by Joanne Dahme
Buchanan banged on the Watering Committee Building’s door. “Mr. Mayor, we have a hansom for you. The reporters are gone.”The mayor had not used his carriage for this official visit. I watched as Officer Hughes directed the hansom to the forebay bridge. I grew more anxious as I saw Hughes and the old coachman turn to look at the carriage trotting up the path directly behind them. Dear God, I thought. It must be Rose.
I heard the mayor’s voice as I ran across the bridge, heard Buchanan instruct Dugan in his practiced tone to stay by his side. The carriage pulled up directly alongside the hansom. Both carriage doors opened simultaneously. I saw a woman’s laced shoe emerge. Rose wasn’t waiting on manners.
She stepped away from the carriage and smiled upon seeing me. I marveled at the courage that enabled her to stand so straight, dressed in her blue cloak, her hair tucked beneath her ribbon hat. “See who came with me, Sean.” She tilted her head toward the other side of the carriage.
“Nice going, Parker,” remarked the police officer standing by the horses. My mouth dropped on seeing Officer Russo, looking wan in his once fitted uniform.
I grabbed his hand and pumped it hard. “Russo, I am so glad to see that you have recovered.” I was about to ask how Russo and Rose had met up. Was Russo one of the officers assigned to watch the Dugans’ house? Rose’s suddenly brittle voice stopped me short.
“Patrick,” she said accusingly. Her face was pale, but her eyes were steady as she stared at her husband as he stopped in mid-step on the bridge. He was flanked by the mayor and Buchanan. Dugan stared at her as if he were seeing a ghost.
“My dear,” Dugan stammered. “You were ill in bed when I left the house. Martha told me this morning that you had a fever. You shouldn’t be out in this air.” His face was flushed. He pulled from Buchanan’s grasp to approach her.
“Don’t come near me,” Rose commanded. She was trembling, and although she wasn’t crying, her eyes were full.
Dugan hesitated for a moment. I noticed that the mayor, for the first time, looked alarmed by the encounter. Buchanan was keeping his sights on Dugan.
“Please, Rose.You must talk to me.What has happened? Why are you acting this way?” Dugan reached out to grasp her hands.
“How could you have done that to me, Patrick? Do you hate me so much?” Rose was backing away from him, shaking her head.
“Get away from her!” I stepped between them, holding my arm out to stop Dugan’s progress. “What kind of scoundrel are you? You tried to kill her, tried to kill your own wife.” I could taste the bile in my mouth.
Dugan’s eyes blazed. “This is defamation, Parker. You don’t know what you are talking about.You will pay dearly for this, for all of this.” Dugan then threw a pleading look at Rose.
“I know what I am talking about Patrick.” Rose had stepped around me to confront Patrick again. “It was I who spent the night in that dark mausoleum, waiting for you, or Peter, or Martha to kill me.”
“Stop this, now!” the mayor thundered. Dugan spun around. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the mayor.
“This is not your business,” he warned.
“It’s my business now, Mr. Dugan,” the mayor shot back. “Scandals will not plague my administration. The typhoid epidemic has done enough damage. Mrs. Dugan,” the mayor said more gently. “I must ask that you and this officer,” he nodded in Russo’s direction, “follow us to City Hall. I want to speak with you after I speak with your husband. Apparently we have much to discuss. All of us.”
Rose looked from the mayor to Dugan, attempting to divine some silent communication. She hesitated for only a moment before replying, “Of course, Mr. Mayor.” She threw Dugan a defiant look.
During this encounter, Russo had sidled up to me. I was glad for his presence. With the exception of Buchanan, Russo was the only other man in city government that I knew I could trust.
“I’m going with you,” I murmured.
Russo nodded. “Why does that not surprise me?” he retorted, a slight smile playing on his face.
City Hall was a dark place, even on the brightest days. I hated the new, gargantuan building, which sprawled over four and a half acres. I hated the shadows of its hallways, hallways that lead to over 650 offices where political bosses or their lackeys were ensconced.
