Freddie breathed a sigh of relief as he threw himself into his easy chair and loosened his collar at the end of a long day. He kicked off his shoes and was just about to nod off to sleep when he heard an insistent rap at the door.
“What the devil!” the young man exclaimed to himself. “It’s nearly nine o’clock. Who would be crazy enough to call at this hour!”
He swung open the door to reveal the countenance of his friend. “Engie?” he gasped in disbelief.
“The very same, though I’d think by now you might have learned to recognize me on sight.”
She swept through the door and looked around. “So this is where you skulk when you aren’t bothering me in Shore Cliff.”
Freddie hurriedly tried to make himself more presentable by slipping on his shoes. This required him to hop on one foot, then the other, while at the same time awkwardly fumbling with his shirt and vest buttons. Collar still askew, he scurried around the parlor, quickly picking up a pair of slippers and a crumpled newspaper from the day before.
Ignoring the stir her presence had caused, Evangeline began to inspect the premises. “Rumor has it that these new-fangled elevator apartment buildings haven’t yet received the blessing of the upper crust as fashionable living accommodations.” She advanced from the parlor into the library alcove, which was separated from the main room by a green velvet curtain swept back by a tasseled rope. “But that’s just the opinion of old money, who believe that unless you have a fountain in your atrium, you’re roughing it.”
She peered out of the eighth-floor windows which overlooked Lake Shore Drive. “Have you ever tried dropping a flower pot from this height?” she asked speculatively.
“No, and I’ll thank you not to conduct any such experiment from these premises!” Freddie was indignant. “I really wouldn’t care to be evicted on your account.” With a scowl, he continued the battle with his recalcitrant collar button.
“It was just a thought.” Evangeline laughed teasingly. She ran her index finger over an end table. Her white-gloved hand revealed no dust. “Hmmm, very good. Apparently, you know how to fend for yourself when Mama isn’t around to look after you.”
“Growing up in a house full of women, how could I have turned out any other way?” Freddie’s tone was rueful.
“You might have turned out as that most loathsome of all insects, a mama’s boy, who expects that every female within whining distance was created for the sole purpose of smiling indulgently and waiting on him hand and foot.” The lady gave her friend a sidelong look. “I’m pleasantly surprised that you’re not.”
Her eyes came to rest on a large houseplant sitting on a mahogany stand at the opposite end of the parlor. “Will wonders never cease! Do my eyes deceive me, or have you become a horticulturist? With an aspidistra no less!”
Freddie rolled his eyes. “It was my mother’s one and only contribution to decorating this flat. She believes that plants are a civilizing influence.”
“Well, I’ve never been of the opinion that culture can be transmitted through chlorophyll, but it does lend a certain quelquechose.” Evangeline circled the plant appraisingly. “You’ve somehow managed not to kill it. Very good indeed!”
Just beyond the aspidistra was a modest dining room holding an oak pedestal dining table and four chairs. Evangeline did not advance farther in that direction but instead turned her attention to a room on the right set off by double doors. “The bedroom, I take it?”
Remembering an unmade bed and a pile of soiled linen heaped in the corner of his sleeping chamber, Freddie hurriedly interposed himself between his visitor and the doors. “You really don’t want to go in there.”
Apparently judging it wise not to inquire too closely as to the reason, Evangeline stepped back. “Is this a single bedroom flat?”
“No, there’s a small bedroom off the parlor for the valet whom I expect someday to afford to hire. In the meantime, I just have to shift for myself.”
“I’d think the interest from your trust fund would provide you with ample means to secure one.” Evangeline turned to circle the parlor one more time.
Freddie shook his head. “I’m trying to live off of my pay as a reporter. Besides, it takes some getting used to, after growing up surrounded by female relatives—and female servants, for that matter. The idea of another fellow skulking around these narrow quarters all day, folding my pajamas and dusting my knickknacks.”
Unwilling to contemplate the image further, Freddie changed the subject. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit at this ungodly hour?” He placed a sardonic emphasis on the word “pleasure.”
“Ah, yes. Well, there is that.” Evangeline abruptly flounced down on the horsehair sofa and removed her gloves. “Would it be too much of an inconvenience to ask for a cup of tea?” She eyed her friend with a reproachful expression. “I certainly wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”
Freddie, unused to the role of host, felt himself flush with embarrassment. “Oh, sorry. Of course. Won’t be a minute.” He scurried off to the galley-sized kitchenette at the back of the flat.
The living room echoed the sounds of slamming cupboards, clattering crockery, and finally the whistle of a boiling tea kettle.
The young man emerged shortly thereafter bearing a tray with a chipped teacup, a mismatched saucer and a large pot of tea. “There you are.” He proudly put the tray on the buffet table in front of his guest.
Evangeline’s amused expression suggested that the presentation left something to be desired. “I think you should seriously consider hiring a valet at the first opportunity.”
Freddie resumed his seat in the easy chair and watched while she poured herself a cup.
“You know I take my tea with lemon and sugar.”
At this gentle admonition he flew back into the kitchen and clattered and rattled a bit more. When he returned with the lidless sugar bowl, he apologized for the dearth of lemon or milk on the premises. After Evangeline had sweetened her tea and taken a few sips without grimacing, which Freddie deemed a favorable sign, he pursued his original question. “Why are you here?”
