Whispers of Warning

by Jessica Estevao

  A quiet knock landed on the door. I opened it to find Millie framed in the doorway, holding a steaming pitcher of water. As I stepped aside for her to enter I detected the faint smell of lavender billowing from the vessel.

  “Millie, you needn’t have bothered with me. I’m sure you are run off your feet with all the guests.”

  “Mrs. Doyle sent me. She heard about the troubles at the rally and was sure you would have been right in the center of whatever mischief was going on.” Millie poured the hot water into the bowl on the washstand. “It appears she was right.” Millie handed me a washcloth and pointed at my cheek. She motioned for me to turn around and then busied herself with the hooks of my dress. If it hadn’t been for the willing ministrations of Millie, the Belden’s best housemaid, I would not have made it through my first appearance in the hotel’s dining room anywhere near properly attired, let alone all those in the weeks that followed. I was happier than I could express to have her help as I worked up the courage to don the outfit I promised Lucy I would wear for our outing.

  “I can hardly be faulted for Honoria’s decision to reserve seats near the stage,” I said, slipping the plum-colored gown from my shoulders. “At least she advised me to wear this rather than the white ensemble I had planned. I doubt it would have survived the fray.”

  “Was it as bad as people are saying?” Millie asked as I stepped behind the dressing screen and gave myself a thorough scrubbing. “All the guests are talking about it.”

  “I suppose that depends on what they are saying.” I rose up on tiptoe to look at Millie over the top of the silk screen.

  “I heard the police dragged off dozens of women who were using language that would blister a pirate’s throat.” Millie’s eyes glowed with excitement. “The man delivering ice told me he heard some of them were foaming at the mouth.”

  I stepped out from behind the screen, all traces of the fray removed. “All reports are exaggerated. No one was arrested. Things were just a bit heated, that’s all.”

  “My parents will be glad to hear that,” Millie said. “My father is none too happy about me working here with Miss Foster Eldridge as a guest. He’s threatening to send me back to the mills instead.”

  The idea of Millie leaving the Belden for the mills in Biddeford was unthinkable. Not only because we had become friends, but she had left the mills to go into service because of her respiratory troubles. Her breathing had improved a bit since then but it was still common to find her gasping and wheezing when the weather got too hot or the air was filled with pollen. I hated to think guests lodged at the Belden might have anything to do with her health being placed at risk.

  “Do you think he really will do that?”

  “I can’t rightly say. He won’t allow any talk of suffrage in the house and I do my best to make my job sound like I have very little to do with the guests. Especially outspoken women like Miss Foster Eldridge. Millie glanced at the wardrobe and then back at me. “Speaking of outspoken women, let me retrieve the outfit you promised Miss Yancey you would wear today.” I suddenly worried what her father would say to her if he knew about the getup Millie was about to help me into.

  It had been only a few weeks since I had convinced myself to try wearing a modern bathing costume. It had been a difficult thing to leave the changing room at the bathhouse in a garment that had so completely exposed the shape of my calves. Somehow, I had managed to make my way out from behind the curtain and down onto the beach. I had even found it possible to enjoy myself. In truth, I had gone back to the beach so often Honoria determined it would be more cost efficient if I purchased a bathing costume of my own rather than renting one from the bathhouse. I told myself that a cycling outfit was not so different than that bathing suit. After all, it was too late to change my mind.

  “I hung it in the wardrobe yesterday as soon as I picked it up from her mother.” Millie skipped to the tall, carved wardrobe and turned the handle. She slid silk, satin, and fine lawn gowns out of the way until she arrived at the item she sought. With a small gasp she lifted a brass hanger from the far side of the clothes bar and pulled the outfit close for a thorough look.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it up so close,” she said as she laid the ensemble, piece by piece, upon the high bed. “You’re sure you are going to put it on?”

