“You are keeping secrets from your aunt to honor a commitment to a young man?” She wiped her hands on her apron and came round the table to look more closely at me. “Your mother did much the same thing and look how that turned out.”
“I hardly think helping with a police investigation can be compared with an ill-considered elopement.” I knew my cheeks were flaming but there was not a thing I could do about it. I was far more uncomfortable with the idea that Mrs. Doyle could see so much information in my aura. It was a frightening thing to be laid so bare.
“Do you not trust your aunt’s insight into the future?”
“It isn’t that. And it isn’t that Yancey has charmed me into assisting him.”
“I should think not. Yancey has many fine qualities but enchanting young ladies is not one of them,” Mrs. Doyle said. “So why is it that you think I should help you?”
“You encouraged me to listen to the voice, did you not?”
“I did. Does it have something to say on this matter?”
“I know Honoria is concerned about harm befalling me but I know the voice is urging me to pursue this. It has never given me poor counsel before now.” Mrs. Doyle looked me up and down once more.
“You’ll find a stack of place cards in the linen press next to the dining room. But you’d best hurry. It isn’t all that long until dinnertime.” With that she turned back to her trifle.
• • •
I met Lucy in the hallway and the two of us entered the dining room together. I looked around at the tables and had to remind myself to pretend to look for my own place card as well as Lucy’s. I nodded to the MacPhersons as I passed. Mr. and Mrs. Cheswick were already seated when I arrived. They were right where I expected them to be. At the table next to theirs Dewitt Fredericks and the Plaisteds were chatting about friends they had in common. Honoria was on the far side of the room, a place I was betting on being well out of earshot of what I had to say.
George had his eyes firmly fixed on my progress as we made our way toward his end of the room. He raised a hand when he caught my eye and motioned for us to join them. I shook my head and pointed at the adjoining table where Thomas Lydale was already seated but rose to greet us as we arrived. I couldn’t help but notice his eyes lingering on Lucy for just a little more time than polite society permitted.
“I am so sorry to be late. I had an important telephone call to place to the journalist who was supposed to have interviewed Sophronia before her death. He only just now returned my call.”
“I would be happy to spend all evening waiting for ladies as lovely as yourselves. However did I get so lucky in my table assignment?”
“I understand it helps to be on good terms with the staff,” Lucy said.
I leaned toward him and raised my voice just enough to be sure I would be overheard by the adjoining tables.
“We wanted to be sure to secure an interview time early enough to get into tomorrow evening’s edition of the paper. Once he heard what we had to say he asked if he could come by before breakfast.”
“You must have something newsworthy to contribute if a reporter was that eager,” Thomas said, just as we had planned when I had called upon him to ask for his help. His tone and arched eyebrows suggested he was impressed. I only dared look from the corner of my eye but I was certain all the attention from the adjoining tables was on my conversation. Chatter at the other tables had fallen off entirely.
“I was privileged to channel Sophronia’s own spirit this afternoon. She wants me to share the news that she did not take her own life.”
“The police determined Sophronia’s death was a suicide. I doubt very much they will be convinced to change that verdict solely on the word of a medium. Even one as lovely and skilled as yourself,” Thomas said.
“I am well aware that the police are usually closed-minded. I have no intention of taking Sophronia’s message to them. Which is why I instead contacted the reporter who interviewed Sophronia for the article on the suffrage rally.” I took a sip of water from my glass and was pleased to see my hand barely trembled as I lifted it. “Unlike the police, he was delighted to hear there is more to her story.”
“Having worked with a fair number of journalists I would agree that they like nothing more than to keep adding to a story for as long as possible. Especially one as sensational as the death of a celebrity.” Thomas nodded to the waiter who stopped next to him with a tureen of soup. “You should be aware that whatever they may personally believe about contact with the spirit world, journalists prefer to deal in facts.” Thomas dipped his spoon into his soup and took a sip.
“Facts are what I will be offering him. Sophronia led me to a document case she had hidden away from prying eyes.” I looked up at the ceiling as if listening to voices from beyond. “I am sure the press will have much to speculate upon when they see what Sophronia had kept hidden there.”
“I must admit, Miss Proulx, you have succeeded in piquing my interest. Will you not give me a hint as to what you have discovered?”
“I am afraid I have promised the journalist I shan’t breathe a word until he comes by in the morning.”
“But if you have actual evidence don’t you consider it your duty to take it to the police?” Thomas’s eyes widened.
“The police had their chance to do right by Sophronia and in my opinion they failed her utterly. Since they refused to act I shall take the proof of her death to the court of public opinion.” I took a warm, fluffy roll from the basket the waiter offered and placed it on my bread plate. “I promised the reporter I wouldn’t even mention it to Honoria.”
“I shan’t be able to sleep a wink tonight. I will toss and turn unceasingly completely consumed by curiosity and speculation.” Thomas did look quite miserable. He could not have played his part better if he had been a trained actor.
“I used to have the same trouble shutting my thoughts off at night, but ever since I started taking a preparation of Mrs. Doyle’s I sleep like the dead. I’m sure if you stop in at the kitchen before you leave this evening she’d be happy to provide you with some of your own,” I said.
