“I see.” Though her sight was currently blurring.
“Jin is so much like you…” her mother whispered. “I tried to keep you safe—I restricted you, tried to control you, punished you, and it only drove you farther away. Don’t make my mistake, Isobel.”
“What would you have done differently?”
“Loved you.”
“How are we supposed to figure out who wrote it?” Tobias White whispered across the family table after Sarah had related the conversation at dinner. Although it turned out that Tobias had been listening at the door for most of the time.
The family table was in a nook in the kitchen—a scratched and dented round table that fit the Riot and White families snugly. After dinner was over, the children had helped clean the kitchen, and now they sat alone, plotting.
Sarah tapped a pencil on her drawing pad. She itched to draw something. Anything. To help her think things through. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
“Say, why don’t we go to that Call building, and just ask.”
Sarah frowned. It wasn’t a bad idea. But it was asking for more trouble. At least Sarah thought it would be. “I don’t like reporters. If I show up asking them who submitted the article, I’ll be sure to find myself in the morning edition.”
Sarah had had enough of newspapers. She had found herself at the center of a murder investigation—her uncle’s. Then at the center of a trial. The whole thing had twisted her stomach into knots, and if it hadn’t been for Atticus keeping most of the vultures at bay, she’d have fainted dead away. She didn’t know how he had done it, but he had kept her shielded from the brunt of the news frenzy.
“Maybe I could get a job as an elevator boy.” Tobias got a faraway look on his face. Either he was thinking there was more glory involved in the job than anyone in his right mind would imagine, or he was calculating how much candy he could buy.
Sarah sighed, and started sketching. The lines soon materialized into a caricature of Mrs. Clarke, with a huge cross hanging from her neck on a chain—the gruesome kind, with a tortured Jesus bleeding all down the wood.
“I don’t think it’s her,” Tobias said.
Sarah tapped her pencil on the pad. “Why not?”
Tobias shrugged.
“That’s not an answer, Tobias.”
He rolled his eyes. “She can’t be the one who wrote it.”
“Because she’s old?”
“She’s a church lady.”
“Aren’t most people?”
Tobias planted his elbow on the table, and rubbed at the back of his neck. He always did that when he was working through a problem. And then his tongue came sticking partway out of his mouth. Sarah had never seen him massage his brain into working condition before, and didn’t hold out much hope now.
“Why do you think she did it?” Tobias tossed the ball into her court.
Sarah frowned down at the dour Mrs. Clarke. “I don’t.”
Tobias looked at her sharply. “Then why’d you question me?”
“It’s called playing the devil’s advocate.”
Tobias gawked. “I’m pretty sure your gramma would skin you alive if you said you were playing the devil.”
“Well, she’s not here, now is she?”
“Who isn’t here?” a pleasant voice asked.
Sarah and Tobias started. Lily stood at the kitchen counter, putting on a fresh pot of water for her tea. She had a book in hand.
“My gramma,” Sarah said. “We’re trying to figure out who wrote that article.”
“What have you come up with?”
“I don’t think Mrs. Clarke did it,” Tobias announced. “Or Frankie.”
Sarah snorted at the boy. That was an easy one. There’s no way a six-year-old could write an article like that no matter what Mr. Lotario said. The boy still picked his nose. But so did Tobias. Maybe she shouldn’t discount Frankie after all.
Lily took a seat beside her son. She had warm eyes and dimples that always made Sarah want to smile, just so she’d get a chance to see them again. “Why not?” Lily asked.
“That’s what Sarah asked me.”
“Work through it, Tobias. Like any math problem.”
“I don’t like math.”
“Well… this has clearly caught your interest, so use that brain of yours.”
Tobias wrinkled his nose, and rubbed at his neck again. The weight of thinking clearly made his head want to droop.
“All right,” Tobias said. “Mrs. Clarke is a woman, and it seems to me that what was being said in that article wasn’t proper.”
“It wasn’t proper at all,” Lily agreed. There was no warmth in those words. No humor. They were flat and void of emotion. Sarah had never truly seen Miss Lily angry. She reckoned she was seeing it now. But there was a tiredness, too. Miss Lily looked resigned, and that was unsettling.