  “Of course I’m sure,” I said with considerably more confidence than I actually felt. “I promised Lucy and I certainly wouldn’t have wasted Orazelia’s time in making it if I thought I would lose my courage.” Millie silently handed me a black-and-white-striped shirtwaist. I pulled it on and fastened the row of gleaming pearl buttons. Next came the truly worrisome part of the ensemble. Millie bit her lip as she passed me the knickerbockers. I had argued for a more traditional-looking divided skirt with a front flap to hide the split. Lucy, however, had insisted the flap was not only unnecessary but that it was cowardly as well, and thus unworthy of us and women everywhere. I gave in to her insistent enthusiasm and now I was about to face the world in a garment many would view as scandalous.

  “You’d better hurry, then or you will be late,” Millie said. I glanced at the clock, and spurred on by urgency I stepped into the legs of the short trousers and pulled them up over my hips. I looked down, then over at Millie for encouragement. “I think they button at the side to keep them up.” She stepped to my side and gave me a hand. I tried to convince myself I was at my ease as I pulled on the matching jacket. I reached for the buttonhook on my vanity and used it to fasten my boots. Gathering my courage in both hands I stepped in front of the wardrobe mirror and tried to decide what I thought of what I was seeing.

  “It isn’t so very different than a skirt and shirtwaist ensemble. Is it?” I asked. Millie cocked her head to one side and looked me up and down. My calves, covered only in thin stockings, felt mortifyingly exposed. The knickerbockers looked so much like a young boy’s pair of short pants that I felt like I couldn’t possibly be seeing myself in the mirror.

  “Put these on and then I’ll decide,” she said. I took the cloth bicycle leggings from her hands and bent to tug them on. They slid over my boot and stockings and met the bottom of the knickerbockers just below my knees. I fastened the legging strap across the underside of my boot, then stood and gave a little twirl. How strange it was to not to feel a heavy skirt swishing around me as I spun. I felt strangely unfettered. I took a wide step forward and startled myself with the view of my own leg. I stopped and looked at Millie.

  “It is very daring. I don’t think I am brave enough to wear it,” she said.

  “Are you brave enough to be the one who helped me add the hat?” I asked.

  “Sit yourself down and I’ll see what I can do.” Millie pointed at the vanity stool and we settled into the routine I had come to value over the last weeks. Before I arrived at the Belden I had never had anyone to help me to dress and Millie had never before been a helper. Well, except for assisting her older sisters in preparing for dances and such. Between the two of us we managed to navigate the bewildering world of proper ladies’ attire with remarkably few rent seams or lost buttons.

  But where Millie really added value was as a hairdresser. I had managed my own wavy locks as best I could while traveling with the medicine show. Father had coerced a string of different ladies to help keep my easily tangled mane smooth and presentable when I was too small to do so myself. Most of the ladies were far more interested in finishing the job quickly than with doing it well or even doing it gently. Every so often, one of the women had taken a shine to my father and proceeded to take her time with my hair in an effort to show him her maternal instincts. They soon learned my father’s interest in women had nothing whatsoever to do with how they treated me.

  As soon as I could, I convinced Father I was capable of managing on my own. He was more than happy to allow it as every penny he needn’t have spent on me he could use on dubious business ventures or even less
wholesome libations.

  Millie’s ministrations with a brush were an entirely different experience. Somehow she managed to stroke a shine into my unruly hair and to do so without inflicting pain. She patiently and artistically coaxed braids and ringlets into masterpieces I could never have imagined.

  What had once been the bane of my existence had become a crowning glory. I felt a shiver of expectant excitement as I pondered what she might do with the small cycling cap. She placed it upon my head for a moment before whisking it away and concentrating her attention on the hairstyle that would support it.

  She rolled and tucked the long strands into a tight, sleek foundation for the cap to sit upon. By the time she slid the last hairpin in place the hat felt like a part of my head.

  “There. That ought to stay on no matter how much swooping around you get up to.” Millie gave the back of my head a final pat and I got to my feet.