As we ascended the granite staircase, whose steps were wide enough to accommodate ten men walking side by side, it felt medieval. Each corner of City Hall had stair-cases cantilevered from the walls that spiraled up six stories, reminding me of the towers of ancient castles. I could imagine boiling vats of lard poured on to unsuspecting democrats passing through the courtyard.
I listened as their footsteps echoed off the tiles of the second floor. The corridors were cavernous, and the hall windows were scarce. The electric lighting strained to cast out the phantoms, but the glow from each fixture was feeble. I stared at the progression of massive oak doors that stretched before us on both sides of the infinite hallway. I distrusted the business that took place behind every one of them.
We waited outside of the mayor’s office. Buchanan, Dugan, and the police superintendent were inside. When I listened closely, I could hear the rise and fall in the timbre of Dugan’s and Buchanan’s voices. I couldn’t hear the mayor or superintendent. The closed door mesmerized me. Dugan’s presence within those walls tugged at my hands. I paced instead.
Rose and Russo were seated on a long, wooden bench. Russo was sagging. He was obviously still recovering from his battle against typhoid, but I understood his desire to fight, to pull on his police uniform and pursue the men who had tried to kill him.
Rose had loosened her cloak but had kept it about her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed. She watched the gentlemen and ladies passing by us with a resolute expression. She had been quiet since we had left the carriage.
“Rose,” I ventured gently. “This must be a shock for you. I can’t begin to imagine.”
Her eyes were unyielding. I noticed that her hands, balled like a child’s in her lap, were shaking.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “The cold has gone from my body, but I still feel so numb.” She pulled a lace handkerchief from the pocket of her cloak and began twisting it. “I don’t have a word for Patr ick,” she continued. I detected a seething passion lurking in her speech. “I don’t believe a word exists to describe what kind of man he is.”
Many words tempted my tongue, but I remained silent.
“It is not your fault,” Russo interrupted. His brown eyes were soft, and the bags beneath them made him look old.
Rose looked at us both, her eyes suddenly beseeching. “You’ve told me he created this epidemic.Who can I compare him to? How do I begin to understand why he was capable of such an act?”
I sat down beside her and reached for her hand. I couldn’t answer her questions. But I wanted to find words that could salve the hurt. “I don’t know what to say Rose. Only your husband can tell you what made him do the things he did. You won’t find an answer looking in your own heart.”
Rose nodded but continued to stare into her lap. “You both have been very kind. I don’t know where I would be without your friendship,” she replied fervently.
“We’re glad to be here for you,” Russo interjected. He stirred as if to pat Rose’s hand, but he caught my gaze and looked away.
I stood, the action masking the sudden spark of... was it jealousy? I felt proprietary toward Rose. But the feeling quickly disappeared, as I heard the creak of the mayor’s office door.
I turned to see Buchanan looking quite red in the face. The detective’s blue eyes bulged beneath his bushy eyebrows, and the sheen of sweat on his forehead caught the light. I had never seen him so angry. Dugan loomed behind him, a smile of satisfaction on his bruised face. He looked at Rose and the smile vanished.
“Detective Buchanan!” Russo exclaimed, jumping up from the bench. “Is everything all right?” Russo stepped toward Dugan, his hand grabbing for his billy club.
“
What is it?” I asked gravely. The mayor and superintendent were still in the office. Dugan was not wearing handcuffs. He looked almost jubilant when he emerged from the mayor’s office. Until he saw Rose.
“There is nothing that we can do at the moment, gentlemen,” Buchanan said bitterly, whipping around to confront Dugan directly. “I promise you, if anything happens to your wife, or to anyone that I can remotely connect to you, while we interrogate Mr. Brophy ...”
Rose was standing now. One hand clung to the arm of the bench. Her face was white, her green eyes livid. “What are you saying, Detective?” Her voice was hard.
“He’s saying, my dear,” Dugan interrupted, stepping around Buchanan to get close to Rose, “that the mayor has convinced the detective that a terrible mistake has been made. He agrees that Brophy was probably paid by one of my competitors for the filtration contract, Mahoney most likely, to implicate me in this monstrous crime.” Dugan threw a sideways glance at the detective. His black eyes narrowed. “Detective Buchanan has been instructed to question Brophy, that laggard, once he sleeps off his bottle of whiskey.”
