“Are you going to tell me why you were in jail?” Pietro asked.
“It’s a long story, and you probably don’t want the details.”
“You always say that.”
“I do, and we agreed it was for the best.” As far as I knew, Pietro wasn’t the superstitious sort. Though he humored Mam about her ghost, he didn’t really believe her, and I saw no need to burden him with the truth about the supernatural world. “Anyway, it’s your turn. What were you doing down in Five Points?”
“Just saying hello to some friends at the grocery.”
“Anyone I know?”
Pietro’s mouth took a wry turn. “Subtle. No, I didn’t speak to Augusto.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I was just curious, that’s all.”
“I’m not stupid, Fiora. I know that part of the reason you brought me here was to keep me away from Augusto and the Mulberry Street Gang.”
“I brought you here so Mam wouldn’t start asking questions about how I could afford a house on a servant’s salary.” We’d told her the place was rented, and that Pietro was contributing as a boarder, just as he’d done in Five Points.
“Sì, and as a nice coincidence, that means there is someone around to help her while you’re out. And, oh, by the way, another nice coincidence: it means your friend Pietro won’t have time to be hanging around that shady Italian grocery. It’s all very tidy, no?”
I couldn’t help laughing, even as I blushed. “Was it that obvious?”
He shrugged. “I know how you love your clever little schemes.”
Not as clever as all that, apparently. Sheepishly, I said, “I hope you don’t feel too manipulated.”
“I used to work for Augusto. Believe me, compared to that, you don’t even know what manipulating means.”
“Then why go back there?”
He sighed. “Please, Rose, you’re not my mama. If I want to see my friends, I will see my friends.”
“Since when is Augusto a friend?”
“He’s not. He’s one of the most important businessmen in Five Points—”
“Who also happens to be a ruthless criminal.”
“—who also happens to have a lot of influence in my community, even with respectable people. I’m Italian, Fiora. Family is important to us, and loyalty. I cannot just go away and expect them to welcome me back when I decide it’s time to make a life for myself. If I want a business of my own one day, and a family, I cannot afford to make an enemy of Augusto.”
I sighed. I might not like it, but I knew he was right. It was true of most immigrant communities to one degree or another. Italians shopped at Italian businesses and married Italian spouses and had Italian children. To them, it even mattered what region you came from, and which village. The fact that a Bolognese like Augusto wielded such influence even over southerners like Pietro was proof of the man’s reach. If Pietro wanted a life among his people, he’d have to stay in Augusto’s good graces. “Just promise me you won’t get mixed up with his business.”
“I’m not the one who spent the night in jail.”
“Maybe not this time, but I’ll bet you have.”
“Certo. And since I have some experience, you should take my advice and have a bath.”
I smiled wearily. “I thought you said I don’t smell too bad.”
“No,” he said, “but you probably have fleas.”
* * *
I took the longest bath of my life, after which I sat down to a nice meal, so I was feeling more or less right with the world by the time I struck out for the el. It wasn’t a long journey. My new house was just half a block from the Sixth Avenue line, which ran the length of the island from the Battery to Central Park. That nearness had its downsides: the only thing noisier than a steam train is an elevated steam train, and Pietro’s rooftop tomatoes would probably end up sporting a healthy dusting of ash. That didn’t bother me. I had thick windows, and besides, those little faults were part of the reason I could afford a house in such a nice neighborhood. You certainly couldn’t beat it for convenience: in no time at all, I was descending from the platform at 58th Street, from which it was a short walk to Thomas’s house.
I took my time, strolling along the edge of Central Park and enjoying the warm sun on my face. Last night’s events already seemed a distant memory, and I marveled at how easy it was to recover from life’s little hiccups when everything else was going smoothly. The worries that had plagued me for so long—about my mother’s health, our finances, my lack of real prospects—were gradually fading into memory. Mam was doing so much better, and now she had a proper place to live. I had money in my pockets and good friends to spend it with. I had a job with real purpose. I was, in other words, happy.
So naturally, when I spied an unfamiliar brougham parked outside 726 Fifth Avenue, I viewed it as nothing less than a harbinger of doom.
I hurried up the steps and let myself in after a cursory knock. Until recently, I’d lived here myself, first as a housemaid and then as a guest, so I didn’t feel the need to stand on ceremony. “Hello?” I called. “Thomas?”
“They’re up in the study.”
Clara appeared in the hallway, a ledger tucked under her arm. That, and the fact that she wasn’t wearing her usual cook’s apron, told me that she was on housekeeper duty at the moment. How she managed to juggle cooking with running a household, I never understood, but manage it she did, and without a lick of nonsense. “Who’s they?” I asked, giving her a quick hug.
“Mr. Burrows is with ’em, but I didn’t catch the other fella’s name. It was Louise answered the door, since I was busy doing the inventory. Did you know there’s four hundred bottles down in that cellar? What’s a bachelor need with that much booze, anyway? Ain’t like he’s throwing any parties.” Pausing, she looked me up and down. “Rose, honey, you feeling all right? You look like a fresh-scrubbed beet.”
I glanced down at my arms, which were indeed rather pink. “You’re not far off. I may have gotten a little carried away in the bath this morning.”
“I bet you did. Mr. Wiltshire told me all about your little adventure at the jail.”
“How thoughtful of him.”
She laughed. “Nobody ever said this Pinkerton business was gonna be ribbons and puppies.” Clara was my best friend, and one of only a handful of people who knew the truth about what I did for a living—ghosts and shades and all. She didn’t much like it, but she’d made her peace with it, and even lent a hand now and then. Especially when I needed stitches, which was more often than I would have liked.
“It was awful,” I said.
“And I wanna hear all about it, but you best get on up there with the others. Looked like business to me.”
I headed upstairs, pausing on the landing to check my reflection in the mirror. Rosy complexion aside, I looked fresh and presentable, my clothing crisp and my strawberry blond hair pinned neatly in place. Thus reassured, I made my way to the study. The door stood ajar, and just as I was about to knock, a high, hoarse laugh sounded from within.