The Fifth Avenue Artists Society

by Joy Callaway

  “No one . . . no one covered her or called the coroner?” Even in the darkness I saw his face pale. His shoulders shook as he started to sob. “I can’t stand it.” His voice faltered. “I’m sorry, Gin. I’m so sorry I tangled you in this mess. I’m sorry I introduced you to John; I’m sorry I encouraged you to marry him. I didn’t know it would turn out this way.” I didn’t acknowledge his apology. I couldn’t believe him. Not anymore. “At the beginning, I only saw the good effects, but then I started noticing that people were going crazy without it, even worse than they were before. They’d be fine and happy while they were on it, but when it wore off they’d break down.”

  “Were you on the drug, too?” The question came out in a sharp snap and Frank’s eyes narrowed at me, then relaxed.

  “No. I tried a dose once to see what it was like, but it made me feel jittery. John told me from the beginning that I shouldn’t take the drug since I didn’t need it. He said it would make me sick and it did.” Franklin let his head fall back against the rock. “That night, Lydia was coming down from the effects of it. She was crying hysterically and ripping out chunks of her hair and threatening to kill herself. After Marcus, I knew something was wrong. I knew that the solution had killed him. I just felt it. I asked Doctor Hopper about it, but he refused to engage. He insisted that Marcus’s cause of death was the same as Will’s—a hereditary heart condition—but there had been other deaths. I couldn’t overlook them.” I felt the echo of unease swirling in my gut, remembering the whispered speculation in the drawing room after Mr. Carter’s funeral. Edith had been right. So had I.

  “There were others?” Frank pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Four up north, in the country. I should’ve stopped after that, but I wanted the money. I wouldn’t give it to Lydia, though, and I tried to keep it away from John, too, but I couldn’t. I’d steal his bottles, but he’d just go to his father and get more.” The vision of John’s face that night in the study, his crumpled body, flashed in my mind. He’d needed more. That’s why he’d been shuffling around in his cabinet. He’d needed to find the needle and bottles to calm himself.

  “The other night at the meeting, Lydia needed the solution. She could feel the low coming on and begged me for it, but I refused. When she started screaming, John and I took her into the study. John gave her some, but it didn’t work. She kept screaming and crying and scratching her arms until they bled. John was coming down himself and kept injecting her over and over thinking that if he gave her enough she’d come back to us. I got in his way a few times, but he turned on me and said that if I didn’t let her have any, she’d kill herself and it would be my fault.” He whispered the last words. “Eventually, she stopped struggling in the study and stumbled back out to the drawing room. One minute she was standing laughing and the next she was on the ground convulsing for breath, like she was having a seizure.” Franklin held his head in his hands. I felt as if I were hovering somewhere outside my body. Who were these people? The pain of losing who I thought they were was killing me. Franklin stood and walked into the trees, a dark silhouette framed by the moon’s white glow. After a while, he came back and sat down beside me.

  “Was Tom with you in the study? I thought John was going to dismiss him from the Society.” I couldn’t bear to look at Franklin, so I looked at his boots. They still held polish, evidence of another life.

  “At Alevia’s first Society meeting, Tom had injected the solution twice, one more than normal, and fainted in the middle of writing.” The vision of the small brown bottle emblazoned with a Celtic circle knot and the welt on his forearm the first time I met him flashed in my mind. “When he woke up, he knew the drug was dangerous. He mentioned it to me, but at the time I said I doubted anything was wrong with the formula and he kept taking it.” Franklin pressed his lips together in regret. “He wasn’t there when we took her out of the drawing room. He walked in at the end. He’d come back to fetch Lydia home, and saw John injecting her for what was probably the fourth time, but he didn’t see me try to stop him. I don’t blame Tom. I don’t think I’d believe him if the same happened to you.” I pulled my arms across my chest, suddenly wondering why Franklin was alone.

  “Where is John?” I looked around, half-expecting him to materialize from the dense woods.

