The policeman, who had been checking all the doors along his beat to make sure they were locked, stepped into the glow of the gaslit streetlamp and squinted over at them. “On a call, are you?”

“That’s right.”

“Not going far at this hour, I hope.”

“Oh, no, just to Mrs. Higgins’s house.”

He nodded, the light winking off the star on his domed helmet. “Get along with you then.”

She knew better than to expect an offer of safe escort. The New York police were notoriously corrupt, in spite of recent attempts at reform, and Sarah couldn’t afford to pay for their protection. She had to satisfy herself with winning their goodwill with small gifts for their children and the occasional sweet, baked in her makeshift kitchen. All she could hope was that if she ever truly needed help, they would come to her aid.

Obviously, Ham Fisher had no desire for a police escort. He was already hurrying away, pulling his cap back down over his head when Sarah reached him. She wondered for a moment if he had some reason to avoid notice by the police, but the thought was gone as soon as it formed. No one poor and powerless wanted to be noticed by the police, who might arrest you simply because they felt like it and might then beat a confession out of you for some crime you hadn’t committed but for which they needed a suspect.

Sarah had long since denied herself the luxury of outrage over such things. One woman couldn’t change the world. She could just make small parts of it better. That’s what she was doing tonight.

She was fairly running to keep up with her companion now, and they reached the wide, snow-covered sidewalks of Fifth Avenue in mere minutes. Checking for traffic, Sarah glanced down the street toward Washington Square where she could see the outline of the enormous arch they’d built there recently, practically on the doorstep of the house where she’d grown up.