The Shadow Palace

by Jane Steen

  “What on earth—”

  For a moment, I was in a state of utter confusion, noting only that the door was now shut and the furnace heat had abated. Then I realized that the room was lit by a lamp, and that Crabb was standing in front of me holding a metal bucket, which he had apparently just emptied over me. I could feel the water streaming down my face, accompanied by a stinging sensation on the left side of my head.

  I put a hand up to the spot and yelped. A patch of skin near my left ear stung like the blazes, and the top of my ear was sore. My fingers explored a little higher. Instead of the thick, piled-up mass of curls I was used to, there was a rough patch of wet stubble.

  “Your hair caught fire.” Having delivered this terse explanation, Crabb dropped the bucket and turned around. I scrambled to my feet, my thick woolen paletot shedding water, and saw that he was stuffing rags into the crack under the door, from which smoke was rising.

  “Get it well sealed before I open the window,” Alex yelled. “Hurry up, Crabb.”

  I somehow found the presence of mind to unbutton my paletot and hand it to Crabb, who used his foot to jam it firmly into place under the door. A moment later, I heard a crack from behind me. I turned round to see that Alex had pushed the entire window out into the street, so that only its frame was left. The raw air of a Chicago night in winter was bliss after the heat of the corridor.

  The room we were in was large, I realized, and practically empty. It contained several more buckets of water, one of which Crabb was now using to soak the rags, and—I breathed a sigh of relief—three of the long ladders. Alex was at that moment maneuvering one of those ladders out of the window.

  An explosion sounded below, and flames briefly shot past the open window. I saw Crabb and Alex look at each other. Crabb’s expression was fearful, Alex’s oddly sardonic.

  “You can go first, Crabb.”

  I realized, to my horror, that the ladder wasn’t hanging downward as I’d thought it would be. It was sticking straight out across the alley, which was only about ten feet wide. A window on the other side of the alley was open, and I could see the white oval of a face at the other end of the ladder.

  “Is that safe?” Crabb asked, eyeing our means of escape.

  “My men tested it,” Alex said. “Move, you idiot—it’s only a few feet. They’re working on the front of the building, just like we planned, so nobody’s looking.” Then, as Crabb hesitated, he added, “Or you can stay behind and roast if you want.”

  Crabb was up on the ladder in an instant, swarming over it in a sort of sliding crawl. I saw hands reach out and drag him into the other window, and somebody shouted.

  “Now you.” Alex Gambarelli turned to me.

  “How can I—”

  But he had grasped the base of my skirts and yanked them upward, freeing my lower limbs and tearing the fabric in the process. I yelled, but he picked me up—as easily as if I were Sarah—and plunked me on the ladder, holding me tight by the waist.

  “Put your hands on the poles. Yes, that’s it. Now slide—you saw Crabb do it—and look ahead of you. You’ll be there in a few seconds. But move, because it’s getting hot in here, and I’ll be joining you if you’re slow. The ladder should take both of us, but I can’t guarantee it.”

  I could feel the rain-laden wind, ice-cold against my exposed face and hands. The pain on the left side of my face near my ear was torture. The ladder sloped downward slightly, I realized—and below me was empty air.

  “Move.” The voice behind me was laden with menace. “Or so help me, I’ll push you off. And then I’ll have to kill Rutherford too when he comes back. I know what you are to him.”

  Warm air gusted up from below, and a few sparks drifted upward. The thought that my skirts might catch fire was all the incentive I needed. I slid my hands forward on the poles, and let the rest of me follow. Slide—slither. Slide—slither. And suddenly there were hands on me, pulling me forward, and I slid painfully over a windowsill and landed on a carpet.

  As I struggled to my feet, I could see Alex, moving across the ladder with the nonchalance of a circus performer. He swung himself easily into the room, then turned around and pulled the ladder forward to release the hooks. He threw it bodily into the alley and helped the other man to lift the heavy sash window back into the frame.

  “Won’t they suspect something?” Crabb asked. “When they see the ladder and the window, I mean.”

