Charity's Burden

by Edith Maxwell

  On the other hand, I very much wished to learn who had threatened me. I could drop a note by to Emmaline if I learned the identity. I would then rest easy knowing the matter was in the capable hands of Kevin Donovan. I spied a boy standing near a hitching post and beckoned him over.

  “Will thee watch Peaches for me? I’ll only be a few minutes, and there’s a coin in it for thee.”

  “Certainly, miss.”

  “I appreciate it.” I climbed down, holding my skirts above the mud and muck of the street and handed him the reins. I made my way into the hotel, giving a rough-looking gang of young men a wide berth. I felt their gaze follow me.

  “I swan, boys, it’s the Quaker Detective,” one proclaimed in a rowdy voice. Guffawing commenced all around.

  I stood tall and kept moving toward the hotel’s front door. I was accustomed to receiving curious looks, admonishing comments, questions about the language and dress of Friends. But I was rarely the object of such derision. The children’s adage, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never harm me,” was certainly true in this case.

  Inside I paused to take my bearings. The lobby was a large room, but a dark, dingy, and noisy one. No gleaming ornate woodwork here, no fancy brocade draperies. Not a potted plant to be seen. Manure had clearly been tracked in, because the air was ripe with scents of both man and beast. I was relieved to see a wooden enclosure in the far corner. It had a glass window in the door and was clearly labeled Telephone. Despite being well before noon, a bar that ran along one wall of the lobby was fully subscribed. Men hoisted pints of beer in glass tankards, and I spied more than one small glass of amber liquid being consumed, too.

  I turned my back on the imbibers and headed to the front desk opposite the bar. A harried-looking man in an ill-fitting suit greeted me.

  “Yes, miss?” His narrow face matched his high voice—pinched, not full. A big board of numbers and hooks hung behind the clerk. A few of the hooks held keys. Below the key board was a set of wooden slots, some of which held envelopes or slips of paper. “I hope you’re not wanting a room, because we’re full up.”

  “No, not at all. What I wish to see is the ledger where you record the names of people who use your telephone cabinet.” I was careful not to touch the long counter, which was so grimy it couldn’t have been cleaned in a year, perhaps a decade

  “Why, I can’t show that to you. Management policy and all like that.”

  I leaned a little closer over the counter. I glanced around before speaking and then peered at him over the tops of my spectacles. “It’s secret police business, you see. I’m a private detective.” I was hardly following Friends’ principle of integrity, but if my tiny white lie got me answers and brought justice, perhaps it could be forgiven.

  The clerk’s eyebrows flew up. “One of them Pinkertons, are you? I read all those stories. What an exciting life you must lead.”

  “I can’t divulge who employs me. Now, the ledger, please.”

  This book was thicker, plainer, and dirtier than the one at the Grand Hotel. I flipped back to yesterday’s page and ran my gloved finger down the list of names. Far more calls had been made from this public telephone than from the previous one, and the hours after noon were crowded with names. I found two thirty, two fifty, three ten, three fifteen, and finally, three thirty. My heart fell when I tried to decipher the scribbled name. I peered at it, stood back and examined it with a cocked head, and lifted the book to get better light. But I couldn’t make out the Christian name nor the surname. The caller either had abysmal handwriting or had deliberately tried to obscure his name. It occurred to me that whoever called me might have scribbled a false moniker, rendering my entire search for the caller moot.

  I opened my mouth to ask the clerk if he remembered who made the call but he was busy with a man built like a stone pillar, with a voice equally as heavy and rough. When the clerk became available, I gestured for him to help me.

  “Can thee make out this name at three thirty yesterday? Does thee remember who made that call?”

  “For your second question, I only work on the weekends. It’s the boss’s wife who works during the week, but she says she needs two days of rest.” He also peered closely at the book. “No, I’m sorry, miss. I can’t make it out, either.” He looked up and shrugged. “Wish I could help you. Is there any other detecting you need done?” He rubbed his hands together.

  I nearly laughed out loud despite my dejection at not discovering my caller’s identity. “You can detect if there are any other hotels in town besides this one and the Grand Hotel. Or any other telephones available to the public.”

  “There aren’t any other hotels, but doesn’t the post office have a new telephone cabinet?”

  Of course. How had I forgotten that? Bertie had told me a couple of months ago about the cabinet’s installation. “I thank thee greatly for thy assistance.”

  “I am happy to serve. Perhaps I’ll turn up in one of the Pinkerton novels sometime soon.” His excitement was like a boy’s.

  “Perhaps.” I bade him farewell and hied off to fetch my horse and buggy. And maybe discern the name of Charity’s killer, too.

  thirty-eight

  But I didn’t get that far.

  “If it isn’t lovely Midwife Carroll,” a voice called out before I was out the door of the Mechanics Hotel.

  I turned my head in the direction of the voice, which was also the bar’s location. As I’d thought, the speaker was Joey Swift, who now walked toward me with a big smile on his face. A number of men’s heads also turned in my direction. I did my best to ignore them.

