling? It’s been such a long time since we’ve seen you.”

Justin allowed her to kiss him on the cheek before turning to the young man who stood behind him. “Mother, may I present Roland Charters? Charters is a mess mate and a fine fellow of impeccable background, thus highly suitable to dance with your beloved daughters.”

I sensed the underlying sarcasm in his words. Had there been other young men who were not deemed suitable?

“Mr. Charters—or I presume it’s Lieutenant Charters—you are most welcome. I had mentioned to my son that we could use more suitable men, and he has kindly supplied us with one.”

“I suppose someone should show Charters his room so that we can get changed for dinner,” Justin said. “Come on, Chubby.”

“Here you go,” Charters said, and to my mortification he handed me his hat and gloves as if I were the housemaid.

“I’d best be getting home before it’s dark,” I said. “I’ll be here tomorrow then, Lady Hartley.” I deliberately put the hat and gloves on the hall table and went on my way before anyone could say anything.

“So did the mistress want to adopt you or marry you off to her son?” Liam asked as I walked in the cottage door.

“She wants me to help meet and greet the guests for the ball, show them to their rooms—that kind of thing,” I said breezily. “She said I had nice manners and knew how to behave which is more than I can say for some of us!”

Early next evening I appeared at the big house in my black dress. It was lucky that the black dress for my mother’s funeral had been made with plenty of room for growth, we Irish constantly expecting deaths to be around the corner. I wasn’t going to wear a maid’s uniform, that was for sure.

“Ah, Molly,” Lady Hartley greeted me. “Good. The dress looks quite suitable, but put up your hair, dear. It’s flying all over the place. And I’m going to ask you to assist Lady Amersham. Her maid will be too busy helping Lady Daphne, her daughter. She is one of the season’s premiere debutantes, you know. We are lucky to have snared her for our little function.”

I nodded and went to find Lady Amersham and was surprised to find a young woman, not much older than thirty, dressed in the height of fashion and smoking a cigarette in her room.

“You’re the maid?” She looked me up and down. “Good, you can press my gown. It became quite creased on the journey. Really Ireland is too far to travel for anything.”

I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t really a maid, but I swallowed back my pride and pressed the gown under her critical eye. I was interested to note that while her day dress was fashionable, the ball gown had the enormously puffy leg-of-mutton sleeves of a couple of years ago. I had always found them highly unflattering. She must have read my thoughts or seen my expression.

“No sense in my wearing a new gown, when I’m only a chaperon. I don’t want to outshine Daphne. Besides this fabric goes so well with the family rubies, and one is expected to wear them.”

I helped her into the dress, managed to arrange her great coil of dark hair to her satisfaction and then she opened the jewel case. A strand of perfectly matched, large red stones with one pigeon egg-sized stone in the middle lay on the red velvet.

“Be careful with them, girl,” she said, handing them to me. “They’ve been in the family for generations.”

“Is the metal white gold or platinum?” I asked as I fastened the clasp.

“None of your business, girl.” Her pleasant tone had changed in an instant. “Attend to your duties instead of chatting with your betters. And I hope you made sure that clasp is securely fastened.”

“Yes, my lady,” I muttered.

She nodded with satisfaction at what she saw in the mirror. “And I think I need my fur stole. These Irish places are always so drafty and I am so susceptible to drafts.”

“It’s a lovely warm evening,” I said, but I handed her the stole.

“And my embroidery,” she said. “I am not supposed to dance so I’ll need something to keep me occupied until the wee hours.”

She stuffed a piece of linen fabric and some threads into her bag. She looked to me like the last kind of person to do embroidery.

With a final glance at herself in the mirror she went to find her daughter. Lady Daphne was just emerging from her room. “Ah, there you are, stepmother,” she said. “What has kept you so long? I’ve been ready for ages.” She was dressed exquisitely but she was rather on the chubby side and had a pouty expression. “And you should have let me wear the rubies.”

“Highly unsuitable for an eighteen-year-old,” Lady Amersham said. “Besides they’ll be yours when you are twenty-one.”

I followed them downstairs at a discreet distance. The ballroom was ablaze with chandeliers—modern forms of lighting having not reached this remote corner of Ireland. The two women went in to be announced, and I lingered in the shadows of the doorway, not sure what I was supposed to do next.

“So Laura Amersham came after all,” I heard a woman whisper. It’s amazing how quickly she’s adapted to being a lady from a chorus girl.”

“Not exactly a chorus girl, my dear,” her companion said. “She was a leading lady—grant that much to her.”

“And Lord Amersham didn’t accompany them?” the first woman asked.

“He doesn’t approve of dancing.”

“I’m surprised he let her out alone. I gather he keeps a tight rein on her these days.”

“Well he’d have to, wouldn’t he?” They chuckled as they moved off.

Justin Hartley and Roland Charters were lingering by the door. They bowed as Lady Amersham and Daphne approached.

“Ah, Lady Amersham. How good to see you again,” Charters said. “I notice you’re wearing the family rubies. How delightful they look on you.”

“Mr Charters. I didn’t expect you to be here.” She sounded quite startled.

“Last-minute invitation. Our hostess needed more high-quality young men.” I noticed he was smirking as if he was rather pleased with himself, almost having a joke at her expense. Then he turned to Lady Daphne and bowed. “Might I have the honor of the first dance, your ladyship?”

Daphne blushed prettily and allowed herself to be led onto the floor. Lady Amersham glared then swept across the room to take a seat on the far side near the French windows.

When the dance was over Charters passed close to me to get to the punch bowl.

“Is that called softening up the fatted calf?” Justin Hartley appeared at his elbow.

Charters smiled. “With an emphasis on fatted.”

“Never mind, it’s dark in the bedroom, and it will put you conveniently close to Mama.”

“I don’t think the wind is blowing from that quarter any longer.” Charters glanced across the room and then they moved away.

The dance continued. It was indeed a lovely scene, with candlelight sparkling on jewels, satins, and swirling couples. I stood back in the shadows in case I was needed and pictured myself as one of them dancing with one of those handsome officers. As it was, nobody asked me to do anything; in fact it was as if I was invisible. I watched Lady Amersham with interest. She did not look as if she was enjoying herself. One minute she complained that she was too warm and demanded that the French doors be opened, and the next that she was too cold and put her fur wrap around her. I suspected she was used to not being the center of attention. She was certainly fidgeting all the time. After a while she picked up her embroidery.

