Daniel deliberately folded his paper and put it away, silently signaling that he would detrain at the next stop. In response, he saw Genevieve stand near the doors, head bent to hide her face, ready to step off if he did. The clamorous rattling of the train slowed, brakes screeching in protest. Once the doors whooshed open, Daniel moved quickly again, out in a flash and down the stairs two at a time, joining the mass of moving humanity on Rivington Street.
A torrent of voices, many speaking German, washed over him from all sides. This was the heart of Kleindeutschland, or Little Germany: a vibrant, bustling neighborhood, full of restaurants, oyster houses, photographer’s studios, and delicatessens, with brightly painted signs in English, Hebrew, and German. Daniel ducked down a side street and crossed toward the Bowery, leaving Little Germany and making his way uptown toward Houston Street, casually following the stream of pedestrian traffic.
It was midday, and the streets were terribly crowded, everyone eager to take advantage of the sparse winter sunshine. He wasn’t certain Genevieve was keeping pace, but he had a feeling she was still back there. Sure enough, as he paused before the well-kept brick townhouse at Twenty-Five East Houston, he could see her several feet away, putting a coin into the can of an organ-grinder. He grinned, wondering idly if she’d try to follow him inside. After ringing the bell, a very large red-haired man pulled the door open a crack and peered at him, then opened it wider with a smile.
“Good afternoon, Mr. McCaffrey. I’ll let Miss Dugan know you’re here.” Augustus closed the door behind them, and Daniel handed over his coat and hat to a nearby maid.
“Thanks, Augustus.” He allowed the bouncer to Lead him to his cousin, who as usual had outdone herself in the meal she had waiting.
He peered out one of the front windows from behind a curtain, looking for his shadow.
She was standing on the sidewalk in front of the townhouse, openmouthed, staring at the facade. She’d undoubtedly seen the red light shining next to the modest black door; less bright in daytime but still visible, it was an instant and obvious visual shorthand to passersby. Twenty-Five East Houston was an establishment where certain services could be purchased. Female services.
In short, it was a brothel. As he watched, she looked around confusedly for a moment, then dodged an oncoming fire engine to cross the street, eventually settling in a café across the way, her gaze fixed on the front of the house.
Daniel dropped the curtain back into place, feeling a curious mix of frustration, amusement, and intrigue surrounding the fact that Genevieve had not only managed to follow him but was now keeping vigil across Houston Street, presumably waiting for him to leave and ready to pick up his trail the moment he did.
Behind him, Kathleen shook her head. “You’re losing your touch, Danny, if one of them was able to follow you here. Gone soft overseas?”
Daniel snorted. “I let her follow, Kathy.”
His cousin’s eyebrows rose high. “Her?” she exclaimed, her Irish brogue still distinct despite her years in New York. “What, you let a girlfriend follow you here? That’s not very kind of you, Danny, if you don’t mind me saying so. It’s unlike you.”
“She’s a reporter, not a girlfriend,” he replied, making his way back to the table.
Somehow Kathleen managed to look even more surprised. “What are you playing at, Danny? Why would you let a reporter follow you to my house? It’ll be all over the papers.”
“It hasn’t yet.”
“She’s likely just biding her time,” Kathleen pointed out. “And even though you won’t take more than tea and toast from me, she’ll be writing that you’ve got one of my girls hanging from the ceiling so you can have your way with her.”
Daniel rolled his eyes at her. “First, this is hardly tea and toast,” he began, gesturing toward the ornate table laid with roast pig, three kinds of vegetables, and a delectable French vintage.
Kathleen waved this off. “It’s a figure of speech, and you know it.”
“Second,” Daniel continued, “the paper couldn’t print that even if she wrote it.”
Now it was Kathleen’s turn to roll her eyes. “They could make it sound like such, and you know that too.”
He did. The papers had intimated all kinds of things about him when he’d inherited Jacob Van Joost’s fortune. Some had even come close to the truth.
“I can’t put my finger on it, Kathy, but I trust her,” he admitted softly, moving to look out the window again. He had a clear view of Genevieve across the street. She had removed her head scarf, and gaslight from the just-lit streetlamps reflected on her bright hair. A waiter set down a cup of tea in front of her, and she glanced at it in distaste.
Kathleen interrupted his train of thought. “More fool you, mark my words,” she warned.
“I think she’s sincere in what she’s attempting. Misguided, perhaps, but sincere.”
Kathleen snorted. “The same could be said of those religious types who give my girls hassle on the street for the way they earn their living.”
He shook his head, still watching the café. “It’s not the same.”
Her small huff of breath made her opinion obvious, but she held her tongue on the matter. “She’s still there?”
Daniel nodded mutely. He heard his cousin laugh behind him. “Well then, Danny, it looks like you’ll finally be spending the night with us. She’s got you trapped. Now, I’ll ring Augustus to have a maid make up a room. Are you sure you don’t want some company? You know my girls are the best in town. And sit, eat something.”
“As always, I appreciate the offer, but no. You know I wish you’d get into a different line of work.”
“I know it, Danny,” Kathleen replied, “and I appreciate the financial help. It’s because of your loan I can be discriminating about our
