Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 66: Probing
"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Pulitzer. Thank you for your visit, and I do hope you'll have a pleasant afternoon."
Katherine forced herself to smile politely as the interim warden of The Refuge gave her a little bow and held open the gate of the property for her. He'd escorted her to the edge of the premises himself - a detail that was not lost on her - and was now waiting with thinly-concealed impatience for her to leave.
"The pleasure was mine, Mr. Drivner," she replied smoothly as she swept through the gate. "And the visit was quite educational, thank you." She gave him a little nod of her head, then started down the road, not bothering to look behind her as she did so.
"It seems rather odd that the daughter of Joseph Pulitzer would make the journey back to Manhattan on foot," the warden called after her.
Katherine composed her features into a look of innocent surprise, then turned to smile sweetly at the vulture-like man. "How kind of you to be concerned!" she exclaimed, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. "I actually prefer to walk when I can. Our family physician says that sunshine is good for the constitution, and Papa doesn't mind in the slightest." Let him think that she was nothing more than a naive and overly-indulged young woman who was simply out satisfying her curiosity of how "the other half" lived - it was the persona she'd attempted to portray when she'd shown up unannounced at the door of The Refuge, and if she played it right, she could twist even this little bit of suspicion in her favor.
She'd chosen to identify herself by her birth name after some deliberation - it would only raise suspicions to announce herself as a reporter, and the Pulitzer surname at least afforded her some clout when it came to gaining entry to places that clearly did not want any visitors from the outside. She'd caught the staff by surprise - which had been her intent so that the observations she made while on the premises would be undoctored and reflective of the establishment's true condition - and while they'd initially balked at her request to tour the grounds (she'd implied -without actually saying as much - that she was visiting various institutions with the aim of determining which of them would be worthy recipients of a charitable donation from Pulitzer's large coffers), the reluctance in their eyes had been easy enough to read even as they'd agreed to her appeal.
The interim warden himself - the man who was filling in for Snyder - had personally shown her around, taking her on a circuitous route that Katherine half-suspected was meant to pull the wool over her eyes rather than actually give her a tour of the place. They'd seen some of the outdoor exercise facilities and had peeked into the refectory and the kitchen, but the dormitories and the administrative building had been left off of the itinerary, and there were several other edifices on the property that the warden hadn't even mentioned but that Katherine had an uneasy feeling about.
Before the visit ended, Katherine had asked if she could see the classrooms. The warden had agreed, but there had been a tightness in his voice that hadn't escaped her notice, and as he'd detoured them in the direction she'd requested, she could practically feel the irritation emanating off of him.
They'd interrupted one of the classes that had been in session, and Katherine had noticed how most of the pupils sat up straighter when the warden walked into the room. Some of the older ones in the back remained as they were, but she could sense the wariness in their eyes. Some of the youngest ones looked positively terrified.
Drivner had introduced her to the class and had explained the reason for her visit. He'd then called forward one of the younger students, a boy who couldn't have been much older than Les Jacobs, and pulled him over to Katherine.
"Tell Miss Pulitzer what you've been learning here," he'd commanded, and Katherine had forced herself not to wince at the sight of his bony fingers digging into the boy's arm.
The unfortunate pupil had mumbled out an answer, eliciting a sharp reprimand from Drivner who had barked at him to speak up, but Katherine had intervened at that point, saying that she'd heard everything perfectly and smiling kindly at the boy who had fled back to his seat the moment the warden released him.
They'd left the classroom shortly after that, and Drivner had escorted her to the edge of the property, but Katherine couldn't get the picture of what she'd just seen out of her head. The cramped, cheerless classroom with its dingy walls and dismal silence, the haunted look on the students' faces, the almost-fragile way some of them curled in on themselves while others ducked their heads, barely concealing the anger smoldering in their eyes...
There had been palpable fear and hatred in that room, and she couldn't shake the feeling of it, even as her steps took her further and further away from The Refuge and down the road. Thankfully, Drivner didn't say anything more to her, and when Katherine cautiously stole a glance over her shoulder, she saw that the warden had disappeared from sight.
Now free from his scrutiny, Katherine quickened her pace, a resolute determination settling over her even as her mind began to strategize. She hadn't really gotten the information she was looking for - Drivner's truncated tour had made sure of that - but she'd sensed the cruelty hovering just beneath The Refuge's veneer of stern correction and reform, and she was determined to expose it for what it was. If she couldn't get the information first-hand from her own investigation, she'd just need to interview those whose experience gave them the authority to speak on the subject. And in the meantime, she'd start feeling out who might be willing to publish her article.
