Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2)

by N. S. Wikarski

  Evangeline could see fireman dousing the roof of the Government Building, which stood next in line to the north, in the hopes it might be saved. She turned to look over her shoulder. The sky was still light enough that she was able to observe how large the crowd had grown. People covered the island and then lined its perimeter on the opposite shore. Beyond them, other crowds filled the gap back to the Horticulture Building and then formed a ring as far east as the lakefront. Women, men, and children of every conceivable size, shape, and station in life.

  “Why, there must be a hundred thousand people here!” she exclaimed.

  Mason followed her gaze. “I believe you’re right. Quite a turnout. Too bad nobody thought to charge admission for this. Might have netted a few more pennies for the gray wolves on the city council.”

  They moved along the island to track the progress of the fire from the south end of the Manufacturing and Liberal Arts building to the north. It consumed roofing, cornices and pillars as it went. With a mighty crash, the roof of Machinery Hall collapsed to the south at the same moment as the last columns of the Liberal Arts structure toppled.

  A small, disappointed voice rose out of the crowd. “Oh, it’s all over.”

  A stillness settled over the island for a few moments. Then, here and there, people roused themselves for the journey home. Comments could be heard from every quarter as the multitude surged toward the exits to await the next northbound El.

  “Wasn’t it grand?”

  “What a glorious sight!”

  “A magnificent spectacle!”

  “A noble end.”

  “Better this than the wrecking ball.”

  Mason offered his arm once more. “Can I escort you back to the city? I have to go to the office and write this up for tomorrow’s edition.”

  “What a fickle town Chicago is.” Evangeline sighed as she took the reporter’s arm. “Two years ago, everybody was in a lather to see the buildings erected. Now they’re even more excited to see them destroyed.”

  Mason paused to light another cigar but said nothing.

  “Where do you suppose it will end?” Evangeline asked as they resumed their journey.

  The newsman chuckled. “I don’t guess you mean the fires.”

  “No, the ARU boycott and the Pullman strike.”

  He shrugged. “I expect it will end the way every strike has. The big money men will get their way and that’ll be that.”

  Evangeline frowned. “I suppose you’re right. In the near term, the boycott will be crushed by the federal troops which will mean the end for the Pullman strike as well. But if one takes a longer view of things, order cannot be permanently maintained through tyranny. I fear these fires signal a war that’s yet to come.”

  “Now, there’s a grim thought.” Mason flicked soot off the shoulder of his coat.

  “Stop a moment, please.” They had reached the entrance gates. Evangeline glanced back at the smoke rising from the demolished buildings. “I believe we’ve witnessed something momentous tonight.”

  Bill took a long draw on his cigar. “I suppose it’s not everyday you see a city, even a fake city, go up in flames.”

  “No, that isn’t what I meant.” Evangeline’s voice was pensive. “The White City was a riddle wrapped in papier mache. The captains of industry meant for it to ask the question of where America is heading after four hundred years of progress.”

  Bill tilted his head quizzically.

  “Tonight, I believe we’ve witnessed labor’s answer.”

  Off in the distance at the end of the Great Basin, the Statue of the Republic raised her soot-blackened arms in benediction over a pile of charred rubble.

  Chapter 12—The Solution To The Problem

  It was now the seventh of July. The fires continued on the south side, but everyone knew the ARU boycott was on its last legs and the Pullman strikers would soon be brought to heel. Martin Allworthy barely noticed. He had other matters to consider. This was the day he was to meet with Desmond Bayne and settle things once and for all. He stood at the sideboard in the dining room, lost in thought. Two cordial glasses and a sherry decanter stood before him. He carefully removed the stopper from the decanter and filled one of the glasses almost to the brim. Heaving a sigh, he morosely meditated on the ordeal that awaited him and the lengths to which one must go to preserve family honor. He really needed to steady his nerves. His hand trembled as he set down the decanter.

  It wasn’t as if this were something he would choose to do in the ordinary course of events! He had been forced to this point. Backed into a corner. It hadn’t been his decision at all. Not his fault really. There was simply no other way.

