12 The Family Way (7 page)

They both looked up as I appeared in the doorway and got to their feet.

“Ah, Molly, there you are,” Daniel said. “You remember Mr. Wilkie, don’t you?”

Seven

Mr. John Wilkie, head of the newly formed Secret Service, came toward me, his hand extended.

“My dear, Mrs. Sullivan, how good to see you again. And looking so radiant too. Your husband informs me that congratulations are in order.”

His hand gripped mine in a powerful grasp.

“How good to see you again, Mr. Wilkie,” I said. “Although if Daniel had informed me in advance that he was bringing a guest to eat with us, I’d have been able to make you a better meal.”

“I’m sure whatever you prepare will be just fine,” Mr. Wilkie said. “And I assure you that my desire in coming here was to see you again, not to sample your cooking skills.”

“I hope an omelet will do,” I said.

“It will fit the bill perfectly.” He gave me a beaming smile. From his jocular manner it was hard to believe that this was a man who was responsible for the security of the nation and who dealt with spies and anarchists.

As I excused myself to go through to the kitchen I heard him say to Daniel, “It’s too bad you’ve chained her down with a family, Sullivan. I could have used her to work for me. She’s one gutsy little woman. And sharp too.”

“Too sharp for her own good, sometimes,” Daniel retorted. “I’m glad she’ll soon have a baby to occupy her and keep her out of mischief.”

I set to work beating the eggs, wondering all the while why Mr. Wilkie had insisted on coming to meet me again. Perhaps he wanted me to do something for him. He had hinted at my wedding that he’d like to use me again sometime. Of course Daniel would flat out refuse. Once more it passed through my mind that Daniel didn’t have to know. If I worked for Wilkie I’d be some kind of spy, wouldn’t I, and spies weren’t supposed to confide in their spouses.

Then I laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of this thought. A fine spy I’d make with my bulging belly and then with a baby on my hip, demanding loudly to be fed while I tried to tail dangerous, international criminals. I managed a presentable omelet and salad, then peaches and cheese for dessert. The conversation was limited to harmless and general subjects—the recent hot weather, the political situation in Washington, possible names we might choose for our child. I remained the gracious hostess until I couldn’t stand it a moment longer.

“Mr. Wilkie, you clearly didn’t come to New York to discuss the weather with the Sullivans,” I said. “Are you needing Daniel’s help with a new case?”

“Molly!” Daniel gave me a warning glare.

John Wilkie laughed. “I told you your wife was sharp as a tack, didn’t I, Sullivan. Of course I didn’t come to New York in midsummer for the sake of my health. And your husband’s knowledge of the city should prove invaluable. Actually we’re keeping tabs on a new group of anarchists.”

“Is Emma Goldman still at their center?” I asked.

He laughed again. “Now, how did you know about Emma Goldman?”

“I was involved in the assassination of President McKinley,” I said, then corrected myself. “What I meant to say was that I was investigating a murder that brought me into contact with Mrs. Goldman, so I know a lot about her.”

“My, but you would be useful to me,” Wilkie said.

“The answer is no, Wilkie,” Daniel said. “Rope me in to help with your cases as much as you like, but my wife is no longer available for your little schemes.”

Wilkie was still smiling. “In answer to your previous question, Mrs. Sullivan, from what we can gather this is a new and completely separate group of anarchists with no ties to previous cells. They seem to be popping up like mushrooms all over the globe at the moment, I’m afraid, and with very different goals. Some of them idealistic about creating a new order in countries like Russia, some of them seeking only destruction and collapse of regimes. And all of them quite ruthless, which is why we have to nip in the bud any threat against our government.” He pushed his plate away from him. “Fine lunch, Mrs. Sullivan, but we should be getting back to work. So good to see you again.”

He held out his hand to me and shook mine warmly. I followed them out of the dining room.

“I may be late again tonight, my dear,” Daniel said.

“So now you’re working with Mr. Wilkie, does that mean that you’re no longer supervising the kidnapping case?”

“Kidnapping—what’s this?” Mr. Wilkie asked and I saw Daniel give me an annoyed look. “I’ve heard nothing about it. Don’t kidnappings fall under my jurisdiction?”

