by Goodman, Jo
Christian nodded, accepting the apology because it was important to her. In truth, her thrust had not hurt. He was numb. "Have you ever heard Scott call her the Princess?"
"Yes. He mentioned she was called that on the ward. It was one of the incongruities that intrigued him."
"I know." He gestured to the newspapers. "Do you read the Herald? The personal columns?"
"Sometimes," she admitted a trifle sheepishly.
"Recently?"
"No."
"Well, someone's been placing notices in there and signing them Princess."
"Oh, Christian." Susan laughed, shaking her head. "You can't possibly think that—"
"I do," he said firmly. "And even if I didn't, I would still have to investigate. There is no other lead, you see. If I cannot find her through this, then she is lost to me."
Susan's heart went out to him. This was a Christian Marshall others rarely were permitted to see. "You want her back?"
Christian was startled momentarily. "No... I don't know." He looked past Susan's shoulder. One of his early paintings hung on the wall. It was a still life, and not a particularly good one, but Susan had liked the colors and the way he had used light to make the apples appear as if they were ripening even as you looked at them. That painting was supposed to be in his studio with the others, but when Susan discovered he was removing them from the walls of Marshall House, she had begged one from him. "I want to know she is safe," he said. He thought of Jenny and how he would tilt her head to one side and use light along the curve of her neck and shoulder to show the translucent quality of her skin. Her lips would be glistening, ripening. He would paint desiring in her eyes.
"Do you love her, Christian?" Susan asked, watching him closely.
Christian's gaze dropped away from the painting. "No, Susan, I don't love her. That would be..." His voice trailed off. "No, I don't love her."
He believed it even if Susan found just cause to doubt. She did not argue, though. "What is it you want me to do?"
Christian stripped away the twine that bound the stack of papers. "I have a little more than a month's worth of papers here. That is several thousand personal notices. I need help going through them. I want to find every reference to Princess or Butler. That is who Princess writes to. In yesterday's paper there was a reference by Butler to a location. I am hoping the specific site was mentioned in an earlier ad." From his jacket pocket he took out the notice from yesterday's edition of the Herald and showed it to Susan. "This is all I have to go on."
Susan read it aloud. "Princess. All things required moved to new location. Arrangements in order. See Smith. Next? Butler." Her eyes were doubtful. "You could be right, I suppose. There might be an address in these earlier editions. I assume that 'Next?' means Butler is awaiting further instructions."
"That's what I thought. I am going to pick up the paper for the next several days to see if there's anything in there."
"And Smith?"
"I have no idea."
"What arrangements, I wonder?"
"I am hoping that will become clearer once we find the other notices. Mrs. Brandywine mentioned there were others detailing some sort of list."
Susan pushed her plate of cold eggs and bacon to one side and rolled up the long sleeves of her russet day gown. "I detest newsprint on my clothes," she explained when Christian raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Hand me some of those papers," she said in businesslike tones. "We might as well begin now."
Christian and Susan read steadily right up until luncheon. The reading was tiresome to their eyes, which was precisely the reason Christian had not asked for Mrs. Brandywine's help. He did not even know if his housekeeper realized Jenny was gone yet. He had left the house without a word to anyone.
"What do we have so far?" he asked as Mrs. Adams brought them hot bowls of spiced tomato soup and slices of freshly baked bread. Christian leaned back in his chair and allowed Beth to climb onto his lap. He tucked a linen napkin into the collar of her dress.
Susan rubbed her eyes and then stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. "What we have does not amount to much," she said. "It is disappointing." She fingered the clippings to the left of her plate. '"Butler. Contact printing frame. Rack. Stu will know. Princess.' And: 'Princess. Need funds. Items on first list expensive. Suggestions? Butler.'" Susan buttered a slice of bread and passed it to her daughter. "Don't dribble on Uncle Christian, dear," she said absently. "Here, Christian, this one is interesting. 'Butler. Watch Ruby R. Sterling—Princess.' I have to admit that I am no closer to understanding than I was when we started."
