Anything But Civil

by Anna Loan-Wilsey

  “What’s going on over there?” Walter asked as he handed me a glass of punch.

  “Captain Henry Starrett’s mood has improved. Good news, maybe?” I said. I told Walter what he had missed. “If you’d like to meet him, this may be a good time.” We approached Sir Arthur, talking to Lieutenant Triggs and his wife, and asked him if he’d mind introducing Walter to the Starretts and Reynards. Sir Arthur was kind enough to oblige.

  “Dr. Grice, eh?” Henry Starrett said, the smell of whiskey on his breath. “Where were you when someone tried to poison me?” He waved his pointed finger at Walter, laughing. No one else was amused.

  “Father!” Adella said. “We still don’t know if it was intentional.”

  “Then why was I the sickest of everyone? I noticed this harebrained secretary didn’t get sick. Unlike you and me, eh, Fred.” Captain Starrett laughed and slapped Frederick Reynard on the back.

  Both Sir Arthur and Walter took a step forward while Frederick Reynard brushed the shoulder of his jacket where his father-in-law had touched it.

  “Henry, a man died,” Frederick said, trying to keep the contempt out of his voice.

  “Yeah, but Holbrook was an old man. It was probably his time anyway.” A collective gasp rose from all those around Starrett.

  “Have some respect, sir,” Sir Arthur said.

  “So what about it?” Henry said, lightly punching Walter in the shoulder. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I wasn’t here, sir,” Walter said, trying to be gracious but looking like he was about to take a swing at the man, “because I was in St. Louis at the time. And as to Miss Davish, I am her personal physician and dear friend and I am insulted, sir. I can assure you that she is neither harebrained nor immune to toxins. Like half of your dinner party, she too suffered from the poison, sir.” Sir Arthur was nodding seriously.

  “Father didn’t mean to insult you or Miss Davish, Doctor. And we all truly regret Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook’s passing. Father’s merely being playful on this festive occasion. Aren’t you, Father?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll be nice. It’s Christmas after all. If we’re naughty, Santa Claus won’t bring us any presents.” He winked at Ned and Gertie, who giggled and clapped their hands in anticipation. He laughed again and it eerily sounded again like “ho, ho, ho.” This was one Santa Claus I didn’t want coming down my chimney.

  “Didn’t you have something you wanted to ask Captain Starrett, Miss Davish?” Walter said, trying to change the subject. I had shown Walter the photograph of Henry Starrett on the steamboat Lavinia. Walter had suggested I bring it in case the opportunity arose to ask Henry about it.

  “What is it? Something about my father for that book of yours? The stories I could tell you about the old man.” The captain laughed. “They could straighten your short hairs!”

  “Father!” Henry Starrett laughed again and patted Adella’s cheek. She grinned, pleased to be the focus of his affection, but I saw it as a condescension.

  “No, I was hoping you could tell me more about this.” I retrieved the tintype from my handbag and handed it to Henry Starrett. His grin disappeared as he studied the picture.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked, his brow knitted in concentration.

  “From Mr. Myers, one of the photographer’s assistants in town. He didn’t know much about it, as it was part of a collection his employer bought from a former photographer. He wondered if you could tell him more about it.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “That is you, isn’t it, Captain?” I asked.

  “Ah, yes, that Adonis is me, but I couldn’t tell you the first thing about it.” He looked at it again. “Nope, never seen this before and I have no idea who took it or why.”

  “But it was during the war?” I asked.

  “Well, that’s obvious but . . . oh, well.” He shrugged. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I need another drink.” He tossed the tintype in my direction and walked away. Several people, including me, scrambled to pick up the picture before it was trampled. Lieutenant Triggs was the first to reach it.

  “I wonder what he was doing?” the lieutenant said, studying it for a moment. He handed the photo back to me. “Where do you think it was taken?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I was hoping to find out,” I said.

