Blounton groped for the words as Amelia tried to understand, tried to help him push them out. “F’nd ’mm. S’mny.” A ragged gasp. Angry. “Bas’ard. S’ th’ one.” An enormous effort. “Finds ’em a’th’lub. Mmmmhm. ’S all ’ranged. Ussng ’onn lee.”
They tried to say more, but the effort was too much. The part of them that was Blounton fell apart like mist in the sun, and Amelia was wholly herself again, alone in her mind, shaking and dizzy. She slumped to one side and took a shuddering breath.
* * *
“So it didn’t work, even with the cuff link?” Sidney asked. He gestured for their waiter to pour the wine.
Jonas sat across from him in a semiprivate dining room at the Union League Club, one of the city’s most exclusive gentlemen’s social clubs. As they’d passed through the main lounge on the way to their table, Sidney had quietly pointed out several millionaires and a brace of government officials. Jonas had also seen a half dozen men he recognized as regulars at Sabine’s, although none of them were personal clients of his. If they had been, he would never have acknowledged it, discretion being one of the many keys to his success over the past few years.
Jonas waited until the officious-looking server had stepped back before responding.
“Not really. The voice was so muddled, none of us knew what he was trying to say. Amelia rested for a bit and tried again, but she couldn’t get him back. She thinks there’s not enough of him left.”
Sidney shuddered. “So you’re going to go back to searching the way you were before?”
Jonas nodded.
“And you’re certain there’s nothing I can do to help?”
“If Cavanaugh reneges on his side of the agreement, we may wind up needing your skills. But for now, there’s nothing.”
“What are you thinking about how to get her out?”
“Ironically, solving this mystery actually might wind up being the easiest way,” Jonas said. “If we can find Julia Weaver—or any other hidden women—and proof of whoever is responsible, we could claim Amelia was one of the victims and get her released that way.”
“And if you don’t?”
Jonas shrugged. “I still don’t know for sure. The fever’s spread seems to be under control, and no one’s died of it, so trying that seems like a bad idea. I may be back to trying to sneak her off the island.” Jonas took a sip of the rich red wine. “There’s another ladies’ charity group coming in, a big one. It’s not a great idea, but I’m running out of time. I went to see Charley today about getting the right sort of clothes.”
He set down the glass and picked up his fork, spearing a bite of tender beef. “He didn’t have anything on hand that would fit Amelia, so he’s going to have to find the right kind of dress and cut it down. He says he’ll have it next week. Either way, it won’t go on much longer. Ten more days until Amelia’s fulfilled her end of the bargain. If Cavanaugh balks, or if there doesn’t seem to be a better solution, the ladies will be there three days after that. I’ll make it work.”
Sidney was quiet for a moment. “What about afterward? Have you thought any more about what we discussed?”
“Some.” Jonas looked at his plate, then up at the other man. “I can’t make any decisions until all this is over. But it’s appealing. I’ve been borrowing books from the doctors’ library at the asylum. Psychology is fascinating. Although,” he said, “some of it is clearly rubbish. Did you know there’s actually a theory that the color of one’s hair correlates with one’s likelihood of becoming insane? I read it in Tuke’s Dictionary of Psychological Medicine. It’s interesting that—” He broke off, realizing Sidney was suppressing a smile. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry.”
Sidney shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s fun to see you so excited about something. There are thousands of books in the university library, about every conceivable subject, and they’ll all be available to you if you decide to enroll.”
Jonas looked around the room, all dark, polished wood and Tiffany glass. His years at Sabine’s had made him familiar with the habits of New York’s wealthier citizenry, but spending time with Sidney gave him a far more intimate perspective. Sidney’s grandfather had been a founding member of the Union League Club, so Sidney had been destined for membership from birth. His rarified pedigree—and ready access to large sums of money—gave him an expansive view of what was possible.
“It’s not that easy,” Jonas said finally.
“It could be, if you’d let me—”
Jonas was already shaking his head. “I won’t take your money. Not for that.”
