The Girls at the Kingfisher Club (18 page)

“Someone to see you,” said the boy through the din. “Doris somebody.”

There was the sound of a chair scraping the floor, and then footsteps, and then Sam appeared and opened the door halfway, trying not to smile. He wore glasses; they suited him.

“Oh,
that
Doris,” he said.

She laughed despite herself, but as he looked past her to her sisters she remembered the situation they were in. That sobered her up, and she took a breath, shoring up for the long argument.

“There's been some trouble at home, Sam.”

His face changed as he registered her words, her tone, her expression.

He said, “I see.”

Before Doris could explain—before she could even open her mouth to say anything else—he stepped aside and waved them in.

It's odd, Doris thought, how fast you can fall in love with someone.

twenty-one

Hop Skip

Rebecca and Araminta froze at the sound of the truck.

There wasn't enough time to hide without looking suspicious.

Rebecca thought quickly.

By the time the truck had rounded the corner and was passing them, they were walking arm in arm, coats draped over their shoulders, pretending to giggle at some joke and taking no notice of the truck at all.

Rebecca held something in her right hand under the knot of their joined arms, half-hidden by fabric, and prayed it looked like a purse and not like a woolen stocking shoved full of dollars and coins.

(When you'd saved as much as Rebecca had saved, you kept it close at hand, in something easy to carry. When you were Rebecca, you didn't think about the aesthetics of that thing until it was too late.)

Araminta was trembling, but when Rebecca squeezed her hand to remind her of her part, Araminta laughed all at once, light and clean as a bell, and for a moment Rebecca caught hold of the sweet sound and felt bold.

The boldness lasted until the corner, when the fear set back in.

“Let's get out of here,” she said, and they let go of each other, shoved their arms into their sleeves, and picked up the pace.

Rebecca's mind was already a mile ahead of them.

They walked for a long time in a comfortable silence, which Rebecca thought was strange—they shared a room but nothing else, and had never been able to do so much as dress without getting on one another's nerves.

(“Again?” Araminta had sighed whenever Rebecca pulled out the gold dress.

Rebecca had gotten so used to it that she was almost annoyed if Araminta let it go; what was the point in wearing the same dress every night they went out if it wouldn't put Araminta out of sorts?)

They slowed down several streets later, when the hum of crowded businesses overtook the hush of houses and it was easy to shuffle through strangers without attracting attention.

“We've lost the others,” said Araminta, looking dolefully over her shoulder. “We'll have to go back for them.”

“No going back,” Rebecca said. “We don't know who that truck was for—God forbid we go back and get caught. And Father's probably still murderous, and the rest of them will all have scattered by now.”

“They'll be in trouble!”

“We're not,” said Rebecca.

Araminta looked around as if that wasn't a comfort.

Rebecca thought it over, trying to stay somewhere between optimistic and realistic.

“If any of them managed to get hold of a little money, they'll probably be all right. If not, they can probably wheedle some off a fella. Or steal it.”

Off Araminta's scandalized look, Rebecca said, “They'll need money, and they're quick on their feet. Sometimes you make do. Don't look at me like I'm suggesting they pose naked in the Hudson for pennies, please.”

Araminta tried to compose herself. Rebecca appreciated the effort, if not the effect.

(Of all the sisters to be stranded with, she thought, with a certain fondness.)

“We'll have to think about what to do,” Rebecca said, “and situate ourselves, and then we can think of a way to reach them.”

“The Kingfisher,” Araminta said at once.

Rebecca had been thinking the same, but she also thought of Jo's return the morning after she'd been in jail. It was a mistake worth learning from: if you were going to go someplace that could get raided, you'd better have a place to reach someone who would bail you out.

No such luck.

Even if the Kingfisher was all right, Rebecca couldn't quite imagine wandering on the streets all day until it got dark, hoping not to get caught. Even one day was too long to go without a safe place waiting.

Jo had proved that, too.

Rebecca felt a pang, let the idea of the Kingfisher go.

And though she didn't want to hash the idea out with Araminta in the middle of the street, Rebecca suspected that even if they could find all the others again, and their old house was by some miracle left open and empty and ready for them, she and Araminta would still be looking for a place to stay.

