Alice and the Assassin

by R. J. Koreto

  “I wish we could’ve worked it out. Now we have to find someone else,” I said.

  “No we don’t,” she said. “While the two of you were chasing car thieves that existed nowhere but in my imagination, I tore the blotting paper off his desk. We have it—in reverse. Find a place where we can look at it inside, safe from wind and damp.”

  I laughed. “My hat’s off to you, Miss Alice.”

  She looked smug. “It was rather clever, wasn’t it?” And then came that sidelong glance. “I’m glad I impressed you.”

  We found a bar that tended to local workers. From the look of the place and the state of the furniture, it had hosted some lively events. Fortunately, we were there between shift changes, so we had the place mostly to ourselves. We took a booth and ordered beer and sandwiches, and Alice produced the paper. She looked at it and frowned, then handed it to me. “It’s clear enough, but I don’t understand.”

  It was backward but clear: “Van Schuyler Shipping.”

  “Well, we thought this was a possibility,” I said. “Dunilsky got it from Czolgosz, who was working for the Van Schuylers. We knew that.”

  “But if the Archangel, whoever he is, is in league with the Van Schuylers, why terrorize his own people? And why kill Cesare? I assumed this picture would lead us back to a shipping company that was part of the Great Erie & Albany Boat Company and Urquhart. But . . .” The beer arrived and she moodily drank it, and we didn’t talk again until the food came and we started eating.

  “It seems that maybe your boy Preston knew more than he said,” I offered. “You know, he denied knowing about the Archangel. You’d think he’d know this illustration if it’s related to the family.”

  “But they may not use it anymore. This goes back a half century or more, when he wasn’t involved in the business. My God, you really want to demonize him, don’t you? You haven’t seen him at his best, I admit. But he is amusing. When we were together at Sagamore Hill, he was never boring.”

  “And that’s enough?”

  “It is for me. But let’s go home. We have some plans to make, and I have a lot to think about.”

  I guess it was a combination of our active day, the beer, and Alice’s introduction to larceny, but by the time we crossed back into Manhattan, she had fallen asleep against my shoulder. She was just a bump in the road away from tumbling out of the seat, so I put my arm around her, and she leaned against me without opening her eyes. Alice didn’t wake until we reached the Caledonia, when she suddenly sat up and rubbed her eyes.

  “I fell asleep? I keep doing that with you, now and at your sister’s. I used to fall asleep with my father when we drove in a carriage, and he always said it was because of the rocking motion and sound of the hoofbeats, but I think it was because I was so comfortable with him.”

  I thought on that for a few moments, and then we parked the car and headed upstairs. The maid greeted us as usual—but she looked a little harried, as if something had happened.

  “Miss Roosevelt, Mrs. Cowles said she wanted to see you as soon as you were back.”

  “Probably some event I’ll have to make an appearance at. I wonder if anyone fun will be there.”

  “You too, Mr. St. Clair,” said the maid. “Mrs. Cowles said she wanted to see both of you.” Alice and I looked at each other. Usually, I wasn’t consulted on future events—just told when I had to show up. This didn’t sound good.

  CHAPTER 14

  Mrs. Cowles was in the parlor in a comfortable chair, reading a book.

  “Oh, good. Take a seat. Both of you.” My heart sank further. Her tone was clipped, and her jaw was set. We sat down on the couch opposite Mrs. Cowles.

  “Alice, I don’t know what upsets me more: first, that you engaged in appalling behavior—visiting crime scenes and dangerous bars that serve as the haunts of the most vulgar people, bothering senior officers at the Tombs, and harassing leading members of the legal profession in their offices—or second, that you actually thought you could do all these things without my knowing. I, who know everyone in New York and meet with dozens of people each day. Did you think that all, or even some of this, would escape my notice? Are you that unbelievably stupid, Alice? Or did you think I was?” The volume just went up and up as she spoke and practically ended with a shout.

  “May I ask what events you object to in particular?” asked Alice. Her voice was soft but not humble. It was a good gambit—find out what the opponent knows before defending yourself. But Mrs. Cowles was way ahead of her.