Suddenly one of the dancers stumbled, lost her footing, and fell, knocking over a tall candelabra. It crashed to the floor amid screams, scattering candles and setting light to a skirt. For a moment there was chaos. The flames were quickly extinguished, the sobbing girl was helped to her feet, and all was returning to normal when another scream rang out.

“My rubies! My rubies are gone.”

Lady Amersham was standing with her hand at her throat and a look of absolute panic on her face. Sir Richard Hartley instantly took control. “Nobody move,” he exclaimed in a booming voice. “Don’t worry, dear Lady Amersham, the clasp must have come loose. We shall soon find them. Everyone help to search.”

“They were on my neck a few moments ago, I know they were.” Lady Amersham was hysterical now. “Someone must have stolen them. They could have run off with them through that open door.”

A thorough search was made but the rubies were not found. Sir Richard had no alternative than to summon the local police and to insist that nobody left the ballroom. The servants, then their rooms were searched, then guests’ bedrooms, then grudgingly the guests themselves.. Once again I was overlooked as I stood unnoticed beside a large potted palm. The thought crossed my mind that it was lucky for them I wasn’t the thief.

“There has been a band of tinkers lurking in the neighborhood,” one of the policemen said. “I wouldn’t put it past them to take their chances at an event like this.”

“Whoever did it certainly knew his stones,” one of the guests commented. “Out of a whole room full he picked the most valuable necklace.”

“Not necessarily,” Sir Richard said. “Lady Amersham was sitting next to the open French door. She may have been the easiest target.”

Lady Hartley looked around and spotted me. “Molly, take Lady Amersham back to her room she is quite distraught. Can we send up some brandy and hot milk, my dear?”

Lady Amersham was sobbing into her handkerchief. “My husband will never forgive me. What am I going to tell him?”

“I presume they were insured?” one of the men asked her.

“Of course. But what good does that do? They were priceless family heirlooms.”

“They may still turn up,” Lady Hartley said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “They could still be lurking in a flower pot or under a piece of furniture. So chin up.”

I escorted her up the stairs. She leaned on me as if she were very frail. As I started to undo the hooks at the back of her dress, I noticed a mark on her neck that hadn’t been there before. A dark mark almost like a bruise. Would she not have felt it if someone had savagely wrenched the necklace from her?

“Are you hurt, my lady? It looks like you have a bruise…”

“Careful with my dress, girl,” Lady Amersham snapped. “Leave it. I’ll take it off myself.”

Her shift in tone jolted me and suddenly I knew. I watched as she took off the dress very carefully.

I took a deep breath, weighing whether I should speak or not. But there was no way I could keep silent. “You took them yourself, didn’t you?” I blurted out. “That black embroidering thread—so useful for lying invisible on the floor until the right moment you jerked it to trip someone up.”

I was watching her face to see if I was getting it right. Her flash of alarm told me that I was. Emboldened, I continued.

“You weren’t really too cold. In fact I noticed you sweating. You put the wrap around you so that you could undo the clasp without being seen. And then under the wrap you slipped the necklace into a convenient pocket in a fold of that sleeve. I wondered why you wore such an unfashionable gown, when clearly you are a most fashionable woman.”

I went to examine the sleeve and she pushed me away roughly. “Foolish girl. What nonsense you talk. I’ll have you fired.”

To her surprise I smiled. “I’m not a servant. I was helping out of the goodness of my heart. And when I tell them what I know…”

“Nobody would ever believe you.”

“Ah, I think they would,” I said. “Especially because the rubies aren’t real. They are cheap copies, aren’t they? And the base metal has left a mark on your neck where you were sweating. I noticed in the ballroom that your stones weren’t sparkling like some of the ladies’.”

She was eyeing me with a look of half terror, half ferocity. “You must think you’re rather smart,” she said, “but who would believe a peasant girl’s word against mine.”

“Peasant versus actress,” I said not taking my eyes from her. “I wonder which one would be more credible. The Hartleys have known me all my life. I shared a schoolroom with their daughters.”

“All right,” she snapped. “What do you want? Don’t tell me you’re trying to blackmail me too?”

“Oh so that was it,” I said, as I put the last pieces of the puzzle together. “He was blackmailing you.”

“Why did you have to be so damned sharp?” she snapped. Then she sank back like a deflated balloon. “You’re right. Despicable man. We had a brief affair when I was alone in London last year. Amusing, nothing more. But my husband is horribly jealous and terribly self-righteous too. He’d never forgive such an indiscretion. Never.”

She took out her handkerchief and held it to her mouth.

“So Mr. Charters decided to make the most of your indiscretion, did he? He threatened to tell your husband. You pawned the rubies to pay him off?”

She nodded. “I hoped to find the money to retrieve them, but I couldn’t. So I decided the easiest thing was to make it seem that they had been stolen. I never liked them anyway, ugly old-fashioned things.”

There was a silence.

“So what are you going to do,” she asked. “Are you going to tell them the truth? Are you going to betray me—to ruin my life for one little slip?” She stared down at her hands.

“Wait here,” I said. “I’d like to help. Let me see what I can do.”

I went downstairs again. It was now after midnight and a buffet supper was being served in the dining room. I spotted Roland Charters, now being awfully chummy with Henrietta Hartley. Daphne had obviously been discarded in favor of a more attractive model. Maybe richer too. I stood waiting in the shadows, biding my time. At last Henrietta was lured away by her sister and Roland stepped outside to have a smoke. I followed him, took a deep breath to pluck up courage then came up to stand right behind him.

“I know what happened to the rubies,” I muttered into his ear, “and I think you do too.”

He spun around as if burned. “What the devil are you talking about? Are you trying to say that I stole the confounded rubies?”

“No. The rubies were never here. They were pawned to pay a blackmailer.”

“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” he said. “Or what business it is of yours.”

“I’m a friend of the Hartley family,” I said, “and I would hate for Henrietta to make a bad choice of husband. If you do not give Lady Amersham her money back, I plan to go to Sir Richard and tell him how you got Lady Amersham drunk and then took advantage of her. If you try to pursue Daphne, I should go to Lord Amersham instead. Of course Lady Amersham will corroborate this story. I doubt that many fathers would want to entrust their darling daughters to you after that.”

