Smoke and Mirrors

by Casey Daniels

‘Our doors are open to any woman who finds herself alone in the city,’ Matron told me with a sniff that said she apparently shouldn’t have had to. ‘Our first duty is to find out if they have family who might take them in and care for them and, if that is the case, we reunite them. If not, then the ladies are trained and employed. They stay here on premise.’ Matron glanced at the ceiling, which told me there was an apartment somewhere above where the women being aided by Succor slept. ‘But, of course, it takes a great deal of money to keep such important work going, which is why we are confident that all of you—’

  When the door flew open and Sebastian Richter breezed in, Matron’s words dissolved like an icicle in sunlight. He tipped his tall top hat to her, then turned to those of us who were seated and listening.

  ‘Good evening, ladies.’ When he saw me, Richter’s eyes lit up. ‘Miss Barnum, I’m so glad you could be here tonight.’ He looked to Matron. ‘You are done, are you not?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Her lips pinched, she marched around to the far side of the desk and stood as stiff and as firm as a soldier awaiting orders.

  ‘Matron has done a marvelous job of explaining everything.’ Sonya got up to greet her cousin with a kiss on the check. ‘She has let everyone know about the important mission Succor carries out.’

  ‘That’s very good.’ When Richter looked my way and smiled, I found myself smiling back.

  Our silent communication lasted no more than a second or two before the woman in purple asked a question about the daily operations of Succor and Richter shook himself back to reality and began a conversation with her. The rest of the ladies chatted among themselves.

  ‘Well, it is certainly heartening to see such good works being done.’ In a rustle of skirts, Charity moved by me to deposit her teacup on a nearby table and, when she was done, she met my gaze. ‘Where would such women be without such as Succor?’

  I refused to be lured by her bait. ‘It does seem a worthy cause. Will you tell Phin to give his financial assistance?’

  She tossed her head. ‘No doubt you will influence him in his thinking far more than I ever could. I know, dear Evie, that you have it in your heart to feel sorry for women such as those that Succor aids.’ She swept by me and toward Sonya.

  As I had been doing since the day I had arrived in New York and told my brother I was with child and cast off by its father, I shook off the sting of her words, pretending to be interested in the scene outside the window until my anger waned. Yet I could not still the sudden whirring in my mind. If Madeline had come to New York with James … I knew James’s character. He was cold and cruel, and I doubted he’d changed much in the time since I’d known him and loved him. Madeline may very well have been forsaken as I had been.

  I went to where Matron stood alone, quietly watching the interaction as Richter went from woman to woman, thanking each of them for attending.

  ‘You locate people.’

  As if she wasn’t used to being addressed, Matron flinched and turned my way. ‘We locate—’

  ‘People. That is correct, isn’t it?’ I made sure to keep my voice down. For all I knew, Phin and I were the only ones who knew the fate that had befallen Madeline. There was no use letting the rumor go abroad. ‘You talked about reuniting women with their families. I wondered how you locate them.’

  Her lips were thin and nearly the same color as her sallow skin. She pressed them together and reached for a book propped on a shelf behind the desk. ‘We have the woman sign,’ she said and she flipped open the book so that I could see the pages. Each line was filled, some with a signature, others with only an X and the woman’s name printed beside it in cramped lettering. ‘When they arrive upon our doorstep, we have them sign and ask them questions and, yes, we are often able to find their families. We do our best to reunite them.’

  ‘Might I …’ I didn’t wait to finish the question or for Matron to answer it. I reached for the book and turned the pages to the most recent and scanned the names and dates there.

  Of course, I didn’t really expect to see Madeline Emerson’s name. Still, I could not help but feel the hot sting of disappointment.

  ‘Satisfied?’ Matron asked.

  ‘Just …’ Carefully, I closed the book. ‘Just curious,’ I told her with a smile she did not return. ‘I wondered how many women—’

  ‘Too many,’ she told me. ‘But we do not shirk our Christian duty. Not to any of them.’

  ‘It is admirable,’ I told her.

