I looked at my list again. I had no more answers. What could I do? What should I do? Without another thought, I slipped the key from my glove and held it up to the rays of the rising sun.
“As Lottie Fox said, it’s the least I can do.”
Resolute, I stood and brushed off the back of my skirt. As I moved to straighten my hat, I laughed as my fingers brushed my hair instead. In all of the excitement and revelation, I’d forgotten that I still wasn’t wearing a hat.
Well, that at least is a simple enough problem to resolve, I thought as I walked purposely across the gardens toward Lafayette Square.
* * *
“Coxey, Browne Sentenced to Twenty Days in Prison!” a boy on the street, holding a Washington Times newspaper above his head, shouted. “Browne calls Judge Miller ‘Pontius Pilate’!” I handed the boy a coin, took a paper from the stack beside him, and read:
TO JAIL FOR TWENTY DAYS
Coxey, Browne, and Jones Sentenced
to Imprisonment
SPEECHES MADE IN COURT
Some three days ago Messrs. Jacob Coxey, Carl Browne, and Christopher Columbus Jones entered the Capitol grounds bearing banners, and yesterday in police court they were sentenced to twenty days’ imprisonment for this action. In addition, a fine of $5 or ten days’ imprisonment was imposed upon Coxey and Browne for trespass on the Capitol grass. There was a large crowd about the courthouse anxiously waiting for the result. Mr. Hudson, of counsel, stated that thousands of people stepped on the grass on that May Day with impunity, and yet these defendants were selected as objects of prosecution. Carl Browne tried to make one of his florid roadside speeches but was called down by the judge. Instead Browne quickly dispatched a message to the Commonwealers at the camp, announcing that, “President Cleveland, the Czar of the United States, from his throne has finally issued orders to Pontius Pilate Miller, who has carried out his edict.” After denying Coxey’s request to be driven to jail in an open carriage, the three men were compelled to go out to the old brownstone jail in the Black Maria police van along with a dozen vagrants and prisoners convicted of disorderly conduct.
How ridiculous! Fined and imprisoned for carrying banners and walking on the grass.
These were the same men who had aroused fear and derision, and had the city preparing for possible anarchy and bloodshed. At least now I knew what had become of Coxey and Marshal Browne.
What a regrettable, inane ending to an unprecedented march to Washington all in the name of bringing hope and jobs to thousands of desperate people. I’d miss reading about them, and I wished them well.
“Miss Davish, Miss Davish,” several men, who had been loitering in the park across the street from Senator Smith’s house, called the moment they saw me. They rushed to meet me, forestalling my progress to the house.
I won’t miss the reporters when they find someone besides me to bother, I thought.
“Have any comment on Coxey’s sentencing?” one of the men asked. His pencil had numerous chew marks on it. I ignored him and attempted to push my way past.
“Do you think Annie Wilcox’s killer is now behind bars?” another asked.
“You think Coxey, Browne, or Christopher Columbus Jones was with Annie that morning?” I said, in spite of my vow not to speak to these men. Although I’d considered it, even examining the men’s buttons, I’d never heard anyone else voice the accusation. It took me by surprise.
“Don’t you?”
I didn’t. But I wasn’t going to tell them that. “Excuse me,” was my reply as I shoved my way to the front steps.
“Who killed Jasper Neely, Miss Davish? Readers want to know. You know something you’re not telling us.”
I don’t, I thought, clutching the key tightly in my palm. At least I hope I don’t.
* * *
“Walter!” I said, as he stepped out of the dining room into the hall in front of me.
“Surprised to see me?” he said, before kissing me on the cheek.
“Yes, most pleasantly.”
“Well, I had a little business to take care of while you were out hiking.” I inwardly cringed. I hadn’t been hiking and wasn’t looking forward to telling Walter and Sir Arthur where I had been.
“What business?”
“A little man-to-man chat with Sir Arthur.” Walter winked.
“What did you say? Did Sir Arthur change his mind? Will he give us his blessing?”
