Jubilee Trail

by Gwen Bristow

  “I’m sure of it,” Mr. Maury urged. “My good man, you should not have gone into those sordid details in the presence of a lady. I hope, Mrs. Hale, that you suffer no ill effects from this experience!”

  “Don’t you worry, ma’am,” Mr. Kimball said to Garnet soothingly. “We’ll get that woman before the day’s out. By night we’ll have her safe in handcuffs.”

  The word “handcuffs” ran over Garnet’s nerves like a rat. She stood up and faced her visitors.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hale!” Mr. Maury begged her miserably.

  Garnet looked him over disdainfully. “I am not worried about anything,” she said with frozen composure, “except having my name on the register of a hotel that is patronized by such people. I assure you, gentlemen, that I am not used to living under the same roof with murderers and—and strumpets!”

  Mr. Maury was wringing his hands again. “But Mrs. Hale, how could I know?”

  “This is my honeymoon trip,” said Garnet. “I thought it was going to be a beautiful time that I could remember as the beginning of my life’s happiness. And here my room is broken into, I am accused of harboring a—a woman of ill repute—”

  “Mrs. Hale!” groaned Mr. Maury.

  She drew herself up. “I don’t think you knew who she was, Mr. Maury. But if you want respectable people to stay here, I certainly think you’d better be more careful.” She turned to Oliver, though she did not dare to meet his eyes lest they both start giggling. “I feel quite faint,” she murmured.

  Oliver responded nobly. He gave her his arm, and she leaned against him.

  The manager and Mr. Kimball bowed themselves away with more apologies. Oliver closed the door behind them. Turning the key, he said clearly,

  “My dearest, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you were disturbed like this! Lie down and try to compose yourself. Would you like a glass of sherry?”

  His lips were trembling with mirth, but his voice was tender. Garnet answered plaintively.

  “Why yes, thank you, that might be refreshing. You are always so considerate of me.”

  “I’ll pour it at once,” said Oliver. He brought the sherry, letting the bottle clink noisily against the glass as he poured.

  But when she had taken a sip of sherry, Garnet could hold herself in no longer. She whispered,

  “Can’t we let her out, Oliver? She must be about to smother!”

  “I’ll draw the curtains,” said Oliver, with a glance at the door. “Perhaps darkness will help relieve that headache.”

  Garnet nodded. He drew the curtains and lit a lamp. As he approached the wardrobe, Garnet felt a tremor. She was wondering how Florinda was reacting to what that awful man had said about her. He had such a strident voice that she must have heard every word.

  The wardrobe door swung open. Oliver said in a low voice,

  “All right, Florinda, the coast is clear.”

  But for a moment Florinda did not move.

  She was shaking with laughter. To keep silent she had gagged herself with one of Garnet’s petticoats, stuffing the cloth into her mouth and clamping her teeth on it. At the sight of Garnet and Oliver a fresh gust of merriment swept through her, and she continued to hold the petticoat to her face, helplessly. They waited, laughing too.

  At last Florinda pulled the ruffles out of her mouth. She took Oliver’s hand and stepped down.

  Garnet held out her handkerchief. Florinda took it and began to wipe away the tears her laughter had brought to her eyes. She sank into a chair.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “But I couldn’t help it. You were so funny, both of you. I never heard such an act.” She blew her nose joyously.

  Garnet was reflecting that it was odd about people. Some of them reveled in trouble, rolling over in it and wrapping it around them, never talking about anything but what they had been through and demanding respect for still going through it. One would think, to hear them, that it was a virtue to pinch a wound every morning to make sure it would not get well.

  But others, like Florinda, simply rejected trouble. They pushed it away as soon as they could. They laughed at it.

  Florinda had leaned her head against the back of her chair and was stretching herself from head to foot like a cat.

  “Gee, it’s good to get unwound again,” she said to them. “Garnet, that last bit from you nearly put me in chains. One more line about insulted virtue, and I’d have laughed out loud and they’d have heard me.”

  Oliver pulled up a chair and sat down. “Well, that settles it,” he said with finality. “I’m on your side.”