“I won’t let you walk away from here,” I warned. I felt the volatile compound of hatred and fury surge through my body again. I grabbed for Dugan’s collar.
“Get away from me, Parker,” Dugan yelled. “You’re a mad man.You can’t blame me for your failures!”
Buchanan wedged his bulk between us. “Parker, don’t do this,” he warned. “For if you do, I might have to join you in beating the hell out of him.” He was gripping me by the arm, staring at me nose to nose. “We might feel better after the pounding, but we’ll lose our last chance to really make him accountable.”
I felt the blood throbbing at my temples, but I knew Buchanan was right. My hands dropped to my side. I felt I would explode.
“How did you explain the mausoleum, Patrick?” Rose asked, without a waver in her voice. “Peter told me that you and Martha had planned the whole thing, that you wanted me to die there, for the typhoid to kill me.”
Dugan’s eyes closed for just a second, and then they shot open with a look of horror. “My dear, Detective Buchanan told the mayor and me about the frightful night you spent in our mausoleum. I swear, on my love for you, that this was all Brophy’s and Martha’s doing.You know how jealous she can be.” Dugan held out his hands, beseeching her trust.
Rose stepped back and turned her face away. “How do you manage, Patrick? How do you manage to kill your family, to try to kill me, to murder hundreds of people, and to wash their blood from your hands as if it were nothing?” She was facing him now. Her voice was severe. “Do you think I’m going to believe you, now, after all that has happened?”
Buchanan, Russo, and I clustered around Rose.
“Leave her be, Dugan. Get out of here,” I threatened. I stood closest to Dugan.
Dugan tensed. His face remained expressionless, although his left eye twitched. “Rose,” he said with calm authority, “come home with me. I will explain everything to you there. It will all make sense.”
“Go home with you?” I scoffed angrily. “Do you think we’re all mad?”
“Then where is she to go? With you, Parker? That’s what you’ve wanted all along isn’t it?”
I felt my face blaze. “Why not with me?” I answered fiercely. “Rose can stay at my house. I will stay at the Water Works until some other arrangement is made. At least she won’t have to fear for her life!”
I felt someone touch my arm. “Thank you, Sean. But I will go with Patrick. I want to hear what he has to say to me,” Rose said, without a trace of irony.
I stared with surprise at the steely look in her eyes. Her jaw lifted toward Patrick in a challenge.
“She will not be going home alone with you, Mr. Dugan,” Buchanan interrupted. “I will have a police officer stationed in front of your home until I am satisfied that this investigation is over, do you understand me?” Buchanan glowered.
“Perfectly well,” Dugan answered, buttoning his Chesterfield. “I’ll appreciate the presence of your fine men until I’m assured that Brophy is safely locked away.”
“I will volunteer for the first watch,” Russo offered, staring hard at Dugan.
“But this is preposterous,” I objected. “How can we allow her to go home with him?”
“Do you wish to be deputized?” Dugan mocked.
Dugan’s scorn reignited my fury. I rushed at Dugan, but Buchanan caught me by the arm. “You must trust me, Mr. Parker. I will not let Dugan harm her,” he promised.
I watched as Rose buttoned her cloak. She didn’t remove her gaze from Dugan’s face. I vowed then that if anything happened to her, I would kill Dugan and gladly pay the consequences.
ROSE
I had played this part before. I had worn one of my most expensive dresses, at Patrick’s behest, to the City Councils’ hearing just two weeks ago. This evening, I wore a violet brocade gown, trimmed with crystal beads and velvet ribbons that Patrick had given me soon after our marriage. Tonight, he pulled it from my wardrobe and told me it would please him if I wore it to the party. I felt nothing as he laid it across my bed, fussing with its pleats. I watched his thin but sinewy hands pluck at the skirt to make it appear full. He glanced at me, a shock of his jet black hair falling across his eyebrow. In the dim light, I couldn’t see the fine capillaries of white that ran through it. I tried to smile back but couldn’t make the muscles in my face comply.
