“Aye, that I could have, but that wasn’t the way of it,” Bayne replied with great aplomb. “I found my way to your door by following a man that night. The man who pushed Miss Nora into the river came straight to this house. I saw him go in the back door and never come out again that night. You can be sure I waited to see.”
“The servant’s entrance?” Martin shot back in disbelief. “You saw a man go in through the servant’s entrance? I am the master of this house! I have no reason to use that door!”
“Maybe you did that night, though.”
“This is utterly ridiculous. I can see right through your little game. You found out the factory was owned by a wealthy man and you decided to capitalize on this unfortunate event by concocting this ridiculous story!” Martin could feel his face turning an unhealthy shade of fuschia.
Bayne maintained his serenity despite the attack. “Maybe the police won’t think the story is so ridiculous.”
“Look at you! You’re a common vagrant! I’m a respectable businessman. It’s my word against yours. Who do you think they’ll believe?”
“Oh, aye. There’s that. I don’t cut as dashing a figure as you, to be sure. Not yet anyway. But ‘tisn’t just my word against yours. It’s my word, your word, and this.” With a quick motion of his hand, Bayne dug into his coat pocket and threw a small metal object on the table.
Martin took one look at it and sat back down heavily in his chair. He held his head in his hands to steady himself. “Good God! Where did you get this?”
“’Twas the fellow I shadowed that night. The fellow without a face. Before he got all the way back here, he stopped long enough to take something out of his pocket and throw it into a pile of trash in an alley. It’s a weakness of my character that I’m the sentimental type. I like to collect mementos and this one’s a beauty. Don’t you think so, Mr. Allworthy?”
Martin reached across the table to touch the object, but Bayne snatched it up and put it back in his pocket. “Tut, tut, sir. None of that, now. Finder’s keepers, as the saying goes.”
“You say you saw a man let himself into this house through the servant’s entrance that night?” Martin asked pointedly.
“Aye, that I did.”
“But you never saw his face?”
“That I did not.”
Martin was silent for several moments, pondering what to do. The good name of his family, of his factory had to be preserved at all costs. The alternative was unthinkable. Still unable to comprehend the turn his life had just taken, he asked simply, “What do you want?”
Bayne broke into a broad smile, displaying the full extent of his dental deformities. “Ah, that’s better now. I’m rejoicing to see you’re a reasonable man.” He patted Martin on the back. Allworthy winced at the contact.
“And you’ll be finding me a reasonable man, too. Of that you can be sure,” Bayne continued. “I’m not asking for much. I’ve got a mind to be respectable. I want to learn a trade.”
“A trade?” Martin echoed in disbelief.
“Aye, a trade. The honorable trade of electroplating is what I’m thinking I should know.”
“You want a job at my factory?” The words still refused to make sense.
“Oh, not just any job, Mr. Allworthy. I’ve got a powerful longing for a grand title. Maybe something like ‘Vice President.’”
Martin was aghast. “In charge of what?”
“In charge of clock-watching mainly.” He patted Allworthy again reassuringly. “You’re a resourceful man, sir. I can see that right enough. You’ll think of something. I leave it entirely to you. I know you’ll not be disappointing me.”
Martin felt sick to his stomach at the thought of this foul creature in such close proximity to him. “What else?” he asked tersely.
“Oh, a little retainer to tide me over until payday. I’ll be needing a bath and a new suit of clothes before you introduce me around to your society friends, and I’ll be needing cash to pay for both.” He held out his hand impishly.
Martin wordlessly took out his wallet and handed Bayne a hundred dollar bill.
The Irishman wafted the green piece of paper beneath his nose several times and then exhaled with great satisfaction, his eyes glowing. “Sure and there’s nothing like the smell of money. The air in your house is sweet with it, but this is my own personal bit of sachet to carry away with me.” He folded the bill and put it tenderly into his breast coat pocket, patting it for reassurance after it was safely tucked away.
“Anything else?” Martin prayed that this ordeal of humiliation would end soon.
