A Veil Removed

by Michelle Cox

  Clive paused here. When he continued, his voice was husky.

  There is not time to explain in great detail all that has happened leading up to this desperate moment, nor is it necessary, I suppose. What is done is done. Try not to judge me too harshly. I believe I have been a victim of those more commonly called the mob. And as abhorrent and as cowardly as it was, I may have been able to continue paying the original thugs who coerced me, though the financial strain was considerable, as I’m sure you’re well aware of by now, but things have radically changed in recent months, which have now made it nearly impossible—nay intolerable—to continue. When this new character, this Lawrence Susan, entered the equation, all seemed lost. He seems to know so much about you, and, oddly, Henrietta as well, and I am nearly paralyzed by the violence of his threats and have lain awake night after night dwelling upon them and my miserable situation. And in this way, I have strangely found a new courage. But, no—this is not true. It is not courage that propels me but rather a different type of fear.

  I deeply regret selling the Levitan, as it came from Linley Castle, and by selling it and giving the money to these ruffians, it seems as though I foul my ancestral home by association. Still, I could not have raised this amount of cash without stealing funds from Linley Standard, which I was loathe to do, though I admit to you now, Clive, that I was sorely tempted. Selling a painting seemed my only recourse, but now that I am on the brink of handing over this blood money, every cell of my body rebels.

  It was my original intention to give this Susan the exorbitant amount that he is demanding as a way of hopefully ending this arrangement once and for all. But now, this very morning, it occurs to me in some miraculous way that this is not the way out. My fevered mind tells me to give them only half of the money in hopes that I may set some sort of trap for them with the rest, possibly with the help of the police. Bennett has more than once begged me to go to the authorities with this, despite the scandal it might cause in the financial world and thus negatively affect the stock price of Linley Standard, but Susan, like his predecessors before him, have promised certain death, and worse, if I do so. And so I have not, though I did once seriously contemplate it.

  It was about five years ago, not long after Chief Callahan was hired onto the Winnetka force, that I attended a charity event where he was the guest of honor. I read on the evening’s program all about his background and his impeccable record and how he had made a name for himself in Chicago during Prohibition. Assuming he must have much experience in dealing with the mob, I approached him at one point in the evening and presented my situation under the guise of it being a “friend’s” problem. If I was concerned that he might see through my ruse, I should not have worried, as not only did he not suspect the truth, but he seemed positively oblivious to the existence of real crime, saying that Winnetka was such a charming town, was it not? Not bothered at all by murder or kidnappings or any of the seedier sides of the underworld. Indeed, he seemed to me almost simpleminded, and I wondered, then, if he had been booted out of the force in Chicago and “promoted” to chief out in our small corner of the world where he would not do any harm. Whatever the case, I knew from that moment that he would be of no help to me, and I was afraid at that time to search farther afield for aid.

  Instead, I continued on as I always had until just this morning when I awoke with a new idea in my mind, which is simply that I must stop running, that I must put an end to this. It became eminently clear last night as I lay awake that I have failed across the board—nearly bankrupting Highbury, soiling my honor, disgracing the Linley name, and foolishly putting the ones I most love in this world in danger. Nearly paralyzed with guilt all night and sleeping only in fits, I strangely awoke with a clear sense of what I must do and was encouraged and comforted by the hope that comes from having at least the rudiments of a plan. For this I am extremely grateful, as I have not felt hope for so very long. And if I should perish in the process, then it is more than fitting—I deserve it, and I am not afraid to meet my Maker.

  In short, I have decided to call this Susan’s bluff, to use a colloquial phrase. I telephoned Bennett very early, and he has agreed to accompany me this morning and to help me, reluctantly you should perhaps know, with my plan. It is simply this: I plan to give Susan and his thugs only half of the money this morning with the promise of delivering the rest at a later date at a place of my choosing, where I can have the police waiting to ambush them. I fear it is too late just now to involve the police, especially considering the chief’s reticence of action, but perhaps Bennett and I can get a good look at them and, if we’re lucky, a license plate number. I can then submit this information, this evidence, to perhaps the Chicago police, who I hope will aid me in my attempts to convince them of this creature’s villainy.

  Whatever happens, know that I tried to be brave and to do my duty, albeit late, but hopefully not too late. It further occurs to me that as I attempt to play your role as a detective, that it is damned difficult to fill someone else’s shoes, and I now realize, in a very real way, what I am asking of you in the filling of mine. And yet we don’t always have the luxury of many choices in life. Mine was not to come to America and help to found Linley Standard, but such was the role I was assigned, and I was happy in it, in the end. My prayer is that you, too, will be happy in it.

  Not much more remains to be said, I suppose, except to relay that Bennett was in no way involved in this scheme except by my express urgings that he accompany me this morning. I have never revealed the whole of the mystery to him, though I have on occasion hinted or let things slip, and I daresay he has drawn conclusions very near the truth, knowing Bennett as I do. It is important to relate to you that Sidney Bennett has ever been my most stalwart ally and friend through the years and that you may trust him, as I have done, with your very life. You might be surprised at this, thinking that that role may have been reserved for John Exley, and though John is a very good friend indeed, Sidney and I have been through much. We have grown up together, in a way, and he saved me once when I was about to make a very grave, very foolish mistake. Make a friend of him, Clive, and lean on him, especially in regards to the firm. For Linley Standard is as much Sidney Bennett— more so, actually—than it is, or ever was, me.