  Sir Arthur finally took it and studied it with the eye of an experienced historian. “If it was during the war, we should be able to find out easily enough, assuming we know what regiment he was in.” He handed the tintype back to me, frowning. He fiddled with his sagging boutonniere, trying to unpin it. “Damn thing!” Sir Arthur said under his breath when the pin pricked his finger. He pulled the boutonniere off and tossed it in the wastebasket.

  “Sorry, Fred,” he said, “nice thought, but the thing keeps flopping over.” Frederick shrugged. “But as I said before, Hattie, Captain Starrett is not of interest to me.” It was the closest Sir Arthur came to reprimanding me for disregarding his wishes.

  “Nor to anyone, I suspect,” Frederick, looking at the photo over my shoulder, said so softly I could barely hear him.

  “You should be more careful, Henry,” the woman’s voice was full of concern. The man laughed heartily and I knew immediately it was Captain Henry Starrett. He was obviously still in a jolly mood.

  Turner Hall was packed with townspeople of every sort, and the mingling of overheated bodies, heavily applied perfume, and aromas from the ten-foot buffet table of food had gotten to be too much. I’d left Walter in the company of Sir Arthur and John Baines and stepped outside for a moment of fresh air. Priscilla Triggs, who had been smiling from the moment the children started their play, joined me. With the cause for her melancholy revealed, the tension I usually felt in her presence had evaporated. For the first time, I was pleased to have her company. The air was crisp but cold. I hadn’t planned to linger long. As I turned to go back inside, I heard a woman’s voice in the dark. I didn’t see anyone in front of the building and assumed she must be in the recess around the corner.

  “Don’t laugh. We’re lucky John thinks you were delirious and doesn’t suspect anything.”

  “I was delirious, Rachel.” Rachel? Rachel Baines? “Your beauty always did drive me mad. My lips could melt into these hands.”

  What would John Baines think of this secret rendezvous? Was there something to his suspicions? I didn’t want to know more and reached for the door. Priscilla grabbed ahold of my arm and raised her finger to silence my objection. She pointed toward the voices and pulled me along as she moved closer. What should I do? Offend one of Sir Arthur’s guests by neglecting her by leaving or offend the other by staying and eavesdropping on her? I chose to appease Priscilla Triggs and stayed where I was, hugging my arms around myself to keep warm.

  “These hands have liver spots and wrinkles now,” Rachel said.

  “But they still belong to an angel,” Henry said, his voice soft and tender. I thought I heard the distinct sound of a kiss.

  “Oh, Henry, you always were a charmer and a good liar.” But Mrs. Baines had said that she and Captain Starrett had never met before. Had she been lying? All was quiet for a moment or two and then I heard Mrs. Baines sigh softly. “You were always a good lover too,” she said.

  I blushed, mortified that I was still eavesdropping on a pair of illicit lovers. Yet I could no longer blame Priscilla for my inexcusable behavior. My ears and nose burned from the cold and my feet were getting numb. But I didn’t move away. I had to hear the whole conversation.

  “I mean it, Rachel. You’re as beautiful as the day I met you almost thirty years ago.”

  “Then why did you leave me?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “No, Henry. It’s not. You either loved me or you didn’t.”

  “I’ve always loved you.”

  “But you forgot me.”

  “Never. We lost touch, but I never forgot you. How could I?” Rachel giggled. I didn’t want to imagin
e what Henry had done to elicit that response.

  “I thought you were dead,” Rachel Baines said.

  “Me? No, you should’ve known I was tougher than that.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when I heard your name.”

  “I couldn’t believe it when you walked in my door.”

  “But then why not acknowledge me?” Rachel’s tone was suddenly sharp.

  “What would your husband think? Would I now be able to do this?” A slight moan escaped Rachel Baines’s lips. Priscilla put her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

  “I think you don’t want your precious daughter knowing her father is a liar and a cheat.”

  “Why do you say it like that?” Henry said. “Adella’s a good girl.”

