Grace's Pictures (17 page)

“The master of the house treats you well?” He helped himself to a biscuit while she finished washing the dishes.

“I don’t see him much. I’m not entirely sure he likes me.”

“Well, don’t be too concerned about that, child. Right now he only needs to like your work.”

“Suppose that’s the way of it. He asked me to steer clear of him at church.”

“Did he?” The reverend used his thumb to wipe crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “My choice would be that when
everyone crosses the threshold of the church, all would be equal, as they are in God’s eyes. I don’t always get my wish, though. George Parker is a fine volunteer, and he has a heart for the poor immigrants or he wouldn’t be serving at First Church. Pride is all that is, and it’s bred into people. Don’t take it personally, Grace.”

A quarter hour later Mr. Parker entered the kitchen and stopped them before they left by the back door. “I’m surprised to see you here, Reverend.”

The elder gentleman grinned, his expression beaming. “I have the pleasure of escorting Miss McCaffery today, George.”

“Very well.” He slapped a white envelope between his palms. “I am aware of the extra time you’ve put in, Grace.” He slipped the envelope into Grace’s hand. “Mrs. Parker does not have to know about this. It’s a bonus.” He nodded his chin at Grace’s escort.

The reverend put on his hat. “Mr. Parker. See you in church.”

“Reverend.”

Grace hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

Mr. Parker urged the money toward her. “Go on. And remember what we talked about earlier.”

She thanked him and hurried out the door as much as possible while waiting for the reverend to follow. On the way she peeked at the extra pay Mr. Parker had given her. This could pay off her bill with the seamstress. This could help her get Ma over sooner.

“Be careful of that,” Reverend Clarke said, looking over her shoulder.

She stuffed the money in her pocket bag. “What do you mean?”

“Extra favors the missus doesn’t know anything about. She might get angry.”

“Maybe I should give it back.”

“Up to you.”

Alice Parker was the most aloof mother in all of Manhattan. Grace had worked hard for this. But something about it didn’t feel right. “I’ll leave it in his evening paper tomorrow.”

“That’s probably for the best. We’ve never seen Alice Parker at First Church. Can’t say what the condition of that marriage might be, but you would not want the man to favor you.”

Grace pulled her shoulders back. “Are you saying Mr. Parker is not an honorable man?”

“Certainly not. I would not put you in harm’s way, Grace. I’m just saying he might not be aware of what he’s doing. Just be careful is all.”

She patted the man’s arm. “Thank you for your concern.”

“Um-hum.” He turned his head toward the street.

The reverend’s warning did trouble her. Alice Parker didn’t seem any warmer toward her husband than she was to her children. Grace wondered why.

When they approached the trolley stop, Grace halted, momentarily taken aback by what she saw.

“What’s the matter?”

“Someone’s getting off that car. Someone I don’t want to see.”

He bobbed his head in all directions. “I don’t see anyone. It’s fine to go.”

“Please, Reverend.”

“You are safe with me, Grace.”

“I know. ’Tis just . . .”
You are able.
“I’ve changed my mind. I am going to speak to him. Let’s take the next car, if you don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.”

The reverend shrugged. “I’ll be close by.”

Grace set her bag down. “Wait here one moment.”

She marched up to the man in the tailored suit, the one who had roughed up her camera.

He tipped his hat, revealing a shiner. “Hello, Rosie.”

“You have me confused with someone else. We’ve not been introduced.”

He was so drunk he couldn’t find a hole in a ladder.

“I . . . I call ya that because of that red petticoat.” He glanced down. “Where is it? I swear that’s who you are.”

She had been wearing the petticoat from her mother that day in the park.

Feeling especially brave with the reverend only steps away, she put on the most stern expression she could muster. “You stole my film.” She was not as intimidated as before, mainly because of the state this man was in.

“I stole nothing.”

“Listen, you. Don’t come near me again or I will report you to the police.” She didn’t know if she intimidated him with that kind of threat, but she hoped that would keep him at bay.

He pulled his head back like a chicken. “Say, don’t tell me you got pictures, photographs of my boss.” His bloodshot eyes grew wide.

“What I have is . . . well, never mind,” she bluffed.

The reverend joined them, Grace’s traveling satchel containing her camera in his hand and his expression curious.

She would have to do something to save face. She addressed the odd man again. “I don’t believe we were ever properly introduced, seeing as we just ran into each other at the . . . newspaper stand.” She stuck out her hand and this time he took it. “I am Grace McCaffery.”

“If you say so, Rosie.” He bent awkwardly to kiss her hand. “And I’m Prince Charming, of the Hudson Dusters.” He wobbled a bit on shaky knees and his breath smelled like a fermented bog.

The reverend had a distinctly puzzled look on his face, and she couldn’t blame him. She tipped her head to one side. “We really must be going.”

The fellow winked at her before leaving.

When they were seated on the trolley car, Grace whispered into the reverend’s ear. “I really don’t know that man.”

Reverend Clarke whispered back. “How many times have you seen him?”

“Just a couple of times, but I hope to never again. I told him to stay away.”

“Make sure you are always in the company of someone else, Grace. It’s my duty to protect my girls.”

“Don’t worry.”

They rode in silence for a few more blocks. Then he spoke again. “You say you saw him at the newsstand?”

“Aye.”

“Not in the park?”

“The newsstand. I’m surprised he remembered me.” She did not want to tell the reverend about the encounter at the aquarium. She’d been innocent, but she wasn’t sure anyone would believe her.

14

THE NEXT AFTERNOON
Nicholson called Owen into his office. A young man was already there, sitting in one of two chairs opposite the captain’s desk. “This here is your new partner, son, Jake Stockton.”

