“Yes,” she said slowly. “I believe I would. Have I ever told you the story of how my son settled right here on this island and fell in love with a local girl?”
Madeline shook her head. “No, you have not.”
“Oh my,” she said with a chuckle. “I suppose I should tell that story before I get to the other one, shouldn’t I?”
“Yes, I think so.” Madeline prepared to begin. “Whenever you are ready,” she told her. “I am ready to write your memories down.”
“But oh, Miss Winston, am I ready to remember them? That is the question. You see, it was a very long time ago when I learned I was to be a mother. In spite of the happiness of this news, it was a very sad time. A time when I had not expected to be the bearer of new life.”
She listened in silence as Madame told her the story of having been a young bride, her groom much older and of a different social group than her own. “My parents, they were particular as to whom I could be seen with. To spend time in the company of a gentleman who was not approved by them was considered most improper.”
Madeline wondered again if Madame ever knew that her father had paid for an investigation to be done on this man she loved. There had certainly been no mention of the lengths Madame’s papa had gone to in order to prevent this union. Obviously, he had not been successful.
She decided to risk a question. “Did your father do anything to come between you and Monsieur Smith?”
“Oh, indeed he did. In fact, I knew he would stop at nothing to see us permanently apart.”
“I am sorry,” Madeline said. “It does sound like his efforts failed.”
“Indeed they did.” Madame paused to look out the window for what seemed to be a very long time. Finally she returned her attention to Madeline. “Perhaps that is not something you can understand, but in my time a father and mother, they chose for you when it came to things such as marriages. It was considered an act of love from a father to a daughter and a mother to a daughter when that daughter’s future was carefully planned for her. What do you think about that?”
Madeline tried to imagine her parents planning the rest of her life and failed miserably. Rather, they had raised her to be strong and independent, a woman capable to make good decisions and follow through with them.
Very much the opposite of what Jonah Cahill thought of her.
“Miss Winston?”
“Oh,” she said as Madame’s voice drew her back from her thoughts. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I think that sounds awful.”
Madame laughed. “So did I,” she said. “So I rebelled. Only later did I realize that, at least in part, my parents were right. Marrying a man who is unlike anyone you’ve ever met will take you down a path you may not be expecting.” She paused to smile as if thinking of some particular but private memory. “Oh, but what an adventure it can be.”
Her heart lurched. Was this the connection to the Lafitte family that she had been hoping to find? Jean Lafitte had certainly been much older than Madame.
“Madame,” she said gently. “You have provided few details regarding your husband.”
“Oh, but I have,” she said sweetly. “He has been with me on every adventure I’ve had. In a way, he is still with me today.”
This was not the answer she expected. In fact, it answered nothing she’d asked.
“You think I’ve gone daft.”
“I think you have precious memories as yet unrecorded,” she said to cover her surprise. “Perhaps we should start with that premise and begin our session with more information about your husband.”
“Miss Winston,” she said slowly. “Have you ever been in love?”
Another unexpected response. “I thought so once, but I was wrong.”
“Oh, my dear, I do highly recommend it.”
An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Eventually, Madame sighed. “I do believe I will put this off until another time. I find myself suddenly tired. Are you terribly disappointed that you will not find out the answers to your questions?”
She was, of course, but there was nothing to be done for it. “I will ring for Gretchen,” she told Madame. “When you’ve rested we can start again with this topic.”
But as Madeline packed up her writing materials, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. The information she was looking for—the link to Lafitte—felt so close.
And yet so far away.
The next day, Jonah knocked on the door of Mrs. Smith’s home at precisely ten o’clock in the morning. A maid let him in and guided him to a library where a stack of leather-bound black books had been laid out. He also found writing paper, pens, and ink.
“Will there be anything else?” the maid asked.
He glanced around the room and then shook his head. “No, I believe Mrs. Smith has provided me with all I need.”
“Very well, then,” she said as she turned to leave. “Should you change your mind, please use the bellpull and someone will assist you.”
Sorting through the books, Jonah soon realized there was no rhyme or reason to the stories. It appeared Mrs. Smith told her tales to the writer and the writer recorded them as they were told. Putting a date to these tales or a time line to her memories would never be possible.
He reached for the top book on the stack and began to make notes regarding names and locations. When he completed his reading of the first book, he had a half page of names but only one location: New Orleans. The second and third books yielded a similar result.
By the time Jonah got to the third book, he was almost ready to decide that taking the time to read all of these journals would be a wasted effort. Then he arrived upon a story of a storm and a ship lost at sea along with a family and their child.
Jonah sat up straighter in his chair and went back to reading. Unfortunately, there was no indication that this lost child had any relation to Mrs. Smith. Nor was there anything to indicate the date or location of the tragedy.
Frustrated, Jonah continued to turn the pages even as his stomach began to growl. The clock over the mantel struck half past eleven and then, seemingly only a few minutes later, struck noon.
Gradually, Jonah became aware of the smell of something delicious. Something that smelled very much like fried chicken.
