Page 59 of If Looks Could Kill

Across the street from me was Steve Brodie’s saloon and, beneath it, the Salvation Army base.

My former comrades would soon sit down to a meal of the soup the ladies made, but I knew sometimes Purse Laurier stepped out for a diner meal.

I needed to talk to him, though I couldn’t bear the thought of confronting my former fellow soldiers with their thousand questions.

People streamed out of doors. They passed by in their New York rush, heedless of Pearl’s world collapsing all around her, and, for that matter, mine.

They took no notice of me, for which I was grateful.

I didn’t like being seen on the Bowery. I prayed my ordinary clothes would throw Mother Rosie’s bloodhounds off the scent.

I saw a flash of the dark blue and red of an Army uniform, then Purse’s glossy black curls.

I darted into the wide street and was nearly trampled by a pair of draft horses pulling a wagonload of beer barrels. I ignored the “Watch where you’re going!” and wove my way to the opposite side just in time to catch Purse at a corner.

“Brother Percival,” I called to him. “Wait. Please. I need to talk to you.”

He turned and saw me. His eyes grew wide.

“Miss Tabitha,” he said. “I heard you’d left. And Pearl.”

“Yes,” I said, for lack of anything snappier.

“And I heard something about both of you, and a brothel.”

I tried to behave as though this were perfectly normal. “I see word travels quickly.”

His perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. “So it’s true?”

What Pearl ever saw in him… besides perfect hair, eyes, physique, voice, teeth…

“So what’s true, Mr. Laurier?”

He blustered a bit. “That you both were… er, involved in a brothel. Somehow.”

He at least had the grace to look awkward. I, on the other hand, was livid.

“Not as financial backers,” I said crisply. “Not as landlords, employees, or clients.”

Those Grecian features contorted in horror. “Is this any time to be so vulgar?”

“It seems to me,” I snapped, “that the vulgar assumptions are yours.”

A shadow fell across Purse Laurier’s face as the broad form of Captain Paddy Campbell joined the conversation and blocked the sun.

“Sister Tabitha,” he said warmly. “Are you all right? You look like you’ve done a round with a garden rake.” He pantomimed a jovial punch. “I hope you gave better than you got.”

I pressed my hands over my cheeks. “Bit of a mishap,” I said. “I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

His expression grew serious. “Is there any news of Pearl?” he asked. “Sister Carrie said she’d left the Army suddenly. Awfully sorry to see her go. Is she all right?”

His kindness hit me, and I blinked hard. You, tears, you stay back where you belong.

“She’s a bit… unwell,” I admitted. “She’s left abruptly. I was hoping”—I couldn’t bring myself to name Purse Laurier aloud—“she might have gotten word to somebody here.”

That was the real lie. I knew she wouldn’t. The chance that she would communicate with Purse in her current state had been nil from the start. But when you’re grasping at straws, you grasp.

Purse shook his head. “She didn’t send me anything.”

Paddy removed his cap. “Nor I,” he said, “of course.” He leaned closer. “What’s this about both of you in a brothel tussle?” His eyes gleamed. “Was this a rescue operation?”

I shot a barbed look at Sir Percival the Not-So-Glorious.

“Something like it,” I said. “It unfolded more or less, er, spontaneously.”

Paddy whistled. “That’s brave. You’re lucky to be alive, and no mistake.” He clapped a palm over his opposite fist and pretended to administer a near-fatal elbow jab at a villain. “Next time, take me. I’ll send those rascals’ heads rolling while you rescue the unfortunate ladies.”

“I appreciate it,” I said helplessly.

Paddy’s face grew sober. “There was a woman here, this morning, asking about you.”

“What did she look like?”

Paddy considered this. “She was… slim,” he said. “Dark hair. Very elegant clothing. She stood out, you might say.”

My insides turned to ice. “What did she say?”

“Something about you, Pearl, and two friends. She wanted to know where to find you.”

My heart sank down to my boots. “Did anyone tell her?”

Paddy glanced at Purse, who shook his head. He knew about her too?

“None of us knew where you were, anyhow,” Paddy said. “So nobody told her anything.”

I sagged with relief. “She’s the brothel madam,” I admitted. “Never tell her anything.”

I trembled with fear, then scolded myself for it. You knew she’d come looking. This shouldn’t surprise you. Focus on Pearl.

“Er, can you think of any places,” I ventured, “where Pearl might have gone?”

Purse shrugged. “Nothing comes to mind.”

Captain Paddy tapped his chin. “I wonder…,” he mused. “Sister Pearl loves music. Might she be, perhaps, at a music store?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think she could buy much at present.”

Purse Laurier looked away.

“Or listening to a recital somewhere?”

“There aren’t many of those,” I told him, “on Monday mornings.”

“I suppose not.” This boxer wasn’t about to give up on the fight. “She’s fond of the little ones, isn’t she?” The idea grew on him. “Have you tried checking the Foundling Asylum?”

“I haven’t,” I told him gratefully. “I’ll do that.” Maybe, the comfort of babies…

“We’d better go,” Purse told Paddy. “Lunch lines will be around the block by now.”

The boxer ignored this. “Sister Tabitha,” he said, “are you afraid Pearl is in some danger?” He produced a clean handkerchief and handed it to me. “Isn’t it more likely that she’s just gone home?”

“I believe she left of her own accord,” I said miserably.

“That’s a mercy, then,” Paddy said gently. “We’ll pray for her. And we’ll pray that she just went home for the rest she needs.” He thrust out a huge hand for me to shake. “We’re at your service. If we can be of any help, you have only to ask.”

At my service. One of them was, anyway. I sniffled and cried all the way to the Foundling Asylum, where, as I knew would be the case, nobody had seen or heard tell of Pearl. But thank God for Paddy Campbell. Thank God, in a time of need, for a friendly face and a sympathetic heart that cared.