by Ann Parker
“Well then, you know he is even more a rationalist. A man obsessed with the mechanical workings of brain and body. Not a physician to ‘heal the heart.’ He has convinced my husband through sharing of his medical journals and his overwhelming talk, talk, talk that Spiritualism is the cause of women’s diseases and that I suffer from many such diseases as a result of my beliefs.”
She looked at Inez, pleading in her eyes. “Are you a believer too?”
The hope in her voice almost caused Inez to backpedal. How could she lie to a woman who was so desperate for friendship and connection? “I am…a seeker,” Inez temporized.
“I thought I saw an aura about you!” exclaimed Mrs. Alexander.
Aura? Inez wasn’t sure what she meant.
Glancing around as if concerned someone would overhear, Mrs. Alexander lowered her voice. “I am hosting a séance this coming Friday. Please come. I have few friends.” It was such a basic admission of loneliness that Inez felt a compulsion to either flee or give her a hug.
“Of course.” Inez said. “When and where?”
Mrs. Alexander extracted a silver card case and gave Inez her calling card. “My home, above my husband’s business. He is an undertaker, embalmer too.”
Inez accepted the card and said, “It is well to find kindred spirits, is it not?”
Mrs. Alexander nodded vigorously. “Oh yes!”
“Fancy, we only just met at the Jacksons’ a few days ago. It must be Fate.”
Inez could tell she liked that, so continued, “You were with that amazing medium. Mrs. Gizzi, wasn’t it? I was quite impressed. Will she be at your séance?”
Inez had been angling to speak Drina’s name, if only to observe Mrs. Alexander’s response.
She broke eye contact with Inez, looking down at her coat and adjusting one of the jet buttons. “I, I had hoped so. She has a true gift. But, she has disappeared. I have no idea where she is, where she went.” Mrs. Alexander looked at Inez, distressed. “I even went to where she lives, which is not a nice part of town. Her sign is gone, no one is there, it looks abandoned.” Bewilderment touched her voice. “I do not understand what happened. However, I have found someone else who claims to communicate with those who have awakened into the inner sphere of life. We shall see. Drina had such sensitivity and second sight, it was remarkable, it was…”
She trailed off. Her face went a little slack, as if a light within had winked out.
“Mrs. Alexander, are you feeling unwell?” Inez asked in concern.
The undertaker’s wife started, then began digging through her reticule with jerky movements. “Let, let me give you my card.”
Inez held it up between two fingers. “You already did. What time would you like me to come by on Friday?”
She gave a tiny “Oh,” and touched her forehead. “I probably need to go home and rest,” she whispered. “Too much excitement, my husband would say.”
“What time is the séance on Friday?” Inez prompted again.
“We begin at midnight, when the veil between this world and the next is thinnest, when we will have the best chance of reaching beyond.” Subdued, she said, “I must go rest.” Without further courtesies or farewells, she walked away.
Inez watched her go, thinking that, if Mrs. Alexander had anything to do with Drina’s death, she was a far finer dissembler than any sharp or con artist of her acquaintance. Sighing, she tucked the calling card into her pocket and retraced her path up the church steps to find Susan.
She had one hand upon the slightly open door, ready to push it open, when a sharp feminine voice on the other side said, “Well, Mr. Stannert, you were right in every way about Reverend Sands. What a blessing you spoke with my husband and the board in August and pointed them in the right direction. How such a man could have been called to the ministry is completely beyond me. And his total disregard for the health of our little congregation, his mockery of our faith and outright flaunting of his pastoral responsibilities. Well! We certainly found out what he thought of us today, didn’t we?”
Inez held her breath, her hand flat on the door panel, and listened.
Sure enough, Mark responded, that charming Southern drawl laid on extra-thick, like a heaping helping of too-sweet marmalade. “Well, now, Mrs. Terrence. I was glad to help. I’ve been gone a spell, so perhaps it just needed someone unbiased, with eyes wide open, to suss out who this Justice B. Sands was, and is. It was my bounden duty as a concerned congregant to talk to your husband and the other fine, upstanding gentlemen of the board.”