He was looking down at me, eyes blazing. “Who the devil are you?” he asked, and I knew that he was beaten.

“Someone who believes in justice,” I said, and walked away, headed back upstairs to tell Lady Amersham that all would be resolved. It wasn’t until I was crossing the ballroom that I permitted myself a smile. I had used my wits and achieved something extraordinary. I had made aristocrats listen to me—to fear me even. My future didn’t have to be in a cottage in Ballykillin. I was going to teach those brothers of mine to stand on their own feet and then I’d be off—to where the world was awaiting me.

Read on for an excerpt from

BLESS THE BRIDE

The latest Molly Murphy mystery from Rhys Bowen, Available in hardcover from Minotaur Books!

One

Westchester County, New York, September 1903

“I think I may be in a spot of trouble,” I said.

Mrs. Sullivan looked up sharply from her needlework. I read a succession of expressions pass over her face—shock, dismay, disgust—then finally she said, “Oh, well, these things happen, I suppose. Luckily you have your wedding date planned and it wouldn’t be the first baby to arrive remarkably early.”

“What?” It took a moment for the penny to drop, then I started laughing. “No, it’s nothing like that. Actually I only meant that I think I’ve sewn the wrong sides of this bodice together.” I held up the offending handiwork.

She took it from me, examined it, then sighed. “Goodness, child. However did you manage to grow up without learning the rudiments of sewing? Did your mother not teach you anything?”

“If you remember, my mother died when I was ten,” I said. “After that I had to do my share of darning and patching, but that was about it. I’ve certainly never had to sew fine fabrics like this.”

“Then it’s fortunate that we’ve no bridesmaids’ dresses to make as well, isn’t it?” she muttered, not looking up as she started unpicking stitches. “Although it’s a shame we’ve no little flower girl. I always think they add something special to a wedding. I did suggest that we ask the Van Kempers’ granddaughter…”

“I don’t know the Van Kempers’ granddaughter,” I said. “I’d feel awkward having a stranger as part of my wedding procession. There was one little girl I was very fond of—little Bridie. I believe I told you about the child I brought across from Ireland who lived with me for a while. I did send an invitation to her family, but I’ve received no response, so I can only assume that they’ve moved on.” I sighed. Or that they thought a wedding in Westchester County sounded too grand for them, being the simplest of Irish peasants.

Mrs. Sullivan nodded and looked at me with genuine sympathy for once. “’Tis a shame that you’ll have hardly any guests of your own at the wedding, and no family at all—except those two brothers. Fugitives from the law, didn’t you say?”

“With the Irish republican freedom fighters,” I corrected her, although I suspected she remembered well what I had told her. “I don’t even know where they are anymore.” I stared out across the dewy lawn. A mockingbird was singing its heart out in the plum tree. It was so peaceful and safe here, while my brothers were off somewhere, still fighting for the Irish republican cause.

Daniel’s mother and I had been sitting on her porch swing, enjoying the sweet morning air before the day became too hot, while we worked on making my trousseau. At least, she had been doing most of the making while I did a lot of unpicking, each set of removed stitches leaving a trail of little dots on the creamy white silk.

It hadn’t been my idea, believe me. I already knew my lack of prowess with the needle and would have been quite happy to have left my wedding gown to a Manhattan dressmaker. This was Daniel’s idea. He thought it would be a great way for me to get to know my future mother-in-law better and to learn some housewifely skills from her at the same time. Actually I knew what his real reason was: he wanted me safely out of the city so that I wouldn’t be tempted to take on any more detective assignments.

In theory I had no objections to spending a couple of weeks in the pleasant leafy atmosphere of Westchester County while the city sizzled in the muggy August heat. I had looked forward to having nothing to worry about except finishing my trousseau on time for my September wedding. I had had my fill of danger and was ready to admit that had I been a cat, I would have used at least eight of my nine lives. The reality of my current situation wasn’t exactly as sweet as I had imagined. While Daniel’s mother had welcomed me politely for Daniel’s sake, she had also made it perfectly clear that I didn’t measure up to her expectations for her only son. She and Daniel’s recently departed father had scrimped and saved to give Daniel a good education. They had moved out to Westchester County so that he could mix with the best families. He had fulfilled their dreams by becoming the youngest captain in the New York police. He had been engaged to the daughter of one of those rich families, but then he had broken it off in favor of marrying me—Molly Murphy, recently come from a peasant cottage in Ireland, with no money, no background.

The fact that Daniel’s mother and father had come from similar beginnings was never mentioned. From the way she talked, one would have thought that she’d been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. I had endured her subtle criticisms with a patience verging on saintliness that would have amazed those who knew my usual quick temper, wanting for Daniel’s sake to keep the peace and even to make my mother-in-law like me. But after ten days my patience was wearing awfully thin.

She took the rest of the silk from me. “You’d better let me finish this and you stick to the undergarments,” she said. “In my young day they always said that if a woman wasn’t handy with her needle, her children would go in rags.”

“Then it’s lucky that I’m going to live in New York City where there are plenty of department stores selling ready-made clothes, isn’t it?” I replied sweetly.

She pursed her lips. “Ready-made clothes? You’ll make my son a pauper if you start off married life with ideas like that.”

“Actually I do know how to use a sewing machine, if someone likes to give me one for a wedding present,” I said. “I worked in a garment factory once.”

“A garment factory? Did you?” The disapproving look again, as if I’d dropped yet another notch in her estimation. “Daniel never mentioned that to me.”

I didn’t think that Daniel had mentioned a lot of things I had done while working as an investigator. My profession was a constant thorn in his side. But I didn’t want my future mother-in-law thinking that I had been reduced to working in a sweatshop. “I was on an undercover assignment to find out who was stealing dress designs. It was awful. You should see the conditions those poor girls have to work in.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said. “Well, I expect you’ll be glad that you won’t have to do such unpleasant things any longer. A lady detective, indeed. It’s not natural for a woman.”

“I had to earn my living or starve,” I said. “I imagine that it was much the same way that your family had to survive when they came from Ireland in the famine.” I paused to let it sink in that I was well aware that her family had come over to America with nothing. “It was either that or fish gutting in the Fulton Street Market, or prostitution.” I was attempting to make a joke but her lips were still pursed, so I added, “To be truthful, I’ve enjoyed running my own business, and the excitement.”

