12 The Family Way (12 page)

“Then she might have gone off in search of a better position.”

She gave me what can only be described as a withering stare. “What better position would be open to a girl from the bogs of Ireland with no education, background, or family? Girls like that wind up with the only job open to them—and we all know what that is.” She paused to let this sink in.

“Is it not possible that she has married the young man who is the father and kept her child?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “She would not name the father, but I got the distinct impression that he was not in a position to marry her.”

“It wasn’t one of your staff then?”

“No,” she said curtly. “It was definitely not one of my staff. I would have found out and forced him to marry her.”

I had been sipping the iced tea, which was deliciously refreshing.

“I’m sorry I can be of no further help to you, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said, putting down her own glass and making it perfectly clear that this interview was at an end. “The girl could be anywhere by now.”

I got to my feet. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Mainwaring. You have my card. If she does contact you again, would you please let me know?”

“She would not be getting a reference from me, Mrs. Sullivan. I made a more than generous offer and it was rejected. My generosity cannot be relied upon twice.”

As we came out into the foyer a butler was passing. “Soames, is Mr. Mainwaring back yet?” she asked.

“I believe not, madam,” he said.

“If he does show up in the next hour or so, please remind him that we are expected for dinner with the Rothenburgers,” she said. “And that he promised to say good-night to his son.”

“Certainly, madam. I will tell him—” a significant pause “—if he comes home in the next hour or so.”

This was clearly a household of tension, I thought, and I wondered if all the tension was caused by the brittle Mrs. Mainwaring. Perhaps Maureen had good reason not to wish to return here after her confinement and had managed to find something better.

“You have a little boy then,” I said because I felt uncomfortable standing in the foyer. “My congratulations.”

She smiled then. “My husband comes from an old and distinguished family. An heir is important to him.” Her eyes went to my own shape. “I’m sorry I could not be of assistance to you.”

I stepped out into the heat of the afternoon and had just been assisted back into the pony trap when I heard the scrunch of wheels on the driveway and an automobile came toward us, driving fast. It screeched to a halt only a few yards from us. The pony danced and snorted nervously and a young man jumped out, vaulting neatly over the closed door. He was handsome in a way that would go down well on the Broadway stage—hair parted in the middle, jaunty little mustache, wearing a striped blazer and white flannels. He came up to me.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t see you until the last second. Hope I didn’t scare the little mare too much.”

“She seems to have calmed down, thank you,” I said.

“Been visiting my wife have you? That’s splendid. She needs more visitors. Needs to get out more.” He gave me a once over with his eyes then added, with a rakish smile, “And I wouldn’t object to seeing a pretty face around here once in a while. Do you live in the neighborhood?”

I adopted a polite tone, not wanting to be accused by Mrs. Mainwaring of encouraging her flirtatious husband. “No, I’m staying with my mother-in-law in Elmsford and I just paid your wife a courtesy call, because the family is acquainted with your mother-in-law.” I saw no reason to tell him the truth. He was the sort of man who’d have no interest in the hiring and firing of servants.

“Well, do call around again. Bring your husband with you,” he said.

“My husband is unfortunately hard at work in the city.”

“Nose to the grindstone type, is he?”

“A police captain,” I said.

Did I detect a flicker of alarm in his eyes?

“Well, bless my soul. It takes all types, I suppose. I’d better let you on your way then.”

And he ran up the steps into the house.

Twelve

Bridie sat beside the driver, sticky but content as the pony walked slowly home. Mrs. Sullivan fanned herself. “So what was she like, this Mrs. Mainwaring?” she asked as we left Irvington behind us and plunged once again into the shade of the trees. “Are you glad you made all that effort to visit?”

“Not really,” I said. “She didn’t exactly welcome me with open arms. I rather got the feeling that I was a little beneath her and thus not worth the effort.”

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea to make social calls unexpectedly in this heat,” Mrs. Sullivan gave me a triumphant look. “People are not at their best when they are perspiring and she was probably in no mood to be sociable.”

