The Jewel Cage

by Jane Steen

  I felt a now familiar brush of dread and unease. “Do we have to go home?” Once I’d stacked the drawings, I stretched my arms across my desk and laid my cheek against the fine wool of my sleeve. A faint groan escaped my lips.

  “Sarah will want to play the piano piece she’s been learning for us. We can’t disappoint her.” Martin bent to plant a kiss on the top of my hair, kneading my shoulders with his long fingers. “Come along, O cowardly one.”

  “I’m not sure I can bear another evening.” I lifted my head and rested it on my fist, looking up at Martin again. “I don’t suppose I’m ever going to do anything Thea approves of.”

  “Girls of that age can be difficult. And you can’t leave Sarah and Tess alone with—”

  “Oh no, I’d never do that.” I shook my head vehemently, rising to my feet. “Tess will be with Billy, remember?” Tess’s brother Billy regularly came to the Palmer House to eat dinner tête-à-tête with his sister. “I asked Alice to give Thea a lesson on how best to do her hair by herself—for the day she might need such a skill. How to use the hair ornaments I bought for her once she’s out of mourning. That kind of thing. I asked her to keep her busy while Miss Baker ate her dinner downstairs—she’s staying the night at the hotel. Miss Baker, that is.”

  “Ah, appealing to Thea’s feminine vanity—how clever of you. She can spend even more time looking in mirrors.”

  “It’s all right for you.” I hid a yawn behind my hand, glancing once more at the clock. “She saves all her smiles and wiles for you.”

  “And I’ve told you, I’m entirely impervious to them.”

  “I do realize that.” I stood on tiptoe to kiss Martin. “But with Thea, nothing you do is wrong and everything I do is wrong. Yet I’ve tried so hard.”

  “It’s a pity she didn’t take to the piano lessons.” Martin took my cape from its hook and settled it over my shoulders. “Or the drawing classes.”

  “And when I suggested lessons in deportment, she practically bit my head off. I wasn’t trying to criticize.”

  “I know. And to think she’d only just been complaining about how her years in Kansas had made her into a country bumpkin. You’d imagine she’d be eager to improve herself.”

  I turned to the small mirror beside the clock, inserting a hatpin through my hat and into my thick hair. “I’d be happy with just everyday good manners.”

  “Well, at least she thanked you for the dresses.”

  “Grudgingly, and only because Teddy made much of what he insists on calling our ‘ceaseless generosity.’ He reckons we’re making her too grand for her lot in life, you know.”

  “And you agree?” Martin tilted his head to one side, watching me as I ensured my hat was at the right angle.

  “I don’t see how I could offer Thea any less than I would offer Sarah, if she were the same age.”

  “But she’s not Sarah. Teddy’s right, in a way—Thea’s in rather a false position. We have plunged her into the life of the idle rich, but she’s not one of them.”

  “I’m not idle. And I suggested we talk to Mrs. Parnell about serving in the soup kitchen or teaching poor children their ABCs. Many of the women you’re pleased to call ‘idle’ spend hours at a time helping the less fortunate.”

  “I stand corrected. I suppose Thea didn’t agree to that either.”

  “Of course not. She declared herself quite done with lice and dirt.”

  “But she finds it hard to be a pupil again after being the teacher, doesn’t she?”

  “She seems to find everything wearisome apart from her own appearance. There, at least, I have succeeded. I swear she spends four hours a day looking in the mirror.” I turned away from my own reflection and passed through the door Martin opened for me.

  “Well, I wish she’d use it to better effect.” Martin offered me his arm. “I can’t abide that dreadful, haughty expression she adopts in public. She appears to believe it makes her look more beautiful—but let me tell you, Nellie, as a young man I’d have run a mile from that face. I did run a mile from that face. You only got through my defenses because you were so much younger than me, and for a long time I never saw you that way. And you didn’t care a fig about how you looked or what men thought about you.” Martin grinned. “In a funny way, you still don’t—you’re one of the best-dressed women in Chicago but also one of the least vain.”

