In Like Flynn (5 page)

Six

A
s the train pulled out of Grand Central Terminal with much huffing and puffing on a sticky June afternoon, I rested my head against the velveteen upholstery and heaved a sigh of relief. I was finally on my way!

It had been an emotional scene as I left Patchin Place, with Bridie clinging to my skirt and Seamus gruff and teary-eyed as if I was setting out for the North Pole and not the Hudson.

“You will come back, won't you, Molly?” Bridie had asked. “You won't forget about us?”

“Ill be away for a week or two, you goose,” I said, laughing as I ruffled her hair. “Who knows, in that time your father might have found a fine new job and have taken you all to live on Park Avenue.” I glanced at Shamey, who held a half-eaten piece of bread and drip-ping in one hand. “But in the meantime, I've left a stocked larder for you and a little money for emergencies.” Thanks to the retainer, I thought, as I prized Bridie’s hands from my skirt. “And no swimming in the East River, remember?”

I had been itching to get going for three long weeks. I never was good at waiting. I had always been the one who stayed up on Christmas Eve to peek in my stocking the moment my mother had hung it at the foot of my bed, even though I knew it wasn't likely to contain much more than a sugar mouse and an orange wrapped in silver paper. I had found the waiting for this assignment particularly trying, forseveral reasons. First, because the city was engulfed in a most unpleasant heat wave and arisingtyphoid epidemic, making a mansion on the Hudson River sound most appealing. And second, because I wanted to put enough distance between myself and Jacob. I had received a most polite letter from him, apologizingforacting hastily and askingfora chance to make thingsrightbetween us. I sent an equally polite reply, indicating that I'd be out of the city for a while with plenty of opportunity to think over what I wanted for my future and whether it might include Jacob Singer.

Oh, and then there was the little matter of the Hudson Dusters. I had heard rumors that a certain notorious gang member, whom I had caused to be arrested for pickpocketing, had been inquiring about me.

I hadfoundthis out when I returned to Mr. Giacomini’s store to buy groceries afewdays later. When he saw me, he shook his head.

“That man was here again,” he muttered in a voice so low that I could barely catch the words, “asking about you.” He looked around the store as if a spy might have been lurking in a dark corner. “Of course I tell him I have no idea who you are. I never saw you be-fore in my life.”

Thank you, Mr. Giacomini. I'm grateful, but I'm sure you're worryingfornothing.”

He shook his head violently. “No, you don't understand, Signorina. He’s a bad man. His kind make the Black Hand look like pussycats.”

“The Black Hand?” I had never heard the term before.

Again he glanced around the store before whispering, “Italian gangsters. They collect protection money from businesses. If you don't pay up, something bad happens—business onfire, legs broken, child kidnapped, wife killed. Very bad. But this man, he’s also a gangster. So please, Signorina, for your own sake, do your shop-ping somewhere far away from here, okay?”

I could tell that his concern was as much for himself and his business as ft wasformy safety, so I smiled and thanked him, even though it went against my principles to be scared off in this fashion. But it was another good reason to be out of the city.

The days seemed to drag on while Daniel wrote letters to Ireland and Ifinallyreceived my invitation from dear Cousin Barney Flynn. During that time I tried to lie low, did my shopping, as instructed, over on the East Side, where at least I knew another gang held sway, and read about the Flynn baby kidnapping in back issues of
The New York Times.
I didn't learn much that I didn't already know. The paper, like the police, had decided that Albert Morell acted alone. But in one paper I saw a photograph of Annie Lomax. She had round cheeks and a fine plait of dark hair over her shoulder—not at all like the skinny wretch who had sat at my kitchen table.

When the day finally came that I could pack my clothes and head for the station, I could hardly wait for the arrival of the cab. I was finally about to fly away from my responsibilities for unemployed Seamus and his two wild children, away from the male complications in my life, and toward earning an honest penny again.

