The Address(21)

“No, there’s been no time.”

“You need to see the sights. Tomorrow morning, then. At the same time, I can check in at the office and we can purchase some fabric for the drapes. Thank you for offering to make them—as long as you’re sure it won’t take you away from your duties.”

“Of course not. I assume you’d like them to be Limoges green?” She couldn’t help but tease, and was rewarded when he laughed out loud. She liked his laugh.

“I knew I made the right decision to ship you overseas, Mrs. Smythe.”

Sara slipped out into the hallway before he could notice the blush spreading across her cheeks.





CHAPTER EIGHT



New York City, September 1884


Sara had been asleep only a few hours when the sound of heavy footsteps woke her up. A man’s footsteps. They stopped, and for a moment she thought she’d imagined it. A storm had rocketed through earlier in the evening, bringing with it lightning and fierce, rolling thunder, like the dynamite used to break through the granite boulders along the avenues. But this sound wasn’t thunder. She strained to listen, but now all was still. Unnaturally so.

Someone was outside, in the hallway.

She put her ear against the door but heard only the blood drumming in her ears. She grabbed a poker from the fireplace and yanked the door open.

A man.

He wasn’t one of the staff, she was fairly certain of that. In the dim light, he appeared to be in his late twenties, with a dark beard and mustache.

Her voice quavered. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

He looked away, behind her. “I work here, a builder. Sorry, ma’am. Got lost, is all.”

“No one is meant to be here after hours.”

From around the corner, Mrs. Haines appeared, pulling her wrapper around her and carrying a lamp. “He came out of Daisy’s room.”

The man tensed.

Sara’s insides crumpled with fear. Her breathing was shallow, cutting off the possibility of speech.

“How many are you, then?” The man had a rough voice, thick with menace.

Mrs. Haines glanced over at Sara, her face white with fear.

Sara held the fireplace poker firmly in her hand, pointed midway between the floor and horizontal. At the ready. “There are eight of us on this floor.”

The man eyed the poker, then Sara. “Eight? Where are the other five, then?”

“You best be gone.”

“Is that right?”

His sneering tone reminded her of Mr. Ainsworth, from when she apprenticed as a seamstress. Someone who enjoyed wielding power. As well as Mr. Birmingham, with his filthy looks at the young Langham maids. The Dakota was now her domain, her responsibility, and the thought of this man strutting about like a peacock, as if he owned the place, infuriated her.

An electrical energy surged through Sara. Without thinking, she heaved the poker up over her head and let out a scream that echoed down the hallway, hurting her own ears. The dramatic transformation, from quivering lady in distress to screeching madwoman, worked. In a flash the man was gone, sprinting down the hall and turning the corner. The poker fell to the floor with a clatter, leaving a white scar in the newly varnished floor.

Mrs. Haines and Sara scrambled around the corner. Daisy’s door was cracked open and at first it seemed the room was empty. Until the girl emerged from behind the bed, crying.

A wave of memories flooded over Sara. Of smiling at the seamstress’s husband, who was so kind at first. Of him moving past her and brushing his hand over the small of her back, a gesture that was difficult to parse as to its exact meaning. Of such pride in her work, in what she could accomplish at the sewing machine, and how wonderful it was to hear compliments from him, as his wife was so dour and cold. She’d been a young, eager girl, like Daisy.

“Daisy, are you all right?”

Daisy took a moment to answer, as her big eyes filled with tears. “Yes, Mrs. Smythe. I was in my room and he entered, and . . .” She trailed off.

Sara grabbed Mrs. Haines and Daisy and herded them into her own room, then locked the door behind her. Together, she and Mrs. Haines lifted the desk and placed it in front of the door. She grabbed a handkerchief and sat next to Daisy on the bed. “Here, take this.”

“He said he was lost, but then he pushed his way inside.” Daisy’s voice wavered with fear.

“There now, we’re safe.” Sara looked up at Mrs. Haines, whose face was pale in the lamplight. “We’ll stay together until the morning. He can’t get out through the gate, as Fitzroy locked it behind him, so he’ll be discovered when they all arrive.”

She went to the window, hoping that she might see Mr. Camden and call for help, but all was dark in the courtyard below. “I’ll discuss this with Mr. Camden first thing and make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Hopefully, Mr. Camden slept with his doors locked.

“I’ll feel better when the other residents arrive,” said Daisy.

“No matter what, you ought to lock your door and never open it to an unfamiliar voice.” Mrs. Haines’s tone was chiding.

And unacceptable. “The poor girl has been through enough,” said Sara. “Let’s leave her be.” She didn’t know how to ask the question that dogged her. “How long was he in your room?”