He set the book aside and reviewed his notes once more. He had read every one of these journals once and had gone back to look at sections he had marked. There was nothing else to be done here.
Jonah rose and pulled the bell then returned to the table to put away the writing tools. A moment later, rather than a maid, in walked Mrs. Smith.
“I do hope you’ll join us for lunch, Detective Cahill.”
Again his stomach growled, and he hoped his host’s hearing was poor enough to miss the sound of it. “I couldn’t really.”
“I insist,” she said as she stepped away from the doorway and indicated he should follow her. “I believe you’ll enjoy the company today.”
“I do not want to intrude on guests,” he said. “Just let me take my notes and be on my way.”
“Nonsense. You leave those notes right there,” she said as she linked arms with him.
Without another word, she urged him toward what he figured was the dining room. Just outside the door she paused once again. “Remember, you can leave the service of your duties here at any time.”
He shook his head. “Why would I want to do that?”
“I don’t expect you will, though I do not wish to keep you in my employ under duress. I am well aware of the fact that you have serious doubts as to whether you are able to complete the task I have hired you for.”
“That is not true,” he said. “I will complete the task. What I have doubts about is whether you will like what I discover.”
“Well now,” she said with a chuckle, “that is an entirely different matter, isn’t it? Yet I will give you one last chance to escape this with your reputation intact and no hard feelings from me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” he said
. “But I believe I will stay and see how all of this turns out.”
“Excellent,” she said with a broad smile. “Then come in and meet your partner in this search.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “I was not under the impression I would be working with a partner.”
She paused for just a moment, her smile radiant. “That is because I am only just telling you now.”
Jonah followed Mrs. Smith into the dining room and helped her to her seat at the head of the table. Unlike the book-filled library or the rose-filled parlor, this room held all the grandeur of a formal dining room.
From the deep-burgundy-papered walls and golden curtains that held back the noonday sun to the massive chandelier that cast a brilliant light over the crystal and china on the table, they might well have been in a castle somewhere in Europe.
“Do please sit down,” she said and then cast her gaze around the room with a frown. “I wonder where your new partner has gotten off to.”
Mrs. Smith rang a bell, and the maid appeared. “Gretchen, please tell Miss Winston we are waiting.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she said.
“And who is Miss Winston?”
“Miss Winston is my assistant. She is the author of the journals you read this morning, and she is a very knowledgeable woman. I do believe you two will make quite a team.”
“Don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Smith. I don’t mind working with a woman. In fact, I sometimes prefer it as females tend to be able to get things done in a situation when a male might fail.” He paused. “However, unless your Miss Winston has training equivalent to a Pinkerton detective or police officer, I fail to see how she and I will work well together.”
“Oh,” she said sweetly, “I know the answer to that. You two will work well together because that is what I am paying you both to do.” She paused, her expression just as congenial as it had been since she intercepted him in the library. “I do hope I make myself clear.”
“Crystal clear,” he said, slightly in awe of the elderly lady’s spunk.
“Excellent. Oh, look, here’s Gretchen with our lunch.”
The maid set a silver tray laden with food, chief among the dishes being a platter of fried chicken, on the table in front of them. She offered Mrs. Smith a smile and Jonah a look of undisguised curiosity.
“Gretchen, were you able to find Miss Winston?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith,” she said as she kept her attention focused on Jonah. “Miss Winston was not upstairs, but no one has seen her leave, so I am sure she must be on the grounds somewhere. Or perhaps outside. I will have the stable boy hunt for her.”
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Smith said as she moved her attention to Jonah. “So in the meantime, would you like to bless the meal, Detective Cahill?”
Jonah obliged and then his host joined him in saying, “Amen.”
Once their plates were filled, Jonah decided to plunge forward with the question foremost on his mind. “So, Mrs. Smith, what can you tell me about my new partner, Miss Winston?”
“Well now,” she said slowly, “Miss Winston has been in my employ since February. She responded to an advertisement in the Picayune for an assistant to record my memoirs and serve as a companion of sorts.”
“And in that role, she has been a satisfactory employee?”
Madame took a sip of iced tea and then returned her glass to the table. “Indeed she has. You appear to be enjoying the chicken.”
“It is delicious, and I am thankful to be enjoying such a grand meal.” He paused, unwilling to let go of the topic of the mysterious Miss Winston. “What do you know about Miss Winston’s background?”
“Goodness, Detective Cahill. You have a curious nature, don’t you?” she said with a smile.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “You are paying well for my curious nature. So humor me, if you please. I would like to know more about this assistant of yours.”
“I suppose I am.” She gave him an amused look. “As I said, I met her through an advertisement. If you were to bother to check, and I suppose you just might, you would find that I posted several advertisements over the past few years until the right person for the job finally applied. Miss Winston has become a valued employee.”
She was hiding something. But what? “And that is all you’re willing to tell me?”
“That is all I will tell you,” she corrected. “Although you are more than welcome to quiz my assistant at length regarding this topic and any others you might think relevant to your assignment.”