Dinners and gifts were one thing. He’d even been willing—all right, somewhat more than willing—to let Sidney take him to Paris. But there was something about accepting an allowance, letting Sidney pull strings to get Jonas admitted to a college course or pay his tuition, that felt wrong. Perhaps he was being irrational. It would make things easier, god knew. But he’d stopped taking Sidney’s money after their third night together. Their relationship was not about money, and for the first time in his life, Jonas liked it that way. Amelia would call him ten kinds of a fool if she knew.
“Very well,” Sidney said. “The offer is there, if you change your mind. And if there’s anything I can do to help with the current situation, please ask.”
“I will.” There was no one nearby, but Jonas lowered his voice anyway. “Just having you back on this side of the ocean helps. I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. I’m sorry you couldn’t go with me this time, but we’ll have other chances.”
If they had been alone, he would have put a hand over the other man’s, but of course that wasn’t possible here. Jonas sighed and pushed back his chair. “I have to go. I’m due at the club at ten, and Sabine’s already unhappy with me after these last few weeks.”
Sidney stood, too. “She’ll be happier with you when I rent one of the rooms for the night.”
Jonas raised an eyebrow. “The whole night?”
“Don’t worry,” Sidney said, his voice pitched for Jonas’s ears alone. “I’ll let you sleep a little.”
They walked to the curb, where they stood a careful distance apart, waiting their turn for a cab. Jonas glanced down the block, and his eyes snagged on a pair of figures moving toward them. It was Klafft, with Connolly trailing behind, scribbling on a stack of papers.
Jonas tensed. Being seen standing outside one of the most exclusive clubs in the city—in expensive evening attire, no less—was not in keeping with his pose as a lowly orderly. A cab pulled to a stop before them, and he hastened aboard, trying to keep his face turned away from the duo on the sidewalk.
Jonas kept his eyes forward as the driver pulled away, uncertain if he’d been seen and unwilling to do anything to draw attention to himself. Halfway down the block, however, he risked a glance out the window.
Connolly had stopped and was turned toward their retreating cab, but Jonas couldn’t make out the expression on his face. Klafft was standing outside the door Jonas and Sidney had just exited. As Jonas watched, Connolly turned and hurried to hold the door for his employer, then followed him inside.
“Klafft is a member of the Union League Club?”
“He is,” Sidney replied, “although I don’t know him personally.”
Jonas settled back into his seat, wondering where an asylum physician got the money to mingle with society’s elite. He grimaced. If either man recognized him, they were probably wondering the same of him.
38
Jonas seemed pensive the next day as he walked beside her to Andrew’s office.
“Amelia?” There was a tentative note in his voice.
She turned to him, her eyebrows raised.
“Have you— Have you ever thought about what it would be like to do something else? To leave the club, I mean?”
She gaped at him. “Why would I? Working at the club is perfect for us. Assuming Sabine will have me back, once I’m out of here.”
He was about to reply when one of the ward
doors opened and Klafft emerged. Jonas stiffened, a look of guarded alarm on his face. He relaxed once the doctor was out of earshot and looked at her.
“Now that he’s on the mend, we really need to try for his apartment again. I saw him with Connolly at the Union League Club last night. If Klafft can afford the fees there, he’s got far more money than he’s making here.”
Amelia frowned. “What were you doing at the Union League Club?”
Jonas glanced away and began walking again. His voice became studiedly nonchalant. “Having dinner with Sidney.”
Amelia stumbled. Jonas caught her elbow.
“I thought he was in Europe.”
“He’s back.” His next sentence stunned her. “When all of this is over, I want you to meet him.”
Amelia was saved from having to think of a reply by their arrival at Andrew’s office.
The doctor was inside, and Jonas outlined their suspicions about Klafft as Amelia sat mulling over Jonas’s casual declaration. When he’d told her Sidney had left, she’d assumed it meant their affair was at an end. Clearly, she’d been wrong. His talk of leaving the club—that had to be Sidney’s influence. Jonas would never have suggested it, never even considered it, before Sidney came along. And wanting them to meet? He’d never proposed such a thing before. At least she still had a little time before she had to actually do it.
