“And?”
Mamie’s jaw fell open. “And how do you not see the problem? Mulligan is the worst criminal in the city. He’s dangerous, Justine. You cannot have a relationship with him.”
“We do not have a relationship. We’re . . .” She thought of the fundraiser and the shirtwaist factory. Mrs. Gorcey. His help with Mrs. von Briesen. No one laughed or teased her at his club, which was more than she could say for the police station. “We’re friends.”
“No, absolutely not,” Mamie snapped. “You cannot be friends with Mulligan.”
Florence held a palm up to silence Mamie. “Justine, I met Mulligan and spent some time with him in his club. He’s charming and intelligent, I know. He’s a gorgeous bundle of charisma dressed like an English duke. I understand an attraction to him. But this won’t lead anywhere beneficial for you. He’ll ruin you.”
“The way Clay ruined you?” Then she pointed at Mamie. “Or the way Frank ruined you?”
“You cannot . . .” Mamie exchanged a glance with Florence before coming back to Justine. “You cannot be thinking of marrying him.”
“No one is discussing marriage!” Justine crossed the room and dropped onto the bench at her dressing table. “I meant physical activities. Taking my virginity.”
“Has he?” Florence asked on a gasp.
“No—not that I’d tell either of you if he had.” Any tiredness she felt evaporated like smoke. She pushed off the bench and began pacing the room. “You both have quite a lot of nerve lecturing me. Neither of you saved yourself for marriage. Neither of you followed the rules or conventions of high society. You did whatever you pleased, and neither one of you checked with me first to see what I thought!”
“Justine, you are the youngest,” Mamie said, using her big-sister tone. “It is our job to look out for you. To help you.”
“Even when I don’t require it?”
Florence gave a dry laugh. “You think you can handle Mulligan? Don’t you think you are a little out of your depth, Justine?”
The words squeezed her chest, shrinking her airways. Making her feel small. No matter how much she accomplished, the wife deserters she’d located, the people she helped, she would always be inexperienced, naive Justine to these two.
You’re too young to come downtown with us, Justine.
We’re talking about things you wouldn’t understand, Justine.
Stay behind and tell Mama I’m not feeling well, Justine.
Her sisters had no idea of the woman she’d become. Or the things she’d done and the things she hoped to do. Her sisters gambled, drank and kissed their way across the city . . . but they wouldn’t dare let her do the same.
And she was tired of it.
She threw her shoulders back, refusing to let them intimidate her. “Whether I am out of my depth or not, that’s for me to figure out. Not you. Do you know when I first started making trips downtown?” Both women stared at her, so she answered. “When I was thirteen. Neither of you had any idea, but I’d go to the Madison Square mission and pass out bread on Saturdays. I paid our governess to take me and not tell anyone. So, please do not lecture me on what I can and cannot handle.”
“Justine,” Mamie said calmly, as if her younger sister were hysterical, “passing out bread in a church hardly equates to keeping pace with Mulligan. We wouldn’t wish to see you hurt.”
“Mulligan won’t hurt me.”
Florence rolled her eyes heavenward. “You have no way of knowing that. He’s not a gentleman. Not even close.”
Frustrated beyond measure, Justine reached for her brush and began dragging it through her hair. “Let’s not forget that Chauncey, who is a gentleman, attacked Mamie in our gazebo. So please, do not extol the virtues of gentlemen to me.”
“She’s not listening to us,” Florence said to Mamie. “We’re wasting our breath.”
“Yes, you are,” Justine agreed. “So leave.”
“Justine, please believe us. I know you are stubborn and independent, but this goes too far. If you keep seeing him, I’ll have to tell Mama and Daddy.”
The brush fell from Justine’s hand onto the floor. “What?”
Mamie lifted her chin. “You heard me. Do not force me to tell them. Cease seeing Mulligan.”
“Get out.”
Florence frowned. “We are trying to help—”
“No, you aren’t,” Justine snapped. “You are acting like hypocrites. You assume you know what’s best for me, but you do not. So, get out. I need to sleep.”
Florence shook her head while Mamie sighed. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll leave. But I will tell Mama and Daddy if I think you’re