happened. Nothing.
She did not want to carry the nightgown where anyone could see it. She slipped on her coat and tried hiding it there. It was too lumpy.
That was when her eyes alighted on the black leather bag just inside the door. Hesitating only a moment she picked it up, opened it a crack, and stuffed her nightshift inside.
She glanced around the room to make certain she hadn't forgotten anything. Odd, she thought, how that expression came to mind when what she wanted to do was forget everything.
She opened the door carefully and listened for sounds in the hallway.
It was quiet abovestairs. Music drifted up from below.
Without a backward glance she stepped into the hall and headed for the back stairs. Her flight was uneventful. No one met her on the stairs.
The kitchen was empty.
She paused again at the back door. Thoughts of what she might face outside were as frightening as what she would face upstairs.
Her hand trembled on the handle. She gripped it tightly.
Sucking in her breath, she twisted the handle and pushed open the door.
Then she ran, knowing everything about who she was and what she wanted to be depended upon never looking back.
A hansom cab took her the entire way up Broadway to 48th Street.
Even at night the thoroughfare was busy. Peddlers were setting out their wares for the early-morning crowd and the last of the late-night revelers. Milk wagons were making deliveries to the boardinghouses while restaurants were ejecting their most stubborn customers. Not interested in the noise or the activity, she curled in one corner of the cab, her head turned away from the window. She paid the driver quickly, her head bowed so she would not be recognized, and walked the last two blocks alone once the cab was out of sight.
The house at the intersection of Broadway and 50th Street was only slightly smaller than the palatial French country home on which it was modeled. Rose bushes edged the foundation of smooth gray stone and morning glories climbed a trellis on the southern side.
She entered the yard at the front, pushing aside the iron rail gate, then went around back to the delivery entrance. There was a key above the door jamb. She stood on tiptoe to get it.
The house was quiet. It surprised her. She had expected that someone would be waiting up for her but apparently no one had lost any sleep worrying. That could only mean her sister had fabricated a story that credibly explained her absence.
She took off her shoes and carried them. It wasn't necessary to light a lamp, she knew the way to her room in the dark. She slipped inside her bedchamber and put down the shoes and the black leather bag. She started a fire in the grate and stripped off her clothes and threw them on the fire, stoking it so it wouldn't be smothered by the material.
She added the nightshift, then shoved the doctor's bag under her bed.
After scrubbing at the basin she crawled into her bed.
It was astonishingly easy to fall asleep.
A rough hand on her shoulder nudged her awake. At the windows the curtains had been pulled back and morning spilled into the room. Even with her eyes closed she could feel the press of light and heat from the sunshine. She opened her eyes slowly and found herself staring into the strained and worried face of her younger sister.
"Do you have any idea how frightened I've been since you disappeared?" she demanded in a harsh whisper. "What time did you get in? I was in and out of the house most of the night looking for you!
And it was no easy feat with Mother and Jay Mac playing cards in the parlor until midnight. I know it wasn't fair of me to leave with Daniel but it was a poorer trick you played me." She frowned, tears gathering in her eyes. "It was a trick, wasn't it? Oh, Maggie, I'm so sorry, but I've got to know that you're all right. Please tell me where you've been all this time."
Mary Margaret Dennehy blinked once. She sat
She did not want to carry the nightgown where anyone could see it. She slipped on her coat and tried hiding it there. It was too lumpy.
That was when her eyes alighted on the black leather bag just inside the door. Hesitating only a moment she picked it up, opened it a crack, and stuffed her nightshift inside.
She glanced around the room to make certain she hadn't forgotten anything. Odd, she thought, how that expression came to mind when what she wanted to do was forget everything.
She opened the door carefully and listened for sounds in the hallway.
It was quiet abovestairs. Music drifted up from below.
Without a backward glance she stepped into the hall and headed for the back stairs. Her flight was uneventful. No one met her on the stairs.
The kitchen was empty.
She paused again at the back door. Thoughts of what she might face outside were as frightening as what she would face upstairs.
Her hand trembled on the handle. She gripped it tightly.
Sucking in her breath, she twisted the handle and pushed open the door.
Then she ran, knowing everything about who she was and what she wanted to be depended upon never looking back.
A hansom cab took her the entire way up Broadway to 48th Street.
Even at night the thoroughfare was busy. Peddlers were setting out their wares for the early-morning crowd and the last of the late-night revelers. Milk wagons were making deliveries to the boardinghouses while restaurants were ejecting their most stubborn customers. Not interested in the noise or the activity, she curled in one corner of the cab, her head turned away from the window. She paid the driver quickly, her head bowed so she would not be recognized, and walked the last two blocks alone once the cab was out of sight.
The house at the intersection of Broadway and 50th Street was only slightly smaller than the palatial French country home on which it was modeled. Rose bushes edged the foundation of smooth gray stone and morning glories climbed a trellis on the southern side.
She entered the yard at the front, pushing aside the iron rail gate, then went around back to the delivery entrance. There was a key above the door jamb. She stood on tiptoe to get it.
The house was quiet. It surprised her. She had expected that someone would be waiting up for her but apparently no one had lost any sleep worrying. That could only mean her sister had fabricated a story that credibly explained her absence.
She took off her shoes and carried them. It wasn't necessary to light a lamp, she knew the way to her room in the dark. She slipped inside her bedchamber and put down the shoes and the black leather bag. She started a fire in the grate and stripped off her clothes and threw them on the fire, stoking it so it wouldn't be smothered by the material.
She added the nightshift, then shoved the doctor's bag under her bed.
After scrubbing at the basin she crawled into her bed.
It was astonishingly easy to fall asleep.
A rough hand on her shoulder nudged her awake. At the windows the curtains had been pulled back and morning spilled into the room. Even with her eyes closed she could feel the press of light and heat from the sunshine. She opened her eyes slowly and found herself staring into the strained and worried face of her younger sister.
"Do you have any idea how frightened I've been since you disappeared?" she demanded in a harsh whisper. "What time did you get in? I was in and out of the house most of the night looking for you!
And it was no easy feat with Mother and Jay Mac playing cards in the parlor until midnight. I know it wasn't fair of me to leave with Daniel but it was a poorer trick you played me." She frowned, tears gathering in her eyes. "It was a trick, wasn't it? Oh, Maggie, I'm so sorry, but I've got to know that you're all right. Please tell me where you've been all this time."
Mary Margaret Dennehy blinked once. She sat
Similar Books
