Whispers of Warning

by Jessica Estevao

  When I was a young girl the letter, a missive from Honoria to my mother, as well as the photograph she had enclosed of the two of them smiling as they posed arm in arm in front of the Belden, had been my only knowledge of my mother’s life. The only knowledge, that was, besides the scraps of information that stuttered and slipped from my father’s lips when he had consumed far more whiskey than any man ought, and forgot himself completely. A bitter taste rose in my throat as I remembered the many times I had endured the same sort of treatment I had witnessed between Sophronia and Congressman Plaisted just to hear a word or two about the woman who had given birth to me.

  I lay there contemplating the change in my circumstance and how eager Honoria had been to tell me all about her sister. Everything about my new life filled me with gratitude and I did not want to imagine losing any of it. I stared at the heavy wooden door with its shiny brass lock and I felt an almost overwhelming urge to break down and cry. Sophronia’s invitation and Honoria’s acceptance of it might cost me everything. A sob started to make its way up my throat. I felt heartily ashamed. I was well aware that I was guilty of many things but I was loath to think self-pity might be amongst them.

  I closed my eyes and a picture of Johnny, my friend from the medicine show, filled my mind. I could envision his warm, wide smile, his long black braid, the look of his strong hands as he shuffled my tarot deck when day in and day out he asked for a reading. Before I could stop it I imagined, too, his body prone on the floor of the show tent, electrocuted by my participation in my father’s latest get-rich-quick scheme. There was nothing to do but to let the tears flow. For Johnny, for myself, for all the women denied the rights that could keep them safe from treacherous men like my father.

  I had just gotten myself in hand once more when I heard a knock land on the door. I sprang from the bed to answer it. I felt exceedingly guilty at lying down in the middle of the day and foolish for giving in to my tears, and the knock startled me to action. I turned the lock and pulled open the door. Lucy, clutching an envelope, stood on the threshold. While it did me no credit I admit I was relieved that she seemed too distressed herself to notice my red eyes or rumpled bed.

  “I have to show you something,” she said. She closed the door behind her and locked it once more. She held out the envelope. “This came in the morning post. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.” I slid a piece of cheap stationery from the envelope and stared down at the message printed in block letters across its surface in heavy black ink.

  Your threats to expose men in power will amount to nothing. You are a disgrace to the nation and to the sacred state of womanhood. Cancel the march or you will not live long enough to be sorry.

  I turned the envelope over to inspect it more closely. It was addressed to Sophronia in care of the Belden. There was no return address, no stamp, and no postmark, either.

  “Where did you find this?” I asked.

  “It was in the bundle of mail addressed to Sophronia that Ben handed to me when I arrived this morning. Why do you ask?”

  “Because it must have been hand delivered. See?” I pointed at the front of the envelope. “No postmark and no postage.”

  “That means whoever sent it is here in town.” Lucy bit her lower lip.

  “Has Sophronia seen it?”

  “No. She asked that I deal with the correspondence while she is in Old Orchard.” Lucy bit her lower lip again. “Do you think it’s just someone making idle threats or should I be concerned?”

  “I have no idea. But I am inclined to take it seriously. It would be better to take precautions than to expose Sophronia or any of the marchers to danger.” I felt worried about Sophronia’s safety and Lucy’s. In fact, I worried for the safety of all the women who were planning to attend the march the next day.

  “Do you think we must report it to the police?” Lucy plucked the letter from my hands and looked it over once more like it held the answer to her question.

  “Maybe it would be best. It wouldn’t do the suffrage cause a great deal of good if Sophronia comes to harm.” I crossed the room to the turret and pulled back the curtain to look at the sparkling sea. On the sand below, children, tin pails clutched in their hands, ran ahead of their mothers. Men clad in woolen bathing costumes strode purposely toward the beach and slowed as their feet touched the frigid water. I wondered how many of those men shared the letter writer’s sentiments about the place of women.

  “But if Warren finds out he will say he was right to object to me associating myself with Sophronia and will have even more to say about my participation in the march. Besides, I don’t feel right about going to the police without Sophronia’s consent.” I could see her point. Officer Yancey had been high-handed and, in my opinion, unsupportive at the rally. As much as I wished my part in the march might be called off, I made it a rule to avoid involving myself with the police whenever possible. But maybe Sophronia would feel inclined to call off the march herself if she knew about the letter. That thought made up my mind.

  “Of course you mustn’t do anything behind Sophronia’s back. Do you know where she is right now?”

  “She’s in her room practicing her speech for tomorrow.”

  “Then, by all means, let’s show this to her.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sophronia had returned from her trip into town and from the sounds of it, was unruffled by her encounter with Congressman Plaisted. Her impassioned voice penetrated the door as Lucy and I approached her room. I worried she might not hear my knock. But after a pause in the sound from behind the door I knocked again and she bid us enter. We did so and found her holding a sheaf of papers, her back to the sea, a glistening bit of perspiration dampening her hairline.

  “Forgive me, I was practicing my speech for tomorrow and as usual found myself caught up in the urgency of the cause.” She sat on the edge of the bed and drew a deep breath. More than ever she reminded me disconcertingly of my father and the energy he had expended to give a well-received performance. It was not a comforting thought. “What brings the two of you to my room looking so disquieted?”

