In a Gilded Cage - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,41

for the Dakota. At last I had something to report. I had no proof as yet, but I would certainly be able to produce the necessary snapshot in due time.

I was just approaching Fanny’s front door when it opened and Dorcas, one of the young women from last Sunday’s little gathering, came out. She looked startled when she saw me. “Oh, Molly, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” I said. “Is Mrs. Poindexter at home?”

“She is, but I’m afraid she’s not well.”

“Oh dear, what’s wrong?”

“They think it’s the influenza that’s been going around. The doctor was just here.”

“I see. Would I be permitted to see her, do you think?”

She glanced warily into the hall. “I was only with her for a couple of minutes before her mother arrived and shushed me out, so I suspect the answer to that is probably no.”

“Oh dear,” I said. “I had some news I wanted to share with her, but it will have to wait for another time.”

“You could leave her a note,” Dorcas suggested. “Ask the maid to bring you a pen and some writing paper.”

“That’s a good idea,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll make a swift recovery with all that attention.”

“I’m sure she will. Fanny always liked to give the impression of being delicate, but she’s really the toughest of any of us.” Dorcas smiled. “I’d better be going. I want to see little Toodles before Nanny puts him to bed.”

I was in the process of asking for writing paper when a matronly woman came out of a door and looked at me in surprise. “I came to see Fanny,” I said. “You must be her mother. I am Molly Murphy, one of her friends, but I gather she’s not well enough for visitors at the moment.”

“I’m afraid she’s not,” the older woman said in that sort of imperious voice that upper-class matrons develop. I could see her checking out my clothing and clearly making the decision that I was not of her daughter’s class. “In fact I’ve asked the doctor to hire a nurse for her. I have a social engagement this evening and I do not think she should be left alone. And that husband of hers is out again. Not that men are any good around a sickbed, are they?”

We exchanged a smile. “I thought I might write Fanny a note. I had a message for her I’d like her to have.”

“I would be happy to deliver a message, if you so desire,” Fanny’s mother suggested.

“I think I’ll write it, if you don’t mind,” I said. I had no idea whether she had shared any of her suspicions about her husband with her family, and certainly didn’t want to stir up trouble.

“Very well. Come into the drawing room and I’ll have the maid bring you a pen and writing paper.” She ushered me through, seated me at a little table, and hovered over me while I wrote. I thought carefully before I wrote,

Fanny, you were right about our little discussion. My best wishes

for a speedy recovery. I will come to visit in a few days, and hope

to have more information for you then.

Since I had claimed to be a friend I sighed it, “Yours sincerely, Molly.”

Then I had nothing else to do but to go home.

Fourteen

I had no trouble locating the theater at which Mademoiselle Fifi was performing. The show was a revue called Fun-Time Follies, at the Miner’s Bowery Theater. From what I could see it wasn’t as respectable as the theaters that were springing up around Broadway. Mr. Poindexter was clearly not the most upright of young men.

After that it was merely a question of waiting for the right moment. I took my camera—a nifty little Brownie I had inherited with the business from Paddy Riley—and lurked near Mademoiselle Fifi’s house on East Twenty-first. Fortunately it was not too far from Sixth Avenue, with its department stores: Simpson, Crawford & Simpson was on one corner and Hugh O’Neill on the other, so there was a constant stream of pedestrian traffic, which made me less conspicuous. I walked up and down with my shopping bag, pretending to be interested in shop windows, occasionally going into a baker to buy myself a bun. But Mr. Poindexter did not appear at all that day, nor did he visit the theater that evening. Since my camera did not operate in the dark and I had no kind of flash equipment, it made little sense to watch and wait outside Mademoiselle Fifi’s that night. Besides,