Not for the first time, Katherine shook off the frustration that flared up whenever she found herself at an impasse due to her ex-reporter status. She'd assumed (perhaps too naively) that once the strike was settled, her father would have lifted his restriction on her professional activities, but he had not, and she was sure that it was deliberate, an indirect but insurmountable reminder that he was the one who really ran things in the newspaper world, and though she'd managed to defy him once, he he still held more power in his little finger than she did in her entire being.
She suspected that his curtailment had more to do with his concerns as a father and less to do with their professional rivalry (though he, of course, would never admit to that). The fact that he'd tried - in his prideful and slightly-condescending way - to look out for her by offering Jack the cartoonist job hadn't been at all out of character; she could recall several instances even previous to the strike where he had exercised his influence in a rather heavy-handed (but paternally-motivated) way, and by banning Katherine from returning to her post as a reporter, he was likely trying to steer her towards a profession that he deemed would be more appropriate for her, or else back to The World, where he could keep an eye on her. (Or perhaps she'd sussed it out all wrong, and he actually did consider her a formidable-enough reporter where he wanted to make sure she was on his side and not writing for one of his (admittedly less-powerful) rivals).
In either case, she was sure that the man was doing it intentionally. He knew that she didn't need the money - not when the Pulitzer name and estate gave her more than enough to comfortably live off of - and perhaps he'd assumed that if he only kept her away from her typewriter long enough, in time she'd grow weary of the constant uphill battle to finally get a real story, to be seen as an equal amongst her male peers, to be given a chance to do what she knew she was good at and had dreamed of doing for as long as she could remember.
If he thought she'd give up that easily, though, he was in for a rude awakening.
Katherine turned her thoughts away from her father and back to the situation at hand. She needed to figure out whom to approach first to see if there was any chance that she could get her article published under a different pen name. She'd assured Jack that she would be able to find someone willing to bend the rules for her, but now as she considered it more soberly, she found herself less sure that securing a sympathetic accomplice would be so easy.
It would have made the most sense to start at The Sun, but Lena, her closest ally and the one who would be most likely to even consider the idea, was gone visiting her family out West for the next few weeks, and Katherine wasn't chummy enough with the other copy editors to feel comfortable broaching the subject.
Perhaps she'd need to go to her backup plan, then. She didn't want to wait weeks to move on this - what she'd seen today had been far too concerning to put aside, even temporarily. She knew that she had to give the situation time, and that she still had more investigating to do, but she had to do something, and if it meant taking a chance and appealing to an old friendship, so be it. She would rather try and fail than twiddle her thumbs waiting for the ideal situation to fall into her lap.
Reaching the main street off of which the path to The Refuge branched, Katherine hailed the first carriage that came within sight.
"The Tribune building, please," she instructed as she climbed in, and the carriage clattered off.
Jack unpinned the last shirt from the clothesline, tossing it into the basket at his feet before picking up the hamper to make his way back into the lodging house from the platform of the fire escape. It was laundry day, and thankfully the fall weather had stayed warm, so the clothes had dried quickly. Once he finished folding them, he'd have an hour or so before dinnertime to work on his cartoon for The World.
Setting the basket down at the back of the bunk room, Jack began sorting through the clothes, piling them into heaps on the nearest bunk bed. He had the lodging house to himself - most of the boys were either finishing up selling or outside goofing off - they knew to steer clear of the lodging house on Sunday afternoons, because hanging around the bunk room on laundry day was a sure-fire way to get corralled into helping whether you were on duty that week or not.
Once the clothes had been separated, Jack began folding them, using the table at the back of the bunk room as a workspace. He'd been drawing while he'd waited for the laundry to dry, and his sketchbook lay open with a stub of a pencil sitting on top. Jack absently pushed both items off to the side, not bothering to close the sketchbook since he knew he'd have to return to it later to begin drafting his cartoon.
It was only the second assignment he'd been given, but so far, his inspiration had held, and he already had an idea of how he was going to depict the plight of the highway department employees who were in danger of losing their jobs with payroll cuts looming and the commissioner facing the unenviable task of having to decide whom to let go of. Jack could probably have produced a year's worth of sketches regarding the plight of the working class if he'd had to - the strike provided no shortage of experience and inspiration.
