• • •
It was nearly seven thirty when I stepped back out onto the street. The bakery next door was already busy with people picking up their daily breads and pastries, while all along the block, people were sweeping off their stoops or hurrying toward the El. I took a deep breath, grateful to be alive. At just that moment, my gaze alighted on Simon’s man, sitting on the stoop across the street with a newspaper spread over his knees. My contentment melted before a flame of righteous anger, fueled by the memory of my terrified flight down the street the night before.
“You, there!” I called, stalking across the street as best I could on my still unsteady legs. I noticed the man hadn’t changed his clothes since I’d seen him last and was sporting at least two days’ growth of beard. I came to a halt in front of him. “My name is Genevieve Summerford. I’m Mrs. Miner’s physician.”
“Sure, I know who you are,” he said, laying his newspaper down. “I didn’t know you were inside, though. Mr. Shaw was here a while ago, looking for you. I told him I hadn’t seen you.”
“Mr. Shaw was here?” I asked, momentarily diverted by the news. “What did he want?”
“Beats me,” he answered with a gap-toothed grin. “I just work here.”
“Speaking of which,” I retorted, my anger returning, “where were you last night? There was no one on watch at midnight when I arrived.”
“Say, now, that ain’t true!” he said, losing the grin. “I was here at midnight on the dot.”
I remembered that it had actually been a few minutes before midnight when I arrived. “Well then, where was the man who should have been on duty before you?” I demanded, seeking a new target for my anger.
“I guess he might have left a few minutes early,” he said, dropping his gaze.
Just my luck. The one time Simon’s watchman might have been of some use, he’d been off somewhere getting drunk or playing faro. “I don’t think Mr. Shaw will be very pleased to hear it.”
His gaze swung back to me. “Aw, now, listen, lady, you don’t want to go telling Mr. Shaw that Joey took off early.”
“Don’t I? There’s supposed to be someone out here watching the premises at all times. Mr. Shaw promised the judge.”
“Now look,” he pleaded. “Joey’s my little brother. He don’t mean to mess things up; he just ain’t used to working a regular job. Mr. Shaw’s been real good to us. I don’t want to let him down. Please don’t say anything. I swear to you, it won’t happen again.”
“Well, I’ll think about it,” I muttered, finding it difficult to remain angry in the face of his frank appeal. “In the meantime, you’d better be sure that there’s someone here at all times.”
“I will, miss. I promise.”
“What’s your name, anyway?”
“Donald, miss. Donald Kearny.”
“Tell me, Mr. Kearny, did you see anyone go in or out of the shop last night after you got here?”
“No, miss, I didn’t see a soul all night. It was quiet as a tomb.”
“Quiet as a tomb, eh?” I repeated, remembering my desperate cries. “I don’t suppose you might have shut your eyes for just a minute?”
His bristled chin jerked upward. “No, miss, I did not,” he answered fiercely.
I waved a conciliatory hand, too spent to wrangle with him any further. “All right, all right. I was just asking. Good day, Mr. Kearny.”
“Quiet as a tomb!” he called after me as I turned and trudged up the street.
I was nearly at the intersection before I thought to wonder why Simon would have come looking for me at the crack of dawn. I hadn’t told him I was going to Eliza’s. I hadn’t even had a chance to tell him about the letter. He couldn’t have known I was coming, unless…
I stopped short. Could Simon have written the letter and pushed me into the locker? I remembered what my father had suggested about Simon offering District Attorney Jerome some sort of carrot in exchange for the Saratoga gambling concern. Jerome—the same man who was prosecuting Eliza’s case, the man who, according to Father, was thinking of running for Senate and would want a quick conviction to assuage the voting public. I’d already had cause to question Simon’s relationship with Maloney. Could they all be in this together somehow, using me as their pawn, trying, if not to kill me, then at least to scare me into turning on Eliza?
