The Address(76)

“She admitted it and is now in prison.”

Daisy had been upset when Mr. Douglas had not increased her wages after her mother’s death. But would she really resort to stealing from the tenants? And even worse, let Sara take the blame for her misdeeds? Unimaginable. But something else nagged at Sara. Their food arrived. Sara waited until the servers were out of earshot. “If Daisy did admit to the crimes, why didn’t anyone come for me, set me free?”

“The agent at the Dakota, Mr. Douglas, told everyone you’d gone back to England. The last thing he wanted was to set you free and have you make a fuss.” She took a bite of roast beef and moaned. “Delicious! In any event, he’s no longer the agent at the Dakota. Not after it got out in the papers.”

“What exactly got out?” Sara’s stomach hurt. She couldn’t imagine eating anything right now.

“It wasn’t enough for my own experience to be told. I also wanted to get you free, to right an injustice, and to do so, I had to write about what had happened to you.”

“What did you write about me?” Sara’s mind reeled. The affair, the baby. Nellie was an intrepid journalist, and she already knew so much. Sara had been brutally honest when they spoke in that dank cell.

“I’ll show you the story when we get back upstairs.” She caught Sara’s eye. “Don’t worry, I wrote that you were a good lady, a proper one, who had been tossed away and that when the real thief was exposed, no one bothered to release you from what was a cruel, terrible institution.”

“I see.”

“What’s even better, as a show of remorse, the new agent of the Dakota is offering you your job back. They need to get on the right side of the public, you see. So you’ll be reinstated as lady managerette as soon as you’re ready.”

Nellie’s face glowed with pleasure.

Sara began to shake. “I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t.”

Nellie reached over and covered her hand with her own. “No need to make any decisions right how. I imagine the reentry into regular life is going to be a difficult one, after you’ve spent the past seven months thinking all was lost. I was there for ten days and I’m still not sure which end is up. Sleep and rest and we have a couple of days of hiding out here until you decide what you want to do next.”

“I don’t belong here. I’m not of this ilk. It’s all too much.”

“Trust me, you’ll get used to it fast enough. Tomorrow there’s someone who wants to see you, if you’re up to it.”

“Who?”

“A man who contacted me the day your story was published. He said you’d want to see him. A Mr. Theodore Camden.”



Sleep came fast that evening. Sara collapsed into the down bedding and gave in to the warmth of the room, sensations that she’d only dreamed of at Blackwell’s. She startled awake at dawn, the image of Natalia crying driving her out of a deep slumber. How could she have left her behind? And so many others?

Nellie arrived an hour later, followed by waitstaff carrying trays of breakfast food for them, more than either would be able to eat. Potato omelettes, egg toast, biscuits. Sara’s eyes welled up at the gluttony laid out on the table.

“Don’t cry, please don’t cry.” Nellie sat back. “I need you to toughen up. We’ll take advantage of your fame and this will all be behind you before you know it.”

“I can’t imagine I’ll ever forget Blackwell’s. What I saw there.” For the first time, it dawned on her what a risk Nellie had taken by being voluntarily admitted. “Why did you do it? Did you know what you were getting into?”

Nellie spooned some jam onto a triangle of toast. “Not really. I’d heard rumors. But I’m not one to report on tea parties or the latest gowns from Paris. My editors know that, and I knew they would protect me.”

“Still. What if you’d been lost, like I was?”

“I was more valuable to my editors on the outside, exposing what was going on. They wouldn’t have dared leave me behind.”

“I envy you, in control of your own life.” Sara shook her head. “I thought I was doing the same, but look what happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Remember that and stay strong. You have a lot of decisions to make.” Nellie poured her some coffee and insisted she eat a hard-boiled egg. Sara did as she was told, luxuriating in the slipperiness of the egg white in contrast to the chalky yolk on her tongue. As good as caviar.

She knew what she wanted to do first off. “I’ll need to speak with Mr. Camden.”

“Right. He wants you to come to his offices.”

“Hardenbergh’s office?”

“He gave me the address. I’ll bring you there.”

Nellie expertly extracted them from the hotel out the back door, avoiding the wolf pack of journalists, and into a waiting hack. They pulled up in front of a building on Madison Avenue in the Forties. “He said it’s on the second floor. I’ll stay in the carriage.”

Sara welcomed the darkness of the stairway and didn’t pass another soul before arriving at the door marked THEO. CAMDEN, ARCHITECT.

He’d gone into business for himself.

She turned the doorknob and found herself standing in a large room that contained an empty desk and a leather armchair. An open door on the far wall led to a smaller office. Theo came flying toward her before she could even register who he was.