The Typewriter Girl

by J. L. Jarvis

  Her mouth widened into a grotesquely contended smile. “It can give you sweet dreams.”

  “Did you use this on Emma?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Benjamin leaned back, holding the bottle to the lamp. Slowly he tipped it one way then the other, and the light shone through glass, casting a deep amber hue on the liquid inside as it seductively sloshed back and forth.

  He said, “Tell me. If someone were asleep and they breathed in the fumes from this bottle, they might fall into a far deeper sleep.”

  Gwendolyn watched the bottle, transfixed.

  “What’s it like? Does it feel good?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes lifted but did not meet his.

  “Which feels better, to take a deep breath of what’s inside this bottle or to hurt an innocent woman?”

  She then scowled with a passionless hatred. “That depends on what’s causing the hurt. Any doctor will tell you, you have to use the right remedy for what ails you.”

  “And what was your remedy—to drive Emma mad?”

  “That’s absurd. I don’t care a whit about her either way.”

  “You drugged us both with chloroform while we were asleep, and then set everything up so she would believe she had attacked me in her sleep.”

  “You’re the one who’s crazy.” She started to get up, but Benjamin held the bottle before her conspicuously.

  “Maybe so. Maybe I should just leave, but I’m taking your friend here.”

  “That’s mine.” She lunged for it, but he took hold of one wrist and tossed her back into the chair.

  He set down the bottle and with his hands clamped both her wrists to the arms of the chair. He leaned over and said, “You told a good story. I believed it for a long time—too long. But the one thing you didn’t plan on was how much I loved her, and how I wouldn’t let her go. I thought through each moment, every word that was said. I heard it again and again in my mind. I could almost see Emma in hysterics, sitting there in her nightgown.”

  Gwendolyn looked at him blankly.

  “But Emma was dressed. I carried her up to bed myself.”

  “That means nothing. She did it. What does it matter if she was dressed or not dressed at the time?”

  “But the keys. I locked the door to the hall and the door between our rooms. Both of the keys were in my room when I went to bed.”

  “Apparently not.”

  Gwendolyn said, “Yes, they were. But Mrs. Dowling had keys. She could open each room in the house.”

  Benjamin fixed his eyes on hers. “Mrs. Dowling wasn’t there.”

  “No, but you had her keys.” Gwendolyn dug her fingers into the arm of the chair.

  “Poor Emma. Waking up in that room next to my body. You painted quite a picture, but you got one thing wrong.”

  Benjamin let go of Gwendolyn’s hands and stood up. “She wasn’t in her nightgown. She was dressed in the clothes she was wearing when I brought her upstairs. That was careless of you.”

  “A silly detail. Do you think that proves anything?”

  “No. But it didn’t fit with the things I remembered. And then I began to remember more.”

  She started to reach for the bottle, but he picked it up from the table and held it out of reach. She held her stomach and shifted position.

  “Are you feeling all right?”

  She looked up at him boldly and said, “Tell me another story, but first hand me that bottle.”

  He held it just out of her reach. “This won’t cure what’s wrong with you.”

  “Maybe not, but it helps with the pain.”

  “What pain could you have compared to what you’ve put us through?”

  Gwendolyn was seized by a cramp. “But that’s the point, isn’t it?”

  “To hurt Emma?”

  “No, to hurt you. You ruined it all.”

  With icy blue eyes, he stared and said, “Tell me everything.”

  She clutched her waist, and could not seem to sit still. She looked at the bottle and looked up at him. “And you’ll give me the bottle?”

  “Yes.”

  She searched his somber expression to make sure that he meant it.

  He nodded.

  She began quietly. “After Emma left, I had to piece back together the plans I had made. The Earl was ready to bolt, but I convinced him to stay. That was easy enough. He was desperate for money. But times passed. We were having some trouble—jute prices—we couldn’t afford to lose him. If he left, who else would want Emma? It was all such a scandal. They were already starting to laugh at us behind our backs. I couldn’t take the humiliation. The doctor prescribed a small dose of medicine for my nerves. But he made me stop. He said I was dependent. So I did. I just stopped. I’m a strong person. But I’ve had a hard life. You don’t know because you’re lucky. Everything’s easy for you, but it isn’t for me. Still, I did it. I stopped eating opium until you got me started again.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “You’re always there for me, Benjamin. Right there to kick me when I’m down.”