I tried to tell myself I was becoming delusional, but it didn’t help. I was consumed by the devastating possibility that Simon might really hate me that much. A hansom cab rolled to a stop at the corner. I lunged toward it, calling to the cabbie to hold up. He opened the door and I threw myself inside, feeling as if the whole world had turned against me.
• • •
To my relief, Mary was the only one up and about when I got home, sweeping the floor in the dining room. I tiptoed silently to the stairs and dragged myself up to my room, where I peeled off my damp coat and hat and collapsed onto the mattress. Never had a bed so engulfed me. I fell into a coma-like sleep, only to be awakened what seemed minutes later by an incessant pounding. I dragged the pillow over my head to try to shut out the noise.
“It’s eleven o’clock, miss,” Mary called through the door. “Your mother says to ask if you’re going to go with her today.”
I heard her as if from the bottom of a deep well. “What?” I mumbled through the pillow.
“She says if you want to go, you’ll need to be ready in half an hour.”
I pulled the pillow off my head. “Go where?”
“Calling on Mrs. Fiske.”
I dragged my mind back from the depths, struggling to make sense of her words. It must be Lucille’s receiving day—the day when guests from the ball would call on her to thank her and congratulate her on her success.
“Miss?” asked Mary. “Did you hear?”
I sat up. Though my headache was gone my limbs felt weak, and my mind seemed incapable of sustained thought. Amid the buzz of half-formed beliefs and blurry suspicions that were whirling around in my brain, however, one thing stood out with relative clarity: Lucille Fiske had the most to gain from the Hauptfuhrers’ deaths. Calling on her with my mother would give me an opportunity to question her again, and perhaps to determine if she had masterminded my recent ordeal.
“Yes, Mary,” I called back. “Tell her I’ll be right down. And Mary? Ask Katie to make me a pot of coffee, will you? Tell her to make it extra strong.”
An hour later, my mother and I were being shown into the Fiskes’ sumptuous drawing room. Lucille rose from the sofa and floated over to kiss my mother’s cheek. “Evelyn, how lovely to see you again. And Genevieve,” she added with a nod. If she was surprised to see me alive, she didn’t show it. “Do have a seat, won’t you?”
We lowered ourselves onto two stiff-backed gondola chairs as Lucille settled into the deeply cushioned sofa. A polar bear hide stretched across the floor between us, head intact, eyes regarding me balefully. A full-length Sargent portrait on the wall behind Lucille captured our hostess in her famous tiara, wearing an enigmatic smile. She was wearing the same smile now, I realized as we waited for the maids to refresh the teapot and lay more logs on the fire.
“It’s been too long since you paid me a visit,” she said to Mama when the maids were gone, leaning to pour the tea.
“I don’t do much visiting anymore,” my mother admitted.
“I hope that’s going to change. You have a great deal to offer, Evelyn, and I, for one, would like to see much more of you.” Her voice was perfectly modulated, her posture impeccable as she tipped the tea into three gilt-edged cups. In her snug, ribboned bodice and full Oriental sleeves, she gave the appearance of a delicate Chinese doll.
“Did you enjoy yourself at the ball?” she asked my mother, passing her one of the cups.
“Oh my goodness, yes,” Mama replied. “I can’t imagine how it could have been any finer. Th
e flowers alone…” She shook her head.
“And you, Genevieve?” Lucille asked, handing me a cup. “Did you find the evening satisfactory?”
“I found it…utterly extraordinary,” I said, taking the tea.
Her smooth brow crinkled slightly. “Are you feeling all right, my dear? You look rather pale.”
My mother turned to peer at me. “Oh no. I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
“I’m just a little tired.” I turned back to Lucille. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.”
“Thinking about your patients, no doubt,” she said, pouring cream for Mama. “Young women today are remarkable, aren’t they, Evelyn? So ambitious and ready to take on the world.” She stirred some cream into her own tea and sat back. “But there’s a danger in being overzealous, in Genevieve’s line of work especially.”
“What danger is that?” I asked.