The man sprang to his feet and shook Owen’s hand.

“Sit, McNulty,” the captain said. “I’ve already filled Stockton in on the Duster problem and why I see the two of you as an important pair.” The man lit a cigar and began the incessant pacing he was prone to. “We’ve got to stop this before it starts. Otherwise the criminals will be coming at us with hammer and tongs.” He turned to look at them. “Know what I’m saying, boys?”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

Owen looked over at his new partner. About his age, muscular limbs, straight posture. He was physically able. Owen had the aptitude they needed, although he might have to find some new informants.

“Pity I can’t equip you boys any better,” Nicholson said.

Owen caught the man’s eye before he started pacing again. “Captain, the Dusters don’t figure much into Tammany’s interest, do they?”

“No. Lucky for you.” He began pacing again, wearing down the floorboards behind his desk.

Jake patted the arm of Owen’s chair. “I’ve tracked gang members before, only to have the night courts with their Tammany lawyers set them free. They depend on the gangs to round up immigrant voters and keep their boys in office.”

Owen shrugged. “Sending the poor men to the barber’s and shaving just enough facial hair to allow them to vote twice.”

Jake laughed. “That’s right. First the chin hair. Then the sides. Then the mustache. That makes for at least three extra votes.”

Owen liked this guy.

Nicholson huffed. “Make light of it, but our resources are limited if we’re going to be successful at this without Tammany getting involved.” He stopped pacing and laid his hands on his desk. “We’ll get this one. I know we will. Just steer clear of Big Bill over near Twenty-Eighth Street and Eighth Avenue.”

“Big Bill Devery, the police chief?” Jake asked.

Owen spoke first. “That’s right. No bigger Tammany puppet than him. Hangs out there past midnight glad-handing politicians and toughs. Far away from our beat, though.” That’s the way it had been in the past, and Owen hoped Tammany would continue to stay away, despite Devery’s odd warning at Miss Amelia’s party. Something told him not to bring that up just yet.

Nicholson coughed. “Right so. If we can get the head duck, our night court won’t care to save him. We’ve got a chance with this one, but not all the men are on board, truly. Know what I mean?”

Jake groaned. “All too well. Don’t worry. We’ll work around the others.”

The captain punched the air. “That’s my boys!”

When Owen left the captain’s office, he was surprised to find Mr. Parker in the headquarters building. “What brings you out here? No trouble, I hope.”

“No, no, son. At least not yet. May we sit?” He pointed to a row of wooden chairs lined up in the hallway.

Sometimes these seats were filled with criminals waiting to be booked. Fortunately they were vacant at the moment. “What is it, Mr. Parker? Is Miss McCaffery all right?”

“Well, son, I did come to speak to you about Grace. Reverend Clarke tells me she should have an escort when she leaves my employ in the evenings. I would have her move in with us, but Mrs. Parker, she’s a bit persnickety. You know . . . women.”

Owen shrugged noncommittally.

“Well, I spoke to your captain earlier, and he agreed that you can take thirty minutes in the evenings to come to my house to escort her home. Hawkins House is on your beat, right? I didn’t know who else to trust, and since the reverend speaks so highly of you . . .”

Owen scratched his head. He and Jake would not be scoping out the park too early in the evening. That was probably what Nicholson had been thinking. And Owen really wanted to help Grace. “Fine, then, Mr. Parker. Just tell me what time.”

15

SATURDAY TURNED OUT TO BE
a long day for Grace. Normally, she’d been told, Saturdays would be a short day, but there was plenty of work to be done at the Parkers’. By evening she felt satisfied she was doing well in her new position. She had not seen the master of the house much during her time there, only at dinner and when she brought the children to him to say good night before she put them to bed. It seemed they were to be entirely her charge, and truth be told she’d rather be with them, as misbehaved as they might be, than to endure the grumpy pregnant Mrs. Parker or the master of the house, and she thought it was probably best that she limit the children’s interaction with him.

“Grace,” he called out now, as she and the children headed for the stairs.

She turned.

“When they are tucked in, please come back. I’d like to speak with you a moment.”

“Certainly.”

Her heart pounded as she poked and prodded her charges up the stairs. He couldn’t fire her. She was just getting started. And hadn’t she done everything the Parkers had asked of her?

Failure. No one wants you.
She battled with the foreboding
notions rattling around in her mind, thoughts she could not afford to entertain any longer.

After getting the children into bed, Grace crept down the stairs. She could slip out the front door, say she forgot to return to the parlor, face this scolding later. Her arms ached; her toes pleaded to be released from her boots. She envisioned herself scrambling down the dim walkway toward the train, circles of light from overhead gas lamps guiding her way. But even though the last step did not squeak and give her away, she turned toward the room where the master of the house sat by the fireplace, the glow wrapping his silhouetted body. The heat of the room made her sweat, but still she forced herself to move toward him. She might as well face this. Bad news never got better with age.

“There you are, Grace. Please sit.” He pointed the magazine in his hand toward an armless chair on his left. Mrs. Parker must have already retired.

She hesitated a moment, longing for Hawkins House.

“You must be tired. I won’t keep you but a moment. Please.”

She went to the chair and tried to sit gracefully, though she felt like collapsing.

“Please, Mr. Parker. I’m doing the best I can. Your children aren’t exactly . . . uh . . . firmly rooted. And your wife? Well, she has no idea—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I will speak, if you don’t mind.”

Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t swallow.

“I must say that the morals the children are exposed to is utmost in my mind. That’s why I inquired with Mrs. Hawkins before hiring you, you understand.”