  “I found out enough. One can only assume that there are a few things you two did I haven’t heard about yet. But I will, believe me. This ends now.”

  “Ma’am, if I may—” I started, and that earned me a cutting glance.

  “You may not, Mr. St. Clair. Right now, I’m just assuming that you are merely incompetent and ignorant and not willfully malicious. This is my gift to you. Don’t abuse it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, resolving to ride this one out quietly, as Mrs. Cowles turned back to Alice.

  “I take some of the blame for not supervising you enough. There will be some changes here. I will talk with my brother about your going to Washington in the near future and getting used to working with your stepmother in official hosting duties. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Aunt Anna,” she said. “In fact, I expect to be going to the Van Schuylers for dinner soon, and perhaps other events, in return for our hosting Preston last summer.”

  Aunt Anna just looked at her, as if there was some trick. “Very well,” she said cautiously. “That sounds appropriate. He seems like a decent young man. But I have just one more thing to discuss with both of you. Mr. St. Clair—”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “You’re clearly a man of many talents and skills. However, serving as a nursemaid to a willful young girl isn’t one of them. I spoke to your supervisor, Mr. Harris, and apparently the Secret Service has an office in San Francisco. It’s a rough-and-tumble town, I understand, and you probably miss the West, so I think it should suit you nicely. You can pack and leave as soon as Mr. Harris has arranged for a replacement.”

  Before I could even take this in, Alice said, “No.”

  “I beg your pardon?” asked Mrs. Cowles.

  “I said, ‘no.’ I understand your unhappiness with my recent activities, but I won’t hear of Mr. St. Clair being replaced. I won’t hear of it.”

  “I have no interest whatsoever in your opinion here. Mr. St. Clair, we have no need for your services for the rest of the day. You may go back to your room.”

  But Alice grabbed my arm. “Mr. St. Clair is staying. Now and always. Anything you can say to me you can say to him.” I really wished she had let me leave.

  “Very well. Mr. St. Clair is a glorified ranch hand, and I don’t care if he has a box full of medals. I gave him a chance, but it’s been made clear that an ex–army sergeant whose law enforcement experience consists of settling fights in Laramie brothels is not an appropriate companion for a young woman from one of this city’s—one of this country’s—leading families.”

  “I swear, Aunt Anna, that if you send Mr. St. Clair away, I will never leave this apartment—not to go to Washington, not to go to any events—and I won’t leave my room except for meals. And you know I mean it.”

  A dead silence settled on the room. Mrs. Cowles broke it first.

  “We’ll set aside a final decision on your bodyguard until I have had a chance to discuss it with your father. As for you, Mr. St. Clair—you’ve won a reprieve, it seems. Work to deserve it. Miss Roosevelt will be staying in tonight, so you’re off duty until tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am, and thank you.” I stood and didn’t dare meet Alice’s eyes with Mrs. Cowles in the room. Normally, I’d stop and see what Dulcie was planning for dinner, but I headed straight out the door and didn’t stop until I was on my bed downstairs with a bottle of bourbon. San Francisco. I’d never been but had heard a lot about it, and maybe Mrs. Cowles had a po
int. A guy like me could get ahead there, and there were opportunities for Mariah there, too.

  I’d been up early, and all that driving was tiring, so I fell asleep quickly, still in my boots. I don’t know how long I had been asleep when I was woken up by knocking. I combed my fingers through my hair and opened the door. It was Alice.

  “Miss Alice, don’t you think you’re in enough trouble—don’t you think we’re both in enough trouble—without you coming down here?”

  “You never stop fussing, do you? One mild disagreement and you fall to pieces. Anyway, Aunt Anna had to run out for something, so don’t worry. So this is your room? Rather cozy, but you keep it neat.”

  “Alice, you can’t be down here.”

  “Then you’d better invite me in before someone notices.” With a mock flourish, I invited her in and closed the door. She took the only chair, and I sat at the edge of the bed.