  Lucy held out the letter, envelope and all. Sophronia slipped out the thin paper and read it over quickly.

  “You weren’t worried about this, were you, ladies?” Sophronia gifted us one of her charming smiles and even gave a little laugh.

  “We were, rather,” Lucy said, blushing a little. She looked at the floor and I noticed the skin on the back of her neck reddening.

  “While I am touched by your concern, you needn’t give things like this a moment’s worry.” Sophronia said. “In fact, I am overjoyed that this has happened.” I thought I must have misheard her. Surely no one would take pleasure in a letter such as that? Lucy seemed to be thinking the same thing from the darting glance she gave me.

  “How can you possibly be pleased by this? Aren’t you frightened?” I asked.

  “Certainly not. It just confirms that the article in the newspaper this morning about the march is having the intended effect.” She crossed to the desk and set her sheaf of notes on its polished surface. The top of the desk was littered with towering stacks of paper and discarded candy wrappers. Vases of flowers dropped withered petals on the nightstand. I caught myself wondering what the fastidious Mr. Fredericks would have to say about dead flowers in a bedroom. “I’m sure the newspaper would be eager to run a follow-up article reporting how I have been threatened with violence as a result of my willingness to take a stand for my beliefs.”

  “I think you should take it more seriously than that. The letter was hand delivered. Whoever sent it is near enough by to actually do you harm.” I thought again of the scene I had witnessed between Sophronia and Congressman Plaisted. “Perhaps it would be best to consider postponing the march until tempers are not quite so inflamed.”

  “I’ve received dozens of letters just like this one over the years and they’ve never amounted to a
nything. I use them to bring a bit of attention to the cause whenever they occur.” Sophronia’s hand reached up and gently touched the back of her head. A flicker of pain passed over her face and I wondered how injured she actually had been when the congressman threw her against the wall. Perhaps she had been too stunned or too scared to let it show in the alley. “I have never canceled before and a letter such as this one gives me no reason to do so now.”

  “Have you ever threatened to publish an exposé of men in power before now?” I asked.

  “I have not. I didn’t want to lower myself to such ugliness if it could be avoided, but over time I have become convinced it is necessary to use whatever weapons one can lay hands upon in this fight for our rights.”

  “Then you might consider the possibility that the writer may have more reason to threaten you than any other anonymous man with a poisoned pen in the past.”

  “You might be right. Maybe this time we’ll be lucky and the letter writer will actually try to make good on his threats. Imagine all the press coverage an out-and-out riot would garner.”

  I stared in surprise at Sophronia, whose eyes shone like she had contracted a fever. I stole a look at Lucy, whose expression registered fear followed immediately by admiration.

  “You can’t mean that. All sorts of people could be hurt if someone makes good on those threats.”

  “Of course I mean it. One cannot expect great rewards without being willing to make great sacrifices.”

  “Then won’t you at least notify the police ahead of time?” I asked, surprised to hear myself making such a suggestion. Sophronia’s eagerness to incite a riot had me thoroughly rattled. “To alert them to the threat and ask for additional protection?”

  “I have never relied on protection from the police or anyone else in the past. I am more than capable of protecting myself, no matter what the circumstances.” Sophronia patted a thick stack of paper perched precariously on the top of the desk. “Now you’ll both have to excuse me. I have a telephone call to place to the newspaper straightaway. If this is to be a help stirring even greater interest in the rally tomorrow there is no time to waste.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It was all well and good for Sophronia to throw caution to the wind concerning her own safety but it was an entirely different matter to endanger her supporters. My mind whirled and I found my thoughts turning once again to the counsel my deck of cards had provided. I made my way down the wide front stairway. Light streamed in through the tall window overlooking Saco Bay. As I hurried past I recognized Henry, one of the boys who drove a Peanutine cart along the beach. An eager gaggle of children had flagged him down just in front of the Belden and I wished for a moment I had as few cares as those little ones holding out their pennies in exchange for some candy.

  I slipped down the hall and into the séance room. I opened a drawer in the small walnut desk at the end of the room and withdrew a satin drawstring bag. My tarot cards were the one thing that always brought me comfort when my mind was ill at ease. I took the deck to the cloth-covered table in the center of the room and sat in one of the chairs. As I shuffled the deck I felt a familiar sense of calm descend upon me and before long I focused my thoughts on a single question.

  “What should I do about Sophronia’s threatening letter?” I whispered aloud. I shuffled again and again until three different cards urged me to tug them from the deck. I lay them one by one, facedown in front of me. I exhaled a long, slow breath then turned over the first card.

  I stared at the image before me and waited for an interpretation. Five of Swords. “Chaos, confusion, strife,” the voice explained. It appeared my worries were justified.

  I reached for the next card. Eight of Wands. “Swift communication.” The voice spoke clearly into my left ear.