“Just one more thing and I’m thinking it’s something we’ll both be needing.”
“Yes?” Martin’s patience was wearing thin.
“An alibi for the night of Miss Nora’s unfortunate demise.”
“I don’t need an alibi!” Martin shot back. “After I left work, I went out for a long walk.”
“Here now, you needn’t take that uppity tone with me, Mr. Allworthy. I’m the best friend you’ve got in the world at this moment.” There was a hint of warning in Bayne’s last statement and a glint of danger in his eyes. “I’d hate to think what might happen to you if you lost your best friend. A man needs friends, sir. Indeed he does. He always needs to keep the loyalty of his friends!”
Martin backed off. “What do you propose?”
“Well, seeing as how you say you were out walking.” Bayne held up his hand to forestall any objection. “And I’ll say I believe you for the sake of argument. If nobody else saw you that night, then you’ll still be needing an alibi, won’t you, Mr. Allworthy?”
Martin merely nodded, beaten for the moment.
“Then I’d propose that we stick together in this. Let’s just say you were out walking and you ran into an old pal of yours from bygone days, namely me. Let’s just say the two of us decides to go to a saloon and renew an old acquaintance. What do you think of that, now?” Bayne looked at Martin for approval.
“I suppose it’s as good a lie as any,” Martin agreed sullenly.
“Ah, you’ll be finding, if you practice a lie often enough, and sincerely enough, it starts to have the ring of truth to it in your own heart. That’s good advice from one who knows. You must sincerely believe in your own lies, Mr. Allworthy. Come what may. That’s the secret.”
Martin was at a loss for a reply.
Bayne resumed his story. “And then in the course of the evening, let’s just say you learn that your old friend Desmond has fallen on hard times. There now, that’ll ease your conscience because that’s the gospel truth of things. Let’s just say that in years gone by your old friend Desmond saved your life. In a manner of speaking, that’s not far from the truth either. So being the good soul you are, you offer your friend a job at your very own factory, sort of to pay him back for the kindness he showed you long, long ago. What could be finer than that?” Bayne slapped Allworthy on the back for emphasis. “Lord love you, Mr. Allworthy, and the world will know what a good friend you’ve been to old Desmond. I’ll sing your praises until the angels come to carry me away, and that’s a fact!”
“Angels?” Martin echoed in wonder.
“Well, ‘tis just a figure of speech. Pay it no mind.” Bayne concluded by extending his hand. “Let’s shake on the deal, then, and call it done and done.”
Martin felt himself trapped in a nightmare from which he desperately wished to awaken. This could not possibly be happening. He saw a horrifying vision of his family name—that spotless field of new-fallen snow that had maintained its purity for generations—now marred without warning by the filthy, bloody footprints of this insinuating scoundrel. There was no help for it. He seemed to be observing his own actions from a great distance. He watched in numb horror as he shook hands with the devil.
“Since we’re now such fast friends, I’m thinking we should be on a first-name basis. You can call me Desmond.”
Chapter 4—Questionable Characters
Freddie knocked a
t the door of Evangeline’s townhouse on the evening of May 12th with far less trepidation than if he had been presenting himself at the house in the country. The door swung wide to reveal a man as thick as the trunk of an oak tree and seemingly rooted just as firmly in the earth. Upon seeing the visitor he flashed a broad smile revealing a gold front tooth.
“Evening, Mister Freddie,” the oak tree said.
“Evening, Jack. How have you been?”
“Can’t complain.” The oak tree ushered the young man in. “It’s been quiet around here with Miss Engie spending so much time up in the country. Just me and the maid and the cook rambling around until she decides to come to town and then everything springs to life again.”
Freddie glanced nervously around the front hall. “She didn’t bring Delphine with her this time, did she?”
Jack grinned. “No, not this time. Can’t understand why she won’t take to you. Delphine’s a right old gal most of the time.”
“To everyone in the world except me, Jack.”