“Well, I’ve done my duty to my friends and don’t need to go back,” I said. “But I’m glad we came to Irvington. It was delightful by the river, wasn’t it?”

“The ice cream was certainly delightful,” Bridie said, echoing the words in such a grown-up way that it made us smile.

We lapsed into silence. I was wondering how I could come up with a way to visit the convent that had taken in Maureen. It had been hard enough to convince Mrs. Sullivan to visit the Mainwarings. I couldn’t at the moment think of a good excuse to visit a convent. I wasn’t known for my religious fervor, in fact I’d only agreed to being married in the Catholic Church for Daniel’s sake. I certainly didn’t think my mother-in-law would believe I had another friend whose sister was a nun and would want me to call upon her.

I sighed. It was hopeless. A wicked little idea crept into my mind that I could pretend to have received an urgent summons to go home, then go instead to a local inn and investigate at my leisure, but deceiving my mother-in-law left a bad taste in my mouth and it was bound to lead to complications with Daniel when his mother wrote to ask him why I was needed at home so urgently and I hadn’t turned up. I sighed. Why couldn’t I give up my former life gracefully and accept this new stage of my life? I knew the answer. Because I was so close. The convent was nearby. A few questions and I’d find out the truth. I’d most likely be able to write to the folks in Ireland with news of Maureen. All I needed was one day to myself. This required some serious thought.

As we approached the lane leading to our house I said casually, “Mrs. Mainwaring suggested that I go to look at some of the fine mansions nearby.”

“There certainly are some fine homes closer to the river,” Mrs. Sullivan agreed. “Mr. Washington Irving’s Sunnyside, and the Octagon House. But I expect she means that monstrosity that Vanderbilt has constructed at Hyde Park. Some people would be impressed by all those pillars and whatnot.”

“She also said there was a convent nearby that was worth a look?” I suggested, wondering if I was stabbing in the right direction. “Interesting old buildings with some history?”

She frowned. “A convent? I don’t know what she was referring to. There’s only one convent that could be described as nearby and that’s the one in North Tarrytown. I wouldn’t say the buildings have any architectural merit. It used to be the old fever hospital before the nuns took it over in the last century. Depressing-looking place if you ask me, up on a hill and exposed to the gales. All Gothic arches from what you can see of it. And of course you can’t go inside. They are an enclosed order.”

“Oh, then it can’t be the same one,” I said. “This one takes in mothers and babies. Mrs. Mainwaring said they did wonderful work.”

Mrs. Sullivan was eyeing me curiously now. “They take in fallen young women. Not the sort of place for respectable people like you or me. And I wonder why this Mrs. Mainwaring is so keen on it? Is she a Catholic? I’ve not seen her at any Catholic charitable functions in the county.”

“I’ve no idea,” I said, with a shrug of the shoulders. “Not everyone’s idea of interesting architecture is the same. Perhaps she likes places of Gothic horror.” I smiled, to show that this was of no importance.

“Mrs. Mainwaring sounds most disagreeable. I’m glad I didn’t accompany you and that you have no reason to visit her again.” She dabbed at her forehead. “I think we have had enough excursions for the time being. It’s not good for you to go running around the countryside in your delicate state. I noticed when you climbed into the trap that your ankles are starting to swell up.”

When we reached Mrs. Sullivan’s house and went inside I found a letter from Sid and Gus waiting for me on the hall table. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise,” I said. “My friends have written to me. Would you excuse me, please?” And I took it up to my room to read.

I think we have combed every inch of the Lower East Side,
Gus wrote in her neat sloping hand,
and haven’t seen anyone resembling your brother. If he is still here, he is not venturing forth, at least during daylight hours. Sid has decided enough is enough and has other fish to fry—she’s been asked to write an article on the state of the suffrage movement in America for a British journal. And I must admit I yearn to get back to my painting. We really did our best, Molly. We have left your note with Sarah, just in case she spots your brother.

