In a Gilded Cage - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,16

preparations, as used in Paris. A bell jangled as I pushed open the door. Inside was a high counter and behind it shelves containing an assortment of jars and bottles. In the middle of this wall was an opening through which I could see into a back room. Its walls were lined with cupboards, some glass-fronted, others tiny wooden squares. I caught sight of two men in white coats at work at a table, their backs to me.

At the sound of the bell, the older one looked up, saw me, and barked, “Counter, Ned.”

“Where’s Emily?” Ned asked.

“Off delivering a package for me. She should have been back by now. Dawdling to look in shop windows, I shouldn’t wonder,” the older one snapped. The owner, Mr. McPherson, obviously.

Ned pushed open a swing door and came through to the shop front, wiping his hands on his coat as he came toward me. “Can I help you, miss?” he asked.

For once I was speechless. This was Emily’s young man and he was a veritable Adonis. She hadn’t mentioned his good looks and yet he would have been any girl’s dream. He was slim, with wavy black hair, dark flashing eyes, and a pencil mustache. I immediately thought of Mr. Darcy or Heathcliff, one of those brooding heroes in the romantic novels I had so loved as a young girl.

“Uh—I came to meet Emily,” I stammered. “She told me she has her lunch break at one. I hope I haven’t missed her.”

“No, she should be back any second now. She was sent out on a delivery.”

“You must be Ned,” I said, although I knew quite well who he was. “Emily’s told me about you.”

“You’re a friend of hers then?” he asked, eyeing me with interest. “From Vassar?”

“No such luck. I met her through mutual friends. She’s a grand girl, isn’t she?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “A grand girl. Very smart.”

“She’s very proud of you. She tells me you’ve a promising career ahead of you.”

He made a face and I couldn’t tell whether it was one of embarrassment or annoyance. “Someday, maybe. Right now I’m only an apprentice.” He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “And the old man doesn’t let me do much more than make up liniments for old men’s rheumatics. But I’m studying in my spare time and I hope to make something of myself someday.”

“Ned—I don’t pay you to gossip,” came the sharp voice from the back room. “If the young lady hasn’t come to purchase something then I suggest she wait outside.”

“You see what it’s like,” Ned muttered to me. “Never a moment to myself. Ah, here’s Emily now.”

Emily burst in through the front door, her cheeks glowing from having hurried. “Sorry I’m late,” she gasped, “But I decided to stop in on Mrs. Hartmann, since she lives just across the street from the delivery.”

“I don’t pay you to dillydally and gossip,” Mr. McPherson snapped. “Next time you want to go visiting, do it during your lunch break.”

“Oh, but Mr. McPherson, she’s your own valued employee. I’d have thought you’d want an update on her condition,” Emily said.

Mr. McPherson merely grunted.

“Well, how is she?” Ned asked.

“A little better,” Emily said. “Starting to sit up and take solid food again.”

“Well, that’s good news. I must go and see her myself,” Ned said. “In my own time, of course,” he added, glancing back at his boss, then touched Emily’s arm. “And you have a visitor.”

Her face lit up. “Molly. You’re better. How splendid.”

“Your ministrations obviously did the trick,” I said. “I woke this morning feeling my old self again. So I’m anxious to get to work.”

“Work? What work?” Ned asked.

“Molly is a real live detective,” Emily said. “Have you two been introduced?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “Being a detective, I deduced that this young man might be Ned but he doesn’t know my name.”

“Oh, then let me introduce you now. Molly Murphy, this is Ned Tate.”

We shook hands. His hand was slim and elegant, with well-manicured fingernails. Obviously a young man who thought a lot of himself, I decided.

“Are you lunching with any of your other friends?” Ned asked. “Or is Molly not part of your rich socialite set?”

Emily laughed. “My rich socialite set? Just because some of my Vassar friends have married well doesn’t mean that I’m part of any rich set.”

“I only thought that your bosom pal Fanny whatever-her-name-is lived nearby and that you saw her frequently.”

“Fanny does live in the Dakota,” Emily said, “but I hardly see her frequently