  I hesitated before flipping the last card. I felt my breath catch in my throat when I saw the image. This card needed no explanation even though it was one that had not been part of my half of the tarot deck but rather had belonged to Honoria’s portion. The Knight of Swords. It was a card I had pulled time and again in readings for Lucy or her mother, Orazelia, and it stood for Officer Yancey. I never would have thought myself as someone who turned to the police for help. But it looked like that was exactly what I should do.

  The telephone at the Belden sat just off the lobby in a tiny room built under the stairs. A quick glance up and down the hall assured me no one would question what I was up to. Then I knocked on the telephone room door to be sure not to interrupt someone else’s call, and hearing no response, let myself in. The operator’s voice came on the line and for a moment I thought about replacing the receiver, the call abandoned. But the image of the Knight of Swords flashed through my mind and I requested to be put through to the police station. Officer Yancey, I was told, was out on patrol but was expected to call in for messages within the hour. I asked for him to meet me in the Belden’s side garden at his earliest convenience. I added that I would appreciate it if he did not announce his presence. The man on the other end of the line sounded more amused than concerned. I was almost certain from his voice that it belonged to Mrs. Doyle’s son-in-law, Frank Nichols. I thanked him and replaced the receiver. There was nothing to do now but wait.

  • • •

  Yancey considered what could have moved Miss Proulx to request him to pay a call, and a clandestine one at that. Frank had made it sound as though she were quite desperate to see him. He hadn’t much cared for Frank’s tone, either. He played out several unpleasant scenarios involving Lucy on his way to the hotel. By the time he reached his destination he felt overheated and out of sorts. He wished he had not just missed the dummy train and had been forced to hurry on foot. He wished even more that Hurley would allow the officers to patrol on bicycles. It would be much faster and cooler, too.

  He hurried to the gate at the side of the Belden property and lifted the latch. The ocean breeze passed through the lavender and brought the musty scent mixed with the salty smell of the sea to his nose. The garden was not a large one, just large enough to supply blooms for the hotel and herbs for the kitchen.

  Still, it took a bit of wandering through the tidy beds to find Miss Proulx. He saw the toe of a small brown boot sticking out from beneath an arbor smothered in some sort of twining vine, and without calling out headed toward it. Grass clippings muffled the sound of his footsteps and he came quite near before she looked up with a start.

  “You said not to announce myself,” he reminded her as he took a seat on the stone bench next to her. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” In truth Miss Proulx did look remarkably unsure of herself. Worried, in fact. Of all the things he had pictured on his way from the police station this had not been something he had envisioned. Truth be told, he thought he preferred her to display a defiantly raised chin rather than the hunched shoulders he saw before him.

  “It isn’t you that troubles me. Actually, I am very much afraid that I am about to be a bad suffragist and a worse hotelier,” she said. “I wouldn’t have called if it weren’t for Lucy.”

  “Do you wish to report a crime?” Yancey knew it. His stomach knotted up as he pulled his small notebook from his jacket pocket. Miss Proulx laid a staying hand upon his forearm and slowly shook her head.

  “Not as such. And I wish there to be no record of our conversation.” She dropped her voice even lower. “Lucy found a threatening letter amongst Sophronia’s correspondence today. The writer says if the march goes on there will be violence. It goes so far as to threaten Sophronia’s life.” Even with the cool breeze, small beads of perspiration formed along Miss Proulx’s hairline. Yancey exhaled slowly as he watched a trickle make its way along her slim neck.

  “Do you have the letter?”

  “No. Sophronia kept it. It hadn’t been posted, just slipped in through the letter slot.”

  “So the sender had to have been in town earlier at least.”

 
; “Yes. I mentioned that but all Sophronia did was laugh. She said she is used to such threats and isn’t in the least worried.”

  “But you are?” Yancey was surprised. Miss Proulx was far more likely to take risks than he approved of. If she was concerned there had to be more to the story. She nodded.

  “Were you listening to her speech at the rally when she threatened to expose some men in power and make examples of them?”

  “Yes. It made quite an impression.”

  “I wonder if it was directed at Congressman Plaisted. I saw him with Sophronia earlier today in town and the conversation turned ugly.”

  Yancey thought of his conversation with Thomas. “Ugly how?”

  “She said something to him that I was too far away to hear. He looked like he was pleading with her and when she shook her head he shoved her hard enough to throw her against the brick wall behind her.”

  “Did she seem injured?” Yancey asked.

  “She didn’t react at all at the time but when I saw her in her room later I noticed her feeling the back of her head like it bothered her,” Miss Proulx said. “What worried me more though was the look on her face. She looked triumphant. It was as if she had been trying to provoke him to violence.”

  “Why do you think she would wish to anger him?” Yancey felt even more ill at ease than before.

  “When Lucy brought the letter to Sophronia she said she was delighted with the attention it would bring to the cause and that she was pleased to have garnered a passionate reaction. She was positively cheered at the prospect of how much press coverage a riot would attract.”

  “Your Miss Foster Eldridge sounds quite ruthless. I’m not sure I’d be willing to trust her if I were a suffragist.”

  “I don’t doubt her commitment to her cause. But it seems almost as though it is the ideal and not the individuals that interests her. If she needed to use someone to further her purpose she would not think twice about doing so. Nor would she feel remorse about whatever befell them.”