“I will.”
Mrs. Smith offered a broad grin. “I have no doubt. Now do try those mashed potatoes. My cook makes the best I’ve ever tasted, and at my age I have tasted plenty.”
The front door opened and then shut again. Jonah heard footsteps in the hall behind him. Before he could turn around, Mrs. Smith called out.
“There you are, Miss Winston. Do join us for lunch and say hello to Detective Cahill of the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”
Jonah turned then and came face-to-face with Madeline Latour. He pasted on his most welcoming smile and aimed it at the nosy reporter. “Hello, Miss Winston.”
Madeline froze. What was Jonah Cahill doing feasting on fried chicken and mashed potatoes at Madame Smith’s dining table?
The Pinkerton agent slid her a look that made Madeline’s blood run cold. Either he was about to unmask her or he planned to play along—for a price.
Madeline stood her ground, thankful that her skirts hid her shaking knees. “Hello,” she responded as calmly as she could manage before turning her attention to Madame. “It appears you and your guest have already started your meal, so I won’t bother you.”
“It is no bother,” Madame said.
“Well, I do appreciate that, but I have errands to run, so I’ll just have Gretchen fix up a plate of something later. When I get back. From where I was about to be going.”
Madame chuckled. “My dear, you just came back. We do not mind at all if you join us, do we, Detective Cahill?”
“Oh no. We don’t mind at all,” he said with the most infuriating grin. “In fact, I have been looking forward to meeting the mysterious Miss Winston that Mrs. Smith has been telling me so much about. However, I must say I was not prepared for meeting you in person.”
“Please do sit, Miss Winston,” Madame said, her smile now gone. “You’re keeping Detective Cahill from his lunch.”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “Just let me drop off my bag—”
“Not necessary.” Madame rang for Gretchen, who of course appeared immediately, likely because she was eavesdropping on the other side of the door. “Take Miss Winston’s bag up to her room, please.”
“Yes, Madame.”
As soon as Gretchen’s back was turned to Madame and the Pinkerton, she gave Madeline an I-hope-you-are-in-trouble look. Madeline handed the maid the bag but held her gaze just long enough to let Gretchen know she didn’t care whether the maid liked her or not.
“Thank you, Gretchen,” Madame said. “That will do. Sit here, Miss Winston.”
Of course she chose a seat across from the Pinkerton. Madeline moved toward the chair Madame indicated only to realize once she’d arrived that Detective Cahill was already holding the chair out for her to sit.
His expression gave nothing away of his thoughts, but Madeline could guess. She tried to keep her face just as neutral, but whether she succeeded was debatable.
“Thank you, Detective Cahill,” she said once she’d been seated.
“Not at all, Miss Winston,” was his far-too-sweet response as he returned to his chair.
“Well now,” Madame said as she looked first at Madeline and then at Jonah. “The two of you finally meet. This is a momentous occasion.” She looked beyond them to where Gretchen had returned.
“I’m sorry for the interruption, Madame,” Gretchen said as she glanced over at Madeline. “There’s a situation in the kitchen that needs your attention.”
“Please e
xcuse me. Do go on with your meal in my absence. And get to know one another.” Madame rose and left the room with Gretchen.
Their hostess had barely disappeared down the hall when Jonah’s eyes locked with hers. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell that nice old lady that you are lying to her.”
“Because there is no good reason to. I am writing down her memories. And yes, I did take an alias. I thought it prudent.”
Even as she spoke the words, words that were true, her conscience twinged. Madeline had been ignoring this twinge ever since she concocted this plan. Perhaps it was time to stop ignoring and to do something about it.
Jonah’s eyes narrowed. “You thought it prudent? Why?”
“All right,” she said on an exhale of breath. “I meant no harm to Madame Smith, but when I take on an assignment, I never do my research under the name that I use to publish my stories.”
“So you admit you’re writing about that kind lady?”
“I admit nothing of the kind,” she snapped. “My editor knows I am working on a story, but I have made no promises as to what I will be writing about. Or, for that matter, if I will be writing a story at all.”
Jonah fixed her with a smug look. “You mean in case you feel guilty?”
“I mean in case I am wrong about what I believe the facts of the story to be.”
“You’re talking in riddles, Madeline,” he said as he shook his head.
“I am answering your question,” she said. “It will serve no purpose to tell her I am a reporter because it has nothing to do with what I am doing here. First and foremost, I am the assistant recording her memories. And second, I am apparently helping you.”
There went that twinge again. Her mother would ask if she would be able to offer that excuse to the Lord and feel good about it. At this moment, Madeline knew the answer was a most uncomfortable no.
“If there’s a story somewhere in those memories, then you are the reporter who isn’t above profiting from that story.”
The truth of that statement stung even further. “Yes, I am looking for a story, but I don’t care to profit,” she said. “This is personal. And it will not harm Madame, this I can promise.”
My Heart Belongs in Galveston, Texas Page 8