  “It feels very stable. Thank you so much.” I tried to smile but then I remembered the picnic hamper. “Would you be willing to do me another small favor?”

  “What do you need?” Millie laid the brush down on the vanity next to the matching nail buffer and hand mirror.

  “Would you collect the lunch basket from the kitchen? I don’t think I can face Mrs. Doyle.”

  Chapter Five

  No matter how many times I had ridden, the feeling of freedom I had whilst on a bicycle was equally exhilarating every time. Lucy had spent the last few weeks introducing me to the delights of cycling and I was overjoyed to realize I had become a confident rider. There was an independence and a power to riding that was quite unlike anything I had ever before experienced. But today, clad in my new cycling outfit, I found I was enjoying the experience even more.

  Despite my initial qualms and the curious looks I had attracted from more than a few passersby I was quickly becoming enamored of the freedom knickerbockers provided. I had never realized how many of my thoughts turned to modesty and the unfortunate effects a stiff breeze could have upon a gown until I no longer needed to consider such problems.

  Something about my costume filled me with an unfamiliar recklessness and I surprised myself as I applied the brakes with more confidence than usual. I hopped down from my seat with no fear of entanglements then lifted the picnic hamper from the rack on the back of my bicycle. Lucy spread a colorful blanket in the shade beneath a grove of towering pines. Fern Park provided a cool and shady respite from our exertions and I was grateful to be out of the fray of Old Orchard for a few peaceful hours.

  Even as far as we were from the seaside I could still make out joyful shouts from merrymakers down on the beach. I had every reason to believe Lucy would be just as loud when I relayed Sophronia’s request to meet her. I decided to enjoy lunch in peace before sharing the news. If I told her straightaway she might insist on heading back to the hotel immediately. The idea of returning Mrs. Doyle’s lunch untouched didn’t bear considering. Besides, I had worked up a powerful appetite during my exertions.

  “So what do you think of the cycling suit now that you’ve tried it?” Lucy sat on the blanket and, in a totally unladylike show of independence, folded up her legs like a meditating guru from the Far East. Only an hour before I might have balked at doing the same. But having experienced the joy of unrestricted movement I was eager to try it myself. I plunked myself down unceremoniously on the blanket beside her and crossed my own legs. “I’ll take that as approval.” She pointed at my lap.

  “Unreserved approval. Although I think Millie may not recover from the shock of a woman wearing any sort of trousers.”

  “Things won’t change until all women embrace this type of freedom,” Lucy said. “I wish she had been able to attend the suffrage rally with us. I think she would have been inspired by what took place.” I sometimes thought Lucy forgot there are many women who must work for a wage. Lucy’s family was not wealthy but there had never been any mention in my presence of either her mother or herself earning a living.

  “I am not sure the fracas at the rally would have convinced her to support suffrage,” I said. “Even if she hadn’t been needed at the hotel I understand her father would not have allowed it.”

  “But that is exactly the point.” Lucy’s eyes shone with passion as she warmed to her subject. “Millie should be allowed to make her own decisions rather than quivering under the burden of her father’s rules.” It was all well and good for Lucy to preach about how fathers should be handled but, as she did not have to deal with one of her own, I did not believe her in a position to instruct those girls who did. Perhaps Mrs. Doyle’s tempting treats could be relied upon to smooth things over.

  I pulled a waxed paper packet of sandwiches from the hamper and offered one to her. I rooted around for tin tumblers and a flask of lemonade and poured us each a glass. Further investigation of the hamper revealed a brown paper–wrapped parcel of fried chicken, two wedges of strawberry pie, and a box of peanut butter cookies. I spread all the comestibles out on the blanket and was pleased to see Lucy unable to resist Mrs. Doyle’s magic. I took advantage of her chewing to introduce a new topic.

  “Has your brother been staying busy with his duties now that the pier is almost ready?” I asked. Lucy made a moaning noise as she inhaled the aroma of a crispy chicken thigh before answering.