  “I got that by the way you talked to them,” said Florinda. She laid a finger along a stripe of her taffeta skirt, as though to be sure her glove matched the stripe in color. Without looking up, she asked, “But why, Mr. Hale?”

  “I don’t know anything about the Selkirk murder,” said Oliver. “I’ve heard of it—in fact, I bought some goods from the Selkirk estate for my Western trade. But I don’t believe that tale about somebody’s disinterested friendship.”

  Florinda gave him a sardonic smile, sideways. Oliver continued,

  “It costs a lot of money to search the country. And after all, Selkirk is dead. It’s not doing him any good.”

  Florinda had listened with shrewd admiration. “You figured that out all by yourself, didn’t you? You’re a bright young man, Mr. Hale.”

  “I’m bright enough, but I think even a blockhead could see through that. One might almost get the idea,” Oliver concluded, “that Selkirk’s friend had a strong personal reason for wanting you hanged.”

  Garnet went cold. “Hanged?” she echoed.

  “That’s what happens when you’re convicted of murder,” Oliver reminded her.

  Florinda shrugged. “Well, frankly, Mr. Hale,” she said, “I don’t think any jury would hang a girl with a face like mine. But I could get a term in the New York state prison. And I probably would.”

  “That’s awful enough!” cried Garnet.

  “And when I came out of there,” Florinda said, “I wouldn’t have a face like this.” She said it so bitterly and knowingly that Garnet exclaimed,

  “Florinda! You’ve never been to jail, have you?”

  “No, darling. But I’ve known some women who have. I know what they do to you there.”

  “What, Florinda?” Garnet demanded. She felt slightly sick. She had never thought about jails before.

  Florinda spoke tersely. “You work fourteen hours a day making bags and blankets. The food they give you is swarming. If you break the rules they beat you with a leather strap on your bare back.” Her hand went out, almost unconsciously, to stroke her fur cape as it lay on the chair beside her. “I’ve seen them when they come out,” she added. “All they want is a bottle of gin and a hole to crawl into.”

  Garnet’s lips were drawn back from her teeth. “I never heard of anything like that!” she cried. “I’ve lived in New York all my life!”

  Florinda smiled at her briefly. “I guess we didn’t grow up in the same part of town, dearie.”

  Garnet thought of the stately quiet of Union Square. She thought of all those streets in New York that she had never been allowed to walk on.

  “You’re not going to prison,” she said firmly. “Florinda, you didn’t do what that dreadful man said, did you?”

  Florinda stood up. With both hands she pushed back her silver-blond hair. Her back to the curtained window, she faced them both.

  “No,” she answered.

  “I knew it,” said Garnet.

  Oliver spoke practically. “Who did kill Selkirk, Florinda?”

  “That—‘disinterested friend.’ His name is Reese. I think you’ve guessed that already.”

  “All right,” said Oliver. “Go on.”

  Florinda put her hands on the back of the chair in front of her and held it tight while she answered.

  “I did work at the Jewel Box. I was the top star there. The stage name I used was Charline Evans.”


  Oliver nodded. Florinda Continued,

  “But it’s not true about Selkirk. Oh, I’m no angel with a halo on my head, I guess you know that. But it just happens I never had anything to do with Selkirk. I never even spoke to him in my life. And I didn’t kill him.”

  Oliver said, “Were you accused of killing him when it happened?”

  “Yes. Reese killed him. Then he told the police that yarn about my being Selkirk’s girl-friend and said I’d killed him in a rage because I couldn’t get him back. Reese is a rich man, old family and all that sort of thing, I knew the police would believe him before they’d believe me. So I got out of town. My friends helped me get away. I came down here. It’s a two weeks’ journey, it seemed like coming to the end of the world. For a while I kept out of sight. But I didn’t hear a whisper from New York. There were at least fifty people who saw Reese take out his gun and shoot—the police would have to believe some of them. So finally I thought the whole thing had blown over as far as I was concerned. And I was dying of lonesomeness, I’m a sociable creature. Besides, I can’t live forever without working. So I went down and got a job.”

