Band of Sisters (37 page)

Maureen waited.

“It’s a delicate matter to be speakin’ to a lady about.”

Maureen straightened, wary, not used to being referred to as a lady, but allowing the word to seep into her thinking.

“Have you heard the words
white slavery
and—?”

Maureen felt her spine go rigid. She stood so quickly that she knocked over her chair. Joshua caught it before it hit the floor. “You nearly had me fooled, fool that I am!” She grabbed her cloak.

Joshua leaned across the table and took hold of her wrist. “Maureen!”

“Let go of me!”

“Maureen, settle yourself and hear me out.”

“You’re like the rest of them!” She wrenched free and pushed toward the door. But then she turned, flaming in fury. “You’ve shamed your family name!”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Joshua throw coins to the table and tear after her.

Maureen knew she should run, but she was too tired, too disappointed, too broken. When he caught her as she turned down an alley, she clawed the air, aiming for his eyes. “I nearly trusted you!”

“You can trust me—you should trust me, you devil of a woman!” Joshua’s voice broke, and he pulled a handkerchief to dab the blood her nails had drawn across his face. “I want to help you—you and Katie Rose—and those like you.”

“Like me—prostitutes? Is that what you think me? Do you want me to say the word, Mr. Keeton?” She wondered if her mam’s heritage was emblazoned on her forehead.

“I mean defenseless women and girls—immigrants and orphans and any woman desperate for a start in this land with no one to protect her.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t want to traffic you, foolish woman—I want to save you from traffickers! I want—Curtis wants—to bring the monsters to justice. To see them hang!”

Maureen held her breath.

“When I saw that James character go after Katie Rose last night, I nearly lost my mind.”

“James?”
He can’t mean . . .
“What was his full name?”

Joshua, still dabbing at his cheek, waved aside the question. “Don’t know, but I’ve seen him go after the girls. I’ve not caught him in the act, but I’m sure he’s part of—of their disappearin’. We just haven’t found his connections or where or when they’re taken.”

“Why? Why does Curtis Morrow care? Why does he do this? The police don’t even care.”

“Good men—police or no—care, and we mean to do somethin’ about it.” He pulled his jacket closed as if suddenly mindful of the cold. “But it’s hard to get anythin’ done with crazed women beatin’ me off like I’m the enemy.” He picked up the cap Maureen had knocked to the ground and slapped it against his knee. “Not every man is a cad. I’m not the one you should be afraid of, Miss O’Reilly.” And he strode toward the head of the alley.

Maureen sank against the building, the fight gone out of her. In rapid succession, her mind ran scenes from the horrific weeks since Joshua Keeton, with his horse and trap, had rescued her and Katie Rose at County Meath’s crossroads in the dark of night.

Rescued?

She thought again of the deception of her mother, of the manipulation and cruelty of Julius Orthbridge, of the threat of Gavin to Katie Rose.
Yes, you did rescue us. No matter this trouble, I’ve slept every night in America without fear the door would open and that monster would appear. What if you’d been there the night Eliza and Alice were stolen, instead of Officer Flannery? Would you have tried to stop them? Oh, God—dare I trust him? Who can I trust?

Trust Me.
There it was—the voice again. The voice that pushed itself past everything else in her brain.

The same peace she’d felt that morning, while sitting on the bench beside Joshua as he’d prayed, stole through her, a calm in her storm, a pause in her rapidly beating heart.

“Joshua.” The word was a whisper. She knew he could not have heard it as he turned the corner onto the street. Maureen roused herself, steadied her feet, began to walk and gradually to run toward the head of the alley.

But when she reached the street, he’d gone, disappeared into the dark.
Joshua! I’m sorry—I’m sorry.

Maureen covered her face with her hands.

At last she turned her feet toward the only home she knew—her flat in the tenement.
Mine for the remainder of the week. And then what?

She’d not gone fifteen steps when a figure emerged from the dark, nearly upon her before she realized his presence. “Joshua!”