Of course I have to admit I was just a little anxious about what lay ahead of me. I'd been told often enough by my mother and folks at home in Ballykillin that I had the cheek of the devil and ideas above my station. I was about to put both to the test. I had to pose as Molly Gaffney, from Limerick, cousin of Senator Flynn. Fortunately for me, it turned out that the Senator did have a second cousin Molly, of about the right age, among the hundred and some-thing relatives still living in the old country. It was a relief that I could answer to my own name. There was arisk, however, given the Senator’s generosity toward his many Irish relatives, that someone would show up on the doorstep who knew the real Molly and I would be unmasked. Hopefully this time I wouldn't find myself in any personal danger when I explained my assignment—unless the Sorensen Sisters set their spirits on me!

Then, on that hot June afternoon, I was finally on my way. No-body had come to the depot to see me off.

“Youll understand if I don't accompany you to the train station, won't you?” Daniel had said when he came to deliverfinalinstructions the night before. “One never knows who might be traveling by train and it wouldn't do for us to be seen together.”

I assumed this meant that he didn't want word to reach the ears of Arabella Norton, who lived out in Westchester County and thus might have friends traveling from this very station.

“Thus speaks the brave and fearless Daniel Sullivan who assures me his fiancee grows tired of him,” I said, giving him my most withering stare.

He smiled. That wasn't what I meant at all. It was your upcoming assignment that concerned me. If you are supposed to be the cousin newly arrived from Ireland, then there would be no reason why you should be accompanied by a New York policeman, especially one who is known to the Flynns and their neighbors.”

“Oh,” I said, and was annoyed at myself that I had exposed femi-nine weakness. “You're absolutelyright, of course,” I addedforgood measure.

“You'll be allright, won't you?” Daniel asked. “Able to manage your own luggage and all that?”

“Do I look like a weakling?” I asked. “Don't worry. I won't dis-grace you by trying to carry my own luggage. Illfinda porter to manage my valise.”

I glanced up at the valise now sitting comfortably on the rack above my head. Had I only been carrying my own possessions they would havefittedinside the hatbox,- however, Gus had been her usual generous self and loaned me some delicious dresses suitablefora stay at a country house, as well as the valise in which to transport them.

When I protested that I couldn't take anything so fine, and would probably wreck them, she laughed. “Molly, my sweet. You know 111 never wear dresses like that again in my present style of living. They belonged to a time when I was still Augusta Mary Walcott, of the Boston Walcotts, and thus expected to marry well. I fear they are a trifle old-fashioned as they've been hanging in a closet for the past three years.”

They're lovely,” I said, fingeringthe silk of the ball gown. “I've never worn anything sofinein my whole life. But maybe they are a trifle too lovely for a simple girl newly arrived from Ireland?”

“Then say they were lent to you by a well-meaning friend of good family, and that’s the truth,” Gus said. The fewer lies you have to tell, the better, I've always found.”

I had to agree with her on that point. I was going to have to keep my wits about me every moment I was at Adare, which was the name of the Flynns' mansion and also the name of the village in Ire-land that Barney Flynn’s parents had come from. It wasfifteenmiles outside of Limerick, where his cousin Molly, and about a hundred other cousins, still lived. I had never been to Limerick in my life, but I had done my homework well, reading the guidebooks that Daniel had brought for me and studying picture postcards until I felt I could give a pretty convincing tour of that part of Ireland

The train picked up steam as we came out into the open, hurtling along between tall brick buildings that shut out the sun-light and prevented the smoke from escaping. It was stiflingfy hot and stuffy in the carriage. I looked longingly at the closed window, but I couldn'triskgetting a face full of soot. When the railway left the confines of the city behind, then I'd open the window. At present I was in the carriage alone, which was a blessing as I wanted to collect my thoughts. I opened my notebook and studied the family tree one more time. It was so broad and convoluted that I surely wouldn't be expected to know it all.

Then I opened and reread the letter from Senator Flynn. He welcomed me to stay at his home. He hoped I'd be like a breath of good Irish air and a tonic for poor Theresa, who hadn't been too well lately. It was only when I studied the signature at the bottom that I realized it hadn't been written by him at all, but by D. O'-Mara, secretary to Senator Flynn. So at least the odious secretary was one person who had remained in the household—one person I could pump for information.