  “How do you get a job in a place like the Flower Garden?” Garnet asked eagerly.

  Florinda smiled. “Why dearie, it’s not hard, not if you know your trade. I went to see the manager and told him a yarn about London and Paris, which he didn’t believe, and then he said, ‘Why did you quit?’ and I said, ‘I had a little trouble about a man.’ He believed that, so he said, ‘What can you do?’ I said, ‘Give me some music and I’ll show you.’ So he called a fellow who played the piano. He said I could do a number in the show he was opening for Christmas. I did the number, and stopped the show.”

  “I don’t wonder,” Garnet said softly.

  “Yes, dear, you saw me last night. I’m the greatest entertainer in the country.”

  “And you still heard nothing from New York?” asked Oliver.

  “Not a thing. I didn’t get a hint that anybody wanted me until this morning. I came out of my room on the way to rehearsal, and saw Reese and that beefy gent at the end of the hall. I’d never seen the beefy one before, but I knew Reese right away. I ducked behind that cabinet before they saw me. It didn’t take me two seconds to figure out what had been going on. I think Selkirk’s family has been after the police to put somebody on trial for shooting him, and Reese hired that crew to bring me back so I could take it instead of him.”

  “And you think you could be convicted?” Oliver said.

  Florinda shrugged wisely. “Reese can bribe witnesses and scare the police, Mr. Hale. I can’t.”

  Oliver nodded slowly. He asked, “Were you there the night of the shooting?”

  Florinda made a grim little movement of her lips. It could hardly be called a smile. “Yes,” she answered, “I was there.”

  She said nothing else. Oliver considered. Florinda had been speaking in a steady voice. But Garnet saw that her hands in their fancy green gloves were holding the chair rigidly, as though she needed support, and her eyes were narrow and tense. Garnet could see by Oliver’s thoughtful face that he was still not content. She demanded in alarm,

  “Oliver, don’t you believe her?”

  “Why yes,” said Oliver, “I believe her.” But he was regarding Florinda shrewdly. “You haven’t told us very much, you know,” he said.

  “Haven’t I?” she asked quietly.

  “Why no,” said Oliver. “You said there were at least fifty people in the gambling house that night. There must be some reason why Reese thinks that you, and not one of the others, could be convicted for the murder.”

  Florinda shut her eyes for an instant, and took a quick breath, as though she were in pain and trying not to cry out. Garnet walked over and put her arm around Florinda and stood by her defiantly.

  “Oliver Hale,” she said, “you let her alone.”

  Florinda turned her head. Her blue eyes were so soft and tender that Garnet felt tears very close to her own.

  “Thank you, dear,” Florinda said in a low voice.

  She went back to the chair she had occupied earlier and sat down, resting her arm along the back of it. Garnet stood by her. Florinda took Garnet’s hand in hers, and held it while she spoke to Oliver.

  “Mr. Hale,” she pled, “suppose I talked till day after tomorrow? What good would it do? For all you know, I might just be spinning a yarn to make you sorry for me. And besides—” She stopped, and Garnet felt the hand holding hers give a little shiver. Florinda could defy trouble, but she could not defy tenderness. Garnet had a feeling that maybe Florinda had not had very much tenderness in her life. Florinda said, “And besides, I can’t talk about it.”

  She put her forehead down on her arm. Her gay taffeta dress rustled as she moved, and the light danced over her jewels as though everything she had on was laughing at her as she begged,

  “Don’t make me tell you any more.” She drew a short shuddering breath. “Mr. Hale, did something ever happen to you that you just couldn’t talk about? Something that you had to push down deep inside of you and forget, because if you didn’t forget it you’d go perfectly mad?”

  Oliver moved uncomfortably. He did not answer. He could not; nothing of that sort had ever happened to him. Garnet caught herself wondering if Oliver had ever had a profound experience of any sort. Well, she hadn’t either, now that she thought about it, but she did feel a strange sense of understanding.

  Still without lifting her head, Florinda pled,

  “Please help me get out of here! I can pay for it. I don’t care where I go. I’ll go to Europe, I’ll go to South America, I’ll go to some quiet little village up the river and take in sewing. I’ll never make any trouble for anybody as long as I live. But don’t send me back to New York!”