“Glad to see you as well.” Evangeline set down the cup and saucer, folded her hands in her lap, and began. “I wanted to give you the results of my chat with Roland today.”
“Ahhh!” Freddie leaned forward in his chair. “Tell me all.”
“I find him to be an insufferable puppy!” His friend sounded indignant.
“Maybe so, but do you still think he’s a murderer?”
Evangeline lifted her eyes to the ceiling as she contemplated the question. “Well, at the beginning of our conversation, I was fairly certain, but now, I’m not so sure.” She launched into an account of her conversation with Mr. Allworthy, the younger.
“He still sounds pretty suspicious to me,” Freddie commented after she finished.
“But I believe he has an alibi.”
“That’s ridiculous! Don’t tell me you believe that nonsense about ‘I was in a place no respectable lady should ever know about.’ That could be anywhere.”
“On the contrary, my friend, it could be only one place in this city.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Engie, what are you talking about?”
The lady smiled serenely. “After I got over my irritation at what I thought was a pointless waste of time, I finally realized he was trying to be clever. He actually left me a clue as to his whereabouts that night.”
“Would you care to share it, or would you rather I just bump around in the dark and stub my toes on the furniture for a while?”
Evangeline laughed. “I doubt the furniture could take that much abuse. I will enlighten you presently.” She paused to take another sip of tea. In wonderment, she added, “This actually isn’t bad. Darjeeling?”
“Thank you.” Freddie chose to ignore the implied insult. “You were about to say...”
“I was about to say that when Roland broke into song, it wasn’t for idle reasons.”
“Well, that’s some comfort at least. I’d hoped there’d be some recompense to your eardrums for that sort of punishment.”
“As indeed there was. It’s a good thing Mr. Edgar Allan Poe came to my rescue.”
“Don’t you use his work in your classes?”
“Yes, but usually it’s the fiction, not the poetry. As I was starting to discuss one of his short stories with my class this evening, I took a moment to scan the text of ‘The Raven.’ I discovered that Roland had intentionally taken liberties with the original version.”
“To wit?”
“To wit he altered several words that have a bearing on the matter at hand. When he came to the line ‘it was in the bleak December’, he added ‘or was it April.’ Nora drowned at the end of April, did she not?”
“Correct.” Freddie was impressed.
“After that he altered the line about sorrow. ‘Vainly I had sought to borrow, from my cards surcease of sorrow.’ Poe used the word ‘books’, not ‘cards’.”
“What kind of cards do you suppose he meant?”
“I’d expect playing cards. I certainly don’t think he meant calling cards.”
“Interesting.” The young man rubbed his chin reflectively.
“Then he said ‘sorrow for the lost Lenora.’ He put the accent on the last syllable making the name sound like Nora, not Lenore as it is in the poem.”
“Go on.” Freddie’s interest had been piqued even further. “Anything else?”
“Well, the most significant hint of all is the word ‘Evermore.’ It occurs only once in the poem. At the end of the first stanza, which was the one he sang to me. He repeated the word when he said goodbye to me. But the last line of the refrain is always ‘Quoth the raven, nevermore.’ His last words to me were ‘Quoth the raven, evermore.’”
Freddie frowned in concentration, vainly attempting to connect the hints into a coherent clue. “And what do you make of all of that?”
“He was telling me where he was the night Nora drowned.”
“He was?” Freddie stopped concentrating and looked up at his friend in amazement.
“Of course. He was playing poker at a brothel that night.”
“What!” the young man gasped.
Evangeline looked pityingly at her friend. “Given your previous experience in the levee during our last case—”
“Our last what?”
“I’d think you of all people would remember the name of the most prestigious, if that’s the right word, house of ill fame in the entire city.”
“The Evermore Club.” Freddie exhaled the words. “Why, of course!”
“I believe it’s the only bordello that publishes its own brochure praising the splendor of its accoutrements, including gold-plated spittoons in every room.”
“The Evermore Club.” The young man repeated the phrase again in wonderment. “Why didn’t I see it earlier? That’s exactly the sort of place a young swell like Roland would be likely to frequent.”
“Given his interest in the ladies, I don’t think he makes too fine a distinction over whether their affection for him is genuine or merely rented for the night.”
“The Evermore Club...”
“Freddie, stop saying that,” Evangeline admonished irritably. “You sound as if you’re in some sort of trance.”
“But it’s just so... so...”
“Yes, I know. So je ne sais quoi. Can we move on?”
“All right then. How do we establish his alibi?”
Since his question was met by dead silence, Freddie glanced up at his friend, who sat demurely on the couch, hands once more folded, smiling placidly in his direction. “Do I really need to belabor the obvious point of which of us will be performing that task?”
“Why is it always this way?” he asked weakly. “Why do I never see it coming?”
“Because you have an absolute talent for wandering into quicksand, that’s why. Besides,” Evangeline sniffed self-righteously, “I’d think it’s the least you could do after what I’ve been forced to endure today!”
