Time of Fog and Fire: A Molly Murphy Mystery (Molly Murphy Mysteries) (4 page)

“Thank you,” I said. “I look forward to it.”

“And you’ll bring the little man with you? It will be such a treat for me.”

“All right. Although I do warn you that he has reached the inquisitive stage.”

“I should add that my cook does make the most wonderful cakes and pastries. What child can resist them?”

When she laughed she looked suddenly younger and I got a hint of former prettiness that the severe hairstyle and worry lines had masked until now. I had two children within my care, friends just across the street, and now, it seemed, a newspaperman waiting to interview me, and yet I knew I’d still be worrying about my husband every day. I could see all too clearly how those worry lines had taken over what used to be a pretty face.

Four

On Tuesday I dressed Liam in his best sailor suit, packed a bag of his favorite toys, and set off pushing the buggy to Mrs. Endicott’s house. It was a tall, solid brownstone on Fourteenth Street. The epitome of middle-class New York respectability. The maid who admitted me to a warm entrance hall was dressed in a smart uniform. She took our coats and scarves and told me that madam was expecting me in the sitting room.

“Meeting you has been a godsend, Mrs. Sullivan,” Mrs. Endicott said after she had made a fuss over Liam and settled us in an armchair beside a roaring fire.

“How is that, Mrs. Endicott?” I asked.

“You have been an inspiration. Here you are, also abandoned by your husband, and yet you do not let it get you down. You are determined to live your life, to make the most of it. You are a brave woman and I’ve made a resolution to become braver. I will get out more. I will take up new hobbies and make a life for myself while Mr. Endicott is away.”

We went through to the dining room and enjoyed a really good meal of roast chicken and crisp potatoes. Liam was surprisingly good, sitting propped up on pillows at the table and eating mashed vegetables.

“He’s a little angel, Mrs. Sullivan,” Mrs. Endicott exclaimed.

I smiled. “I think he also approves of your cook, Mrs. Endicott. He is not normally so angelic.”

The main course was followed by meringues and cream, of which Liam also approved. When we parted after dessert and coffee she invited me to visit her again soon.

“Oh, no,” I said and watched her eager face fall. “You must come to me,” I added hurriedly. “Remember you promised to get out more. Come to luncheon at my house later this week and I’ll invite my lively neighbors from across the street. They are so witty and have great stories to tell.”

Her face grew troubled. “One of them wasn’t the strange woman at Mr. Twain’s, was it? The one with mannish hair, wearing trousers?”

“Yes, that was Miss Goldfarb.”

The frown grew. “And I was told that she resides with another woman of similar tastes?”

“That’s also correct.”

She hesitated. “I’m afraid … Mr. Endicott might not approve of such acquaintanceship, Mrs. Sullivan. He is rather rigid in his ways and beliefs.”

“But he’s not here, Mrs. Endicott,” I said. “How would he ever know unless you tell him? Do you have to write to him with your movements every day?”

She wavered then. “I never know where to write to. And he is always too busy to write back. Sometimes I don’t hear from him for a month on end.”

“Well then. Come and meet my neighbors. I can guarantee you’ll find them kind, charming, witty. The very best conversation you’ve ever had.”

She managed a tentative smile. “Very well. I will come. This is all part of spreading my wings, is it not?”

“And if you’re not careful my friends will persuade you to join them in the women’s suffrage movement.”

“Oh, dear.” Her face fell again. “Mr. Endicott would not like that. Is it wise to want the vote, do you think?”

“Is it wise for a nation to be governed by only half its inhabitants?” I asked. “Are women not blessed with equal powers of reasoning? Why should our menfolk decide what is best for us? When it comes to bills about women’s health and child labor, should they be decided only by men?”

She hesitated. “I suppose not. But Mr. Endicott would say…”

“Mr. Endicott is not here, is he?” I gave her a sweet smile.

We parted, agreeing that she should come to luncheon later in the week, as soon as I had found out when Sid and Gus were free.

“My my. What excitement I seem to be having,” she said as she stood at the front door, her face flushed with pleasure. “My friend Irma Reimer wants me to go to the moving pictures with her tomorrow. I had said no, but now I’m thinking that I should go. Although I always find them a little alarming, don’t you? Did you see the one where the wave breaks right at the screen? My dear. I thought I’d be washed away. So did half the audience. There was much screaming, I could tell you.”