“Daniel’s been worried about you, you know. He doesn’t say much, but a mother can tell.”

“I know. But he didn’t have to. I’ve learned to take care of myself pretty well.”

This wasn’t exactly true. There had been times when I was lucky to come out of a situation alive. Those were the times when I had longed for the peace and security that I was now experiencing. Now that I’d had ten days of it, I was ready to go back to my world of excitement and danger. But I’d made Daniel a promise that I’d give up working when we married. I couldn’t go back on that now, could I? My thoughts turned to Daniel and the upcoming wedding and the cold feet returned. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to marry him. I loved him. I was just scared of becoming a wife, confined to the life that respectable wives led: tea parties, sewing and idle gossip, and children soon enough, knowing the way that Daniel and I made love.

“It’s too bad he can’t join us for Labor Day after all,” I said. “I’m sure you were looking forward to seeing him as much as I was.”

Mrs. Sullivan sighed. “You’ll soon learn that being a policeman’s wife isn’t easy. Meals at all hours, calls in the middle of the night, and sometimes hardly seeing your man for days. And the constant worry when he doesn’t come home on time. I went through it all those years with my husband. My hope for Daniel is that he’ll soon leave the force and go into politics. He has the connections, you know, and I’ve no doubt that Tammany Hall would back him. They’d love to see another Irishman in Washington.”

“But he loves what he does,” I said. “He’s good at it. I wouldn’t want him to give it up because I was worried.”

As I said it the thought crossed my mind that he was making me give up my job for that very reason. Or was it rather that my being a detective would not sit well with his colleagues—even open him up to ridicule?

“Did he tell you what important case he was working on that keeps him in the city?” Mrs. Sullivan asked.

“We made an agreement,” I said. “He doesn’t share his cases with me and I don’t share my cases with him.”

Mrs. Sullivan grunted her disapproval again. I stared out across the back lawn to the row of tall trees that separated this house from its neighbors. In the next backyard someone was mowing the lawn. I heard the click-clack of a mower and the sweet smell of new mown grass wafted over to me. There were roses blooming along the fence and the buzzing of bees mingled with the sound of mowing. Truly it was quite delightful here. I should just let my future mother-in-law’s criticisms wash over me and make the most of this time.

“I can’t blame Daniel for not coming out to see us,” she said. “He has no real reason to make the long, uncomfortable journey now that he doesn’t have to collect the furniture.”

“What furniture?”

“I offered him some choice pieces of our furniture for your new house,” she said. “But now that you’re apparently going to start married life in that poky little house of yours, I gather there’s no room for extra furniture.”

My saintliness was wearing thinner. “It’s a dear little house. I’m very fond of it. And it’s in a quiet backwater.” I wanted to add that her house, while pleasant enough, was no mansion. Not much bigger than mine, in fact.

“But the neighborhood,” she said. “I know that Daniel wanted you to start married life in a better part of the city, farther uptown.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the neighborhood.” I could hear my voice rising.

“Greenwich Village? My dear, it’s full of immigrants and bohemians, not the sort of people you’ll want your children to mix with.”

“Mrs. Sullivan,” I said, taking a deep breath to steady myself, “don’t tell me that when your own family stepped off the boat they went straight to the Upper East Side and lived in a mansion. They started off with nothing, in the slums. Daniel told me. And yet I’d say he’d turned out well enough. And in case you’ve forgotten—I’m an immigrant. I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.”

There was a long, frosty silence during which the lawn mower continued to click away, then she said calmly, “We’d better get back to work if we want these garments to be finished on time. I told you we’re expected at the Misses Tompkins for lunch, didn’t I? And after that I promised Clara Bertram that you’d come and play croquet with them. Clara is another of Daniel’s old friends and she does so want to meet you.”

I’ll bet she does, I thought. So that she can examine the fabric of my dress and find it wanting. I’d already encountered several of Daniel’s friends during this stay. I could see their surprised reaction that Daniel was marrying someone like me when he could have had Arabella Norton and a fortune to go with her.

I picked up the half-sewn white silk petticoat and was about to start stitching when the porch screen door opened and Colleen, the little maid of all work came out. “The post has just come, madam,” she said and handed Mrs. Sullivan several letters. Mrs. Sullivan glanced through them.

“These will be responses to our invitation to the wedding. The Van der Meers,” she said, looking pleased. “Oh, and Alderman Harrison. And there’s one for you, Molly. That’s not Daniel’s handwriting.”

She handed me the letter. I recognized the writing at once. “It’s my neighbor on Patchin Place,” I said, then couldn’t resist adding, “Augusta Walcott, of the Boston Walcotts, you know.”

Mrs. Sullivan looked suitably surprised. “The Boston Walcotts, in Greenwich Village?”

“She’s an aspiring painter. Would you please excuse me if I go and read this?” I didn’t wait for the answer but went down the steps and across the lawn until I was standing in the shade of an elm tree, out of sight of Mrs. Sullivan and the porch swing.

My dear Molly, I read in Gus’s educated, fluid script, I can’t tell you how much we are pining for you. Life seems positively dull without having you around. And New York is beastly hot and uncomfortable, but Sid insists on staying put because of the articles she is writing on the suffrage movement. We imagined you sitting in the leafy shade, drinking iced lemonade and having a lovely time, and we were tempted to hop on the next train and come for a visit, but Sid pointed out that your mother-in-law might not approve of us and she didn’t want us to do anything that might cloud your future relationship. Sid is always so thoughtful, isn’t she?

But then she had an equally splendid idea. Why don’t we give a small party for Molly, she suggested. All those friends who are not being invited to the wedding. Of course we started planning and scheming immediately. Should it be a Japanese theme, or Ancient Greek? Sid suggested an underwater motif and wanted us all to be mermaids, but that was really impractical as we wouldn’t be able to dance with tails on. So we’re still debating the theme but we thought that some time during the Labor Day weekend would work well, if you’ve nothing planned. Do let us know as soon as possible whether this suits you and we’ll go full steam ahead with the plans.

We’ve seen your betrothed from time to time, although I can’t say he has paused to be sociable with us. As you know, he has been having the place completely redecorated. And the other day he stopped by with a load of furniture, presumably from his rooms, since it looked very dour and masculine. We peeked in a couple of times and we must say that it all looks wonderfully brand, spanking new—and the wallpaper remarkably tasteful. I think you’ll be pleased.

