Miss Kopp's Midnight Confessions

by Amy Stewart

  “An attorney? Miss Heustis, how much do they pay you at the powder works?”

  Edna was so alarmed that she could hardly speak. “Seven dollars a week, sir,” she croaked.

  “Seven dollars. And what do you pay for that furnished room?”

  “Five dollars a week, sir.”

  Judge Seufert seemed taken aback by that. “Five! Does it include board?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He sat back in his high-caned chair. “Well. When I was a law clerk, I paid sixty cents a week for room and board, but never mind about that. Detective, how do you expect this girl to engage an attorney? No, don’t answer. I’d like to hear from Deputy Kopp.”

  Constance was indignant on all fronts by this time, and spoke assuredly. “Your Honor, I visited the powder works yesterday, which, to my knowledge, Detective Courter did not. They tell me that Miss Heustis is a fine worker and they’d like to have her back. The boarding-house, to which Detective Courter has likewise not paid a visit, is clean and well-run. The landlady only rents to DuPont girls who come recommended.”

  He nodded. “That’s fine . . .”

  But she wasn’t finished. “I am fully convinced,” she continued, aiming her remarks at Mrs. Heustis, who kept her eyes cast down to her lap, “that the girl is high-minded and of good character and that her only desire in leaving home was to go to work and earn her own living. Detective Courter would agree with me if he’d only bothered to go to Pompton Lakes and see for himself, before throwing a girl’s future away.”

  The detective jumped to his feet. “I won’t listen to this girl instruct me —”

  “That’s enough, John,” the judge said.

  Constance pushed on. “Furthermore, it was selfish of her mother to want her back. She bore a good reputation in Pompton Lakes, and as for her being wayward, I can’t believe it’s true.”

  “It wasn’t selfish!” Mrs. Heustis cried. “She’s gone off on her own and left me by myself all day while her father is at his office. I haven’t anyone to help with the washing and cooking, and nothing but an old beagle for company. What am I to do?”

  Judge Seufert dropped his chin into his hand, but not before giving Constance a glance to let her know that he hadn’t missed the intention of her scheme. She wanted Detective Courter to reckon with the fact that he was putting innocent girls in jail. More importantly, though, she wanted Edna to hear, in front of all of them, that her mother might miss her daughter’s company, but she didn’t really believe Edna to be morally corrupt. No girl, Constance believed, should have to bear the burden of a mother’s shame just for leaving home.

  “Mrs. Heustis,” the judge said, “is it your idea that a housewife should call the police when she gets lonely or tired of her work?”

  “No, sir.” Mrs. Heustis kept her eyes down.

  “And did you honestly believe that this girl’s character was of such a low standard, after all your years of raising her, that she’d get herself into some trouble the minute she left home?”

  Mrs. Heustis looked briefly at her daughter and shook her head.

  “Then would it be all right with you if we allowed Miss Heustis to return to her position, and for us to return to ours? I believe there are still criminals to be caught and put to trial, and Deputy Kopp and I would like to proceed with that business. I don’t know what the prosecutor’s office might get up to next, but I suppose I’ll find out.”

  Mrs. Heustis nodded mutely and the judge dismissed the charges, but not before asking Constance to look in on Edna once or twice to be sure she wasn’t causing any trouble.

  Detective Courter could hardly contain his indignation. “Am I to understand that the lady will be serving as a probation officer?”

  Judge Seufert sighed and gave the detective the weary smile of a man who had seen every kind of subordination in his courtroom. “Yes, I suppose it will be something along those lines. Does that meet with your approval?”

  Mr. Courter tapped his papers on the desk officiously and said, “The prosecutor’s office will expect a copy of her reports weekly.”

  The judge rose and waved them all away. “Go back to your office, John. You’ll get your reports when she writes them. Deputy, please take this girl back to Pompton Lakes before she loses her place.”

