No Comfort for the Lost (19 page)

“You’re filth,” spat Barbara, and the tall one swung the bottle. It arced close to Barbara and she recoiled. Her head smacked against the brick wall behind her, dislodging her bonnet.

“Hey!” said one of the other boys. “We’re not supposed to be hurtin’ them, are we? Just puttin’ the scare in them, like.”

“Shut up!” the ringleader ordered.

Celia kicked his shin as hard as she could. He shrieked like a wounded animal.

“Who ordered you to frighten us?” she demanded. “Who?”

“That’s it. I’m goin’,” yelled one, dropping his chunk of stone and racing off.

“Come back!” the ringleader shouted, his hand clutching his shin.

A whistle trilled. “Police!” a man shouted.

The remaining boys threw down their broken bottles and stones and scattered. A policeman chased after one of them, and Nicholas Greaves pursued another.

Thank heavens Addie found help.

“How is your head, Barbara?” With a calming smile, Celia knelt at her cousin’s side and untied her bonnet, easing it off. There was a lump and the sticky warmth of blood, but the wound did not seem deep.

“Oh, Cousin,” Barbara sobbed. “I’ve never been so scared! They wanted to kill me!”

“No. They wanted to frighten us.”

“Miss Barbara!” Addie dashed over and also knelt beside Barbara. She ran her rough fingers over the girl’s tear-streaked face. “Are you all right?”

Barbara shuddered but nodded. Celia cradled her weeping cousin against her chest and looked over Barbara’s head at Addie.

“What are we to do, ma’am?”

“Find who is behind this attack,” said Celia. “And find who is sending us those messages. Because this has got to stop.”

• • •

N
ick sent a policeman to stand guard over the women while he singled out the nearest boy and pursued him. The kid was quick and knew these back streets better than Nick did. He burst onto the main road, darting through traffic and leaping over horsecar-line rails.

Without slowing, the boy ducked down another alley. A street cleaner stopped to gawp at them, managing to stand in Nick’s path. Pushing the man aside, he ran past and turned down the alley. The kid had almost reached the end of the passage. If it led to another lane, Nick would lose him.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” he shouted.

It was an outright lie, but the boy looked back to see if Nick had pulled his gun. The boy had forgotten about the curb and tripped over its edge, falling to his knees.

Breathing hard, Nick reached him before he could get up and run off again.

“Hold on, kid,” he said, hooking one scrawny arm and hoisting him upright.

“Why’re you chasin’ me?” the boy demanded, showing a good amount of gumption to pretend innocence. He was shaking, however.

Nick dragged the boy closer. “What did you want with those women? Who put you up to attacking them?”

“We weren’t attackin’ them!” He was ten or eleven and filthy, and the gap in his teeth made a whistling noise when he spoke. “We was just funnin’.”

“Funning?” Nick shook him, and the boy’s head jiggled back and forth. “Hurling rocks at them is not
funning
.”

The boy started to cry. “Don’t take me to the calaboose. My ma’d kill me.” A tear plopped onto his grimy coat.

“You should’ve thought of that before.” Nick’s left arm was tingling and he could feel his fingers going numb. He didn’t let go of the kid, though. “Tell me who told you to attack those women.”

“Nobody did. Honest! My pa’s against them Chinese and we thought . . .” The tears started falling more rapidly. “It was just funnin’!”

“What’s your pa’s name?”

“He’s gonna kill me, too!”

The boy twisted his arm and Nick’s hand went numb. He lost hold, and the kid jerked free and ran off faster than Nick could chase him.

“Damn!” Nick shouted at the empty alleyway.

Massaging his tingling hand, he hurried back to Mrs. Davies and her cousin. The women were where he’d left them, the policeman close at hand. Nick told the man he could go back to the ruckus on Montgomery.

He bent over Mrs. Davies and was pleased to see she wasn’t bloodied. He couldn’t say the same for her cousin, whose cut hand had bled onto her skirt.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” he asked Celia. “And your cousin?”

“She will be,” she responded, and managed a smile. “And I must say, Detective, you are the finest thing I have seen all day.”

• • •

C
elia folded her skirts around her shins and dropped onto the top step of her rear porch next to Mr. Greaves.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman manage a maneuver like that so well in a corset and crinoline,” he commented. “There are chairs right over there.” He nodded to the set of wicker chairs teetering on the garden’s lumpy dirt.

