The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

I started to say that I’d have to confer with Daniel first, but then the old Molly resurfaced. “Yes, I’d like to,” I said. “As long as it’s not at a time when I should be cooking Daniel’s dinner.” I saw her face and added swiftly, “He works such long hours that I like to make sure he has a proper meal when he gets home.”


She nodded, accepting this, then put down her glass. “I should be making my way to the settlement house,” she said. “We have a couple of new volunteers and I’m afraid they both fit the expression, ‘The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.’ They love the idea of serving the poor, but they don’t actually want to scrub floors and make beds.”

We both laughed as she got to her feet.

“I expect it’s hard for people in your station to find themselves in such different circumstances for the first time,” I said. “I don’t suppose they’ve ever scrubbed a floor before.”

She nodded agreement. “It is a shock when you first start and when you find your first bedsheet with fleas and lice all over it. But you soon get used to it. And it’s so worth it when you see the change in the young women who come to us.”

“Where do they go when they leave you?” I asked.

“We try to find domestic situations for those who are suitable. Not all of them are, of course. Those who were ladies of the night or drug fiends don’t take kindly to our ministrations on the whole.”

“And what happens to them?”

“I’m afraid they go back onto the streets, and probably will wind up floating in the East River someday.”

I stared at her, wondering how such a delicate creature could discuss such matters calmly. Most young women of her class would swoon at the words, “drug fiends.” But as I watched her open the back door and step into the house an idea was forming in my mind. “So some of these girls go into domestic service,” I said, following her down the narrow hallway. “Do you place them yourselves?”

“We usually send them to an agency,” she said. “We simply don’t have the time to handle such matters.”

My eyes lit up. “Then we may be able to help each other. Daniel has been adamant that we hire a servant—more for his status than for me, I suspect.” I smiled. “He has just written to his mother to ask her for recommendations, but I’d rather choose my own girl if she’s going to live in my house and work for me. Do you have anyone who might fit the bill at the moment?”

She paused, her hand on my front door knob, thinking. “Not really,” she said. “But the agency that we use might be able to recommend a girl for you. They are most reliable and thorough. I’ll take you and introduce you if you like.”

“That would be splendid,” I said. “Where is this agency?”

“It’s on Broome Street, not far from the Bowery. If you’ve nothing to do right now, I could introduce you on my way to work.”

Loathe as I was to step out into that heat again, I wasn’t going to turn down this chance. “Most kind of you,” I said. “I’ll fetch my hat and gloves.”

“What do you think?” I asked as we reached the entrance to Patchin Place. “Should we chance the Sixth Avenue El and then walk along Broome or should we go across to Broadway and ride the trolley?”

“At this time of day they are both likely to be packed,” Sarah said. “Not a good idea in your delicate condition. We’ll take a cab.”

“A cab? But surely…” I began, but she was already stepping out into traffic, waving imperiously with her little gloved finger.

“There are some privileges of the rich that I still enjoy,” she said. “And one of those is taking cabs whenever necessary. In fact Papa insists that I take cabs anytime I’m in undesirable parts of the city. He thinks I’m in constant danger of being captured and whisked off to white slavery.” And she gave a gay little laugh as the cab came to a halt beside us. I had to admit I was glad not to have to face a crowded rail car and the odor of sweaty bodies, my nose having become rather sensitive of late.

The cabby looked surprised when Sarah gave him the address. “Are you sure that’s where you want to go, miss?” he asked.

“Quite sure, thank you,” Sarah replied crisply.

We set off at a lively clip. I put my hand into my purse to find my handkerchief and my fingers closed around the letter. I pulled it out. “Tell me,” I said. “You don’t happen to know a Mrs. Mainwaring, do you?”

“Mainwaring? I don’t think I do. Are they a New York family?”

“I couldn’t tell you. I’ve just received this,” I said and handed her the letter. She read it. “I thought you’d given up detecting work,” she said.