“Not these particular incidents,” Daniel said. “They all involve poor families in the Lower East Side, with ransoms of less than a hundred dollars. We suspect the work of a small gang, who have stumbled upon an easy way to make money.”

“Have the children been returned safely?”

“So far,” Daniel said. “At least in the cases we know about. I presume some parents never go to the police out of fear.”

Wilkie nodded. “If it’s a small gang, then you shouldn’t have too much trouble. They’ll become too bold. That sort always do.”

“You’re right, sir,” Daniel said. “We should be on our way, then. Good-bye, Molly.” He gave me a peck on the cheek. “And no more roaming around, remember. Take a rest this afternoon.”

“Yes, Daniel,” I replied, giving my best imitation of a good wife, making both of the men smile.

After they had gone I cleared away the remains of the meal, then wandered around the house, wondering what to do next. My nap at the kitchen table had taken away my need for an afternoon siesta, but the weather now looked as if it might rain any moment. I considered going uptown to Gramercy Park and visiting old Miss Van Woekem, who knew everybody worth knowing in New York, but I had no desire to get soaked to the skin. Besides, when it rained the trolley cars and Els became packed with people.

So I set to work on my other task—writing to the employment agencies inquiring about Maureen O’Byrne and Mrs. Mainwaring. On the sofa I noticed my latest piece of sewing, lying rumpled and unattractive, waiting to be finished. If I managed to locate Maureen, I’d accept a modest fee that would enable me to buy all the undergarments a baby needed. I was on my fourth letter when I heard a tap at the front door. I went to open it and found Mr. Wilkie standing there.

“Mr. Wilkie,” I exclaimed.

“Mrs. Sullivan, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I believe I may have put down my gloves in your parlor,” he said.

“I don’t think so,” I began, “but please do come and take a look.”

He strode ahead of me into the parlor, looked around briefly, and then said, “No, you’re right, they’re not here. Then I must have left them in the police department automobile. No doubt your husband will find them.”

He hesitated, as if reluctant to leave, and it suddenly came to me that the gloves had been an excuse to return here. He wanted to find me alone. He was going to ask me to work for him, in spite of Daniel’s protests. I felt a thrill of excitement rush through me. I would have to turn him down, of course. But nevertheless it was flattering to be asked.

“Was there something else, Mr. Wilkie?” I asked. “I sensed when you came for lunch that important men like you don’t take time out of a busy schedule to pay social calls on the wives of colleagues for no reason at all.”

Wilkie chucked. “What did I say? Sharp, Mrs. Sullivan. Sharp as a tack. There was something, that I didn’t want to bring up in front of your husband, but I never found the opportunity for a second alone with you during luncheon. May I sit down?” He chose Daniel’s leather club chair and sat, motioning me to take a seat on the sofa. I tried not to look too keen or interested as I assumed a modest pose with hands folded in my lap.

“Mrs. Sullivan this is a rather delicate matter,” he said. “One I don’t wish to share with your husband for obvious reasons.”

For one absurd second it crossed my mind that it was my body he was interested in, and not my sharp brain. Then I reminded myself that no man would choose as a mistress someone in my present condition. He cleared his throat as if trying to find the right words. I was really intrigued now.

“You have a brother, I believe,” he said at last.

“I have two brothers still living,” I said.

“Would it surprise you to know that one of them, Liam Murphy, is in New York at this very moment?”

I checked myself before I answered, “Liam?” I feigned surprise. “In New York? That can’t be true.”

“So he has not contacted you then?”

“He’d have no way of contacting me. He doesn’t know my address or anything about me. We were never close and I haven’t heard from him in years. Are you sure it’s my brother? There are plenty of young Irishmen called Liam Murphy, and plenty more with red hair.”

“It’s him right enough,” Mr. Wilkie said. “My counterparts in Britain have been keeping tabs on him and his Republican Brotherhood and they notified me that he’d sailed from Le Havre in France, heading for the United States.” When I said nothing he looked up, his gaze holding mine. “You did know that your brother is part of the Republican Brotherhood, I take it?”