  “I’m glad I was never as obnoxious as Thea.” I couldn’t resist a smirk at Martin’s compliment.

  “Oh, you were. Just differently.”

  And with that the conversation turned, and I thought no more about Thea. Until we arrived at the Palmer House.

  We heard the crying as soon as we stepped out of the elevator. Martin and I looked at one another and hastened our steps. Sarah didn’t cry often—and she certainly didn’t usually howl at the top of her lungs. My heart was beating far faster than usual as I opened the door to our suite of rooms.

  “Mama!”

  I grunted as Sarah’s wiry little body collided with my legs, her arms wrapping around them with the strength of a limpet. In the brief glimpse I’d had of her, I’d seen a bright pink, tearful, but apparently uninjured face, and the fierceness of her grasp reassured me she was not hurt.

  I looked around the parlor. One of the glass coverings of the large gasolier that hung from the middle of the ceiling lay on the parquet near the wall, smashed to pieces. How on earth did it get over there? The uncovered gas jet flared noisily, casting a bright, harsh light on the damage. To one side of the debris stood Miss Baker, her eyes wide, trying to control her breathing.

  “What happened here?” Martin turned to Miss Baker.

  The Englishwoman took a couple more deep breaths before she spoke. “There has been an—an unfortunate occurrence. With Miss Lombardi.”

  “Is she hurt?” I asked as I prized Sarah’s arms loose. I gathered her to me, picking her up and crossing to the settee so I could settle her on my lap and rummage in my pockets for a handkerchief. Her sobs were subsiding into little hiccups, but she was trembling.

  “Miss Lombardi is—nobody is hurt.” I realized Miss Baker was quivering too.

  “But Sarah is badly frightened.” Martin frowned as he looked at our daughter. “Just tell me what happened, as calmly as you can. Is Miss Lombardi in her room?”

  “She . . . ran . . . away.” Sarah forced the words out between gasps and then burst into a fresh flood of tears and wails. I cuddled her close to me, making shushing noises to soothe her.

  “You must have just missed her,” Miss Baker said. “She—she—”

  “She threw the gasolier cover at you, didn’t she?” Martin was looking at the wall above the area of floor where the broken glass lay.

  “She did.” The governess sounded as if she’d like to burst into tears herself. “Missed me by an inch.” Straightening her back, she summoned up a tremulous smile. “So I don’t believe she was really aiming at me. I’m sure her aim is excellent.”

  “She didn’t pull the cover off, did she?” I looked up at the gasolier. “It’s too high—and it would have been very hot.”

  “It fell off,” Miss Baker said. “When she slammed her door.”

  “Ah.” I tried to imagine just how hard Thea had slammed the door.

  “But it was still hot when she threw it; I felt the heat of it as it passed me.” Miss Baker was recovering her poise. “Fortunately, I had the sense to turn away from the wall. It was odd—everything seemed to slow down.”

  “I’ve had that happen.” I applied a handkerchief to Sarah’s face, remembering a river in Illinois. I forbore from pointing out in front of Sarah that Miss Baker could easily have been cut by flying glass—either of them might have been badly injured. How could Thea have done such a thing? “Were you having words?”

  “She’d said some very nasty things to Sarah.”

  “She called me the bad word,” Sarah sobbed.

  The governess immediately came to kneel by me, stroking her small charge’
s bright hair in a fashion that endeared her to me enormously.

  “I’ve told you, haven’t I, Sarah, that words don’t make you bad?” she said. “That when people use them against you, they’re the unfortunate ones? Because they are unable to follow the example of our Lord.”

  “Yes.” Sarah sat up a little straighter to look at Miss Baker, nodding.

  “And the circumstances of your birth do not make you bad either.” She looked up at me. “Or your mother.”

  “Thank you.” I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “I’ve seen many women in similar straits,” the governess said as she leaned forward to kiss Sarah on the forehead. “And none of them bad.”

  She got to her feet and seated herself in an armchair, twisting her hands together to calm herself. How did she know? I wondered. But it didn’t matter. Everybody seemed to guess my secret in the end.

