The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

“Molly.” He smiled, shaking his head at the same time. “Even if I didn’t mind you wandering through disease-ridden streets there’s nothing you could do. They won’t strike again until these people have paid the ransom and then there is no guarantee where they’ll show up next. We’ll probably have to wait until they slip up—which most crooks do in the end, I’m glad to say.” He started for the front door. “Oh, and, Molly, I’d like you to get in touch with that employment agency and let them know that you’ll not be requiring their services.”


The front door slammed behind him. I got up and started to clear away the coffee cups. I turned the water on in the scullery sink so violently that it splashed up all over me. I was brimming over with frustration and futility. That woman’s face hovered in front of me, her panicked eyes darting from side to side. Surely I’d have been able to help. I was a woman, after all. I wouldn’t stand out, like a constable in uniform. I was so tempted to go against Daniel’s wishes, but a small voice in my head whispered warnings. What if I did catch some terrible disease and I lost the baby or died myself? Besides I ran the risk of being seen by one of Daniel’s men or even Daniel himself and then I’d never hear the last of it.

I went upstairs to wash and dress. A cool breeze was stirring the net curtains at the window. I took off my robe and sat on the bed, enjoying the feel of the breeze through the thin cotton of my nightgown. Surely there was something I could do to help. After all, I’d come out onto that street at the very moment that the woman screamed. Hadn’t I seen anything? I closed my eyes and tried to re-create that street in my mind. But all I could see was the woman, standing there screaming, people running toward her, not running away.

My hand stroked across the silky fabric of the comforter and I turned my thoughts to last night’s dream. It was strange that I hadn’t remembered it when I awoke. Sometimes I had the most vivid dreams, but all I could recall of this one was the feeling of panic and dread as I stared into an empty baby carriage.

Nothing. There was nothing I could do, except leave it to the police, as Daniel had told me so many times before. But there were times when I had ignored him and I had succeeded when the police had not. I had been a good detective, I reminded myself. The thought of doing nothing was more than I could bear, and yet this was how it was going to be for the rest of my life.

Then I remembered the letter. Now here was something I could do. Daniel had told me he wanted me to contact the employment agency to tell them I’d no longer be requiring their services. He didn’t say how I should contact them, so I’d pay a visit in person this morning and this time be able to find out if they’d ever had a Maureen O’Byrne on their books or had heard of a Mrs. Mainwaring. If they hadn’t then they could give me the addresses of other employment agencies that Irish girls fresh off the boat might have used.

Having a plan of action before me, I now dressed in a hurry, cleaned up the house, and then set off. The weather was changing. Clouds were scudding across the sky from the west, bringing with them a strong breeze that stirred up the dust as I crossed Washington Square. The square was populated with people enjoying the fresh air before it became too hot. Mothers sat on benches fanning themselves in the shade, while children ran around with hoops and jump ropes, doing what children do.

I looked at the baby buggies stationed beside the seated women. Two women were deep in conversation, their arms waving expressively as they talked, and I realized how easy it would be to walk past, reach down, sweep up a baby, and go on walking. Had the kidnappers a particular target in mind before they took a child or were the kidnappings random? Somehow they had to find out the name and address of the victim to be able to deliver the ransom note, but that wouldn’t be hard. I remembered that the woman yesterday had been asked for her address by the police while I was there, and presumably had given it within the hearing of those around her. An accomplice of the kidnapper could have been among the crowd, ready to overhear and take down the particulars.

I left the square behind me, walked to Broadway, and took the trolley to Broome. Then I faced the long climb up the stairs to the agency. How did women manage at home in Ireland when they walked several miles into town with one baby on their hip, another in their belly, and a basket full of shopping on their arm? Obviously I was not as strong as I thought.

Mrs. Hartmann nodded in sympathy when I explained about my predicament. “I didn’t realize he’d already asked his mother,” I said, not wanting to admit that I’d gone against my husband’s wishes.

“I quite understand,” she said, her gaze indicating that husbands were infernally annoying creatures, “but I’ll still keep my eyes open for you, Mrs. Sullivan. Your husband’s mother may not be able to find a suitable girl in a hurry and I think it’s very important that your servant learns your ways and the running of your household well before the baby arrives.”