In a Gilded Cage by Rhys Bowen Page A

staying at a hotel.”
    “Do you know which one?”
    “We filled out a prescription for them, so it will be on file at the shop.”
    “Then we can look it up after lunch.”
    “It will have to be surreptitiously,” Emily said. “Mr. McPherson is sure to make a fuss if he sees me nosing through his prescription files.”
    “Then I had better not accompany you. He was clearly annoyed by my presence the first time,” I said. “Drop me a note with the name of the hotel and then I can go to work.”
    “Of course. I’ll send it out in the afternoon post, with Old McPherson’s stamp on it too.” She laughed. “Dear me, that doesn’t sound like the child of dead missionaries, does it? But he really doesn’t have to be so unpleasant.”
    “Is he equally nasty to Ned?”
    “Marginally less so, I’d say. But Ned sticks it out because he is learning a lot. Whatever his temperament, Mr. McPherson certainly knows his stuff. He is a whiz at compounding.”
    “Compounding?”
    “Mixing the various remedies to exactly the right proportions. It’s a delicate business, as you can well imagine. Some of our cures contain deadly elements that can kill in larger doses. A druggist has to be extremely precise.”
    The waitress came to take our plates and I insisted on paying the bill.
    “But I’m the one who is hiring you,” Emily protested.
    “You’ve already hired me and now we’re on my time.” I laughed. “So when should we arrange to meet again? Do you have free time at the weekend? I should have something to report by then.”
    “Usually I have alternate Saturday afternoons free,” Emily said. “But Mrs. Hartmann, the other counter assistant, who has been with the firm for years, is out sick with some kind of grippe, so I will be doing her Saturday duty. But Sunday afternoon I’ll be free.”
    “What about Ned? Doesn’t he have priority over your free time?”
    “He goes to see his mother on Sundays. She lives in Brooklyn and is not in the best of health. He’s a most devoted son. He gives her a generous portion of his earnings.”
    “So will you be required to have her in your home when you marry?” I asked.
    She blushed again. “He hasn’t yet officially proposed to me. He wants to establish himself in his career first, so I know we may have a long wait. Oh, but he is worth it, Molly. I know he’s bound for great things.”
    “And in the meantime,” I said, “what about you? I understand from Gus that you were one of the most gifted students in your class. Can you also not further your education in some way like Ned?”
    “There is little point if Mr. McPherson won’t even let me into the dispensatory room. One cannot learn pharmacy skills by reading and observing. Ned provides me with books to read and notes from his lectures, so I am quite well informed, but there it must probably rest.”
    “That’s a shame,” I said.
    “Life is unfair. I’ve come to accept it,” she said.
    With that we parted company.

Seven
    E mily’s note arrived for me in the mail the next morning. The hotel was on Broadway, not too far from McPherson’s. I took the El again, noting as the train made its way north that spring had indeed finally come to New York City. Windows on the second floor, beside the track, were open, and bedding was laid out to air. Some windows even sported window boxes with a bright splash of daffodils or tulips. Women below were beating rugs, scrubbing steps. It was spring cleaning time. Which reminded me that I should be doing a little of the same myself. I put that thought aside. I had done enough housekeeping during my formative years to cure me of any desire for extra tasks. My mother had died when I was fourteen and I had taken care of three untidy brothers and an equally untidy, ungrateful father. I resolved to ask Sid about her Italian window washer.
    The train stopped at Seventy-third and I alighted. The hotel was a block to the north on Broadway. As I reached the corner, I paused