“He’s considering it,” Walter said, smiling. “He even offered me a cigar.” That was enough for me. Overjoyed to know that the two most important men in my life where being congenial again, I threw my arms around him. “Oh, and Mrs. Smith informed me that a certain lady’s trousseau arrived while she was out.”
“I’m so glad you spoke to Sir Arthur. Thank you,” I whispered. “It will make what I have to do next easier.”
“What’s that?” I took his hand in mine and led him back toward the dining room. I knocked on the door frame.
“I wasn’t hiking this morning.”
“But then where—?”
“Come,” Sir Arthur called from within, cutting off Walter’s question.
Sir Arthur was at the dining room table, reading his stack of morning newspapers. A cup of tea and a plate of buttered toast sat on the table in front of him. Luckily, he was alone.
“Have you seen these?” he asked, without preamble, holding up the Washington Post. The headline read:
LEADERS GO TO PRISON; HOW THE ARMY TOOK THE NEWS
THE MEN IN CAMP NEAR BLADENSBURG
REGARD THE SENTENCES AS UNNECESSARILY
SEVERE AND DECLARE THEIR INTENTION
OF HOLDING TOGETHER—STILL
LOYAL TO THEIR CAUSE
And then he held up his copy of the New York Times, which read:
COXEY IN THE “BLACK MARIA,” CLOSING SCENE OF HIS FAMOUS MARCH ON WASHINGTON
HANDCUFFED LIKE COMMON CONVICTS
DURING THEIR RIDE TO THE PRISON
“Yes, I have.”
“It’s bloody ridiculous, but that’s the end of Coxey’s Army and their Good Roads Bill,” Sir Arthur said.
“Do you think so?” Walter asked.
“Yes, nothing will come of it now. Do you have the index for me, Hattie?”
“I do.” I handed him the completed Index to Property Destroyed by Confederate Authorities and that which was Destroyed by the Enemy. He flipped through it, exclaiming with the occasional “Well, I’ll be damned,” or “Bloody hell.”
“Brilliant. This is better than I thought it would be.”
“Sir?”
“Yes?” He continued studying the index.
“I need to speak to you.” Sir Arthur looked up.
“Now, Hattie, Dr. Grice and I have been talking and—” Anxious to say what I must, I did something else I’d never done before. I interrupted him.
“Sir, this has to do with Senator Smith and Jasper Neely, the Coxeyite who was murdered.”
Knowing my past history with murder, Sir Arthur said nothing of the interruption. Instead he put the index down and indicated for Walter and me to sit.
“What do you know, Hattie?”
So I told him.
CHAPTER 31
“And this is the key to the drawer containing the register?” Sir Arthur said, holding the key before him. I’d finished my tale of my visit to Lottie Fox’s Apple House that morning.
“Yes.” I glanced over at Walter, not for the first time since I began my disclosure. Instead of frowning in disapproval as one would expect, he was stifling a chuckle.
How I love that man.
“You were right to come to me instead of the police, Hattie,” Sir Arthur said. “I’m astounded that you went to Hooker’s Division, but, as always, your judgment is impeccable. If you hadn’t . . .” He stared at the key again. “Well, there seems to be nothing left to do but to confront Smith.” Sir Arthur pushed back from the table. “I believe he took breakfast in his study.”
Sir Arthur
strolled across the hall, and without knocking, opened the study door and went in. Walter and I followed. The senator was sitting at his desk, a tray of coffee, orange juice, toast, and two fried eggs untouched beside him. Claude Morris stood bent over beside the desk. They were both studying a bound set of papers before them.
“Smith,” Sir Arthur said, “I’m afraid I must interrupt your work.”
Both men looked up and immediately glanced at Walter and me. Senator Smith frowned. Claude Morris, like any good secretary, held a neutral expression on his face.
“What is it, Sir Arthur?” Smith said.
“It’s best we speak in private,” Sir Arthur said, looking at Claude Morris.
