compatible and would make each other laugh. Was Sarah and Monty’s marriage as much of an arranged affair as little Bo Kei’s to Mr. Lee?
Of course the moment I thought of Sarah, I had a brilliant idea. If my girl had ventured a block or two beyond Chinatown, she might have found one of the settlement houses, and they did have beds for destitute women. They would have certainly taken her in. I decided that I would go and enlist Sarah’s help right away. So I headed back up Elizabeth, across Canal, and located the settlement house. It was a tenement building like the others on that street, and the only things that distinguished it were the bright yellow painted front door and bright curtains in the windows. The front door opened and I went inside. It didn’t smell like the usual tenement either, but more like a hospital with plenty of disinfectant. A bell jangled as I opened the front door and immediately a young woman appeared.
She appraised me, then smiled. “How can I help you?”
She was simply dressed, but the cut and quality of the cloth were evident, as was the smooth, educated tone of her voice.
“I was wondering if I could speak with Sarah Lindley.”
“I’m afraid Sarah’s not here today,” she said. “And I don’t know when she’ll be in again. She sent word that she is so occupied with wedding preparations that she can’t promise if or when she can return. She is to be married soon, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “I just saw her fiance so I assumed he had escorted her here as usual.”
“Not today. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Then please come through into the parlor. I believe it’s unoccupied at the moment.” She led me through to the room on the right. A young man was sitting on a sofa reading a newspaper, which he folded hastily when he saw us.
“I thought you were on kitchen duty this morning, Teddy,” she said. “Don’t tell me you’ve already finished?”
Teddy flushed and got to his feet. “Well, no, but the girls seemed to have it all under control so I thought—well, dash it all, Hermione, a fellow isn’t exactly cut out for peeling potatoes.”
“This fellow had better learn if he’s going to stay here,” the girl said. “Go on. Off with you. We need privacy. And don’t take the paper with you.”
She shook her head, smiling as he left. “That one’s not going to last long. It’s too much of a shock for some of them who have been pampered all their lives. Sarah was one of our best, unfortunately. It’s too bad we’re losing her. Do sit down, Miss…?”
“Murphy. Molly Murphy,” I said. “I’ve come to you with a strange request. I’m looking for a missing Chinese girl. I wondered if you’ve ever come across one at the house?”
“Actually we have a girl here at the moment,” she said. “Frankly we’re not sure what to do with her next.”
“You do? How long has she been with you?”
“Only a few days.”
“Then this sounds like the girl I am looking for. Could I possibly see her?”
“May I ask why?” Her face took on a guarded look again.
“I’ve been asked to find her by her family.”
“Her family?” The expression changed to one of incredulity. “Her family is looking for her? We had no idea she had a family. They usually don’t. Well, that can only be good, can’t it? We were wondering what would become of her. She’s not at all well, you see. I should warn you that we think it’s possible she has tuberculosis—consumption, you know. So she could be infectious, but I’ll bring you to her if you want to take that risk.”
“Yes, I do.” My heart was thumping with excitement. She wasn’t well. Was that the reason she ran away?
Hermione led me up well-worn linoleum stairs, one flight and then two. The third flight was plain wood, narrow, and steep. “It’s quite a climb,” she said, “but awfully good for the figure, all this running up and down.”
As we came onto the landing a door opened and another young woman came out, this one wearing a large white apron and a white cap over her hair.
“How is the patient, Marigold?”
“A little better. She’s eating well, but she still has that terrible cough.”
“She has a visitor, and maybe some good news,” Hermione said, and ushered me into the room.
The frail Chinese girl lay propped on her pillows looking like a porcelain doll. The girl in my photograph had looked healthy and robust. This one looked as if she was wasting away, but she sat up as we came into the room.
“Hello,” I said, smiling at her. “Do you speak English?”
“Little bit,” she said. She was eyeing me warily.
“Are you Bo Kei?” I asked.
She frowned as if she didn’t understand.
“Bo Kei? You came from China as a bride?”
She nodded, her eyes still darting as if she might be considering flight.
“Bride of Mr. Lee Sing Tai?”
Her expression changed. “Lee Sing Tai?” She spat out the words in staccato fashion; then she actually raised
