While Freddie felt less dismay about this visit, he couldn’t completely eliminate a certain degree of nervousness since he had never set foot in Tenderloin territory before. He decided the likelihood of running into anyone he knew was more remote if he scheduled his visit for the middle of the afternoon at which time he took a cab to the address in the 2100 block of South Dearborn. After climbing out of the hack and paying the driver, he found himself standing before a sedate and imposing edifice that looked for all the world as if it could have been the home of one of Chicago’s richest business tycoons. The business which was conducted in the building would never have been guessed from the outside. Only its proximity to the exotic House of All Nations, which Freddie knew was not a foreign embassy, might lead one to guess its purpose.
He rang the doorbell and was totally unprepared for what greeted him. Instead of a blowsy woman in a kimono, the door was opened by a butler with an English accent.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the butler said. “Please step in.”
In awe and wonderment Freddie walked into the foyer. The floor was inlaid with glossy teakwood parquet, covered by antique oriental carpeting. A young woman in a chiffon frock descended the staircase and crossed the foyer to enter one of the closed rooms on the first floor. “Good afternoon,” she said, nodding pleasantly as she walked past Freddie. He stood gawking after her. She wore her hair curled in blond ringlets and reminded him of Ophelia Cartwright, the daughter of one of his mother’s oldest friends. He remembered dancing with Ophelia at a cotillion once. He also remembered imagining at the time what it would be like to—
He shook himself out of his forbidden reverie when he noticed two other young woman walking down the front hall, whispering and giggling to one another. They smiled and greeted Freddie with great civility as they passed. Certain he had made a mistake, the young man took a slip of paper out of his pocket to check the address he’d written down. It seemed to him he had wandered into a young ladies’ finishing school and not the Evermore Club.
“This... this is... the... uh... Evermore Club, isn’t it?” he stammered to the butler.
“Yes sir, it is. May I show you to the wine room for some refreshment? Or perhaps you would care to view the art collection first. May I take your hat and gloves for you, sir?”
“You’re sure this is the Evermore Club?” the young man persisted.
“Quite sure, sir. I have been employed here for some time.” The butler’s voice was grave. “There can be no mistake.”
Freddie took a deep breath and collected his wits. “I’d like to see one of the Misses Evermore, if you don’t mind.”
“Do you have an appointment, sir?”
The young man decided that such a conversation occurring in such a place as this could be classified among the greatest oddities he had ever experienced.
“An appointment? To see a ...” He trailed off, realizing that what he almost said could be construed as offensive. “Uh, that is, I mean, do I really need an appointment?”
The butler took Freddie’s hat and gloves and disposed of them in the foyer closet. He returned and straightened his jacket fastidiously. “The ladies keep a very busy schedule, sir. Miss Ada is not in the house at present, and Miss Minna is immersed in paperwork.”
Freddie tried a less impertinent approach. “Could you inquire of Miss Minna if she is at liberty to speak to a visitor? I won’t take much of her time. Fifteen minutes, no more.”
The butler looked him over, obviously judging his rank from the cut of his suit. The verdict was that he was probably a gentleman and a potential customer whom Miss Minna would not want shown to the door too hastily.
“I’ll just see, sir. Whom shall I say is calling?”
Freddie fumbled quickly for his calling card case and handed a card to the butler.
The servant glanced at it. “If you’ll be good enough to wait here, Mr. Simpson.”
“Of course, of course. Thank you, my good man!” Freddie felt a flood of relief.
After the butler departed, the young man’s eyes wandered around the foyer. He felt like a prize yokel who had just come to the big city for the first time. He gaped up at the ceiling chandelier which contained about a thousand cut crystal prisms. Freddie then glanced off to an open parlor on his left. He couldn’t help but notice the piano. It appeared to be made of gold—solid gold. The heavy draperies that graced the front windows were of gold thread. His jaw dropped open. He had originally believed the brochures to be an exaggeration but after being struck by opulence from every side, he rather thought them to be an understatement.
The butler startled him by padding up noiselessly on the plush hall carpet. “Miss Minna can spare you a few moments now if you’ll step this way, sir.”
Freddie gawked and gaped his way down the hall past every open parlor door. One had copper walls with brass wainscoting. Another was ornamented entirely in gold—gold curtains, gilt furniture, gold-leaf wallpaper, and, of course, a gold spittoon in the corner.
At the very end of the hall, he was led into an office with a massively carved claw-foot walnut desk. Behind it sat a tiny woman of about forty, dressed conservatively in a striped silk shirtwaist and black skirt. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a simple pompadour which called attention to her pearl teardrop earrings. A gold pince-nez was perched on her nose as she made some notes in a ledger book before her. She looked up and removed the pince-nez when she saw her visitor had arrived. Rising, she came around the desk and extended a tiny, beringed hand in greeting. “Mr. Simpson, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
Freddie stepped forward, bowing slightly as he took her hand. “Ma’am, the honor is all mine.” He registered a sense of the absurdity of the conversation. “First allow me to say how overwhelmed I am by the splendor of your... uh... house.”