“I don’t care if you don’t trust me. I don’t care if you swear nothin’ to do with me. But I’ll see you safely home and behind closed doors before I leave you standin’ in the dark in the midst of this city, Maureen O’Reilly.”

Maureen stared at him, unable to discern his features but knowing all she needed to know from his return, his presence, the obstinate tenderness in his declaration. A moment passed before she spoke. “Tell me why.”

“Why?”

“Why you trust Curtis Morrow.”

“He’s a good man—an honorable man—and he’s tryin’ his best to do a good work. A work that you mustn’t let on you know anythin’ about—for your sake as well as those he’s helpin’.”

“But he’s a friend of Drake Meitland.”

“Not a friend—a business partner, and only that for show, for gettin’ to know the man’s business, whatever it may be. You’ve no reason to trust Drake Meitland, nor should you. Be careful of the man. Curtis is.” Joshua breathed out. “But don’t count the two men from the same cloth.”

A memory dawned in Maureen’s mind. “Is that why you kept us from the Wakefields’ pew on Sunday? All that escortin’ and la-di-da, that was more about keepin’ us from them—from Mr. Meitland?” Maureen tried to conjure the picture. “And you, you didn’t want him to see you. He—”

“That’s all I can say for now. It’s up to Curtis to tell you more, if you choose to trust him—if you choose to trust me. What I’ve learned from Curtis is that it’s not enough to stop a bad man from doin’ one bad thing. You have to stop him at his source—lest he prey upon thousands. And that takes time.”

Maureen held her breath.

“You’ve been dealt with harshly by those who should’ve sheltered you in the past. You’re right to be wary.” Joshua lowered his voice. “If I could break the neck of the man who hurt you or the yoke of that past, I would. I swear it. But you’re in a new land now—we’re both in a new land. You must lay down that past if you’re ever to go forward, to claim this new life.” He looked away, hesitated, looked back. “You’re a rare woman, Maureen O’Reilly. It would be more than a shame to miss all that lies ahead.”

Maureen swallowed the knot that threatened to choke her.
He sees me?
She closed her eyes for a moment.
Not what Lord Orthbridge did to me, not the shame that covers me, the label the village cast upon me, not even the favors he fancies he can curry from me or my bed—but me. Can that be?
She ran her hands up the sleeves of her cloak, as much to see if she and the moment were real as to ward off the chill of the January night. She let go her breath, mindful for the first time that she’d been holding it too long, then drew in a clean one.

She shifted her purse slowly to her other arm. She looked Joshua Keeton in the eye, waited, and said in the steadiest voice she could muster, “Will you offer your arm, Mr. Keeton? Will you offer your arm as you walk me safely home?”

Joshua’s pulse throbbed as he handed Maureen up the trolley steps Monday evening, as he paid their tokens, as he sat beside her on the ride through uptown Manhattan to Curtis Morrow’s publishing house. He’d determined not to read more into her willingness to accept his help than was warranted, but his heart, a disobedient renegade, would not listen.

That her information about “James” was linked to their search for human slavers, underground brothels, and forced prostitution, he had no doubt. Nor did he doubt that she was holding something back.

Joshua stole a glance at Maureen while her gaze was fixed out the trolley car window. She bit her lip and puckered her brow in concentration, a habit he’d memorized.
I’ll guard you with my life, if you let me, and defy any man to lay hands on you. But what is it you’re not tellin’ me?

As they neared their destination, Joshua reached over Maureen’s head and pulled the stopping cord. The trolley slowed. He jumped to the ground, then offered his hand to help her down. The flush on her face told him that she’d been treated like a lady too seldom.
A slight I’ll gladly remedy, given the chance.

The building they entered was five stories high, the publishing house claiming all floors. Joshua ushered Maureen through the firm’s swinging door on the fifth floor. A male secretary, just locking his desk for the day, nodded Joshua through, with one curious and appreciative brow raised to Maureen as he eyed her from head to toe and back again.