She shrugged daintily. “Why, the tendency to become overly involved in the affairs of others at the risk of one’s own health.”
I nearly choked on my Earl Grey. Was she admitting that she’d locked me in the cooler? If so, it was a bold thing to do—and yet, it made perfect sense. She’d want me to know that she had done it, to demonstrate the unhampered reach of her will. After all, if she could lock me in a meat cooler overnight with no one the wiser, what couldn’t she do? The message seemed clear: accept her bribes and keep my nose out of her affairs, or suffer the consequences.
I glanced uneasily at the gilded French furniture and frescoed ceiling and grimacing polar bear at my feet. Lucille would like me to believe that her wealth lifted her above both law and convention. I didn’t want to credit it, but it was my own neck on the block. My cup landed noisily on its saucer, spilling tea onto the table.
“Genna!” exclaimed Mother. “Are you sure you’re quite all right?”
“Shall I ring for some ice water?” Lucille asked helpfully.
“I’m fine,” I said, dabbing at the spill with a napkin. “I’m just a little clumsy this morning.”
Lucille held up the pastry tray. “Perhaps a sweet would help.”
Lord, she was cool. I’d never met a woman like her, so determined to get what she wanted no matter who or what stood in her way. I didn’t underestimate the damage she could do. And yet, even as she mocked me with her false concern, I felt a thawing in some icy region of my heart at the growing conviction that neither Eliza nor Simon had been plotting against me.
“Aren’t those darling?” Mother murmured, leaning forward to examine the miniature cakes, which were decorated in gold leaf.
“Our pastry man thought them up in honor of the Earl,” Lucille said. “You see? It’s in the shape of his family crest.”
Mother clucked in admiration. “You’ve certainly treated the Earl handsomely during his stay. Will he be in New York much longer?”
“Actually, no. He has a hankering to see the far West. The grizzlies and the cowboys, you know; the British can’t get enough of them. We’ve arranged to bring him out in our private train car at the end of the week.”
“You’re leaving New York?” I blurted out in surprise.
“Why, yes, on Saturday.”
“All of you?”
She raised an eyebrow at my ill-mannered inquisition but replied, “We’ll all go as far as Colorado Springs so that Olivia and the Earl can spend more time together before the Earl goes buffalo hunting with Charles.” She smiled at Mama. “I understand the Antlers Hotel has become so popular with our overseas friends that they’ve dubbed it ‘Little London.’ Just seeing it is reason enough to make the trip.”
But not the only reason, I was sure. It must have been extremely frustrating for Lucille to have her ball come and go with no engagement announcement to show for it. No doubt she’d do everything she could to rectify that omission during their western sojourn.
“The Earl seemed very attentive to Olivia at the ball,” Mother said, as though having the same thought. “Didn’t you think so, Genevieve?”
“He struck me as very…courtly.” I replied. “As one might expect of a man his age.”
“Heavens, you make him sound positively rusty,” Lucille said with a tinkling little laugh.
“He is old enough to be her father.”
“Old enough to make a mature and devoted husband, should Olivia choose to marry him,” my mother said, arching an eyebrow at me in warning.
“Do you believe happiness is reserved for the young?” Lucille asked me.
“Of course not. But an older man is accustomed to living life as he pleases and with whom he pleases. My concern is whether the Earl, after so many years of bachelorhood, would be capable of giving Olivia the understanding and support she needs—now, and in the future.”
“My dear Miss Summerford,” said Lucille, putting down her cup. “A husband is not a girlfriend or a priest. Olivia has her friends and family to confide in. A distinguished man like Branard can give her other things: a title, an estate, a prominence, in short, that she could never achieve in a common marriage.”
Whether it was Huntington’s chorea or some other ailment afflicting Olivia, I’d heard and seen enough to know that she wasn’t well. Was it possible Lucille hadn’t considered the possibility that her daughter would soon be too ill to enjoy whatever shallow pleasures a title would confer? Or did she simply choose to live in a world of make-believe, convincing herself that Olivia was going to be all right? “Don’t you think that given Olivia’s…delicate constitution, something more may be required?”
