New York - The Novel

men asked where Hudson was.
    “I sent him out to Coney Island with some things for my sister,” he lied calmly. “He’ll be gone a day or two.” Meanwhile, his wife took food down to the cellar to feed the black man.
    “He’s not very happy down there,” she told him.
    “He’ll be happy he’s alive when this is over,” he answered. And soonafterward he visited Hudson and said to him once again: “You stay here, and don’t make a sound.”
    At two o’clock, however, he decided to walk over to the St. Nicholas Hotel himself, to find out what was going on.

    There were lines of policemen in front of the hotel when Hetty arrived, but they let her through. The hotel lobby was crowded. The mayor was in a private room, she was told, with a number of gentlemen. The manager himself happened to be at the desk at that moment, and he obligingly went in to the mayor to ask if Frank Master was there with him.
    “Your husband isn’t with the mayor,” he told her, “but I’ll have a boy ask round the lobby for you. He could be here somewhere.” Five minutes later, the boy returned and shook his head. “You’re welcome to wait, ma’am,” the manager said, and told the boy to find her a seat.
    Despite the bustle of people, the boy found her a sofa in a sitting room. It was by a large window from which she could see people entering the hotel. Gratefully, she sat down.
    She’d been there about five minutes when another lady entered the room. She was elegantly dressed, but she looked somewhat agitated. She glanced briefly past Hetty through the window, and seemed to be hesitating about whether to remain, or go back to the lobby. She evidently had not recognized Hetty. But Hetty recognized her. She rose with a smile.
    “Miss de Chantal?” Hetty held out her hand. “We met once at the opera. I am Mrs. Master.”
    Lily de Chantal seemed to go somewhat pale.
    “Oh, Mrs. Master.”
    “I am looking for my husband.”
    “Your husband?” The singer’s voice was a little high.
    “You haven’t seen him?”
    Lily de Chantal gazed at her uncertainly. “There are a lot of people in the lobby,” she said, after a slight pause.
    “I know.”
    As though remembering her part after almost missing a cue, Lily de Chantal seemed to recover herself.
    “I am sorry, Mrs. Master, if I seem a little distracted. I came in here for refuge. They have just told me that I should not go outside.”
    Hetty looked out of the window, then back at Lily de Chantal.
    “I hardly know what’s going on,” Hetty said.
    And it was perhaps as well that, just then, Sean O’Donnell came into the room.

    Talking to people in the lobby, it hadn’t taken Sean more than a few minutes to discover all he needed to know. The mayor’s tactic of sending small detachments of policemen to individual trouble spots had been a disaster. In every case they’d been overwhelmed. It was also clear that the attacks on black people were mounting swiftly, and that he’d been right to hide Hudson. He was only having a quick look round the public rooms, in case there was anyone of interest in them, before hurrying home.
    But knowing what he did about Frank Master and Lily de Chantal, the last thing in the world he’d expected was to see Lily and Hetty together. Whatever could it mean?
    “Mrs. Master.” He bowed politely. “What brings you here on such a day?” He made a quick bow to Lily as well.
    “I went to my husband’s counting house, Mr. O’Donnell, but he was not there. They told me he might have come here to find out what the mayor is doing about these riots.”
    Sean glanced at Lily, saw the look of relief on her face, and nodded gravely.
    “That’s exactly why I’m here myself,” he said. “Wherever your husband is, Mrs. Master, the wisest thing would be for you to go home. But on no account should you try to walk. Nor you, Miss de Chantal. I’ll speak to the manager and have him find you a cab, Mrs. Master. But it may take some time—most of them are off the streets.” And then, he could not resist it: “Miss de Chantal, I’m sure, will be glad to keep you company until a cab is found.”

    The old clerk at Master’s counting house had had enough. He had his own family to think of, and if Mr. Master hadn’t come back by now, he reckoned he wasn’t coming this day, anyhow. The only question was, what to do about the message from Master’s wife. Pin a note on the door? That, it seemed to the clerk, would look wrong, and beneath