As Joshua turned the doorknob, Maureen caught his arm. “You promise you’ll take me away the moment I ask?”

Joshua put his face close to hers. “The moment you whisper.”

She drew a deep breath and nodded. He pushed open the heavy oak door.

“Miss O’Reilly.” Curtis Morrow, pulling his arms through his suit coat, rose from his seat behind a wide mahogany desk framed by a large picture window looking out on the darkened city. “I’m delighted that you’re here. Please, come in.”

Joshua felt Maureen stiffen, knew her senses stood alert. She turned to him, her eyes suddenly apprehensive. Immediately he opened the door to freedom and offered his arm. She hesitated, bit her lip, but remained where she was.

Joshua guided her to a deep armchair across from Curtis’s desk and took the matching leather chair beside her.

“I’m grateful you’ve agreed to confide in us, to help us, Miss O’Reilly,” Curtis began. “I understand Joshua has given you some idea of what we’re about and that you understand the need for absolute discretion.”

Maureen sat still as a statue.

“We have reason to believe that the man who calls himself James might have something to do with the disappearance of young women in the city. Joshua tells me that the man approached your sister the other night and that you think you might know him.”

Maureen nodded at last but still didn’t speak.

“Could you—could you tell us something about him? How you know him? Where you met him?”

Maureen locked her gloved fingers.

Joshua watched her face. “Can you assure Miss O’Reilly first that what she tells us will be in confidence, Mr. Morrow? That there will be no repercussion in any way for her or for her sister?”

“Yes, of course.” Curtis frowned, clearly surprised by the question. He leaned forward. “What can you tell us about the man?”

“I didn’t see him at the nickelodeon,” Maureen began. “He’d gone. But if he’s the one I think he is, his name is Jaime Flynn. He works for Ellis Island—somewhere in the Great Hall. I’m not knowin’ his precise position, but that was where I met him.”

“You’re certain he was employed by the immigration center? Did he wear a uniform?”

Maureen nodded again. “Yes—yes, he did.”

“And he interrogated you there?”

“He . . . befriended me.” Maureen’s color deepened.

“Befriended you?” Curtis repeated.

The misery in Maureen’s face made Joshua pity her, but he could not help her—or any women—unless he and Curtis knew how Flynn and men like him operated, how they approached unsuspecting women in the first place.

“It all happened so quickly.”

Joshua nodded, encouraging her.

“Along the way to America, Katie Rose came down with the chicken pox, you see. And when we got to Ellis Island, the doctor wouldn’t let her pass—he insisted they keep her in their hospital, in the infectious disease ward.” Maureen dug her thumb into her gloved palm. “And then I learned that they didn’t want to let women in alone at all. They thought—” She bit her lip.

“It’s a tough go for women alone,” Joshua interjected. “They make it hard for respectable women like Miss O’Reilly and her sister to pass through.” He drank in her glance of gratitude.

“I was terrified that I’d never see Katie Rose again, that they’d send her back to Ireland; the nurse said they might unless I could establish residency and employment and sponsorship.”

Maureen paused for breath. “This man, this Jaime Flynn, overheard our dilemma somehow. He stepped along beside and sympathized with my plight.” She shook her head. “I trusted him—a little. He’d the accent of a man born near County Meath.” She looked to Joshua, whose jaw tightened at his imagination of the smooth-operating Flynn.

But he nodded. “That’s exactly what Katie Rose said about him—that he was from home.”

“That’s all?” Curtis probed.

Maureen colored more deeply. “He gave me thirty dollars. And he said if they gave me any trouble about passin’ through, he knew someone who would vouch for me as family. He could work it all out—even a job.”

“I’ll wager he did,” Joshua murmured but caught Curtis’s warning glare.

“How did Mrs. Melkford come into the picture, Miss O’Reilly?”

“She came at just that moment and vouched for me, offered to help me—saved me from goin’ with him, really.”

“That was the last you saw of the man?”