  “We had better go search for Thea as soon as Sarah and Miss Baker have recovered.” Martin’s voice was grim. “Chicago’s a big place.”

  16

  Search

  “For all we know, she may have remained in the Palmer House.” Martin grasped my hand, mutely urging me to sit down beside him on a street-corner bench.

  “But we looked there first.”

  “She may have hidden from us. Or perhaps she went back there after we left.” Martin stared glumly down at our linked hands. “We’ve been running around uselessly for an hour and a half, and I don’t see how we’re going to find her.” His stomach gave a huge growl. “We’re both tired and hungry and thirsty, and we’ve only covered a few blocks.”

  “I’m not exactly hungry.” I stared at the people passing us, noting their curious glances at the sight of two well-dressed individuals sitting on a street bench holding hands. “I’m empty. I believe food would turn my stomach.”

  “You’re lucky.” Martin’s belly whined again. It had grown dark, and a chilly breeze was whipping up a few fallen leaves that had somehow found their way into the treeless, featureless street where we had halted. In the gaslight, they reminded me of scurrying rats—they made a sinister rustling sound, audible above the muted conversations of workers tramping home.

  “You’re right.” I stood up, letting go of Martin’s hand. “This is pointless.”

  “What would you like to do?” Martin tipped his face up to me. The pale yellow light made his skin appear sickly under his hat and threw the shadow of his beaky nose across his chin. He looked tired and drawn with worry.

  “I don’t know.” I hung my head, closing my eyes, letting the tiredness overwhelm me. “I can’t think. You decide.”

  Martin rose to his feet. “Then we’ll return to the hotel first to see if Thea has gone back there. And we’ll eat a sandwich or something—you must eat, Nellie.” His stomach sounded again, and he grinned. “And I will not be responsible for my actions if I can’t get some food soon. Why is it that the streets are always full of people selling food when you don’t want it, and they all disappear when you do?”

  “We’re in the wrong part of the city, I suppose. I expect we can find you some roast chestnuts or something once we’re south of the river again.” I felt a stab of irritation. “Why are you always hungry?”

  Martin laid a hand on his lean belly. “Roast chestnuts.” The longing in his tone would have made me laugh in other circumstances. “Will you carry me if I faint?”

  My voice broke. “How can you possibly make jokes when Thea may have been—may be—” I sniffed hard.

  “She’s far too sensible to have fallen prey to thugs or—or whatever you’re imagining.” Martin seized my hand again and began walking fast, so I forgot my imminent tears in the effort to keep up. “This is what we’ll do. We’ll eat—yes, you too—and then we’ll go to the Harrison Street precinct to see if the police might help. I’ll remind them I drove a cart full of police officers during the riots.” He sounded much too cheerful for the circumstances. “We’ll find her. And then you’ll need to restrain me from giving her a thrashing.”

  “You’ll never do that.”

  “No, I have that in common with the Lombardis. Do you suppose this is what it’s really like to be a parent? Of an older child, that is. Sarah’s too small to be any trouble—yet.” His pace slowed. “Poor little Sarah. To be reminded of—well, of her birth in such a vindictive way.”

  “Yes. And I don’t suppose that’ll be the last time unless we do something about Thea.” I stopped, forcing Martin to halt. “But what are we going to do?”

  “Perhaps I should buy a small house for her and Teddy.”

  “That’s hardly fair on Teddy—and he’d never accept it.”

  “He would if I begged him to take Thea off our hands. I’ll get down on my knees if necessary.” Martin frowned and began walking again. “You don’t think she could have gone to the boardinghouse to find Teddy, do you? Perhaps she might solve all our problems by moving back to Mrs. Nowak’s.”

  “It’s possible.” Hope surged in me as I set off in my husband’s wake. “Martin, it’s only three blocks to Randolph Street. Couldn’t we take the horsecar west? To the boardinghouse?”

  Martin shook his head. “No point in alarming Teddy unduly if she’s not there. We’ll stick to my plan.” He turned to look at my face and relented. “And then we’ll get Nutt to drive us out to Mrs. Nowak’s, even if it’s midnight.”

