“There was no cause for you to insist on dispersing the crowd. If I wasn’t inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt I’d be forced to think you did not want women to have a public forum for progress.” Miss Proulx’s hands had crept onto her hips and her words pelted out of her like rock salt from a shotgun. Yancey felt like a crow in a cornfield.
“Protecting the citizenry is part of my job. I will rely on my own judgment as to how best to perform that duty,” Yancey said. He was irritated to note he felt the unwelcome familiar heat at the back of his neck he generally experienced when interacting with Miss Proulx.
“But that’s exactly why we are here. Without the right to vote we cannot truly be considered citizens.”
“Citizens or not, I doubt those pelted with spoilt produce were unhappy with my decision to clear the amphitheater.”
“No one was hurt.”
“But they would have been if we hadn’t insisted on disassembly. Rocks would have been flying through the air next. The meeting had become passionately overheated.” Yancey felt he could be speaking for himself as much as for those involved more directly in the meeting. There was just something about Miss Proulx that set his nerves jangling. Not for the first time, he wished her far from his presence so he could better concentrate on the matters at hand. Before he could extract himself from her absorbing company she spoke again.
“I would have thought an experienced police officer such as yourself would not have been so easily rattled. It was just a handful of wizened apples and an onion or two,” Miss Proulx said. Yancey could hardly believe what he was hearing. Of all the unreasonable attitudes.
“Have you ever witnessed the unbridled power of a mob?” Yancey asked.
“Would it surprise you to hear I have been in the very thick of riots on more than one occasion?” Miss Proulx tipped her head back to better look him in the eye. Upon a closer inspection of her face he spotted a streak of what looked like strawberry pulp marring the smooth complexion of her right cheek.
“Miss Proulx, it would not surprise me in the least to hear that not only were you in the very heart of many a mob but that you were, in fact, the cause of every one of them.”
“I see we understand each other completely.” With that, Miss Proulx turned her back and flounced away.
“Miss Proulx is a remarkable young woman.” Yancey turned to see Thomas Lydale standing nearby. “And while I am in accord with her opinions concerning the vote for women, I can’t agree with her about breaking up the assembly.” Thomas patted the front of his jacket and leaned in, lowering his voice. “From what I caught on film, things were getting ugly, fast.”
“Trying out a new detective camera?” Warren asked. Thomas owned a photographic studio on Old Orchard Street, across from the police station, where he spent most days paying the bills by taking souvenir photographs of rich socialites and their families. But his real passion was candid shots of ordinary people going about their normal lives. He claimed people behaved differently as soon as they knew they were being photographed, or even if they knew a camera was in the area. He used a variety of hidden cameras to get the most natural results.
“I am indeed. I ordered this one from a Sears and Roebuck catalogue. It came in the post a couple of days ago.”
“And you thought this rally was a good place to test it out?” Yancey looked around at the overturned benches and a cluster of flies settling on a bruised pear.
“Someday, when women have finally gotten the right to vote events like this rally will be historically significant. I may be the only one capturing these exciting moments the way they really unfolded.”
“Exciting is one way to describe it. I know a lot of men feel angered by the mere suggestion of women voting, but that man in the front row sounded more like it was personal.”
“That’s because it was.” Thomas nodded for emphasis. “He was engaged to be married to Sophronia at one time.”
“That would explain the vehemence. Do you happen to know who was responsible for ending the engagement?”
“My understanding is that he did but I believe he would say that she forced him to do so,” Thomas said. “Sophronia became a supporter of suffrage after he had proposed marriage. Nelson Plaisted had political aspirations even then and a wife with suffrage leanings would have proved too much of a liability.” Thomas shook his head. “It’s one of life’s cruelties that a man like that captured the favor of two lovely ladies while neither you nor I have a sweetheart between us.”
“Speak for yourself, man. I have a great deal more female society than I prefer at present.” Yancey’s glance moved toward the exit, where Miss Proulx was engaging in a lively conversation with his younger sister, Lucy. Miss Proulx’s dark head leaned toward Lucy’s fairer one and both women were gesturing animatedly in his direction. He hardly dared to think what sort of mischief the two of them were concocting. He dragged his thoughts back to the matter at hand. “How do you know so much about Miss Foster Eldridge’s private life?”
“Quite a number of years ago, I worked up in Portland for her at a newspaper that she and a partner founded.”
Yancey was intrigued. He didn’t know Thomas all that well but every new piece of information he shared about his past revealed another interesting facet to his life. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of a pang when he considered how impressed his sister and Miss Proulx would be by a man who so forthrightly admitted to working for a woman. “Was it a suffrage newspaper?” he asked.
“No. It was temperance rag.”
“I wouldn’t have taken you for a temperance man.” Yancey had mixed feelings about the subject of alcohol. He’d been to enough domestic disturbances to know overindulgence in strong drink caused a lot of misery. But no good came of driving the liquor trade underground, either. Those poor saps who wanted it would find a way to get it no matter what the hurdles in their path. It likely would just drive their already poor families to the brink of destitution while lining the pockets of the suppliers.
