“Yes?” Mrs. Chin prompted when Vivian fell silent.
“I think he might have known my mother,” Vivian explained in a nervous rush. “Do you think you could ask them? About where to find him, I mean?”
“What if he doesn’t want to talk to you?” Mrs. Chin asked, stern but not cruel. “You do not look like your mother was Chinese.”
“No, she was Irish.” Vivian swallowed. “If he doesn’t want to talk to me, I’d be no worse off than I am now.”
Mrs. Chin regarded her for a long moment, then nodded briskly. “I’ll ask around. But now you need to go.” She turned away as she spoke, her voice going a little cold. “You and that sister of yours need to get to work. And then I will need help with those dishes tonight.”
“Mrs. Chin…” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Vivian realized she shouldn’t say anything. But Danny’s mother had already turned back to her, an impatient, expectant look on her face, one foot just barely tapping.
“Yes?”
Vivian swallowed. “Have you changed your mind? Are you upset that we’re here?”
Mrs. Chin sighed. “I do not like the way my son looks at her,” she said at last. Seeing the defensive look that sprang to Vivian’s face, she held up her hand. “I’m sure she’s a very nice girl. But it is hard enough on our young men being here, and my son has made it harder for himself with his…” She considered her words. “His choice of work. I do not want his life to be harder still because he gives up his heart to someone who cannot hold his hand on the street without putting them both at risk. To someone who doesn’t know how to be part of his world.”
“Which world?” Vivian couldn’t help asking. “This one? Or the one at the Nightingale?”
“Does it matter?” Mrs. Chin’s brows rose. “Your sister isn’t going to fit in either place, is she?” Her gaze went past Vivian’s shoulder. “Time for you two to get to work.”
She bustled back toward the kitchen just as Florence came downstairs and joined Vivian.
“Is everything okay?” Florence asked. “What were you and Mrs. Chin talking about?”
Vivian swallowed. “Nothing important. Come on. We’re taking a cab to the shop today.”
“Are you going to tell me why you changed your mind about us staying away from work for a few days?” Florence asked as they went out into the street.
“Well…” Vivian busied herself catching the eye of a cabbie so she didn’t have to look at Florence. “That depends. How good of an actor do you think you can be, Flo?”
Things at the shop weren’t quite as bad as Vivian had been dreading, but they definitely weren’t good.
“An officer strolling by on his nightly rounds saw the damage and was able to summon assistance,” Miss Ethel explained to the gathered seamstresses and shop girls, all standing quiet, obedient, and afraid in the back of the shop while she surveyed them like the teacher of an unruly class. Two sewing machines had been stolen, along with most of the pretty, expensive dresses that were waiting for their owners. Bolts of silk and velvet were gone, and the clock that Vivian had hidden behind so recently was knocked over, its face smashed. Someone had swept up the glass, but the shop was still a mess.
“Given the broken door, I think it is safe to say that some hooligan was responsible,” Miss Ethel continued. “So I know I need not suspectany of you—” She paused, looking at each of them in turn as if to see whether anyone might look guilty.
Vivian kept her expression wide-eyed and guileless, praying that Florence was able to do the same. Under any other circumstances, she would have kept her sister in the dark about what she had done. But if Flo had arrived at work and heard that the dress had been stolen, she wouldn’t have been able to keep her eyes away from Vivian. And they couldn’t risk her giving the game away.
She had been furious, until Vivian had finally hissed, “What else was I supposed to do? I didn’t do it just for fun, Flo, I did it to keep you alive. Are you saying I shouldn’t have?”
There was no good answer to that, and both of them knew it. Florence had spent the cab ride to work practicing her surprised face while Vivian silently prepared for the worst.
“I need not suspect any of you,” Miss Ethel said again, this time with more confidence. Vivian tried not to look relieved. “But I am… in a precarious position now. We all are. If you wish to continue being employed, we will all need to work twice as hard to make up the cost of what was stolen.” Miss Ethel seemed to lose her train of thought for a moment, eyeing the damage to her store. Her chin trembled for a moment.
Vivian didn’t want to feel sympathy for Miss Ethel. The woman was cruel and demanding, and she worked her employees to the bone. But Vivian could feel the guilt settling into her stomach anyway. This was her fault. And when she glanced at the faces of the other girls, the worry in their eyes at the prospect of finding themselves out of work, she wanted to cry.
She didn’t, though. Vivian never cried.
“I will require everyone to work extra hours each week for the next month,” Miss Ethel continued. “Especially you, Florence. You will come with me while we discuss what to do about Mrs. Blake’s order.” She cast another suspicious glance over her assembled workers, and the nine girls all held their breath as they waited. Finally she sniffed.“Well, what are you waiting for? The work will not do itself. If you please!” She clapped her hands sharply.
There was a sudden flurry of movement as the girls hurried to their tables and tasks. “Oh, Vivian.” Miss Ethel retrieved a folder of papers from the counter and began to flip through them. “A customer has requested that someone come by to take new measurements before we start on her commissions for the fall. I trust you will be on your best behavior.” Her glance took in Vivian’s bobbed hair and lingered on her cheap shoes. She sniffed. “I cannot afford to lose any business because you offend someone with your impropriety.” Vivian bit her tongue to keep from giving a sharp reply as the shop owner turned back to her folder. “Here we are.” She pulled one paper out and glanced over it. “Henrietta Wilson on Fifth Avenue.”
Hattie Wilson. Vivian swallowed, forcing herself to smile as she took the papers Miss Ethel handed her. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure Mrs. Wilson will have no cause to complain about me.”
“You needn’t shake in your shoes quite so obviously, Miss Kelly.” Hattie Wilson’s smile was mocking as she rose from her desk. Vivian’s jaw clenched, but she kept her face as impassive as possible and didn’t move from the spot by the door where the housemaid had left her. “I’m not planning for any unfortunate accidents to find you today.”
“But another day you might?”