  For years town elders in Old Orchard had dreamt of opening a pleasure pier to attract even more of the lucrative tourist trade. After all, with seven miles of sugar-fine sand, a flat beach for strolling, and a train station only a block from the shore there was no reason Old Orchard could not be developed in such a way as to rival any other summer resort town.

  At long last it seemed it would. The Old Orchard Pier Company had pledged the money and within a few days the world’s longest steel pleasure pier would open to the public. Investors had taken to calling the town the Coney Island of New England. But growth came at a cost and much of that was in the form of increasing crime.

  “Warren has been rather out of sorts lately. He’s been working double shifts since his chief still refuses to add more officers to the force despite the increase in thefts and other crimes.”

  “I thought the arrests he made recently would have helped to quiet things down amongst the criminal element.” Lucy’s brother had been a police officer with the Old Orchard Police Department for only about a year. Just a few weeks earlier we had worked together to solve a murder and to break up a pickpocketing ring. While I was sorry to hear that had not provided a solution to the crime rate in town, I felt a stir of excitement as I wondered if Officer Yancey might benefit from my assistance again soon. I had rarely felt a satisfaction that equaled that of helping to bring a criminal to justice. If my father could see me siding with the enemy, I doubted very much he would approve. The idea that he would be thoroughly displeased made the notion all the more appealing.

  “It seems there is a never-ending supply of opportunists and sneak thieves. And now with Miss Foster Eldridge’s visit he is even more crotchety than ever.” Lucy bit into a pickle and shook her head. “He has had nothing but complaints about her coming.”

  I was surprised to hear it. Officer Yancey and I had not seen eye to eye on a number of topics but he had seemed like someone who supported the underdog. In my opinion no one was more worthy of that distinction than the female population of the United States.

  “Does he not believe women should have the right to vote?”

  “It isn’t that.” Lucy looked down at the blanket, her cheeks pinking up despite the cool breeze rippling through the ferns surrounding us. “You know how he feels about mediums.”

  Indeed I did know. Although I did not consider myself to be a genuine medium, when Honoria’s psychic had failed to uphold her obligation of employment I had thrown myself into the breach. Since I was raised by my father, a snake oil salesman on a variety of medicine shows, I was very good at telling people what they wanted to hear. />
  From a very early age my father had offered my services as a miracle medical healer and tarot card reader. There was little I needed to do to apply those same skills to the sitters at a séance. The voice I heard, clairaudience Mrs. Doyle called it, proved very handy as well. Not that Officer Yancey was inclined to believe in the voice any more than he credited astrological predictions or tea leaf readings.

  Officer Yancey had made no secret of his disdain for psychic practitioners of every ilk but he entertained a special dislike for mediums. His mother, and Lucy, too, had consulted many of them over the years looking for answers to a family tragedy. Officer Yancey warned me off from his family as soon as he discovered I had conducted a reading for them. I, of course, ignored his high-handedness. Our relationship had improved a little since I helped with a murder investigation but the peace was a tentative one.

  “I am well acquainted with your brother’s attitude toward mediums and psychics of all sorts. But surely he isn’t expecting a crime wave to spread across the town just because he doesn’t like mediums.” I tore the wrapping from my sandwich and took a bite. With my mouth full I would be far less likely to say something regrettable about her brother.

  “He’s worried that any plans on the part of suffragists may tarnish the festivities planned for the pier opening. Suffragists are almost always a lightning rod for controversy. Trouble follows Miss Foster Eldridge like ants follow a trail of sugar water.” Lucy took a sip of her lemonade. “The chief of police has orders from the selectmen that if the pier opening isn’t the most newsworthy event to come out of Old Orchard this season everyone on the police force will be out of a job.”

  “No wonder he’s worried,” I said, reaching for a cookie. “Jobs are still difficult to come by.” Despite the explosion of growth in Old Orchard on account of the pier, the economy was in no way robust. Anyone with steady employment would be loath to lose it.