“But she’s also old,” Sarah said. “And old people get away with more, and they love pointing out everybody else’s sins.”
“I thought you didn’t think it was her either?” Tobias accused.
“I don’t. Well…” Sarah tapped her paper. “I suppose it could be.”
“I think it’s Mr. Dougal,” Tobias said.
“He’s disagreeable,” Sarah agreed.
“What motive does he have?” Lily asked, interested in her son’s answer.
Tobias counted off on his fingers. “He doesn’t like women, he doesn’t like children, and his reputation doesn’t matter to him one jot.”
“Let’s back up a bit. What purpose could that article serve the author?”
Both children thought.
Tobias’s eyes snapped open. “Say, Miss Pierce said it’s hard to find lodging in the city. Is it really, Ma?”
Lily nodded. “Decent places that aren’t flea infested.”
Sarah felt the need to start scratching her arm. But she resisted. “So that’s a motive. Maybe one of them has a friend who needs a place to stay. Have any of the lodgers given notice yet?”
“Not as yet, but I suspect Mr. Löfgren will. And Mrs. Lane. Her employment is at risk.”
“That means they aren’t the snitch.”
“Unless Mrs. Lane is lying,” Tobias said.
“That’s a horrible thing to say,” Sarah said.
“So was the article,” he defended.
Their speculation was interrupted by a door opening. Grimm walked in quietly. His head was bowed and his shoulders hunched. Without looking up, he headed for the servant’s staircase.
“Grimm,” the sound of his mother’s voice stopped him, but he didn’t turn. “Your coat is torn and there’s mud on your trousers.”
He braced himself, and turned.
Sarah gasped. Miss Lily shot out of her chair and began fussing, and Tobias started snickering about how Grimm was in for it. Grimm’s left eye was swollen shut, and that side of his face was puffy. Had his skin been lighter, Sarah was sure it would be showing all sorts of colors.
“What on earth happened?” Lily demanded. Grimm kept his eyes down, as she grabbed his chin to examine the bruises. “Can you see out of it?”
Grimm nodded.
“Did Mr. Riot or Mr. Tim send you somewhere?”
Grimm shook his head.
“You got into trouble all by yourself?”
Grimm nodded.
Lily huffed and went to break off some ice from the icebox. But no matter how much Miss Lily pressed, Grimm wouldn’t communicate. Not that he spoke. He sat in stoic silence as his mother cleaned and ministered to his face.
Sarah frowned in thought. Grimm had taken off when he learned that Jin had fled the theater.
“You scrub yourself good. I’ll have Mr. Tim look over the rest of you.”
Grimm sighed, and shook his head.
“Don’t get stubborn with me,” she said. “Either it’s Mr. Tim or me. Do you understand?”
Grimm looked down at her. He seemed about to say something, but only nodded in the end.
> “I don’t know what this house is coming to,” Lily said, walking towards her rooms. She was so flustered that she forgot her book and her tea.
20
Round Two
Wednesday, October10, 1900
Isobel knocked on the door and braced herself for another encounter with the pint-sized escape artist, but instead of Bertie answering, Maddie opened it. Her cheeks dimpled into a smile.
“Hello, Miss Isobel.” The young woman hugged her, and Isobel stiffened in surprise. Maddie took a hasty step back. “I’m sorry. It’s only…”
“Don’t be,” Isobel said quickly. “I’m not accustomed to embracing.”
“I know,” Maddie admitted. “It’s only I read the newspapers yesterday, and when you didn’t come by… Are you all right? Of course you are.”
Isobel stepped inside, and froze in the act of removing her gloves. The entryway was immaculate, the coats hung up, the floor mopped. The house smelled of lemon and beeswax, and, most shocking of all, it was quiet.
“What magic have you done?” Isobel whispered.
“Just rolled up my sleeves, is all,” Maddie said.
Anyone could roll up their sleeves, but not many could transform a home. “Where’s Bertie?” Isobel asked.
