City of Darkness and Light (3 page)

“The Cosa Nostra, you mean?”

“That’s what they call themselves, yes. And we thought the Eastmans were bad news. The Eastmans are child’s play compared to these new boys. Protection rackets, extortion—all the usual stuff—but done with such incredible violence and ruthlessness. Anyone who betrays them is found with his throat slit from ear to ear. And they don’t hesitate to take revenge on anyone who stands in their way.”

“How do you plan to stop them?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know that we can. We can slow them down, but new Italian immigrants keep pouring into the city, so they’ll have keen new members all the time. But the commissioner says we must shut them down before they become too powerful, so try we must. We’ve got their big cheese behind bars now and I think we’ve enough on him to make a conviction stick, in spite of the dearth of witnesses willing to testify against him. We’ll see if he manages to wriggle out of it.”

And he went back to his eating.

“I had two letters today,” I said, trying to change the subject to more cheerful matters. “One from your mother—you’ll never guess what she’s up to?”

“She’s found a new way to make jam or she’s hosted another coffee morning?” He looked up, grinning.

“No, she’s off on a trip out West with her friend Letitia Blackstone. They’re going to visit Letitia’s daughter—the one whose husband is building a bridge across the Mississippi River.”

“Good God,” Daniel said. “Mother on a trip out West? I thought a journey from Westchester to the city counted as a long journey for her. I hope her health is up to it.”

“She’s as strong as an ox, Daniel. And it will be good for her. She’s taking Bridie along for company.”

“Amazing.” Daniel went back to eating. “I suppose it’s too late to dissuade her?”

“Why stop her? Travel broadens the mind. One needs adventures.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“And my other letter was from Sid.” I held it up to him. “They’re having a lovely time in Paris. Sid’s discovered a long-lost cousin and started writing poetry. Gus has an introduction to Reynold Bryce—”

Daniel grinned. “I shouldn’t have thought Gus painted in a style he’d approve of. Didn’t he do all those portraits of the angelic child, copies of which now grace half the nurseries in America?”

“He moved on and became an Impressionist, so I’m told.”

“But Gus is certainly not an Impressionist.” Daniel chuckled. “I’m not sure how you’d define her painting. Bad, I’d say, but I suppose you’d leap to defend her.”

“It’s not my cup of tea,” I said, loyalty struggling with honesty, “but I’m not a qualified critic of the arts. I don’t think we fully appreciate modern art, such as the pictures Gus paints.”

Daniel snorted as he picked up his glass and took a long swig of beer. “Well, good for them. At least they’re enjoying themselves and staying out of mischief with that damned suffrage movement.”

“Sid wanted to know if policemen ever got time off to travel,” I said. “She and Gus want us to join them.”

“Travel to Paris? On a policeman’s salary?” Daniel laughed. “Those women have no idea what it’s like to live in the real world.”

I chose not to add that Gus had offered to pay my way if necessary. That would only insult Daniel’s pride.

“I’m rather glad they’re away for a while, to tell the truth,” he said. “It gives you a chance to concentrate on your husband and son, and not get any more silly ideas in your head.”

“Daniel Sullivan, don’t you dare talk to me like that,” I said angrily. “I think it’s just grand to be a wife and mother, but I’ll get all the silly ideas I want, thank you very much.”

He laughed again. “I love it when you’re angry. Actually I was afraid you were becoming too docile of late. Not the wild Molly from Ireland I first fell in love with.”

“If you say any more patronizing things to me, you’ll still find me wild enough, I’ll warrant,” I said, giving him a challenging stare that made him laugh all the more. I came around the table to him and he grabbed my wrist, drawing me down toward him. “And I wouldn’t mind a good wrestle either,” he said, his face now inches from mine. “I’ve been so damned preoccupied that we’ve hardly had a good.…”

Suddenly there was the sound of breaking glass somewhere at the front of the house. Daniel and I broke apart and were on our feet instantly. “What the hell—” Daniel started to say as he made for the hallway. He had just reached the kitchen door, with me hot on his heels, when there was a tremendous boom. A great blast flung me off my feet, sucking all the air out of my lungs. As I was hurled backward I got an impression of a wall of flame, hurtling toward me before I crashed into the wall, hitting my head. Stars flashed before my eyes as a wave of pain came over me and I think I might have passed out. When I came to my senses I was lying with debris on top of me. My ears were ringing, my head swimming, and I was still fighting to breathe. I pushed a chair and what felt like big chunks of plaster from me and staggered to my feet. The air was so thick with smoke and dust that I found it hard to make out where I was.