With a pang of bleak amusement at the idea of her current predicament saving her from a tedious social engagement, Amelia wrenched her attention away from Jonas’s romantic foibles and back to the matter at hand: Klafft and his suspicious wealth.
“I agree it’s suggestive,” Andrew was saying, “but it doesn’t mean he’s involved. He could have some other source of income—family money or the like.”
“I’m just saying, he bears watching,” Jonas replied. “It’s clear he doesn’t think much of women, and it isn’t so great a stretch to imagine him being part of the scheme. Remember, Elizabeth said he was the first to examine her after she arrived. He’s exactly—”
Jonas broke off at the sound of footsteps in the hallway and plucked a sheet of paper from Andrew’s desk. He pretended to read it as Tyree appeared in the doorway, his coat thrown over one arm and carrying a valise. It was meant to be his weekend at liberty, although Amelia had assumed he would stay on the island with so many patients ill. It seemed she had guessed incorrectly. Perhaps while he was gone she would get another chance at that dratted lock.
“Headed out for the weekend?” Andrew asked.
“Indeed,” Tyree said, shifting his coat from his right arm to his left to shake the hand Andrew offered. A muffled jangle came from the pocket. His keys.
Amelia straightened and caught Jonas’s eye. He’d heard it, too. Amelia leaned forward, wondering if she dared make a try for them.
“I meant to ask you,” Andrew said to Tyree suddenly, and somehow Amelia was certain he’d known what she was thinking. He was making a credible effort at sounding as if he had just remembered something. “There’s a woman in three whose case I’d like your opinion of. I don’t want to make you miss the ferry,” he went on, “but if you can spare a moment before you go, I would appreciate it.”
Tyree set the valise on a corner of the desk. He laid the coat across it.
Amelia was careful not to look at it as Tyree pulled his watch from his vest pocket and clicked open the cover.
“I have precisely forty minutes before the next ferry,” he said.
“Fifteen minutes, at most,” Andrew assured him, looking at Amelia as he said it. “Just down the hall, a quick look, and right back here for your things. Mr. Vincent,” he said, turning to Jonas, “would you mind remaining here with Miss Casey until I return?”
“Of course, Doctor,” Jonas said.
“Well, then.” Tyree tucked his watch away and gestured to the doorway. “Lead on.”
The moment the two men were out of the room, Amelia plunged her hand into the pocket of the coat and withdrew a heavy ring of keys. By the time Andrew and Tyree disappeared around the corner, she and Jonas were at Tyree’s door. The hallway was empty in both directions.
“Hurry,” Jonas said. “I’ll keep lookout this time and give you a knock at twelve minutes. Tap when you’re ready to come out, and I’ll open the door if it’s clear.”
Amelia’s hands shook only a little as she tried the keys one after another. The third slid into the lock, and it clicked open. She was inside in a flash.
Twelve minutes—less now—until the keys had to be back in Tyree’s pocket. Not time enough to search the whole place. Amelia wasted a second on indecision before turning toward the boxes beside the wall. Andrew had mentioned Tyree was storing Blounton’s belongings. The scrap of paper bearing Julia’s name might have been left behind when the killer removed Blounton’s notes, but it was also possible Tyree had left it behind while cleaning out the desk after Blounton’s death. If the rest of the page was still with Blounton’s things, it might contain the solution.
Amelia knelt beside the boxes and glanced at the knots tied in the string—simple enough to re-create—then opened the first box and scrabbled through its contents.
Books. A bundle of letters addressed to “John” and signed “Mother.” A half-finished reply. The handwriting matched that on the scrap Andrew had found. Definitely written by Blounton, then. There was also a small black notebook, mostly blank. A few telegrams. A note from Tyree, suggesting a time and place for dinner in the city.