  “I barely know you.”

  “And yet you have managed to ruin my life. The chloroform is just one of the spoils of war. I had it left over from you and your typewriter girl. It’s really quite lovely. You should try it.”

  “Evidently I have. Tell me about the night before the wedding.”

  “That just tears you up inside, doesn’t it?” As she looked for her answer, her face was aglow with triumph.

  “You ruined her life just to get back at me?”

  “It hurts, doesn’t it? To love someone that much and to lose them.”

  Benjamin wrapped his fingers around her arm like a vise until she winced and stood up as he pulled her.

  She glared into his eyes. “How much do you love her? So much that it twists your insides and you want to cry out from the pain—but no one can hear—or if they can, no one cares?”

  Her triumphant expression went lax. “You fool. I didn’t do it to you. I needed to get Emma away so the Earl would have a chance with her.”

  “You thought putting Emma in an asylum would make her more attractive to him?”

  “He didn’t know where she was. I needed to get her away so she’d forget about you. We needed time for the scandal to fade.”

  “It’s been months! You’ve imprisoned an innocent girl in an asylum for months! How long was he willing to wait?”

  “The Earl left for England last week.”

  “He must have been heartbroken, given his deep love for our Emma.”

  Gwendolyn said, “We couldn’t pay him anymore. Henry’s lost most of his money. He’s gone to Texas to try to work things out with the Cotton Alliance.” She smiled to herself. “He thinks Emma’s nervous breakdown turned out to be a blessing for Emma. She won’t have to watch us come down in the world.”

  Benjamin stared at her. A blessing? He left before venting his rage.

  Chapter 23

  Clouds loomed over the asylum, crowding out blue patches of sky. A few visitors walked down a path not far from where Emma and Mrs. Hall stood together, concealed by thick foliage.

  “Don’t go into or even linger outside a nice shop. In your clothes, you’ll stand out as someone who does not belong.”

  “I already learned that the hard way.”

  “If it rains, look for the nearest train station and stay there for shelter until it blows over.” Mrs. Hall grasped Emma’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine.”

  Emma nodded, wide-eyed, but trying to be brave.

  “You’ve got food?”

  Emma touched the small parcel in the crook of her arm.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I have to. I won’t be able to refuse him for long. And I can’t risk his life, no matter how willingly he offers it to me. I love him too much, and that weakens my will. Each time I saw him, the more selfish I’d be. So I have to leave now.”
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  “You’ll break his heart.”

  “And mine, too.

  “You’ve been a dear friend to me,” Emma said, as they hugged.

  “If you don’t find work, where will you go?”

  “I’ll just have to find work.”

  Emma took one more look at the garden they had nurtured.

  “They’ll miss you,” Mrs. Hall said, with a glance at the flowers.

  Emma forced a smile through her sadness.

  A wistful light shone in Mrs. Hall’s eyes. But there was no more to say; only tears to shed later.

  The moment before parting was silent. She took hold of Mrs. Hall’s hands and glanced up at the looming red stone fortress. Mrs. Hall moved a chair next to the wall and helped boost Emma over it. With a flutter of fabric, Emma was gone.

  Gwendolyn sat in Dr. Whitfield’s office. Her husband, Henry, remained by her side, while Benjamin and Fletcher stood nearby. She’d been brought to the asylum for a rest cure after Henry had found her unconscious with a spilled bottle of ether beside her. It was for her own good, he explained. Henry now stood beside her. He seemed truly to love her, for some unfathomable reason. Benjamin could not even bring himself to admire Henry Farlowe for his devotion, but he felt sorry for him. He was a kind-hearted man who had made a bad choice for a wife.

  As the reality of her plight sank in, Gwendolyn gripped Henry’s arm and begged him to take her back home.

