City of God (9 page)

Nick took it in a firm grip. “A final word if I may, Cousin.” He didn’t wait for permission. “If you’re correct and the council won’t appropriate the money, why don’t you?”

“Me?”

“Yes. Well, not you personally. Devrey’s. An act of philanthropy to
mark your move to splendid new premises and celebrate the importance to New York’s prosperity of this venerable company. It’s an opportunity to associate Devrey Shipping with mankind’s salvation.” In the matter of flowery speech, that was the best he could do.

“You don’t think small, Dr. Nicholas Turner. I’ll grant you that.” Sam started for the door. “But I think we’d best leave salvation to the preachers.”

“No, we must not. At least not the kind of salvation that matters this side of the grave.”

Sam’s hat hung on a peg on the wall. In the new building his private room boasted a coat cupboard, and a fancy new window glazed with a single sheet of glass rather than a dozen small panes. He’d have a clear view as far as the harbor. He’d instructed them to build in a set of shelves as well, for the collection of jade ornaments he’d brought back from Canton and prized more highly than any other souvenirs, except, of course Mei-hua. “I’m afraid you overestimate my means, sir.”

“A thousand a year, then. We could have a smaller facility and put three young men to work at—”

“Desecrating the bodies of the dead. We’ve already covered that, Dr….” There was a slight hesitation, then, “Cousin Nicholas.” Sam paused with his hand on the door. “Tell me one thing, if this is such an excellent plan, why hasn’t it been put into effect at New York Hospital?”

“Because, as you point out, doing anatomies remains illegal. Besides, the bodies of the patients who die at New York Hospital are almost always claimed by relatives.”

“While those who die in Bellevue have no relatives, at least none with sufficient money to give them a proper burial, and so are unclaimed.”

“That is the usual circumstance,” Nick admitted.

“However wretched their lives may be, Cousin Nicholas, does it not strike you as inhuman to deny them even the peace of a pauper’s grave?”

Jesus God Almighty. The feral pigs roaming New York’s streets lived better than the sick in the Almshouse Hospital, but Sam Devrey was worrying about what happened to their half-starved bodies after they
were dead. “Progress always comes at some cost, Cousin Samuel. It is the nature of science to—”

Sam opened the door. The activity of the counting room assaulted them as a wall of sound. “Good day to you, Cousin Nicholas.” His voice barely carried over the shouts of the clerks and captains and porters milling about. “I’m afraid we’ll have no money to donate to worthy causes this year.”

S
AM HAD CONSIDERED
all the options for getting Mei-hua uptown and decided his one-horse buggy was the only possibility. The omnibus was far too public, and while a closed hansom cab might provide greater anonymity, it would mean one more person who knew where he’d taken her and of their association. The city’s cabbies were noted for being hawk-eyed. If someone—Jacob Astor for instance—wanted to know something, he’d begin by questioning the cabbies.

The Devrey rig had a single seat covered in dark blue wool and a black leather canopy lined with red and blue stripes. The front was open, as were the sides; not much protection from the elements. Now, near to five
P.M.
, there was a sharp chill in the air; it certainly didn’t feel as if April would arrive in a few days. Mei-hua sat beside him and Ah Chee beside her. There wasn’t another female to be seen until they reached Bleecker Street, and those who were out and about wore deep-brimmed bonnets and cloaks of black or blue or brown. Mei-hua’s hair was pinned up with a jeweled ornament, and she wore a long green velvet shawl over a yellow silk skirt and jacket. Ah Chee wore her usual quilted homespun tunic and typical Chinese peasant’s conical hat. Christ. In this place she
looked more foreign and exotic than Mei-hua. Never mind. It would be dark soon. Besides, he couldn’t have refused to bring Ah Chee; Mei-hua might die of terror without her. As it was she sat upright and stiff beside him. He could feel her trembling, but he was also aware of her glance darting everywhere, looking at everything.

Sam clucked softly to the horse and snapped the reins once or twice. Best get this done with and get Mei-hua home to a world she understood. But there was nothing to be done about the traffic. On Fourth Street they were trapped behind a large omnibus pulled by four great black horses, and hemmed in on one side by a wagon full of beer kegs and on the other by a fashionable carriage drawn by a pair of matched grays sporting tall red feathers in their headstalls.

Mei-hua nodded toward the grays and said something to Ah Chee. Sam didn’t hear what it was because two newsboys were loudly hawking their wares as they threaded their way through the stalled vehicles. “Get the
Sun! Sun
here, only a penny!” “
Herald
for a copper,” the other one shouted. “All the latest what’s happenin’. A copper only.”

The new presses were known to be able to print four thousand double impressions in an hour, and there were by count thirty-five penny papers being published in the city. They sent out men they called reporters to find stories. In fact, the exploits of the reporters were repeated with almost as much glee as the scandals and mayhem they uncovered. Sam fished a copper out of his vest pocket and signaled the lad who had just handed one of his papers through the window of the omnibus. “You there. I’ll have a
Herald.
”

Sam tucked the paper inside his coat. The omnibus suddenly clanged its bell and jerked forward. Sam’s horse moved on without needing a command.