“So true. So, so true. You weren’t here this past year, but I wish you had been, because we might have been able to act sooner and avoid the current unpleasantness. I expressed my doubts to Mr. Terrence all along, told him what I saw, such as the incident with Miss Snow in July, and your wife…” Her voice trailed away as if she realized she might be straying into dangerous territory. She recovered with “Well, he was too charming by half with all the women.”
Not you, thought Inez snidely, and maybe that’s what has you in such a huff. But Mrs. Terrence’s appalling self-righteousness was a small sin. What stunned her, but did not surprise her, was the undeniable and unadulterated proof of Mark’s machinations. It was clear, now, exactly what he’d been up to once he returned, and it wasn’t just talking with Mr. Robitaille about building her a new home.
He builds me a house and tears down my life. Anger sparked inside her, like the flicker of far-off lightning, distant, accompanied by a soft rumble of thunder, warning of more to come.
“My husband is such a busy man,” the sharp, self-satisfied nasal whine continued. “Not that church matters are unimportant to him, but it takes someone of equal stature to get his attention. Someone such as yourself, another concerned businessman, who knows how important it is that we put our best foot forward as a church and congregation. As a mining broker, he has so many things on his mind, so thank you for being so—”
Someone inside pulled the door open, and Mr. Johnson, a male member of the church board, reared back in consternation at finding Inez standing on the other side. She glared at him, recalling the time she’d seen him exiting from Frisco Flo’s State Street boardinghouse at an hour better suited for sleeping in his proper home with his proper wife than rising from a brothel. Another incident, even more damning, rose to her mind, overheard at the Silver Queen. Mr. Johnson had boasted to his colleagues within her hearing how he had “cleaned up” the area in front of his business by rolling a sleeping vagrant off the elevated sideway into the deep mud of the street. He continued, describing how he had proceeded to wash the filthy boards with cold water, “flushing out” two waifs sheltering beneath the walkway. Then, he and his cronies had laughed and ordered another round.
“Peace be with you, Mr. Johnson,” she said, making it clear by tone that peace was the last thing she wished upon him.
He responded, “And with you, Mrs. Stannert.” He could not have known what she was thinking, exactly, but a quick, guilty glance from him told her that he sensed her contempt. With a flush building from collar to cheeks, he maneuvered past her and hurried down the stairs.
Mr. Johnson’s guilty reaction, however, was nothing compared to Mark’s.
With a savage satisfaction, Inez watched as he whirled around to face her. She saw the knowledge dawn that she had heard everything, everything that had just transpired in the conversation. And that there was no denying it.
“Why, Mrs. Stannert,” he said, Southern drawl suddenly absent. “You’re still here.”
“As are you, Mr. Stannert,” she said, adding with a smile of poisonous sweetness, “I’m on my way to find Miss Carothers. I understand you have important church matters to discuss, unless everything is settled? I imagine there are things you still have to do, so I will not keep you now.”
Mrs. Terrence, who was facing the door, had lifted a suede-gloved hand t
o her lips as if to recall the words that she had released into the air just moments ago. Inez headed into the church interior, brushing by her and Mark with a cold “Peace be with you.” She reflected that, if it were up to her, it would be an ice-locked day in hell—with the demons screaming in frostbit agony and Satan himself begging for a stick of firewood to stave off the eternal freeze—before Mark, Mrs. Terrence, or any of the church board felt peace again.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Susan shielded her eyes as they crossed the street on the way to her studio. The late morning sunlight shattered and broke off the frozen heaves and ruts in the street dazzling the eyes and making it difficult to see. When she spoke, she sounded calm, but sad. “I will miss Reverend Sands.”
