“No, he hasn’t killed Ella. Not yet, but I now believe that that is his plan. Why should he hesitate to kill her when he has already murdered the rest of her family?”
“That drowning seven years ago was no accident?” George asked in a soft voice, as he pulled a chair up to the desk and sat down.
As he piled the papers that had roused his suspicions in front of George, Harrigan replied, “No, and I’m almost certain of that. Harold may not have murdered them with his own hands, but he might as well have. And Ella should have died with the rest of her family, but for some reason she was not with them that day.” He waited a moment for a frowning George to finish looking over the papers. “That scowl on your face tells me you reached the same conclusion I did.”
“None of this is the hard proof needed to convict him of the crime.”
“Exactly. You’ll also see my little notations that reveal that very few of these people will repeat such things in court. They will deny it all, in truth. There are a lot of people who are scared of Harold Carson or so caught up in his net that they would hurt themselves as much as they would hurt him. And that’s if they even considered testifying against him, for, if Harold caught wind of it, he could destroy them. Those who suspect him of murdering his own family would fear even worse than financial ruin. Their consciences might urge them to speak out, but everything else tells them to shut their mouths.”
“Then what use is all of this?” George asked as he tossed the papers back down on to one of the many piles littering the desk. “If we have no hard proof of his guilt, how can we stop him now?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”
“Well, I’m more than willing to lend my assistance.”
“I was hoping you would say that,” Harrigan said even as he stood up and walked toward the door.
“Oh. You have to leave now? I had wanted to have a little talk.”
“Soon as I get back, George.” Harrigan stuck his hat on his head and stepped through the door. “I need to get away from that pile of papers and walk. It often works to clear my head. I’ll walk and you can read and maybe, when I return, one of us will have found a way to bring Harold down.”
“Ah, and that will allow Ella to escape his hold.”
“That’s the plan. Dig away, George, and, hopefully, you will find some tiny, useful gem I have overlooked.”
Ella struggled to sit up on the bed and heartily cursed her body for its inability to obey her commands. Her mind was beginning to clear and she desperately wanted to make use of that, but her body was still held tightly in the grip of the opium. Even her hands felt heavy and awkward.
Something was about to happen, she was certain of it. Although she was not sharp-witted enough to know why she felt that way, something told her that Harold would act against her today. It was also the first time in days that she had been left alone. She was sure there was not even a guard at the door, a door she seemed totally incapable of getting to. When she heard the door open, she just sughed, knowing she had lost any chance she might have had.
“I told you it was silly to leave her alone,” came Margaret’s sharp voice even as a hard push against her shoulder sent Ella tumbling back onto the bed.
“She wasn’t getting very far, was she?” snapped Harold as he scowled down at Ella.
“Dissension among the troops?” Ella said, dismayed at how slurred her words were, for it proved that she was still held tightly in the grip of the opium.
“I also think it was a mistake not to give her more of that stuff,” said Margaret. “She seems dangerously clear of mind to me. What if we meet up with someone before we get her to the river?”
“I believe we have convinced enough people of her unsteady state of mind, the kind of people who have probably spread the tale all over the city by now. Add to that the fact that no one thought she was quite normal before, and that she has spent nearly three years with the mad Louise, and I don’t think anyone will listen to her. If we give her another dose she may well be so unclear that people will question why we are taking her for a carriage ride.”
Margaret glared at Ella and grumbled, “I suppose, but I do not like it. This means that we will have to listen to her all the way to the river.”
“A small price to pay for what we shall soon gain.”
Ella cried out softly in protest when one of her uncle’s hulking men suddenly appeared at her bedside and scooped her up in his arms. In her mind she was putting up a glorious fight, but her body refused to move, lying limp in the man’s thick arms. Ella decided that it might have been better if she was still completely under the spell of the drug. At least then she would not be so aware of what was happening to her.
As they started down the stairs, Ella managed to gain enough control of herself to grab the railing, but it was a short-lived resistance. Harold’s burly guard just kept walking and a smirking Margaret punched her hand, forcing her to release her weak grip on the highly polished wood. Ella stared at her cousin and found herself wishing that the woman would suffer some horrible, painful, and lingering death. She was a little surprised at her bloodthirsty thoughts, but decided that Margaret had earned them.
“What is your clever little plan, Harold?” she asked, struggling to make her words clear. “Are you going to toss me out in the woods and leave me for the wild animals? Or perhaps you mean to shoot me and try to claim that I was accosted by thieves as I staggered down the road?”
“I mean to take you to see your family, m’dear,” Harold replied coldly as they all paused at the front door.
“You’re taking me to the cemetery?”
When Harold and Margaret laughed, Ella cursed. She hated the way the drug slowed her ability to think. Her wits were what had kept her alive so far, and the opium had stolen them away. She felt totally defenseless. Then a brief flash of clarity gifted her with an understanding she almost wished she had not had. Harold was going to take her to the river and drown her, just as he had done to her family.
“People won’t believe I went boating, Harold,” she said.
Margaret cursed. “She needs more of the drug, Papa. She understood you far too quickly.”
