by Sharon Rowse
She lowered her voice. “It says: Progress here. Stop. Home Friday with parcel. Stop. Keep safe. Stop. Granville.”
“Oh. I see why you weren’t sure.”
“He’s worded it carefully in case Papa reads it, but I think it means they’ve found little Sarah.”
“You think the parcel is little Sarah?”
“What else could it be? And I know how determined Gr—Mr. Granville is.”
“Oh for heaven’s sakes. You needn’t be so formal with me. But if the parcel is little Sarah, what is the “progress”?”
Emily smiled. “I knew you’d catch that. It’s exactly what I’ve been wondering. I think he must have learned something about Mary.”
“In Denver?”
“Why not? And at least I know he’s well.”
Clara was staring straight ahead, one gloved finger tapping the opposite wrist.
“Clara?”
“Keep safe—that’s a peculiar ending. Do you think he is warning you against further involvement in looking for Mary?”
“I’m sure it means no more than it says.”
Clara gave her a shrewd look. “Neither of us believes that, Emily. Perhaps you should simply leave it alone until he returns.”
Emily heaved a sigh. “It’s no use, Clara. I can’t pretend to be fascinated with things that bore me. It was bad enough when Mama was wanting me to embroider every piece of linen for my trousseau…”
“With your embroidery skills?”
“Exactly. Now Miriam has taken up burning designs into leather, and she’s hoping I’ll do the same.”
“A year ago you might have enjoyed it.”
“It’s a complicated process—you heat the burning point over an alcohol lamp, then keep it hot with a bellows while you burn the design into the leather. Which smells awful, by the way. And all to create objects for your loved ones that they’ll hate but have to display every time you come to visit.”
Clara giggled.
“Well they will. It seems so pointless.”
“As compared to investigating, perhaps?” Clara bit into a dainty watercress sandwich.
Emily blushed. “Not at all. But doesn’t it make you feel good to know that you’re part of returning a legacy?”
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, Emily. I know how you feel about your Granville.”
How could she know, when Emily wasn’t entirely sure herself? “This isn’t just about him.”
“No, it isn’t, is it? Your life might be easier if it were.”
Emily didn’t have to ask what she meant. She had a feeling Clara might be right, though she’d never admit that. But she couldn’t be someone other than who she was. “Have you heard anything from Mr. O’Hearn about Mary’s uncle? It would be such a good thing if we could find him before they get back from Denver.”
“How would I have heard from him? It isn’t as if Mr. O’Hearn is calling on me.”
“Clara, you’re blushing. What haven’t you told me?”
“He may have asked if he could call.”
“When?”
“After we came back from New West. It was while you were watching for the streetcar. But I said no.”
“Oh Clara, why?” Emily considered her friend’s expression. “You’re afraid your father would object.”
Clara nodded. “I’m expected to marry well, and Mr. O’Hearn doesn’t meet my father’s criteria.”
“There must be a way.”
“I don’t think so. Besides, I don’t really care for him, nor he for me. It’s only the excitement of Mr. Granville’s investigations that connects us, really.”
Emily gave her a sideways glance, but said nothing. She’d find some way to help her friend.
Clara caught the look. “Really, Emily, it is better this way. Now, what are you planning next? I’m sure you have a plan.”
“No, not really.”
Clara’s eyes narrowed at the odd tone in her friend’s voice. “Emily?”
“Really, it’s nothing.”
“We’ve been friends too long for me to believe that. What are you up to?”
Emily sipped her tea and tried to decide how much to tell Clara. There was no point in worrying her.
“Emily! What are you planning? And exactly how dangerous is it?”
“What makes you think it dangerous?”
“I know you. And since you met your Granville, I’ve come to know that look in your eye. So tell me.”
“Oh very well, if you must know.” And Emily related her conversations with Laura and Wally Sutton.
Clara heard her out in silence, only a sharply indrawn breath indicating her emotions. When Emily finished, she eyes searched her friend’s face. Such restraint was unlike her. “It truly isn’t dangerous.”
“Of course not. You’re merely searching for a deadly killer by having a naïve fool ask questions on your behalf.”
“Clara, there’s no need to take that sarcastic tone. And it isn’t like that.”
“It’s exactly like that. I can’t believe you were rabbiting on about embroidery and leather burning when you’ve just set yourself up as a target for a killer.”
Emily gave a strained little laugh. “I haven’t done that at all. Whoever is trying to kill Granville can have no interest in me. And it’s exactly because Wally is so naïve that no-one will suspect his questions to be dangerous.”
Even to her own ears the explanation sounded weak. She really hadn’t been thinking beyond to the need to do something, anything, to help Granville. A few questions asked of Andy Rigg’s relative had seemed harmless enough; how dangerous could it be to confirm that Mr. Gipson was the culprit? “Besides, you and I went to talk with Mr. Riggs. And Mr. Gipson. How is this different?”
Clara shook her head. “Don’t remind me. We should never have gone there. But this is different because someone might actually tell this Wally Sutton something of import.”
“Are you saying there was no possibility I would learn something?”
“You didn’t, did you?”