She called herself Mrs. Langton; Sam had never seen a Mr. Langton. He’d had to screw up his courage to come here the first time nearly a year ago. He’d seen the notice in the
Herald.
“Ladies requiring healthful assistance in disallowing a family beyond one’s means” were encouraged to apply.

Sam had become a regular visitor to Mrs. Langton’s rooms on Christopher Street, in what was still called Greenwich Village, though these days the streets were cobbled and the pavements flagged, and the village had been swallowed up by the expanding city. Mrs. Langton allowed him to collect a week’s worth of the packets of powder very early each Monday morning before she received her regular clientele. Sam paid twice the going rate for the privilege of such privacy. That made him a specially favored customer, and meant there had been no difficulty arranging a discreet early evening appointment.

As promised, no one else was in her sitting room when they arrived. Sam carried a shivering Mei-hua in his arms, while Ah Chee tottered behind.

“This is the young woman I told you about. Do remember that she speaks no English and doesn’t understand our ways. You must be particularly gentle, Mrs. Langton. Where do I bring her?”

Lilac Langton rushed to open a door behind a velvet curtain. “Right in here, Mr. Smith.” Of course that wasn’t his real name. Lilac had gone out of her way to find out about him after the first time he came. But Mr. Smith he’d told her to call him, so Mr. Smith he was. “You just put her on that treatment sofa over there and step outside and make yourself comfortable. Won’t be long, I promise.”

Ah Chee pushed in behind, chattering all the while. “My lord should take us home right away. Good way to do whatever he wants to do. Good way. Hor Taste Bad excellent for doing—”

“Bi zue. Bi zue.”
Quiet, he told her. “If you had done what you were supposed to do, this wouldn’t be necessary.”

Ah Chee went on chattering as if he hadn’t spoken. Sam ignored her and laid Mei-hua on the sofa. She was staring up at him, her eyes pleading.
“Bie dan xing,
” Sam murmured. Do not worry your heart. “Better this way for now, my love. You’re too young. Later,” he promised. “Later we’ll have a son.”

“Whatever he says, you talk nothing,” Ah Chee had repeatedly warned her plum blossom. “I will complain, but you talk nothing.
tai-tai
is dreadful bad liar. If you talk, my plan will spill out of your little rosebud mouth and everything will be spoiled. No talk. No talk.”

It wasn’t difficult for Mei-hua to do as Ah Chee instructed. She was truly terrified. The Lord Samuel and Ah Chee and the strange white woman however were all talking at once.

“You tell her I stay. Tell her. Tell her. Please, lord.
Tai-tai
will—”

“Stay. Stay. Understand. Understand, Ah Chee. Stop making tongue noise.” He turned to Mrs. Langton. “The girl is from China. And very frightened. You must allow her old servant to remain with her. I will tell her to sit there and only hold the girl’s hand. She won’t interfere, I promise.”

“No one else is allowed in the room, Mr. Smith. That’s my rule. This is a delicate affair and I am very particular about—”

“Yes, of course. I know you are.” Sam reached into the breast pocket of his swallowtail frock coat. Carolina had bought him the fine leather billfold the previous Christmas. Now that paper money was becoming so common, she’d said, it was sure to be of use to him. “Eighty dollars, Mrs. Langton. That’s what we agreed, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, that’s correct.” Her services were as cheap as ten for ordinary women, but for a gent like this one…She was a fool. She should have said ninety.

Sam counted out a thick wad of bills. “We’ll make it a hundred, because I know you’ll take special care. And you will allow the old woman to stay. Good New York currency,” he added, when he held out the money.

Lilac took the wad without a word and slipped the bills into her pocket, then took his elbow and guided him to the door. “Very well, the servant may remain. You can wait outside, Mr. Smith. Now don’t be alarmed, whatever you hear. I’m well thought of, you know. Ladies come to me because I know my trade and do it quickly. There you go, not to worry. Lilac Langton has everything in hand.”

She’d been Francy Finders back in Spitalfields in London, then Francy Langton after she married poor Joe who had taken a fever and died during the crossing he’d so looked forward to, and picked God knows how many pockets to make possible. “New start in America, Francy,” he’d promised her. Well, a newer start than she’d bargained for,
that was sure. That’s why she’d decided to take a new name, to sort of mark the occasion. So Lilac Langton it was who closed the door behind Mr. Samuel Devrey, who called himself Mr. Smith, and turned to look at the two women he’d brought her.

“Well now,” she said, pulling on the homespun smock she wore over her frock for this sort of thing and moving purposefully across the room. “Sooner begun, sooner ended. That’s what I always say. Let’s get you in position, missy.”