  He took a deep breath. Odd that the room should seem so warm. Odd that he should feel so weak at the moment when his difficulties were so nearly over. The turmoil of the past weeks, the constant terror of scandal, all soon to come to an end, once and for all.

  Martin picked up the sherry and examined its clarity in the afternoon light. He swirled the glass contemplatively a few times, then, feeling dizzy, set it down again. He placed both hands on the sideboard to steady himself but could not turn his eyes away from the glass. He told himself that it was only his imagination, but the sherry continued to swirl long after he set it down. He felt almost as if he were being dragged into the vortex that came to rest at the bottom of the glass. He looked up to break his concentration, but the patterned ribbons on the wallpaper seemed to be moving as well. Live snakes intent on coiling their way unevenly up the wall. He shook his head but the vision remained. A wave of panic washed over him. Hastily, he left the room and made for the front door, where he collided with one of the maids.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sir.” The girl took it upon herself to apologize for his awkwardness.

  “Quite all right, Ingrid. I... I... uh... I’m going out for a breath of air.” He rubbed his forehead distractedly.

  “Sir, are you feeling well?” The girl advanced to touch his arm.

  Allworthy recoiled. “Quite all right, I assure you.” He brushed off his coat sleeve and continued toward the door.

  He barely heard her as she protested, “But sir, isn’t Mr. Bayne expected shortly? What are we supposed to...” The door closed behind him.

  ***

  A few minutes before four, Euphemia descended the grand staircase. Noticing the butler passing below her in the front hall, she called out, “Oh, Garrison, have you seen Mr. Allworthy?”

  The butler thought a moment. “I believe I saw him last as he was entering the dining room, madame. That must have been half an hour ago.”

  “No matter,” the lady of the house said airily. “I’ll just poke my head in to see if he’s there. You do know he’s expecting that Mr. Bayne some time this afternoon, don’t you?”

  “Yes, madame.” The butler winced ever so slightly at the mention of the name, but betrayed no further evidence of his negative opinion of Mr. Allworthy’s friend.

  Euphemia noticed the subtle grimace and smiled when she reached the bottom of the stairs. “I believe this is the last visit we are to expect from that gentleman.”

  As she passed on toward the dining room she almost imagined a jubilant tone in the butler’s, “Very good, madame!”

  “Martin?” she called tentatively as she opened the dining room door. Her husband was nowhere to be seen. “That’s odd.” With a shrug of her shoulders, she turned toward the parlor, where Serafina and tea awaited.

  ***

  Promptly at four o’clock the doorbell rang. Garrison steeled himself for what he hoped would be his final encounter with the Irish gentleman. Much to his surprise, the figure on the doorstep was not Desmond Bayne.

  “Why, Mr. Roland, sir, we weren’t expecting you!” He opened the door wider to admit his employer’s nephew.

  Roland put a cautionary finger to his lips. “It’s a surprise, Garrison. I didn’t tell auntie or uncle I was on my way up for the weekend.”

  The butler hastened to take Roland’s pr
offered hat and coat.

  “Where are they? I ought to pay my respects.”

  “I last saw Mr. Allworthy in the dining room, sir, and Mrs. Allworthy is in the parlor having tea with Miss Serafina.”

  Roland held out his overnight bag. “If you’ll be good enough to take this up to my room, Garrison, I’ll go say hello to uncle.”

  “At once, sir.” The butler headed toward the stairs with Roland’s valise while the young man made for the dining room.

  “Uncle?” he asked uncertainly as he entered. He found no trace of his relative but he did find a decanter on a tray with two glasses. One was already filled. “Well, what have we here?” He decided to seize the opportunity that presented itself.

  Euphemia and Serafina were just getting settled when there was a light knock on the parlor door.

  “Enter,” Euphemia called out.

  The two ladies were greeted by the sight of Roland bearing the sherry tray and its contents.

  “A good day to both you lovely ladies.” The young man bowed with a flourish.

  Euphemia’s demeanor hardly exuded a sense of welcome. “Roland, what are you doing here?”

