The White City

by Grace Hitchcock

  Officer Baxter nodded with understanding that if a home-cooked meal was involved, it would explain why any man would be coming into the office whistling after a long day. “Lucky. All I’ve got waiting for me is a cold turkey sandwich.” He gave Jude a sideways glance.

  Jude slapped Baxter on the shoulder. “I’ll ask and see if I can’t get an invitation for you sometime soon.”

  Baxter shook his head, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Cold, cold turkey. Probably a week old. I’m bound to get sick, but it’s all I got in my icebox.”

  Rolling his eyes, Jude waved him along. “Fine, but don’t blame me if Mary gets upset over an unexpected guest at her table.”

  Baxter grinned, grabbed his hat, and lightly punched Jude in the shoulder. “See now? I knew you were the friendly sort. What better way for two associates to get to know one another than over dinner?”

  Jude returned his smile, having missed the camaraderie of his old precinct. He would have to be very careful about what he confided. If word got out about his assignment, he’d never hear the end of his so-called duty with the lovely Miss Wylde.

  Chapter Four

  “Run mad as often as you choose, but do not faint.”

  ~Jane Austen, Love and Friendship

  The sun was oppressive as Winnifred stalked the fair for the fifth day in a row, but this time she dressed in a fetching lavender skirt paired with an ivory shirtwaist with billowing sleeves, hoping to catch the eye of the suspect with Detective Thorpe hiding nearby. She was determined to use herself as bait to find the lean man with the dark mustache, along with the proof that her father required to open an investigation against him. Not having much luck at the Fine Arts exhibit, she signaled to Detective Thorpe to join her.

  “I think we should return to the Ceylon exhibit,” she suggested, already making her way in that direction. Winnifred shook out her flimsy, lace-trimmed handkerchief and blotted her neck, wondering why on earth she wore a high collar on such an extraordinarily hot day. But she kept walking, not wanting Detective Thorpe to stop on her account. They were almost to the Woman’s Building when she felt herself sway, her vision dotting with black blossoms.

  “Miss Wylde?” Detective Thorpe’s hand hovered by her elbow as if he were unsure whether or not to touch her. “Do you need me to fetch you some water?”

  “I don’t want to make you do that. I only need a moment to catch my breath.” She pulled the decorative pin out of her lavender hat and fanned herself, the ostentatious ostrich feather tickling her chin, momentarily distracting her from the corset stays pinching her waist. Why did she allow Clara to lace her so tightly when she knew she would be out in the heat all day? The black blossoms grew into a garden in her vision and with a sway, she gripped his navy sleeve. “Pardon me,” she whispered, and forced herself to take a deep breath despite the corset.

  Detective Thorpe drew his arm around her waist and led her to the side of a building where the roof extended, offering her shade as he leaned her against the white wall. Tentatively, he cupped her chin in his hand and examined her overheated cheeks, concern lighting his eyes. “Will you be well enough to stay here while I find some water? I can’t have you passing out and have to report to your father that I neglected to look out for your well-being.”

  “Water does sound rather lovely.” She gave him a weak smile. “Would you mind fetching me some? No need to tell Father our secret quite yet.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Detective Thorpe left her side, heading toward the Ceylon Teahouse in search of refreshments.

  In the shadow of the building, her temperature lowered below the inferno she had felt only moments before. Feeling a mite foolish for allowing herself to grow faint, Winnifred mopped her forehead with her already damp handkerchief when she spied him by one of the tea vendors right outside the teahouse. I can’t believe it. Even though she felt unsteady, she channeled the strength of the heroines she’d read about for years and stood upright. Tilting her hatless head, she sauntered past him, her hips swaying with every step before she paused at the stall, seemingly absorbed in a tea sample booth as she skimmed her fingers over the tea trinkets.

  “Would you like to smell a sample, miss?” The vendor behind the booth extended a small china dish containing a handful of tea leaves. “This is our most popular tea with the ladies, called Pai Mu Tan, or White Peony.”