“But then I would have to get right back up again, Mr. Greaves, and that would be more than I can manage at the moment.” She rested her head against the porch post. She was so very tired. “Barbara is resting. I gave her some laudanum to help her sleep.”

She had dressed the cut on Barbara’s hand and tended to her head wound. Her cousin would recover from her injuries. Celia would not hazard a guess as to when her cousin might recover from the fright.

“Rest will do her good,” the detective said.

Celia released a long breath. “How can the evening be so lovely when it was such a horrible afternoon?” she asked, gazing beyond the clapboard houses at the sky. It was turning a sort of bluish purple, and the smell of food cooking drifted on the breeze, accompanied by the sound of pans banging against stovetops. Next door, Mrs. Cascarino scolded in a stream of Italian, and Angelo, who’d been spying on them around a window curtain, vanished from sight.

Celia glanced over at Nick. “Do not mind Mrs. Cascarino. She is loud but harmless.”

He seemed to recognize the name. “Does she have a daughter named Mina?”

“Why, yes. Do you know her?”

“She works at Bauman’s. I’ve seen her there.”

He turned to stare at the garden before she could figure out if there was more behind his casual comment than he was revealing.

“Did you recognize any of the boys?” he asked, deftly changing the subject.

“No, and neither did Barbara. They are not the same ones who accosted her in the street last week. How many of these hooligans are out there?”

“Too many,” he answered. “Stick close to the house, Mrs. Davies, until I’ve figured out what’s going on.”

“Barbara will not be overeager to leave, I can promise you,” she replied, tucking her feet beneath the hem of her skirt. “Did the boy tell you anything useful before he broke free?”

The others had managed to elude capture as well, according to Detective Greaves.

“Just that he got the idea to harass your cousin from his father, who dislikes the Chinese,” he said.

“Did he say if they were after us specifically?”

He glanced over at her. “He didn’t. They might’ve been waiting for any Chinese person to happen by.”

Addie banged open the back door, a tray in her hands. “Och, how am I to serve you some tea when you’re perched on the steps like a pair of urchins?” She bent down and plunked the tray onto the floorboards with a rattling of cups. “You are certain you willna stay for dinner, Detective Greaves?”

“Don’t want to impose.”

“Weel, ’tis good because we’ve only cold meat and some beans to eat.” She straightened, brushing her hands together. “Nae that a one of us has an appetite after today. Horrible town. Women attacked in the street! We should be going back to England. Nothing like this ever happened there. Madame Philippe warned us, ma’am, and she was right.” She stomped off, the rear door slamming behind her.

“It’s time to tell me who Madame Philippe is, Mrs. Davies,” Mr. Greaves said, once Addie’s footfalls had receded.

“Please do not laugh,” Celia said. “The woman is an astrologer, and Addie suggested that we consult her about Li Sha’s murder. I agreed when I learned that Tessie Lange makes use of her services. I was hoping Madame Philippe might reveal that Tessie came to her with concerns about Tom or Li Sha or Connor Ahearn, but she declined to share the confidences of a client. However, she did warn us we were in danger, as Addie mentioned.”

Nicholas Greaves hadn’t laughed, but he did look cynical. “These days it doesn’t take an astrologer’s supposed gifts to figure that a Chinese girl, even one who’s only half-Chinese, might be in danger, ma’am.”

“Don’t worry, Detective. I am not proposing that astrological consultations become a regular part of police investigations.”

“Good thing, because I doubt the captain would foot the bill.”

Celia considered him. Would he say no to what she was about to ask? “Mr. Greaves, I read in the newspaper this morning that a large meeting of the Anti-Coolie Association is scheduled for tomorrow night. The boys who attacked Barbara might be there, along with their fathers.”

“Taylor’s mentioned the meeting to me. I plan to go.”

“Then I wish to go as well,” Celia said firmly, daring him to deny her. “The person who has been watching this house might also be there, if the warnings have anything to do with Barbara’s ethnicity or Li Sha’s murder.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t tell if this watcher was a man or a woman. How are you going to recognize anybody?” he asked.

“It is worth a try, Mr. Greaves,” said Celia. “I insist on attending.”