“So you are unmovable upon this? Not one hint?”
“My lips are completely, utterly sealed. In fact, let us speak no more of the matter this evening.” I turned to Lucy. “Why don’t you tell Thomas about the cycling club you hope to start before snow flies?” I leaned back and let my friend take over the conversation. I turned my head slightly to glance at the Cheswicks, the Plaisteds, and Dewitt Fredericks. None of them returned my gaze, but rather fixed their eyes deliberately elsewhere. But while they were lost in thought, I was sure I knew what was on all their minds. The question was: Which of them would not be willing to wait to read the answers in the newspaper?
Chapter Fifty-one
My mother’s room had been a place of complete sanctuary since I had arrived at the Belden. Honoria insisted I consider it my own and feel comfortable making myself at home. By and large I had done so. And eagerly, too. But tonight, all the nooks and crannies, drapes, and pieces of heavy furniture seemed menacing and custom-built for hiding an enemy.
I tied a piece of fishing line, left over from the last time I had aided Yancey in an investigation, to the bell pull apparatus mounted on the wall next to the bed. Then, remaining fully clothed, I slipped beneath the sheets of the high bed and tied the other end of the line to the fishing line around my wrist. Every clip-clop of hooves on the street, every creak of the hotel’s elderly joints as it settled in for the night, made my heart lurch in my chest. I almost wished the sedative I had supposedly taken was not a part of the ruse.
I was certain I would lie awake, nerves taut, body tense, for hours. Despite myself and the circumstances, though, I struggled to keep awake. I felt my eyes growing heavy and my breathing slow. No matter what the thinking parts of my brain urged, the rest of my mind and body worked against it. I c
ould not say how long I slept, only that the voice was what awakened me and not with time to spare.
“Remain alert.”
In the darkness, through sleepy, slitted eyes, I was jolted fully awake by the sight of a shape creeping about the room. The figure moved to the desk and quietly opened the drawers, one at a time. The first two yielded no prize but the third seemed to capture the intruder’s attention. In the quiet of the room the rustle of paper sounded as loud as the roar of the sea. In the low light I watched as the intruder placed the find on the top of the desk and slowly crept toward me.
I forced myself to breathe slowly and remain flat on my back despite every nerve in my body relentlessly urging me to jump up and flee. I reminded myself of the act Father had devised involving winding snakes about my person. It was supposed to convince the crowd of the courage-inducing properties of Dr. Pankhurst’s Buck-Uppo Preparation. I told myself that if I could stay still for snakes, I surely could do so in this circumstance.
The figure stopped at the edge of the bed and reached for a pillow nestled at the side of my head. In a flash I felt its dense, prickly weight clamp down over my face. As I bucked and thrashed against the force of my assailant I felt a rising tide of panic. I prayed the fishing line on my wrist would do its job before it had cause to snap. I gave a few strong tugs with my arm and hoped it would be enough. I would not have believed how quickly it could feel as though the air in your lungs was utterly used up.
The blood swishing loudly in my ears was the only thing I could hear. Even the voice was silent. With each passing second I was losing the strength to struggle. It occurred to me that my assailant might also be tired. After all, the bed was a high one and the amount of strength it would take to keep me down must be taxing. Perhaps if I let my body go slack, the attacker would, too.
I tapered off my resistance a twitch at a time until I lay quite still. I felt a final heavy thrust on the pillow, then a release. The assailant lifted away the pillow and peered down at my face, leaning in so close I felt hot breath on my cheeks. Now was the moment. I planted my hands on my attacker’s chest and shoved with all my might.
I heard a thump as I sprang from the bed. I felt the fishing line snap but I no longer cared. Even without help from Yancey I had the upper hand. I leapt onto the attacker just as the door to the bedroom flew open and light poured in from the hallway, throwing Yancey’s figure into silhouette.
Honoria bustled in behind him and depressed the light switch, revealing the face I was sure I would see, that of Dewitt Fredericks.
• • •
It was hardly a dignified end to the investigation and I was grateful that I had the foresight to remain fully clothed for my nocturnal adventure. I was more grateful for my cycling ensemble than ever before. After all, it was undignified enough to be found straddling a man on your bedroom floor. Trying to live such an incident down if dressed in my nightgown would have been even more of a battle. My forethought seemed all the more fortuitous when Officer Lewis and Mrs. Doyle’s son-in-law, Frank, stepped through the door and joined the ever-increasing gathering.
“I told you it would work, didn’t I?” I asked, pointing at Dewitt still pinned beneath me.
“I never doubted you,” Yancey said. He reached out and helped me to my feet. I confess, I was glad of his strong arm. I found my legs were shaking and showed no inclination to bear my weight. Officer Lewis and Frank hoisted a less grateful Mr. Fredericks between them and each held him by an arm.
“I dreamt you were in distress but I never imagined it was something quite as urgent as this. Whatever has been going on?” Honoria had not had reason to suspect she’d be in the company of visitors during the night and had dressed for bed. Her hair hung down her back in a heavy braid and her eyes were bleary with sleep. As the owner of a hotel she could easily be awakened at any time of the night but she hadn’t yet, to my knowledge, been called to the scene of an attempted murder. Especially that of her nearest relation.