His first assignment with The World had been a cartoon for the sporting news pages - a soft ball if there ever was one - but Jack suspected that Pulitzer's editor had been testing him, wanting to evaluate his abilities before entrusting him with more important and sensitive topics. He must have passed the test, because the subject of his next assignment had been decidedly more serious.
Thankfully, he'd been given the freedom to work on his sketches anywhere he pleased. As long as he showed up for his once-a-week meeting with the editor and had a completed cartoon in hand, no one cared if he worked in the office or out of it. He'd been given access to the small but first-rate selection of artist's supplies that were kept in one of the printing floor's utility closets and had been tempted to stuff his pockets with drawing implements, but in the end he'd chosen to take only a select few items. He was used to the feel of his own familiar (if lower-grade) supplies.
He'd seen Pulitzer briefly when he'd agreed to take the job, but since then had steered clear of the man, and the newspaper owner, it seemed, rarely ventured down from his office, so Jack had come and gone from the building several times on his first few days of work without seeing hair nor hide of Katherine's father.
It was a small favor; the idea of being drawn into closer proximity to Pulitzer - even if that proximity was still relatively distant - made Jack uneasy. It was true that he'd already been working for the newspaper owner in some sense even before taking the cartoonist job, but being a newsie who was free to come and go as he pleased (and could easily switch alliances to another publication if he chose) wasn't the same as being an employee on payroll, no matter how remote his position happened to be.
But taking the cartoonist job had made Katherine happy, so Jack had willingly (if reluctantly) done it, and he was stubbornly determined to make it work, though a part of him was secretly annoyed at himself for surrendering a bit of his freedom so quickly.
It was Katherine's effect on him - she had a way of persuading people in not so many words, and as much as Jack hated to admit it (and would have never have wanted the other newsies to know), her influence on him was nearly irresistible.
He wondered how she was doing with her own assignment at the moment, and if she'd managed to make it into The Refuge without arousing any suspicions.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, drawing Jack out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Davey appear in the doorway.
"Hey, what'cha doin' here?" Jack greeted the other boy. "Ain't you normally workin' your other job?" Davey (and Les, now that he'd returned to newsie life on a part-time basis thanks to his older brother's intervention) sold the morning edition on the weekend, but they usually went home after that, Les to work on his school assignments and Davey to attend to his other job at their family's tenement.
"Normally, yes," Davey answered, walking slowly down the rows of bunkbeds and peering under them one by one. "But Les said he left the slingshot Finch gave him here earlier today when he was talking with the rest of the boys, so I promised him I'd come back to look for it. I wasn't sure if he was really worried about the slingshot or if he was just trying to get out of his schoolwork, so I figured it would be better if I just went, since I'd have to accompany him back here anyway."
"The tenement ain't fallin' down without you bein' there to fix it?" Jack asked half-jokingly.
Davey shook his head. "The landlord keeps it in pretty good shape. I mostly do maintenance work. And he's out for the rest of the afternoon, so I'm all caught up on things for now." He spotted something under Henry and Romeo's bunk and reached for it, emerging with the slingshot.
"Well, that wasn't so hard," he said, grinning a little as he tucked it into his pocket. "I thought it would take me a while longer to find it."
"If you ain't needin' to rush back, how 'bout givin' a fella a hand?" Jack asked, gesturing to the basket of laundry . "Could use some help foldin'." It wasn't really that cumbersome of a task, but he hadn't talked to Davey in a while, and sometimes the only way to get the older Jacobs brother to slow down was to give him something to do.
"Sure, Jack." Davey joined him.
"Do you always take care of the laundry for the boys?" he asked as he picked up a pair of trousers and began folding them.
"Nah," Jack answered. "The fellas all take turns - the older ones and the younger ones pair up and each of 'em takes a week to do the laundry for the rest of the group. Makes it less crazy than everyone tryin' to get to the sink at the same time and all fightin' over the space."
"I'm sure it can get chaotic."
Jack shrugged. "Yeah, it does, but you get used to it." He elbowed Davey in the arm. "You oughta stay overnight with us sometime," he suggested. "Kloppman's put some extra bunk beds in now that we got the new boys with us, so there'd be enough room for you and the kid if he wanted to come along too. The best part of the day is after sellin' when we's all together in the evenin' anyway. The boys like to talk and share stories, and some of them'll even entertain the rest of us if they's in the mood. We got our own lodging house quartet, and Racer's pretty good with his harmonica."
"Really?" Davey sounded a little surprised. "I wouldn't have guessed that."
"I know, gotta see it to believe it, right?" Jack grinned. "But that's why you and Les haf'ta come. You's our brothers, but you ain't gettin' the full newsie experience if you's only hawkin' the headlines and not participatin' in the fun."