Rebecca kept a weather eye out, in the way a middle child does. She suspected that some strange emancipation had just been forced on all of them and that whatever happened now, for once, would be of their own making.

They had dreamed so often of a chance at freedom, and here it was. Awful, and frightening, but freedom.

“We should find a room,” Rebecca said.

Araminta glanced around. “A hotel room?”

There was a certain sort of hotel that was safe for young women alone. They probably frowned upon girls who showed up with wool stockings full of money and asked for a weekly room at the minimum rate.

“Maybe boardinghouses would be best,” she said. “Less odd looking.”

Araminta nodded. “We should buy a newspaper and see which boardinghouses are advertising, and then maybe if there are any places where I can pick up a little work.”

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “Work?”

Araminta smiled. “Well, surely someone in this city could use a girl who can sew?”

Rebecca was surprised by Araminta's ambition, which she knew was a little cruel—of all of them, Rebecca should have known better than to write someone off as dull just for being quiet.

But here they were, and Araminta was smiling in the street despite having been run out of her house, and taking charge of herself, and making plans, even though her hands were laced and shaking from more than the cold.

“Are you all right?” Rebecca asked. It was a dumb question, but she didn't know what else to do.

Ella would have known, but she and the twins would be a mile away by now; Rebecca was sure of that. Ella loved them all, but before she had been made a half-unwilling mother, she had been a dreamer. Rebecca remembered a little what she had been like before all the younger ones started going dancing, with her head full of plays and movies she'd never seen. Ella had spied against the nanny's door so often her ear was practically shaped like a keyhole.

Rebecca suspected that, at the bottom of things, Ella and the twins had only ever wanted a moment's excuse to chase some dreamy foolish notions right out of that attic and disappear.

“I will be fine,” said Araminta, squaring her shoulders, “as soon as we find a newspaper.” Then, quietly, “And maybe a meal, if we can afford one. I'm hungry.”

Rebecca looped one of her arms over the other as they set off, trying her best to hide the lumpy stocking.

“We can,” Rebecca said, and Araminta smiled as if they could cross it off the list of their troubles.

Their first meal didn't worry Rebecca. It was everything else that did.

When Rebecca and Araminta turned onto Fifth Avenue again, they had to squeeze through a swell of people, their thin shoes slipping on the pavement as they tried to keep pace, and they held on to each other with white knuckles.

(When they went out dancing, deciding who was cruel had been an academic exercise. Lou and Ella and the twins, and Jo, were a wall that protected you from harm.

But now they were alone, and the world was full of strangers; now they were playing a numbers game.)

• • •

Ella and the twins were already across the street by the time they heard the first sound of the truck.

Police, Ella thought wildly, and hissed, “Get down!”

The three of them banked a sharp left and smacked to a halt against the nearest building.

They stood in a knot, trembling, listening to the truck putting closer and closer to the back of the house.

What a coward our father is, Ella thought, that he wouldn't bring his daughters through the front door even for this.

Ella glanced at the twins, who right now looked more like greyhounds than girls, and wondered if they had the patience to wait out the truck (knowing they didn't, knowing that they'd have to act or ruin everything).

“Ella,” Mattie said, without enough air to even support the word.

Then Ella whispered, “Go,” and they were running.

For a moment, behind them, the truck rolled to a stop with a grind of brakes—Ella imagined the driver watching them, and the horrible quiet of the idling engine, and terror overtook her.

The first time the Kingfisher had been raided, Hattie and Mattie had had to grab her hands and drag her to get her moving into the tunnel.

Strange, what time changes—now she ran so fast she outpaced the twins for a full ten seconds.

(Ella wondered for a moment at the twins' ability to shadow her around a corner almost before she had decided to take it, a mirror double pacing her as she fled, before she remembered that they were all dancers, and the twins were used to following.)

When she finally stopped, the twins pulled up on either side of her, breathing steadily and in time with each other.

Out of habit, Ella waited a moment longer for the others to catch up.

Then, suddenly, it sank in that no other sisters were coming.

They were parted, now, because Ella had been frightened and left them behind.

“Oh God,” Ella said. She couldn't breathe. “Oh God, what's happened?”

