‘Cynthia did me a good turn.’ I smiled. ‘And now we are friends.’
‘You’ve got backbone, my dear. And, just to explain our little family joke about the diamonds in my turban, I do not believe in costume jewellery. Moreover – and you can quote me on this – as I’ve aged, and as my good looks have given way to time, I no longer look in the mirror to be reminded of my lost youth. Instead’ – she waved her hands, displaying the large gemstone rings stacked on her arthritic fingers – ‘I admire my jewels.’ She tipped her head back and laughed. ‘I’m going to call you Sarah, if you don’t mind. You may call me Aunt Lillian.’ She sat down on one of the sofas, and beckoned us to sit across from her. ‘Now sit, sit, my lovelies, and eat. You could both do with some fattening up.’
We sat down as she poured out tea and handed us plates loaded with the bounty of her table. I ate ravenously, once again thankful for Cynthia’s friendship and my own good fortune. There were tiny sandwiches of crisp bread with thin slices of roast beef, red onion, and capers between them. I had no idea how Aunt Lillian came to have any meat at all, never mind a fine cut of roast beef – a coveted commodity in California. I savoured every bite, eating my fill, but at the same time trying not to appear greedy, and listened to Cynthia and her aunt catch up on their lives.
After we had eaten until we couldn’t eat any more, Danvers – the woman’s real name was Bette, but to me she would always be Danvers – refilled our cups and took away the detritus of our feast.
Aunt Lillian surveyed me as I composed myself. ‘Now tell me how I can help you, Sarah Bennett.’
‘I need to know what you can remember about a woman named Minna Summerly and her near marriage to a man named Gregory Geisler in May of 1916. Apparently, she left him at the altar of Grace Cathedral.’
‘After Cynthia called me, I went through my old files and pulled out the photographs.’ She set a thick envelope on the table between us. ‘These are for you. Now tell me, why do you want to know this information?’
‘Minna Summerly is staying at the Geisler Institute, where I work. Someone pretending to be Gregory is trying to frighten her. The poor woman is scared to death. I have been in her position. I need to help her,’ I said. ‘Before she becomes unhinged.’
‘Very well. Her real name is Minna Shrader. She changed it when she ran away – not that I blame her. But let me start from the beginning.’ Aunt Lillian extended her hands and wriggled her ringed fingers. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she continued. ‘Her mother, Alexis Petrov Shrader, was a ballerina. God, she was gorgeous when she danced. She was a principal for a well-renowned Russian ballet troupe. She met her husband, Hendrik Shrader, the financier, when her troupe toured the United States. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.’
I hadn’t, but she didn’t give me time to answer.
‘At his insistence, she gave up her career, and soon she had Minna.’ The old woman gazed off into the distance. ‘Poor Minna lived in the shadow of her flamboyant mother. Alexis would take the child out of school and bring her along to her society luncheons and charity events, parading her around like a show dog. She forced Minna to dance and didn’t bother to hide her disappointment when she discovered Minna did not share her prodigious talent.
‘I remember Hendrik became furious when he discovered Alexis had allowed Minna to miss school. So what did Alexis do? She hired a private tutor and kept the poor girl home for her lessons. Minna was a lonely child. But she grew into a beautiful young woman.
‘The Geislers weren’t as socially prominent, but they were of noble birth – I want to say the family came from somewhere in Eastern Europe. Again, my memory is not what it used to be – and they had that beautiful home on Jackson Street. Gregory, Matthew, and Minna were great friends. They went everywhere together. I always assumed Minna would marry Matthew. They were closer in age and used to be inseparable. But Minna and Gregory had a passion – there was no denying that. When they were together, the sparks would fly. Minna chose Gregory, and Matthew, the dutiful brother, didn’t even flinch.
‘Minna’s father was a mercenary bastard. He planned to use Minna’s wedding as an opportunity to make connections that would enrich his financial position and wow his friends. That man did love to gloat, that I do remember.