  “I don’t know,” Franklin said and I heard a sound, deep and guttural come from his throat. I realized, as Franklin’s face dropped to his hands, that John hadn’t only been mine. He’d been Frank’s, too, his best friend. “Wherever he is, he loves you, Gin,” Frank said suddenly. “He was mixed up in his father’s world, but if . . . when he comes back to you, you’ll see. He’s still the man you know.”

  Regardless of his deception and my anger, I knew that John had never intended to kill Lydia. He loved her. We all had. I had no doubt he thought he was saving her. I shut my eyes to stop the sting of heartache. In spite of everything, my soul longed for the John I’d known—for his strength, for his surety, for the stability I’d always felt in his presence. I knew he wasn’t a bad man. All of this was Doctor Hopper’s fault: Frank’s ruin, John’s destruction, my love for a man that I didn’t know if I would ever see again.

  “Damn you,” I said under my breath.

  “I lost John when I went after Tom,” Frank said. “Tom ran out after Lydia collapsed and I followed him, but I lost him in midtown, so I turned back. By the time I got back to the Hoppers’, they were gone. I have no idea where.” I gripped Frank’s arm. His muscles were tight. I was still angry, my heart shredded with anguish, but I wanted my brother back, to have the chance to know him again.

  “Come home, Frank. We’ll get this sorted out and—”

  “No,” he said. “The authorities will come for me and if they find me with you, they’ll think you’re involved, too. If they find me, I’m dead, Ginny.”

  “But you didn’t do anything!” Regardless of the fact that he’d provided the drug, and as livid as his lying about his job made me, he hadn’t killed anyone. If anything, he’d tried to save Lydia.

  “Tom knows half of the families of the four others who have died. One was the daughter of his great-aunt up in Rhode Island; the second, a political supporter of his uncle’s in Greenwich. If he realizes there’s a connection . . .” he said slowly. He shoved his hands in his pockets. I had a sudden memory: Cherie’s mention of her husband’s friend who’d supposedly passed on of heartache. Franklin began to speak again. “When I sold to them, I made them sign a disclaimer that we weren’t responsible for any injuries or deaths. It was something Hopper heard he should do to avoid being taken to court, just in case of any accidents.” He rubbed his eyes. “Since Doctor Hopper never patented the solution, it’ll seem like he knew the risk and poisoned them intentionally, that I was conspiring with him. Most of the deceased were family friends of the Hoppers. They trusted us. If Tom thinks of it, he’ll make sure these families know how their children and brothers and sisters actually died. He’ll turn them against us.”

  “What about John?” I asked. Emotion balled in my throat. “Doctor Hopper’s own son took it, too. It’s not as though he’d try to kill John.”

  “They’ll find a way to make it seem as if John took something different or took less. John can’t prove otherwise. They’ll say Doctor Hopper cautioned his son against taking too much, but didn’t tell the others.” Franklin pulled his hands from his pockets, extracting a few crumpled dollars and some change. “The autopsy will confirm that Lydia died of heart failure and the toxicology report will find massive amounts of morphine and cocaine. And the rest will all have copies of the disclaimer somewhere in their homes, proof that their loved ones took the drugs before they died.” He stood suddenly. “I have to find John before it’s too late.”

  “I’ll come with you. I can help you find him. I don’t know if I could ever trust him again, but I still love him.” His eyes met mine.

  “I know you love us and I know you’re worried, but you have to go home. Don’t te
ll Mother or the others that you’ve seen me or what I’ve done. It’ll be best that way, in case the police come to question you all. I’m going to disappear for a while, Ginny, but I’ll be all right.”

  “No.” As much as I tried to hold on to the hope that I’d see John again, that life as I knew it would resume, I knew it wouldn’t and I couldn’t lose my brother, too. “You’re coming home with me.” I knew I wasn’t being rational. He was right. If he and John—wherever he was—were being followed, our house would be an easy target for the authorities. But we were alone right now, no one was around, and there had to be a way.

  “You really loved him, didn’t you?” he whispered. I nodded, realizing I hadn’t told Frank that I’d gone to see John.

  “I saw him before the last meeting. I went to refuse him. But then, I changed my mind . . . it occurred to me that I might be able to have a happy marriage and a successful career after all.” Our conversation felt distant and meaningless. “Now I’ve lost him. I can’t lose you, Frank.”