  Constance thanked the judge and rushed Edna and her mother out of the room before Detective Courter could say another word. They went outside and down the courthouse steps, where they were set upon by a small platoon of reporters who’d been lounging there, smoking cigarettes and slapping their notebooks against their legs, idly watching both the courthouse and the jail next door for any sign of an arrest, an arraignment, or any other small scandal they might write up in time for the morning edition.

  Every last man jumped to attention when he saw the three of them. The reporters liked nothing better than to put Constance’s name in a headline, especially in connection with a girl in trouble. It gave her a great deal of pleasure to announce that they’d have to look elsewhere to fill tomorrow’s papers.

  “Just a mother who misplaced her daughter’s new address,” she told them, giving Edna’s elbow a squeeze. “You couldn’t even get a paragraph out of it.” That was enough to make them wander off.

  Constance was of the opinion that Edna was owed an automobile ride back to Pompton Lakes by the Paterson policeman who’d brought her there, and said so, but Edna insisted on taking the train. “I’d rather not be seen again with the police, miss,” she said.

  Constance let her go, but not before extracting a promise that she’d visit her mother of a Sunday now and then. Edna allowed her mother to clutch her briefly and awkwardly, then she ran off to the station. Her coat flapped behind her, and the weak winter sunlight cast a little amber into her hair. Constance saw something fine and determined in the girl, and was glad to see her go free.

  Her mother watched her go, too. The lines in her face fell into hardened resignation.

  “Mrs. Heustis,” Constance said, after Edna rounded the corner out of sight, “you know you must call on us if you ever believe the law’s been broken. But your girl’s done nothing wrong. Does her father even know you reported her?”

  She shook her head and looked away. “He encouraged her. She’s our only girl, and he told her how to go off and find work just like her brothers did.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Constance said.

  “They all want to do something for the war.”

  At last Constance had come to the heart of it. Her boys were eager to go to France, and now she was losing her daughter, too. She opened her mouth to answer and just then heard Sheriff Heath calling for her from the side entrance to the jail.

  “We all want to do our part,” she said quickly. “But she hasn’t gone far. You could go up and pay her a visit, too, you know. Bring her a little something from home.”

  Mrs. Heustis didn’t look satisfied with that, but she nodded and turned toward the train station. As she left, Constance couldn’t help but wonder if she’d treated her too harshly. Her daughter was leaving her behind. It would happen to Constance, too, someday. But she’d be more dignified about it.

  Wouldn’t she?

  8

  THERE WAS A KIND of buoyancy about Sheriff Heath as he strode across the frozen lawn to meet Constance, but she couldn’t guess as to its cause. He saw the reporters watching from the courthouse steps and slowed to a walk. When they met, he nodded at the departing figure of Monvilla Heustis.

  “Well, Deputy? Did things go your way this morning?”

  “Of course they did. It was nothing but a mother who didn’t want her daughter thinking for herself.”

  “That’s not a matter for the law.”

  “Judge Seufert agreed, so we sent them both home.” Constance was surprised that her scheme had worked as well as it did. It had been almost too easy to get Edna released. Was this really all it took?

  “Well, it’s a fine way for one of my deputies to spend the
morning,” the sheriff said, “but it’s better than keeping a young lady in jail who has no cause to be there. I don’t suppose the prosecutor’s office had anything good to say about it.”

  “No, but I saved us all needless work. They should give me a medal.”

  Sheriff Heath was just standing there, looking at her oddly.

  “What is it?”

  He rummaged around in his coat pocket and pulled out something folded in brown paper. “This came for you.”

  There was no mark on the package. She took it from him and turned it over. “What do you mean, it came for me? What is it?” After all the strange letters she’d received, she was suspicious of packages.

  He shrugged and cast his eyes up and over to the spire atop the courthouse dome. “Don’t open it if you don’t want it.”

  That’s when she felt the metal point under the paper.

  “It couldn’t be.” She unwrapped it and let it drop into her hand.

  There it was. She had her badge at last.