‘The wedding was the social event of the season. Hendrik spared no expense. He hired a florist to fill Grace Cathedral with roses. Frankly, I thought he went a bit too far. That church is gorgeous on its own. After the ceremony, we were all to gather at The Palace Hotel for the party of the year. The Shraders reserved the entire restaurant for the wedding reception – that’s how extravagant the affair was. I attended the rehearsal dinner. I remember Gregory snapped at my photographer over the staging of the wedding photos. When his brother tried to intervene, Gregory gave him a look that scared me. I knew something was up between those two. I remember the day of the wedding as though it were yesterday.
‘Poor Gregory. I remember him standing at the head of the full church, Matthew next to him as he waited for his bride. As the minutes ticked by, the crowd became restless. Still, Gregory waited there, so proud and sure of himself. An hour later, Matthew led him away. After they left, Hendrik came to the front of the church, stood at the pulpit – if you can believe that – and announced that the wedding had been postponed and the guests could proceed to The Palace Hotel for a party.
‘Of course, Hendrik expected his daughter to pay for the shame and humiliation she caused him. He stripped Minna of her trust fund, her jewels, and left her penniless. He disowned her.’ Aunt Lillian sighed. ‘She just disappeared without a trace. Some say her father murdered her. Others say Matthew gave her money to run away. Gregory sent his suicide note to her. That alone would be enough to make a woman run.’
Aunt Lillian stood. She took a cigarette from a box on the mantelpiece and put it in a long mother-of-pearl holder, took a few puffs, and ground the cigarette out.
I opened the envelope she had given me and pulled out a bundle of newspaper clippings, along with a black-and-white eight-by-ten photograph of Minna, dressed in a beautiful fitted dress, with ruching around the waist, adorned with seed pearls.
‘That’s Minna’s engagement picture. I threw that article in so you could get a glimpse into how horrid Hendrik Shrader really was.’
The article showed the picture of a man with shrewd eyes and a square face. He wore a business suit, held a shovel, and stood in front of a building under construction. The article was captioned Hendrik Shrader Refuses Employees’ Request for a Wage Increase. Trouble Brewing?
‘He got his just desserts after that article. His employees walked off the job. Why would they work for him when other places would pay them more money?’
We spoke of more cheerful things for a while. When the clock on the mantel chimed four-thirty, I told Cynthia that I needed to leave.
We thanked Aunt Lillian for the tea and sandwiches. On our way out, she kissed my cheeks. ‘Please come and visit me again, my dear.’
Fifteen minutes later Cynthia and I were back in Grisham’s cab, speeding down Van Ness. The cab flew through traffic, but we pulled up to the Geisler Institute at five on the button.
‘Cynthia, how can I ever thank you?’ I tucked the envelope that Aunt Lillian had given me under my arm and grabbed the shopping bag that held my stockings.
‘Be careful, Sarah. Something tells me things are not what they seem at this place. You’re not Minna Shrader.’
I met her gaze straight on. ‘No, but I could be.’
Chapter Seven
Mrs McDougal sat at the kitchen table, her feet propped up on a footstool. Two nurses whom I had never seen before sat at the table drinking coffee. One of them wrote a letter. She finished with a flourish, signed her name, folded the linen sheet of paper in half, and added it to a stack that she had already written.
‘I wrote three letters last week,’ the writer said. She put the cap on her fountain pen and set it on top of the stack of letter
s.
‘I think the writing-letters-to-soldiers campaign is a good idea, but what can you say to a stranger? I mean, really, Nina, what do you write?’ the other nurse said.
‘You say thank you, and you tell them that even though you’ve never met them, you know in your heart they are risking their life fighting for our country. You tell them about sunshine and food shortages and the crowded city streets – normal things. You know that the letter you send them might be the last personal thing they ever see.’
‘Aren’t you a patriot!’ the other exclaimed, with more than a little sarcasm in her voice.
‘My father is dead and I have no brothers. I want to do my part. And you may as well know, I’ve joined the WAACS. I ship out to Daytona Beach in two weeks,’ Nina said. ‘The Women’s Auxiliary Army Corp, yep. Our job is to do the clerical and other jobs to free up the men for fighting.’