  I glanced toward the door as the aforementioned woman stepped outside. She saw me and Mrs. Triggs, smiled, and took a few steps toward us. She was opening her mouth to say hello when Rachel Baines spoke.

  “Because I figured it out, Henry. Adella was a baby when we met, wasn’t she? You were married, weren’t you? Why didn’t you tell me that you were married?” Her voice rose in anger.

  “Because I never loved Sarah. I loved you.” Adella looked at me with wide eyes, her mouth still open in a frozen gasp, and then fled back into the building. I hesitated, not knowing whether to follow Adella or not. I wish I had sooner. The next moment was filled with the sound of Henry distinctly kissing Rachel passionately.

  “You’re a rake, Henry Starrett,” I heard Rachel Baines say playfully as I reached toward the doors. “And you’re going to pay for it someday.”

  Adella was running across the room to her husband and children when I followed her back inside. I wanted to apologize for what Adella overheard, irrationally feeling responsible. But when I approached her, she quickly turned her back to me, kneeling down to say something to her daughter, Gertrude. The two of them walked toward the dance floor, hand in hand. As Adella passed, my attempt to say something was thwarted by the shame and embarrassment that flooded across the woman’s face as she looked me in the eye. She quickly looked away, her cheeks flush. I wouldn’t want to talk about it either, if I were her, so respecting her privacy I started to walk away.

  “Miss Davish,” someone yelled, “wait!” It was Frederick Reynard. He whispered something to his son, Ned, who raced away to join his mother and sister on the dance floor.

  “You won’t say anything, will you?” Frederick said.

  “Of course not, Mr. Reynard. What Captain Starrett said is between him and his daughter. It’s not my place to be involved in it anyway.” He knitted his brow and looked at me with confusion in his eyes.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The exchange outside,” I said. “What Adella overheard her father say to Mrs. Baines.” The startled look on Frederick’s face made me realize I’d already said more than I should. “I’m sorry. I need to get back to my friends.” I turned to go but felt a restraining hand on my arm.

  “You have to promise again you won’t say anything. . . .” Frederick looked around the room before his eyes settled on his children, in the process of climbing up on their newly returned grandfather’s back; Adella stood silently nearby. “Not a word about seeing me the other day.” His grip tightened.

  “Mr. Reynard, you’re hurting me.” He looked abashed and immediately let go. I was relieved to see Walter approach. I couldn’t tell whether he had seen the exchange.

  “Please, Miss Davish, don’t give me up,” Frederick pleaded under his breath. “I’m relying on your discretion.”

  “Ah, Miss Davish, I found you,” Walter said. “Mr. Reynard.” He bowed his head slightly and spoke congenially, but I knew Walter; he was eyeing Frederick with suspicion. Walter had seen the exchange. “They’re going to light the town Christmas tree.”

  When we arrived we had admired the tree and I’d anticipated seeing it lit up but no longer. Between seeing Mr. Mott again, the intimate exchange between Henry Starrett and Rachel Baines revealing secrets I hadn’t wanted to know, and Frederick Reynard’s alarming insistence that I keep his secret, the magic and holiday spirit of the night had all but vanished, leaving me feeling empty, confused, and exhausted. And my ribs were starting to ache again. I wanted to go.

  “Or maybe I should take you home,” Walter said, reading the emotions on my face. I nodded and gratefully took Walter’s arm. We said our quick good-byes, collected our coats, and stepped outside.

  It had begun to snow. We stood at the top of the stairs as a family clambered into their sleigh on the street below us. The sleigh’s departure was almost silent except for the quiet jingle of the bells and the snorting of the horses, their breath visible in the air. Music played mutely inside, but the night was calm and quiet.

  “The morphia is wearing off, isn’t it?” Walter asked. I nodded and leaned on him a little more. “Can you walk?”

  “Of course,” I said, ruing the day I wouldn’t be able to walk, even in pain. Arm in arm, Walter and I slowly made our way up the Washington Street stairs to Prospect Street. We strolled in companionable silence until we had almost reached Sir Arthur’s house.