We do hope you can come for Labor Day. Sid sends her warmest regards.

Your friends Sid and Gus,

P.S. I almost forgot. A man came to your house yesterday and when nobody answered, he rapped on our door and demanded to know where you were. He said he represented a most important man who had an urgent commission for you and left his card with us. He demanded that you to contact him as soon as possible. We told him we didn’t think you were taking any commissions at the moment but he said he was sure you’d take this one. He was quite insistent. So you might want to come back to the city a day or so before the party, just in case there is a juicy assignment waiting for you. Naturally we’ve said nothing of this to Daniel.

I reread the letter, then folded it. An urgent commission from an important man. I had promised Daniel that I would give up my detective business when I married, but I wasn’t married yet, was I? And if it was a simple, straightforward assignment, it would provide a nice fee to add to my coffers—so that, at the very least, I could go to a department store and buy ready-made undergarments without feeling guilty.

Daniel’s mother looked up as I came up the steps onto the porch. “Good news, I hope?”

“Delightful news, thank you. My friends in the city have planned a pre-wedding celebration for me, to take place next weekend. So I do hope you’ll forgive me if I go back to the city for a few days. I fear I’m more of a hindrance than a help to you in the sewing anyway.”

I thought she looked relieved if anything, but she said stiffly, “This celebration requires you to be away for more than one day, does it?”

“I know these friends,” I said. “Their parties are always elaborate costume affairs, so I’ll need to assemble a suitable costume somehow.”

“A costume affair—that seems an odd sort of wedding party to me.”

“It is Greenwich Village,” I reminded her. “And many of our acquaintances are artists and writers. They enjoy being creative in their celebrations.”

She went back to her sewing, one neat little stitch after the next.

“With your sewing skills, let’s just hope that it’s a Roman toga,” she said at last.

I laughed dutifully, although I couldn’t tell whether she intended to make a joke.

“I’ll be back in good time to help you with the wedding preparations and to do the final fittings on my dress,” I said.

“And I take it you’ll be staying for our luncheon with the Misses Tompkins and croquet with Clara Bertram today?”

“Of course,” I said. “I wouldn’t dream of missing out on luncheon with the Misses Tompkins.”

And this time she looked at me to try and guess whether I was joking.

Two

As the train gathered speed through the woods of Westchester County, heading south, I felt as if I had been released from a straitjacket (and trust me, I had been in one of those once—not an experience I wished to repeat in a hurry). I found I was smiling at my reflection in the window glass. I was going to be married soon, going to be a bride, and I was finally looking forward to my wedding. It was true, as Mrs. Sullivan had reminded me, that I had precious few guests of my own, but that didn’t matter. Those few who were coming were dear to me: old Miss Van Woekem, for whom I had once worked. Mrs. Goodwin the female police detective and her young protégée I had rescued. Gus and Sid, of course. I had put my foot down at that. No Gus and Sid, no wedding. But I felt a wave of sadness that I hadn’t heard from Seamus and his little family. There had been a time when they had been big part of my life, but I had had only sporadic contact with them after they moved out to Connecticut for Bridie’s health. She would have made such a perfect flower girl, I thought wistfully. Better than the Van Kempers’ granddaughter any day. And I smiled to myself, again.

I can’t tell you how good it felt as the train rolled across the bridge over the Harlem River and into the upper reaches of New York City. No more luncheons and croquet parties at which I had to watch my words, mind my manners, and put up with what I took to be veiled barbs. Maybe I was being oversensitive, but then, maybe not. And anyone who knows me can tell you that I’m certainly not used to being the demure miss. It had been taxing. And now I was about to be back among my friends with the added prospect of a lucrative assignment. And I might even have a chance to see Daniel—a jarring thought came to me. Daniel would not be pleased that I’d deserted his mother. And of course he couldn’t know if I took on that case. So a brilliant plan came to me. It probably wouldn’t be wise to stay in my own house if it was newly painted and plastered. Besides, it would hardly be fair if I occupied it alone before my wedding. Sid and Gus’s guest room would be a much better idea, I thought to myself as the train went into the tunnel before arriving at Grand Central Depot.

Before I went to Westchester County the city had seemed unbearably hot and stifling and I had longed to escape to the countryside. It was still hot, to be sure, but I saw only the bustling life of the streets—a city that was vibrantly alive. Patchin Place was by contrast a quiet backwater, while city life teemed around the Jefferson Market building and along Greenwich Avenue. I stood on the cobbles, feeling the heat radiating back from the rosy brick houses on either side of me, thinking how grateful I was to Daniel for giving in to me and allowing us to start our married life here. I knew it was a sacrifice for him. I knew he wanted a more prestigious address. I knew he worried that I would be unduly under the unhealthy influence of Sid and Gus. But he had seen how much the house meant to me, and how much I valued my friends, and had agreed to give it a try. I had pointed out to him that the house would probably be too small after a year or two, when the babies started arriving and we’d need a servant. He wanted me to hire a servant now, but there really was no need for one if I was home, doing nothing all day. And frankly I didn’t want the intrusion on my newly married life—certainly not somebody sleeping in the spare bedroom.

I hoisted my carpetbag and picked my way over the cobbles to my house, eager to peek inside at Daniel’s renovations. I was about to put the key in my front door when I had second thoughts. I should find out first if anyone was inside. I didn’t want workmen reporting to Daniel that I had made an unscheduled appearance. It was hard to see past the net curtains, so I decided to go across the alleyway to Sid and Gus first. They seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of what was going on and would surely know if any workmen or painters were in my house.

I knocked on their bright red front door and felt a rush of pleasure at the thought of seeing them again. Eventually I heard the sound of feet and the front door was opened, revealing the strangest of apparitions. It was Gus, wearing a robe over what appeared to be a black lace corset and suspenders, holding up fishnet stockings. Since Gus was the more demure of the two, this in itself was shocking, but the fact that it was topped off with a police constable’s helmet made it even more astounding.

“Molly!” Gus’s face lit up as she recognized me. “We didn’t expect you so soon. How absolutely lovely to see you.”

“And you too. But do you make a habit of coming to your front door dressed like that?”

“Oh, dear,” she said, gathering her robe about her with only the mildest hint of embarrassment. “I hadn’t realized that my sash had fallen off my robe. Thank heavens it was you and not some man.”

