In a Gilded Cage (Molly Murphy, #8)

We faced each other like a pair of fighting dogs, me with hands firmly on my hips. Finally a smile twitched at his lips. “No, I can’t ever see myself walking all over you.”


“You’d better drive me home. I’m keeping you from your work,” I said.

Daniel helped me climb up to the automobile seat. “I suppose it’s those neighbors of yours,” he said as the car started and we drove away. “They persuaded you to join this stupidity.”

“Nobody persuaded me. I thought their cause was just and wanted to be part of it. And I’ll thank you not to continually run down my two dear friends. They have been most kind to me. In fact, without their help I probably would not have survived in this city.”

“They care about you so much that they show no concern for your delicate state of health,” Daniel said.

“They also expressed concern that the parade might be too much for me, but I asked to join them.”

“I suppose they have as much trouble trying to control your actions as I do,” Daniel said at last, “but please think twice in the future before embarking on such a venture. Think of the harm something like this could do to your own career prospects, as well as to my reputation. You are now known to be my future bride, even if it is not official yet. And how do you think Mr. Macy would react next time he wanted to hire a female detective?”

“You do have a point there,” I admitted.

“Amazing. We actually agree on something.” He turned to me with a quizzical smile. “We may yet have a future together, Miss Headstrong.”

“Only if you stop behaving like a typical male and trying to order me around.”

“But I am a typical male, Molly. I can’t help the way I was raised. I can’t help the society I was raised in. And I only act this way because I love you and want to protect you.”

I opened my mouth to say that I didn’t need to be loved and protected, but then of course I realized that I did. Daniel noted my silence, then reached across and covered my hand with his, giving my fingers a fond squeeze.





Five

By that evening I found, to my annoyance, that Daniel had been right. I felt tired, achy, and feverish and went to bed with a cup of hot broth. The next morning it hurt me to breathe and I became seriously alarmed. I remembered Daniel’s story of the young constable whose influenza turned to pneumonia and who was dead within three days.

“This will never do,” I said. I got up, dressed, and went to the nearest dispensary, where I was given a bottle of tonic. I was told that it contained both iron and brewer’s yeast and that it was what I needed to build me up. It looked and tasted like tar, so I suppose it had to be doing me some good.

I crawled home and went back to bed, wondering exactly what pneumonia felt like and what I should do about it. My own mother had died of pneumonia and I could still remember her rasping breath and her skin, which felt burning to the touch. What I really wanted was Sid and Gus to come over and take care of me, so when I was awakened by knocking I made it rapidly down the stairs and opened the front door. Only when I realized that the person standing there was neither Sid nor Gus did I remember that I was in my nightgown, with my hair wild and unbrushed.

“Miss Murphy—Molly,” the person said. “It’s Emily. Emily Boswell. We met yesterday.”

“Forgive me,” I stammered. “I’ve not been feeling well and I thought it was Sid or Gus come to visit.”

“I’m sorry to hear you are unwell. I’ll go away and come back on another occasion then, shall I? Or is there something I could do for you? Let me at least help you back to bed.”

She came in. The house was in no state to admit strangers but I was beyond caring. She took me upstairs and tucked me back in my bed. “You’re feverish,” she said, feeling my brow.

“Yes, I had almost recovered from a nasty bout of influenza and I’m afraid that yesterday’s little antics have brought a relapse.”

“Dear me. Are you taking anything to bring down that fever?”

“I went to the dispensary and they gave me a tonic.”

“Tonic?” she said scornfully. “A lot of good that will do.”

“They said it contained iron and would be good to strengthen my blood.”

“To build you up, yes, although there are plenty of quack tonics circulating at the moment that do nothing for you. But you should have been given aspirin. It does wonders in bringing down a fever. It’s only available with a doctor’s prescription, but I can go and bring you some from our pharmacy.”

“Really, that’s too much trouble,” I protested, but she ignored me. “I’ll be back shortly,” she said, and she was. What’s more, she had brought chicken soup from the Jewish delicatessen as well as the aspirin. She mixed the powder with water and handed it to me. “Drink it right down,” she said. “It tastes horribly bitter but it really is a wonder drug.”