  The room was lit only by the blaze on the other side of the alley, but I could see the glint of Alex’s teeth amid his beard. “Once the building’s collapsed, the rubble will smolder for days. It’ll burn everything to ashes.”

  “But they’ve got a witness now,” the other man blurted. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I recognized Jacky Gambarelli’s emaciated form and plangent voice. “Why didn’t you leave her to burn?”

  “She won’t talk.” Alex turned to me. “You won’t talk, because to talk would be to bring harm down upon your head and that of Martin Rutherford. And anyone else you hold dear. As it is, nobody’s hurt, and Rutherford will get the insurance money.”

  “But why?” was all I could ask. “And how am I going to explain my face—and my hair?” I gestured to the burned side of my head. “They know I was left behind in there.”

  “You don’t know how you got out.” It was Jacky who spoke. “It must have been a miracle. You wandered away from the blaze in your confusion and fainted in a dark corner.”

  Anger was beginning to burn inside of me, mirroring the blaze outside. I could see we were in a pleasant, furnished room, an office of some kind, and that there were ropes coiled in front of the now-closed window. They had been planning this for some time.

  “You unspeakable bastards,” I said. “There were women and boys in the dormitories.”

  “Who do you think set off the alarm?” Alex smirked. “We gave them plenty of time to get out.”

  “And you set the fire so that it would be impossible to use the fire escape. For God’s sake, why?”

  Crabb spoke. “Makes it harder for the fire department to deal with the fire.” He pushed back his hair. “And you control how people escape—and the fact that there are people to save creates a distraction.” He shrugged.

  “You’ve done this before.”

  “Not me personally,” Crabb said, his eyes on Alex. “Let’s just say it’s done.” His gaze shifted to me. “We need to get you out to the street so you can report yourself alive. Remember, you don’t know how you got out.”

  “But that makes me complicit in your crime,” I said. “And it’s a crime—a terrible one. Martin’s store—”

  “Can be rebuilt.” There was a note of satisfaction in Alex’s voice. “But it will no longer be the building in which my sister died. And if you can keep your mouth shut, I give you my word that I’ll never bother Rutherford again.”

  It was a pact with the devil, and I’d have to lie to Martin for the rest of our lives. And to Joe, and to Tess and Sarah—and I wasn’t a good liar to begin with.

  “If anybody was killed, I won’t keep quiet,” I said.

  “Agreed.” Alex held out a hand. “I’ll take that chance.” He sounded as if he were concluding an ordinary, everyday business deal.

  I shook his hand, my jaw clenched.

  “Time to go,” said Crabb with a sudden, alert lift of his head. “I think this building’s on fire now.”

  42

  Recovery

  It had been easier to lie than I’d thought. By the time I’d found the few men from Rutherford’s who’d stayed to watch the building burn, I was exhausted and soaked through by the icy rain. I simply shook my head when they asked me about my escape. They wrapped me in something—I didn’t know what—and repeatedly offered to take me to the Cook County hospital.

  I refused. It had taken the arrival of Joe Salazar to tear me away from the gruesome sight of the building that had come to mean so much to me collapsing in all directions. The firemen and volunteers looked like
ants in the mouth of a furnace as they did what they could to prevent the blaze from spreading.

  I had collapsed myself into Joe’s arms, in a flood of tears that hid my rage under my exhaustion and pain. It had been Joe who’d located Mr. Nutt, who was keeping a lonely vigil by his horses on Madison Street. The poor man almost fainted when he learned I was alive. Which had brought me to the realization that Tess would also be waiting for me. That thought forced me to agree to go home and let Mr. Nutt fetch a physician to dress my burns.

  Three days later, I, who had practically never been ill in my life, succumbed to the worst fever I had ever known. I remembered little of that time except the sensation of inescapable pain punctuated by the soothing touch of female hands. Elizabeth was there, I knew that, and Tess barely left my side.

  Fever turned to bronchitis, but mercifully the lung-wrenching cough was short-lived. Within a week, I was pronounced out of danger and fit enough for Sarah to be brought to see me. Two days later, I was back on my feet, physically at least. My spirits were in a black pit from which, I believed, I could never climb out again.