  Give Julia, my darling girl, my love. She has ever been a bright spot in my life, and I pray she may be happy always despite the unfortunate marriage she finds herself in. For my hand in that, I also bear much regret.

  As for Antonia, my dearest wife, tell her how very much I love her. Tell her how sorry I am that I had not time to write a separate missive to her, but my time is nearly out now, and I must soon depart. I would have her know, however, that I never stopped loving her despite her . . . well, let’s just leave it at that. She will know what I mean. Tell her that I have always loved her and always will.

  I go now to face my extortionists. It gives me great satisfaction to have been able to say good-bye to you, Clive, even in this hurried, unusual way. Know that what I did, I did for Linley. Good-bye, my boy. You were always a good son, and I love you dearly. Be happy with Henrietta, and do your duty.

  Your loving father, Alcott

  Clive slowly folded the letter, letting out a deep breath as he did so. He felt Henrietta’s comforting hand on his, and he slipped his arm around her, drawing her close to him.

  “It’s a lovely letter,” she whispered in his ear.

  All he could do was nod. It was hard to take in every aspect of the letter—there was so much in it, so much that needed deeper reflection. His mind was on fire, racing from point to point, with his emotions dragging along behind. Perhaps uppermost in his thoughts, however, was the realization of how very tragic the whole thing was, how senseless his father’s death had been. He could not help but think how easily his father’s death might have been prevented if Alcott had only waited and shared the burden with him. And how could he, Clive, have not seen what was under his nose all these years? But then again, he had not been priv
y to his father’s financial dealings nor the workings of Linley Standard. But maybe that was his fault too. If he had shown more interest early on . . . he thought bitterly. Damn it! How could his father have been so stupid, so naïve? To think he could bluff the likes of a mob boss like Neptune? A burst of rage burned in his heart, and he felt a desire to actually murder Neptune—putting him behind bars—as he had already done once in the past—was not enough. But didn’t that go against what he purported to stand for since he’d returned from the chaos of the war? Truth, justice, order—all of that?

  And what of justice and order? he thought, a new suspicion entering his mind, then. His father’s letter, though it was obviously not part of the intent, shone a very telling light on Chief Callahan. Could he somehow be connected, too? Clive wondered. Was he somehow being paid off to look the other way in certain matters? It was certainly in the realm of possibility, Clive thought uneasily, and it would explain the chief’s quick dismissal of him. He wondered if Davis was in on it too. He let out almost a groan. The whole thing infuriated him. Neptune wanted the rest of the money; well, he would give him what was coming to him—in spades.

  “I would have loved to have found such a letter from my father,” Henrietta said, interrupting his thoughts. He stared at her as if he had forgotten she was there and felt a fresh surge of unease. No matter what his promise to her had previously been to involve her in his cases, he would not allow her to be a part of this one. He sought revenge now, and he didn’t want her to be anywhere near this.

  “Yes, it’s a gift,” he agreed reluctantly. “It’s . . . it’s too much to take in all at once,” he said, rubbing his brow.

  “Will you show it to your mother?”

  “I suppose I’ll have to at some point. But all I can think about right now is catching these bastards,” he said, walking to the window.

  “Of course you will, darling.”

  “Look, Henrietta, there’s something I haven’t told you about the other night,” he said, turning back toward her.

  “That Lawrence Susan is Neptune?” she said calmly.

  Clive was stunned. “How did you—?”

  Henrietta gave a small shrug. “Lawrence, Larry?” she said, looking at him expectantly. “And your father’s letter confirmed it. He seems to know so much about you, and, oddly, Henrietta as well” she repeated back. “Who else could it be?” she asked, as she wrapped her arms around herself.

  “Yes, it’s him,” Clive sighed. “He was in the alley. I knew he wouldn’t give up so easily after Jack escaped, but I didn’t think he would go this far.”

  Henrietta remained silent, deep in thought. “But . . . wait a minute,” she said, finally. “None of this makes sense. Your father was extorted from for years . . . so it can’t have been Neptune!”

  “But it wasn’t always Neptune. I think he took over from the original men that had set up the ‘contract’ with my father. They have rings of ‘clients’ who pay them, but sometimes the ring is taken over by someone else, usually when a new gang moves in and tries to claim territory. Or they’re given to someone as a reward. Neptune somehow must have gotten hold of the ring that includes my father, probably as a way of getting to us personally. His mistake, however, was to tighten the noose.”

  “I don’t understand his obsession with . . . with me,” Henrietta faltered.

  “I don’t either, darling,” he said, coming toward her and brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. “But he seems fixated on you, on us now.”

  He saw her bite her bottom lip to stop it trembling, solidifying his decision all the more.

