Band of Sisters (25 page)

But Maureen didn’t take it. She’d as soon pluck hot coals.

Olivia looked confused and set the letter on the counter, pushing it gently toward Maureen. “I suppose all this is rather sudden,” she said at last. “I don’t blame you that you don’t trust me.”

Trust you? You’ve tracked me down and surely convinced my one friend in New York that I’m a liar! And how can you speak so daringly toward Mrs. Gordon? Do you and Drake Meitland run Darcy’s Department Store that everyone kowtows to you so? What becomes of the women and girls you befriend?
Maureen narrowed her eyes, trying to focus, to register Olivia Wakefield in the foreground of her brain and Drake Meitland in the background.
Are they connected by more than marriage? Do they work together, or are they completely ignorant of one another’s intentions?

She stepped back and spoke softly. “I thank you for standin’ up for me with Mrs. Gordon, but I don’t think I want to know you, Miss Wakefield.” She hesitated. “And I’ll thank you not to come again.”

She turned her back on Olivia Wakefield and drew in a ragged breath.

“I hope you’ll reconsider, Miss O’Reilly. I’d very much like to know you.”

Maureen waited a long minute until Olivia’s footsteps faded but turned in time to see her exit through the revolving door. On the counter lay the letter. Maureen thought she might toss it into the trash, but with nearly every eye in the open room upon her, she swept it beneath the counter and into her bag. She could dispose of it later.

The finishing bell rang at six. Maureen’s head was pounding and she could think only of the long walk home in the cold and dark. She had no fear that anyone would bother her now, not with the Wakefield stamp of approval resting on her forehead. She’d seen the fear and humiliation in Old Blood and Thunder’s eyes.

In the cloakroom she avoided the chatter around her. She grabbed her cloak and hat and hurried from the store.

Maureen had walked ten blocks through ice and snow when she realized she’d left her purse, with the letter, in the store. She groaned aloud.
If anyone opens it, even to see whose it is, and reads Joshua’s letter . . . No tellin’ what he said, what he wrote! I can’t believe I walked out without it!

She stood a full five minutes, arguing with herself.
The store is surely locked by now. Perhaps no one will find it before mornin’. Perhaps they’ve already found it. And if they read it, they’ll know I’m not the respectable clerk I maintain. Oh!
She groaned again.
That will mean deportation! And Katie Rose left here alone.

All the way back to the store, she rehearsed her plea for the night watchman. But to her surprise, the employee door was not locked; a stone had been placed between the door and its jamb.
Thank You, God,
she found herself praying, then caught herself, wondering at her audacity.

Quietly she climbed the dark back stairs, keeping to the balls of her frozen feet. She slipped into the employee cloakroom and pulled the light cord with numb fingers, but her purse was not on the shelf where she thought she’d left it.
Downstairs, behind my counter? Could I have been so stupid?

She knew it was no small thing to creep through the darkened store at night. But she dared not use a light. If the night watchman found her, she’d have no adequate explanation. They’d not consider her poor purse worth breaking into the store to retrieve. And who would believe the door was left ajar?

But the fear of Mrs. Gordon or anyone finding and reading Joshua’s letter propelled her feet forward.
Curse that man!

She’d just opened the cloakroom door to venture out when she heard a scuffling. Maureen froze, though she told herself it was rats.
Very big rats.
She shivered. The scuffling came again, this time accompanied by what sounded like a sob, nearby. She closed the door again softly and pressed her ear against it. The sobbing came louder, followed by a loud crashing sound, then stopped abruptly.

Maureen knew they were sounds that didn’t belong in the department store. But she also knew that whatever it was, it was not her business, could not be her business unless she wanted to be discovered and dragged from her hiding place. She pressed a hand to her throat.

But what if someone needs help? I can’t just walk out.

Voices, all of them familiar, argued in her head. She crept out into the center of the hallway and listened. But nothing more came.

It had to be my imagination—this big, empty building at night.
She shook her shoulders as if to rid herself of a bad dream and headed for the stairs.

Making her way down the pitch-black stairs was not hard; she braced herself against the wall. But the main floor was a maze of counters and displays.
It would be so easy to bump a hat stand or design pyramid and send everything clattering to the floor!
Maureen took baby steps, still on the balls of her feet. She guided her steps by holding fast to counter edges until she grasped familiar dress gloves, the rounded shapes of hat crowns, and finally her counter with the fanned display of handkerchiefs.

At last!
She stooped behind the counter, ran her hands along the shelf beneath, and found her purse. She opened the clasp, reached in, and recognized the shape and feel of the letter.
Still here! Thank You! Thank You!

She’d risen and stepped from behind her counter into the center aisle when she heard a scream, followed by sobs and pleas.

“No! Stop! Don’t—please don’t!”

Maureen froze.
Eliza?
She couldn’t tell from which direction the cry had come, except that it was above her. She stepped further into the empty, darkened store. The whimpering continued, muffled, but just the same.

