Bless the Bride

will betray the presence of Chinese girls there?”
    “No, I’m not at all sure. If they stay hidden upstairs, then maybe they are safe, but if they come down to communal meals, then anyone could inadvertently give them away. The house is too close to Chinatown. Our only chance is to spirit her far away as soon as possible. So if you two could get to work trying to find a position for her—”
    “Molly, we’re planning your party, remember?” Gus said. “We’ve a host of people coming who will need to be fed and entertained. We’ve decorations to design, food to make, drinks to order. Can’t you put off reporting in to your Chinaman for a day or so? He can’t expect you to work miracles in a single day, surely?”
    “I suppose you’re right,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll want to hear from me immediately, and I don’t think I could face him in person, but I could write a letter to let him know that I am still working hard on the case, and then hand-deliver it to his secretary.”
    This decision made me feel better. At least I had bought myself some time and the girl would be safe, unless Mr. Lee had his own spies out looking as well. I went to my room and composed the letter carefully, trying not to tell an outright lie in it. It must have been that Catholic upbringing and the beatings from my mother that made it so hard for me to tell an untruth. So I simply stated that she had not been at any of the missions around Chinatown—which was true—and that I was now expanding my search further afield and hoped to have news for him soon.
    And I hoped to come up with a brilliant solution before I had to see him again. Maybe if Sid and Gus could find someone to take Bo Kei in as a servant, I could truthfully claim that she had left the city and I had no means of tracing her. Or maybe a convent somewhere would take her in. I could look into convents suitably far from the city.
    I was feeling considerably more hopeful by the time I alighted from the El at Chatham Square the next morning. One way or another this would sort itself out. I made my way through the bustling Saturday morning crowd to Frederick Lee’s office on the Bowery. I went up the stairs and found the outer door shut. I knocked on it, gently at first and then louder. Nobody came. I waited, then had to admit that Frederick Lee was not there. Was his employer enlightened enough to give him Saturdays off, I wondered.
    I wasn’t sure what to do now. I could just post the letter through the mail slot, but then tomorrow was Sunday and the next day was the Labor Day holiday so Mr. Lee would not receive it until Tuesday. This might mean that he’d send someone looking for me long before then. I supposed my only course of action was to take the letter to the Golden Dragon Emporium and ask one of the employees there to deliver it to Mr. Lee. Of course there was a risk that I might encounter Mr. Lee himself on the street or in the shop, but I decided that was preferable to Mr. Lee sending someone to find me where I was living. I didn’t want to put Sid and Gus in any kind of jeopardy. So I took a deep breath and crossed the Bowery to Mott Street.
    Again there was the instant contrast between the chaos of the Bowery and the relative tranquility of the Chinese street. I spotted Kitty Chiu playing jump rope with some friends and a couple of old Italian women in black veils, huddled together and clutching each other’s arms for protection as they went into the Catholic church. Then I heard the sound of footsteps and a loud American voice booming, “This way if you please, ladies and gentlemen.” And around the corner from Park Street came an unlikely procession. It was led by a large, florid man with that typically Irish face. He was wearing a bowler hat perched jauntily on top of an impressive head of hair, and a jacket adorned with a row of pearl buttons, in spite of the warm day. He was carrying a megaphone. Behind him came a group of well-dressed and respectable-looking American men and women—mostly women, it must be noted, and mostly women of my own age.
    “What you are about to see will shock you to the very core,” the Irishman boomed through the megaphone to his wide-eyed charges, his voice echoing back from the tall buildings on either side. “Please, ladies, do not faint. Deese streets here are particularly dirty underfoot and you would spoil dose pretty dresses.” In spite of the Irish appearance, he spoke with the strong accent of