  ‘Admirable, indeed.’ Behind me, Sebastian Richter’s voice was warm with appreciation. ‘And admirable of you to join us, Miss Barnum. Especially when you are so busy with your own work. I hear Sonya is going to ask you if you would like to join the ladies in serving soup to the newly arriving immigrant women when they disembark.’

  I took his comment as a signal that I could politely turn away from Matron, and I was glad. There was something about the woman’s eyes – too small and set too close together – that made me feel as if I were one of the butterflies pinned under glass at the museum.

  I smiled Richter’s way. ‘I’m grateful I can help.’

  ‘And I am glad we can continue Marta’s good works.’ He twitched his broad shoulders. ‘I must apologize for sounding like a sentimental fool. What’s past is past, and I am a man who knows he must move on to the future.’

  ‘Speaking of moving on …’ The other ladies had already headed for the exit and I moved that way, too, waiting only long enough for my cloak and bonnet. At the door I turned again to Richter. ‘Your work here at Succor is important as well as benevolent, and my brother will be glad to hear of it.’

  ‘For that, I thank you.’ He took my hand and brushed it with a kiss. ‘Have a pleasant evening, Miss Barnum.’

  The warmth of that kiss still shivered over my skin once I was out in my carriage and my head was filled with the image of Richter’s smile. It was a good thing I had that to lighten my mood for it was obvious from the start that I would not be getting home anytime soon. A cart had overturned just up the way and horses and carriages were snarled up in a jumble that took more than a few minutes to sort itself out. By the time it had, and I’d settled back in my seat, it was nearly dark. I suppose that is why I saw no more than a gray shape when a person darted out from two buildings just as we passed. I hardly paid it any mind. That is, until the person raised a dueling pistol and shot it too close to my horse’s ear.

  My coachman was Mercer, one of Phin’s most skilled drivers, but even he could not contain the animal’s terror.

  The horse reared, bucked and bolted.

  EIGHT

  For a few breathless minutes, it was all I could do to keep myself upon my seat. The carriage lurched this way and that, and the horse, usually one of the most docile in Phin’s stable, flashed its hooves and raced past pedestrians whose terrified faces – mouths open and eyes wide – I could see out of the window as they leapt to safety.

  I braced a hand against the diamond-pleated burgundy satin upholstery.

  ‘Miss Barnum? Miss Barnum? Are you all right?’

  From his perch, Mercer called out, and through the window at the front of the carriage I saw him shoot a look at me over his shoulder, but I knew he had more important things to worry about and yelled to tell him so just as we rounded a corner on but two wheels. I slammed against one side of the carriage, then was immediately thrown the other way and my bonnet drooped over my eyes, blinding me. I plucked it off with desperate fingers and skidded across the seat yet again, and this time my shoulder met the door with a smack I knew would mean a bruise by morning.

  All the while, Mercer yelled commands, using all his strength and skill to rein in the frightened animal.

  When he finally did, we stopped with bone-rattling abruptness.

  Mercer was down off his perch in an instant and had the door open.

  ‘Miss Barnum, are you—’

  ‘I am fine. Really,’ I assured the man, because except for the fact that my hear
t clattered and my blood raced, my teeth chattered and my hair hung in my eyes, I knew I was.

  What I didn’t know, and what kept me up half the night once we finally made our way home and I had sung the praises of Mercer’s bravery to Phin, was why anyone would shoot a pistol so near a carriage.

  My carriage.

  And if the actions of that shrouded figure had anything to do with the fact that I was asking questions about Jeffrey Hollister, Madeline Emerson and Andrew’s murder.

  The thought sat uneasy with me, and it could not be so easily soothed with witch hazel as was the bruise on my shoulder. I suppose it should have frightened me to think someone wanted me to keep to my own business and stop asking questions, or at least it should have made me more cautious.

  Instead, all it did was ignite my anger and inspire me to continue my inquiries at full chisel.

  The next day, I arrived at the museum at my usual hour, prepared to tell Mr Dewey that I would be out for a portion of the day, and I would have done so immediately if I hadn’t turned into the passageway that led to my office and found it nearly completely blocked.

