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SOMETHING CRAWLED UP Nico’s sleeve, and for the hundredth time since he had been pushed into the cold, dank cell, he scratched at it, knowing that his mother would have a fit if she saw him doing it.
But they had never had fleas in their apartment, so she couldn’t know what it was like to have these tiny black bugs poking at her skin.
Nico had seen what happened to men and even boys in his neighborhood when they resisted the police officers, even if they had done nothing wrong.
Most always, situations were resolved and the accused person returned, with jokes about how tough they were, but those who didn’t comply and fought back against unfair treatment were usually beaten.
It wasn’t as if the police would apologize later, when they dumped him on the curb for his family or friends to find him.
But at least they didn’t hold him in a cell once they discovered he wasn’t guilty of whatever crime they were investigating.
There was no proof that Nico had done anything wrong, and yet, here he was, wishing he was back in Newport, in that tiny but clean cell with the gossipy officers who didn’t snort at him or make derogatory remarks about his family.
Instead of answering back, he closed his eyes and prayed silently, repeating a plea for his release alongside one that begged the Lord to keep this from his family, who would worry about him unnecessarily.
Except there was a good chance it would be necessary, and he was just putting off the inevitable.
No reason to upset them sooner than it was needed, though.
He lay back on the small cot that filled nearly half the cell, his feet dangling off the edge.
“It’s a private room you’re having, sir,” an officer had sneered at him as he was roughly deposited there on his arrival. Mr. Armstrong’s lawyer had made sure that they rode very publicly on the trip into the city, as if he was afraid Nico would try to flee, or worse, harm him.
Where would Nico go, when they were on a train?
Nothing about the situation made any sense to him, and he wished he had thought to tell Faith to tell Mr. Travers that the little maid, Caitlin, had watched the transaction between himself and the courier boy.
Mr. Travers never expressed any doubts about Nico, and he was sure that the man trusted him, but the girl’s word would help solidify this trust in the face of whatever Mr. Armstrong or his lawyer had to tell him.
“Tired, are you? Well, enjoy your accommodations tonight, because tomorrow the man himself will be here, and we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Think of the devil and he will appear, Nico thought, recognizing the lawyer’s voice before he turned his head to face him.
The man was holding something wrapped in paper through the iron bars, and Nico squinted.
Was he offering him a sandwich?
“Come on, boy, I know you haven’t eaten all day. It’s not as if we mean to starve you, and we certainly don’t want to be accused of it. We know your boss is on our tail, and who knows when he’ll be arriving with his big guns.”
What in the world was he talking about?
Nico didn’t expect Mr. Travers to stop everything and come to his aid, but perhaps he would contact a friend or lawyer here who could offer him assistance.
So why would the lawyer say this if it wasn’t true?
Nico fought the urge to smile, considering that this man would probably take it as smugness or disrespect.
Mr. Travers, coming into Manhattan to help him. What other employer would do such a thing?
He stood up and reached for the small package, but the lawyer pulled it away, narrowing his eyes.
“You don’t look very sorry for what you’ve done. I’m sure that you were paid well, but that coin will do you no good in prison.”
When he pushed the sandwich back at Nico, Nico lifted his chin, refusing to make any gesture that would seem like an admission of guilt.
He had nothing to be sorry for, because he would never steal, and he would never do anything to hurt Mr. Travers or anyone in his family.
Or Nico’s own family.
Or anything to harm his chance of courting Faith.
What was she doing now, he wondered, turning his back to the other man and taking the few steps that led him to stare at the back wall of the cell.
Was she safe at home with her parents, or was she pleading his case to someone, asking for help on his behalf?
Or asking to help?
That was more like her.
He smiled a little, imagining her indignant, pushy, and whoever was in her path surprised at how such a pretty and poised girl could be so . . . passionate.
There was a small thud on the floor behind him, and he turned to find the sandwich on the cold stones. When he glanced up, the lawyer smirked at him and shook his head.
“Maybe a night here instead of your fancy hotel bed will make you talk.”
