“I am so sorry to have surprised you like this. It was very thoughtless of me. But I thought if you knew what I was up to you would try to stop me.”
“Because of my dream?”
“Yes. You were right about the danger. It was just as you described.” I suddenly felt cold and slightly nauseated. “I couldn’t breathe and I felt like something was forcing all the air from my lungs. I believe if I also had the experience of prophetic dreams I would not have had the nerve to wait alone in the dark for Mr. Fredericks to come.”
“If the real experience was just like what I can recall of my dream it will be a wonderment if you are ever able to be alone in the dark in your bed again.” Honoria raised a hand to the base of her throat. “You took such a terrible risk.”
“I knew Yancey and the other officers would be nearby listening for my signal if I needed them.”
“I can hardly bear to think of it. You must have been more terrified than you have ever been in your entire life.” Honoria pulled me to her and wrapped me in a firm embrace. “I know I was when I saw someone on the floor, surrounded by police. I was desperately afraid that my dream had come true and that you had come to harm.” I wished with all my heart that I had not worried Honoria. I also wished it were true that Mr. Fredericks’s attempt on my life was the most frightening thing that had yet happened to me. But it wasn’t. I could only hope that I would never again be as afraid as I was the moment I realized Johnny was dead.
“I am so sorry to have put you through such worry. I just couldn’t let Sophronia’s death be attributed to a suicide when both Officer Yancey and I were certain she died at someone else’s hand.”
“I expect you couldn’t stand to see a murderer go free, either.” Honoria smiled at me and squeezed me even closer to her ample chest. Guilt flooded through me. I hadn’t thought I could feel any more miserable than I had when I saw the frightened look on her face when she rushed into the room but, in fact, I could.
When I first met Honoria I wished she would welcome me. And she had, with open arms. When I knew her a little better I wished she would love me like the daughter she never had. She had done that, too. Now, I wished more than anything that I could be worthy of her estimation of me. That I was the sort of person whose moral compass always pointed north. But the truth was that wish wasn’t about to come true. I wasn’t above letting a murderer go free if it meant saving my own skin. Or saving the skin of those I loved, no matter how little they loved me back. I didn’t deserve her faith in me and as long as I kept the truth from her I wouldn’t ever merit it.
The desire to make a clean breast of things was almost overwhelming. I opened my mouth to unburden myself. I would tell her about the Invigorizer, about Johnny. I would tell her everything and take whatever consequences came my way. I cleared my throat and then heard the voice more clearly than ever before speaking in my ear.
“Stop.”
So often the voice tells me to do things that seem odd or unwarranted. Things that make no sense at the time. It was a rare thing indeed for the voice to tell me to do the very thing I most wanted. So unusual, in fact, that I sent up a silent question as to whether or not it was sure of its counsel.
“Why?” I mutely asked of it.
“Remember her dream.” I stopped short. Honoria’s dream had warned of my words causing a chasm between us. The voice was right. The burden of my conscience was heavy. The idea of being separated from all I had grown to love in my new life was heavier still. I heeded the voice’s advice, kept my confession to myself, and silently returned Honoria’s embrace.
Chapter Fifty-three
The next morning Mrs. Doyle had taken one look at my aura and decreed that I was looking peaked and could do with a dose of fresh air and a long rest. She ordered Ben to cancel my sittings for the day, even the one scheduled with the Misses Velmont. Then she tucked me up on a steamer chaise at the far end of the veranda with a shawl and a well-thumbed copy of the popular novel A Lady of Quality.
I protested half-heartedly. My face felt bruised from my encounter the night before and I had slept very poorly after all that had happened. In truth, I wondered if I would ever sleep well in my room again. Every time I closed my eyes I imagined the weight of the pillow pressing down on my face. Despite the warmth of the day I felt chilled and drew the shawl tightly around my shoulders before settling in to read. The adventures of Clorinda, the novel’s protagonist, absorbed me and I forgot my troubles in hers so completely I did not realize anyone had approached until I heard my name.
“Good afternoon, Miss Proulx.” I looked up to find Officer Yancey towering above my chair. “May I join you for a moment?”
“You may. What brings you to the Belden?” I laid the book in my lap and gave him my complete attention. “I should have thought the fracas last night would have kept you busy all day.”
“Considering the day started in the middle of the night I felt I could take a bit of a break.” Officer Yancey lowered himself in the basket chair next to mine and let out a deep sigh.
“Are you off duty?” I asked.
“I am at the moment. This is a personal call, Miss Proulx.” Officer Yancey doffed his uniform cap as if to give weight to his words. It made him look younger somehow.
“I confess, I’m surprised that you would make time to visit me rather than to eat a hot meal or to get some rest,” I said.
“I did not feel I could in good conscience do either until I called to ask how you were faring and to express thanks for your assistance with the investigation.” Officer Yancey cleared his throat. “If it weren’t for you, Dewitt Fredericks would have gotten away with murder.”
“Does that mean Chief Hurley has accepted that Sophronia did not commit suicide?” I asked, leaning forward.
“It does. Considering he was caught trying to smother you and then confessed to murder there was really nothing the chief could do but charge Mr. Fredericks with the crime.” A small smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “Granted, it did take the colorful testimony of Officers Nichols and Lewis to convince the chief that I was not in cahoots with you to fabricate an outrageous story in order to clear Miss Foster Eldridge’s name.”
“Why would your chief believe such a preposterous notion?” I asked.
“It’s my guess that the chief did not wish to credit a woman with being capable of solving a crime, especially one he had dismissed. It wounded his pride and rattled his belief in the impossibility of female investigators.”