Maddie led the way upstairs. The boy’s room was clean, the toys put away, and the gate gone. Bertie was sleeping on a rug with a blanket and the dog, who blinked wearily at the pair. Mop’s tail thunked tiredly on the floor.
Isobel had a dozen questions, but Maddie motioned her downstairs. She led the way to the kitchen. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
“Is that how you did it, you drugged them?” Isobel asked.
Maddie laughed. “Tea or coffee?”
“I think I need a stiffer drink.” Isobel noticed the kettle on the stove and Maddie’s own mug of tea beside a book. “Tea is fine.”
Even the kitchen was transformed. Isobel marveled at the White family’s ability to restore order. She picked up the book. It was on physiology.
“And you even have time left over for some light reading.”
“Dr. Wise let me borrow it,” Maddie explained. “Bertie and Mop were just cooped up. I don’t think anyone takes that boy out. I took him and Mop for a long walk over to a park, where he played ‘catch me if you can’ with some other children.”
She set down a mug in front of Isobel, who gratefully warmed her hands.
“The boy tuckered himself out.”
“I can see that.” Isobel pondered this bit of information. “Which means… Ella likely just left Bertie behind the gate most of the time. Or tried to.”
Maddie nodded. “I suspect as much. But who knows. Maybe she was run ragged trying to care for everyone at once.”
“You’re caring for everyone at once.”
Maddie blushed. “I’m used to getting things done. No use dragging my feet.”
Isobel could relate. “How are Mrs. Spencer and the baby?”
“Dr. Wise said it’s a cycle. The baby isn’t sleeping because he’s not getting enough to eat, and Mrs. Spencer doesn’t have enough milk because she’s exhausted. She’s not sleeping and she’s worried over money issues. So I hid all her tinctures, and we’re just giving the baby a bottle for a while to give Mrs. Spencer some rest.”
“Do you agree with the doctor’s assessment?”
Maddie looked surprised that Isobel had asked. “Yes, I do. Seems to be working, anyway. Oftentimes simple things work best. But Mrs. Spencer…” Maddie glanced at the door. “She’s a bit demanding.”
“Was she rude to you?” Isobel asked sharply.
“No, Miss Isobel. Not any more than most ladies of the house.” Maddie stopped to give Isobel a pointed look, but a smile was playing at the corner of her eyes.
“I am rude. And crude,” Isobel admitted.
This cracked Maddie’s lips into a smile. “Don’t we know it. But Mrs. Spencer is like that even with her family. I know she’s tired, but she expects Mr. Fletcher to do everything. I can’t understand it.”
Of course not. Not with a mother like Lily White. Miss Lily wouldn’t place that kind of responsibility on her sons any more than Isobel would lounge around Ravenwood Manor and expect Riot to provide every luxury for her. He’d do it, of course. But the very thought rankled her honor.
“Did Mr. Fletcher return last night?”
Maddie nodded. “I told him I was sent from the agency. He took one look at the house, and said thank you. But he was not pleased at all to see Dr. Wise. He didn’t like the thought of a Chinese doctor.”
A common thing in San Francisco.
“Dr. Wise handled it fine, though. I wager he’s used to that sort of thing. He handed Mr. Fletcher a Ravenwood card, and told him to take it up with Mr. Riot. Mr. Fletcher didn’t have much to say after that.”
Isobel drummed her fingers on the table in thought. “Did you overhear anything between mother and son?”
Maddie told her everything, word for word. The gist of it centered around the Masonic Temple charity fund. Mr. Fletcher wasn’t on the board; he was an applicant. His family was in dire straits and it was left to him to fix things, so he had turned to charity. Lewis struck her as a proud man. How desperate things must have seemed, and how bitter the solution. Alone, Isobel could not imagine a situation where she’d turn to such measures. But now, with a family… Well, she would likely resort to burglary before charity.
“Did you spot a journal? Anything of Ella’s? Notes, receipts?”
Maddie shook her head. “I was careful to look. I gathered all the loose papers and put them on the writing desk in the sitting room, but nothing stood out.”