  “I just wanted to tell you we can get a little later start tomorrow. I’m still making a list of people to talk with. But you can join me for breakfast again, if you want. Aunt Anna gets up very early, and I could use the company.”

  “My pleasure. And I guess I ought to thank you for your spirited defense. I really appreciate it,” I said, then grinned. “I’d like to visit San Francisco someday, but not right now.”

  “I’m glad. I don’t like having to get used to someone new.”

  “Now I’m hurt. I thought it was because I was so charming.”

  I saw a little color come to her cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself. Aunt Anna was right. You are just a glorified ranch hand, but I have gotten used to you.”

  “Your Aunt Anna was right about something else. I do have a box full of medals.” I keep my few personal effects under my bed. I rustled around for a minute and came out with a bronze medal on a blue ribbon. I stood up, then pinned it on Alice’s dress. “You deserve something for standing up to your aunt like that.”

  She looked at the medal with wonder. “How did you earn this medal?”

  “The governor of Wyoming gave it to me for settling more fights in brothels than any other deputy sheriff in the state.”

  She laughed. “Thank you, Mr. St. Clair. I’m just . . . well nevermind. Dulcie will have dinner ready soon, and she throws all kinds of fits when I’m late. And we’ve had enough arguments for one day, don’t you think?” She stood, and I opened the door for her. She took three steps, and looked over her shoulder at me.

  “Good night, Cowboy.”

  “Good night, Princess.”

  CHAPTER 15

  I confess to a little concern the next morning. I didn’t know if Alice had had an additional talk with her aunt or what my position was. But I doubted if Dulcie cared one way or another, so I went straight upstairs. After the maid let me in, I slipped into the kitchen, where Dulcie was cracking eggs and frying bacon.

  “I guess it’s a regular thing now—you’re with the family for breakfast. Congratulations,” she said with a smirk. So I went through, and Mrs. Cowles and Alice were already having coffee. I said good morning. The maid came around to give me a cup and say that breakfast would be ready in a minute.

  “We’ve reached a truce,” said Alice. “You will stay, and I will limit my visits to more appropriate venues. Aunt Anna has realized I can do the most good by cultivating the better families in New York with a view to becoming more useful to my father in Washington.”

  “Very good, Miss Alice. Ma’am.”

  “I’ve been invited to the Van Schuylers for dinner tomorrow,” said Alice. At that point, the maid came in with the plates, and Mrs. Cowles was distracted just long enough for Alice to wink at me.

  “Aunt Anna, for all the time I spent with Preston this summer, I don’t know the family very well. Preston has been a little . . . shy about discussing them. Maybe because he’s an orphan.”

  Mrs. Cowles thought that over for a moment. “You know what your father would say. He believes that men should make their own way in the world, and you should judge them by their own achievements. Whatever happened among the Van Schuylers isn’t relevant to what Preston does.”

  “So what happened?” asked Alice.

  “What happened where?”

  “If you won’t talk about it, then it must be something horrific.”

  “You might want to curb these ghoulish interests of yours. Preston had a rather tragic childhood. He lost his mother when she was very young. She was a fragile girl, I remember, both emotionally and physically. His father had a rather strong personality. It perhaps wasn’t the best of matches. Fortunately, Preston hasn’t seemed to inherit either of his parents’ . . . shortcomings.”

  “How come his uncle never comes to any events?” asked Alice.

  “He’s not a very social man. He lost his wife young as well, when he had a little daughter.”

  “Preston’s cousin. I met her briefly when I was a little girl.”

  “I think she is fragile, too. It’s a difficult family. And in many ways, an unfortunate one.”

  “My start in life was hardly auspicious either,” said Alice.

  “And who knows, Alice. You might even turn out acceptably after all.”

  I laughed at that, but a glare from Alice silenced me quickly.

  “What are your plans today?” asked Mrs. Cowles.

  “I thought I’d visit Elfrida Wissington. She seemed to like me as a little girl, but I haven’t seen her in years, and I’ve heard she knows absolutely everyone.”