  “You haven’t lost anyone,” he said, voice strong and rumbling in his throat. “I promised you that you wouldn’t again and you won’t. I’ll find him. John’s a tortured soul, Gin, but I know that he loves you.” His arms squeezed tight around me. “And don’t tell the others, but you know I love you best. You’ve always been my favorite.”

  “I’m glad,” I said. “But I’m still not letting you go.” I pulled his arm across my shoulders and reached for his hand, but something moved behind us. I heard the sound of leaves scattering and Franklin stepped away from me and ran. I raced after him, but he turned around and pushed me firmly to the ground.

  “Stay. Here,” he growled under his breath, eyes scanning the forest above my head.

  “Where will you go?” I paused. “It isn’t safe!”

  “I’ll get out of the city somehow. I don’t know where. But I’ll come back when I can . . . we both will. Don’t worry.” He forced a smile, turned around, and started to sprint. I ran after him, but lost him to the darkness. My brother, my best friend, was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  OCTOBER 1892

  Delmonico’s Restaurant

  NEW YORK, NEW YORK

  The last place I wanted to be was here, sitting at a table by myself waiting for Fred Harvey who was fifteen minutes late and counting. I didn’t have anything for him anyway. I’d barely touched The Web since we’d met last and certainly hadn’t thought about writing since Lydia’s death three weeks ago. I read the menu from the first entry—bisque of shrimp—to the last—brandy pears—for the eighth time and scanned the restaurant. It was crowded, but most of the guests would depart in an hour’s time to see Frank Mayo’s Davy Crockett at the Academy of Music. A group of people were laughing a table over.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you something while you wait, miss?” the waiter, an eager young man at least five years my junior, asked for the fourth time. I knew he was just doing his job, so I swallowed my annoyance and forced a grin.

  “No. I’m fine, thank you.” He tipped his head and left, zigzagging past guests and other waiters. I watched him as he passed table after table of black suits and elaborate hats. He disappeared into the bustling kitchen and my eyes landed on a man at a table next to the swinging doors. He was talking animatedly to two men with their backs to me. His eyes were bright with possibility and he stopped for a moment to take a sip from his water glass before talking again. I kept watching, very aware of the fact that I was staring, but unable to look away. Something in his manner reminded me of Frank. My eyes blurred and I turned toward the empty seat in front of me, blinking back tears.

  I hadn’t told anyone I’d seen him, even though it killed me to keep the secret. I’d panicked watching Bessie pay the month’s charges. Although Frank’s income had left us with a decent amount in our account at the bank, I doubted it would last us very long. And then what would we do? Bessie, Alevia, and I only earned enough to make up half of what we needed to sustain the household. Beneath her worry for Frank, Mother had to be wondering how we’d survive if Frank never returned. I’d noticed the way she kept glancing over Bessie’s shoulders to look at the ledger. Mother had retired early that night, and the familiar and awful sound of her sobbing had echoed softly through my walls until well past midnight. In truth, the news of what Frank had done would destroy her, especially since he wasn’t here to explain himself.

  I’d heard nothing from him since that morning in the cemetery and still hadn’t heard from John. I had no idea if they were alive or dead. It was strange; sometimes their memory and the thought that they may never come back knocked me down so hard I could barely pick myself up, but other times, when fury overtook my sadness, I was able to force all feeling away. I dabbed the corners of my eyes with my linen napkin. Anger flared up, sweeping from my stomach to my neck.

  It was their fault as much as Doctor Hopper’s. Frank and John had willingly participated in his ridiculous plan and sacrificed our happiness in the process. John was a liar. He’d convinced me that we were the same, encouraged my love for a man whose talent and kindness was a guise masking darkness and deceit. He was worse than Charlie. At least Charlie had had the decency to face me, to tell me why he’d decided to throw our love away. Meanwhile, Frank’s absence was killing Mother, and his secret was killing me. It wasn’t fair.