"I'm not either," he said reluctantly. "Let's break after lunch. I will pick up today's Herald and see if anyone in the office where they take the ads remembers Jenny. I'm told that it's not likely." He ducked his head then, concentrating on his lunch and Beth, and hid his despair from Susan.
* * *
Scott Turner recognized Billy MacCauley's shuffle before the attendant tapped him on the shoulder. "What is it, Billy?" he asked, removing his stethoscope. "I am busy with a patient."
"Dr. Morgan wants to see you in his office."
Scott hid his agitation and readjusted the sheet over his patient's chest. "When?"
"I think he means now."
"You're doing much better, Mr. Reid," Scott said, ignoring William for the time being. "Your temperature is down since yesterday. I expect it will be normal by morning. A few days' observation for the chest pains you've had and then we will release you. The attendant will be around soon with your medicine." Scott smiled encouragingly at the older man and patted him lightly on the wrist. "I will be back this afternoon to see you." He stood up, taking his leather bag from the neighboring empty bed. "Excuse me, Mr. Reid, but you heard Billy. I'm in demand."
Scott was in the hallway before his scowl showed. He pushed back an errant lock of hair and snapped at MacCauley. "I hope this interruption has merit. I don't have time for administrative meetings in the middle of morning rounds."
Billy MacCauley shrugged and shuffled and kept his mouth shut.
Scott was further irritated when he was kept cooling his heels in Morgan's outer office. According to the hospital administrator's secretary, Dr. Morgan was busy with some important benefactors.
"Oh, for God's sake," Scott muttered. "At least tell him I'm here, Porter. MacCauley said Dr. Morgan wanted to see me right away."
Charles Porter's thin lips pursed tightly. "He'll see you when the Benningtons are gone."
"The Benningtons? Those are the benefactors?"
Porter nodded, tidying the stack of papers on his desk.
Scott sat down in a brown leather armchair and stretched his legs in front of him. "I wasn't aware they contributed to the hospital," he said casually. How odd, he thought. If Christian hadn't related the peculiar events that had occurred at Amalie's on New Year's Eve, Scott realized he wouldn't have given a second thought to the Benningtons visiting the hospital. Not that it meant anything anyway, he cautioned himself. He likened it to the experience of learning a new word, then suddenly seeing the word everywhere. It was not a perfect analogy, since Scott had known of the Benningtons before Christian ever mentioned them.
He and Susan had their account at First Hancock Savings and Trust, where William Bennington was president and Stephen sat on the board of directors. Scott was still considering taking his money out of the bank. It did not sit well with him that Stephen was a hothead and his father appeared to have private dealings with Amalie Chatham. The conclusion that Scott and Christian had finally drawn from the incident was that Amalie had wanted Jenny for her stable and that the senior Bennington was an interested customer—until he believed Christian's story about Jenny being a thief. Apparently William Bennington wanted a whore, but reasonably, not one who would make off with the silver. On the other hand, Stephen's unprovoked attack on Christian remained a mystery. Neither Scott nor Christian could make anything of it, and Stephen's tersely worded apology sent round a few days after the New Year
did not shed any light on the matter.
Scott had actually been more interested in Jenny's resourcefulness in the situation than in Christian's account of events in the hallway. Jenny Holland was clearly a quick-witted young woman, and Scott was increasingly convinced that his original thoughts concerning her commitment to the lunatic ward were not so very far off the mark. It was unfortunate, he thought, that Christian remained unconvinced.
"Have they been donors long?" Scott asked when Porter failed to respond to his first overture. The secretary was looking extremely uncomfortable, Scott decided.
Porter's voice was staccato, impatient, and hushed. "Since October," he rapped out. "And you did not hear me say a word. Not a word, you understand? They are anonymous."
"Oh, I see," Scott said dryly. "No social recognition for their goodwill, just greasing heaven's gate."
"Must you be so—" He broke off as Dr. Morgan's office door opened and the Benningtons stepped out. "You can go in now, Dr. Turner," he said, rising from behind his desk to escort Stephen and William from the building.