"It sounds...interesting," Davey answered, and Jack rolled his eyes at the cautiously polite answer.
"Ain't nothin' to sound so concerned about, Dave," he remarked. "Racer told me you survived your newsie initiation just fine - you know the fellas don't bite."
"Yeah, no - I mean, they don't," Davey agreed, clearly still unconvinced that the proposed course of action would be a good idea.
"Could always sleep on the roof with me an' Crutchie if you's worried about the cost," Jack prodded, trying to figure out what it was that the other boy was so hesitant about.
"Maybe," Davey answered noncommittally. "Though that doesn't sound very safe - especially for Les."
Jack shrugged. "Well...think about it at least," he suggested. "The fellas is all needin' somethin' to lift their spirits - they's been laggin' a little the last few weeks - so I wanna have a lodgin' house shindig to get 'em all smilin' again, and it won't be the same if you and Les ain't there. It'll be good for the new boys too - the two of 'em ain't had much chance to bond with the rest of us, and we oughta try to make 'em feel welcome." He scratched his head, musing a little as the idea congealed. "Should probably talk to Racer about it - he's good at plannin' these kinds of things - but I was thinkin' we'd maybe we'd spring for some kinda treat to share between the boys, like some soda pops or somethin'. We wouldn't haf'ta worry about the entertainment, cause that'll all be in-house."
He grinned at Davey. "You ain't a new boy anymore, Dave, so that means you's gonna have to help us out. You got any hidden talents?"
"Not really," Davey answered, folding the last pair of trousers. "I'm pretty useless as far as entertaining goes, especially in front of crowds. I doubt I'd be able to keep people's attention, let alone amuse them."
Jack snorted. "You's a big liar," he accused. "I already heard about your speech at the rally from a bunch of the fellas, and I even ran into Spot the other day and he brought it up on his own. Said you was a real good speaker. Made an impression on him."
Davey looked surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah, really." Jack plucked a shirt from the pile. "So don't try and tell me that there ain't a little bit of Davey Jacobs that's capable of captivatin' the masses when he has to. You don't haf'ta do a song and dance, just prepare somethin' to give the fellas a laugh or take their minds off things for a while."
"You're talking like I've already agreed to come," Davey objected. "I never said yes."
Jack gave him another good-natured shove in the arm. "But you was gonna say yes...weren'tcha?"
Davey sighed. "I don't understand how you manage to rope me into these things," he muttered. "First the strike, now this - "
"It's easy, Dave. Just like shootin' fish in a barrel." Jack grinned. "I ain't sure what's worse, your headline hawkin' or your protestin' - neither one of 'em seem to work so good."
Davey shot an unamused look in his direction. "I may not be the best of Manhattan's best, Jack," he said dryly, "but I sell papes just fine. And I can put my foot down when I have to."
"I know, I know," Jack chuckled. "I'm just givin' you a hard time. Comes with the territory."
As they continued folding the laundry, a warm breeze blew in through the open washroom window, turning the pages of Jack's open sketchbook. The movement caught Davey's eye, and he glanced curiously over at the drawings, his expression changing from surprised to amused in an instant as Jack grimaced, realizing what was on those pages.
Drawings of Katherine. Dozens and dozens of them.
"Wow," Davey remarked. "That's quite a variety of subject matter you've got there."
"Shaddup."
"No, really. I didn't realize that there were so many ways to - "
Jack chucked the shirt he'd been folding at Davey's face, momentarily derailing the teasing. "Enough, Dave," he groused, knowing that he was overreacting but irritated that the depth of his infatuation with Katherine had been exposed (even if he was sure that Davey and the other newsies suspected it already). "Just 'cause you ain't ever been smitten with a pretty girl don't give you the right to needle the next fella 'cause he is."
Davey grinned as he folded up the shirt that had been thrown at him. "But it's so easy, Jack...just like shooting fish in a barrel."
"Oh, you's askin' for it, Jacobs!"
"Okay, okay - stopping!" Davey held up his hands in surrender, but the grin never left his face. "I didn't realize it bothered you so much."
Jack snorted, turning back to the laundry. "Only bothers me 'cause you's the type that oughta know better. Race must be rubbin' off on you, or you's not as much of a nice guy as we thought." He shook a warning finger in the other newsie's direction. "Just wait 'till you's the one who's head over heels," he promised. "I ain't showin' you no mercy when the time comes - you's gonna wish you'd never opened that smart mouth of yours."