“Thank you. You’d make an excellent agent. We were fortunate your mother let us hire you at all.”
Maddie glanced down at the mug in her hands.
Isobel blew on her tea, watching the girl. “You had her permission, didn’t you?”
Maddie shifted. “I left a note.”
“You didn’t get her permission?”
Maddie showed her dimples. “I think you’re rubbing off on me.”
Isobel raised a brow. “There are worse things,” she said primly.
Maddie laughed.
“Well, she didn’t seem overly angry.”
“I telephoned her yesterday,” Maddie said with a sigh. “Ma calmed when I told her the situation here. She knows I want to be a doctor like my father.”
Isobel could not remember any previous mention of Mr. White. “What happened to your father?”
“He died.”
Two clipped words, and Maddie White withdrew.
Isobel returned to safer ground. “Your mother won’t let you study to be a doctor?”
“It’s… complicated, Miss Isobel. But Doctor Wise offered to let me work at his clinic.”
“You’ll do it, won’t you?” Isobel asked.
The young woman lifted a shoulder. “We’ll see.”
There wasn’t much hope in the usually optimistic girl.
“I don’t see why not,” Isobel said. “You wouldn’t be in much danger at a clinic.”
Maddie shook her head. “It’s not that, Miss Isobel. I can’t talk about it.”
But oh, did she want to. Isobel could see it brimming in her bright eyes. Before Isobel could dig deeper, Maddie changed the subject. “Is Mr. Riot all right? The newspaper said an agent was shot.”
“Riot’s fine.” At least she hoped so. He had gone off with Lotario to various social clubs, and hadn’t returned home last night. Knowing Riot, he had spent the night playing cards. Or Lotario had drunk him under a table somewhere.
“Did you want to speak with Mrs. Spencer?” Maddie asked.
“Is she awake?”
“I need to wake her. She’s been sleeping all morning, and the baby’s bound to wake up soon.”
Isobel explored the house while Maddie served Mrs. Spencer lunch on a tray and brought in the baby to nurse. Bertie woke up somewhere in that time, and
Maddie easily took boy and dog with her, promising he could help finish feeding the baby with a bottle.
Bertie skipped right along, happy to be involved.
Isobel steeled herself for another emotional breakdown as she walked into Mrs. Spencer’s room.
“That girl is a blessing.”
“She is,” Isobel agreed.
Though circles still lined her eyes, Mrs. Spencer looked far brighter than the day before.
“And that Chinese doctor… I wasn’t sure, but Miss Maddie said he was the best. And she’s so sensible. Like my Ella.”
Isobel doubted that Ella was anything like Maddie, but kept that thought to herself. Mention of Ella made the woman’s hands tremble. She set down her fork. “Have you found my Ella?”
“We’re searching. The police are, too.” Before Mrs. Spencer broke down in another fit, Isobel quickly offered a distraction. “There’s a postcard in her room from a Mr. Serebrenck in Port Arthur. Do you know him?”
“He’s a friend of my brother. He’s a Russian employed in the Orient. He came last month on holiday bearing a letter of introduction, and Ella and I met him for lunch at the Palace. It’s such a grand place—it was a real treat for us.”
“Is he still in the city?”
“No, he was due to ship out on Saturday, to Peking.”
Isobel made a mental note to check on that. “Does he have a scar near his eye?”
Mrs. Spencer looked at her, puzzled. “No. Why?”
“No matter. Are you sure you don’t know anything more about Madge Ryan? Such as where she lived before she ran away?”
“I told you this the other day. Ella wouldn’t run off with Madge. She’d never leave this house willingly.”
Isobel made a noise of understanding. She knew better than to contradict the woman on her beliefs about her daughter. Maybe Mrs. Spencer was right. But after her talk with Estelle Baker the night before, Isobel was convinced Ella had been living a double life before her disappearance.
“All the same, it’s important we talk with Madge. She may have seen something.”
Where Cowards Tread (Ravenwood Mysteries #7) Page 18