  The sheriff didn’t go in for eagles or stars. All of his men wore a plain shield with the words “Bergen Co.” engraved along the top, and “Sheriff’s Deputy” at the bottom. In the center was the county seal, which was impossible to make out at such a small size but consisted of an Indian and a Pilgrim shaking hands under the talons of an eagle in flight. It was heavier than Constance thought it would be, and strangely warm, from having been in the sheriff’s pocket.

  Hers wasn’t silver like the others. “This isn’t gold, is it?” she said, catching his eye for the first time since he’d handed it to her. It occurred to her that he must have come straight from the jeweler’s. The metal shone cleanly, like it had never been touched.

  The sheriff looked embarrassed over the extravagance and said, “It’s only plated in gold. It’ll rub off the first time you get into a scuffle.”

  “What will Norma say when she sees me in a gold badge?” She looked down for a place to pin it.

  The sheriff fumbled with his gloves and took it from her. There is nothing more awkward than having a man pin something on a woman’s coat, but occasions do call for it and she stood with her hands at her sides and let him. He slid the clasp together and lifted his head and there they were, staring evenly at each other.

  “Well, Deputy Kopp,” he said, clearing his throat. “I suppose —”

  But he never got to finish, because the reporters spotted them.

  “Miss Kopp!” called a skinny young man, running up behind her. “Is that a badge or a corsage?”

  “Have you the backing of the Freeholders on this one, Bob?” asked another, although he must have already known the answer. Sheriff Heath never had the backing of the Board of Freeholders on anything.

  “What exactly are the duties of a lady deputy?” asked a third, panting as he tried to keep up with the other two without turning loose of his cigar. “Has she the authority to arrest a man? Will she go on patrol alone or will she require an escort? Have you issued her a gun and handcuffs as well?”

  The sheriff shifted his hat and turned to face the men gathered in a half-circle around them. “Roger, you know that Deputy Kopp carries a police gun and handcuffs and used them to capture a dangerous fugitive only a couple of months ago,” he said calmly. “She’s been in all your papers, so don’t pretend that you don’t know about it just to get a fresh quote from me. There was some delay in having a badge engraved, owing to the metal being in short supply, but it’s done now. As to her duties, Deputy Kopp has charge of the women in my jail and I will continue to deploy her as I do any man under my command.”

  It was just then that Constance noticed Carrie Hart stepping off a streetcar. She was wrapped in a smart green coat and wore shoes to match. From the brim of her hat stood a single black ostrich feather, which waved about in the wind like a weather-vane. She waltzed up behind the scrum of reporters just as the sheriff was dismissing them.

  “Go on, boys,” he said, and they wandered off morosely. “Good afternoon, Miss Hart.”

  “Sheriff. Deputy.” She laughed. Her lips were painted a bright geranium red.

  “What did you do to get sent all the way to Hackensack?” Constance asked.

  She raised an eyebrow and looked back at the reporters, who had returned to their posts on the courthouse steps. “I told my editor I wanted off the club luncheon track. After three stories about a lady deputy in Hackensack, I thought I could handle the city crime pages. He said I could, as long as the city wasn’t New York. I had my choice of Hackensack or Trenton.”

  “And you chose us.”

  “Of course I did! Take me up to the top of that jail and introduce me to all your dangerous dames. One of them must want to tell her story to the papers.”

  “Oh, they might want to, but I won’t allow it,” Constance said. “Do you know the kinds of letters I’ve had because of your stories?”

  “Those girls might like a letter from a handsome stranger,” Carrie said.

  “And what was that about my velvety brown eyes giving the novelists a page of descriptive matter?”

  She gave a shrug and a false little frown. “My editor put that in himself. He said no male reporter would’ve neglected the lady deputy’s good looks.”

  Carrie glanced over at the sheriff, who had been standing by impassively with the air of a man who knew better than to come between two sharp-tongued women. Then she looked back at Constance’s coat. “Say, how about that pretty little badge?”

  “It’s an ordinary badge,” Constance said. “No different than —”

  Carrie leaned in close to examine it. “Oh, it’s far from ordinary! There’s nothing stopping me from writing about it, is there? You’re wearing it out in public, after all.”