“It’s fine, Margaret,” Harold reassured his daughter, then patted Ella on the head. “They’ll believe a poor, mad girl would throw herself in the river thinking she could be with the family she had lost. Ah, yes, poor little girl just couldn’t bear their loss any longer; she missed them so much.”
The man carrying her stepped outside and Ella saw Harold’s ostentatious carriage waiting at the foot of the brick steps. She thought about screaming, but doubted she could get that much power behind her voice. She also doubted it would do much good. Harold had made sure that everyone thought she was mad. Screaming in the middle of the day as she was put into a carriage would simply make the neighbors shake their heads in pity.
“Aunt Louise,” she began.
“Can’t help you this time,” Harold said.
“You can’t really believe that she will let you get away with this.”
“Louise might work her way out of jail in the primitive land she now calls home, but she has no power in Philadelphia. Here she is just an embarrassment. People see her as a mad woman with no morals. They will believe anything I say against her. Hell, if she gets to be too much of a problem I might just give Margaret what she wants and kill the bitch. I could always blame it on her little pack of mongrels.”
Ella swayed as Harold’s man set her on her feet by the carriage door. She could think of nothing to say and that infuriated her. Fear was a sour taste in the back of her throat, fear for herself and her aunt. That she could feel anything at all was proof that she was slowly crawling out from beneath the influence of the opium, but she was too concerned about her aunt to be pleased by that. Her recovery was not fast enough to do her any good anyway.
“Hello, Harold, Miss Margaret, Ella,” said a deep voice that caused Ella’s heart to skip.
She slum
ped against the man who still kept a firm grip on her arm and looked at Harrigan. There was only a little flicker of the anger and pleasure she always felt when she saw him. His expression was cold, his grey eyes dark and hard. Something had made him very angry and she wished she could ask him what. Ella dared not hope that he had finally found out the truth about Harold. There was a small chance, however, that she could give him some hint of what was about to happen. If he had begun to believe in her, he might act on a clue and do something to help her. Even if he figured it out too late to save her, it could serve to warn Louise about the danger she was in.
Harrigan stared at Ella, and she smiled sweetly. She looked achingly lovely in her soft green gown, yet something was not right. There was glazed look in her eyes and the soft look on her face reminded him of the look on a witless child’s face or a happy drunk’s. Gone was the spirit and the wit that had always given her lovely face such life and character. Also missing was the anger he had expected and now knew he deserved.
He fought the urge to knock down the man holding Ella and take her away. She looked as if a part of her was missing, and that alarmed him. Harold and Margaret looked tense and were clearly not pleased to see him. The scene before him was telling him something, but he could not figure out what, and that infuriated him. Ella would tell him, but there was no chance of a private word with her.
“Hello, Mahoney,” Ella said, praying that her cloying sweetness would give him some hint that something was very wrong. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
“I’m glad to see that you have sorted out your problems with your guardian,” he said, fighting to hide his uneasiness and act as if this was no more than some casual, polite meeting.
“Oh, Uncle Harold and I have spent many pleasant hours together. I have learned so much.”
“That’s good to hear. A family should get along.”
“Yes, we are as close as the grave.”
Margaret laughed as she moved to take hold of Ella’s free arm and try to urge her up the steps of the carriage. “What a strange choice of words.”
“You’re going somewhere?” Harrigan asked.
“Dear Uncle Harold is taking me to see my family. He says that soon I won’t miss them any more.”
“Your family? But I thought . . .”
Harold gave his guard a sharp signal as he interrupted Harrigan. “I am sure you have a lot to do, Mr. Mahoney, and we are running a bit late.” Seeing that Margaret and his man had gotten Ella into the carriage, Harold started to climb in after them. “If you are here about your pay, I suggest you speak to your man George Morgan.”
As Harrigan watched the carriage disappear down the road, he heard a soft tsking to his right. He turned and nodded a restrained greeting to the Jensons, an aging couple who lived next door to Harold. Even as he started to turn and walk away from them, his curiosity got the better of him. They looked as if they were both concerned and filled with pity.
“Is there some trouble at the Carsons’?” he asked them.
“Well, I suppose there is no harm in telling you,” said the plump Mrs. Jenson. “It’s no secret. I fear the poor girl is suffering from some fever of the brain.”
“A what?” Harrigan whispered, shock stealing the strength from his voice.
“Aren’t you the fellow that brought the girl back from that heathen land she had run away to?” asked Mr. Jenson, stroking his long, well-oiled moustache as he frowned at Harrigan.
“Yes,” Harrigan replied. “I noticed no fever of the brain in the girl.”
“These things can come on suddenly,” said Mrs. Jenson. “Maybe what troubles her was simply not clear to see while you were traveling together.”
“I should have seen something,” he muttered, struggling to continue the conversation even though his mind was feverishly trying to figure out what Harold could gain by spreading such a tale.