“There now, Mister Freddie, don’t take it to heart,” Jack offered comfortingly. “She’ll come round some time or other if you let her be. You just go on into the drawing room, and I’ll pour you a brandy to make you forget your cares. Then I’ll let Miss Engie know you’re here.”
“Thank you, Jack, you’re a good man.”
Freddie settled himself into one of the leather chairs by the fireplace to wait. The young man had always been glad of Jack’s presence in the LeClair ménage. It made him worry less about Evangeline’s reckless independence knowing Jack was around to keep an eye on her. Like Delphine, Jack’s association with the LeClair family went back into the dim recesses of memory. He had been the foreman of a work crew on one of Armand LeClair’s early railroad ventures. Evangeline’s father, valuing Jack’s dependability and loyalty, had made him the caretaker of the family’s city residence. Evangeline shared her father’s respect for Jack, and since her parents’ death, he had functioned not only as the major domo of the townhouse, but as part-time coachman and, if need be, bodyguard. Freddie remembered how handy his presence had been when Evangeline decided to bait a trap to catch a murderer the previous autumn.
Freddie was roused from his musing when Jack wordlessly handed him a glass and went off in search of the lady of the house. The young man sipped his brandy, a drowsy warmth spreading through his limbs and relaxing him. He had nearly drifted off on a cozy cloud of sleep when he was jolted by a voice from the doorway.
“Freddie, what are you doing lounging around in there? Not napping, I hope! Hurry up, or we won’t just be fashionably late, we’ll be unforgivably late, and I really don’t care to face a reprimand from Euphemia!”
The soporific effects of alcohol were no match for this unnerving assault on his eardrums. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” He rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.
Walking back into the front hall, he was greeted by a visual image far more pleasing than the voice that preceded it. Evangeline, as always, was dressed elegantly. This time it was an indigo satin evening gown embroidered with roses. Around her neck she wore a diamond choker and diamond teardrop earrings. One of the maids helped her on with her cape while Jack went out to bring the carriage around to the porte cochère.
Even though the Allworthy townhouse was scarcely two blocks away, the prospect of walking the short distance to a formal dinner party was unthinkable. It was simply never done. Despite Evangeline’s general defiance of convention, she picked her fights carefully. She was skillful in engineering her own social survival. She had always managed to stay on the right side of the line that separated an eccentric from an adventuress, thus insuring that her name remained on the approved side of the guest list—even in the best society.
Mild eccentricity displayed over a long period of time had conditioned her friends to measure her behavior by a different set of standards than their own. They merely shrugged their shoulders, raised their eyes heavenward and said, “Oh, well, it’s Engie’s way. What can one do? I’m sure she means no harm.” This degree of social latitude even allowed her to appear at a dinner party in the company of a young man who was neither fiancé nor relative without anyone questioning the nature of the relationship or drawing any negative conclusions as to its propriety.
Freddie helped Evangeline into the carriage and the two traveled in silence until the vehicle turned into the driveway of the Allworthy residence. Every window in the house radiated a glow of gaslight that suggested a banquet for a hundred had been prepared instead of a modest dinner for twelve.
Before Evangeline took Freddie’s hand to alight, she stood on the top step of the carriage and whispered her instructions to Jack. “You may as well come back around eleven. If things take an unusually boring turn I may affect a sick headache and ring you earlier.”
The major domo qua coachman nodded and touched the brim of his hat before turning the horse around and back into the street.
Evangeline linked her arm through Freddie’s as they walked up to the front door. “Do they know I’m coming?” he asked with some trepidation.
“Of course. They’ll even welcome you with open arms. I told Euphemia you were the scion of a prominent Shore Cliff family. Since she’s eager to know the local set, I’m sure she’ll grill you thoroughly on your bloodline.”
“Oh God!” Freddie sighed.
“I did, however, neglect to mention your sordid affiliation with the Gazette.”
The young man looked at his companion in surprise since Evangeline had been instrumental in helping him get the newspaper job in the first place.
