"That's true. But Emma loves her work."
"More than she loves Adam? Again, why did she agree to marry him? She must know that she's really caught forever if she goes through with it. That she can't just turn round the day after the wedding and say: Whoops, I guess I shouldn't have done that!"
"Emma is rarely impulsive, so I doubt that would be the case."
"Well, what is the case? Frankly, Aunt Glyn, I think Emma's got some brass questioning my sanity! She couldn't find anyone nicer than Adam MacAlistair. He's honest and smart, clean, works hard and makes money—and he's good-looking. He's a peach! Pick of the litter!"
Glynis had to smile. And she found the sequence of Bronwen's priorities not only telling but reassuring. "I agree with the sentiment, Bronwen. But this is something that Emma has to work out for herself."
"And while she's working it out, what are the rest of us supposed to do?" With that, she sprang to her feet, her neck craning in the direction of the bank's tower clock.
"Why, what are you thinking of doing?" As Glynis asked this, she too glanced at the clock, and rose from the bench. "There's something else you haven't told me," she said to her niece. "From where did you and Professor Lowe's balloon depart?"
Bronwen stood fingering the skirt of the green dress, the sun glancing off her hair in bursts of copper light. She gazed first at the towpath, then studied the sky and finally said, "Remember the time I jumped over the mules with Cullen's Morgan?"
"I'm not likely to forget it. You didn't answer me, though."
"Aunt Glyn, I...we left from Cincinnati. In Ohio."
"Cincinnati? Why there?"
"That's where Professor Lowe was meeting... someone. His wife was there, too. His French wife, Leontine. Who's beautiful and sweet-tempered and a former actress and he adores her—in the event you're wondering about that! And as far as your other question ..."
She stopped, while Glynis waited with the unhappy certainty that Bronwen was about to lie to her. And that she herself might be at fault. Was she asking too many questions that really weren't her business? Her niece wasn't a child anymore, though that was often hard to believe. Perhaps even harder to accept.
Bronwen brightened, though, saying, "I have work to do. And you do, too, and while we're waiting on Emma to sort herself out, everybody has something to do— except maybe Vanessa Usher. You know, Aunt Glyn, if The Lady Vanessa were smart, she'd marry Adam!"
Again Glynis was forced to smile. What else could she do?
When they reached the turn from Fall Street that would bring them to the fire station, and to Cullen's office in the rear of the building, Glynis stopped at the corner and said, "Bronwen, we shouldn't mention Emma's situation to anyone else, all right?"
"Yes. I wouldn't have told anyone but you. Aunt Glyn, I need to see Professor Lowe soon, but would you mind if first I meet Mrs. Jager?"
"No, I don't mind, not if Cullen and Mrs. Jager don't. But I'm curious— why do you want to meet her."
Bronwen shrugged, and then shot her aunt a sideways glance, eyes glittering. "Because I'm curious," she said. "It must run in the family."
9
-On Jan. 6, 1832, local [Seneca County] newspapers carried the following ad: John Shay of Fayette offers 6 cents reward for runaway indentured girl named Catherine Sherman.
-On Nov. 23, 1832: the same paper wrote: Jeremiah Stuck offers $5 for strayed steer.
—from Seneca County History, edited by Betty Auten.
When Glynis and Bronwen reached the constable's office the door stood partly open, and Glynis heard not only Cullen's voice but, to her surprise, also that of Adam MacAlistair. Evidently Bronwen recognized Adam's voice, too, as she gave Glynis a look laden with guilt. With a shake of her head, Glynis stepped into the familiar room, her niece following her.
Adam had been standing near the door, and after a perfunctory greeting, he said to them, with something less than his customary zest, "I should be on my way now." He turned back to Cullen, saying, "You understand my situation, then?"
"Yes, sure. But can you persuade Jeremiah Merrycoyf to come out of his so-called retirement?"
"I think so. He can be obstinate, but the need to rescue a damsel in distress is something his conscience probably won't let him avoid. Or, so I trust. But it's impossible for me, for obvious reasons, to take on this case right now. Especially since it could be a complicated one."