“It’s too dangerous for you. If any of those people recognize you and know that you work with Chinese girls, they might turn on you.”

“If there is any chance, no matter how remote, that I can bring the threats against us to an end, then I must go to this meeting. I have no other choice,” she said, pressing a hand to his sleeve. “I shall attend whether you accompany me or not.”

“You’re too stubborn for your own good, Mrs. Davies.”

“But stubbornness is valuable, is it not?” she asked, her fingers closing around his wrist. “If one is searching for a killer.”

• • •

S
tubbornness is a good way to get yourself killed, Mrs. Davies,
thought Nick, bound for home. The woman was depleting his supply of patience, and he hadn’t started with much.

After leaving her house, Nick had gone to the ironworks and found Ahearn preparing to leave his station, looking as innocent as the Madonna. His boss explained the man had worked an extra shift last night. Ahearn had an alibi again. He also proclaimed he’d never gone to Chinatown to look for Li Sha, and any Chinese prostitute claiming he had was a damned liar. Nick made sure Ahearn’s boss overheard Nick telling Ahearn he’d be hauling him back to the police station for more questioning if he found out otherwise. That might make his life miserable around the shop for a while.

Nick had then stopped at Lange’s. The store was closed and had been for a few hours, according to a neighbor who also informed Nick that Lange had gone to look for his daughter. When the neighbor wanted Nick to explain what had happened to Tessie, Nick walked off. The story of the girl’s disappearance would probably be all over the newspapers tomorrow, anyway.

By the time Nick got home, the sun had vanished below the western hills. He trudged up the front steps of his boardinghouse and went inside. Mrs. Jewett didn’t come out of her ground-floor rooms to greet him, as she usually did when she heard him come through the front door. He didn’t mind; he wasn’t precisely in a sociable mood.

Rolling his head to work out the kinks in his neck, he climbed the stairs to his rooms. At the landing, the wood planks offered up their customary squeak. He paused to pull out his key, waiting to hear Riley’s familiar bark at the noise. Except it didn’t come. It was then he noticed the sliver of light beneath the door at the top of the steps. Somebody was in his rooms. And it was too late in the day for that somebody to be his landlady.

He removed the sling, drew out his gun, and sighed. He was getting mighty tired of having to brandish his revolver. Although what intruder declared his presence by lighting the gas lamps? Only a stupid one. And stupid ones were always the most worrisome.

Nick reached for the handle and threw open the door. With a bark, Riley jumped up from where he’d been lying, and the person inside dropped the glass of water she was holding. It smashed to the floor.

“Nick, honestly! What is wrong with you?”

“Mina.”

Her gaze went to the gun in his hand. “Can you put that thing away?”

He did as she asked and set his Colt on the table. Riley loped over to greet him. “How did you get in?” he asked her as he scratched the dog’s ears.

“Your landlady believed me when I said I was your sister. She’s too trusting.” Mina retrieved a rag from the basin in the kitchen and crouched to mop up the spilled water.

“Let me do that. You’ll get your dress dirty.”

“And you’ve hurt your arm. I’ll take care of it.” Mina scooped the broken pieces into a pile. He really wished she hadn’t dropped the glass; he had only four.

“Why aren’t you at Bauman’s?” he asked.

“Herr Bauman is trying out a new girl.” Her eyes glittered with jealousy and dread, two feelings she quickly smothered. “He thinks he can get someone who can sing as well as I do for less money.”

“That’s not possible,” said Nick. “But you’re not here for a social call or to complain about Adolph Bauman’s treatment. So what is it?”

Her eyes searched his face, and he felt a rush of the old feelings he’d once harbored for her. But those feelings went no deeper than habit.

“There were men in Bauman’s last night talking about that fire on Dupont. Laughing over it,” she said, tossing the wet rag into the corner sink inside the storeroom.

“Somebody burned down a Chinese laundry and the saloon next door.”

“The fire was started as a warning to the saloonkeeper. It seems he’s involved with smugglers, and they’ve taken a dislike to something he’s done.”

Nick recalled that Eagan had mentioned a smuggling case; he should’ve taken more time to read the captain’s notes.

“Thanks, Mina.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out some coins. “Here.”

The twitch at the corner of her left eye revealed her rising temper. Next, she’d be slapping him. “You’re going to try to pay me?”