Since this was unarguably true, Emily thought it wise to change the subject. If Clara thought about this too long, she might refuse to help in future, and that would be most unfortunate.
THIRTY-SIX
Monday, January 22, 1900
Clad in his best suit, Granville sat on the other side of Baxter’s ostentatious desk and waited impatiently for the lawyer. He wanted these animals who dealt in little children behind bars, and quickly.
Sending the telegram to Emily had not calmed his fear for her. Had Mad Al gone back to Vancouver? But surely he’d have no reason to hurt her. The thought distracted him at odd moments.
Drawing in a deep breath, he willed his features impassive. He knew it might be asking too much to see Baxter, Androchuck and Mather arrested, knew he might have to settle for getting little Sarah back, perhaps even should do so.
But something in him rebelled at just grabbing the child and running. Somehow he’d managed to convince Scott; now he had to be equally convincing with Baxter. And he’d need luck on his side.
A side door opened and Baxter came in, hand outstretched and an annoying smile stretching his lips. “Mr. Gordon. How nice to see you again.”
“And you, Mr. Baxter. Is there word of the child?”
“Yes, I’m glad to say. A healthy boy, born last night.”
His luck had come through! Granville swallowed hard. “My son. Can I see him? Now?”
“Perhaps this evening.”
“And when can I take him home?”
“It will be a week, perhaps two, before he’ll be able to travel.”
Granville suspected this was a lie. “My wife is in such suspense, it’s worth any amount to get my son home earlier than that.”
Baxter tapped his lips. “Perhaps something can be arranged. You can afford a wet nurse?”
“Of course.”
“Very well.” Baxter scribbled several lines and handed the page to Granville. “Be at
this address tonight at eight. Come alone. And bring a bank draft in that amount.”
Granville pursed his lips in a silent whistle, then nodded. “Alright, yes. This is, after all, my heir. You’ll be there?”
“No, you’ll be dealing with several of my associates from this point on.”
Granville narrowed his eyes, set his jaw. “For this much money, I’d expect to deal directly with you, not some associate.”
“I assure you, they’re very competent.”
“Nonetheless.” He waited. Would it be enough?
Baxter moved his gold pen into precise alignment with the blotter. “That isn’t how I do things.”
“I’d not be comfortable dealing with anyone else on so sensitive a matter. But I do realize the value of your time.” He crossed out Baxter’s original figure, wrote in one substantially higher. “Would this be sufficient?”
Baxter’s eyes gleamed. “Very well. I’ll see you at eight.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s been a pleasure,” Granville said as he rose.
Emily arrived at class very early on Monday morning, to be greeted by Miss Richard’s look of surprise and an empty classroom. Would Wally Sutton have learned anything?
She tried to look busy with her shorthand notes as the other students arrived by ones and twos. She nodded and smiled at each, but avoided meeting their eyes. With so much at stake, she felt too restless to make conversation.
By three minutes to eight, there was still no sign of Wally, nor of Laura.
Andy Riggs and Ada Parker had arrived, but not Wally. Was this usual? Since Emily herself normally arrived right on the hour, she had no idea whether they usually arrived together.
Finally, at one minute to eight, Laura hurried in, smiling when she saw Emily and heading straight for her table.
“Is he here?” she whispered as she got closer.
“No. Is he usually this late?” Emily whispered back.
“No, usually he’s early. He gets here with Riggs and Ada.”
Emily nodded towards them. “They’ve been here fifteen minutes or more.”
“Do you think something has gone wrong?”
“Surely not. He was just asking questions,” Emily said, feeling a sinking in her stomach. Could he have got into trouble? But Andy Riggs was here.
“What could have happened?”
“I don’t know…”
“Seat yourselves quietly, please ladies. And—fingers up!”
The command from Miss Richards had Laura scurrying for her seat.
Emily automatically moved her fingers into place above the keys of the typewriting machine, while her mind raced. What would she do if Wally didn’t come to class today? Should they go looking for him? She couldn’t just assume he was fine, not when she’d put him up to doing something that might have proven dangerous. If…
The banging of a door broke into her thoughts. Emily looked up to see Wally dashing into the room. His hair was tousled and he had a bruise high on his cheek, but otherwise looked much as normal.
She breathed a sigh of relief. At least he was alive, and relatively undamaged. But had he learned anything?
As he seated himself with stammering apologies to Miss Richards, he glanced towards Emily and gave a tiny nod.
Emily nearly knocked the typewriting manual onto the floor. He’d learned something! Now she’d have to wait until the break to find out what it was.
At the end of the hour, Miss Richards announced that since the class had been delayed, they would continue for another half-hour. Several groans were heard. Emily could barely contain her frustration. She glared at the neatly typed page on the platen, then looked again.
Every word, every punctuation mark was perfect. Even the spacing was correct.
Somehow, while she had been speculating on what Wally might tell them, her fingers had been typing perfectly. There might be hope for her typewriting career after all, she decided as she rose, shaking out her creased skirts. As long as she didn’t have to spend it in an office taking dictation. Or typing out long and boring lists.