Yancey hadn’t any use for the laws himself and usually turned a blind eye on any harmless tippling. In his opinion enforcement of prohibition laws were a waste of police time and public resources. The community was best served by dealing with violent men and hardened criminals. He would have guessed Thomas would have agreed.
“I didn’t say I supported the idea, just that I worked for the paper. I was just seventeen at the time and I had a far-fetched notion of the nobility of journalism.” Thomas hoisted both of his bony shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “It seems foolish now but back then I would have done anything to work for a newspaper and, in fact, I basically did.”
“What sort of anything?”
“I took the photographs, wrote some of the articles under a female pen name, and served as a general dogsbody.”
“When was this?”
“About a dozen years ago, more or less.” Thomas’s usually sunny face clouded over. “It was a real nice job while it lasted. But then the paper folded and I was out of a job. It wasn’t a good time to look for a new one, either.” Thomas was right about that. The Long Depression had sent people from all walks of life onto the breadlines. A man who had worked for a suffrage newspaper would not have had an easy time competing for what little work could be found.
“Did the paper go under because of money troubles?” Yancey asked.
“No, it was because of the broken engagement between Sophronia and Nelson Plaisted.” Thomas fiddled with his vest as though the memories were hard to revisit. “Nelson saw a greater political advantage in marrying a girl with better social connections. Especially one whose father owned a newspaper,” Thomas said. “Nelson proposed to Sophronia’s business partner and before they even set a date they shut down the paper.”
“Was that his wife that was with him? Was she the former business partner?”
“That’s her—Caroline
Plaisted.”
“It’s a wonder Miss Foster Eldridge wasn’t the one doing the shouting.”
Thomas patted his vest again. “You were wise to clear the amphitheater. Given their history, it will be a wonder if matters don’t escalate to violence despite your best efforts.”
Chapter Three
Generally, we did not serve refreshments in the ladies’ writing room but Honoria had decided an exception could be made. When I offered to collect the tray from the kitchen myself, my aunt gave me an indulgent smile and said she’d be waiting to introduce me. The tray held a pot of tea and an assortment of Mrs. Doyle’s very best baked goods as well as a pot of strawberry jam and another of salted butter.
Everything looked as delicious as ever but strangely, I found I had no appetite. I had never met anyone famous before, and all Lucy’s talk of how important Miss Foster Eldridge was caused me to lose my nerve. I crept to the side of the door and was just about to peek my head around the doorjamb when the floorboard below my foot let out a groan. I pulled back and held my breath.
“Do show yourself, whoever you are,” a rich voice warmed by a trace of good humor called out. Embarrassed, I took myself in hand and stepped through the doorway.
The ladies’ writing room was one of my favorite rooms in the hotel. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows and bathed the dusty rose carpet and polished walnut furniture. Cut glass shades on the lamps provided a bit of sparkle, and every comfort for attending to one’s correspondence sat easily at hand. A matched brass set of blotter and inkwell perched on the writing desk tucked into the turret window at the end of the room.
I didn’t need to look into the room to remember the details of the space. They had delighted me so much I could recall them all in my sleep. Even after residing at the hotel for some weeks the pleasure of the place and the luxury of the furnishings had not worn off. I crossed to the settee at the far end of the room and placed the heavy tray on the low table in front of it. Honoria sat next to a slight, fair woman dressed all in black.
“Sophronia, allow me to present my niece, Ruby Proulx.” Honoria raised a plump hand toward me and smiled reassuringly.
“Hello, Ruby.” She glanced up and down at me as I stood there like a private under the scrutiny of a commanding officer. “Your aunt told me you were a lovely young woman and she did not exaggerate.”
I never knew how to take a compliment on my appearance. For one thing, I was not used to them. My life had not provided me with many opportunities to fuss over my looks. Traveling with my father in a medicine show was hardly the sort of environment needed to school oneself in the finer art of hairdressing or fashionable clothing. I hadn’t even had a mirror large enough to see my entire figure until I arrived at the hotel. My knowledge of my appearance came from a sliver of shaving mirror my father had kept amongst his meager possessions.
According to Millie, a maid at the hotel who had helped me to pick out appropriate clothing and to dress my hair, my head of thick, brown curls was worthy of a bit of pride. She fussed over it and arranged it and tucked combs into it in just the right places to keep it piled upon my head. I would not have managed the first week or so at the hotel without her. She had provided guidance at every turn. But even with her encouragement I still found comments like Sophronia’s disconcerting. I found it easiest to change the subject before I became flustered.
“Shall I pour some tea?” I asked, gesturing to the teapot. I glanced at Honoria, and she nodded. “For you, Miss Foster Eldridge?”
“Only if you consent to join us,” she said. “And please do call me Sophronia. I dislike formality in all its guises.”
“It would be my pleasure.” I lifted the pot and poured out three steaming cups. Sophronia seated herself on the settee and patted the place next to her. “Sit. Tell me about yourself.”
“There isn’t a great deal to tell, I’m afraid.” I lowered myself into a delicate armchair and offered her the sugar bowl.