  “Sorry I’m late, Miss Loftin.” Harvey’s deep voice startled me and I dropped the napkin to greet him, hoping I didn’t look like I’d been crying. “Got caught up talking to Walter Damrosch on the way over. Said he’s been practically living in the Hall practicing for the Messiah. Suppose your sister’s been slaving away with him.”

  “Actually, she hasn’t,” I said, a little too curtly than I intended. “Damrosch dismissed her a few weeks ago.” Harvey stared at me for a moment.

  “Why ever on earth?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose he changed his mind about allowing females in the Symphony.” That was a blatant lie. The truth was that he’d cornered Alevia before rehearsal a week after Lydia’s death and said he couldn’t allow her to play. He’d spoken to Tom, and until Franklin was cleared—if he ever was—Damrosch couldn’t permit Alevia’s presence. Alevia had asked him outright what Tom had accused Franklin of, but Damrosch had shaken his head, saying he couldn’t possibly tell her in the event she’d warn Franklin. She’d told Damrosch that she hadn’t seen our brother since the night Lydia died, but it didn’t matter. Damrosch had already turned his back and told her to leave. Alevia hadn’t come out of her room for days after, and when she did, she swore that if Franklin ever turned up, she would never speak to him again, regardless of his explanation.

  “That’s complete nonsense,” Harvey said, shaking his head. “I thought Damrosch was more progressive than that.” His brows furrowed and he shook his napkin open. “And where in the hell is John? He was supposed to have a draft to me two weeks ago.” I gaped at him. I wasn’t expecting the question and had no idea what to say. “I heard some rumor that he and the doctor left town unexpectedly. Is that true?” He stared at me over his wire-framed glasses. My fingers curled into fists, gripping hard into my palms. I didn’t want to answer the question, nor should I have to. John should be here to explain himself.

  The Blaines had been strangely quiet after Lydia’s death, but rumors swirled anyway. Thanks to Franklin, I knew why. They were waiting for the autopsy results. They’d already talked to the police, but they couldn’t implicate John, his father, and Franklin until they knew for certain. Without the Hoppers’ dramatic exit, I had a feeling no one would have had a clue as to what was brewing under the surface. The trouble was, of course, that the Hoppers lived on Fifth Avenue, and anyone could see they’d left their home in shambles without bothering to call the coroner before they went. Mr. Harvey reached across the table and shook me.

  “Miss Loftin,” he said softly. “Are you all right?” I could tell my face had drained, but I nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” I said
. “I was thinking of something else.”

  “That’s quite all right. I was just asking if you’d heard from John. It seems that he’s avoiding me . . . and everyone else for that matter. He wasn’t even at Lydia Blaine’s funeral.” Harvey shook his head. Lydia’s funeral. The realization that she was dead still shook me. I’d never lost a friend. She’d wanted to be my sister; I would’ve readily accepted her.

  “I haven’t heard from him,” I said softly. The last time Harvey had asked me about John, I didn’t want to discuss him because I hadn’t been sure I wanted to marry him. Now I wasn’t sure I would ever see him again or sure that I wanted to. “I, um, I believe that he and Doctor Hopper may have gone out of town.” Harvey placed his hand on top of mine.

  “You seem as confused as I am, my dear. John has hurt you and I’m sorry for it.” His eyes held mine.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “It’s not as though he’s severed my writing hand.” I held up my left hand, hoping to change the subject. The waiter bounded up to our table, notepad poised to finally take an order.

  “Two glasses of scotch, straight up. Oldest and finest you have,” Harvey barked, not waiting for the waiter to speak. I glanced at Harvey, half shocked that he’d openly ordered spirits for a woman. Alcohol would only chip away at my façade and I didn’t want to burst into tears in front of my editor.

  “Thank you. It’s been a challenging few weeks,” I said. He smiled at me.

  “Were you friends with Miss Blaine, too?”

  I nodded, unsure how much I should say, but decided there was no point in holding back. He’d likely know my family was involved eventually.

  “Yes. We were very well acquainted.” I remembered her smile the first time we met. “She . . . she was . . . involved with my brother.” Harvey’s eyes crinkled.