  ‘Mr Dewey!’ I had seen him only moments before on the stairs so I knew he was still nearby. ‘Mr Dewey, there are …’ I did my best to count, but when Mr Dewey appeared I lost my thought so instead merely pointed. ‘There are crates of merchandise here. Many of them. What are they doing outside my office? And where on earth did they come from?’

  Mr Dewey was a small, slim man, efficient and orderly by nature. He pulled at his earlobe. ‘He said you were expecting them, Miss Barnum. He assured me you told him they were to be delivered to your door and nowhere else the very first thing this morning.’

  Hearing this, I had a sudden suspicion, and it was confirmed when I sidled down the slim pathway between the crates and found a note pinned to the door where I couldn’t fail to see it.

  The handwriting was far more elegant than I expected, the paper heavier and it carried the unmistakable scent of bay rum.

  I cannot accept money from a lady without giving her something in return, the note said. Until next time, Miss Barnum, I remain your ever faithful—

  ‘Burke.’ I did not so much mumble the name as I did grumble it.

  ‘That’s right, Miss Barnum.’ Mr Dewey had followed me into the maze and nodded and smiled. ‘He said you’d know exactly what to do with these things and, yes, he did say his name was Mr Burke.’

  ‘Just Burke. As for what to do with these things …’ I looked around at the array of crates large and small and surrendered with a sigh. ‘Oh, just leave them for now. I will look through them later and then …’

  Because I had not the slightest idea of what I might do then, I sailed into my office and closed the door behind me. I will not report the thoughts that tumbled through my head for the next few minutes. Since Burke wasn’t there to hear me give voice to exactly what I thought of him, it hardly seemed to matter.

  I allowed myself time for my blood to stop pumping like Mr Fulton’s steam engine through my veins, took care of a few of my normal morning duties and, once I was feeling more in command of both my anger and my thoughts, I went downstairs and told the man at the door I had an appointment and was going out. Just a short while after, I found myself in front of the Franklin House Hotel.

  The why is no mystery. The name of the establishment was written on one of the pieces of paper I had found in Andrew’s pocket, and the hotel was well-located, nicely furnished and known for the sort of clientele that would appeal to a man like Andrew. I intended to find out if, as I suspected, he had stayed there during his time in New York.

  The man I found behind the front desk was short and round and smelled of peppermint.

  Hoping to gauge his reaction, I gave nothing away. ‘I’m looking for Mr Andrew Emerson.’

  Whatever response I had expected, it wasn’t a low whistle or the slow slide of the man’s brows up his long, sloping forehead. ‘Now there’s a popular young man,’ he said.

  ‘Popular? Is he?’ I pretended nothing more than the slightest interest. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, that young lady there …’ The man behind the desk looked across the lobby and I turned that way, too, just in time to see a woman in a most remarkable – and brassy – sunfloweryellow coat walk toward the door. ‘Not two minutes ago, that young lady asked after Mr Emerson, too.’

  ‘Did she?’ I did not wait for him to answer. When the woman stepped outside I was right behind her.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  Surprised, she turned. Her face was round and her lips were full. She had dark eyes and hair the same color as her coat that peeped out from beneath a large red bonnet festooned with green veils, a blue flower and a sweep of peacock feathers.

  ‘Do I know you?’ she asked.

  ‘You know Andrew Emerson.’

  Her polite smile froze. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘You came here looking for him, just as I did.’

  ‘Did you?’ She looked me up and down the way a woman does when she is assessing the cut of another woman’s gown, the style of her hat, the worth of her boots. ‘Why?’

  ‘I believe that’s exactly what I asked you.’

  Her dark eyes sparkled. ‘Actually, you claimed I know Andrew Emerson. You did not ask why I was here looking for him.’

  ‘Why are you here looking for him?’

  She carried a reticule embroidered with an abundance of red poppies and held it up by way of demonstration. ‘I owe him money.’

  I glanced toward the door of the hotel. ‘And what did the man behind the desk tell you when you inquired about Andrew?’