"And a nasty one," Cullen added.
"That, too."
Adam started to step outside, but then, as if reluctant to leave, he turned and remained standing in the doorway. The late morning sun brightened his sleek, brown cap of hair, but did not erase the smudges under his ordinarily alert, hazel eyes. Glynis had already noticed that his face looked paler than usual. Clearly Emma was not the only one to be losing sleep.
"Miss Tryon," he said to Glynis. "Miss Tryon, I hope you believe that I will do everything, everything, within my power to assure Emma's future happiness. And I would appreciate hearing you say so."
Glynis felt a poke between her shoulder blades and heard the swish of Bronwen's skirt. She also saw, from the corner of her eye, Cullen's thoroughly bewildered expression. Whereas she was caught off guard by Adam's request, she supposed she shouldn't have been; while another man would never have broached the topic so openly, certainly not in the presence of others, Adam was not just another man. His reason for it, of course, must be the quarrel with Emma. And, knowing Adam as she did, he would want to know where she stood—and the devil take conventional decorum. No wonder Bronwen liked him. But then, so did she.
"Adam," she said, carefully, "you and I have been acquainted for some time now—for even a longer time than you have known Emma—and so I have never for one minute doubted your intentions toward her."
His responding smile came with its usual reflection of self-confidence and good humor. "Thank you—Aunt Glynis," he said with a chuckle, and even before Bronwen's startled laugh, he had turned and was gone.
"The lad is bold, Aunt Glynis," said Cullen, grinning. "But what was that all about? Kind of late in the day to be assuring you of his good intentions, isn't it?"
"Assurances of good intentions are always welcome," Glynis answered.
"But Aunt Glyn," Bronwen began, "you didn't exactly say—"
"Tell me, Cullen," said Glynis, cutting off her niece, whose moments of insight did not always need to be aired. "What were you and Adam saying about Jeremiah? Not that anyone really believes he's retired."
"No, but he likes to think we believe it." Cullen rounded his desk to wave Glynis and Bronwen into straight chairs and close the door before he answered. "I thought I'd better discuss the Brants' missing servant girl with a lawyer, mainly because you were told that she's a mute. If the girl is accused of a crime, she'll need to be represented. We don't know yet that she's a murderess, and I don't want her taken advantage of when she's found. If she's found."
"Has anyone come forward yet with some idea of where she might have gone?" Glynis asked.
Cullen shook his head. "But I've just wired the Seneca County Sheriff's Office with a description of her. The one we got from the manservant Clements at the Brant house last night. Somehow it got into this morning's newspaper."
"The Courier didn't mention that she was mute, though, Cullen. Why was that, do you suppose?"
"Maybe whoever wrote the story wasn't told. I don't know where the newspaper's information came from. Do I ever know?"
"I think it might be important."
"Why?" This came from both Cullen and Bronwen.
"Because I wonder if this girl has always been mute. Something Clements said last night about her being cursed...." Glynis saw their dubious stares and felt slightly foolish. "It's probably not crucial at this point."
"I'm waiting to organize a search party," said Cullen, "until after I've talked to this Elise Jager you told me about. I left a message for her at Carr's Hotel earlier this morning—desk clerk there said she didn't respond to a knock on
her door, so she must not have been up yet. But she should have received it by now. I assume she wants this Tamar found as much as we do. If, as she told you, she's looking for a girl she claims is her daughter."
"The way you phrased that, Cullen, sounded as if you're doubtful."
"Do you have a question about Mrs. Jager?" asked Bronwen. "About her being the girl's mother, I mean?"
"Seems strange to me," Cullen answered, "that she told you, Glynis, she didn't know where to look for the girl. And she didn't make much of an effort to find me yesterday. I was available, at least until the....The Descent!"
Bronwen, whose eyes had been fixed on Cullen's desk clock, tore her gaze away long enough to grin at him.
"I agree," Glynis said, "I think it's strange, too, although the woman was very reserved. I regret now that I didn't try harder to gain her confidence. But at the time," Glynis added with a glance at her niece, "I was too concerned with Bronwen's whereabouts."
