The Whispering Women
Barnes & Noble
Published by: Prism Light Press
Release Date: August 27, 2022
Born into a once-wealthy Manhattan family, Louisa Delafield survives by doing the one thing she’s suited for: writing a society column. But in January 1913, the death of a police matron in a bombed brownstone convinces Louisa to write about darker subjects. “Muckraking” goes against her upbringing, but once her blinders are off, she can’t continue to protect the privi-leged.
Ellen Malloy came to America to escape the priests who told her she would go to hell for loving women. However, her job as a debutante’s personal maid affords her no opportunity for a life, much less for finding love. After witnessing the death of a fellow servant during an illegal abortion, she flees her comfortable position in fear for her life.
Louisa wants a news story; Ellen wants revenge. Two such different allies could hardly be imagined, but both are under the thumb of a corrupt system which still wears a straitlaced Victorian costume. Arrayed against them are a society abortionist, a white slavery ring, and powerful forces who work in the dark to keep their secrets from the light of day—some of whom may appear as their closest allies.Add on Goodreads
"It’s rare when you can call a story set over a hundred years ago timely, but that’s the only word for Trish MacEnulty’s The Whispering Women. These women may have been taught to whisper, but when their time comes, they will roar."
—Timothy Miller, author of The Strange Case of Eliza Doolittle
Louisa looked curiously at the stone corner and put her ear into the cool space. Bits of con-versations floated around her: “I don’t want to go home,” “These shoes are killing me,” “What do you think?” and so on. Then a strange sensation came over her and she felt a lifting, as if her spirit were skimming along the tiled ceiling, and she heard a soft murmuring, as if thou-sands of women were all whispering their secrets to her. What on Earth were they saying, she wondered. She stood unmoving, listening to the whispering, straining to hear what the voices were saying. The edges of her vision grew dark, and it seemed she was in a long tunnel. She felt a terrible sense of dread and sorrow.
She seemed to wake from a dream, turned and saw a policeman. He wore a black armband over the sleeve of his uniform. She stared at the armband and then asked, “Is that for the po-lice matron who was killed in an explosion?”
“It is, Miss,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to steady the trembling in her voice. Then she stepped into the stream of people, who were enjoying the night like cackling birds. She looked back to see the officer watching her, the black mourning band clasped around his upper arm.