I felt the edge of the kitchen table, solid pine and still standing, and moved around it. In the darkness I could hear the crackle of flame but no other sound. Somewhere in that black and smoking hell were my husband and son.

“Daniel!” I tried to shout but my voice came out rasping, like a bird’s caw. I pushed my way forward. “Daniel!” I tried again. The light from the fire, or maybe from the streetlamp outside, cast an unreal glow through the thick smoke. Where the hallway had been was now a pile of smoking rubble, and beneath it I spotted Daniel’s foot. With utter desperation I threw off one chunk of plaster after another, pieces of glass, pieces of what had once been the hallstand, a hook with my new hat still attached to it.

“Daniel.” I dropped to my knees beside him and turned him over. His face was blackened, like a chimney sweep’s, with a nasty gash across his forehead. His jacket had been torn away and his shirt ripped. I lifted him gently and cradled his head in my hands. “Daniel, wake up, please.”

I took his wrist and was relieved to feel a pulse.
Still alive then. Must get him free of all this. Out of here.
I dragged him back into the kitchen and opened the back door, letting in cold fresh air. I couldn’t wait a second longer to see if he was going to wake up. All I could think about was Liam. He’d been upstairs in his crib, in his nursery at the front of the house. As I tried to pick my way over the rubble in the hall I heard coughing behind me, a curse and a groan. Daniel was sitting up, his hand to his chest, trying to breathe.

“Daniel.” I rushed back to him. “Get up. Help me. Liam’s upstairs. It’s all on fire.”

He staggered to his feet. “Liam,” he gasped and came after me. We made our way down the hall, staggering like two drunks on a Saturday night. When we reached the place where the stairs should have been there was just a gaping hole with the upper steps hanging crazily over nothing.

“My son’s up there!” I screamed, my voice coming back to me now. “And Aggie. Aggie!” I shouted her name. The only reply was the crackle of flames and the shifting of some beam.

“Get help,” I tugged at his arm. “Get the fire brigade. A ladder.”

Like an automaton Daniel made for the hole where the front door had been. I followed him, feeling the welcome cold rain on me. A crowd was gathering outside. I could see faces lit with the eerie red glow of the fire.

“My baby!” I screamed, rushing up to the nearest figure in the darkness. “My baby is trapped upstairs. Get the fire brigade.”

“I’ll get a ladder,” a man’s voice volunteered.

“No time for that.” Daniel was already hauling himself onto a window ledge. “Give me a leg up, boys.”

“You don’t want to go up there. It’s all on fire,” someone shouted.

“My son is up there,” Daniel said grimly. “Help me.”

“Daniel, no!” I shouted. “Be careful.”

Two burly men helped Daniel haul himself to the top of the window frame and I watched him reach for the upper window. The glass had shattered and flames were licking out of it. Someone had started a bucket chain in a pathetically futile attempt to put out the fire. Each time a bucket of water was thrown through a broken window there was a sizzling noise and steam rose, but the fire didn’t subside. I watched Daniel haul himself inside, wanting him to go and not go at the same time. My heart was hammering. I found that I was holding my breath. In the distance I heard the bells of a fire engine, coming from the Jefferson Market station nearby. Then horses’ hoofs drumming on the cobbles and shouts of: “Out of the way! Stand clear!”

And a fire engine appeared at the entrance to our alleyway. A hose was unwound. It all seemed to happen in slow motion as the firemen ran toward us.

“What happened?”

“There was an explosion,” someone in the crowd said.

“Gas main blew up? Someone turned on the gas and forgot to light it?”

Water was now being aimed at the front of our house, sending up a curtain of steam and smoke that hid the window into which Daniel had disappeared.

I grabbed a fireman. “My husband is up there,” I said. “And my baby, and the nursemaid.”

A ladder was placed against the wall. One of the firemen went up it and I heard him say, “Over here, sir. Come on. I’ll get you out.”