She eased back against the sofa. “You’re a romantic, I see.”
“I’d call myself more of a realist,” I said shortly. “Reality may not always be pleasant, but I believe it should be confronted head-on.”
“Genevieve!” my mother admonished.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” said Lucille with a little wave of her hand. “The young are entitled to strong opinions. They have plenty of time to change them.”
“You’re very understanding,” my mother said, setting my teeth on edge. I couldn’t bear the ease with which Lucille had taken her in thrall.
“Speaking of the young, Evelyn dear, I have a favor to ask you,” Lucille went on, deftly changing the subject. “Sally Courtlandt is having her annual skating party on Friday night. It’s gotten more difficult for her to manage, what with her rheumatism, and she’s asked me to help round up some chaperones. I thought if you weren’t busy, you might like to come. I even have a spare pair of skates, in case you’d like to take a turn on the ice.”
My mother’s hand fluttered to her throat. I waited for her to refuse as she always did, on the rare occasions when people still sought to include her.
“I can’t remember the last time I was on skates,” she said.
“Good! Then I won’t be the only one making a fool of myself,” Lucille said with a smile. “Just tell me you’ll come, and my job will be done.”
“All right, I’ll come,” said Mother, smiling back at her. “But won’t it be too much for you to attend when you’re leaving town the very next day?”
Lucille’s lips twitched. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t planning on going. We’re all a bit wrung out from so much entertaining. Olivia, especially, is feeling the strain, as you might imagine. But the Earl is eager to attend. It seems he’s never been on ice skates before.”
“That will make three of us, then, sitting on the ice,” Mother said with a laugh.
Lucille glanced toward the front window as an elegant four-in-hand rolled up to the door. “There’s Minerva Penniman,” she said, clapping her hands expectantly. “I was hoping she’d come. I’m not going to let her leave until she’s told me how much she’s paying her new chef.” She winked at Mama. “I intend to steal him for my next dinner party.”
Mother rose to her feet with a smile. “We’ll leav
e you to it, then.”
Lucille rose beside her and, slipping an arm around her elbow, walked us to the door. “I was hoping you might prepare a preliminary design for the new garden while I’m away,” she suggested to Mama. “That way, we can meet with the landscapers as soon as I get back.”
“I’ve already come up with a few ideas,” Mama confessed. “I hope you’ll like them.”
“I’m sure I will. Oh, by the way, I put in a word with Charles about your husband’s mechanical lung. I wouldn’t be surprised if he decides to fully fund the project.”
To my amazement, my mother seized her in a heartfelt embrace. “Thank you, Lucille. You’ve done so much, for all of us. I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Lucille said, meeting my eyes over my mother’s shoulder. “Helping each other is what friends do.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The sidewalk in front of the Fifth Avenue Hotel was empty the next morning when my electric auto-cab rolled up to the curb, except for a bespectacled gentleman standing just outside the hotel entrance. The man had a pointy white mustache and trim goatee and was holding a medical bag. I guessed from the way he huddled near the door, clasping his hat to his head, that the wind was whipping past the prow of the Flatiron Building with its usual ferocity, buffeting everything in its path.
I leaned out the open front of the cab. “Dr. Huntington?”
He came toward me, lifting his hat from a head of fine, white hair. “Dr. Summerford, I presume.”
I shook his hand. Though his grip was firm, he looked frail to me, as though he’d recently been ill. “Do come up and get out of the wind.”
He stepped up into the vehicle and eased himself onto the worn leather seat beside me. His movements were calm and unhurried, suggesting someone who’d seen too much of life to give the next minute any more importance than the present one.
“I apologize for getting you up at such an early hour,” I said, “but it was the only time I could arrange to have you see Mrs. Miner in private.”
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