  Mrs. Cowles seemed amused at that. “Yes. She found you outrageous when you were a child. But also entertaining, at least in small doses. She must be past ninety by now. She never goes out anymore. I think she’s bedridden and doesn’t even admit anyone outside of her immediate family—and not even all of them. There was something scandalous years ago—with her daughter, I think, and her grandson.”

  “I heard something about that,” said Alice.

  “You hear entirely too much. But anyway, if she decides to see you, you may find her useful in learning more about the families in the city. She could be entertaining, back in her day. And I daresay, Mr. St. Clair, it will be a somewhat less complex assignment than previous tasks.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  There were a few more pleasantries, and then Mrs. Cowles told us she had appointments to keep and said good-bye. And after a final cup of coffee, Alice said it was time to visit Mrs. Wissington, who lived in a townhouse on the East Side.

  “So this is still about the Van Schuylers?” I asked.

  “It’s about my doing a good deed and visiting an elderly woman who probably has few visitors at this point in her life. And if the Van Schuylers come up—well, all to the good. I think we’ve hit a dead end with the anarchists and Archangel. We have to approach this case from a different angle. This is ultimately about the Van Schuylers—and whatever unsavory connections they may have. And we need to know more about them, especially if Preston is going to be so shy.”

  “It’s easy for you to be so casual, Miss Alice. Oh, very well. I always did want to see San Francisco.” I got my hat and coat, and we were out the door. It was all very well to joke about it, but I knew Mrs. Cowles was serious, and I wasn’t going to get another chance. Mariah was right, not that I blame her. I needed another adventure in my life. And I’m not going to blame Alice either, but she was like her father. Once she started leading, it was hard not to follow.

  It wasn’t much of a drive at all to the East Side and one of the fine New York mansions many of the old families still lived in. It was a great pile—all marble and columns—and I never saw a less-welcoming place. Even the sidewalks were forbidding there; no panhandlers waited with their hands out. And I doubt if this street ever saw women dragging food home from the markets. No, cooks would place orders using the telephone, and delivery vans would come around the back later.

  Alice didn’t pause at all and rang the bell. A servant in a suit that was a lot nicer than mine opened the door.

 
“Alice Roosevelt, here to see Mrs. Wissington.”

  His eyes flickered for a moment. He knew who she was, and there was no need to introduce me, because he knew who I was, too.

  “Please come in,” he said, and we were shown into a little parlor that was elegant and clean. And why not? It didn’t seem as if anyone had used that room in recent memory, and you could’ve just picked up the whole room and put it in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I was almost afraid to sit in the chairs, but Alice had no problem, and I joined suit.

  The manservant came down a few moments later and said, “I’m afraid that Mrs. Wissington is not able to see you now.”

  “I am sorry to hear that. But before I leave, could you just tell her that I’ll be visiting her grandson, Mr. Quentin Laine, and ask if she has a message she’d like me to pass along?”

  That flicker in the eyes again. He was thinking that over. I felt a little bad for him because I saw the size of that staircase, and I doubted if he was looking forward to another round trip.

  “Very good, Miss Roosevelt,” he said.

  “So what was that all about?” I asked when he had left. Alice was looking smug again.

  “I don’t really know,” she said. “All I know is that some years back, he had to leave the city very suddenly. I’ve heard he was in Boston, Baltimore, Dallas, and half a dozen other towns—maybe all of them. No one told me what he did—got involved with an actress, caught cheating at cards, something like that. But I know she’ll be terrified if I’m going to see him, bringing stories and gossip back to New York.”

  “Threats and blackmail. You’re going to get quite a reputation in this town, Miss Alice.”

  “I should hope so,” she said. The manservant came back a few moments later.

  “If you would follow me, miss. Your companion is welcome to remain in the kitchen, where the cook will be instructed to give him some refreshment.” I bet they had the same good coffee that the Roosevelts had, and I was looking forward to it.

  “Mr. St. Clair will remain with me. It’s my father’s rule.” He looked like he was going to argue the point, but a look at Alice’s face convinced him of what a waste that would be.