“It has been my experience that every woman has a story to tell.” Sophronia dropped four lumps of sugar into her teacup and stirred gently. “I have no reason to believe you should be the exception to the rule.”
“What sorts of things do you want to know?”
“Honoria tells me you are a gifted medium whose talents are the backbone of the hotel’s success this season,” Sophronia said, smiling at my aunt.
“Honoria is more kind to me than I deserve,” I said. It wasn’t just a polite bit of conversational deflection. It was the truth.
Honoria had welcomed me with open arms and an open heart when I appeared without warning and with nowhere else to turn. She had saved a space for me in what I felt was the loveliest room in the hotel ever since she had received a message in a dream that my mother would never have need of an earthly home again. Honoria encouraged my interests, solicited my opinion, and defended my reputation at the risk of her own. I had done little but use a lifetime of experience conning true believers to earn my keep or her esteem.
The only real claim I could make of a metaphysical gift was my connection to a voice I heard in my left ear advising me from time to time. It had aided me all my life with whispered suggestions and warnings. Before arriving in Old Orchard the voice spoke to me sporadically and unbidden but now it came frequently and I was able to ask its advice. Still, even with that gift to offer, I felt unworthy of Honoria’s generosity and was determined to do all I could to live up to her expectations of me.
“She also mentions that you are quite a modern sort of young lady.”
“I like to think I am,” I said, looking to Honoria for a clue as to how best to answer. Honoria gave me a tiny nod I took to be encouragement to speak my mind. “I believe a modern woman’s obligation is to pursue whichever interests her own heart indicates. I have no particular interest in the attentions of men or the dictates of fashion but I do believe in the right of others to enjoy them if they so choose,” I said, sitting as tall as I could manage, a bright smile fixed on my face.
I had learned over the years almost anything could be uttered aloud so long as it was said with a smile. I hoped this would be the case with Sophronia. It wouldn’t do to offend the guest most responsible for our current financial state.
“So you aren’t the sort of girl who chases after young men and thinks of nothing besides the latest fashions?” Sophronia asked.
“I am far more interested in whizzing about Old Orchard on my bicycle with my friend Lucy,” I said. “She’s spoken of nothing but your arrival for weeks.” Lucy’s enthusiasm for Sophronia’s impending arrival had been the only thing on her mind for at least two weeks. While I felt disloyal even thinking it, truth be told, conversations with her had become ever so slightly tedious.
“Is your friend Lucy a suffrage supporter, too?”
“Lucy is a committed suffragist. She was at the rally today and was terribly disappointed not to make your acquaintance.” Lucy had hoped to meet her after the rally but with the unwarranted haste with which her brother had cleared the amphitheater she had not had the opportunity.
“Is that so?” Sophronia turned to Honoria. “Do you know this Lucy, too?”
“I do. She’s the daughter of my oldest friend,” Honoria said. “And at the risk of sounding biased I would say she is a passionate and capable young woman with a tremendous zest for life.”
“Lucy sounds like exactly the sort of young woman I’ve been hoping to meet,” Sophronia said. “Ruby, if you will be in contact with her soon, would you make an offer to her on my behalf?”
“I have a picnic planned with Lucy this afternoon. Would that be soon enough?”
“Absolutely.”
“What is the message?”
“Please tell Lucy I am in need of a secretary of sorts. I always find an energetic local woman to take under my wing in every town I visit. That way each town I visit has at least one person exp
erienced at organizing for the cause after I leave. It sounds like Lucy is just the person to fill that role in Old Orchard.” Sophronia looked at Honoria and then back at me. “Unless one of you would rather fill the position?” Honoria and I looked at each other.
“I am flattered that you would extend such an invitation to us but as for myself my obligations here at the hotel must be my first priority. Ruby may, however, feel differently.” Both women turned their attention on me.
“I would be happy to show support in whichever way that I can. But my first obligation is to my aunt and to my duties as the hotel medium. Lucy has the time to devote to the cause and she has the passion. Besides, if you are looking for someone with secretarial skills Lucy knows how to use a typewriter.” The clock on the mantelpiece chimed noon and I placed my cup on the table before me. If I hurried I’d have just enough time to prepare for my outing.
“She sounds like the perfect choice. I look forward to meeting her.”
“Why don’t you invite her for dinner here this evening and the two of them could get acquainted? I am sure Lucy will be delighted to accept your proposal. Wouldn’t you agree, Ruby?”
“I believe there is nothing in the world Lucy would like more.” I stood to take my leave. “Except the vote.”
Chapter Four
I stared with misgivings into the glass of my vanity table. While I had reproached Officer Yancey for overreacting to the outburst at the rally, it appeared Honoria’s umbrella had not been as protective as I had believed. I was mortified by the truth the mirror revealed and felt my cheeks flush as I realized how I must have looked to him when I questioned his motives for dispersing the assembly. Remnants of some sort of juice clung to my cheek, and my hair had mostly eluded the pins struggling to hold it in place. I could not possibly leave the hotel in such a state, especially not considering the plans Lucy and I had made.
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