Bronwen murmured, "Sorry," but didn't look overly so.
"It does occur to me," Glynis said, "that we've jumped to a conclusion here. Because the surname Jager is the same, we're assuming the missing servant girl is the one Mrs. Jager is searching for. But the name isn't particularly unusual."
"How many people in this town," Cullen asked with skepticism, "do you know named Jager?"
"None," Glynis said, "but it's a German name and we have a sizable German population here. Just because I don't know any—"
She left off at a firm knock on the office door. Bronwen, at a nod from Cullen, rose to answer it, but the door opened from without, and the flaxen-haired Elise Jager stepped into the office. Glynis, with less concern now as compared to the day before, thought how striking the woman looked. Perhaps it was in part due to her height, because her nose and jaw were too prominent, her blue eyes too small, to call her beautiful, or even pretty. But she definitely was not commonplace.
"Are you Constable Stuart?" she said to Cullen. Her face betrayed little anxiety, Glynis noted. Could the woman have failed to hear the uproar in town? Perhaps, if she knew no one and had not seen a newspaper.
When Cullen nodded and stood up, she said brusquely, "I'm Elise Jager. I understand you wish to see me."
Glynis rose to reintroduce herself. Bronwen also stood, abandoning her watch on the clock to give Mrs. Jager what Glynis thought was exceptional scrutiny. She wondered again why her niece was so curious about this woman.
"Thank you for coming, Mrs. Jager," said Cullen. "If you'll have a chair, I need to ask you some questions. I understand from Miss Tryon that you're here in Seneca Falls to look for your daughter?"
"Yes." Elise Jager went to the straight chair and lowered herself into it, her movements uncommonly graceful, something else about her that Glynis had not noticed the day before.
"And you're from the Syracuse area?'' Cullen asked.
"Yes."
Glynis had reseated herself, and Bronwen, who remained standing behind her, muttered under her breath, "She isn't going to make this simple, is she?"
Glynis, hoping that Elise Jager hadn't heard, shifted on the chair to direct a dark look at her niece. But Bronwen's attention was again on the clock. This excessive concern with the time not only mystified Glynis, but had begun to make her uneasy as to what Bronwen might be brewing now. At one point Glynis had speculated that it could have to do with her Treasury job—which would explain the furtiveness—but had discarded that notion as stretching imagination too far. Bronwen was here in town for her cousin's wedding. Treasury could hardly be interested in that.
Cullen, if surprised by Mrs. Jager's apparent ignorance of the town's current events, and the shortness of her responses, did not give indication of it, but looked at the woman with a level gaze. "What is your daughter's name?"
"Her name? Why, it's Jager, of course. Tamar Jager."
And that took care of that question, thought Glynis. She found it more than curious, however, that the daughter of this elegantly dressed woman worked as a servant. As she studied the guarded Mrs. Jager, she wondered how she would react when informed of her daughter's possible connection to murder.
Glynis didn't have long to wait. Cullen, leaning forward in his desk chair, at once proceeded to tell Mrs. Jager that her daughter had disappeared at or about the time her employer, one wealthy and well-respected Roland Brant, had been stabbed. Then, while the woman simply stared at him blank-faced, he sat back in his desk chair. And waited, as did they all.
Glynis began to think Elise Jager had not fully understood Cullen, because her reaction seemed so empty of emotion. But her hands in black kid gloves gave her away; they were tightly clasped in her lap, the soft leather stretching like a second skin over her fingers.
Bronwen, with a last quick glance at the clock, moved toward the door, saying, "I have to leave now. I hope you find your daughter, Mrs. Jager."
She opened the door but then she slowly turned back and said to the woman, in an offhand manner that Glynis knew was contrived, "Oh, by the way, is Tamar's father here in Seneca Falls? He would, I assume, be Mr. Jager?"
Elise Jager was obviously not prepared for the question, as her mask of indifference dropped, her face bearing a confused array of expressions before it settled into one of dislike. Glynis could hardly blame her.
Bronwen, though, did not wait for an answer. Before the silence that followed could be broken, she was out the door.