  “I wanted to tell you that it was Neptune behind all of this so that you would understand the gravity of the situation. We’re all of us in danger—especially you. We must be very, very careful. This isn’t the silly case of the ‘Millionaire’s Missing Money,’ or whatever you so charmingly called it,” he said, his eyebrow rising. “This is a life-and-death sort of case. Or worse,” he said sternly. “Do you understand?”

  She slowly nodded, her big, blue eyes looking back at him with so much trust that he wanted to punch a wall.

  “This ends here,” he said bitterly, and privately resolved that it really would end this time. He meant to kill Neptune, even if he died in the process. At least Henrietta would be free of this torturer, this killer, then, and the beginnings of a plan were forming in his mind. “I give you my word.”

  “What do you mean to do?” she asked softly, gently linking her hands behind his neck, causing his stomach to clench out of love for her.

  “I’ll explain later. Come,” he said, slipping out of her embrace and catching her hand to give it a quick kiss. “Let’s get back to the house with this,” he said, holding up the envelope. As he slipped his coat back on, his mind still going over his father’s last letter, one line in particular surfaced for him: I strangely awoke with a clear sense of what I must do and was encouraged and comforted by the hope that comes from having at least the rudiments of a plan. He reflected on how odd it was that he, too, felt the same, and he was grateful that his father had been allowed to feel at least a glimmer of hope before the end had come for him, Clive knowing as he did that a life without hope was a very hard one to bear.

  He glanced across at Henrietta now, who was waiting for him and looking at him with eyes that seemed unmistakably sad. “Henrietta,” he said softly, “I’m sorry about your father, too.”

  Chapter 20

  Elsie was surprised to hear the faint knock on her door. Melody had already left for the theater, and she herself was just about to leave for Ma’s. She got up from her desk where she had been writing and went to the door, tentatively opening it a crack. She was surprised to see that it was Gunther. Her initial resultant smile, however, faded as she observed his grim demeanor.

  “There’s someone below to see you. Sister Bernard sent me up to tell you,” he said.

  “Who is it?” she asked, baffled, and immediately began worrying that it might have something to do with Ma. Maybe she had had another attack of nerves . . .

  “He says his name is Lloyd Aston. I believe he was the man who escorted you here before, yes?”

  Elsie groaned. “Lloyd Aston?”

  Gunther gave her a slight nod. Why was he looking at her that way . . . like she had committed a crime, or something?

  “He is dressed well,” he added quietly. “Do you perhaps have an engagement?” his German accent sounding very stiff and formal now.

  An engagement?

  “Oh, no!” she murmured, then, as it all suddenly came back to her. The opera! That was the thing she had forgotten! Aunt Agatha had arranged for her to go tonight with Lloyd, she remembered in a panic. She looked down at her plain cotton skirt and white blouse. It would take her ages to get dressed and do her hair for the opera. She couldn’t possibly go . . . but what should she say to Lloyd? And what about Aunt Agatha? She would be furious if she found out she hadn’t gone!

  Elsie suddenly felt as if all the air had gone out of the space around her, and she began to struggle for breath. She felt so awfully trapped. She put her hand to her chest and tried to breathe deeply. Gunther, ignoring the house rules, entered the room and took her by the arm.

  “You are ill?” he asked, with a gentleness that surprised her.

  “No, I’m . . . I’m fine,” Elsie managed to say, and though she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel him studying her. “I’m . . . I’m supposed to go to the opera with him. I must have forgotten,” she said, embarrassed, as she took short, clipped breaths. “I’ll . . . I’ll have to explain. Maybe he’ll wait while I get ready.”

  “You are going to go with him?” Gunther asked incredulously. “What about going to see your mother, as you said?”

  Elsie bit her lip. Maybe Ma wouldn’t even remember she was supposed to be coming. Or if she did, she would just have to make it up to her some other time. “I’ll have to go . . . in the morning, I suppose,” Elsie murmured, avoiding looking at him.


  “Elsie, perhaps you should not do this,” he said quietly. “You are afraid of this man, no?”

  “Of course I’m . . . not afraid of him!” Elsie forced herself to say, though she saw by the way he looked at her that he did not believe her.

  “Elsie . . .” he said, gazing down at her as she looked up at him.

  “I can’t let Aunt Agatha down,” she said, finally able to take a deep breath now and fill her lungs. “She’d kill me. I have no choice but to go through with this. It’s just the way it is,” she said, clearing her throat.

  “Elsie,” he said gently. “You must begin to choose your own path in life, for yourself. Um deinem herzen zu folgen. To follow your heart. Not to do always what others tell you to do.”

  “I . . . I am choosing for myself!”

  “Are you?” He looked at her with something akin to pity, and she thought she might cry. “I once made this same mistake, Elsie, and now I pay a very dear price for it. Do not put yourself in this man’s hands because you might disappoint your . . . your family. He is not good.”

  “I know that, Gunther!” she exclaimed, louder than she meant, the heat rising in her face. “I know that,” she repeated in a hiss. “But I . . . I—”

  “Elsie, this path does not lead to happiness,” he said, nodding his head slightly toward the door.

  “Maybe not everyone is meant for happiness, Gunther. For that kind of happiness, anyway,” she said, wiping a stray tear.