I realized then that nobody had connected me to that failed prison break in Dublin. One of them had given his life to spirit me away. “I suspected as much,” I said. “Liam always did have a strong sense of justice, and what red-blooded Irishman would not want to fight to gain independence for his own country? We’ve been an occupied country for three hundred years, you know. And America did exactly the same thing in 1776 to free themselves from the British yoke.”

Mr. Wilkie had to smile at this. “It’s not my place to judge the righteousness of his cause,” he said, “but I am bound to cooperate with my counterparts in Britain and your brother is wanted on a capital charge over there.”

“Do you know what made him come to America?” I demanded and I could hear the belligerent tone in my voice now. “Is it possible he’s seen the hopelessness of the Republican cause and has decided to try for a better life for himself in America, the same as all those other immigrants?”

“If that were true, I’d say good luck to him,” Mr. Wilkie said. “But I’m afraid that we have credible intelligence that he’s here on Republican Brotherhood business.”

“Raising money, you mean?”

“Possibly. The Irish in America are known to be more than generous when it comes to the Home Rule cause. And not just with money. Weapons too. It could be that he’s here to acquire weapons.” He paused. I remembered being involved in smuggling a trunk full of rifles to Ireland, but tried to keep my face composed. “It’s possible, I suppose,” I said.

“But we are concerned it may be more than that,” Wilkie continued. “I mentioned a newly formed anarchist group to you. We have gotten wind that they are planning some kind of coup, and the Irish Republican Brotherhood may be involved.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked.

“Because your brother may well try to contact you, to ask for assistance,” Mr. Wilkie said.

“And if he does?”

“Then I’d like you to let me know.”

“You want me to betray my own brother?” I rose to my feet.

“It’s a question of whether family loyalty should come before the greater good. If this group is planning something that involves the killing of innocent people, for example—where would your loyalties lie then? And how would it look if the wife of a distinguished police captain might be implicated as an accessory if you did not turn in your brother?”

“Would you turn your own brother in to the authorities, knowing that he’d be hanged when all he tried to do was rescue our other brother from jail?” I stood there, hands on hips and really angry now.

“Maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement,” Mr. Wilkie said softly. “I may be able to find a way for him to stay here in America, with a new identity—a chance for a new life, if he agrees to give up his connections to the Brotherhood. What do you say—wouldn’t you rather your brother was here safely, able to make a good life for himself?”

“Of course I’d want that,” I said, “but I’m not my brother. That decision would have to come from him. But this is all a moot point, Mr. Wilkie. Liam has not tried to contact me and I think it’s unlikely that he will for the very reason you suggested. He would not want to implicate me in any of his schemes.”

Mr. Wilkie had also risen to his feet. “I’ve taken enough of your time, Mrs. Sullivan, and I’m truly sorry to have caused you any distress. All I can say is that I will do what is within my power to help your brother if he puts himself in my hands. You’ll tell him that at least, won’t you, if he shows up on your doorstep one night?”

“I’ll tell him that,” I agreed. “If he shows up on my doorstep.”

Mr. Wilkie picked up his hat and placed it on his head. “Then I take my leave of you. Oh, and I see no reason to mention this conversation to your husband. He doesn’t know anything yet about your brother’s possible involvement in this matter. Good day to you, Mrs. Sullivan.”

“And to you too, Mr. Wilkie,” I said.

“I can let myself out,” he said and went.

Eight

I slumped back onto the sofa, the wind knocked from my sails. Actually I felt quite sick. He wanted me to work for him as a spy all right, but only to ensnare my own brother. I had sensed that Liam was in danger, but I hadn’t realized how serious his situation was. And now I realized that I could never attempt to seek him out to warn him. It was all too possible that John Wilkie would have someone tailing me wherever I went and I wasn’t going to risk leading his men straight to Liam.

No wonder Liam had looked so anxious when I stopped him in the street. I tried to think how I could get word to him that the authorities were looking for him. If I couldn’t go into the Lower East Side myself I’d have to send someone else. The person that came immediately to mind was Sarah. Her settlement house was only a block away from where I had encountered Liam. If he was staying nearby there was a good chance she’d see him. I must somehow get a letter to her, that she could hand to Liam, warning him. But that posed another problem. I couldn’t risk going to that settlement house in case I bumped into Liam again. If only Sid and Gus were here.