“I saw that movie with the wave,” I said. “People tried to rush out of the theater when I was there.”

I pushed Liam home with Mrs. Endicott on my mind. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her—a lonely woman under the thumb of a dominating husband. How would I cope if Daniel were gone for long periods of time? No mention had been made about how long he might be away this time. I had endured a summer without him in Paris. But I had my friends with me and a young baby to take care of. I found myself wondering if Mrs. Endicott had had a child would her husband have stayed away so much. Does it not take a child to cement a marriage?

The next day I had just put Liam down for his nap after lunch and was deciding whether the lace curtains needed to come down and be washed when there came a tap at my front door. I expected to see either Sid or Gus standing there, coming to invite me to join them for coffee, but instead I saw a strange young man. Rather unkempt and windswept looking, wearing a jacket patched at the elbows.

“Mrs. Sullivan,” he said, raising a cap to me, “I am sorry to spring myself upon you unannounced, but I decided to strike while the iron was hot, so to speak.”

As he spoke I remembered why he looked vaguely familiar and before I could say anything he held out his hand and added, “Richard Graves. We met at Mr. Clemens’s house and I told you how keen I was to interview you for my periodical. May I come in?”

“Oh, Mr. Graves.” I stood there in indecision. “I really don’t think the time or place are appropriate. I am, as you can see from my apron, in the middle of housework and the house is not fit to receive a guest.”

He smiled then. He had a very pleasant smile. “I care little about the state of your house, Mrs. Sullivan. I myself live in a most untidy bachelor apartment but always welcome a visit from friends. And since you seemed a little reluctant the other night, I thought that an impromptu visit might persuade you.”

We were standing facing each other at my front door, and I was still trying to make up my mind whether to invite him in. I took a deep breath and said, “As I told you, Mr. Graves, my husband is a police captain. Surely any mention of my former work as a detective would bring scorn and derision on him. Maybe put his whole career in jeopardy.”

“How so, Mrs. Sullivan?” he asked.

“Might not his enemies mock him for having a wife who is a detective? Might they not say that he had needed my help to solve his investigations?”

“Then we will make it quite clear in the article that you gave up your profession when you married and your policeman made a pact never to discuss his work at home. And think of the good an article like this can do, Mrs. Sullivan. Showing young women that a woman can hold her own in a man’s world. Not only hold her own, but succeed. Nellie Bly fired up young women when she showed them what one woman can achieve. She went around the world, didn’t she? She broke all rules and conventions. Now you can reinforce that vision.”

I gave a nervous laugh. “I assure you I am no Nellie Bly. I have had moderate success as a detective.”

“You are being too modest,” Mr. Graves said. “Your friend Miss Goldfarb tells me you have confronted murderers. Faced mortal dangers.”

“If women read my story, most of them would decide I have been imprudent and reckless. As indeed I have been on occasion.”

“I can tell you are only trying to stall me, Mrs. Sullivan. I tell you what—I’ll make you a proposition: let me interview you. I will write the article. You shall see it and have the last word over whether it can be published. Surely you can’t say no to that?” When I still hesitated he added, “For the betterment of the status of women everywhere.”

“Very well,” I said, still hesitant. “I suppose I have to agree that is fair. Come inside then. We’ll have to talk in the kitchen as the rest of the house has no fire lit at the moment.”

We went through to the kitchen and I offered him a cup of coffee. He was a skilled interviewer and I rather think I told him more than I intended to. We were just winding up with the story of the orphan children I found on the streets at Christmas when the front door burst open and Bridie came running in. “Molly, I got an A in English,” she called as she came down the hall. “Mrs. Slopes said it was a fine paper and showed great creativity and that I should think about going to college someday.”

“That’s wonderful, my dear,” I said as she stopped short in astonishment, seeing a strange man in the kitchen. “This is Mr. Graves. He is also a writer. He has been interviewing me.”

Mr. Graves had stood up. “Your daughter, Mrs. Sullivan?” he asked.

“My ward, Bridie. I have a one-year-old son who is mercifully napping. Otherwise we should have had no conversation at all.”