"Excuse me," Glynis said, and quickly got up to follow her niece.
"Just what was that about?" she demanded, catching Bronwen as she started for Fall Street.
Bronwen fidgeted, rocking on her feet as if preparing to run. "I'm going to be late—"
"Late for what?"
"I can't stay any longer! But that woman should be made to answer my question, Aunt Glyn, because something's wrong back there," she said, tossing her head in the direction of Cullen's office. Then she sidled away from Glynis, saying, "I'm sorry, but I have to go. And don't worry about me!"
Then, picking up the skirt of the green dress, she turned and darted off like a dragonfly.
Glynis stood watching her once again with a mixture of exasperation and concern. Bronwen was up to no good, she told herself as she walked back around the firehouse. And what exactly could she do about it? Again, as usual, nothing. She did ponder, briefly, the possibility that her sister Gwen, instead of birthing Bronwen, had found her one day under a toadstool.
When she went back inside the office, murmuring an apology for her abrupt departure, Cullen eyed her with curiosity. Mrs. Jager simply eyed her. As if Glynis, like her niece, should be viewed with extreme caution.
"Mrs. Jager has just told me," Cullen said to Glynis, "that her daughter was not employed by the Brant family."
Glynis must have looked as confused as she felt, because he explained, "It seems that Tamar was indentured to them."
"Indentured?" Glynis echoed. For a fleeting second she wished Bronwen was there to blurt: Why?
"Can you tell me when she was first indentured?" Cullen asked the woman, which to Glynis's mind began a tortuous, roundabout route to get where he wanted to go, although he must have earlier determined that this would be the best way, perhaps the only way, of reaching this woman.
"Several years ago," answered Elise Jager.
When nothing more was forthcoming, Cullen said, "Would you please be more specific? We need as much information about your daughter as possible."
"I don't understand what difference it could make," she said, drawing herself up on the chair. "Frankly, Constable Stuart, I find these questions from you and your acquaintances extremely intrusive. My only purpose in being here is to find my daughter."
Glynis saw the instant that Cullen's mind, and hence his tactic, changed. His eyes narrowed and he sat forward to say in a clipped voice, "I'll also be frank, Mrs. Jager. Your response to my inquiries is unsatisfactory. Let me make things plain for you. Miss Tryon has been of invaluable assistance to me in the past. Plus, I tho
ught you might be more comfortable with another woman present. And while her niece Miss Llyr may not always proceed in the most tactful fashion, she is employed as a United States Treasury agent. Which means she is trained to be, as you put it, 'intrusive.'"
Elise Jager's face had begun to blanch. And Glynis, for the life of her, couldn't see what bearing Bronwen's occupation had on any of this.
"Now whether or not you find my questions intrusive, Mrs Jager, is of no concern to me," Cullen continued, "because your daughter has become, for the time being, a principal suspect in a murder investigation.
Elise Jager's hands unclasped and she gripped the seat of her chair. "That's absurd!" she gasped.
"All right," said Cullen, sitting back, "then suppose you tell me why it's absurd."
"Tamar wouldn't harm anyone! Ever!"
The woman's voice carried passion and conviction, and perhaps, Glynis thought, her wall of reserve had been breached.
"Go on," Cullen said.
"Why would you think she's committed some terrible crime? She's just a child!"
"A child?" Cullen asked. "How old is she?"
"She'll be seventeen next month."
Cullen's brows lifted slightly at this, but Glynis understood: to many a mother almost any age would still make her daughter "just a child." And now that Elise Jager's facade of indifference had cracked, Glynis had the sense—the same one she'd had when first meeting the woman the day before—that she seemed somehow familiar. But Glynis wouldn't interrupt to ask, now that Cullen had finally gotten through.
"You told me your daughter had been indentured several years ago," Cullen said. "What exactly is 'several'?"
"Two. Two years."
"So she was fourteen, fifteen at the time?"
Elise Jager nodded. Glynis, seated in a chair beside her, looked at the woman's strong features and saw eyes made softer by unshed tears.
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