“Most young women of your upbringing would have fainted dead away by now,” I said.

“Most young women of my breeding are currently being good wives and mothers and spending the summer in Newport or Cape Cod. I am already a lost cause in their eyes. But how rude of me to leave you standing in this awful heat. Come inside, do. Sid will be delighted.”

She ushered me into the cool darkness of their hallway and then called up the stairs. “Sid, put down that pen immediately. We have company.”

Footsteps came down the stairs and Sid appeared, wearing bloomers and an open-necked white shirt. “Molly,” she exclaimed. “How wonderful to see you. Isn’t it wonderful, Gus.” Then she noticed what Gus was wearing. “Dearest, did you actually open the front door in that extraordinary outfit?”

“I was trying it on,” Gus said. “I thought my robe was securely fastened.”

“But the policeman’s helmet?”

“Oh, yes.” Gus put her hand up to her head. “I’d forgotten about that. You see, Molly, we were trying to decide on a theme for your party. We thought a policemen’s and prostitutes’ ball might be fun, in honor of Daniel, you know. So I was just trying out whether I wanted to be a policeman or a prostitute.”

I started to laugh again. “My future mother-in-law was so impressed that I was going to a party hosted by one of the Boston Walcotts,” I said. “If she could only see you now!”

They joined in my laughter. “As stuffy as you feared, is she?” Sid asked, leading the way to the kitchen and taking a jug of lemonade from the ice chest.

“Worse,” I said. “My sewing skills are a disaster. I’ve had to have luncheon and tea with any number of her friends, where it has been hinted that Daniel was expected to make a much better match than me. You would have been so proud of me—I remained calm and demure throughout. Not one hasty word passed my lips. Close to sainthood, I’d say. But I couldn’t have stood it much longer. Any moment I was about to scream and hit someone with a croquet mallet. So your letter was a godsend.”

They were still smiling at me, as if I was an adored child returned to the fold. Sid led us through to their conservatory at the back of the kitchen and indicated that we sit in the shade of large potted palms that gave the space the feel of a jungle. She brought through a tray with lemonade and glasses.

“So you fled at the first opportunity,” Sid said.

I nodded. “It was the excuse I was waiting for. Honestly, I’m not designed for genteel idleness. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself when I’m married and have nothing to do but cook for Daniel and keep the house clean.”

“So you are going to remain true to your promise then.”

“I have little choice. Daniel’s career must come first.”

“Why?” Sid asked.

“Because—because he is the man and the breadwinner, and because he already has a fl ourishing career,” I said with slight hesitation.

“I suppose so,” Sid agreed with a sigh. “So you will have no interest in the calling card Gus mentioned in her letter. We should just throw it away, should we?”

They were watching me expectantly. I saw the smile twitch on Sid’s lips.

“I’m not married yet,” I said. “I can still make my own decisions. And if this proved to be a lucrative proposition—well, I think it’s healthy for a bride to start marriage with some money of her own, don’t you?”

Sid shook her head, smiling, went back into the house, and returned with the calling card.

“Frederick Lee.” I examined it, then looked up. “Is this the card of the important man or his emissary?”

“The emissary,” Gus said. “He wouldn’t give his employer’s name. Rather secretive about it, in fact.”

“And no hint of what kind of assignment this was?”

“None at all. I didn’t take to him, if you want to know—there was something in his air that seemed to say that you should be honored that he had selected you, and that there was no way you’d turn down the commission.”

“Probably a divorce then,” I said. “A rich man who didn’t want his identity known. In which case I won’t take it. I don’t care how much he offers me. I find it too sordid sneaking around and trying to catch people in compromising situations.”

“Hear, hear!” Sid said. “Our laws are so antiquated. When a couple no longer wishes to remain married, they should be able to shake hands and part amicably, without all this ridiculous subterfuge. If Gus and I ever decided to part ways, I know we’d be most civilized about it. Wouldn’t we, Gus?”

“I don’t want to think about it.” Gus turned away.

“Not that we ever will,” Sid said hastily.

I turned over Mr. Lee’s card. “His office is on the Bowery,” I said. “Hardly the best of addresses. I wonder what his employer does for a living?”

“I agree it’s not Fifth Avenue, but it’s quite respectable in its upper reaches around Cooper Union. Perhaps the employer is a lawyer,” Gus suggested. “I know I’ve seen law offices around there…. So are you going to pay him a call?”

I looked up from the card. “Why not? What have I got to lose? Just as long as Daniel doesn’t find out.”

“Our lips, as always, will be sealed,” Sid said.

“Now you must let Sid show you the wonderful articles she is writing,” Gus said. “The history of the suffrage movement. Most edifying and illuminating. Take Molly upstairs and show her the one you are writing at the moment, Sid.”

“I haven’t polished that one yet,” Sid said. “The prose is still rather rough. But she can read the one that was published this week.”

“It’s her best yet,” Gus said, sitting beside me as Sid went upstairs.

I had been the model of calmness for two weeks. Now my naturally impatient and curious nature had risen to the surface and was threatening to boil over again. I was dying to see what Daniel had done to my house and I wanted to find out about the mysterious Mr. Lee and his lucrative assignment. Sid and Gus were dear friends. They had been very good to me, but they had no concept of the word urgency. Life to them was one long game to be enjoyed and savored. I accepted the magazine that Sid offered me and read. Actually it was extremely interesting to read about the various states that had passed laws allowing women full participation in the governing process. Unfortunately New York was not one of them.

“This certainly reveals how far we have come,” I said, handing it back to her.

“No,” she said. “It shows how far we have to go. For every state that acknowledges women as rational beings who can only enhance the political process, there are four or five who think us fit only to scrub floors, bear children, and give tea parties.”

I nodded.

“We are hosting one of our meetings tonight,” Gus said, “so you will meet our fearless warriors for yourself. If you are here, that is, and the important Mr. X has not invited you to dine with him at Delmonico’s.”

“Oh, I don’t think that is likely to happen,” I said. “But I have to confess I’m impatient to find out more now. And I’m also anxious to see what Daniel has done to my house. Have you had a chance to peek inside yet?”

“No, we were not invited to have a look and one can see almost nothing through the net curtains.”

“I know,” I said. “I tried to look through them myself. I didn’t like the idea of going inside, in case someone was working upstairs.”