  ‘Andrew.’ She savored the syllables. ‘You know him well.’

  ‘Perhaps not as well as you do.’

  The woman threw back her head and laughed, revealing straight, pearly teeth. ‘He said he had a sister. Are you Madeline?’

  ‘I’m not,’ I admitted. ‘But if you know Andrew has a sister—’

  ‘Then I must know Andrew well.’ The woman wound an arm through mine. ‘It seems we have a great deal to talk about. If you’re a romantic rival—’

  I loosened myself from her grasp. What I had to tell her was best said face-to-face. ‘You don’t know, do you?’

  Her smile sobered. ‘Know? About Andrew? Oh, tell me he hasn’t gone and done something foolish like get married. He always threatened it, and in truth I have no objection. As long as it isn’t me he’s marrying!’

  I ran a tongue over my lips. ‘Andrew is dead,’ I told her.

  In an instant, the high color drained from her face and she grasped my arm. ‘When?’

  ‘Friday last.’

  ‘It can’t be.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Yes. It’s true.’

  Her gaze flickered to the Franklin House. ‘Then it’s no wonder he hasn’t been here when I’ve stopped in. I am dreadful sorry to hear the news. Especially if you and Andrew were—’

  ‘No more than friends,’ I assured her. ‘How could we be anything but if you were the one he wanted to marry?’

  Her smile was bittersweet. ‘I am not sorry I refused him. You understand that, don’t you? There is no earthly reason why a woman should come under any man’s command, and such is the relationship between husband and wife. Why legally give yourself over to such tyranny when you may have all the benefits of marriage without ring and preacher?’

  I was not so much scandalized as I was surprised she had the mettle to speak her mind so openly to a stranger. When my mouth dropped open, the woman laughed. ‘It is a new age, Miss …’

  ‘Barnum,’ I told her. ‘Evangeline Barnum.’

  ‘Clarice Carrington,’ she introduced herself. ‘I’m sorry if I shocked you, but I am not known for keeping silent on subjects I feel strongly about.’

  ‘Then we have something in common, Miss Carrington.’

  ‘You mean, other than poor Andrew.’

  Andrew.

  My heart sank.

  Traveling to the Fra
nklin House, I’d had such high hopes of learning more about what Andrew was doing there and how his visit to the city might shine a light on his search for Madeline and his murder.

  I backed away from Miss Carrington. ‘I must speak with the man behind the desk.’

  ‘About Andrew?’

  ‘I have questions that must be answered.’

  ‘His death was mysterious?’

  ‘He was searching for his sister,’ I said, because I could not bring myself to tell her Andrew had been murdered.

  Miss Carrington’s mouth puckered. ‘Here in New York? He never told me she was here.’

  ‘Her arrival was recent. I thought Madeline might help provide the answers as to what Andrew was doing in the city, who he saw and where he went. I need to find the thread that might lead me to Andrew’s killer.’

  In spite of her every attempt at insouciance, Miss Carrington’s bottom lip trembled. ‘Murdered?’ Again, she wound an arm through mine. ‘Then we must find out what happened.’

  Together, we went again into the Franklin House and I explained to the man behind the desk that I was a friend of Andrew’s and knew he wouldn’t be coming back to his room. If I could go upstairs and collect his things …

  Of course, the man refused. At least until I scrawled out a note which would allow him and any number of guests he chose to visit the American Museum without charge.

  ‘Only you can’t go up to his room,’ the man said when Miss Carrington and I made for the stairway. ‘He’s been gone these few days and we didn’t know if Mr Emerson was coming back. We’re a busy establishment.’ He shrugged by way of telling us it wasn’t his decision. ‘His things have been moved to the cellar.’

  To the cellar we went, and to a room with windows high up on the walls that allowed small streaks of light to stain the floor. There was a pile of traveling bags there, and I located one with Andrew’s name attached to it and dragged it into the middle of the floor where the light was better.

  In spite of her progressive beliefs about marriage, it seemed Miss Carrington had qualms about rooting around in the valise of a dead man. I had no such misgivings.