  Praying that she didn’t appear as flustered as she felt, Winnifred accepted the dish and inhaled the sweet nectar of the tea, her neck bristling as she felt his presence gravitate toward her. “Very lovely. I’ll take eight ounces, please.”

  “If you enjoy that scent, miss, may I recommend this sample?” The man with the bushy dark mustache lifted a dish to her and gave her a smile, his left eye crossing back and forth as he attempted to make eye contact with her.

  Hesitant, she looked to him and then back at the dish. Do I dare? He could have swapped out the leaves with some malodorous poison. She checked over her shoulder at the vendor who was busy with another fairgoer. Deciding to take a chance, she breathed in the scent. “Such a lovely hint of peach.”

  “It is one of my favorites.” He bowed to her, tucking his bowler hat under his arm. “Please excuse my manners. My name is Doctor Henry Howard Holmes, but as that is rather a mouthful and I don’t practice medicine at the present, please call me Mr. Holmes.” With a flourish, he produced a business card and gave her a grin as if he expected her to be charmed.

  “Thank you.” She accepted his card and pretended to read it to disguise her rising panic at the thought of introducing herself.

  “And may I have the pleasure of learning your name?”

  Even though it was against all propriety to allow a man to introduce himself without a proper introduction from a friend, Winnifred knew she had to break the rules if she wanted to keep him around until Detective Thorpe returned. She gave Mr. Holmes what she hoped was an alluring smile and rattled off her favorite name paired with the first surname she could think of from her latest novel. “Miss Swan. Miss Cordelia Swan.”

  “A charming name for a charming young woman.” He gave her another slight bow. “Tell me, Miss Swan, what brings you to the fair?”

  What brings me? Oh dear. Why haven’t I composed a story yet? She had been so preoccupied with finding him, she never once thought of what she’d say when she finally did. While she may not have considered it, surely Detective Thorpe had. Perhaps he didn’t bother to mention it because he never believed they would actually find the man in question. Thinking quickly, Winnifred fiddled with the brim of her hat that she had yet to refasten and cleared her throat. “I’m actually looking for a job. I heard that the fair was a good place to find a position.”

  Mr. Holmes’s brows rose. “Really? I’d say that it was providence that brought you to this exhibit, for you see, I’m looking for a new secretary. Someone bright and”—he eyed her—“young. My last secretary, a Miss Minnie Williams, left me, and I need someone soon to help me with the records at my new hotel business. Can you read? Possibly type?”

  She nodded. “I’m an avid reader, and while I’m no stenographer, I am a fast notetaker and can type a little, but I’m sure I can pick up speed as I gain practice.”

  “Well then, if you’d like to stop by my office in Englewood on Monday around eleven o’clock, I’d love to interview you for the position.” He tapped the card still in her hand, nearly sending her scurrying backward. “My address is directly below my name.”

  Monday … that leaves me only tomorrow after service to prepare! She gave a little laugh, hoping that he mistook it for joy rather than nerves. “Imagine my obtaining an interview so quickly. I’ll be by Monday at eleven o’clock on the dot,” Winnifred promised, tucking the card in her reticule.

  Jude stood in the shadows, gripping the glass of water. The man was entirely too close to Miss Wylde. He clenched his jaw as he watched the man bow to her, his hand edging for his gun when he saw the man extend his hand to her. Don’t go with him
. Don’t. You’re not prepared. In all their time searching, Jude never thought they’d actually run into the suspect, and he’d secretly hoped Miss Wylde would give up this ridiculous scheme of hers and set her mind on something else, anything else. His shoulders sagged with relief when she turned away unscathed, but his scowl returned as the man’s gaze never left her retreating figure, studying her petite, hourglass form. Jude had to fight the urge to confront the man for his impudence. Despite his feelings on the matter, he would have to trust that Miss Wylde knew what she was doing.

  Not seeing him behind the children’s exhibit, she began to pass him. “Miss Wylde,” Jude hissed. To her credit, she appeared as if her interest was being drawn to the Horticulture Building. She turned the corner and away from the man’s line of sight before clutching her lavender skirts and running to him, allowing him to draw her into the shadows of the Children’s Building.