Amelia turned to the second parcel. Along with Blounton’s medical bag, it held a small shaving kit—Blounton must have stayed overnight on the island as Andrew sometimes did. There was also a wrinkled shirt and collar and a single cuff link—the mate to the one she’d found in Andrew’s office and used to summon the man—in a little padded box.
Nothing else. Amelia sat back on her heels with a muttered oath as Jonas rapped on the door. The twelve minutes were gone. She’d guessed wrong, and now there was no time to search elsewhere. She retied the boxes and hurried to the door. Jonas opened it at her tap, and she slid back into the hallway. They hurried back to Andrew’s office, where she stuffed the keys back into the coat pocket and resumed her seat.
The doctors returned no more than a minute later. His workweek done, Tyree bade Andrew farewell with a smile, his keys jingling in his pocket as he strode away.
Andrew looked between them as the other doctor vanished around the corner.
Amelia shook her head. “Not enough time for a full search. There was nothing helpful in Blounton’s boxes.”
Andrew slumped against the doorway, disappointment on his face.
Jonas sighed. “I should get back to the wards. I’ve got two hours left in my shift.”
“Hold on,” Amelia said, reaching for a pencil and paper. “I’ve got some more names we can cross off the list.”
The lead of the pencil snapped at the first stroke.
“There should be another in the desk,” Andrew said from his place by the door.
Amelia slid open the center drawer. The familiar photo of Julia was there. But beside it was another, one Amelia hadn’t seen before. Julia, plain and solid, sat on a bench, one arm wrapped around a pretty little girl with golden curls.
Something restless moved at the back of Amelia’s mind as she looked at them. “What’s this?”
Jonas leaned over to look as Andrew walked toward them.
“Ned gave me that one along with the other photograph.”
“You never showed it to us.” She focused on the little girl’s face, then traced it with a finger.
“I didn’t think it was much use, since you can’t really see Julia’s face.”
“This is her daughter?”
“Yes,” Andrew said. “Catherine. Although I believe the family calls her Kitty.”
Kitty.
The word slammed into Amelia’s mind like a mallet, and the restless thing slipped its bonds.
My cat. She’ll wonder where I’ve gone,
my sweet little kitty.
Amelia’s blood froze in her veins. The world dwindled to a single, brilliant point of light. It pulsed in time with her thundering heartbeat, and each blinding, infinite flash loosed another revelation.
A woman in a dream, following a yellow cat through a field of flowers.
A woman in a cell, weeping, a stuffed cat at her feet.
A visitor in the night, and a gray-wrapped corpse carried away with the dawn.
My Cat. She’ll wonder where I’ve gone, my sweet little Kitty.
Amelia mouthed the words through numb lips as their import seared through her: They’d failed before they had ever begun.
Julia Weaver was dead.
39
Andrew looked over in time to watch the blood drain from Amelia’s face. She swayed in the chair. He put out a hand to steady her and found she was trembling.
“Amelia?”
She tore away from his touch and leapt for the door, wrenching it open, as if desperate to escape from the room. She strode down the hallway, her breath coming in loud gasps. He went after her and found he could only barely keep up, despite the difference in their heights.
“Amelia, wait,” he said, reaching for her arm.
She rounded on him, her eyes blazing. “Julia Weaver is dead,” she spat.
“What?” he said, as stunned as if he’d run into a wall.
There was movement at the corner of his eye. Jonas. He’d forgotten the other man was there. Jonas glanced at the fortunately empty hallway, then took them each by an elbow and, with a jerk of his head, directed them back toward Andrew’s office.
A torrent of words poured from Amelia’s mouth as they went, low and intense. Andrew’s head buzzed as he tried to keep hold of the thread. Her dreams. A stuffed toy. Footsteps in the hallway and a floating specter and the sound of a cell door opening in the middle of the night. Every word was a knife.
He’d failed. She was dead. He would have to tell Ned that his sister was gone.
“We were never going to find her,” Amelia finished in a bitter tone as they reached the office. “She was in the cell next to mine that night, but she’s bones on Hart Island by now.”
A Deadly Fortune Page 21