Scott grimaced at Porter's fawning. He went into Morgan's office, unaware that both Benningtons had paused to give him a second, interested look.
Dr. Morgan stood at the tall windows directly behind his desk. Sunlight glanced off the film of Macassar oil that he used to slick back his hair. The middle part was arrow straight, much like his posture. When he heard Scott's entrance, he turned away from the window. He was frowning. His brows were like sooty thumbprints above his eyes. A deep crease connected them. "Dr. Turner," he said stiffly by way of a greeting.
"Dr. Morgan."
This brief exchange was as much as Horatio Morgan allowed for amenities. He went directly to the point of the meeting. "Do you remember that Jane Doe patient we treated a while back? The one who left the hospital and died of exposure? Well, it's recently come to my attention that Dr. Glenn might have been mistaken when he identified the body, and we..."
Scott barely heard the rest of what Morgan had to say. He was slowly shutting the door behind him and thinking it was going to be a very, very long day.
* * *
Christian, Susan, and Scott had their chairs pulled in a semicircle around the fireplace. Except for an occasional popping ember, the parlor was quiet. Christian's toes nudged the brick apron. He held Muffin in his lap, and his fingertips idly stroked the kitten's calico fur. Susan's hand clasped Scott's. Occasionally she squeezed it. Scott held his sleeping daughter, his chin resting in the cap of her curls, his expression thoughtful.
"I keep wondering where Dr. Morgan came by his information," Scott said, breaking the heavy silence as he mulled over the interview again.
"Does it really matter?" Christian asked.
"No, I suppose not. Someone from the hospital could have seen her on one of her walks to the Herald's offices. If the number of clippings are any indication, then she was out of the house quite a bit in the last few weeks."
"We still don't know that Jenny is Princess," Susan reminded her husband. "Christian could not find anyone at the Herald who could confirm his suspicions. No one remembered her, and there is no clue as to the identity of this Butler person. You gentlemen are assuming Butler is a man, but there is absolutely no evidence to support that."
"There's precious little evidence to support anything," Christian said dully. "What do we know except that she has disappeared and that Dr. Morgan is suddenly concerned that his Jane Doe is alive?" Christian put the kitten on the floor and leaned forward in his chair, resting his chin on his folded hands. "Does Morgan really think I know something about Jane Doe?"
Scott nodded. "There were no direct accusations, but the good doctor was most certainly pumping me for information about you. I suppose I was foolish to think that our friendship would never come to his attention. Dr. Glenn probably mentioned that I was in your home the same evening that Jenny escaped. Remember? Susan sent him to Marshall House when he showed up here."
Susan grimaced. "How conscientious you are to bring that error to my attention—again."
Scott had the grace to look guilty. "Sorry, darling."
"It's not important now," Christian interjected. "I am far more concerned about Morgan's general interest in Jenny. It does not make sense that he would be so curious about a Jane Doe."
"Haven't I been saying that all along?" Scott asked the room at large.
"Yes, dear," Susan said dutifully, patting the back of his hand. "You've been telling us from the beginning that she is a somebody. I think even Christian is coming around to that point of view. I know your conversation with Dr. Morgan has made me a believer. But the question now is which somebody is she?" Susan's lower lip was thrust forward as she sighed wearily. "I wish I could remember where I've seen her before. I can't help but think that—"
Christian interrupted her. "You've seen Jenny before?"
Susan nodded. "Yes. But it is no good asking me about the incident. I cannot call it to mind. I told Scott it was someplace quite ordinary. I mean, where do we go that is not ordinary? My husband does not even like taking a box at the theater for the season."
This time it was Scott who grimaced. "How kind you are to bring that to my attention—again."
Christian cut off Susan's reply. "Someplace ordinary," he said. "Like an ice cream parlor? The park?"
"More like the greengrocer's," Susan said. "But it's no good, Christian. I haven't been able to recall the incident in enough detail. I think Jenny must simply remind me of someone else."