‘I know what it is,’ the other nurse said.
‘Will you go into a war zone?’ Mrs McDougal asked. She put her mug down and stared at Nina as though she were witnessing the second coming.
‘I don’t know. But I would if I had to. I’m ready. I just feel like I need to do something, so signing up for the WAACS made sense.’ She stood and carried her coffee mug to the sink. Her friend followed behind her. I slipped on the apron I’d worn earlier while they rinsed the mugs and sat them on the draining board to dry. They thanked Mrs McDougal for the coffee, nodded at me, and started up the narrow staircase that led to the hospital wing.
‘Times are changing.’ Mrs McDougal took her apron off the hook and put it on.
‘Cynthia Forrester thinks we will never wear silk stockings again,’ I said.
‘Well, I was thinking of more serious matters, but never mind that. We’ve had two new patients today. They came this morning before daylight, so it’s hectic in the hospital wing now. I used to think that a cook worked hard, especially in a place like this, until I saw what those nurses have to do every day. They work long hours on their feet and I’ve never, not once, heard a complaint from any of them.’
‘What smells so good?’
‘Our neighbour, Mrs Parks, brought me two large chickens.’ Mrs McDougal beamed. ‘I baked them earlier and concocted two large casseroles. They’re in the oven. I’ve got the bones boiling to make stock.’ She pointed to a large iron pot bubbling on the stove. ‘I am going to get as much from those poor birds as I can. Have you had a nice afternoon out?’
‘Yes, thank you. I went with a friend to visit her aunt.’ Mrs McDougal wouldn’t approve of my efforts to help Minna, so I spared her the details of my afternoon.
‘Dear, would you mind winding the clocks? I’m run off my feet and would like to sit for a few more minutes. That’s all I need you to do. Minna is with Dr Geisler, so her room is empty. You may as well start there and work your way down the stairs.’
‘Are you sure Minna won’t mind me going into her room?’
‘No, she is used to other people doing things for her.’
Mrs McDougal gave me a heavy brass key and sent me on my way. There were ten clocks in all, not including the tiny mantel clock in my office that I wound myself each day.
* * *
The thick curtains in Minna’s room had been pulled fast. Rather than open them, I used the dim light from the hallway to see my way to her dresser. With fumbling hands, I found one of the lamps I knew rested there. With a turn of the switch, soft light bathed the room.
The bed hadn’t been made, and the covers were pushed to the edge, as though kicked there by an angry child. Pillows lay scattered about the floor. A tea tray that gave off the distinctive odour of rotting food sat on the dresser. Buttered toast had slipped off the china plate and into a saucer of canned peaches. A cup of tea, its cream congealed in a layer of scum, sat untouched, the rationed sugar – a coveted commodity – and milk wasted now.
Minna’s dressing gown lay in a heap on the floor in front of her wardrobe, along with three other dresses she must have tried on and discarded for another ensemble. Shoes, hats, and purses were also scattered about the floor. On the vanity, four tubes of lipstick lay sideways, their caps tossed aside.
Did Minna expect Mrs McDougal or one of the day maids to pick up all this mess? Through the chaos, I spotted her clock on the mantelpiece, just as the whisper of cold air brushed the back of my neck. I stepped across the room, mindful of where I put my feet. The sound of innocent laughter stopped me in my tracks.
‘Who’s there?’
No one answered.
I moved once again towards the clock, trying not to step on anything. I didn’t see the black patent leather spectator pumps until I tripped on them. With flailing arms, I tried to balance myself to no avail. Knocking over a wicker basket of books and magazines in the process, I fell to the ground. I lay there, surveying my contribution to the mess on the floor. I sat up and considered leaving it there. It wasn’t as if Minna would notice the additional clutter.
A copy of Life Magazine lay open on the floor, its pages riddled with holes where words and phrases had been cut out with scissors.