(I was selfish, she thought; I ran for myself.)

“They'll be all right,” Mattie said.

Hattie said, “No one was alone.”

That's not true, Ella thought, remembering Jo shouting for them to run.

Ella was already heading back the way they had come before the twins could catch hold of her elbows.

“Father's out for war!” said Hattie. “You're crazy!”

Mattie didn't say anything; she only held on to Ella's arm with one hand, so tight it hurt, as if she was looking for an anchor.

That much from Mattie was strange—the twins needed so little reassurance outside each other—strange enough that Ella actually did stop and turn.

For the first time Ella could remember, Mattie's mask had cracked. Her eyes were serious and scared and the size of dinner plates, and she was looking to Ella, not to Hattie.

Hattie must have seen it, too, because she let go of Ella to stand closer to her twin.

“Stop being such a 'fraidy,” Hattie hissed. “You look ridiculous.”

Ella knew what it really meant (
Are we twins or not?
), and from Mattie's guilty flinch, she did, too.

“I'm only saying we shouldn't go, that's all,” Mattie said, dropping Ella's arm and turning to Hattie at last. Ella could feel the little flicker going out.

“Who should we send to look, then,” asked Ella, “the police? I don't think they'd do very much against Father, and we don't even know yet why we had to run. Suppose he's put the cops on us himself, for dancing? Good luck trying to explain that.”

“Don't say we can't go dancing,” Hattie breathed. “You can't be serious.”

Ella couldn't imagine. Dancing was a dangerous game, but it meant that at night, at least, they knew what to do with themselves.

Mattie went pale, but still she shook her head. “We've waited twenty years to get out of that house. Why would we ever go back?”

“Because maybe your sisters are afraid,” Ella said. “Maybe they're scared and alone, and looking for us.”

“Well, Doris had the little ones in hand,” said Hattie, “and Rebecca had a sackful of money. The only thing she's looking for is a bank.”

Ella smiled despite herself. “Then she'll do all right, and whichever of the other girls managed to stay close to her will benefit from her prudence and quick thinking.”

(She hoped Rebecca had rescued Araminta, and Lily and Rose; the last she'd seen of the younger girls, they were half-falling down the stairs to be free, without a thing in their hands.)

Hattie and Mattie looked momentarily chastised and glanced down at the silver shoes each of them carried in one hand.

“I don't know,” said Mattie. “If I had to choose again between a pile of money and a decent pair to dance in—”

“I'd still choose these,” Hattie finished.

“Only because you never saved a nickel in your life,” said Mattie.

“Because someone keeps making loaded bets with them!”

Their faces were a matched set again, and Ella felt equal parts disappointment and relief.

“Well, I don't have one thing to my name,” she said, “and if we're really going to go out dancing somewhere, we'd better make it count the first time. No one likes a mooch who comes back to the table.”

“You have your face,” Mattie said. “Helen of Troy managed plenty with hers.”

Ella gave her a circumspect look. “Just the outcome I'd hope for,” she said.

(Though if that's what it came to, she had no trouble picking the path of least repute and shacking up with a fella for money; their father had wanted nothing better for them, and this way, she was more free to choose.)

“We need to pick a real bee's-knees place tonight, then,” said Ella. “Somewhere we can be seen.”

Mattie pulled a face. “By whom?”

“By the sort of men who enjoy throwing money at pretty girls,” said Ella.

Mattie and Hattie froze and looked at each other.

“You can save the dowager faces,” Ella said. “We're not in a position to be dainty.”

They had started walking, at some point; ahead of them was an enormous lawn ringed with trees, big enough to run out of sight in all directions.

Ella realized it must be Central Park. She'd always wanted to see it.

(Before this, she wasn't sure she'd ever have the chance to explore beyond the walls.)

The twins approached it nervously, looking around, overwhelmed by the open space.

“We'll go to the Swan tonight,” Ella said. “They had photographers.”

“In this?” Hattie said, at the same time Mattie said, “Ella, you can't be serious.”

“If we can convince someone at Bloomingdale's to start us a line of credit for the house,” Ella said, “we'll try to get something decent to wear.”