As he shuffled away, Nico nearly laughed.
Yes, his hotel bed was much better than the hard cot beside him, but it was nothing fancy.
He was grateful for it, and for the way the hotel, and Newport itself, had welcomed him.
His stomach growled, echoing in the emptiness around him, and he bent to pick up the sandwich and brush off the brown paper wrapping.
If he didn’t eat it, he might be sorry later, when no meal was forthcoming, and his mother would admonish him for throwing away good food if she knew.
Hopefully, no one in his family had heard about his arrival in the city, but The Tombs, where he was now, was on the other end of the island from his home in East Harlem, so there was no chance that anyone he knew had seen the lawyer or the police officers bring him in.
The bread was tough and the meat was gummy, but it calmed the rumbling in Nico’s belly, although as the night went on, his fear only rose in spite of his silent prayers and thoughts of the sweet girl he hoped he would see soon.
Faith pushed her plate away, shaking her head at her Aunt Sarah, who wasn’t eating a bite of her food either.
The servants in their townhouse had prepared a light meal, greeting them with a fuss over not having seen any of them in months and pressing them to rest and eat before settling in.
“Why, Miss Faith, you’re quite a young lady now, aren’t you?”
Isadora ran the household, and she was as excitable as Joanna and Jeannette. Usually, Faith would have been charmed by the housekeeper's interest, but not tonight.
She was tired and crabby from the rail journey, during which her uncles, and occasionally her aunt, spoke together as if she and Thomas weren’t even there.
How could she help if no one would explain how they planned to handle the situation?
She had tried to talk to them about Caitlin, but they had only frowned at her when she spoke of the girl’s revelation, as if they weren’t sure what Faith was saying.
Perhaps they were trying to see how they could use that information, or maybe they decided, as Faith worried, that a maid’s testimony wouldn’t be of much use.
Especially against a man like Mr. Armstrong.
“Ruby is quite a whirlwind, isn’t she?”
Aunt Sarah broke the tired silence, her tone a failed attempt at perkiness, but Uncle Will nearly choked on his cold soup just as he tipped the spoon into his mouth.
Thomas held back a laugh and sounded a bit like he was choking himself.
“You could say that, Mother. I thought she would give me a black eye with that hat of hers.”
“Oh, no,” Uncle Will began, shaking his head. “Let’s not speak of Ruby’s hats. Most of the bills we see on Ruby’s behalf involve hats.”
How many hats could one girl need, Faith wondered, but she had always been astonished at how fashion-conscious her cousin was, and how unafraid she was to push against convention in that way.
After all, there weren’t many ways a girl could do such a thing and not have her reputation ruined.
“She’ll have plenty of stories to entertain us once we get home, I’m sure,” Uncle Sam insisted, smiling at Aunt Sarah reassuringly. “You look exhausted, and so do you.”
He turned to look first at Faith, and then at Thomas. If Faith looked half as tired as she felt, she knew that her uncle’s observation was right.
“Let’s get some rest, and get to work in the morning.”
Faith frowned at Uncle Will’s words, but before she could do little more than open her mouth, he held out a hand as if he could read her thoughts.
“Many a man has spent a night in jail and lived to tell. Nico is very brave, and very smart. He’ll know how to handle himself to stay out of further trouble, and he’ll be able to tough it out until we see him tomorrow.”
He was right, but that didn’t make Faith feel any better about leaving Nico alone in a cell.
It was worse here in Manhattan than in Newport, where the officers were kind if prone to gossip.
What were the jailers like here?
Would they hurt him?
Did he have a blanket for his bed?
Did he even have a bed?
“Come along, Faith, before you fall asleep in your soup like a child.”
Aunt Sarah must have stood from her chair and walked over to her while she was imagining Nico in his jail cell, worrying whether or not he was safe or comfortable.
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry. Good night, everyone.”
It was best, she figured, to go along with whatever they told her, and honestly, she wasn’t sure what else she could do. In the morning, they would go about setting Nico free, and all would be well.