“So what did you learn?” Emily asked as soon as the three of them reached the relative privacy of the stairwell.
“And how did you come by that bruise?” Laura asked.
Wally Sutton fingered the dark red center of the mark with a combination of embarrassment and pride. “It was nothing,” he said, his gaze falling to his neatly polished shoes.
“But…?” Emily prompted.
“Well….”
“Go on,” Laura said, and he smiled at her.
“Well. I did ask, but Riggs thought I was insulting his father, saying he took orders from someone else. That’s how I got this,” he said, touching the bruise.
“And?” Emily asked.
“We sorted it out and everything’s fine now.”
“No, I meant did he give you a name?”
He looked surprised. “You must see I couldn’t ask him again. It would be like confirming the insult.”
“How can it be an insult if it’s true?”
Wally just shook his head. “Riggs said you wouldn’t understand.”
Laura went pale. “You told him?”
“Well, naturally. I had to explain, didn’t I?”
Emily silently muttered a phrase she’d heard Papa use when he didn’t know she was listening. Clara was right. She should have known better than to involve this nitwit. So what would this mean? “I’ll have to talk to Mr. Riggs myself.”
“Oh, Emily. Are you sure there isn’t another way?”
“I’m sure, Laura.” She turned to Wally. “Thank you for your help.” It was a struggle to get the words out. “Did you tell Andy Riggs about Laura’s involvement, too?”
He gave Laura a devoted look. “She wasn’t involved, so how could I tell him? You were asking the questions.”
Emily nodded. “True enough.”
“I’ll be involved now,” Laura said.
“No, I’d rather any problems not fall on you. Thank you, though.”
“What problems could there be?” Wally asked.
Behind his back, Laura rolled her eyes. Emily smiled, despite the twisting feeling in her stomach.
At quarter to eight that evening, Granville stood outside the run-down warehouse in the worst section of town. His breath steamed on the crisp air and he jammed his hands further into his wool overcoat. The lighting was poor here, and shadows clung thickly between the buildings, each one more decrepit than the last.
He was all too aware of the risks he ran, walking alone into such a setup.
Scott and Trent were somewhere in the darkness behind him, weapons held ready, but in a fight, their help could come too late.
The warehouse stood quiet, seemingly empty. Nothing moved in the darkness around him. A cloud drifted across the half moon, and the shadows thickened.
There was a sudden rustle of movement to his left—a rat?—then silence again.
Granville stamped his feet on the snow, more in defiance of the stillness than in a futile effort to warm them.
Somewhere a door creaked, and he heard a baby’s thin wail.
He snapped to attention.
The cry came again, then was stifled.
He hoped they were treating the poor mite carefully and had bundled him well against this cold.
“Mr. Granville?”
It was Baxter’s voice. He tensed. He’d been worried the lawyer would sense something amiss and not show up. He hoped Scott and Trent were well hidden. “Yes, I’m here.”
“You’ve the money?”
“Yes.”
A shaft of light appeared as the door creaked wider, Baxter silhouetted against the lamp lit interior. He was holding a gun. “Come in then, and hurry. This isn’t the safest of areas.”
It was an understatement, from what he’d seen, but what lay in wait for him had the potential to be even more dangerous. Especially if Androchuck and Mather were waiting inside. “Is that my son I heard?” he as
ked as he walked forward.
“It is.”
“I can’t wait to see him,” he said as he entered a room that was brighter but still cold. It was true, but not for the reasons Baxter might have assumed.
“Hmmm. All it needs is the money, and he’s yours.”
“And there’s no possibility the mother will come after him? Or me?”
“None. Everything will show him your own son, born of your wife.”
Granville wasn’t sure if it was arrogance that allowed Baxter to be so open, or just confidence that the only ears within hearing belonged to his men. A quick glance confirmed that Baxter had brought along four others, including Mather, Androchuck and Berger.
All were armed, and he recognized the alertness that meant he was seconds away from death.
He had to forcibly stop himself from reaching for his own revolver.
Mather was holding an infant with the off-hand ease of familiarity. It made Granville shudder.
They hadn’t recognized him yet. In the poor light he looked too different, and they didn’t expect to know him.
But it wouldn’t be long.
He needed to get this right, and quickly.
“Here’s your check,” he said, handing it to Baxter. As he’d expected, the action focused all their attention on that bit of paper for a few critical moments.
“However, I’ve had difficulty securing a wet nurse here, and my office has called me home early. I’ll easily be able to arrange a wet nurse once I arrive there. Is it possible for you to deliver the babe to my home next week, rather than my taking him tonight?”
“Yes, of course. For an additional consideration,” Baxter said as he folded the check and slid it into an inner pocket.
“Naturally. But there’ll be no difficulty in delivering the babe? You are remembering I live in San Francisco?”
Baxter waved in the direction of the others. “Not at all. They’ve made similar deliveries to your city in the past.”
It was what he’d been hoping to hear. “Delivering babies across state lines, for cash? Surely that’s illegal?”
His tone had Baxter’s expression changing from complacency to the beginnings of alarm.
The click of a hammer being drawn back echoed loudly in the stillness.