“Well, if you want to get any tidbits on that drowning business, I thought everyone might talk more freely in front of you if they didn’t know. Just don’t take out that blasted notebook of yours, or we’ll both be tossed out into the street.”
Freddie patted her hand reassuringly. “I won’t and, by the way, thanks for looking out for my interests, old girl.”
“It’s all right. I’ll think of some way for you to pay me back.”
Freddie gulped at the prospect.
While the butler took their wraps, the couple was greeted by their hostess. She threw both arms wide in an expansive gesture. “Welcome, welcome dear friends!”
As Evangeline had said, Euphemia Allworthy was a formidable presence. She would have dominated any room by size alone, having passed the weight of fashionable embonpoint some fifty pounds before. She towered over Evangeline. Freddie guessed her to be about five feet ten inches, and she had augmented her height by attaching a supercilious plume from some unfortunate fowl to the top of her already elevated pompadour. It touched the door frame as she swept through.
Taking Freddie’s hands in both her own she looked at him quite fixedly, all the while rambling on to Evangeline.
“So this is the young man you were telling me about? Quite pleasant-looking, isn’t he? You say he’s one of the Shore Cliff elite? Oh, how I long for good society once the country villa is finished. How fortunate it was for us, Engie, that we knew you and that you could be our neighbor in both localities. And now we shall know this young man’s family as well. How lovely. What’s your Christian name, Mr. Simpson?”
Freddie snapped to attention. He hadn’t anticipated a direct question, so his gaze had begun to wander around the room.
“Speak, Freddie.” Evangeline’s prompt sounded suspiciously like a canine command.
“F... F... Freddie... ahem, that is, Frederick. Frederick Ulysses as a matter of fact.”
“Oh, lovely.” Euphemia squeezed his hands for emphasis before finally relinquishing them. “In honor of our great war hero, I expect.”
Taking Evangeline’s hand this time, the hostess led the couple forward into the drawing room. “There are a few people here you may not know, Engie, and I’m sure we’ll need introductions all around for Mr. Simpson. Everyone!” Euphemia clapped her hands for attention and abruptly all conversation in the drawing room
ceased. “Everyone, this is Miss Evangeline LeClair, a dear friend and neighbor, and with her a young man whose family will, I hope, prove to be good neighbors once the country villa is complete. May I present Mr. Frederick Simpson, whose family is quite prominent in Shore Cliff.”
Everyone in the room nodded by way of acknowledgment and Euphemia began singling them out for introductions. “I don’t believe either of you are acquainted with Mr. Horatio Waxman and his wife Maisie.” Euphemia indicated an elderly couple seated on the sofa together. “Mr. Waxman is a friend of my husband’s and quite the real estate tycoon, I’m told.”
Waxman brushed the compliment aside. “Oh, nothing like that, Mrs. Allworthy. A fellow owns a few prime lots on State Street, and the next thing you know people are calling him a tycoon.” The businessman chuckled to himself, apparently pleased by the accolade despite his self-deprecation. His wife timidly glanced at her husband for confirmation before smiling at the newcomers.
“And here next to the Waxmans are my cousin, Bessie, and her daughter Minerva.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Evangeline stepped forward to shake hands.
Cousin Bessie showed a strong resemblance to Euphemia. Her daughter showed a strong resemblance to a stork. She seemed all beak and bones. The girl retained a fair degree of awkwardness, causing Freddie to conclude that she was barely out of her teens. Incredibly, she must have already made her debut. What a sad affair that must have been for all concerned.
Euphemia continued her introductions. “Engie, you already know Martin. Mr. Simpson, may I present my husband.”
Freddie shifted his attention to the man in the far corner who had been in the process of pouring a drink when they entered. As the man turned to face him, Freddie was struck by the accuracy of Evangeline’s earlier description. A slightly portly, altogether nondescript middle-aged man.
Martin stood up straighter. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Simpson.” He enunciated his words in precise, clipped syllables. “Engie, always a pleasure, I’m sure.” The lack of warmth in the inflection belied the sentiment the words expressed.
Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) Page 4