“Of course,” Claude Morris said, picking up the papers the men had been studying. I noticed he had an ink spot on his sleeve. Then I glanced at the buttons on his vest—plain bone.
Will they ever find who abandoned Annie Wilcox? I wondered. Then I can stop looking at every man’s vest buttons!
“I will work on these and consult you later, Senator.”
“Thank you, Morris,” Senator Smith said. Claude quickly left, but not before I caught a flash of concern mixed with curiosity on his face. It was so brief I almost doubted I saw it at all. “And what about those two?” The senator jutted out his chin toward Walter and me.
“It is ‘those two’ who need to speak to you,” Sir Arthur said. “Go on, Hattie. Tell the senator what you told me.”
So I did, keeping my emotions at bay by reciting my tale with the same neutral tone I used to read back Sir Arthur’s dictations. To his credit, the senator sat in silence until I had finished. His face grew flushed, and he took off his spectacles to wipe them when I mentioned his name in Lottie Fox’s register, but he didn’t deny it or try to stop me from saying what I’d come to say.
When I finished, Sir Arthur said, “Well, Smith? Is any of this true?”
“Yes, unfortunately, a great deal of what your secretary says is true, though I deny now and always that I played any part in that miscreant’s death. Granted, I benefited from it, but I had nothing to do with it.”
“So Neely was blackmailing you?” Sir Arthur said.
“As she says, he came here early the morning of the march. He’d given me a note at the camp warning me of his arrival. Luckily I was able to meet him at the door before anyone else knew of our appointment.”
But someone else did know. Someone had been looking out the window. I said nothing, though, and let the senator continue.
“And yes, he pressed me to introduce some preposterous bill that would use federal money to employ men to build new roads and bridges. It was ludicrous! Do you know how much money that would cost the United States government?”
“But then he told you about this madam’s book?” Sir Arthur said. I was content to let Sir Arthur question the senator. I had learned from experience that a man of power would be more forthcoming with his peer than with someone he saw as beneath him, and we all needed the senator to be forthcoming.
“Yes, the weasel threatened to deliver this book, with mine and many others’ names in it, to Senator Abbott, who wouldn’t hesitate to use it against every Democrat in the register.”
“But you refused to support the bill?” Sir Arthur said.
“Not outright.”
“What?” I couldn’t help from speaking out at my surprise. “But Miss Fox led us to believe that you had refused to sponsor the bill. That was why Neely was going to carry out his threat.”
“No, the madam was wrong. In fact, I considered quite seriously giving in to his demands. I’m up for reelection soon, and if the truth about my visits to the Apple House got out, it would tarnish my image. I’m a family man, after all.” How could he say that without a trace of irony? Could he truly be oblivious to his hypocrisy or did he know very well what he said? “So I told him I would consider it and would speak to him after the march.”
Then why would Miss Fox have us believe that Smith had refused outright? Was she hoping to implicate Smith for her own unknown reasons or was she telling us the truth as she knew it? Could it have been Jasper Neely who had lied to her? Or was Senator Smith more duplicitous than I’d imagined? With one dead and the other on her way to New York State, we might never know.
“But sponsoring such a bill would also have been politically damaging, would it not?” Sir Arthur asked.
“Yes, but whether it was worse than having Abbott disclose my indiscretions, I didn’t know. I wanted time to consult a few of my most trusted colleagues and get their advice. It was repugnant to think of having to do either.”
“But then Neely turned up dead,” Walter said. He’d been silent throughout but now couldn’t help but add to the discussion.
“That’s right,” Smith said. “With the man dead, I wouldn’t have to make that terrible decision.”
“It was convenient for you that he died then?” I couldn’t keep a hint of contempt from my voice.
“Yes, it was more than convenient,” Smith responded sincerely, oblivious of my disdain. “I have to say it was good timing as well. I hadn’t even broached the subject to anyone. But still there’s Abbott to deal with. He won’t say anything without evidence, of course, but I’ll have to put up with more of his smug grins than usual.”