And a blackened, singed Daniel appeared at the window, clutching a bundle wrapped in a blanket in his arms. He handed it to the fireman then lowered himself onto the ladder and came down. I pushed past the firemen and ran to grab the bundle.

“My baby.” I could hear myself sobbing as I snatched him from the fireman’s arms. “Give me my baby.”

“Just a minute, missus. Let’s take a look, shall we?” I could hear from the tone of his voice that he wanted to spare me the sight of my child, burned and dead. I opened the blanket. A pair of terrified eyes looked up at me and he held out his little arms, letting out a huge wail. I grabbed him and held him tightly to me while he cried against my cheek. Daniel joined us, wrapping the two of us in a fierce embrace.

“Aggie,” I said, suddenly remembering. “Our servant girl is still up there.”

Daniel touched my shoulder gently. “She’s dead, Molly,” he said quietly.

“Are you sure? She might just be unconscious.” I could hear my voice, bordering on hysterical. “Somebody should rescue her.”

Daniel’s arm came around me. “She died protecting Liam. I found her huddled over him. She was clearly trying to get him to safety when a rafter fell on her. He was lying wrapped in his blanket and quite unharmed under her body.”

Only then did I allow myself to cry.

Three

One of the firemen put a hand on my shoulder. “Someone get this woman some brandy. She’s clearly in shock,” he said. “Is there somewhere she can sit down?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m all right. We have to get poor Aggie’s body out of there.”

As I said the words there was a horrible creaking, grinding sound and part of the house collapsed, sending sparks up into the night sky. I noticed the firemen were now working feverishly to save the houses next to ours. An image of Aggie’s poor, skinny little body, now charred in that inferno, kept hovering in front of my eyes. I felt sick and powerless and very angry. Liam had stopped crying, held safe against me, and was sucking his thumb.

A constable had now arrived on the scene. Daniel spotted him and called out, “Constable Byrne.”

“Captain Sullivan, sir. Is that you? Don’t tell me it’s your house.”

“I’m afraid it is, Byrne.”

“Was the fire an accident?”

“Quite deliberate, I’d say. Round up the other men in the area and find out if anyone was seen running away from here a few minutes ago. Get a description if you can. Is Lieutenant McCay on duty tonight?”

“Yes, sir. I believe he is.”

“Then have someone send for him immediately. The commissioner will want to hear about this right away. Tell them I’ll report in as soon as I’ve got my wife and child settled.”

The constable hurried off. The fire captain came over to Daniel. “Excuse me, sir, but are we right in thinking this wasn’t a simple gas explosion then?”

“I think you’ll find that it was a bomb, meant for me and my family,” Daniel said grimly. “Someone threw a brick to smash the window then hurled the bomb inside.”

“Someone with a grudge against you?” The young man’s face looked shocked.

“Someone trying to teach us all a lesson, I suspect.”

The rain had picked up now, helping to put out the fire but drenching us as we stood there. Liam was crying again. Daniel turned his attention back to us. “We must get you out of this rain.”

“Where can we go?” I said. “We’ve nothing, Daniel. No clothes, nothing.”

“It will be all right, I promise,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ll take you to the Hotel Lafayette for the night. That’s not far, is it?”

I almost laughed at the absurdity of this. The Hotel Lafayette was where my good friend Ryan O’Hare, the flamboyant and roguish Irish playwright lived. I associated it with good conversation, wicked jokes, wild laughter. I allowed myself to be led away, looking wistfully across the street at Sid and Gus’s house. If only they’d been home I’d have been taken in to warmth and security. They’d be wrapping us in blankets, giving us hot drinks, telling us that everything was going to be fine—when of course it wasn’t. How could it be fine when Aggie was dead and we had lost everything, including our home?

We were soon installed in a room at the Lafayette, and Daniel ordered a tray with sandwiches and hot rum toddy to be sent up to our room. Liam was still sobbing softly, his little body trembling against me. I did what any other mother would have done, undid my shirt and put him to the breast. He suckled greedily as if desperately trying to calm himself.

“It’s a good thing I’m still breastfeeding Liam,” I said, “or I don’t know what I’d do.”

Daniel stood looking down at us, an expression of unbelievable tenderness on his face. “When I think how close I came to losing you,” he said. “But you’ll be safe enough here for the night. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“You’re leaving us?”