To tell the truth, I was feeling more and more reluctant about taking on Annie Lomax’s assignment. I should have liked to view the policefileson the case, but I couldn'triskmaking Daniel suspicious about my intentions. If he knew I was going to be delving into a past crime, he'd have withdrawn his commission immediately. Poor Daniel—I must say he tries valiantly to keep me away from trouble.

“So what should I know about this kidnapping?” I asked innocently as he was going through one of his briefings.

“Nothing more than was in the papers,” he said. The chauffeur was shot on his way to pick up the ransom money. The child was never found. It was the most awful tragedy and I presume theyll be trying to shut it from their minds, apart from Mrs. Flynn and her séances, of course.”

“So this chauffeur must have been a really wickedfellow,“I said. “No conscience at all.”

“Absolutely,” Daniel agreed.

“You don't think he was in the pay of someone else then?” Daniel raised an eyebrow. “What are you hinting at?“

“Just that it seems rather a dashing and ambitious crime for a humble chauffeur to carry off alone. I was wondering if he had been paid to take the child and to collect the money while the real villain lurked in the background—and has wisely kept quiet ever since.”

Daniel shook his head violently, making those unruly curls dance. “Oh no, Molly Murphy. No! Absolutely no! I can read your mind like a book and you are not going to poke your nose into this. Trust me—the police carried out a most extensive investigation and came up with nothing, apart from the chauffeur. So put it from your mind and don't think of it again—and that’s an order.”

“Yes, Daniel.” I lowered my eyes and attempted a good imitation of a simpering female.

The train rumbled over a bridge and we were off the island of Manhattan. On my left the riveropened up with tall brown cliffs along the far shore. The river presented such a lively scene full of craft of all sizes, ranging from humble rowboats to barges laden with timber and granite and bricks to bright-painted side-wheeler paddle steamers looking most jaunty withflagsflying.I had been given the choice between making the trip by steamer or train, but opted for the quicker journey. I didn't want too much time to sit and brood about what I had let myself in for and what might go wrong.

Not for the first time I wondered why I hadn't found respectable employment for myself instead of trying to establish myself in a man’s profession, and a dangerous one at that. At this very moment I could have been selling ladies' hats, or serving tea and cakes in a genteel coffeehouse, safe and secure instead of never knowing what might happen tomorrow. Letting my thoughts wander like this and swaying to the rhythmic motion of the train reminded me of the occasion, a little over a year ago, when I had been forced to flee by train from a life of boredom, drudgery and unchanging certainty in Ireland. I had killed a man by accident, in circumstances that I won't go into now, but suffice it to say that it was a case of flee or be hanged. I had chosen the former. I had lived with my heart in my mouth ever since, but at least I had never been bored. Thus satisfied, I looked out of the window and enjoyed the view.

We stopped at neat little pastel-painted towns along the way. People got into my compartment and disembarked again further up the line. The river had opened into a wide, tranquil lake bordered by green meadows and willow trees. I caught glimpses of fine houses set in parkland and wondered if Adare would be as grand. Then we pulled up beside a great granite building. The sign on the station said OSSINING. I looked out of the window with interest.

“What is that, an army post?” I asked the two women who now sat opposite me.

They shook their heads and made clucking noises. “Dear me no. That’s Sing Sing, the prison. They've got the most desperate criminals in the state locked up in there.”

“I've a sister who lives in this very town,” the other confided. “I tell her I don't know how she sleeps sound in her bed at night, knowing what depraved creatures are on her doorstep.”

More clucking noises and shaking of heads. I studied the prison with interest as the train pulled out of the station, but could see nothing beyond the high wall. It didn't seem likely that any of the depraved creatures would find a way to escape from that formidable institution.

Soon the river narrowed again. Tall mountains loomed on either side as the river raced through its granite padiway. It was a scene right out of an Italian Romantic painting, complete with cliffs, rapids and valiant boatmen. I was so intrigued at watching little craft attempting to navigate upstream that I almost missed my station.

I was still gazing out of the window as we came to a halt. I leaped up as I heard the station master yelling: “Peekskill. All aboard,” and had to make a great fuss to find a porter willing to lift down my valise. I suspect that I could have taken care of it myself, but was already into die part of helpless young girl newly arrived from Ireland.