“Do you have any idea who could’ve killed Neely? Do you think Abbott capable?” Sir Arthur asked.
“Abbott? No, no. The man’s a snake, but he’d never do anything that threatened his Populist image. He’s too smart and too crafty for that.”
“Anyone else then?”
“I can only imagine that some other wayward, misguided follower of Coxey had a disagreement with Neely and acted out the only way short-sighted, ignorant men do.”
“Well, thank you for being so honest, Meriwether. Speaking for all of us”—Sir Arthur didn’t bother to even look at us, assuming it was his right to do so—“consider this the end of the matter. We won’t speak of it again.”
My objection was on the tip of my tongue when Walter touched me lightly on the shoulder and put his finger to his lips. He was right. Questioning Senator Smith further wouldn’t help. For now, at least.
“We will let you get back to your work,” Sir Arthur said. “As I believe Hattie needs to do as well.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “But what will you do with the key?”
“I know a carp pond you can throw it in,” Sir Arthur said. Was Sir Arthur joking with me? What had Walter said to make Sir Arthur so congenial?
“You’ve gone too far this time, Chester!” someone yelled from the other side of the door.
Sir Arthur pulled the door open to reveal Simeon Harper shoving Chester Smith in the hall. Senator Smith leaped from behind his desk and joined us in the doorway.
“Leave me alone, Harper,” Chester said. Senator Smith pushed his way past us.
“What is going on here?”
“Yes, Simeon. What is going on?” Sir Arthur said.
“He got in past the maid and started harassing me when I’d come in for breakfast,” Chester said.
“You’ve been an invited guest in my home. Why would you come to harass my son?”
“Because your son defrauded the government and attempted to cover it up,” the journalist said.
“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Chester said.
“Does the National Bank of the Potomac jog your memory?”
“Now, now, Harper,” Senator Smith said. “We faced accusations before and nothing was proven. That’s all behind us now, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“I’d have to agree with the senator,” Sir Arthur said. “It’s indecent of you to bring up such a controversial topic. Let the matter drop.”
“But I can prove it,” Simeon Harper said.
“And how can you do that?” Chester said snidely. “From what I hear, all the records at the Treasury have been misplaced or destroyed.”
“Because you had them destroyed,” Harper
said, stepping aggressively toward Chester again. Chester took a step back. “But I went directly to the bank where a pretty little secretary was more than willing to show me the original records. And all I had to do was promise to take her to dinner tonight.” Chester went white.
“I will not have you accusing my son of any wrongdoing,” Senator Smith said. “You will leave this house at once.”
“But don’t you want to hear the story they’re going to run in tonight’s Evening Star?”
“Okay, okay,” Chester said. “I admit it, just don’t print it in the paper.”
“Chester!” Senator Smith exclaimed. “According to the law, you did nothing wrong.”
“So you knew about this?” Sir Arthur said.
“I found out after the fact that he’d used information I’d discussed with him privately to have his bank buy the treasury notes with silver and redeem them for gold. I sent the boy away so that the uproar could die down. But like I said, he did nothing wrong.”
“Legally,” Harper said. “But I’d be willing to bet that my readers might think he was acting less than morally. And isn’t that what you want your voters to believe, Senator? That you and your family are moral, upstanding citizens?”
“Get out of my house!” Senator Smith said.
“Let me tell you the headline before I go: Senator’s son defrauds government with insider information: Good Business or Treason?”
“What do you want from us?” Senator Smith said. “You are supposed to be a friend of Sir Arthur’s. Why are you doing this?”
“I received anonymous tips I couldn’t ignore.”
“From Senator Abbott, no doubt. Who else would go to such lengths to ruin me? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“What else has Senator Abbott done?” Harper asked.
“If I tell you, will you retract your story about Chester? Will you promise, with Sir Arthur as witness, that you will leave my name and my son’s name out of anything you ever print again?”
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