She was, Inez thought, a true “Christian soldier,” one who had faith, but didn’t trumpet it about or display it like a gold medal of her “worth.” Inez reflected that Susan had been through much the past year, and even before, all while trudging at Inez’s side, guiding her through, being there for her. From the dark times after Mark’s disappearance and through the horrifying death of the husband of their mutual friend Emma Rose. Later, there was all that business with the railroads, when Susan had been lucky to escape with her life. Finally, most recently, were the events that had transpired in Manitou Springs when Susan had accompanied her on what was supposed to be a simple reunion for Inez with her son and sister. Inez’s throat constricted. The jaunt to the Springs had brought Susan deep sorrows and the loss of someone who had become near and dear to her. All this she had, for the most part, borne alone in silence.
What kind of friend am I, that I did not follow her back to Leadville, to help her through that most difficult personal loss? Instead I stayed in the Springs, dallying about with Mark. But no, it wasn’t just Mark. She had stayed because her son was there with her sister, who was his guardian in all but name.
Inez took Susan’s unoccupied hand and squeezed it. Together they steadied each other across the treacherous street.
“Inez, what will you do?”
Inez squeezed her hand again. As always, Susan’s concerns were for others, not herself. “I will have to deal with matters here in Leadville before I can do anything else. Reverend Sands and I talked yesterday. He understands. I wanted to tell you about his leaving yesterday, but I was bound to silence.” She paused, then said, “Whatever Mark and I once had, it is gone now. We cannot go back to what we were.” Bitterness burned her throat.
“What a difficult situation for you, Inez. If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask.”
“You do plenty. More than enough. You accept me for who I am and do not censure me, despite my many faults and failings. For that, I’m eternally grateful, Susan. It seems I am always running to you, asking for help, for this and for that. You never ask for anything in return.”
“Only for your friendship, and a chance to share a cup of tea and confide about the doings of our lives.”
They reached the relative safety of the boards on the other side of the street. Susan released Inez’s hand and spoke with a forced lightness. “Your life is so much more exciting than mine. It’s like reading one of those adventurous dime novels. One never knows how the hero, or in your case, the heroine, will overcome the trials and challenges. But just as with the dime novels, I have faith that, in the end, you will make things right and justice will prevail.”
Inez smiled in return. “Ah, if only I had some of the abilities of your dime novel heroes, Susan. To plug a black-hearted villain in the eye from a mile away with a pistol, to lurk around incognito behind a false mustache while seeking out clues in illegal opium dens, to mount a horse at a gallop…from behind.”
“Oh, you do make fun of me!” Susan seemed to be regaining heart. “But they are a harmless pleasure, after all.”
At her studio, Susan extracted her key, saying, “Speaking of a cup of tea, would you like to join me? We might finally have a chance to chat, uninterrupted by my little ringing doorbell and your many adventures.”
“That sounds most excellent.”
Susan opened the door, the bell tinkled, and a small shadow popped up from the rear hallway. “Miss Carothers?” Tony’s timorous voice floated out of the unlit interior.
“Tony?” Inez stepped past Susan into the interior.
“Mrs. Stannert!” Tony’s voice flooded with relief. “The drummer man, the one with all the ladies’ stuff. He’s at Mr. Alexander’s, and he’s dead!”
***
It took a couple servings of tea heaped with sugar to get a coherent account from Tony of what she’d seen.
“Mr. Alexander said he gets all the dead bodies that nobody knows or cares about,” Tony said, looking down at her cup. She’d bypassed the dainty handle and was cradling the china bowl in hands that looked as if she’d been working as a bootblack. “I was polishing coffins,” was her short reply when Susan exclaimed over their appearance.
“What on earth possessed him to show you the remains?” Susan was obviously horrified that Tony had been subjected to the sight.
Tony shrugged. “I asked to see. I thought, ’cause of what he said, that maybe Maman was down there. No one cared about her but me.” Tony’s mouth trembled, then set into a determined line. “But it wasn’t her. Mr. Alexander said all the bodies no one cares about go to the Free Cemetery. I want to go there and look for her.”
Susan put a hand to her forehead and slid a sideways glance at Inez. “Tony, ah, Annabelle, oh dear. Please, what is your real name?”
“Antonia,” she muttered.
“Antonia, perhaps it’s best not to go back to Mr. Alexander’s.”