Minna Evermore resumed her seat and gestured for Freddie to take a chair in front of the desk. She smiled. “Thank you, we’ve tried very hard, my sister and I, to make this place a cut above the average. Might I offer you some sherry, Mr. Simpson, or perhaps—”
“No, nothing, thank you, ma’am.” He cut in precipitously before she offered him something more awkward to decline. “If I might ask. I noticed a few young ladies as I came in. They were very well-dressed. They aren’t... uh... that is, I mean, what do they do here?”
Miss Evermore laughed. “They are escorts for the gentlemen who come to this establishment. Some of the gentlemen find their company so captivating that they manage to while away entire evenings together.”
Freddie felt his eyes grow round as saucers. “But they were so... so...”
“Ladylike?” Minna completed the thought. “I’m pleased you think so since that was our intention. All our girls take elocution and etiquette lessons. Our clientele is the crème de la crème of Chicago society. You understand we serve only the best people. There’s no reason why someone engaged in this line of work needs to act badly or be treated badly. All our girls act like ladies, and I insist that the gentlemen who patronize this establishment treat them as such.”
Evidently noticing that the look of surprise had not left Freddie’s face, Miss Evermore decided to elucidate the point further. “Do you know what it costs to visit the wine room here, Mr. Simpson?”
“Why, no, I can’t say that I do.”
“Ten dollars. We keep a very good cellar in this house. Dinner costs about fifty dollars, as would an evening with one of the ladies.”
“Fifty dollars!” Freddie gasped in wonderment. “Holy Moses!”
“A bit too rich for your blood perhaps?” Miss Evermore smiled in amusement.
“No, I didn’t mean that. That isn’t why I’m here anyway but... fifty dollars... holy Moses!”
“It serves a dual purpose. The rates allow us to make a comfortable living and also help thin out the riff-raff we don’t wish to attract as part of our clientele.”
“I see.” Freddie still couldn’t shake his sense of amazement. “You really
must know your business, Miss Evermore, but I have to say you just don’t seem the sort of woman who—”
“Who chooses not to be mistreated by a man, Mr. Simpson?” Sighing, she stood up to walk around the room as she spoke. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the world seems to be skewed to the benefit of the male sex. Small wonder that is, since the laws were made by men. Before there were laws, I expect they just bullied women into doing what they wanted. Nature seems to have given them the muscular advantage to have their way in most things.” She laughed sardonically. “As far as I can determine, there’s only one profession in this wide world where that balance of power seems to be reversed in favor of the ladies.” She ran her hand across the back of Freddie’s chair as she walked past. “When it comes to affairs of the... shall we say, heart, it’s a different matter altogether.”
Minna Evermore resumed her seat. “I am a social realist, Mr. Simpson. Not being the sentimental type I don’t get tangled up in the Divine Destiny of True Womanhood and other such philosophical nonsense. As long as men continue to be men, we poor women must make our way in the world as best we can.” She looked around the office speculatively for a moment. “Someday Ada and I will retire to a quiet little town somewhere. Two maiden ladies with a substantial fortune between them and no past to speak of. In a few years. At this point, a very, very few.”
Freddie was struck by the fact that Evangeline probably shared more views in common with Minna Evermore than his friend realized. He smiled. “I have a lady friend, Miss Evermore, who really ought to meet you.”
The proprietress shrugged. “Well, if she’s young, attractive, and can conduct herself like a lady, she may apply for employment here.”
Freddie laughed out loud at the thought. “No, that isn’t exactly what I meant. She’s more the suffragette type.”
“Unfortunately, that attitude really isn’t good for our business.” Miss Evermore’s face was solemn.
“No, I wouldn’t expect so,” Freddie murmured in agreement. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Evermore, you must be the J. Pierpont Morgan of your profession.”
Minna Evermore smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Simpson, that’s quite gratifying to hear. One should always try to do one’s best.” She hesitated, eyeing the ledger book in front of her. “I’m sorry to be abrupt, but as you can see I have a great deal of work left to do this afternoon. Would you be kind enough to state the nature of your business?”
With a start, Freddie realized that he’d become so distracted by everything he saw and heard that he’d completely forgotten his errand. “Oh, I am sorry. I’m here because I’d like some information.”
The woman behind the desk raised one corner of her mouth in a skeptical demi-smile. “Information is a valuable commodity, Mr. Simpson, like some other commodities I have for sale in my house. It may carry a heavy price tag, depending on the nature of the question. What is it you wish to know?”
“I want to know if a certain... ahem... gentleman of my acquaintance was here on the night of April twenty third.”
“We aren’t in the habit of revealing the comings and goings of our guests, sir,” the proprietress answered lightly.
Freddie’s tone grew urgent. “You must understand. It isn’t idle curiosity. If I knew he was here, it might keep him out of some serious trouble. I’m not even sure you would remember who was in the place three months ago.”
“Oh, I have a very good memory, Mr. Simpson. And what I forget, my little ledgers help me remember.”
“Your ledgers?” Freddie didn’t comprehend.
Minna Evermore gestured to a bookcase that stood against the wall to the left of her desk. From floor to ceiling it contained bound green ledger books, each one labeled on the spine with a series of dates.