  I fell silent—partly because Martin was walking so fast that talking was rather an effort. I breathed deeply as we approached Lake Street, then stopped.

  “Martin!”

  “Do you see her?” Martin looked wildly round him.

  “No, over there. The Jewel Box.”

  The lights of the theater had caught my attention. A performance had clearly ended a short time before—a few carriages were still there to take the last of the audience home.

  “It’s the only place I can recall Thea having been to that’s still open,” I pointed out. “She might have been there—it won’t do any harm to inquire. And they will surely let me use the ladies’ retiring room,” I added hopefully.

  Martin gave a short laugh. “Very well. And I’ll see if the doorman can whistle up a cab for us. I’ve had quite enough of wearing out my shoe leather.”

  It seemed strange to be walking into an almost-empty theater. But both doorman and cloakroom attendant listened to our story with a sympathetic ear. They had been too busy; they would not notice one young lady among the crowds. But if we would like to wait, they would inquire of the management. It was the supper hour, and everyone else was upstairs, so it would not take long.

  The retiring room was empty, so I was soon done. I was grateful that we hadn’t arrived at the Jewel Box a little earlier. We might have encountered acquaintances, and I didn’t want to have to explain our evening’s adventure.

  I breathed in the delicious smell of coffee as I made my way back toward the lobby. The fragrant aroma, along with the scent of roast chicken, came from the top of a low flight of stairs that led off the corridor I was in. My stomach decided that it might, after all, be interested in food, and I sighed.

  “But I want to stay here with you.”

  I stopped short. It had been just the briefest burst of sound, a moment of clarity against the muffled hum of voices and occasional laughter that had formed the background to my visit to the ladies’ room. That hum, I supposed, represented the actors and staff of the Jewel Box at their supper. But that particular voice, half obscured as it was, was familiar. I turned and hurried toward the stairs.

  There was no door at the top of the staircase, just another corridor. Light showed from under two of the doors farther along the passage, and most of the noise was coming from the farthest room, but the voice I had detected had been closer and clearer. Yes, the first door was ajar. I listened, certain I had not been imagining what I’d heard but suddenly reluctant to enter, to take up the burden of responsibility once again.

  “My dear Miss Lombardi.” I’d been right.
The voice that was speaking was unmistakably that of Victor Canavan. “I must return you to your guardians as soon as you’ve finished eating. You must see that coming here is most irregular—at your age.”

  “They’re not my guardians.”

  “Your hosts, then. You said they were the people who accompanied you to the theater the first time we met. I remember that moment so well. Such beauty is hard to forget.” There was amusement in his voice. “Such freshness—believe me, with a little training and practice I am sure you would be an asset to our small establishment, and I thank you for offering your services to us. But your hosts would complain to the city authorities if you stayed here, and I would get into no end of trouble. You don’t want that, do you? It would be easier if you were a foundling off the streets, and even then I’d hesitate. But a young lady like you—of good family, I am sure.”

  “We were good once.” There was suppressed rage in Thea’s voice. “But my mother and father ruined everything—they took it all away from me.” There was a pause, and the clink of a coffee cup. “Now they’re dead and there’s only my brother. I’m almost a foundling.”

  “But not quite. What would your brother say to your coming here?”

  “Oh, he’d make a tremendous fuss. He’s like my pa—pretty straitlaced about dancing and entertainment and anything that’s fun.”

  “Well, then. You wouldn’t want to get me into trouble, would you? I adore children—and you are still half a child, it’s no use pouting at me—but I am not the kind of man who should look after a young lady like yourself. You must eat up and let me find someone to accompany you back to where you belong. I’d take you myself, but I only have forty-five minutes before I’m required on stage.”

  I decided I’d listened long enough. I retreated a little way toward the stairs and then approached the door again, making as much noise as possible. I knocked smartly.

  “Enter.” The voice was indifferent—Canavan clearly didn’t mind being found alone with Thea. I opened the door and confronted the young lady, whose mouth positively hung open at the sight of me.