Of your dear husband we have not seen hide nor hair. He must be going to work at an ungodly hour before we’re awake and returning after dark. Really you should persuade him to take up a more sensible profession, Molly. The man will wear himself out before he’s forty.

Oh, and remember the incident of the wrong baby we reported to you? It made all the newspapers and now there is a general public outcry to catch the kidnappers. Could it be that this is what is keeping Daniel busy to all hours? Frankly the publicity will not help, I’m afraid. The kidnappers will surely lie low until the fuss has died down.

I trust you are enjoying the tranquility of the countryside with no such drama. It is still frightfully hot in the city and Sid talks of renting a cottage out in the Hamptons.

Your devoted friend,

Gus

I folded the letter and put it onto my bedside table. Again I experienced that simmering frustration. Surely I could have found my brother by now? Surely I’d have been able to come up with the answer to the wrong baby—at least I could have given it a darned good try. I liked a case I could sink my teeth into. And now here I was, cut off and powerless in Westchester County while the rest of the world had come to a standstill. It seemed that nobody was making any progress in any direction, almost as if we were all suspended in a giant limbo of summer heat. And now it looked as if Sid and Gus would be heading out to the tip of Long Island—too far away for me to contact them if I needed them.

I gazed out of the window. Jonah was raking the grass. “I wonder,” I said. I picked up my writing set and wrote back, telling them of the trip to Irvington, the beauty and tranquility of the river.

There are some charming little inns along the Hudson and the breeze is delightfully refreshing. There are also some very fine residences—no doubt Gus will know their owners and could even secure herself an invitation to one of them. If you’ve a mind to escape from the city, you could do worse than come up this way and thus do a good deed by saving your poor friend from dying from boredom and from lectures on being a good homemaker. Is it really essential that I know how to preserve plums?

After I had given the letter to Jonah to take to the mail, I felt a trifle guilty at making such a preposterous suggestion. I was always prevailing upon their good nature, wasn’t I? They could exist quite happily without me but I really needed them. I had grown up with no close female friends, the local girls thinking that I was strange because I wanted to read and educate myself, and dreamed of a better life. It had been such a treat to discover women with whom I could share opinions, hopes, and fears. But would they not grow tired of such an annoying neighbor eventually? It was too late now. The letter was already winging its way to New York.

It did cross my mind that if Sid and Gus came to the Hudson, I’d have a perfect excuse to escape occasionally and wondered if I might push my luck by asking to learn how to drive the pony trap. Obviously not at the moment as Mrs. Sullivan was still recovering from today’s outing. She was sitting on the sofa and fanning herself with the magazine she had been reading as I came into the room. “I don’t know if it was quite wise of us to go on an excursion in weather like this,” she said. “I feel like a limp rag and it must be even worse for you. You must put your feet up immediately and have Bridie bring you an ice bag for your ankles.”

“I’m really just fine,” I said.

“Nonsense, you’re looking quite drawn and tired around the eyes,” she said. “I should never have let you go on that wild goose chase to visit Mrs. Mainwaring. You should take it easy for a while, at least until the weather changes.”

I chose the wicker armchair by the French window.

“You had a letter from your friends then,” she said. “Good news from the city?”

“No news of any consequence,” she said. “They have seen nothing of Daniel which means he is still working incredibly hard.”

“That poor boy will work himself into the grave. We must do something about it, Molly.” She leaned over to me. “His father had connections with all kinds of political figures and I know they’d be only too happy to introduce Daniel to the world of politics. He only has to say the word.”

“I don’t think he wants to go into politics, Mother Sullivan,” I said.

“He’ll change his mind once he has a family,” she said, and went back to her magazine.

I decided to take the risk. “My friends say they are finding the city unbearably hot,” I said. “I told them how lovely it was by the river today and suggested that they come and stay at an inn out here.”

“I suppose they could always stay here,” she said.

“Very kind of you, but I think they’d prefer the breezes on the river. And they do like their privacy. But of course they’d love to pay a visit to you—maybe to luncheon or tea.”

“Of course,” she said, looking relieved.