  Henry was quiet but stern. “You drugged your own stepdaughter and put her in an asylum. If I don’t leave you here to be treated, I’ll file criminal charges.”

  “It was only a little.” Gwendolyn added frankly, “It was nothing personal.”

  “You might have killed her!” said Henry.

  “She was fine.” Gwendolyn lifted her eyes in a show of impatience. “I had to do it. Our social standing depended upon it. We’d been left out one too many times. Would it have killed Caroline Astor to have four hundred and two at her parties? I’ll bet some people didn’t even show up.”

  Benjamin walked as far away as the room would allow. He did not trust himself to keep his hands from wringing the blue blood from Gwendolyn’s neck.

  With no more concern than if she’d been caught cheating at bridge, she said, “I did what I had to do.”

  “For a party invitation,” mumbled Benjamin.

  Gwendolyn heard him. “Not just a party! The four hundred were society. You were in or out, and we had to get in. Having a daughter marry a peer of the realm was our ticket inside.” She lifted round eyes up to Henry’s. “I did it for Henry. The business connections were a gold mine for him.”

  Benjamin glanced at her sharply. “A gold mine. You had everything you could possibly need. But money wasn’t enough, was it? You had to ruin lives.”

  Gwendolyn looked at the doctor with a suddenly sweet, helpless tone. “My head is just pounding. Could I have something for it?” She posed with her hand to her temple.

  “Not today. We will talk again soon.”

  The doctor lifted a finger to the nurse. “Miss Bladen, would you take Mrs. Farlowe to the women’s pavilion?”

  “But my medicine—may I have it now, please?”

  Nurse Bladen leaned down as though whispering a kind encouragement. “Quit your whining, honey, or I’ll give you something to whine about.” Nurse Bladen straightened and offered her a wide, toothy smile.

  Seeming not to have noticed, Dr. Whitfield told Nurse Bladen, “Twenty-four hour observation, then we’ll assess medication.”

  Gwendolyn panicked and pulled her arms from the nurse’s grasp. “But, Doctor, my head hurts. My stomach’s cramping. Please, I need something.”

  He gave a slight nod to the nurse, who started to lead the new patient away.

  “I’ve cooperated. Now it’s your turn.” Anger burned into her face.

  The nurse pulled her toward the door. Once outside, she told Gwendolyn, “You haven’t even begun to cooperate, honey. But don’t worry, you will.”

  Gwendolyn turned and cursed Benjamin as he stared blankly at her. “It was supposed to be you! I wanted to drug you and put you in here to get you out of the way, but then she was there with you. You just wouldn’t get out of the way.” She was far down the hall, but her voice still echoed back to them.

  Benjamin clenched his teeth and refused to respond.

  Gwendolyn’s bitter expression turned cold, then she winced. “My stomach hurts. Fletcher, please. Tell them what I need. Make them give it to me.”

  “The doctor knows what is best for you.” He looked at her with pity.

  Her voice was instantly edgy. “Do something, Fletcher! Doctor! If you want to keep working here, you’d better do something.”

  Dr. Whitfield walked over, put his hands on her shoulders, and spoke softly in her ear. “I’ll be leaving here soon, so don’t think you can hurt me. It’s over.” He stood and gave a nod to the nurse and the orderly.

  They took hold of her upper arms and led her toward the door.

  Gwendolyn let out a shrill cry and refused to be moved. “Fletcher!” She barked with a hideous rasp to her voice. Her face contorted. “Do something!”

  He made no move to help her.

  She glared at him. “Fletcher, I warned you.” She sent a chilling gaze into his eyes, which he met, but he would not be swayed.

  A wicked grin lit her face as she turned toward the doctor. “He’s the crazy one—not me!” she screamed, casting a triumphant glare back at Fletcher.

  The nurse and the orderly pulled as she violently fought them. Thrashing and flailing, she scratched at them and hollered as they pulled her out of the room and on down the hall.

  “Tell them, Fletcher! Doctor!” She turned to Nurse Bladen. “You know they’re both queer!”