“Did he come right out and say that?”
“He said that and a few more things I shouldn’t like to repeat in polite company when I told him that you were the one who suggested the means of flushing out Mr. Fredericks.” Officer Yancey shook his head. “He refused to believe any of it until Lewis described entering your bedchamber to discover you pinning Mr. Fredericks to the floor without assistance.”
“You gave me too much credit, Officer Yancey. It was a joint effort.” Still, it was heartwarming to hear he had shared what accolades there were to be had with me when he needn’t have done so.
“Perhaps you give me too much credit. If you recall, I was ordered not to pursue the investigation. You could say I revealed your involvement in order not to land myself in difficulties with my superior.” Officer Yancey gave a tiny indication of a smile once more.
“To my way of thinking he’s in no way your superior,” I said. “And no matter what your motivation, I am delighted you asked me to assist you, Officer Yancey. All in all it was a satisfying conclusion to the case.”
“I can’t help but feel it wasn’t entirely concluded, though. After all, there were plenty of crimes alleged in Miss Foster Eldridge’s manuscript. At the very least I feel an investigation should be made into the murder of the congressman’s mistress.”
“Enough time has passed that it might be very difficult to prove anything. Besides, the crime did
not take place in your jurisdiction,” I said.
“I have a contact on the force up in Portland. He might take a lot of pleasure in needling a sitting congressman.”
“If that doesn’t work you could always contact the press. Even if Congressman Plaisted were never convicted in a court of law he likely wouldn’t survive the court of public opinion. I doubt he would be reelected.”
“Not a bad suggestion.”
“I am simply bursting with good ideas. If you should need help with any other investigations I would be more than happy to assist,” I said.
“I shall be sure to do that. And as an acknowledgment of our association, would you consider calling me Warren instead of Officer Yancey? At least when I am off duty.” I felt a lump rise in my throat and my heart soar. Maybe I truly did have a chance of leaving my old life behind me. Despite my skill with the cards I never would have predicted being on terms of familiarity with a policeman.
“Only if you’ll call me Ruby,” I said. “At least when you’re off duty.”
Historical Note
One of the very great pleasures of writing historical fiction is the research. This book has been particularly satisfying on that front. Although this novel mostly features people and buildings that are entirely works of fiction, the background circumstances are based on fact.
Politics have long made for strange bedfellows, and the movement for women’s suffrage was no exception. At the time of this story women were often seen as fragile vessels in need of protection from the sordid business of the world outside the domestic sphere. It was a view espoused by many people of both genders at the time and, in fact, was the basis of a value system known as the cult of womanhood. This worldview emphasized femininity and praised “true women” for their piety, domesticity, purity, and submissiveness. These attributes were praised by popular and influential magazines of the time, particularly those aimed at women themselves, like Godey’s Lady’s Book.
Some women, like the fictional Sophronia Foster Eldridge, used to their advantage the prevailing belief that women were submissive conduits. In the workforce women had the advantage in the new occupations of typists and telegraph operators, as it was understood they served as vessels through which the words of men could dutifully and efficiently flow.
This acceptance of women as conduits extended to the realm of mediumship and channeling. Women had the decided advantage when it came to being believed capable of communicating with disembodied spirits solely due to the perception that they were easily overpowered emotionally as well as physically. Savvy women like Sophronia often found their powerful messages for change more readily accepted if they delivered them under the guise of spirit direction.
Spiritualists were not the only allies the suffragists frequently attracted. The temperance movement had much in common with them as well and often the causes were linked in both membership and public appearances. Maine boasted early dedication to the movement and became the nation’s first “dry state.” What became known as the Maine Law passed in 1851, in large part as a means to address the detrimental effect alcohol abuse had on women and children. Temperance supporters found natural allies in those people who advocated for the rights of women both inside and outside of the home.
The road to enfranchisement was a long one, with many setbacks as well as small victories along the way. Associations and societies sometimes allowed members of both sexes to vote on issues of interest to their groups long before governmental institutions would do the same. Slowly but surely women were shaping their worlds by speaking their minds and casting ballots in organizations like the Hay Feverists Society.
Self-proclaimed hay fever sufferers were almost exclusively wealthy and educated people. Prominent citizens, like the U.S. senator from Massachusetts Daniel Webster and Reverend Henry Ward Beecher, counted themselves in their number. These genteel and distinguished sufferers took annual refuge in regions known to provide relief from their symptoms in an era when medicinal remedies were rare and ineffectual. The White Mountain region of New Hampshire provided one such sanctuary. As a result, a fashionable resort community sprang up in Bethlehem, New Hampshire.
Members of the Hay Fever Association believed that air that had passed through conifer forests became purified and thus healthful for them to breathe. Not surprisingly they shared the common cause of forest preservation with the Appalachian Mountain Club and the Society for the Preservation of New Hampshire Forests. Using their wealth and influence, visiting hay feverists applied pressure to local residents to preserve the surrounding forested areas. By 1918 the White Mountain National Forest had been established, in part because of the sustained efforts of such influential people.
Jessica Estevao is the author of the debut novel in the Change of Fortune Mysteries, Whispers Beyond the Veil. She loves the beach, mysterious happenings, and all things good-naturedly paranormal. While she lives for most of the year in New Hampshire, with her dark and mysterious husband and exuberant children, she delights in spending her summers on the coast of Maine where she keeps an eye out for sea monsters and mermaids. As Jessie Crockett, she writes the Sugar Grove Mysteries for Berkley Prime Crime. Visit her online at jessicaestevao.com.
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Whispers of Warning Page 26