  “I came to make amends, auntie. Uncle said you were cross with me, and I came to apologize for whatever it is I did to upset you. You mustn’t scowl at me so.” He smiled as he set the tray down on the table. “You see, I’ve even brought you a peace offering.” He knelt down next to his aunt’s chair. “Do say you forgive me, auntie. I couldn’t bear for you to be angry at me, not even for a moment.”

  Serafina was amused at the young man’s charming audacity.

  For the moment, Euphemia chose to ignore his apology. “Where did you get that sherry? Martin keeps it under lock and key.”

  The young man grinned. “Well, he left it out in plain view in the dining room and finder’s keepers has always been my motto!”

  “Oh, Roland, do get up.” Euphemia seemed slightly less menacing, presumably because she didn’t wish to display the full extent of her displeasure with her nephew before Serafina.

  Mistaking his aunt’s prudence for pardon, the young man leaped back to his feet. “Ah, I can tell you’ve forgiven me!” he declared ecstatically. “Here, let me finish pouring this and then I’ll leave you ladies to your gossip. I know the conversation at a tea table is sacred and gentlemen aren’t allowed.” He placed the sherry glasses on the table.

  While Roland was filling the second glass, Ingrid entered carrying a tray of cakes and tea. She bustled about setting the refreshments on the table but looked at Mrs. Allworthy in surprise when she noticed the decanter and glasses.

  Euphemia apparently guessed the direction of the maid’s thoughts and offered an explanation to Serafina. “You know, my dear, it’s not my usual habit to serve strong drink during tea time, but since Roland has been so importunate and it’s probably the only way we’ll get rid of him, I believe we shall have to drink his peace offering.”

  Roland placed his hand over his heart. “I’m honored by your condescension, auntie.”

  “Yes, yes, be off with you.” She waved him away impatiently. Undaunted by her peevish humor, he kissed her lightly on the cheek and left the room. “You may go as well, Ingrid,” she instructed the maid. “I believe we have everything we need for the moment.”

  “Yes, madame.” The girl dipped a curtsy and scurried back to the kitchen.

  Euphemia’s mood improved the minute her nephew departed. She raised her sherry glass. “Let us drink a toast, my dear. That you may continue to be the talk of the town.”

  “I think I am not that, surely!” Serafina protested in surprise.

  “I meant it only in the most positive sense,” Euphemia insisted. “You’ve created quite a sensation among my friends, and my wish is that your reputation may continue to expand among all my acquaintance.” Euphemia smiled and touched Serafina’s glass. Her guest laughed and returned the salute.

  “As you wish, Mrs. Allworthy! To my reputation.”

  Just as the two women were about to sip their cordials, Garrison entered the room. Euphemia set her glass down. “Yes?”

  “Madame, it’s a quarter past four.”

  Euphemia consulted the Regulator clock on the wall. “Why, so it is.” She lifted an eyebrow inquisitively toward the butler.

  “I believe Mr. Bayne is expected at any moment, madame.”

  Euphemia’s eyebrow did not move.

  The butler continued. “Well, ahem, madame, it’s just that I cannot find Mr. Allworthy anywhere, and I don’t know how to dispose of the, um, gentleman, when he arrives. Will you receive him, madame?”

  The expression on her face hardened to stone. “No, Garrison, I will not. You may show him into the library to wait until Mr. Allworthy reappears from wherever he has gone.”

  “Very good, madame.” The butler bowed himself out of the room. His parting expression suggested that he had little relish for another encounter with the dubious Mr. Bayne.

  “Now, where were we?” Euphemia raised her glass again to complete the toast. “Your reputation?”

  Serafina smiled and raised her glass in response. Again as they were about to sip the contents, a knock was heard at the parlor door.

  “Good Lord, what is it now!” Euphemia set her glass down a second time. “Enter!”

  Ingrid came into the room timidly. “Excuse me, madame, but I heard you were looking for Mr. Allworthy.”

  “Yes, Ingrid, and apparently so is Garrison.” Euphemia sighed in exasperation.