  “It doesn’t look that bad.”

  Elizabeth’s face came closer to mine. I instinctively flinched away in case she touched my burn. Beside her, Tess was straightening the blanket that covered my limbs. She looked up and smiled.

  “Alice made your hair look nice, Nell. She’s very clever.”

  “Perhaps I’ll set a new fashion for wearing one’s hair on the side.” I knew I sounded as petulant as a spoiled child, but I had only been out of bed three days, after all. My bones still held the weakness of my fever. The scabbed-over burn by my ear felt as if a swarm of bees had landed there and were stinging me all at once.

  “You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself.” Elizabeth motioned for me to lean forward and inserted the pillow she’d been pounding into shape behind my back. “You’re fortunate you have so much hair. If the fire had reached your scalp, you’d never have any on that side again. As it is, you’re just a little stubbled—and it’s growing back fast.”

  I grunted in reply, squirming to make myself more comfortable on the chaise longue. This had the effect of undoing Tess’s work. She gave me a dour look, but said nothing as she straightened the blanket yet again.

  “You’re about to have visitors.” Elizabeth had crossed to the window.

  “I’m not at home.”

  “I rather think you are. It’s Mr. Salazar and that funny little French woman from your store.”

  “I’m definitely not at home. And it’s not my store.” I barely recognized my own voice in the querulous, feeble whine. “It was Martin’s, and now it’s gone.”

  “It is your store, Nell,” Tess said quietly. “And a little bit of it’s mine too. Our money is in the store, and you work there. You can’t decide you’re finished with it just because you’re not feeling well.”

  “You’re going to receive them, Nell,” said Elizabeth. “Now come along and sit up a bit straighter—there. This wrapper is quite the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I must order one.”

  I glared downward at the rich purple silk, remembering the countless hours Chinese Mary had spent embroidering the profusion of fruits and flying insects that decorated it. How was Mary living now, without work?

  I could hear Zofia answering the door and the hum of voices. I didn’t want to see them. I didn’t want to see anybody. There were moments when I didn’t even want to see Martin—that is, to see the ruin of his dream in his eyes as he confronted the ashes of his store.

  At the same time, I wanted Martin desperately. I wanted him to put his arms around me and tell me that it would be all right. I blinked furiously against the onset of tears as the door opened and Zofia announced our visitors in her soft, clear voice.

  “Well, I suppose you must rest.” Madame Belvoix strode into the room without any preliminary greeting and gave me what could only be described as a bracing look. “But for how long? We have no drawings, and thus no patterns and no toiles. More than half of those dresses were thought up by you. We have the few pieces that were saved, but that does not make a dress. I have the measurements of every customer, and still I must say, Mrs. Lillington, she is ill, Mrs. Lillington, she is resting. And soon the spring will be here.”

  The fog lifted a little from my mind. “What are you talking about? How can we fulfill our orders?”

  Madame looked at Joe, who had taken my hand in greeting, and actually rolled her eyes. “How, she asks. By working, naturellement. Field and Leiter’s have put their dress goods at our disposal at cost. I have marked the bolts I think we will need and instructed Field’s to send the samples to you. I will send Françoise and Nancy to you tomorrow. They are good workers and have already begun work on the pattern pieces, but they must talk to you, bien sûr.”

  “Where are they working?” It suddenly occurred to me that the world had, in fact, been functioning without my presence for the last two weeks.

  Joe grinned. “According to Madame, we are crammed into a miserable hovel.” He looked sideways at Madame, who stuck her nose in the air. “In fact, we have three well-lit floors on Michigan Avenue. So much better than in ’71, when we were all in wooden shacks. And Mr. Field will be renting us a complete store on State Street next week. Not the best part of State Street, of course, but a decent enough location.” He raised his eyebrows in an expression of hopefulness. “I wish you were well enough to come and see it. Fassbinder sends his regrets, but with both of his daughters due to give birth within the month, he will not leave Saint Louis. That makes you, once again, the only shareholder present. I’d like to have your approval.”