"There is no one else like her," Christian said. He stood, missing the knowing looks that Susan and Scott exchanged. He stretched, arching his back and throwing his arms wide. He walked to the table where Susan had put the clippings. The notices they had spent all morning and late afternoon collecting were pasted to a sheet of writing paper so they could not be scattered. Susan had been inspired to arrange them in chronological order and number them. She thought organization might help. It did not. The ads Princess had placed remained an enigma. "I am going to look at these again. The answer has to be in here."
Susan groaned softly. "I can't look at them one more time. Scott, why don't you help Christian? You haven't spent as many hours with them as we have. You are still fresh."
"Always," he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Oh, stop that. Let me have Beth. I am taking her to bed, and after she's settled, I will make us all a strong pot of coffee."
Scott gave his wife a peck on her proffered cheek before he joined Christian at the table. Neither of the men sat down. They leaned over the table, supporting themselves on their braced arms, and nudged the paper back and forth between them.
1. Butler. Contact printing frame. Rack. Stu will know. Princess.
2. Princess. Need Funds. Items on first list expensive. Suggestions? Butler.
3. Butler. Watch Ruby R. Sterling—Princess.
4 Butler. Potassium iodide. Ferrous sulfate. Potassium cyanide. Stu will know. Princess.
5. Princess. Need delivery address. Butler.
6. Butler. Found ideal location. Please secure for me. Gospel Hotel. And he rose, and immediately took up the pallet and went out before them all; so that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying "We never saw anything like this!" Princess.
7. Princess. All things required moved to new location. Arrangements in order. See Smith. Next? Butler.
8. Butler. Meet me afternoon Friday or Saturday. Princess.
Scott blew air through his lips and made clicking noises with his tongue. He was a loud thinker. "Who is this Stewart fellow?" he asked after several minutes of blustery thought. "And what the hell does he know that we don't?"
"Don't swear," Christian said. "Susan will come back down here and blame me for your fall from grace." He pushed the paper toward Scott. "Where do you see Stewart?" he asked.
"Right here." He pointed to the line in numbers one and four that mentioned Stu. "Stu is short for Stewart, isn't it?"
"Possibly, but I
don't think so in this case. I think the Princess is referring to something else. These chemicals she mentions have given me an idea. I don't know why I didn't see it earlier. Do you know what they're used for?"
"Poison?"
Christian's mouth skewed to one side as he gave his friend a dry look. "This is Jenny Holland we are probably talking about, Scott. Try to keep that in mind. I don't think she's planning a murder."
"Well then? What are they used for?"
"They are all chemical agents in the wet-plate process."
"Speak English, please."
"Photography," Christian said. "They are chemicals used to develop pictures." He spoke faster as he became excited by his own idea. "Potassium iodide is the chemical that's added to collodion. Collodion is rather like a glue, a thick fluid that is poured over the glass plates photographers use to take pictures. When it dries it forms a remarkably tough, transparent, and colorless skin. The collodion becomes the film that holds a photographic image."
"I see," Scott said slowly. His expression remained doubtful. "I've never done any photography. Go on. I imagine there is more."
"After the collodion is set," Christian said, "but before it's actually dry, the plate is sensitized in a bath of silver nitrate."
Scott felt the fog begin to lift. "And the chemical reaction makes light-sensitive silver iodide."
"Exactly. The light-sensitive plate is placed in the camera and the exposure is made. The Princess did not ask for silver nitrate, so I think we can assume that she already had access to some or that it was an item on this first list that Butler mentions in number two. The other chemicals she wants—ferrous sulfate and potassium cyanide—are used after the plate has been exposed. The ferrous sulfate is the standard developer, and potassium cyanide is used to fix the image. This is followed by a wash of water."
"That's all very interesting. But who is Stewart?"
"Not Stewart. Stu. As in studio. She was concerned that Butler would not understand what she required, so she recommended talking to someone at a photographic studio. Anyone there could explain to Butler precisely what she was asking for. That's what she's talking about when she mentions the contact printing frame and rack. The printing frame is what holds the negative to the paper, and the rack is for holding the frames in the sunlight for exposure."