I was waiting for him in the morning room as I pulled at my long white gloves.The party we were to attend was in honor of the mayor. I hadn’t really listened as Patrick explained the importance of our appearance there. Instead, I had focused, as I was now, on the ticking of the porcelain clocks on the mantel. From my armchair vantage, I let my sight wander over Patrick’s various collectibles—his Delft china, his Japanese vases. Soon, I would never see these things again.The thought made me feel better.These things had never been mine, except for the framed daguerreotype of my parents.
I still didn’t know what I was going to do. I only knew that I would leave him. I hadn’t survived that night in the mausoleum to stay in this house. I didn’t lose Nellie, or look on as hundreds of people died from an epidemic that shouldn’t have occurred, to pretend that my husband was an honorable man.Yet, the mayor had allowed Patrick to walk away from his office, despite his obvious connection to the most horrific epidemic the city had seen in decades. Since then, Patrick had been attentive and remorseful toward me for what he believed I thought him culpable. In the lonely hours of the night, I wished I could believe him.
He had sobbed into my lap, as I had sat in this very chair, the evening we came home from City Hall. The mayor had never spoken with me about my night in the mausoleum. I knew that there was no need for him to do so. It was Patrick that the mayor needed to protect. I didn’t know the specifics, but I did know that it had to do with Patrick’s knowledge of the mayor’s politics, and of course, Patrick’s money and power within the Irish contractor community. The mayor’s name was in Patrick’s ledger.
At my knees, Patrick had blamed himself for Martha’s “antics” as he called them. “I should have realized that Martha was getting worse,” he had sobbed, “but she was like a mother to me.” Throughout this scene, I had felt repulsed. It took all of my self-control not to push him away from me. I looked longingly again at the photograph of my parents. I wished they were with me now. They would know what to do. I could have gone home to them. There was less of a disgrace in that.
There was a sharp rap at the door before Patrick opened it with a flourish. He stood in its threshold, obviously confident of the handsome figure he cut. He wore a double-breasted black vest over his starched white shirt. Spats peeked from beneath his black, pleated trousers. His gaze fell on me appraisingly.
“We’ll be the handsomest couple on the dance floor. Mahoney will choke on his champagne, seeing that his plan went awry.”
“What do you mean, went awry?” I couldn’t keep the
bitterness from my voice. “Hundreds of people have died. People we knew. People you should have cared about.” I searched his face for some spark of remorse. “Isn’t that what it was all about, Patrick? To create terror, to create public pressure for the filtration contracts? Isn’t that what you wanted?” My voice snagged on the swell of anger rising in my throat.
Patrick’s eyes were hooded. His hands were resting on his hips. “How many times do we need to go over this, Rose?” he asked. The edge in his voice was back. He had never taken dissention well. “I told you what happened. It’s very simple. Even you should have no trouble understanding the machinations of jealousy and greed.”
I didn’t want to hear it again. I turned away until I felt his hand on my shoulder. He wanted me to pay attention.
“Mahoney knew that he could win the filtration contracts, contracts worth millions of dollars, more than this city has ever spent on public works,” he recited slowly for me, “if he could exclude me from the bidding. And what better way to do that, it’s brilliant really, than hiring my foreman to sabotage the city’s drinking water. Can’t you see. It’s a perfect scheme.” His eyes were blazing. His hand was trembling on my shoulder.
I thought of the maps that I had found in his study, the drawings of the Water Works and the piping, with Xs marked in various areas. If only I had given those maps to Sean. Had there been an X over the location of the sabotaged sewer? I couldn’t remember.
“Should I repeat it in just that same way if I am asked tonight why my husband is the best contractor for the job?” My face was flushed. My whole body was trembling. I did-n’t know how long I could go on feigning the role of his loyal wife. Buchanan may never be given the opportunity to implicate Patrick.
“Don’t talk to me that way, Rose. It’s unlike you to be petulant. It’s unbecoming.”