So why didn’t her uncles look more confident as they returned her sentiment, with tight smiles that did not reach their eyes?
Thomas took her hand and squeezed it, looking up at her as she stood by his mother, and she tried to smile at him, knowing that her effort was no more effective than those of her uncles.
The house was silent, and she strained her hearing to see if she could catch any bits of conversation after she closed the door to her bedroom, refusing the help of a maid to undress.
Instead of getting into her bed, she stared out of her window, where a splash of moonlight stretched over Washington Square.
Her father told her that Aunt Sarah and Aunt Catherine had roller skated in these halls as children, a story she could believe about Ruby and Evie’s mother but never Thomas’.
Had she been a different person before the tragedy that brought her and Uncle Sam together? The way the two of them told Thomas and her about the death of Uncle Sam’s brother showed that the loss still affected them both deeply, so she couldn’t imagine what it had done to them all those years ago.
She stared out into the quiet night, watching the occasional figure wander down the street or across the park, for a long time, unsure how late it had grown, until she heard her uncles’ voices down the hall.
They must finally be retiring to bed, she considered, and walked over to her closed door, pressing her ear against it so she could hear them more clearly.
“If it wasn’t so late, but there’s no reason to stir up trouble with his family. The father is missing, or he may have left of his own accord, and there are five other children.”
Faith felt her forehead crease as she took in what Uncle Sam was saying.
They weren’t talking about Nico’s family, she could tell that much, so then . . .
The courier boy.
They knew where he lived, and they were going to speak with him.
Whatever they had been going to ask him, they could explain that Caitlin had witnessed the exchange that took place between him and Nico, so the boy would know that there was someone to speak against whatever claim he might make against Nico.
Would he be clever enough to question how much a maid’s word would be worth?
Then again, Mr. Armstrong seemed to take the boy’s explanation as truth, whatever it had been.
“It’s convenient, but I agree, it’s late.”
Convenient?
What did Uncle Will mean by that?
The voices had grown closer, and she knew they were passing by her door. She held her breath unnecessarily as their footsteps continued past, and she heard the words south side and tenement in the midst of their loud whispers.
She waited, closing her eyes as if it would help her think.
South side.
Tenement.
On the other side of the park, the south side, there were tenements, apartments packed with immigrant families.
Could the courier boy possibly live so close to their townhouse here?
She turned the doorknob slowly, hoping it wouldn’t make a sound, but a tiny click made her cringe as she pulled it open and peered out into the hall.
Her cousin stood outside of his own room, watching her, and she sighed heavily but as quietly as she could manage.
Surely he would have something to say about her being awake so late.
Instead, he waved her over, and she left her door open behind her as she tiptoed over silently.
“The boy’s name is Michael Bishop. He lives about a half mile away, in one of the south tenements.”
Faith stared at him. She still didn’t understand why he wanted to help Nico, except that he wouldn’t want to see an innocent man imprisoned, even if he didn’t like him personally.
“Don’t look at me like that. My father spoke about him and his family while we were still at home. He doesn’t know them, since he has to trust his managers to hire a lot of the couriers now that the business has grown so large, but he feels bad, as if he is responsible for their behavior. Legally, I suppose he is.”
She knew that Uncle Sam wasn’t worried about that so much as the integrity of the business.
And that this problem had caused trouble for his wife’s sister and her family, and since they were all so close, he wouldn’t consider them anything but his own family as well.
“We should go and talk to him. What if Mr. Armstrong or that awful lawyer of his finds out that we’re here, and tells the boy not to speak with us?”
Thomas’ eyes grew wide, but he didn’t shake his head, and she waited, staring into those thoughtful gray eyes of his as the moments slipped by.
“Fine. But you’ll stay right with me. There are police officers on horses around the park, but that doesn’t mean someone bad can’t happen. This isn’t Newport.”
Now he shook his head, but Faith could only smile, looking down the hall to be sure no one had heard them.