  “Is something wrong, Hattie?” Walter said. “Besides the pain in your ribs, that is.”

  “No,” I said, knowing he wouldn’t believe me. We walked a few more steps and then I stopped. “Oh, Walter, it was so wonderful, all the candles and the music and dancing with you and then . . .” His face lit up when I mentioned dancing with him but quickly clouded over at my retraction.

  “Something happened, didn’t it? I can tell.” I told him about the exchange I’d overheard between Henry Starrett and Rachel Baines.

  “Until that moment, they had pretended not to know one another. And they denied that anything untoward occurred while she was nursing Henry back to health. It’s a conversation I wish I’d never heard.”

  “Strange,” Walter said. “Unless of course if they’re conducting a love affair right under John’s nose.”

  “It certainly sounded that way. And then Adella came out. . . .” I told him about what Henry Starrett said and how Adella reacted. “She may never want to talk to me again. I think she was ashamed to have me witness it all. I’ve known secrets before; it’s inevitable in my position, but this one . . .” I struggled to put words to the way I felt. “The last few days, what with the food poisoning and the burglary and Enoch Jamison running me down on the bridge . . . and Frederick Reynard’s strange behavior. At first he seemed so congenial and friendly. He’s been quite generous and kind to me.” I pointed to the beautiful corsage on my dress. “But then, everything changed.”

  “How?”

  “He’s threatening.”

  Walter clenched his teeth. “He’s threatening you? How dare he.” Walter was seething.

  “He’s not dangerous, Walter, but I wish he’d leave me alone.”

  “But why? Why would he threaten you? And about what?” he said quizzically, his anger abating. “Isn’t this the man whose daughter you saved?”

  “Yes, but I think he has a secret and he somehow thinks I know what it is.”

  “Do you? Do you know his secret?”

  “No.” Unless he didn’t want anyone to know he was on Main Street at the time I saw him. I didn’t even know where he’d been or where he was going. “I don’t think so. Oh, Walter,” I sighed, suddenly on the verge of tears.

  Images flashed through my head: of Lieutenant Holbrook’s two different-colored eyes, unblinking, as he lay dead beside me, Frederick Reynard’s look of desperation as he squeezed my arm too tight, my brand-new hat blowing away down the icy river, the retreating sleigh of Enoch Jamison as I struggled for breath, Henry Starrett, as Santa Claus, laying a hand on Sir Arthur in anger, the blush on Adella Reynard’s cheeks as she caught my eye tonight, Gertrude as she emerged gasping from the frozen water. I hugged Walter’s arm, putting my cheek on his shoulder, hiding the tears streaming down my face.

  “It’s Christmastime, Walter. Is
there no joy, no peace, no goodwill toward men? Am I naive to want these things?”

  “No, Hattie, you’re not naive,” Walter said sadly. He pulled me closer. “It’s what we all want.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Even before Walter bid me good night I was regretting the self-pity I’d momentarily given in to. What was wrong with me? I’d weathered much worse. So what if this wasn’t the routine assignment I’d expected from Sir Arthur? I had steady, interesting work to do and I was grateful for it. What if this Christmas wasn’t the joyous, festive holiday I’d anticipated? Walter was here, wasn’t he? I wouldn’t spend Christmas alone. What more could a girl ask for? When I closed my bedroom door behind me and saw my typewriter, I knew. Peace of mind. I sat down and started to type.

  1. Who is Mr. Mott? And what does he have to do with Captain Starrett?

  2. Did Mott steal the money and gun from the general’s library? If not, who did?

  3. Was the poisoning deliberate? If so, by whom and why?

  4. Were Oscar Killian and Enoch Jamison involved in the poisoning?

  5. If not, why did Oscar Killian close his store and leave town?

  6. If not, why did Enoch Jamison try to run me down on the bridge?

  7. Was Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook’s death intentional or accidental?

  8. Could Captain Starrett have been the target?