“I believe they are finished,” Gus said. “We haven’t spotted anybody for the last few days, have we, Gus?”

“As quiet as the grave,” Gus said. “And we have to admit to being equally curious. We’re dying to see if we approve of Daniel’s taste in decoration.”

“Then let’s take a look, shall we?”

They needed no urging to follow me across the street. I opened my front door cautiously and listened for signs of activity. The smell of new paint made my nostrils twitch, but there was no sound. I stepped into the front hall, followed closely by Sid and Gus. As Gus had predicted, the place looked brand, spanking new. The hallway was light yellow, the parlor, which previously had contained one rather dilapidated armchair, now boasted a new sofa and attractive striped wallpaper.

Sid gave a grunt of surprise. “The man has remarkably civilized taste for a policeman,” she said.

“And look, Molly. You actually have a dining room,” Gus said, peering through the next door.

“So I do.” The dining room now contained a dining set, complete with an impressive sideboard carved with grapevines. I had no idea where it came from. It certainly hadn’t been in Daniel’s rooms.

“Holy Mother of God,” I exclaimed. “I’m going to be the mistress of an elegant house.”

We went upstairs and the first thing I caught sight of through an open door was a large new four-poster bed.

“My, but that’s a handsome object,” Sid commented. “It’s clear what’s uppermost on his mind, isn’t it? And yours too, I expect.” And she chuckled.

To my annoyance I felt myself blushing. The young ladies I had been playing croquet with would have swooned at such a remark and had to reach for the smelling salts. Sid and Gus seemed to think it was perfectly natural to discuss such matters, as I suppose it was in bohemian society.

“Well, I say that Daniel has done you proud, Molly,” Gus said, wanting to spare my feelings. “I think the redecoration and the furniture are splendid. But you’re not thinking of sleeping here before the wedding are you?”

“I don’t think I should,” I said. “It wouldn’t be fair to Daniel when I’m sure he wants to surprise me. I was hoping I could stay with you until the party.”

“Of course you can. That way Daniel won’t even have to know that you’re in town,” Sid said. “Come on then. We should make our escape just in case the eager groom puts in an unexpected appearance.”

I glanced back at that bed as the other two made their way down the stairs. It certainly was impressive—so high and large that I couldn’t imagine how the moving men had carried it up the narrow staircase. For a moment I pictured Daniel and me…. I rapidly reined in where that thought was going. I had kept Daniel at arm’s length for too long, knowing how quickly the fire between us ignited. And now the waiting was almost over. I’m sure it wasn’t proper for a young lady to look forward to her husband’s lovemaking. Mrs. Sullivan had tried to give me gentle hints, warning me of men’s appetites and how we women must endure it for their sakes. To my credit I had managed not to smile.

Three

When we returned to Sid and Gus’s house, I was itching to seek out the mysterious Mr. Lee, but had to mask my impatience a little longer while Sid and Gus took me up to my room, fussed around making sure that the pillows were to my liking and I had sufficient drawer space, then swept me downstairs to prepare luncheon. In truth I enjoyed eating with them, especially because the meal consisted of crusty French bread and what Sid described as her four-P meal: pâté, Port Salut cheese, pears, and peaches. After Mrs. Sullivan’s stodgy and filling meals it was delightfully informal, but that business card was burning a hole in my dress pocket. Fortunately as soon as the meal was over, Sid was anxious to finish her article, so I took the opportunity to escape, making my way southward to the office on the Bowery.

The street number indicated that it would be at the bottom part of the street, where it joined Chatham Square, not at the more respectable northern end after all. So my curiosity was aroused even further. What very important man would have offices in an unsavory neighborhood south of Canal Street?

The day had now become uncomfortably hot and humid, with the threat of a thunderstorm later in the afternoon. I had no wish to walk a step further than necessary and tried to evaluate whether I’d be better off taking the trolley down Broadway and then cutting across Canal Street, or walking from my house to the Third Avenue El and not having to walk at the end of the trip. I decided on the latter and walked in the sedate quiet of Eighth Street, past Astor Place and the Cooper Union building to the nearest El station. I regretted this decision instantly as the train arrived already crammed full, and I was forced to stand between a large Italian woman who reeked of garlic and an equally large laborer who smelled as if he hadn’t taken a bath for weeks. All I could think was thank heavens the line was now electrified or we would have had smoke blowing in through the open windows to add to the mixture of unpleasantness.

I can’t tell you how glad I was to fight my way to the carriage door at Chatham Square. I came down the iron stairs into that teeming mass of humanity that is the lower Bowery. Trolley cars inched their way up the middle of the street, bells clanging impatiently to force delivery wagons, hansom cabs, and the occasional carriage out of their way. A constable stood on the corner, swinging his billy club in what he hoped was a threatening manner, as crime was rife around here.

I was already familiar with this area and unexpected memories resurfaced. I had stayed in a tenement on nearby Cherry Street when I first arrived from Ellis Island. That introduction to the city had not been the most pleasant of experiences—especially since I was accused of murder at the time and fighting for my very life. Then later I had worked undercover in a sweatshop on Canal Street. And when I was fighting to prove Daniel’s innocence after his arrest on trumped-up charges of taking bribes, I had rubbed shoulders with Monk Eastman and his gang, who ruled this part of the city. As I recalled the disturbing memories, a voice in my head warned me that it might not be wise to be entering this dangerous world again. But I pushed the images to the back of my mind, as that was all behind me now. Daniel was back safely on the police force. I had a bright future with him, and nothing to worry about at all. And if I didn’t like the sound of the assignment Mr. Lee was offering me, I simply wouldn’t take it.

Having sorted that out, I strode out with confidence. Even in daylight it was not the most desirable of streets. For one thing, the elevated railway ran along one side so that all the businesses beneath it were in perpetual shadow. Those businesses ranged from butchers and grocer shops to flophouses (advertising beds by the week—strictly no drinking allowed) to barbers with their striped poles (offering a hot shave and a haircut for ten cents). And then, of course, there were the saloons in abundance, not to mention houses of ill repute. Scantily dressed girls stood in doorways, their eyes scanning the crowd for likely customers. Their gazes passed me over as if I was invisible.