  “I’ve been looking for you, Miss Carroll,” he said when he neared. The fumes of alcohol on his breath were enough to intoxicate me and four other people. His words were not slurred, though, and his gait had looked normal. Perhaps he’d just now commenced to drink.

  “Is that so, Joey?” I decided to play it innocent and not let on that I’d seen him banging on my door both times.

  “Yes, ma’am. Oh, but you’re a miss, aren’t you? What are you doing consorting with the riff-raff down here?”

  “I had an inquiry to make. Why was thee looking for me?”

  “Will you sit for a moment?” With a formal gesture that didn’t comport with everything else I’d seen of him, he indicated two empty upholstered chairs near the big coal stove that heated the lobby.

  If sitting here and talking with him would forestall any future angry visits, I would do it. I examined the chair, which had seen better days, before perching gingerly on the edge. I folded my hands in my lap and waited. Joey sat at right angles to me.

  “It’s this way, Miss Carroll.” He gave me an earnest look. “I have a friend, a lady friend. She’s with child but she doesn’t want the baby. I heard you might know of a way for her to get rid of it.”

  “Is thee the father, Joey?”

  “Me? What?” His eyes shifted to a spot to the side and beyond me, and he rubbed his ear. “No, no, it’s not like that.”

  If those weren’t clues he was lying, I didn’t know what were.

  “She’s a, uh, lady of the night, you see. She’s got her business to think of. She can’t be raising a baby and all that.”

  “I see.” In my experience, prostitutes were some of the best at knowing how to avoid becoming pregnant and were aware of effective solutions in case they did. “Did she ask thee for assistance?”

  “No, as a matter of fact. But I want to help her. She’s a very nice lady.” His gaze met mine again.

  I sat for a moment discerning how to answer as I watched the busy foot traffic flow around us. I was the only woman in the place, so I received my fair share of odd looks. “I don’t think I can help thy friend.”

  “Why ever not?” he asked, his rising ire evidenced by his reddening neck and face.

  “My own business is that of helpin
g women give birth, not preventing it. Like I helped thy cousin Charity, may God keep her soul. I can recommend two others who might be able to assist thy friend.”

  Joey lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Ransom said somebody tried to help Charity get rid of a baby and killed her instead.”

  “Thee is friendly with Ransom?” They hadn’t seemed particularly so outside of Virtue’s home the day Charity died.

  “He’s my cousin, isn’t he?” He lifted his chin but averted his gaze again. “Listen, this is a bit urgent. My lady friend can’t be working once she gets bigger.” He made a gesture in front of his stomach, rounding his hands to indicate a pregnant belly.

  “Then have her contact either Wallace Buckham on Moody Street or Savoire Restante on Clark.” I watched him closely for signs of a reaction. If he had hired one of the two to kill Charity, he should be nervous at my knowledge of them.

  “Thanks for that. I’ll let her know.” He rubbed his ear again but otherwise didn’t appear anxious or on edge.

  “Either of them might be able to help her.” I stood. “I expect I’ll see thee at Charity’s Memorial Meeting for Worship this afternoon?”

  He rose. “Oh, for corn—” He stopped himself. “Excuse me. I’d forgotten all about that. Yes, of course I’ll be there. Have to honor my cuz, don’t I?” He peered at me. “Since it’s with the Quakers, I guess I’m going to have to get all silent and such.”

  I smiled. “We will keep worshipful silence when it’s rightly ordered, but at a Memorial Meeting all are welcome to share memories of the deceased.”

  He swiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “That’s a relief. Well, thanks for those names, Miss Carroll. I’ll be seeing you.” He sauntered back to the bar.

  We would have one inebriated cousin in our midst while we remembered poor Charity. As I headed for the door, I wondered if his story about needing an abortionist for his lady friend was true. Would simply wanting help merit such ire as he’d exhibited at my house? Or perhaps it was merely frustration because he’d just learned of his lady friend’s pregnancy and felt helpless in the face of it. Or was he also the likely father?

  thirty-nine

  I made my way to the post office, tying Peaches to a post when I arrived. The horse and buggy were a great convenience when I needed to travel to the other side of town. They greatly simplified my life when I needed to go out or come home late at night, even though I’d been assaulted this week as I drove. But for small trips within the downtown area, it was more of a bother. I sighed. I was here now, and I’d be home soon.

  The post office was packed with people. Ladies holding boxes to mail, men jostling at the counter to buy a stamp or pick up a waiting parcel, a woman twirling the knob of her locked postal box. I spied Bertie and her young assistant, Eva, behind the counter. Eva looked frazzled and at her wits’ ends, while Bertie took the rush in stride. There was, in fact, a small telephone cabinet in the back corner, but I wouldn’t bother Bertie at such a busy time for the call ledger. I waved at my friend and turned to go, then decided to give a peek inside the cabinet before I left.

  I saw through the window in the door that nobody was within, so I pushed it open. I was surprised to spy a ledger hanging from a chain fixed to the wall next to the telephone box. A pencil hung from a string next to the ledger, so the system must be for users to enter their own names. The telephone itself was a wall model, not the type that sat on a desk like ours at home. I entered, pushed the door shut, and sat on the small seat protruding from the back wall of the cabinet.