  Oliver stood up. “Good Lord, Florinda,” he exclaimed, “I’m sorry!”

  He put his hand on her shoulder.

  “It seems pretty obvious,” he added, “that you don’t deserve the New York state prison. I guess the rest is none of my business.” Florinda raised her head. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you. And please—” she smiled contritely—“forgive me for carrying on like that. I won’t go to pieces again.”

  Oliver smiled too. “Oh, stop being sentimental.” He glanced at Garnet. His face was humorous again. “And now that the hotel is surrounded like a fortress under siege,” he said, “and there’s a man in Florinda’s room so we can’t go in there to get any of her belongings—well, now I suppose we’d better start thinking up a way to get Florinda out of town.”

  EIGHT

  THEY DISCUSSED THE PROBLEM. Florinda did not know what men might be on guard at the doors, but she said Reese had probably taken care to hire men who could recognize her. She had been on the stage all her life, so thousands of people knew what she looked like.

  Oliver agreed. “I don’t think there’ll be any trouble putting you on a boat,” he added, “if we can get you past the doors and into a closed carriage. But getting you out of the hotel—that’s going to be difficult.”

  Florinda put her chin on her hand. “Isn’t there any way,” she asked, “to make me inconspicuous?”

  Garnet burst out laughing. She hadn’t meant to. It just happened.

  “Inconspicuous?” she repeated. “You?’

  Florinda looked across the room at her bejeweled reflection in the mirror. “Yes, dear, I see what you mean. But another costume might help.”

  Oliver shook his head. “We could get you a quiet dress, of course.” But his eyes went over her silvery hair and her resplendent figure. “That’s not enough.”

  “Oh, hell for breakfast,” said Florinda.

  They were silent. Then Garnet gave a sudden little gasp. She had an idea.

  “I know!” she cried. “Oh, I know! Florinda, will you do exactly what I say?”

  “Why yes, darling!” Florinda exclaimed. “What?”

  “All right, listen to me. If you’ll keep your mouth shut and
not talk about damn and hell and bottles of gin—”

  “Oh dear. I’ll keep my talk nice, really I will. What else?”

  “There’s just one sort of woman,” said Garnet, “who can go about with her face covered, in clothes that hide her figure, and have everybody step aside respectfully to let her pass.”

  “What sort, for heaven’s sake?” Oliver demanded.

  “A widow,” said Garnet. “A newly made widow, in a heavy black veil that comes down to her knees.”

  “You’re right,” Oliver exclaimed with admiration.

  “You’re a genius,” said Florinda. “Can we get the costume?”

  “Oh yes. That’s one dress you can always be sure of finding in any town. Widows are being made every day, some of them most unexpectedly. There’s always a shop with funeral weeds made up. That’s something I know about,” she insisted.

  Florinda was delighted. After a little discussion, Oliver began to outline a plan. By this time Oliver was enjoying himself very much. He liked intrigue.

  “I’ll go down and tell the clerk at the desk that a relation of mine has just come in from a plantation down the river. She is taking a boat for—for wherever there’s a boat going tonight, I’ll ask about that first. I don’t suppose it makes any difference where you go, does it?”

  “No difference at all. I’ll take any boat I can get.”

  “My dear cousin is in great affliction,” Oliver continued, “for her husband was buried only last week.”

  “She came South with her husband,” Garnet contributed, “in the hope that the mild winter would restore his health. Now she’s going home.”

  “Yes, excellent, that will account for her traveling so soon after her bereavement. She wishes to seek consolation in the bosom of her family. While she’s here waiting for the boat, my wife is taking care of her. She wishes on no account to be disturbed.”

  “Nobody’s going to remark that they didn’t see your afflicted cousin come in?” Florinda suggested.

  “If they do, I’ll say I brought her in by a side entrance out of respect for her natural wish to have privacy in her grief. However, I don’t think Mr. Maury is going to trouble us with any more questions about anything.” He picked up his hat. “Now I’ll go ask about boats.”