“All right, Engie, you win.” Freddie shuddered at the thought of Roland’s unwanted attentions being foisted on his friend, not to mention that rasping tenor voice of his. “I withdraw the objection. I capitulate utterly. What’s the plan?”
The lady beamed at him over her teacup. “You see, you can be reasonable when you put your mind to it. You’ll have to pay a visit to the famous Evermore Club tomorrow, see the proprietress and find out what she knows.”
“You mean proprietresses, don’t you? It’s owned by sisters—Ada and Minna Evermore.”
“I’m not privy to the sordid details of who runs the establishment!”
“And yet you somehow managed to peruse their brochure...” Freddie trailed off impishly.
Evangeline cleared her throat. “Yes, well, never mind that. We have more important matters to discuss than my choice of reading material, such as what other fish I have to fry tomorrow.”
“What will you be doing while I immerse myself in that den of iniquity?”
Evangeline tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I have to sort out how many suitors Nora had actually attracted.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Roland may have been telling the truth when he said his uncle had his eye on her as well.”
“Given how much he prizes his reputation, I just can’t imagine Martin Allworthy making eyes at anybody!” Freddie registered surprise.
“Well, frankly, neither can I, but it’s worth pursuing just in case. Something you told me right after Nora was drowned sticks in my mind. It was something about flowers. Something her roommate said. Do you have that infernal notebook of yours around anywhere?”
Freddie leaped to his feet triumphantly. “See, I always told you it would come in handy someday!” He dashed off to the dining room where he had unceremoniously thrown his suit jacket over the back of a chair. Diving his hand into the pocket, he withdrew his most prized possession and returned to the parlor.
By this time Evangeline had tilted her head back on the sofa and closed her eyes, steeling herself for the unendurable minutiae. “Read!” she commanded. “Read out loud to me everything you wrote down right after Nora died.”
With great enthusiasm and various vocal pitches to mimic the people he had interviewed that day, Freddie read. When he got to his conversation with Sophie Simms, Evangeline sat up.
“Stop!” she ordered. “Stop right there.” She passed her hand across her forehead. “So Nora had been receiving flowers from an anonymous someone who called himself her ‘greatest admirer.’”
“That’s what it says.” Freddie pointed to his notebook as if it contained holy scripture and was, therefore, incontrovertible truth.
“Perhaps I might be able to fit a face to the man with no name. Did you write down Miss Sophie’s address?”
“Of course,” Freddie replied with wounded dignity. His thoroughness as a reporter had been callously impugned by the question.
“Would you be so good as to jot it down for me?” his friend inquired patiently.
Freddie scribbled out the address and handed it to her.
“And she said the flowers were always delivered from a shop around the corner?”
“Yes, but I don’t have the address to that.”
Evangeline shrugged. “It shouldn’t be hard to find. It may even be printed on the cards. Let’s hope that Miss Sophie is the sentimental type.”
Freddie raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Let’s hope she hasn’t tossed them out. I’d like to get a look at those cards and talk to that florist.”
“What do you think you’ll find out?”
She tilted her head to the side, considering the question. “Perhaps something, perhaps nothing.” Without warning, Evangeline stood up to go. She slipped on her gloves and marched in the general direction of the exit with the young man rushing to catch up. “If I’m very lucky I should be able to find
out whether Nora’s greatest admirer had gray hair or blond.”
Her friend held the door open for her.
She glanced back briefly into the apartment. “Your apartment is quite nice, Freddie. It will do very well to entertain company. Thank you for the tea.” She briefly eyed the mismatched china. “Once again, let me advise you to engage a valet, dear boy.” She patted him on the cheek as she left. “At the earliest possible opportunity. There really are some necessities one shouldn’t live without.”
Chapter 21—Gone For Evermore
Freddie regarded his trip to the Evermore Club with far less trepidation than the last journey Evangeline had commanded him to make to the levee during their previous detecting adventure. Having survived Mother Connelly’s shabby house of sin, he considered himself a veteran of the worst the red light district could offer. He even neglected to wear a disguise this time, so confident was he of his own investigative powers.
The Evermore Club, while still part of the first ward, refused to be classed with the ramshackle sporting houses and third-rate saloons that constituted the old levee, Little Cheyenne, which extended only as far south as Harrison Street. With genteel disdain for their downscale competition, Ada and Minna Evermore had withdrawn farther south to the new levee, or the Tenderloin as it was called, where they had leased a three-story, fifty-room mansion and decorated it with a splendor hitherto unknown in such establishments.
Freddie, through apocryphal stories told by other reporters, knew something of the history of the owners. The Evermore sisters, who had both made less than blissful marriages, had pragmatically concluded some years back that the prospect of being beaten and robbed by strangers was less of a certainty than being beaten and robbed by their own spouses. They therefore pooled their resources, abandoned said spouses to their own unnatural devices, and opened a house of prostitution in Omaha. There they met with such success that they decided they were ready for the big city, whereupon they opened the Evermore Club in Chicago. They had, of course, wisely decided not to use their actual surname in this venture. The alias was a private joke, since their grandmother had always chosen to end letters to her nearest and dearest with the words ‘Evermore yours.’
Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) Page 21