  “But the stock—the money—”

  Joe shrugged. “We lost a day’s takings—although I’m working on the company that sold us those so-called fireproof safes to make good on its warranty—but the insurers are already paying out fifty cents on the dollar. The rest is pending the arson investigation, of course.”

  That got my attention. A jolt of alarm ran through me. “Arson? What makes you think that?”

  “The watchmen, for one thing.” Joe nodded his thanks as Tess, who had ordered tea, handed him a cup. “All but three older men who’ve been with us for a while have absconded and not returned for their wages. And we have Mr. Windridge’s word that the explosion that trapped you happened quite independently of the fire. We spent a long time discussing whether it could have been the gas, but it seems unlikely. Putting together the sequence of events, we suspect four incendiary bombs were used.”

  “Then it’s a criminal case, isn’t it?” My fingers felt so cold I could barely grasp the handle of my cup. “The lives of those in the dormitories were put in danger.”

  “Hmmm.” Joe looked down at the brown liquid in his cup, seeming to explore its depths, and then back up at me. “Given that no lives were lost, and given the difficulty in proving the case or even naming suspects—whatever we may think about the matter—it seems likely that the investigation may be a little cursory. And Martin will almost certainly get ninety cents on the dollar, which translates to an acceptable loss. Building costs have come down too since the store was put up in ’72.” He looked hard at me, and I looked away.

  “You’re sure no lives were lost?” I had not forgotten my vow to Alex Gambarelli.

  “They’ve had time to go through the ashes thoroughly,” Joe said, his tone gentle. “We’ve already started work on clearing the site. Martin’s had me talking to Johnston & Edelmann about his ideas for a new store, although we can’t get much done via telegraph.”

  Tess smiled at the mention of Martin. “How is Martin?” she asked. “Is he coming back soon?”

  “He was, at one point, threatening to book passage on the first cargo steamer he could find. I told him not to be a damned fool—beg pardon, ladies, but he’s been extremely trying.” Joe grimaced. “There’s absolutely no point in him ending up at the bottom of the ocean in an attempt to save a handful of days. The White Star
Line will make the crossing much faster than a cargo ship, and it’s a lot safer.”

  “Is he so badly upset about the store, then?” My heart fell.

  Elizabeth let out her breath in a short puff. “It’s not the store he’s worrying about, goose.”

  “Miss Parnell is correct.” Joe grinned. “Why would he worry about bricks and mortar? I just told you, the loss is acceptable. Dry goods stores burn down on a regular basis, even without incendiary bombs.”

  He sounded so cheerful I almost smiled. Madame Belvoix moved impatiently in her chair.

  “I must know when you can return to us,” she told me. “We need to begin production now that we have the necessary materials.” She folded her arms across her bosom in a satisfied manner. “I even found an exact match for the green organza, and thanks to you we saved the most important pieces of that dress. We have half a dozen new customers, even, clamoring for the Natural Form.” She raised her hands in the air. “It is our couturières they seek out, not the walls or the displays. And one of my more promising ladies sits here, like a mushroom.”

  Tess giggled, but Elizabeth looked concerned. “Nell can’t work all day,” she told Madame. “She’s been injured and ill.”

  “The afternoons, perhaps?” Madame Belvoix tilted her head to one side, her coaxing, grandmotherly air betrayed by her eyes. “Your wound is slight and does not pain you too much, I hope?”

  “It stings like the blazes,” I said, “but I don’t suppose it’s going to heal any faster if I sit in this chair. Elizabeth, could I trouble you to go to my sewing room for some drawing paper? Madame and I need to spend an hour or so together.”

  43

  Partners

  Naturally, the wishes of Joe and Madame Belvoix prevailed over the more sensible notion of a gradual recovery. The next day I found myself in the dusty but spacious store Joe proposed to lease from Mr. Field. He had taken me to see the site of Rutherford’s, which didn’t look so bad now that much of the debris had been cleared away and the good pieces of stone stacked in heaps. It was still an ugly, gaping hole on the corner of State and Madison—the more so because the adjacent buildings had also been damaged—but the activity around it was purposeful and encouraging.