“Mr. Fredericks tried to smother me. Officer Yancey and I suspected he was the one who killed Sophronia but we didn’t have enough proof to convince Chief Hurley to arrest him, let alone a jury to convict.”
“Miss Proulx decided the only way was to threaten to reveal that she found Miss Foster Eldridge’s manuscript and intended to offer it to the newspapers on Sophronia’s behalf because it is what she would have wanted. She made sure to be overheard discussing what she had discovered with Thomas Lydale last night at dinner.”
“Is that why my seating plans were so disarranged?”
“I had to be certain that Mr. Fredericks would overhear me saying I had found the manuscript. I was sure that if he did he would come to my room looking for Sophronia’s work and make an attempt on my life. I said I had read the manuscript but hadn’t shared what I had read with anyone else.”
“I thought the two of you were on good terms.” Honoria turned to Mr. Fredericks, her voice raised an octave in disbelief. “What reason could you possibly have had to do these things?”
“It was money, a great deal of it,” I said. Mr. Fredericks simply stared at me with his watery blue eyes. “It was ingenious of him, really.”
“I don’t understand. How would he profit from Sophronia’s work or from taking her life?” Honoria asked. She tightened her arms across her chest.
“Sophronia was tired of being vilified in the press. Tired of hearing how women were biologically unfit for positions of power and authority. She decided rallies and marches were not enough to effect change,” I said.
“She started investigating corruption and theft perpetrated by men in positions of power and prestige. She hoped by exposing them it would make people more open to questioning the status quo,” Yancey said.
“When I found Sophronia’s manuscript, it was covered in corrections and suggestions. I recognized Mr. Fredericks’s handwriting all over it.”
“Miss Foster Eldridge and Mr. Fredericks met at the Hay Feverists convention. He impressed her with his knowledge of publishing. When she decided to publish her manuscript she thought of him and asked him for some advice.”
“She asked me for my expert opinion.” Despite his confinement by the officers, Mr. Fredericks straightened, looked proud instead of crazed or angry. “She asked me to read it through and offer suggestions for improvements. I was happy to oblige.”
“When he read it through he realized he could blackmail the men whose secrets were revealed in the manuscript rather than expose them. All he had to do was kill Sophronia before she shared her story with the world,” I said. “He even murdered her in the same manner as the congressman killed his mistress in order to have more blackmail leverage.”
“He killed someone over a bit of blackmail money?” Honoria’s face flushed. I think she was embarrassed to have had a person of such low character ensconced in her hotel.
“In truth it amounted to a great deal of money,” I said. “Five thousand dollars from Osmond Cheswick alone,” I said. I heard Honoria gasp. Mr. Fredericks’s haughty demeanor collapsed. He visibly sagged against his guards. “Sophronia provided such a wealth of information, with so many specific details, that Mr. Fredericks found the temptation to blackmail irresistible.”
“I never would have done it for personal gain. I planned to use the money to purchase a vast tract of land in the White Mountains to preserve it for the Hay Feverists.”
“You valued a tract of land more highly than the life of another human being?” Honoria seemed genuinely bewildered. “How could you possibly justify such a position? I thought you and Sophronia were friends.”
“She was not what you thought she was in the least. She was ruthless and was willing to use whomever she needed to in order to get what she wanted,” Mr. Fredericks said. “As it happened she wasn’t even a hay fever sufferer. Sophronia thought garnering the support of women with money and influence was the fastest way to win
the vote. The Hay Feverists Society is filled with just such women. More important, women are allowed to vote on matters within the club. Sophronia felt they were exactly the sort of women to convince to support suffrage.”
“How did you discover that she had used the Hay Feverists Society for her own purposes?” I asked. It was the one piece of the puzzle that had not fallen into place.
“I was out on the veranda sitting in a wicker chair breathing in some healthful sea air. The French doors were open and it was easy to hear the comings and goings in the house. Clear as a bell I overheard Sophronia advising her young secretary to join clubs like the Hay Feverists in order to make important connections. Lucy, I think the girl is called, said she didn’t have hay fever and wouldn’t that keep her from joining?”
“What did Miss Foster Eldridge say to that?” Yancey asked.
“She replied that she was certain a smart girl like Lucy could manage to fake a few sniffles for the greater good.” Mr. Fredericks’s voice had raised an octave. I was going to be glad to see the last of him. Officer Yancey must have felt the same way because he motioned toward the door. “But I am the one who really is thinking of the greater good. Someday people will be grateful for the impulse to conserve wild and special places. Someday people will think of men such as myself as true visionaries,” Mr. Fredericks called over his shoulder as Frank and Lewis muscled him out the door. Yancey gave me a nod and hurried out after them. His night would be a long one, I knew, and I didn’t envy him his impending conversation with Chief Hurley.
Chapter Fifty-two
I watched Yancey leave with a sense of dread. I should have told Honoria what I was up to rather than risking her being roused in the night to face something like this, especially with all the strain she had been under lately. It was unconscionable of me and rather than feeling proud of helping to solve the crime I felt quite ashamed of myself.
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