The saloons were doing a brisk trade, even this early in the afternoon. Drunken men—many of them Irish, I regret to say—staggered out and stood blinking in the strong sunlight as if they couldn’t believe where they were. Occasionally a man would be ejected forcibly and come flying out to land sprawling on the sidewalk. Women out shopping would draw in their skirts, grab their children, then step past as if nothing had happened. I remembered those saloons well. I had had to enter one or two on occasion and narrowly missed being thrown out myself, as women were not permitted inside. How long ago this all seemed. Recently my cases had been of a more respectable nature and this part of the city now felt dangerous and foreign to me.

I stared up at the street numbers. Mr. Lee’s address had to be around here somewhere. I finally found it next to a Baptist mission. From inside came the sound of children singing. Clearly the Baptists were trying to save souls on days other than Sunday. I went up a narrow, dark staircase and found myself outside a door on which a simple brass plate announced GOLDEN DRAGON ENTERPRISES. I opened the door and went in. There was nobody in an outer office, lit by an anemic gas bracket, but as I entered, a young man came through from an inner room. Not much taller than me, he was slim, fine-boned, and clean-shaven with black hair, and he carried himself with an air of elegance. His dark eyes narrowed as he looked at me appraisingly.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I’m here to see Mr. Frederick Lee,” I said and held out the calling card. “My name is Molly Murphy. I gather he has a business assignment for me.”

His expression didn’t change, but he bowed slightly. “I am Mr. Lee. So you came back to town after all. Your neighbors did not think you would be available to assist my employer.”

“I have been staying out in Westchester County,” I said. “Luckily I came back to attend a function and my neighbors told me of your visit. They seemed to think it was most urgent.”

“It is,” he said. “We are honored that you have decided to give up your valuable time to help us. Please come into my office, Miss Murphy.”

He ushered me inside and pulled up a chair for me. “Please sit down. I hope you managed to find me without too much inconvenience.” He also took a seat behind the desk. His flowery politeness was beginning to annoy me, especially as I could sense that he was in no way honored by my presence. “None at all,” I said coldly. “I have conducted cases in this part of the city before.”

“Ah. That will be useful in this particular matter.”

I looked around the room. Apart from the desk and chairs it was sparsely furnished with a large mahogany cabinet on one wall and shelves containing file boxes behind the desk. Suddenly there was a rumble and the whole place shuddered. It took me a second to register that the elevated railway ran by right outside his window. Hardly the sort of place where a rich client would choose to work or even keep an office.

“I understand that you are representing an influential gentleman,” I said. “Are you his lawyer?”

“Oh, no. Merely his secretary.”

“Then may I ask the nature of this assignment?” I asked.

“As to that, he will wish to tell you about it himself.”

“Then please escort me to him.” There was only the one door through which I had entered, and I came to the conclusion that this was an outpost of an empire, with Mr. Frederick Lee being among the lower ranks of employees. “I take it he is not in this building.”

“Indeed no.” Frederick Lee stood up. “I will be honored to escort you to him. He will be pleased that you have decided to assist him in this little matter.”

“I haven’t decided anything,” I said. “I’ll need to hear the nature of the case and the fee he is offering before I make any decisions.”

“My employer does not readily take no for an answer,” Mr. Lee said. “He is used to having his wishes fulfilled and his orders obeyed.”

“Then perhaps I should leave right away,” I said, “because I don’t take kindly to being bullied or ordered around. I run my own business and I’m not anybody’s lackey, Mr. Lee.” I rose to my feet. “Good day to you.”

He leaped ahead of me to bar the doorway. “I’m sorry. I spoke hastily, Miss Murphy. Please forgive me. Of course my employer appreciates your expertise and status, otherwise he would not have sent me to find you. This is a matter of great delicacy and he needs a detective with your kind of experience and finesse. Please at least let me take you to him and hear what he has to say. He is a very rich man and his generosity to those who help him knows no bounds. I can assure you that you will not be disappointed.”

I opened my mouth to point out that his generosity to his employee clearly knew quite narrow bounds, if this office was anything to go by, but I swallowed back the words at the last moment. I have to confess that I was intrigued and challenged. The least I could do was to meet this man, and if I didn’t like what I saw, then I was free to walk away.

“Very well,” I said. “Lead me to him.”

He took his derby hat from a hat stand in the outer office. “This way, if you please. It is only a short walk. I hope you won’t find the heat too oppressive, but it makes little sense to hail a cab for such a small distance.” He led the way down the stairs. Another train rumbled past overhead as we came out onto the street.

“This way. Please watch your step. The street is not the cleanest, I’m afraid.” He took my arm, gripping it firmly above the elbow, and steered me across the street, between a trolley and a knife grinder’s wagon. When we safely reached the curb he released me. “It’s always an adventure crossing the Bowery, isn’t it?” he said. “Never mind, we’ll soon be out of the hubbub.”

I was curious to know where we were going. There was nowhere within walking distance of the Bowery that I could think of as a respectable residence for a rich man, so I presumed we’d be going to another office. Maybe we’d be heading south to Wall Street and my client would be a wealthy banker. Or perhaps he was in shipping, but surely we were walking away from the docks.

“Up here,” he said and steered me into a side street. I looked up and read the street name: Mott Street. I also noticed immediately that it was unnaturally quiet and empty after the hustle and bustle of the Bowery. And looked different, somehow. Brightly colored balconies festooned the buildings, which were topped with ornate curved roof gables. Some of the balconies were gilded and carved with what looked like mythical beasts. Lanterns and bird cages hung on them. Then I noticed the names over stores and restaurants. Yee Hing Co., Precious Jade Chop Suey House, On Leong Merchants’ Association, and notices pasted up on poles and billboards in Chinese characters. I was being taken into a place I had only heard about until now: Chinatown.

If you enjoyed The Amersham Rubies, please check out these other books by Rhys Bowen:

The Molly Murphy Mysteries

The Last Illusion

In a Gilded Cage

Tell Me, Pretty Maiden

In Dublin’s Fair City

Oh Danny Boy

In Like Flynn

For the Love of Mike

Death of Riley

Murphy’s Law

The Constable Evans Mysteries

Evanly Bodies

Evan Blessed

Evan’s Gate

Evan Only Knows

Evans to Betsy

Evan Can Wait

Evan and Elle

Evanly Choirs

Evan Help Us

Evans Above

Table of Contents

The Amersham

Excerpt: Bless the Bride

Other Books by Rhys Bowen