What Lilac called her treatment sofa was an upholstered couch with a curved back at one end and neither sides nor footboard. She moved to the bottom, intending to open the girl’s legs, but the dress was tight all the way to the ankles. God’s truth, what decent woman would wear a dress like that? She started to push it up, but the servant scurried to where Lilac stood, interrupting the process.

“How much? How much you only pretend take son?”

Lilac didn’t understand a word. “Get out of my way, old woman, else I’ll have to get Mr. Smith in here. Now go sit beside her. Hold her hand if you like.” She gave Ah Chee a little shove to make her point. “Move yourself!” She’d managed to get the dress rolled up to the girl’s hips by then. Not even a petticoat beneath it. God’s truth.

“How much only do this?” Ah Chee pinched Mei-hua’s thigh as hard as she could. Mei-hua screamed. Ah Chee pinched again. Mei-hua screamed again. “More loud. More loud,” Ah Chee mumbled and pinched a third time, eliciting a shriek that was bound to be heard in the room beyond. With her other hand she withdrew the purse containing her secret treasure. “How much? How much?”

Lilac still couldn’t understand a word the woman was saying, but the bulging purse required no explanation. “You’re offering me money, is that it? To do what?”

“You make this. This.” Ah Chee waved the hand that wasn’t holding the purse in the vicinity of the plum blossom’s beautiful privates. “No go inside. Only outside. Make this. This.” She simulated the circular scraping motions of a proper baby clean-out. Easy to do since she’d seen the procedure dozens of times back on the women’s sampans of the river
pirate dog turd, who had caused all this trouble by not giving the girl to a proper civilized husband. “Like this. Like this.” More hand gestures in the air between the girl’s splayed thighs. “How much? How much?”

Lilac was beginning to understand the words as well as the gestures. “What will it cost, eh? To only pretend to do the job. Like this?” She repeated the gesture the old Chinee woman had made. “I can’t do that, love. I’ve my reputation to look after. All I got’s my good name, ducky. Now sit down.”

Ah Chee didn’t understand the words, but she didn’t have to. They were bargaining now, eventually a price would be agreed upon. And this one time she honestly didn’t care if she got the better of the transaction. “Say how much,” she repeated, jiggling the purse so the coins inside could be heard.

Lilac’s eyes narrowed and she drew her tongue across her lips. “How much you got?”

Ah Chee guessed the meaning of the words. She opened the purse and held it out.

Crikey. Chock full of coins, and not just coppers, neither. Lilac snatched at it. “I’ll take that.” After a moment’s hesitation Ah Chee released her grip and let her have it. “I’ll just play around a bit, not really scrape her out clean like I should. Enough so he’ll think I’ve done my job.” She jerked her head toward the outer room. “Get a few proper moans out of her. Maybe a touch of blood. But she’ll probably go on and have a bouncing baby anyway. It happens sometimes. All right, clear off and let me get to it.”

Ah Chee allowed herself to be shoved out of the way. With one hand the woman reached for one of her long needles and with the other she spread the plum blossom’s privates.

Ah Chee flung herself at the woman. “Outside. Outside. Only outside. You take money and say—”

Lilac inserted the lady needle at the same moment the Chinese woman’s shoulder made contact with her arm.

Mei-hua shrieked, a long extended note of agony.

Lilac yanked out the needle. There was no blood but there was a
rush of fluid. “Stupid old fool,” she snapped at Ah Chee. “You made me go in too far. Broke the sac I have. She’s bound to miscarry now, and it’s your fault, not mine.” Never mind. The purse full of coins was deep in her pocket, and she had no intention of returning it. Lilac hurried to the sitting room door and flung it open. Samuel Devrey was standing just outside. Pouring sweat, as she’d known he would be. Damned men. Took whatever they wanted, then shivered and shook at the results. “She’s done. Take her home and let her rest for a few days. Better if she stays abed for a time.”

Sam strode across to the couch without answering. Ah Chee was busy rearranging Mei-hua’s clothes. The girl was sobbing quietly. He gathered her up in his arms and carried her out of the room. Ah Chee hurried after them, but before she left she turned and gave Lilac a look of such malevolence the woman felt she’d been marked by the eye of Satan himself.

Mei-hua stopped sobbing soon after they left the abortionist, but by the time the buggy turned into Cherry Street she was moaning softly and hunched over in pain. They pulled up at number thirty-nine, Leper Face appeared and took the horse’s reins. Sam jumped down, then turned and lifted Mei-hua out of the rig. He hurried into the building, leaving Leper Face to help Ah Chee descend and scurry after him. Damned old woman was mumbling but Sam paid no attention. This whole mess was her fault. If she hadn’t allowed Mei-hua to stop taking the powders, as he was quite sure she had, it never would have happened. As soon as Mei-hua was well enough not to need her, he would beat Ah Chee to within an inch of her life.

He’d finally gotten Mei-hua inside her own apartment and Ah Chee still wouldn’t leave him alone. “What is it, damn you?” She was tugging at his coat and speaking in such high-pitched hysterical tones he couldn’t understand her words. “What? What?”