  The girl bobbed a curtsy. “I’m sorry, madame. I should have told you sooner. Mr. Allworthy went out for a walk.”

  “He did what!”

  The sharpness in Euphemia’s voice made Ingrid nearly jump out of her skin. “Madame, please forgive me, madame, for not telling you sooner, but it happened all of a sudden. He looked awful bad, madame.”

  “What on earth do you mean? He’s expecting a visitor at any moment.”

  “That’s what I told him, madame. But he left just the same. Said he needed to take a walk to clear his head. It’s not my place to say, madame, but he looked kind of pale and sick when he walked out.”

  “How perverse of him. Still, I suppose, given the nature of the meeting...”

  “Madame?” Ingrid waited for further instruction.

  “Well, there’s nothing to be done until he returns. I’ve already given Garrison instructions for how to deal with Mr. Bayne. Go fetch us another pot of tea, Ingrid. This one will be cold by now.” Euphemia motioned her out of the room.

  The girl nodded and ran for cover.

  Shaking her head in irritation, Euphemia returned her attention to her houseguest. “I do apologize for all these intrusions, my dear. Shall we try just once more?” She lifted her glass.

  Serafina did likewise. “We were speaking of my reputation, which you hoped would become notorious.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant, dear. I said I hoped you would be the talk of the town.”

  “Si, is it not the same thing?” Serafina looked puzzled.

  “Let’s just toast to your illustrious future. I may not have the gift of second sight, my dear, but I can predict exciting times ahead for you.”

  The two ladies raised the glasses to their lips, this time without interruption. Euphemia swallowed half the contents of hers. Serafina was just about to do the same but set her glass down when she noticed a strange expression on her hostess’s face. The odd expression was soon followed by an event even more unaccountable. Euphemia fell to the floor clutching at her throat, gasping for breath.

  “Oh, my dear lady, what is this?” Serafina rose and rushed over to the other side of the table. Her hostess’s eyes were shut and her limbs began to twitch and contract in violent spasms. She appeared to be suffering from some sort of seizure.

  “Mio Dio! What can be the matter!” Serafina immediately ran to the kitchen to find help. She returned with Ingrid and Garrison, who were greeted by the sight of their mistress rollin
g around on the floor in convulsions, frothing at the mouth.

  “Good Lord!” was Garrison’s only exclamation as he rushed from the house to fetch a doctor. His efforts were to prove in vain, for when he returned fifteen minutes later with Doctor Fowler, Mrs. Allworthy was quite dead.

  ***

  Martin had taken what he hoped would appear to be a casual stroll along Aurora Avenue. His heart was racing, his head was dizzy, and when passersby greeted him, he could barely murmur a furtive hello in return. He must have been gone the better part of a half hour before the world ceased to spin before his eyes. He had walked all the way to the train station by the time he belatedly remembered that Bayne was expected any moment and that he had better return and settle matters with him. Bracing himself, he turned back and retraced his steps.

  As he rounded the corner from Pleasantview to Aurora, he glimpsed a female figure strolling directly toward him. When he neared the gravel walk to his own front door, he was confronted by the not altogether welcome sight of Evangeline LeClair making for the same destination.

  “Why, Martin, what a surprise.” Her voice held the degree of enthusiasm one would expect from a lady who had just discovered a spider crawling up her parasol.

  “I might say the same.” Martin’s tone was equally enthusiastic. “Calling on my wife, are you?”

  Evangeline nodded curtly. “Yes, I thought I might drop by to belatedly thank her for the dinner party you gave a few weeks ago. I haven’t been able to tear myself away from obligations in the city until now. I do hope she’s not engaged.”

  Martin opened the door and gestured for her to precede him.

  Neither was prepared for the spectacle that the open door revealed.

  Servants were running to and fro to no apparent purpose. Roland stood back against the wall, looking vaguely off into space, his hands in his pockets. Serafina sat in the hallway, slumped forward in her chair. Doctor Fowler hovered next to her, vainly attempting to check her pulse.

  Garrison scurried forward with a cold compress for the medium’s head, while two other servants were carrying a heavy object covered by a sheet through the front hall.