  “Oh my goodness. My heart is pounding out of my very chest. I didn’t know if I could pull it off. I was so worried you wouldn’t be back in time if he decided to take me then and there.” She brushed back a golden lock from her perspiring forehead, her cheeks bright.

  Seeing the trembling in her shoulders, Jude grasped her by the elbows, steadying her. “You are shaking. Come, let’s find you a place to sit.”

  She nodded, closing her eyes for a long breath. “I’m only thankful to know that you were watching me. I never could have done this on my own. Thank you.”

  “Of course. Guarding you is my job at the moment, after all.” He handed her the glass of water, which she gulped, some splashing down her chin in her haste. He handed her his handkerchief. “Tell me what happened. What did he say?”

  “His name is Doctor Henry Howard Holmes, and he wants to interview me for the position of secretary.” She pulled a card out of her reticule and handed it to him. “Here’s his address.”

  Jude thumped his finger against the card. “He doesn’t live that far from here.” His brow furrowed at the excited gleam in her eye. “Even though I think this Mr. Holmes is, at the most, a suspect of an attempted theft, we need to tell your father. But you should know that an interview alone won’t be enough proof for us to hold Mr. Holmes.”

  “Attempted theft? I knew you didn’t believe that I witnessed a kidnapping. Well, if I can get in for this interview, I’m sure I will be able to procure the position and find the proof we need to confirm that this is our man.”

  Jude inwardly cringed at the idea of her going undercover in a potentially dangerous situation. “If Holmes is indeed the man behind the recent disappearances, what makes you think he will allow you to leave the interview?” he asked.

  “I’ll pack my pistol. Besides, I know that if he tries to take me, you will be there to protect me.” She turned those wide eyes to him, full of trust.

  He shook his head to break the spell and took the glass from her to return it as promised to the waiter of the teahouse. “You put far too much stock in my abilities.”

  “Well, weren’t you the best in New York?” She gave him a coy grin and fastened her hat into place.

  “I can’t risk your safety. I promised your father that I’d report to him anything dangerous. I’m sorry, Miss Wylde, but I have to tell him of your findings.”

  She sighed. “Then I’ll tell him tonight. Better for him to hear it from me. Now that Aunt Lillian is away, there is no reason to delay.”

  Winnifred piled baked ham onto a china plate along with two sweet potato rolls, each with a pat of butter atop, and a side of steaming green beans. She set the plate at her father’s place and checked that his coffee was filled to the brim.

  Finding her fluttering over his plate, her father’s brows rose. “What’s all this? What are you buttering me up for this time? I told you, Winnifred, that ten dollars a month is more than a fair budget for books. If you have already spent your allotment—”

  “Have a seat, Father.” She held the back of the Queen Anne chair for him.

  “If it’s not books, it’s something far costlier. The last time you fixed my plate, you wanted a trip to Europe.” He eyed her suspiciously.

  That was the problem with having an inspector for a father. She could never get away with anything. “It’s nothing like that, and it won’t cost you a penny.”

  “Oh, well then, I’m all ears after we pray,” he said, taking his seat and reaching for his dinner napkin before bowing his head.

  She took her seat beside him and folded her hands over her own plate, waiting for the blessing to end before leaning toward him. “I wanted to discuss the case I’ve been working on.”

  He laughed and took a sip of his coffee. “I knew you wouldn’t let it go so easily. What have you found, Daughter?”

  Winnifred slid the business card across the pristine white tablecloth to her father. “The man in question is Doctor Henry Howard Holmes, and he has asked me to apply for the position of his secretary. If you give me permission, I will take the interview on Monday morning. With Aunt Lillian away visiting her friends for the summer, my calendar is completely free, allowing me to accept the position and find the information we need without any cost to the department.”

  He set his cup down and rubbed his hand over his chin. “Your aunt is gone for not even a week and you are already asking me if you can take a job with a man whom you believe is the devil behind the mysterious White City’s disappearances? You are being ridiculous.”

