Involuntarily, Vivian moved to clutch it behind her back. “It’s nothing, ma’am.”
“I asked you what happened to it.” The matron’s voice was firm, reminding Vivian once more of the nuns, but her hands were careful as she stripped the makeshift bandage away when Vivian held it out. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”
“Someone knocked me down during the raid,” Vivian explained, uncomfortably aware of the other women in the holding cell watching them. “I landed on a glass that broke.”
“And I don’t suppose any of the men out there suggested doing anything about it?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Of course not. Because you getting ill under our watch and having to be transferred to a hospital is exactly the paperwork they want to deal with after a night of raids.” The matron rolled her eyes. “All right, get in there. I’ll be back once I’ve handled the other girls.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Vivian stepped into the cell, trying to ignore the sound of it clanging shut and locking behind her. Once there was no way for her to leave, the cell felt a hundred times smaller than it had looked from the outside.
“Don’t thank me. If I had my way, you’d end up in a reformatory tomorrow, no matter how old you are, and hope they beat some sense in you.”
With that uncomforting remark, the matron left, shoes clicking on the polished floor in a way that reminded Vivian of her sister. The thought made her flinch—would Florence come looking for her when she didn’t come home? And would that be better or worse than the situation she was currently in?
Vivian found a corner seat where she could press her back against the wall, hoping she didn’t look as scared as she felt. The matron came back three other times with women who had no one to pay their bail yet, then returned with a fresh bandage. Gesturing impatiently for Vivian to stick her hand through the bars, she removed the blood-stiffened handkerchief and rewrapped it with clean linen. Vivian thanked her again because good manners seemed like a smart idea when she was stuck in jail.
As she pulled her hand back into the cell, Vivian was struck with a sudden thought. “Matron…” She regretted it as soon as she opened her mouth, but the policewoman had already turned back impatiently, so she barreled on. “Why was the club raided tonight?”
The matron’s eyebrows climbed toward her severe hairline. “Are you somehow unaware that drinking alcohol is illegal in this country?”
“No. I mean, yes, ma’am, of course I know. I meant, why was that particular club raided? I heard the captain saying he had his orders. Is there a reason that they went there tonight?”
The policewoman sighed. “Shocking though it may be, the captain of this precinct receives his orders from the commissioner, not from me. My job is to save young women from the wretched life of vice that you seem desperate to throw yourself into. So I suggest you worry more about how to come up with your bail than what’s going on in the captain’s office.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Vivian ducked her head, not wanting to push the woman’s goodwill any further. “Thank you for the bandage.”
The policewoman snorted as she strode off. Vivian settled back on the bench, watching through the cell’s single barred window as the sky faded to gray and began to lighten. Women were brought in and taken out, and she listened to their chatter without trying to join in. If she thought too long about the bail money, her chest tightened with panic, so instead she focused on the other question in front of her: Why would someone want the Nightingale raided?
Her mind instantly jumped to the dead man in the alley. But why would the commissioner of police need to send a message to a club that already paid hefty protection money, over nothing more than a dead bootlegger? It made no sense, unless…
Vivian frowned, remembering the man’s perfectly tailored suit and expensive hat.People can die pretty quick on Park Avenue, too,Honor Huxley had said, as if she knew or suspected something about the dead man.
But if he wasn’t a bootlegger, then what was he doing in the alley behind a nightclub on the Lower West Side?
“Jane Doe.”
The sharp voice of the women’s matron interrupted her thoughts, and Vivian started out of her half doze. The edge of dawn was creeping through the window now, and there were only two other women left in the cell. Vivian stumbled to her feet. “Yes, ma’am?”
“There’s someone here for you.”
NINE
Vivian stared in shock. “Here for me?”
The matron stood at the cell door, scowling. “She didn’t ask for you by name—not that you told us what it is—but the description sounds like you.” She unlocked the door and motioned Vivian to step out. “Though why you would want help from a girl like her…”
Vivian barely caught the muttered words as she followed the matron back to the front room, but they told her exactly who had come to bail her out. So she was anxious, but not surprised, when she found Bea waiting in front of the sergeant’s desk, shifting nervously from foot to foot, her overcoat hanging open over the dancing dress she wore to work at the Nightingale.
“Look, we don’t have any of you girls here,” the sergeant was saying.
Bea shook her head, chin ducked down while she glanced up at the man’s face. “No, sir. She’s an Irish girl. I’ve checked everywhere else. If you would please just send someone back to look—”
“I’m here,” Vivian interrupted, impulsively stepping forward only tobe stopped by the policewoman’s strong arm, which shot out like a bar in front of her.
“You don’t go any further toward that door unless your bail is paid,” the matron snapped.