The bell on the elevator dinged. Maureen’s heart stopped. As the elevator door slid open, Maureen ducked behind her counter, knocking hats to the floor with her purse.

“Who’s there?” It was Jaime Flynn’s voice, plain as plain to Maureen’s ears.

But the whimpering was louder, the cries of protest more intense. “Please! I won’t tell; I’ll never say a word. Please let me go!”

“Shut up!” And the sound of a slap so sharp it rattled Maureen’s teeth.

The whimpering stopped abruptly. A light played crazily over the store floor, coming to rest on the tumbled display of hats very near Maureen’s foot. She drew in her arms and legs, folding them beneath her, and crouched behind the counter, holding her breath, willing her teeth not to chatter.

“Somebody’s here. Somebody’s here, I tell you!” Jaime Flynn’s voice barked again, and the light danced over the floor a second time.

“You’d best hope not.” The second voice—deep, impatient, and cultured—sounded vaguely familiar. “He won’t tolerate any more of your messes; do you understand?”

“Yes—yes, sir.” Jaime Flynn’s humble reply startled Maureen.

“Help me get this one to the truck. Then you go back for the other. We’ve got to get them out of the city tonight. Stupid of you to bring them here!”

There was no mistaking that superior tone. Images of an arrogant Drake Meitland, his cruel burning of her letter and his coarse jerking of her arm, ripped through Maureen’s brain. Afraid to move, afraid to breathe, she tucked herself as small as possible and waited until the elevator dinged and the torchlight disappeared. Certain she would stumble into another display, Maureen caught her skirt between her teeth and crawled toward the exit. She’d almost reached the stairwell when the elevator bell sounded again and the door slid open. In the pale light of the lamp she caught sight of a grim-faced Jaime Flynn, a long burlap bag hefted over his shoulder. Two smart kid boots dangled from its open end.

The policeman—the Irish policeman walkin’ the block!
He was the only help Maureen could imagine, the only possible salvation for Alice and Eliza.

The moment the delivery door closed and the lock clicked into place behind Jaime Flynn, Maureen had raced out the side employee entrance. Now she slipped round the corner, ran through the dark, skirting the pools of light from the electric streetlamps, searching for the foot policeman on patrol.
Where are you, Flannery? You’re everywhere when I don’t need you, but now . . . when I do!
Tears of terror and frustration coursed down her face.

She heard a metal door slam in the alley behind the store.
How do I stop this? How?
But there was no one in sight. The streets were dark and deserted.

At last she caught sight of the stalwart figure of Officer Flannery, very near the corner of the store, and made a mad dash back in his direction. In the same moment, the motor and headlights of an enclosed-bed truck roared to life behind the alley. Officer Flannery disappeared down the alley, toward the truck.

Thank You, Lord! He’ll stop it—he’ll stop them sure!

But Flannery emerged from the alley half a minute later, looked both ways, up and down the street, and motioned the truck forward.

Maureen pressed back into the building’s shadows in time to see Officer Flannery give a nodding salute to Jaime Flynn, the driver of the truck of stolen women.

Maureen pounded frantically on the only door she trusted.

When Mrs. Melkford threw wide her door, Maureen nearly fell into her arms, and with her the howling January wind.

“Whatever are you doing out on such a night?”

“Please—can—can we stay the night?” Maureen begged, her teeth chattering so she could barely form her words.

“Of course! Come in! Come in! Why, you’re soaked clear through. Give me your coats.”

“It’s snowing to beat the band.” Katie Rose stamped layers of white from her boots.

“Did you get stuck along the way home from work?”

Maureen shook her head but couldn’t speak, had not formed, even in her mind, what explanation to give. “We can’t stay alone.” It was all she could say, all she could think to say.

“She came dashin’ in—in a whirlin’ tizzy—and dragged me out the door again.” Katie Rose unwound her muffler and unbuttoned her coat. “She wouldn’t even stop to eat the supper I prepared! We left it cold on our plates. She’s in an absolute state, and I’ve no idea why.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Maureen whimpered at last, her best attempt at explanation.

She saw Katie Rose and Mrs. Melkford exchange worried glances, but she couldn’t help it.
I can’t tell them. It will put them in danger, just like Alice and Eliza! There’s no one to help! Oh, God, what am I to do?

“Sit down, my dear. Sit here, near the stove.”

Maureen was grateful that Mrs. Melkford guided her. Now that she was safe, she felt as if she couldn’t have found her way across the room, and she couldn’t stop the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

“I’m afraid this is my fault.” Mrs. Melkford poured each girl a mug of steaming coffee and pressed buttered rolls into their hands. “I told that Wakefield woman and the others where you worked, Maureen. I never should have done it without asking you. I’m so sorry.”

Maureen shook her head. Olivia Wakefield? That was a lifetime ago.

“That’s not it?” Mrs. Melkford looked more concerned than before. “Then what has happened? Has someone hurt you?” She looked to Katie Rose, who shrugged again, this time helplessly.