  Her mouth twisted at his mocking tone. “If you really think my theory is as ridiculous as you claim, why would you object? If Mr. Holmes is indeed innocent, then no harm would be done, and I will have extra spending money for my books. But if not, you will have another feather in your cap with the arrest of a kidnapper.” Her words came out all in a rush. “Besides, you will want me to keep busy with Aunt Lillian away or you’ll say I’m underfoot.”

  Father sighed and lifted a finger to her. “Very well. However, you are only allowed to take the job if you carry your muff pistol at all times and have an undercover detective posted outside the house and this Englewood building, acting as your bodyguard. You may not have realized it, but my men have been watching out for you since you brought this to my attention.”

  Oh, I realized it. Her heart lifted at the thought of spending more time with the enigmatic Jude Thorpe, but to her father she merely raised her brows. “Have they? Well, hopefully this will lead to naught and you can return them to their normal duties, but if I’m right, we could be saving lives.”

  “But if you do not uncover anything in six weeks, by which time your aunt will return, you must give up this nonsense you’ve picked up from those Valentine books and begin to seriously consider a suitor. A girl your age shouldn’t be consumed with ransom notes and finding kidnappers and filling her head with all sorts of unrealistic romantic adventures.” He narrowed his gaze to her, impressing the seriousness of his words. “I mean it, Winnie. This is my offer. Take it or leave it.”

  Confident in what she had witnessed, Winnifred extended her hand. “And if I am right, you and Aunt Lillian are to stop this endless parade of suitors and give me the freedom to find my own suitor.”

  Father clasped her hand. “Agreed. I’ll send Detective Thorpe over tomorrow morning and he can coach you on creating an alias.”

  Chapter Five

  “Through the mirror blue, the knights come riding two and two.”

  ~Lord Alfred Tennyson, The Lady of Shalott

  Jude stepped into the front parlor, hat in hand, and took in the cozy room. While the cottage had a Lakeshore Drive address, it was certainly one of the most modest homes on the shore. His fingers traced the carved mantel above the dormant fireplace that was decorated with a basket of dried lavender, lending a sweet aroma to the room. On an end table next to the settee, he spied a pile of books, the one atop with a coral ribbon marking a spot. Picking up the book, he read the title—His Secret Wife by Percival Valentine. He opened the book and read a few lines, chuckling over the flowery languag
e before setting it back on the table.

  Near the window was an easel holding a half-completed painting of a cherry tree bearing ripe fruit, or at least he thought it was a tree. He tilted his head, trying to make sense of the blurry image. It was difficult to say. He brushed his hair from his forehead and glanced about the room, noticing at least another half-dozen rather odd, poorly executed paintings and smiled, thinking of Miss Wylde attempting to sit still long enough to paint them, no doubt at her aunt’s insistence.

  In the corner of the room, there stood a piano with a lace overlay and a framed picture of Miss Wylde from when she was a young girl. Even though she had become quite the lady, she still had that same spark of mischief in her eyes. He filtered through a stack of music beside the picture and found many of the popular songs his sister played on the piano Victor had bought her when they were first married nearly a decade ago. Jude looked over his shoulder and, as no one was near as far as he could tell, he returned the stack of sheet music, leaned over the piano stool, and played a few notes. The piano’s rich tone put Mary’s piano to shame.

  “Detective Thorpe, I’m sorry I kept you waiting. We had a guest speaker at church today and the service ran a bit long.“ Miss Wylde entered the room in a cloud of powder-blue skirts. “I didn’t know you could play.”

  He turned away from the piano, grinning. “Oh, I don’t. The violin is my instrument.”

  “The violin!” Her eyes grew wide. “How unique. None of my friends play the violin. You will have to play for me sometime.”

  The thought of performing for her, sharing his music, excited him, but the inspector had assigned him to teach her how to go undercover, not entertain her. “Maybe someday, but I do believe we will be quite busy without any music.”