  “So does every man with a badge,” Constance said. “It’s never made the papers before.”

  “We’ve never had a girl deputy before,” Carrie said brightly. “I’m sure I can get a paragraph out of it. Watch these pages, as they say.”

  “You can’t mean to put me in the papers again,” Constance said. “I don’t think I can endure another marriage proposal.”

  She and Sheriff Heath watched as Carrie ran to join the reporters on the courthouse steps. She looked like a bright exotic bird that had just landed among tree stumps.

  “Reporters go along with the badge,” the sheriff said resignedly. “You can give it back if you don’t like it.”

  She wasn’t about to give it back.

  9

  “OH, YOU MAKE such a handsome fellow,” Fleurette said as she draped a length of striped navy serge around Helen Stewart’s shoulders. “Put your hair up under the hat.”

  Helen laughed and did as she was told, pushing a knot of red hair beneath the brim of a battered old bowler.

  Fleurette took a step back and sang out in admiration. “I’ll marry you tonight!”

  Helen shook off the hat. “You’re supposed to refuse.”

  “No, you’re supposed to refuse.”

  “Oh, I will, at first.”

  The two of them were squirreled away in Fleurette’s sewing room to make their preparations for the audition. Surrounding them was an empire of luxury goods: the newest pattern-books, spools of silk ribbon, jars of buttons and hooks, an entire library of pin-books, including the kind with the pearls, both silk and muslin flowers, glittering buckles and hat-pins, dress nets, feathers, braids and trimming, and endless lengths of lace. Bolts of fabric towered nearly to the ceiling along one wall and spoke of every whim that had ever taken Fleurette’s fancy: oriental patterns of peacock flowers and water lilies, lengths of purple silk embroidered with Napoleon’s gold bees, dizzyingly tiny prints of miniature roses, sheer emerald-colored chiffon, polka-dotted satin, georgette and crêpe de Chine, and velvet and silk in whatever yardage and hue she could charge on the account that Constance kept for her at Schoonmaker’s.

  With Norma now in custody of the household ledger, it was incumbent upon Constance to hold a little back fr
om her weekly pay and to distribute it among the various merchants around town to whom Fleurette was indebted. In addition to the dry goods and clothiers, there was a ribbon shop where they knew her by name, a shoe store that kept a supply of beaded slippers in her size alone, and a millinery that should have hung her portrait in the window, in honor of its benefactress. They could not all be paid at once, but Constance managed to put a little toward each in turn, and to save a few extra coins and bills in a tin box in her dresser (where, she mistakenly believed, Fleurette wouldn’t know about it) in case funds were needed and Norma refused to relinquish them. These extra expenses put a strain on their finances, but Constance seemed to enjoy sharing a secret with Fleurette, and Fleurette couldn’t think of a reason to deny her the pleasure.

  With so much finery around them, it was nothing but an adventure for Fleurette and Helen to pin together their costumes. They didn’t dare rehearse the song at home for fear of being overheard—the sewing room was one of those awkward windowless chambers so often situated off the parlors of old country homes, originally intended as a fainting room, a place to lay out the dead, or some other antiquated purpose—so they were forced to run far out into the shorn and snow-covered hay meadow to sing and to choreograph their dance.

  But the day had been too bleak and miserable to rehearse out-of-doors. They were far more content indoors, and found themselves making all sorts of plans for their future as two of May Ward’s Dresden Dolls.

  “Have there always only been eight of them?” Helen asked.

  “As far as I know, but I think May Ward will want more Dolls when she sees us. I’ll be the ninth and you can be the tenth,” Fleurette said.

  “But the other eight already have their parts. They hardly need two extra, except for the chorus.”

  “They’ll write new parts for us.” Fleurette stood and tucked another ruffle into her skirt, raising the hem halfway to her knee. She wondered idly if it was possible to rig up some kind of cord that would raise the skirt when she left home and lower it again when she returned, like the canvas blinds in a shop window.