  “That’s right, honey. Everyone’s strange around here,” said Nurse Bladen. “Come on, let’s go meet your roommates.”

  Gwendolyn turned around and screamed, “Henry!”

  The four of them stood outside Dr. Whitfield’s office. Henry, Benjamin, Fletcher, and the doctor, all gaping.

  Benjamin turned an ear toward her as though he might not have heard her correctly.

  “Dear Lord, she’s as mad as a hatter,” said Henry Farlowe, aghast.

  Fletcher caught Dr. Whitfield’s eye and shrugged as he shook his head. “Do you think she’ll recover?”

  “Oh, I think so,” replied Dr. Whitfield. He leaned closer and muttered with a glint in his eye, “As soon as she gives us the negatives.”

  “Mr. Farlowe, there are some papers to sign here,” said Dr. Whitfield’s nurse.

  “Of course,” said a sad Henry Farlowe, as he went followed her into the office.

  While they waited outside, Fletcher said, “How on earth did you get her to confess?”

  Benjamin’s brows rose. “I honestly don’t know. It wasn’t her conscience, I can tell you that. I suppose I have the drugs to thank. Her thinking was clouded, and the truth just came out.” Benjamin thought for a moment. “I almost think she was desperate to brag.”

  Fletcher hesitated, then said, “Have you heard anything...?”

  “About Emma? No.”

  Benjamin walked into the hotel lobby and picked up his key at the desk.

  “Oh, Mr. Stark,” the clerk called after him as he was walking away. “I didn’t get a chance to put it into your box.” He handed a paper to Benjamin.

  Benjamin scanned the small slip of paper. The clerk was trained well enough to hide his curiosity, but the look on Benjamin’s face challenged his skills.

  Fletcher caught up with him. “What is it? You’re not going off on another wild expedition, are you?” But he saw the detective agency’s familiar letterhead and was suddenly somber. “Emma?”

  Benjamin looked at him with a dark alarm. “He’s found her.”

  The next shift was on its way into the Larkin Soap Factory in Buffalo. A steady and seemingly unending line of young women filed past the time clock. Each lifted her car
d in near rhythmic fashion, and set it back into a rack before going on around the corner. Benjamin watched each young woman go through the same motions until the line ended. His spirits fell. He watched, once more alert, as a few stragglers rushed in late and scurried past while trying to avoid the scrutinizing eye of the supervisor.

  “I’m afraid that’s all, Mr. Stark.” The man in the suit glanced at the clock. “If you’ll excuse me, I really must go.”

  Distracted, Benjamin said, “Yes, of course. Thank you for your trouble.” He shook hands with the supervisor and left.

  Outside, scattered trees on a small patch of lawn turned their backs to the wind and waved thick leafy arms as if in warning. A summer storm was blowing in from the north and was gathering clouds.

  Benjamin glanced to the left before crossing the street to his buggy. Through a door two blocks away, a few women left the factory and struggled to make their way down the street against a strong wind. With a twinge of faint hope, he followed.

  They were too far to see clearly. He could not be certain. He quickened his pace and gained ground. There was one woman walking alone. As he closed in the distance between them, he fixed his eyes on her.

  The wind was a rush of fresh hope and new strength. He lengthened his stride as he walked along a brick wall that went on for blocks. At the next intersection, the others disappeared down a street, but the woman alone walked along the same path. He ran to catch up as she turned to go into the belt line train station.

  The wind pulled her hair loose and caught her skirt, whipping it up to reveal stocking-clad calves. She grabbed hold of her skirt with one hand and pulled open the door with the other, as strands of long hair lashed her face.

  The sky started to shed thick drops of rain on her moth-eaten shawl as she went inside.

  “Emma!” he called out in a voice too choked with emotion to cut through the wind. He ran at full speed. The rain darkened patches of ground as he climbed the steps two at a time. He could hear the train pulling away. When he got to the platform, it was already gone from the station. He stared down the length of rails with an expressionless face. He had lost her. He kept watching as though he might see her. The train turned and was gone.