Hattie nodded, her expression faraway as she slid her arms into the sleeves and belted the sash with quick, sharp movements. Abruptly, she shook her head and reached into the wrapper’s pocket. “For your trouble today,” she said, holding out a quarter. “You may go.”
Vivian heaved a sigh of relief as the door to the Wilson mansion closed behind her, the spring air making her feel suddenly light-headed. There was something oppressive about that house, something ugly that all its luxury and grandeur couldn’t hide. Even the chilly beauty of the little sitting room had left her uneasy. And Hattie Wilson… Vivian shivered as she pulled her coat closed and headed downtown.
She walked briskly along, head ducked against the wind and the box with Hattie’s dresses tucked under one arm. There was no point in going back to the dress shop, and she had a twenty-five-cent tip in her pocket and worn-out feet. Feeling guilty, Vivian turned her steps toward the closest subway line. The New York Municipal was just a few blocks away, and it would take her half of the way home.
The ticket cost five cents, and using her feet would have cost nothing. But Vivian was too tired to care, and her arms and hand ached from carrying dress boxes all day, and anyway that still made twenty cents left over. Tucking herself into a corner seat, she stared unseeing at the swaying, jerking car.
She had seen women trapped in miserable lives. In spite of the tight rein she kept on herself, Hattie Wilson had all the fluttering determination of someone who had just been set free and planned to stay that way. Roy Carlton might have other plans—and how far might he have gone in pursuit of those plans?—but Hattie Wilson had clearly made up her mind.
But there had been something odd—not when she talked about her husband, that anger was reasonable enough. It had been there when the conversation turned to her sister. It was the same oddness that Vivian had noticed in the housekeeper’s expression when she caught it reflected in the mirror.
Something about Miss Myrtle wasn’t right. But for the life of her, Vivian couldn’t guess what it might be. For a moment the wild thought crossed her mind that perhaps Myrtle had killed her brother-in-law. But that made no sense. She had been at a school upstate where, if the papers were to be trusted, Willard Wilson provided for her complete financial support. And in the photograph that Vivian had seen, Wilson had looked every inch the indulgent older brother.
No, there was something else about Myrtle that was setting the household on edge…
Vivian glanced up, jerked out of her reverie as the car pulled up toa platform and she scrambled to her feet. She had been so distracted she’d missed her stop.
She had to hurry to make it off the train, and once she was on the platform she was caught up in the buffeting crowd, trying to protect the dress box as she made her way up to the street. She was a few blocks south of home, but she hadn’t missed it by too much. Grumbling to herself, Vivian set off, cutting across streets and between crowded buildings to take the most direct route there, her mind still back on Fifth Avenue.
She was still several blocks away when the rain began to fall, a fitful, grimy drizzle that spattered the pavement while sullen clouds rumbled overhead.
“Damn it,” Vivian muttered, wiping rain out of her eyes as she glared up at the sky.
Around her, the few stragglers that were still out dashed for whatever cover they could reach. Vivian clutched the dress box against her chest, weighing her options. She was only a few blocks from home; as long as the rain didn’t get too heavy, she could make it before the dresses were in danger of being ruined. She shrugged out of her coat and wrapped it around the box. Rain dripped from the edge of her hat down the back of her neck, but it wasn’t pouring. She’d be home before she was soaked.
Vivian clutched the awkward bundle against her chest and picked up speed, sticking close to the edge of buildings to take advantage of the occasional awning. She dodged around puddles and piles of soggy trash as the streets and sidewalks around her grew empty.
When she heard the quick jog of footsteps behind her, Vivian barely noticed, assuming they belonged to someone else trying to get out of the weather. If she had looked up, she might have seen the man crossing the empty street directly toward her. But her head was ducked down to avoid the worst of the drizzle, so Vivian was unprepared for the sudden weight that crashed into her, knocking her off balance and herding her into a deserted alley.
Vivian stumbled, trying to catch her balance, not realizing that it was anything more than an accident at first. “Watch where you’re—” she began angrily, then froze.
She recognized the hulking man that now blocked her path back to the street. Clutching the dress box to her chest, Vivian spun around, looking for another way out. The other side of the alley was cut off by a second familiar figure.
“Now, girlie, no need to be rude.” The thin, chatty man gave her an oily smile, and Vivian could hear his beefy friend—Eddie, she remembered wildly—settling into place behind her. “We’re just hoping for a little chat.”
“I don’t chat with men I don’t know,” she snapped, trying to look unafraid. “So excuse me, but I’m off.”
Under the brim of the smaller man’s hat, Vivian could see the ugly bruise that spread across his temple and down his jaw, a souvenir from the board she had bashed him with when the two bully boys jumped Danny. But they hadn’t seen her that day, had they?
A heavy hand settled on her shoulder. She flinched away, but hulking Eddie’s grip tightened. There was no way she could shake him off until he let her go. She settled for lifting her chin and glaring at the other man, who seemed to be in charge, just as before.
“Now, there’s no reason we can’t be friendly, is there?” the weaselly man said, shaking his head and still smiling.
“Tell yourfriendto take his hands off me, then,” Vivian snapped.
“Sure, sure.” He sauntered forward until he was right in front of her. “Eddie, don’t manhandle the girl, there’s a good fellow.”
Behind her, Eddie chuckled, then dropped his hand. But he didn’t move, and now she was pinned between them even more securely than she had been before. In spite of the cold rain, Vivian felt sweat prickle along her arms and torso. She wondered if they could see the wild, fearful beat of the pulse at her neck.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“Tell me what you want with Hattie Wilson.”
It wasn’t the question she had expected, and Vivian didn’t have to fake her surprise. “What?”
“Why did you go see Mrs. Wilson today? And be honest. Eddie here hates it when people lie.”
Vivian couldn’t stop her eyes from darting to Eddie’s menacing bulk before they snapped back to the man in front of her. She swallowed. “I—I work for a dressmaker?” she managed at last, hating the way it sounded like a question. She swallowed again and tried to sound more firm. “Mrs. Wilson ordered dresses, and I was there to fit them. That was it.”