Inez said, “Susan is right. What if you run into Mrs. Alexander? You said she saw you in French Row and recognized your kin to your mother. Or, God forbid, what if Dr. Gregorvich shows up? I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. Or, more likely, what if Mr. Alexander recalls you from somewhere? Your ‘disguise’ from your newsie friend is hardly foolproof. Surely you’ve sold papers to Mr. Alexander in the past.”
Tony shook her head. “He’s a Chronicle man. Got their paper all over the place, behind the counter and downstairs. Mr. Elliston sure wouldn’t like that. Anyway,” she took another sip of tea, “I figure if, like he says, all the unwanted bodies this month go to him for putting below ground, then Maman probably ended up there. I want to find out what happened. I’m going to stay until I know.”
Susan compressed her lips and looked at Inez. Inez shook her head, then addressed Tony. “If you must, you must. But promise us, at the first sign that someone sees you for who you really are, and especially if they recognize you as your mother’s child or as the boy who almost shot Lord Percy in my saloon, you will run. You will not linger and try to offer truths or invent lies. You. Will. RUN.” She said the last word as if to brand it into Tony’s stubborn brain. “Run to me. Run to Susan. Run to Mr. Elliston or even Mr. Stannert. You have to trust enough to come to us. Agreed?”
Tony stayed silent.
Inez crouched, insisting by sheer will that Tony look up. Finally those unnerving, extraordinary eyes met hers. “I need this promise from you,” said Inez. “Promise me and Miss Carothers that you will not go into danger. You will run for help. Say ‘I promise.’”
“I promise.”
***
Inez and Susan’s cherished chat was deferred yet again. Tony insisted she had to go back to Alexander’s right away. “He has lots for me to do, and he pays really good,” she said. “Plus, I got to find out what happened to my maman. I’ll be careful.” She then added, “I promise.”
Inez doubted Tony’s definition of “being careful” corresponded with what Susan and she herself had in mind, but for now, it would have to do.
Glancing at the clock, Susan remarked that no sooner would Tony go out the rear door than clients would be coming in the front. “My sitting appointments f
ill up Sunday afternoons, when people are normally dressed in their Sunday best,” she told Tony. She’d tried one more time. “You could change into your Annabelle clothes and help me. I’ll show you my camera, you could look through it and I could explain how the process works.”
Tony shook her head again. “Can’t. But,” she held out her cup, “can I have one more before I leave, please?”
Inez returned to the saloon, intending to lose herself in paperwork. She was concerned about the direction things were heading with Drina’s death, Tony’s situation, and the constellation of characters that swirled around them. It was difficult to see ahead clearly, to ascertain the next step. Woods was dead. So what did that prove? Couldn’t he still have been the murderer? Inez had seen him on her way to Drina’s, which would have been after she had been strangled. Inez decided she needed to focus on the others on her list since the drummer was past answering her questions. Top of that list was Madam Labasilier.
The saloon doors were open for an airing, and Sol was sweeping out the clumpings of dried mud and dirt that had accumulated the night before. With surprise, Inez saw Epperley and the other Lads from London, sans Percy, lounging about the door, looking hangdog and hungover.
“You’re all up early for a Sunday,” she said. “We aren’t open today, but I suppose I could make an exception in your case.”
“We’ve come to collect our ticket money and things,” said Epperley.
“Too much wine, women, and song,” said Tipton. “Poor Epperley hasn’t got the stamina for it. Needs more practice, obviously. From now on, we insist, old chap, you must come up with us on our monthly Leadville romps. You are becoming much too much the old man, always fussing about that hotel of yours and muttering about the bills. Hang the bills. Hang the hotel. You need to give that all up, like Percy said, settle in with us, and just enjoy the good life with your remittance.”
Epperley didn’t seem in the mood for a lecture. “Let’s talk later when my head’s stopped pounding. Don’t know what happened to Percy, but he knew we were leaving today. Just give us our money and whatever he left with you, his confounded rabbit’s foot and so on, and we’ll take it with us. Serves him right for abandoning us like that. Tell him we’re at the depot, if he shows up.”