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Authors: Shirley Tallman
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the lazy slob.” He stopped, plainly fearing he’d revealed too much. “You tell Killy I said that, and I’ll be callin’ you liars,” he warned.
“If you’ve told us the truth,” Robert said, “there’s no need for your name to be mentioned.”
“You say Killy didn’t own the sweatshop?” I asked.
“Nah. Killy’s the muscle to bully people around, but he ain’t got the brains or gumption to be boss of anythin‘besides his own prick.” His face reddened. “Beggin’ yer pardon, ma‘am. No offense intended.”
Robert, whose own face had flushed, started to protest, but I cut him off before he could erupt.
“Mr. McGuire, do you know where we can find Killy?”
“Nope, never seen him outside the shop.” His eyes grew sharp. “I’m warnin’ you, though. If you do find him, you’d best watch yer backsides. And mind you keep me out of it. I only told you what
I did to help Jack’s wife. He and the others shouldn’t a been trapped in that hellhole.” With that, he turned and slammed back into the sweatshop.
Robert and I didn’t speak until we were once again on the street.
“Now I suppose you’ll insist on finding this Doyle fellow,” he muttered as we went in search of a cab.
I saw the ghost of a smile playing around that broad mouth. How like him, I thought. In spite of the brusque exterior he put on for public display, Robert would never turn his back on a woman in need, much less a widow with small children to care for and another on its way.
“Of course,” I answered matter-of-factly, happy enough to help him save face. “Under the circumstances, we can hardly do less.”
CHAPTER FOUR
M ama was waiting for me when I arrived home. For the past hour I’d longed for a hot bath and a hot cup of tea. One look at my mother’s face told me both comforts were going to be delayed.
“You have a message,” she teased, eyes alight as she waved a piece of white notepaper at me.
“A message from whom?” I asked, knowing from her delighted expression that it could only be from a man.
“Here, see for yourself.” She handed me the notepaper, then stood eagerly watching my reaction. It read:
Dear Miss Woolson,
I would be pleased if you would accompany me to Woodward Gardens next Sunday, March the 7 th . I think I can promise an enjoyable afternoon.
Respectfully yours,
Pierce Godfrey, Esq.
I reread the short note then, without comment, placed it in my pocket and started upstairs.
“Well?” Mama called out. “What are you going to do?”
“I shall send Ina with my regrets. Right now I’m tired and would like to go to my room and have a bath.”
“Sarah, you’re hopeless. I could understand your reticence with the dentist, but Mr. Godfrey is a most attractive young man.”
“I agree. But I have no time right now for courting.”
Mama sighed in exasperation. “I thought you might say that. Which is why I took the liberty of accepting the invitation on your behalf.”
I stopped and stared down at her. “You did what?”
“You’re not getting any younger, Sarah. There may come a day when you’ll regret slamming the door in your suitors’ faces—especially a man like Mr. Godfrey.”
I started to argue, then realized it would serve no purpose. The damage was already done. I could hardly cancel the engagement now.
“All right, Mama, I’ll go,” I gave in ungracefully “But in the future, I’ll thank you not to read my private communications, much less take it upon yourself to accept or decline invitations on my behalf.”
As I finally sank into my bath, I forced thoughts of Pierce Godfrey from my mind and concentrated instead on Lily Mankin’s lawsuit. Granted, finding Paddy McGuire this afternoon was a vital first step, but without Doyle we had no case. And I feared he would not be easy to find.
If Paddy was right, and Doyle didn’t own the sweatshop, who was Doyle taking his orders from? How far did the chain of underlings extend before it reached the
“If you’ve told us the truth,” Robert said, “there’s no need for your name to be mentioned.”
“You say Killy didn’t own the sweatshop?” I asked.
“Nah. Killy’s the muscle to bully people around, but he ain’t got the brains or gumption to be boss of anythin‘besides his own prick.” His face reddened. “Beggin’ yer pardon, ma‘am. No offense intended.”
Robert, whose own face had flushed, started to protest, but I cut him off before he could erupt.
“Mr. McGuire, do you know where we can find Killy?”
“Nope, never seen him outside the shop.” His eyes grew sharp. “I’m warnin’ you, though. If you do find him, you’d best watch yer backsides. And mind you keep me out of it. I only told you what
I did to help Jack’s wife. He and the others shouldn’t a been trapped in that hellhole.” With that, he turned and slammed back into the sweatshop.
Robert and I didn’t speak until we were once again on the street.
“Now I suppose you’ll insist on finding this Doyle fellow,” he muttered as we went in search of a cab.
I saw the ghost of a smile playing around that broad mouth. How like him, I thought. In spite of the brusque exterior he put on for public display, Robert would never turn his back on a woman in need, much less a widow with small children to care for and another on its way.
“Of course,” I answered matter-of-factly, happy enough to help him save face. “Under the circumstances, we can hardly do less.”
CHAPTER FOUR
M ama was waiting for me when I arrived home. For the past hour I’d longed for a hot bath and a hot cup of tea. One look at my mother’s face told me both comforts were going to be delayed.
“You have a message,” she teased, eyes alight as she waved a piece of white notepaper at me.
“A message from whom?” I asked, knowing from her delighted expression that it could only be from a man.
“Here, see for yourself.” She handed me the notepaper, then stood eagerly watching my reaction. It read:
Dear Miss Woolson,
I would be pleased if you would accompany me to Woodward Gardens next Sunday, March the 7 th . I think I can promise an enjoyable afternoon.
Respectfully yours,
Pierce Godfrey, Esq.
I reread the short note then, without comment, placed it in my pocket and started upstairs.
“Well?” Mama called out. “What are you going to do?”
“I shall send Ina with my regrets. Right now I’m tired and would like to go to my room and have a bath.”
“Sarah, you’re hopeless. I could understand your reticence with the dentist, but Mr. Godfrey is a most attractive young man.”
“I agree. But I have no time right now for courting.”
Mama sighed in exasperation. “I thought you might say that. Which is why I took the liberty of accepting the invitation on your behalf.”
I stopped and stared down at her. “You did what?”
“You’re not getting any younger, Sarah. There may come a day when you’ll regret slamming the door in your suitors’ faces—especially a man like Mr. Godfrey.”
I started to argue, then realized it would serve no purpose. The damage was already done. I could hardly cancel the engagement now.
“All right, Mama, I’ll go,” I gave in ungracefully “But in the future, I’ll thank you not to read my private communications, much less take it upon yourself to accept or decline invitations on my behalf.”
As I finally sank into my bath, I forced thoughts of Pierce Godfrey from my mind and concentrated instead on Lily Mankin’s lawsuit. Granted, finding Paddy McGuire this afternoon was a vital first step, but without Doyle we had no case. And I feared he would not be easy to find.
If Paddy was right, and Doyle didn’t own the sweatshop, who was Doyle taking his orders from? How far did the chain of underlings extend before it reached the
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