“I find it useful to keep track of all my guests just in case I ever have a falling out with city hall or the police force, though heaven knows I pay them enough to mind their own business. Still, one can’t be too careful.” She looked at Freddie with a calculating gleam in her eye. “What are you willing to offer in exchange for the information you need?”
Freddie thought fast. “I’m prepared to offer complete silence in exchange.”
The woman behind the desk stared at him coldly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Freddie tried to sound inoffensive. “Well, it’s just that if too much public attention were brought to bear on the activities of this house, it might be injurious to your standing in the community, not to mention your profits. I’m sure that withholding that kind of information must be worth something.”
Minna Evermore regarded him in silence.
“Did I happen to mention that I’m a reporter?” Freddie tried to make himself the portrait of fresh-faced innocence.
“I see.” The proprietress looked grim. “For which newspaper, if I might be so bold as to inquire?”
“The Gazette.”
“Of course. You would work for the only newspaper in town whose publisher isn’t a member of my clientele.”
“Yes, I believe Mr. McGill is also a temperance advocate and a member of the Civic Federation. Last I heard, the Federation really didn’t approve much of what was going on in the levee.” Freddie maintained a bright tone. “I was considering doing a piece on the brochures you printed up to advertise this fine house. Some people might get stirred up over an article like that. They might even start agitating to close your operation down. Don’t you think they might, Miss Evermore?”
With a set jaw, Minna Evermore rose from her desk and walked toward the bookcase. “I believe you said April twenty third, Mr. Simpson?”
“Yes, yes, that’s right. The evening of April twenty third, some time around 9 o’clock or after.” Freddie sprang out of his chair. He eagerly peered over the lady’s shoulder as she rested the ledger book on the side of her desk and thumbed through the pages to the appropriate date.
“What is the name of the gentleman?”
“Roland. Roland Allworthy, though for all I know he might have used an alias.”
Minna Evermore’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Young gentlemen who wish to be anonymous in this place rarely remain so for long. I know your young friend well and he doesn’t use an alias.”
She scanned the page with her index finger and stopped midway down. “Yes, here it is. He arrived at about nine-thirty with some other young gentlemen of his acquaintance. Stayed in one of the gaming rooms until well after two before retiring with Charlotte for the night.” The proprietress raised her head for a moment and stared off into space. “Yes, I actually do remember that evening. We were running a poker tournament, very high stakes, and that’s why I remember. I was in the room, and Roland was one of the players, though how he managed to scrape together the money I have no idea. There were at least twenty other people besides me who would have seen him lose his shirt that night.”
She slammed the book shut decisively and returned it to the bookcase. “Yes, Mr. Simpson, he was here. The game started at ten o’clock, and he was here some time before it began. He stayed all night. Never left until morning.” She glanced at the young man with a pained expression. “Does that answer your question or do you wish to extort any other information while you’re here?”
“No, ma’am.” Freddie attempted to appear humble. “That answers it, and thank you very much for being so helpful.”
Minna Evermore held out her hand. “I’ll be bidding you farewell then.”
Freddie took her hand solemnly. “Miss Evermore, I must say it’s been a pleasure.”
The proprietress smiled morosely as she rang for the butler to show Freddie out. “No, Mr. Simpson, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s a business. It’s always been a business. Good day.”
Chapter 22—Your Latest Admirer
While Freddie was busy extracting information from Miss Evermore, Evangeline was on her way to question Nora’s roommate, Miss Sophie Simms. She had taken the precaution of telephoning Sophie at the boardi
nghouse where she lived right after she got home from Freddie’s flat. Evangeline wanted to find out if the girl still possessed the cards which had been sent with each of the bouquets Nora received. Her elation at hearing Sophie’s affirmative response was somewhat dampened by the fact that it was too late that evening to go to Sophie’s rooms to claim the cards. The girl was working all the following day, and by the time she would arrive home, the florist shop would be closed.
Evangeline’s suggestion that Sophie take the day off was met by a gasp of disbelief. The girl worked at Campion’s, Chicago’s premier department store. Marshall Campion had a reputation for running his store like a military training camp, and employees who wished to take an afternoon off for a reason that did not involve the death of a family member would not be employees for long. Therefore, Evangeline had agreed to meet Sophie at the store and pick the cards up there.
She made less than an auspicious start on her mission. Having been tied up with Mast House business all morning and into the afternoon, Evangeline had to rush to reach Sophie before the day was entirely gone. When she left her townhouse, she dispensed with the idea of hailing a cab. The congestion of the traffic on the city’s busiest street made it quicker to walk to the downtown business district. Making haste in Chicago’s Loop at any time of day was a known absurdity. The noise, coal dust, foot traffic, delivery wagons, trolleys, paper boys, and shoppers should have warned Evangeline of the folly of it. She persisted anyway and made painfully slow progress, dodging as many obstacles as she could. She fancied that even the ubiquitous street sweepers in white uniforms and helmets seemed to be conspiring to delay her.
At the corner of State and Lake, she crossed to the east side of the street, narrowly dodging a streetcar that was bearing down on her. Evangeline tried to keep her temper by reminding herself it was only an additional block to the imposing edifice that was the Marshall Campion Department Store.
Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) Page 22