New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [238]
And tomorrow, Monday morning, the draft selection was to resume.
Broadway was quiet as he and Hudson walked along. The sun was bright. They crossed Canal Street. Still no sign of trouble. But Sean knew that didn’t mean a thing. Having got Hudson safely to Prince Street, he said to him as they parted: “Come straight back to the saloon after church. And when you get home, fix the bar on those shutters.”
From Prince Street, he kept walking north. After a little while, he went right for a block, then picked up the Bowery. He was watchful as he walked. Still not many people about. At East Fourteenth, he turned right, then up Irving Place, into Gramercy Park.
He hadn’t been to the Masters’ house for some time. It was quite a few years now since his relationship with Mary had ceased to be a secret, and he’d come to see her there once in a while. Everyone knew that he could well afford to look after her, but she was perfectly happy where she was. He’d have liked to see her married, but she’d told him not to interfere, and he reckoned she was old enough to know what she wanted.
He encountered Frank Master from time to time. He’d long since repaid Master’s kindly treatment of him back in ’53, with an offer to buy into some property the mayor was releasing at a sharply discounted price. And a year after that, chancing to meet him down on South Street, Master had done him another good turn.
“There’s a fellow I know who’s got room for one more investor in a small venture,” he’d told Sean. “Profits might be high, if you don’t mind a little risk.” Sean had only hesitated a moment. Trust the man, was his credo.
“I’d be interested,” he’d said.
Sean had taken quite a bit of cash out of his strongbox to make that investment. And returned three times that amount to the box, a few months later. Since then, he and Frank Master had done small favors for each other, from time to time. In fact, he’d done a discreet service for Master just the other day.
Sean went to the front door, not the tradesmen’s entrance. He always made a point of doing that. A maid came to answer it. But in reply to his question, she told him that Mary wasn’t there.
“She went to Coney Island with her friend. She’ll be gone all this week.”
He’d known about the plan, and that they’d delayed it for a while. He felt slightly annoyed that Mary hadn’t told him before she left. On the other hand, he was glad that she was out of the city just now. And he was just turning to leave when Mrs. Master appeared behind the maid and, seeing him there, motioned him to come in. He stepped from the bright sunlight into the shadowy space of the hall.
“Good morning, Mr. O’Donnell,” she said. “I’m afraid Mary’s away.”
“I knew they were going,” he said, “but I didn’t know they’d already left.”
Mrs. Master wasn’t the kind of woman he liked. A privileged evangelical, a fervent abolitionist, a damned Republican. When ninety-two society ladies had got up a committee to improve the city’s sanitation, he hadn’t been surprised to learn that she was one of them. Perhaps they did some good. He didn’t much care.
But she’d been a good friend to Mary. And that was the only thing he needed to know.
“I have the address where they’re staying,” she offered. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, I don’t believe so.” He paused a moment. “The reason I called, Mrs. Master, is that I think there’s going to be trouble.”
“Oh. What kind of trouble, Mr. O’Donnell?”
“Trouble in the streets. I hope I’m wrong, but I wanted to tell her to be careful. You and Mr. Master, too,” he added.
“Oh,” she said again. His vision had adjusted to the shadow of the hall, and now he noticed that she was looking unusually pale. Her eyes were red, too, as if she’d been crying. “If you happen to see my husband,” she said, “please be sure to tell him. In fact …” she seemed to hesitate, and he saw a little look of desperation in her eyes—“just so I know he’s safe, you might ask him to come home.”
The St. Nicholas Hotel was huge. Its white marble facade dominated the whole block between Broome and Spring Street on Broadway