  Again I found yesterday’s page and ran my finger down the list of times and scrawled names. I slowed when I came to the early afternoon. But luck was not with me. The ledger showed a call at two fifty, and then was blank until four thirty. I slammed the book shut. I stood too fast, bumping my elbow on the back wall. Tingles of pain shot up and down my arm. People called that sensation the result of bumping the funny bone. It didn’t feel particularly funny to me.

  I climbed slowly back into my buggy. Fatigue combined with frustration dragged me down. I should convey the news of the threatening call to Kevin by way of Emmaline, and also tell him what David had said about Wallace Buckham, but I was too tired to even consider one more outing. I closed my eyes for a moment, holding myself and the investigation in the Light of God, praying that Way would open for the truth to be revealed. But the bustling street was too noisy for my prayer to calm me.

  I sighed, opening my eyes, then scanned up and down the busy street for an opening to join the flow of vehicles. I smiled when I saw Kevin hurrying in my direction.

  “Kevin Donovan,” I called to him. My problem looked like it had been solved by the grace of God. Or maybe of Kevin’s errand.

  When he looked around to see who had hailed him, I waved, and he strode up to the buggy.

  “Thee is just the person I wanted to see,” I said.

  “Why am I not happy to hear that?” he said in a sardonic tone. “What nefarious deeds have you discovered now, Miss Rose?”

  Two women in elegant wool coats passed by at that moment. Their hands in fur muffs, they glanced at Kevin with a look of alarm. One pursed her lips while the other took an extra step away from us before they hurried down the street.

  “Does thee have time to sit for a moment?” I patted the seat next to me. “I don’t want the world to hear what I have to say.”

  Kevin climbed in the other side. “What’s happened now?”

  “I was speaking with David Dodge about Charity’s death. He was in Portsmouth all week at a physicians’ meeting and returned only yesterday. I asked him about Wallace Buckham, and he said he thought the doctor had been involved in a case that besmirched his reputation as an orthopedist. He thought Wallace might even have been censured by the medical association.”

  “Interesting. I am planning to investigate this Buckham.”

  “David said he would, too. Being a doctor might open more doors to him.”

  “What else do you have?” Kevin asked.

  I told him about the telephone threat, and about my search of public telephone cabinets. “I couldn’t find a thing. I’m exceedingly disappointed.”

  “That was a good thought, to search the ledgers. But the call could very well have come from a device in someone’s home, you know.”

  “Perhaps. After the call, I asked the operator if she knew where the call originated. She said she didn’t, but mentioned the public cabinets.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out, Miss Rose.”

  “I thank thee. Has thee made any progress at all? Has thee learned anything else about Savoire—that is, Sally Davies?” I heard a plaintive tone in my voice and hated it. It wasn’t like me to whine, and it showed I truly needed some rest.

  Kevin frowned. “We’re checking alibis of all concerned, and following up all leads.” The nearest church bell tolled once for the half hour. “Ten thirty already. I must go. Chief is waiting for a report, which will be woefully thin of fact and result. But I can use all your information and am grateful for it.” He climbed out of the buggy, but leaned back in and frowned at me. “However, you must stop traveling about asking questions, Miss Rose. It will only lead to even more trouble for you.”

  “I know, and frankly, I agree. The next two days are full with Friends Meeting affairs and I won’t have a moment to get into trouble.”

  “Good. The victim’s service is this afternoon, I understand.”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll be in attendance,” Kevin said, crossing himself with a quick small movement. “As a show of respect for the family.”

  “But also because the killer might well attend, too?”

  “Precisely.”

  forty

  I turned over again in my bed an hour later, but sleep eluded me. I’d experienced this before, when my body was so overtired it wouldn’t let me
rest. My nerves jangled like my arm had earlier when I’d bumped my elbow. Thoughts and images from the past two days flooded my brain. Joey’s request of me to help his lady friend stop a pregnancy. The scribbled illegible name on the three thirty line in the Mechanics Hotel ledger. The hoarse voice of my caller. Wallace Buckham in his fancy house taking umbrage at my questions. How would I ever sort through it all?

  At last I gave in to the inevitable. I would not sleep this morning. I sat up and tidied my hair and dress. The house was quiet at present, with the family out at school and work for the morning. I wandered into the front hall and collected the mail from the floor. My cheeks grew warm and my heart skipped a beat when I spied a letter in David’s hand addressed to me. The stack also included a letter from Orpha. I sat at my desk and slit open Orpha’s envelope first, saving David’s for afterward like the special sweet it was.

  Dear Rose,

  Would you do me the favor of taking me to Charity Skells’s service this afternoon? I feel a need to convey my respects to her family. I shall be ready by one thirty.

  Orpha

  Of course I would transport my elderly mentor. She must have seen a notice in the newspaper about the service. Or simply heard about the arrangements around town. Orpha knew many people and had ever been a source of much information. Now I turned to David’s note.