"Well, have fun waiting," Davey answered (a little pompously, Jack thought). "I don't plan on giving you that satisfaction any time soon."
Jack grunted.
"Anyway," Davey said, "I should probably get back home - it's almost time for dinner, and Les is going to be wondering what happened to his slingshot." He finished folding the last shirt and then surveyed the pile of socks that still remained to be matched. "You don't mind if I skip out now, do you?"
Jack shook his head. "Nah, I got it from here. Thanks for the help." He spat in his hand and shook with Davey. "I'll letch'a know when we's havin' our lodging house shindig," he added as the other boy turned to go. "Better start gettin' your act together now!"
"Hah," was Davey's sarcastic reply before he disappeared down the stairs. But Jack knew that he would be there.
Chuckling to himself, Jack finished pairing the socks. He was about to start placing the various articles of clothing on the beds of their respective owners when footsteps were heard once again on the stairs, and Specs appeared.
"Hey, Jacky," he said, his usually careful voice sounding more deliberate than normal. "You need some help with the laundry?"
"Nah," Jack grinned. "Davey was just here and he helped me with most of it." He began placing the clean sets of clothing on the beds. "You have a good day of sellin'?"
"Can't complain." Specs walked over and sat down on one of the beds. "Sold over on Park Row today - happened to be passin' by and saw that the boys who normally sell for The Sun weren't hawkin' there today, so I staked out a spot and the papes moved pretty quickly."
Selling on the street that was home to The World, The Tribune, and several other newspaper offices was generally hit-and-miss; there was plenty of foot traffic, especially being so close to City Hall, but newsies from several publications congregated there, so the competition was fiercer than it would have been in less densely-traveled areas.
"I actually wanted to mention somethin' to you," Specs said softly, and Jack straightened up from where he'd been placing Romeo's set of clothes - along with the distinctive striped socks - on the younger newsie's bed.
"Sure, Specs," he said, giving the other boy his full attention. Specs wasn't the kind to run his mouth or beat around the bush; if he said he had something to say, that meant it was important.
"I happened to see Katherine while I was sellin'," the bespectacled newsie began, "and she was out walkin' with someone."
"Yeah?" Jack forced his voice to be nonchalant.
"Yeah," Specs nodded. "It was that fella from The Trib, the one who helped us with the printin' in Pulitzer's basement."
The nonchalance slipped.
"I ain't sure there was actually anything goin' on," Specs said, sounding almost apologetic, "but they looked like they was havin' a pretty private conversation. Passed right by and was whisperin' to each other, so absorbed that they didn't even see me. I wasn't sure if I oughta tell you or not, but figured it couldn't hurt for you to know…"
"Yeah." Jack scratched his head. "I...ah...I appreciate it, Specs." He gave the other newsie a half-grin. "Pretty sure it ain't anythin' to worry about, but thanks all the same."
Specs nodded, his look sympathetic. Then he got to his feet and walked out of the bunk room, disappearing as quickly as he had come.
Jack silently finished distributing the clothes and returned the laundry hamper to its place in the washroom. He sat down at the table, reached for his sketchbook, and opened it to the next blank sheet, trying to ignore the sketch of Katherine peering out at him from the opposite page.
Specs wasn't the kind to gossip or to embellish his words. He also wasn't the kind to relay information unless he was sure that it was accurate and important. Jack didn't doubt that what the other newsie had described was exactly what had happened, and he'd depended on Specs' surveillance more than once in other situations involving the newsies, but this was something different - this involved Katherine - Katherine who had told Jack that she was going to investigate The Refuge, but apparently had decided to head to The Tribune instead.
Trying to shake off his misgivings, Jack bent over his sketchbook and began to outline his cartoon, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the page. As shapes and shading and form began to emerge, he found himself getting lost in his art, and the irritation that Specs' disclosure had raised began to lessen, turning instead into a grim resolve.
Jack had always suspected that Darcy would be trouble, and he wouldn't put it past the pompous upper-cruster to try to weasel his way into Katherine's good graces, but he didn't think that there was anything to be worried about yet. The situation Specs described was probably an outlier; maybe Katherine had simply changed her plans and had decided to meet up with her old friend for lunch. There was probably a reasonable explanation for it.
Jack would be much more watchful going forward, though...and if the upstart Darcy ever crossed the line or got too comfortable, he would find out the hard way that Jack Kelly wasn't going to yield an inch of ground to him without a fight.