“Perhaps you just do not know enough about how young ladies should act to realize how oddly she was behaving.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she ran away from a very comfortable life to go live with her aunt in the Wild West. Who knows what sort of rough life that woman lives out there, yet Ella wanted to stay. No young, well-bred lady would wish to remain in such an uncivilized place, but little Ella fought every attempt to bring her home. Poor Harold was quite distraught.”
“I’m sure he was.” Harrigan realized his anger was evident in his voice, for Mrs. Jenson eyed him nervously. He forced himself to smile at the woman. “And what is Mr. Carson doing for the poor girl? Has there been any explanation of her illness?”
“Harold thinks she’s just succumbed to grief. She lost her whole family, you know.”
“That was seven years ago.”
“True, but the child has always been a bit, well, odd. And he thinks madness might run in the family. After all, just look at how her aunt behaves.” The woman shuddered, and her husband patted her on the shoulder. “There are those who believe Louise Carson murdered Robin Abernathy. A brutal murder it was, too. And just look at who the woman travels with. I think Harold might be right. There certainly seems to be a weakness there, some wildness in the blood.”
Harrigan wondered idly what would happen if he slapped the silly woman. “Harold must believe the illness can be cured or he would have had her locked away.”
“He may yet have to do that. The doctor has been to see the girl, as has the minister, and neither sees much hope. They have no answers.”
It was an effort to do so, but Harrigan bid the couple a very courteous farewell and started back to his office. The uneasiness he had felt earlier had been transformed into a hard, cold fear. Harold had done a good job of spreading the tale that Ella was insane. Harrigan suddenly recalled a few odd remarks made by some of the people he had spoken to in the last few days, but he had mostly ignored them. Ella had always told him that people in Philadelphia thought she was odd. She could also be playing some game in the hope of gaining a chance to escape the man. Now he realized that Harold was the one spreading the tale and that the man had most of Philadelphia believing that Ella was completely mad.
What troubled him even more was that a part of him started to wonder if there was any truth to the tale. Ella had been acting strangely. He had put her through a lot as they had traveled across the country. It could have been too much for her. She was delicate, a tiny, well-bred woman, not some pioneer.
Those thoughts had barely finished going through his mind when he shook them away, cursing himself as a fool. Ella was indeed tiny and delicate of appearance, but she had a backbone of pure steel and a very sharp mind. She may have been acting oddly just now, but he refused to believe that she had gone mad. Harold wanted the world to believe she had, however. Harrigan knew he had to figure out why Harold would spread such a lie and what the man could gain from it. Instinct told him he had to find those answers soon, that there was very little time left for him to guess Harold’s game and put a stop to it.
Ella forced her body to move, turning just enough to look out the back of the carriage as it pulled away from Harold’s house. She watched Harrigan, not sure what she expected or wanted to see, but deciding it was better than looking at Harold and Margaret. Before they turned a corner and she lost sight of his tall, lean form, she saw him stop and begin to speak to the Jensons.
No sign of him having a revelation or rushing to her rescue, she mused as she slumped back down in her seat. What did you expect? That he would suddenly pull a gleaming sword, leap on a white charger, and ride hard after you, screaming for Harold’s head on a pike? a voice sneered in her mind. She did think he could have showed some hint of concern. There was a very good chance that she would be dead in a short while, and it would have been nice to have seen some hint of feeling in him, some soft look that she could have recalled fondly in her last few minutes.
“I do not suppose we can stop by the jailhouse so that I might say goodbye to Louise and my friends?” Ella asked,
thinking that her voice sounded a little stronger and praying that she was not deluding herself about the progress of her recovery.
“Very amusing, m’dear,” Harold said. “I will let Louise know that you were thinking of her in your last days when I go and tell her of your unfortunate demise.”
Margaret glared at Ella. “I noticed you were looking back at that Mahoney fool. Did you really think he would understand your babbling and rush to your rescue?”
“My babbling was obviously clear enough to make you nervous,” Ella said. “You practically threw me in the carriage to shut me up.”
“Listen to her, Papa. I’m telling you, she is far too clearheaded. The opium is leaving her body.”
Harold patted Margaret’s clenched hand. “You worry too much, child. True, her mind and her mouth seem to be working again, if a little slowly, but it won’t be a problem.” He smiled at Ella. “You still can’t move much, can you, m’dear?”
“Enough to dance the jig on your grave,” Ella said, fighting to hide how sick with fear his cold smile made her feel.
“Oh, I don’t think so. If you had any strength in your body or could get it to do what you wished it to, we wouldn’t be sitting here having this pleasant conversation. I recall clearly how the opium affected a man I knew. He could, at times, carry on the most intelligent and rational conversation, yet he was so incapable of movement he would urinate where he sat, even as he kept on speaking. Much like some drunks.”
“You obviously have a high class of acquaintances.”
“You are very much like your father. When he realized what was happening and knew he could not save himself or his wife and child, he still cursed me with great skill. When you people get scared, you obviously turn nasty.”
“You watched my family die?”
“From a safe distance, of course. Actually, I believe you and Louise might be a little cleverer than he was, a little less trusting and naive. It has been much more difficult to deal with you as I must.”
Wild Roses Page 24