‘Oh, no,’ I whispered. The wicker basket lay on its side, half full of magazines and a smattering of romance novels. I pulled the magazines – about half a dozen – out of the basket and rifled through them. Every single issue had words cut out. It didn’t take long to stuff the magazines back into the bottom of the basket, and stack the romance novels back on top of them. By the time everything had been put right, I had forgotten about the clocks. Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
I prepared to brave the clutter on the floor and dive under Minna’s bed to hide. When the footsteps passed, I slipped from Minna’s room unseen, leaving her clock unwound.
* * *
Between my typewriting duties and helping Mrs McDougal, I didn’t get a chance to see Zeke until after dinner. By the time I went to see him – with the envelope from Aunt Lillian tucked under my elbow – I had rationalized the magazines I had found in Minna’s room had been put there by someone else. Minna wasn’t stupid. If she had gone to the trouble of sending herself flowers and a note on her dead fiancé’s behalf, she wouldn’t leave the evidence in her room. It would be so easy for her to burn the leavings in one of the fireplaces and destroy any proof of her guilt. Why hadn’t she done so? That scenario opened up a whole new batch of questions. If Minna didn’t put the cut-out magazines in her room, who did? My mind raced with unanswered questions.
A peaceful stillness hung over the hospital wing. The patients had been fed and tended to. The two nurses I had seen downstairs in the kitchen sat at the two desks, writing notes in patient charts, so engrossed in their work they were oblivious to my presence. I slipped past them unnoticed and went to Zeke’s room, where I found him sitting on his bed, still dressed in street clothes, his injured leg elevated on two pillows.
He lay back with his eyes closed, his injured arm resting on his stomach. I stood for a moment watching him sleep, wishing I could speak to him but knowing better than to wake him. I agreed with Bethany. Zeke did need his rest.
‘I’m awake,’ he said just as I had turned to leave.
‘What’s happened? How come your leg—’
‘I walked today, with Bethany’s help. My leg hurts, but that’s to be expected.’ He smiled. ‘What’s that?’ He pointed to the envelope.
‘I’ve got some things to tell you. Is this a good time?’
He nodded. I sat next to him on the bed and told him about my afternoon with Cynthia. He listened intently as I relayed all that I had heard.
When I told him what I had found in Minna’s room, he pushed himself up in bed, wincing as he moved his injured leg.
‘I still don’t think she did it,’ I said. ‘I just can’t see her sending those notes to herself. You should have seen her when she received the invitation. Her terror was genuine, believe me.’
‘Sarah, I know that you want to help Minna, and I understand how this must seem to you. I understand that
Minna’s situation mirrors yours in many ways. You need to realize that Minna may not be stable.’
‘But something isn’t right. My gut tells me she didn’t do it, that someone is setting her up.’
‘It’s good to trust your gut. I’m all for that,’ Zeke said. ‘But you also must consider what lies before you.’
‘Why would she leave such incriminating evidence right there for someone else to find? She could have hidden those magazines anywhere in this house. She could have burned them in her own room, for crying out loud. And what about the person who followed her the other night? And what about the gargoyle? Had someone tampered with it?’
‘All the gargoyles on the roof had been tampered with. They’ve all been pushed off their bases and are tottering up there. Matthew has someone coming to remove them tomorrow. Meanwhile he’s not allowing anyone into the courtyard.’
‘We know Minna didn’t push that statue.’
‘Agreed. Sometimes when things get complicated, it’s a good idea to step back. This might work itself out in a day or two. Either way, Matthew is tending to Minna. If she is sending herself those notes, I’m sure he will see that she gets the treatment she needs. We’ve called the police, so the matter is out of our hands.’
‘What did the police say?’
‘Nothing. They took statements from Matthew and me, even though I didn’t have much to offer. They told us to call if anything else happens.’
‘But what if it’s too late? What if someone gets hurt next time?’
‘You can’t fix everything.’
He was right. There was nothing I could do right now. Stepping away would give me a fresh perspective.
‘You know, leaving those magazines in her room could be a stroke of brilliance. You found them and are now even more convinced of her innocence.’
‘Are you saying that Minna is manipulating me?’
The House of Secrets Page 9