As if on cue we heard a wail coming from upstairs.

“I’ll go up to him,” Bridie said.

“And I should take my leave.” Mr. Graves stood up. “I will return when I have finished the article and you shall be the judge. But I sincerely hope you will agree to its publication. For the advancement of women.”

I laughed then. “I think you must be Irish, Mr. Graves. You certainly have a touch of the blarney.”

He laughed too as I escorted him down the hall. As I opened the front door I was startled to find someone standing there, hand poised as if about to knock.

“Mrs. Endicott!” I exclaimed. My first thought was that the house was in no fit state to receive a visitor of her quality. Surely we had parted without setting a date for our luncheon? “I didn’t think we had set a date for your visit and I’m afraid…” I began. But then I saw that her hand was on her bosom and she was breathing hard as if she had run a race. “Whatever is the matter?” I asked.

“I saw him,” she gasped. It did cross my mind to wonder whether she might be a little touched and I had somehow gotten myself mixed up with an unstable woman. “It was he, I swear it.”

I put a hand on her arm as she was still gasping for breath. “Calm yourself, do,” I said, “and please come inside. I’ve just made coffee.”

“I’ll take my leave then, Mrs. Sullivan,” Mr. Graves said. “I’ll be contacting you as soon as the article is written in a few days.”

“Yes. Well, good-bye then,” I said, rather more curtly than I had intended.

He put on his hat, tipped it to us ladies, and set off down Patchin Place.

“Your husband returned home?” she asked.

“No, that was a reporter, wanting to write an article about me for a magazine,” I said. “Come in, do.”

“Such an interesting life you lead.” She followed me down the hall and took the cup that I offered her. She took several sips before she looked up.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you must think of me,” she said. “I ran all the way from Broadway.”

“You saw a man who frightened you?” I asked.

She shook her head violently. “No, I saw Wilbur. I saw my husband.”

“Here in the city?”

Again the shake of the head. “No. In California.”

I really did then think that she was deranged until she added, “I went to the movie theater, as I told you, and they were showing a piece on San Francisco and there he was. My Wilbur. In San Francisco. Large as life.”

“But that must have been a pleasant surprise for you, wasn’t it? To see your husband.”

“Mrs. Sullivan,” she said firmly. “As far as I know my husband’s business has never taken him to the West Coast. I expected him to be in London or Charleston, South Carolina, or maybe even Havana. But never San Francisco.”

“Maybe you were mistaken,” I said. “The quality of the images is not that good and you saw someone who resembled your husband.”

She reached out and took my arm. “Come with me,” she said. “There will be another showing at four thirty. Come with me then and let me prove to you that I’m not going mad.”

I glanced across the table. Bridie had brought down Liam from his crib and had sat him in his high chair, ready to feed him some bread and jam. “I have to prepare supper for the children…” I began.

“We don’t have to stay for the whole show,” she said. “It is but a brief segment.”

“Can I come?” Bridie asked suddenly. “I’ve never seen a moving picture.”

“I suppose I could leave Liam with Miss Walcott for a little while,” I said.

Mrs. Endicott gripped my hand. “Oh, thank you. I have to make sure I was not wrong.”

I took Liam across the street to his adoring aunts, and off we went. Bridie was excited and almost dragged me forward.

“So many of the girls at school have seen moving pictures,” she said. “One of them even went over to New Jersey to Mr. Edison’s studio and saw him making a moving picture. It was so exciting, she said, with people chasing each other and cops blowing whistles.”

I smiled at her animated little face. Now for the first time she was able to live as a normal girl with school and friends.

We reached the theater on Broadway where the movies were being shown.

The latest innovations in moving picture technology,
said the poster.
Prepare to be astounded, touched, amused. News. Comedy. Drama.
Mrs. Endicott brought out her purse and paid for us, leading us into a half-dark theater in which an organ was playing. Even though the program had already been shown several times that day the house was quite full and we had to take seats near the screen, now concealed behind red velvet curtains. After a few minutes the lights dimmed. There came an expectant murmur from the audience. The organ music became louder and grander and those velvet curtains were pulled back to reveal the screen on which flickered the words:
Welcome to the World of Wonder.