Part 29 (1/2)
”Yes, I'm sure.” It was nonetheless a disappointment. The beehives would have been positive identification simply because Frankie Miller was correct-they were not a commonplace in New York. There was, however, one other likely clue. ”This boxy sort of structure here,” Josh said, pointing to one of the drawings. ”What did he think it was?”
”Hard to say. Some kind of storage place maybe. Some four feet long and three feet tall, Joe reckons. That's about the right size, ain't it? For the way Mrs. Turner was kept, I mean.”
”Looks likely,” Josh said, flipping the picture over and checking on the identification written below the sketch. ”And that would make thirty-two the right house.”
Miller nodded.
”I'll try for a bit more confirmation,” Josh said. ”Meanwhile, you push forward on the other fronts.”
Merely the way he let himself into her bedroom was, Mollie thought, different from before. There was a certain ease to it that had been lacking for many years. And when he sent Tess away with a kind word for her attentiveness, his manner expressed that same . . . Recovered intimacy? Yes, perhaps. She felt her cheeks flush.
Josh waited until Tess had left and closed the door behind her, then, ”How are you feeling? Your color is high. Not feverish I hope.”
”Not a bit feverish.” His words, however, turned her a deeper pink. They had not been alone since the early morning when she opened her eyes to find him lying in the bed beside her. His hand was on her bosom and somehow during sleep she had laid her head against his bare chest. As if the past years had never happened.
He'd wakened soon after, kissed her forehead, and hobbled off down the hall.
”Glad to hear you're improving,” Josh said now, sitting beside her on the bed.
Mollie was propped up on a number of pillows. She moved her bottom half a bit, giving him more room. The flush traveled down to her bosom, somewhat exposed because the warmth of the day had made her leave the top of her nightdress unb.u.t.toned.
”Are you up to looking at something I'm sure won't be pleasant?” he asked. And when she said she was, ”Frankie Miller's brother is an artist, however odd that seems. He went to Bayard Street and did these drawings for me. According to him the number of the house where you were kept has to be either thirty-two or thirty-four, because the only other possibility is thirty-six where the ground floor's occupied by a bakery. You didn't say anything about that.”
”I didn't see it. The stairs led down to a hall and there was a kitchen behind me and a closed door on the right, as I told you.”
”And you heard voices behind the door?”
”Yes. Mr. Ganz and someone else. Maybe more than one other person. I don't know. My only thought was to get away.”
”Indeed. Quite right too. But you're sure it was Ganz you heard?”
Mollie shook her head. ”No. Actually, I'm not sure at all. I just a.s.sumed so because I saw him in the doorway when we drove past.”
”Fair enough.” He handed her the two drawings, both with the front facades of the buildings facing up. ”Can you say whether either of these is the house where they kept you?”
Her reaction was unhesitating. ”This one.” She handed him back the drawing of number thirty-two.
Josh flipped the paper over. ”This is the roof of that building as viewed from across the road. It's entirely possible the structure we see there is where you were held. But there do not appear to be any beehives.”
”They are portable,” Mollie said. ”I expect they've been taken away so as not to be evidence.”
Josh nodded. ”My thought as well. But I didn't know if it was practical, or even possible. Portable, you say? How do you know so much about bees?”
”My gardening journals and books often discuss them.”
”Of course. I should have thought of that.” He folded the drawings, tucked them into his pocket, then started to rise.
Mollie put a hand on his arm. ”Josh, please. There's something no one will tell me. Not Auntie Eileen or Simon or Tess. Why was I abducted? I presume there was some sort of ransom demanded. What was it?”
”The deeds to some lots I own.” He had expected to have to tell her, though perhaps not quite so soon. He had forgotten Mollie's sharp intellect, the way she always went straight to the heart of the matter.
”Which lots? You must tell me, Josh. I have a right to know.”
”Yes, you do. All the Fourth Avenue lots my mother bought at the end of the war. Eighty-Seventh to Ninety-Fifth.”
”All the Fourth Avenue lots,” Mollie said quietly, ”including our house and my garden?”
”I'm afraid so. Yes.”
”It was the thing he most agonized over,” Eileen said. ”Signing away your garden to get you back. He thought it would destroy you. In the end, he agreed because he'd no other choice.”
”Dear G.o.d.”
Eileen glanced up from her embroidery. ”He wasn't doing it lightly. That's exactly my point. You mustn't think he was being hard-hearted because-”
”Auntie Eileen, what do you imagine Joshua has done for female companions.h.i.+p these past eight years?”
The question could hardly have startled her more. Eileen's jaw dropped. Then she bristled. ”Mollie, for such a clever girl as you've always been, you can sometimes be the most extraordinary fool. Given everything you've seen, how I brought you up . . . Surely you didn't think that denying your husband your bed would cause him to take a vow of celibacy.”
”What did he do?” Mollie insisted, ignoring her aunt's reproach.
”This is not the time to berate Josh for-”
”Did he have a favorite wh.o.r.ehouse? I know you know. It's exactly the sort of thing you and Rosie O'Toole always find out about and discuss for hours.”
”I do not gossip about my prominent nephew-in-law,” Eileen insisted, then set her lips in a prim line.
”Rubbish. Not with strangers perhaps. But definitely with Rosie. Tell me. One of the Seven Sisters on Twenty-Fifth Street? I wouldn't think all that pretension was Josh's style, but I've sometimes seen him leaving the house in evening dress and-”
”Not a wh.o.r.ehouse at all.” Eileen bent her head over her needlework and avoided looking at her niece. ”A regular companion. A lady who works for him. Calls herself a widow, but who's to say?”
”Francie Wildwood,” Mollie said. ”Of course. I should have worked it out years ago.”
”Rosie makes her a gown every once in a while. Mrs. Wildwood has a clattering tongue.”
”Do you think Josh has switched all his affection to Francie Wildwood?”
This last spoken in a voice so small and frightened it brought Eileen's head up as sharply as a shout. Perhaps this was not, after all, about Mollie having more about which to feel aggrieved. ”I can't say, but if I were to venture a guess . . . The man who was so distraught over his wife's abduction . . . Frankly, my dear, I think it is only the baggage between his legs your husband brings to Mrs. Wildwood. But if you are honest with yourself, you must admit to having packed it for her.”
”I know,” Mollie whispered, turning her head aside so her aunt would not see her tears.
Josh thought of Mama Jack's warning as he looked at the information Hamish Fraser had brought. He said only, ”Excellent, Hamish. You've done well. It must have taken a long time to get all this.”
”Och, not so long as all that, Mr. Turner. It's nay the first time I've been to the Registry of Deeds on your behalf.”
Josh looked up from the array of papers-each one stamped as a fair copy-Fraser had spread across his desk. The Scot was staring straight ahead, not meeting his employer's gaze. ”You devil, Hamish,” Josh said with a chuckle. ”You've got the registry clerk on our payroll, haven't you? C'mon, own up. You may as well, I'm considerably impressed.”