The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1)

by N. S. Wikarski

  From above stairs, Evangeline could hear the door of Mrs. Blackthorne’s box open and her own name being called. “We know Sidley’s been at Mast House for three years, so I’m going to find out if any girls have gone missing during that time.” Almost as an afterthought, she said hurriedly, “Oh, yes, and it’s clear you must go to Iowa.”

  Freddie, who had been nodding in agreement up to that point, balked like a mule being led to harness. “What do you mean I have to go to Iowa? Why can’t I just send a telegram? How in God’s name am I going to explain a little junket like that to Uncle Horace?”

  As ushers began the final call for patrons to return to their seats, Evangeline patted him reassuringly on the cheek. “I have every confidence in you, dear boy. Use some of that new-found ingenuity you just bragged about to me. It’s imperative that you see this Harcourt Smythe in person. A written reply can conceal too much. I really must go.” With that, she ran up the stairs to rejoin Mrs. Blackthorne, leaving Freddie to scramble back to his seat before the theater went dark.

  ***

  Evangeline didn’t see Freddie as the crowd swarmed out after the performance. As a gesture of gratitude for the invitation, Evangeline had offered the use of her carriage so that Mrs. Blackthorne might be spared the unspeakable horrors of crude public transportation. The ride would be a short one since the older woman was staying with friends in town. When the two were settled, Mrs. Blackthorne said cozily, “Well, here we are.”

  “Yes, here we are.” Evangeline tried to keep her voice from sounding too wary.

  “There’s something that’s been weighing on my mind all evening, my dear, but I haven’t had the nerve to broach the subject until now.”

  “Oh, and what might that be?” Evangeline looked out the carriage window for distraction but found only darkness around her.

  Mrs. Blackthorne laughed deprecatingly. “Surely, my dear, you must know what I’m referring to. I keep a watchful eye on my son, after all.”

  “Madame?” The younger woman hoped her voice conveyed genuine puzzlement.

  “Come now, Evangeline, I’ve known you all your life. Your mother was my friend since first she and your papa moved to this part of the country. I never thought of you as one of those giddy young women who indulge in meaningless flirtations merely to gratify their vanity.”

  “You’re right on that count, Mrs. Blackthorne. But I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  The older woman frowned in perplexity. “Do you mean to deny that my son proposed to you on Sunday?”

  Evangeline tried to appear perplexed herself as she equivocated. “I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken. While it’s true that Jonathan bought up the subject of his personal feelings, he merely hinted at his inclination toward me.”

  “Jonathan can be a bit too subtle for his own good at times. I’ll have to speak to him about it.” Mrs. Blackthorne tapped her fan against her chin while she considered what to say next. “Well, it appears the cat’s out of the bag, even if the news comes from his mother. Do you intend to accept him when he does get around to formulating the proper question?”

  Evangeline resisted the urge to open the door and fly away into the night. “I... I don’t know what to say. You've placed me in a very awkward position, Mrs. Blackthorne.”

  The older woman patted her hand reassuringly. “Forgive me, my dear. I really didn’t mean to force you into a decision this very moment. It’s just that I’m terribly worried about what he might do if you turn him down.”

  Evangeline toyed nervously with the beads on her evening bag. “I seem to recall he mentioned something about moving away.”

  Mrs. Blackthorne nodded sadly. “Yes, I believe he would do that. Jonathan is quite sensitive, and I doubt he could stand to be rejected. If you won’t have him, I’m quite sure he will make good on that promise to leave.”

  Trying to sound light-hearted, Evangeline laughed. “Surely he wasn’t serious about that.“

  “Oh, my son is a very serious young fellow. If he says he’s going to do a thing, he does it, and that’s that.”

  Evangeline began to breathe rapidly. The stays of her corset constricted her ribcage. Her agitation rose as she considered her own worst fears about what Jonathan might do. “Oh, please, madame, can’t you convince him to wait a while?”

  No doubt attributing her reaction to an entirely different emotion, Mrs. Blackthorne smiled and patted her hand again. “It’s all right, my dear. It’s all right. I see where your heart is. You’re just being delicate. No need to say any more at this time. I’ll have a talk with my boy. I’ll tell him he needs to be a bit more patient.”

  Evangeline breathed a sigh of relief, which also was misconstrued by the mother who smiled benevolently at her. “Love, when it strikes an independent young woman such as yourself, must be a very alarming sensation indeed.”

  “Oh, quite alarming, I assure you.” Evangeline was thinking of a different subject altogether.

  Mrs. Blackthorne leaned back in the carriage, seemingly content that she had nudged her son’s romance one step closer to marriage. Evangeline waited a few moments and then made a request which she had wanted to make all evening—knowing full well that her motive would again be misinterpreted.

  “Mrs. Blackthorne?”

  “Yes?” The matron's eyelids were half-closed as the rocking motion of the carriage began to lull her to sleep.

  “I wonder if you might have a small picture of your son that you would be willing to give me.”

  Mrs. Blackthorne perked up immediately. “You young people. All so sly. You’re just like my Jonathan, never telling me what he’s about and leaving me to guess. Fortunately, I’m a shrewd judge of character so I know what you’re up to, and what he’s up to, as well. Of course you might have a picture of him. You might have a dozen if you like. I’ll have several sent round to your house tomorrow!”

  “Just one will do,” Evangeline murmured dryly. “And please don’t tell him. I don’t want him to know what’s in my heart just yet. Can this be a secret kept between us?”

  “Of course, my dear, of course.” By this time Mrs. Blackthorne was glowing. “It will be our little secret until you say otherwise.”

  Chapter 21—Saint Jane

  “Engie, dear, how nice to see you. Come in and sit down.” Jane Eaves held out a hand in welcome.

  Evangeline smiled and came forward to return the greeting. She stood in the office of a personage who had achieved sainthood in the eyes of Chicago’s poor—none other than the founder of Mast House herself.

  Jane Eaves was a tall woman who favored shirtwaist blouses and drab skirts. Her liking for order extended to her personal attire. She insisted on so much starch and bluing in her white blouses that her guest was rendered nearly snow-blind by the sight of the one she wore now.

  Evangeline’s dislike for Ellen Archwick didn’t extend to Jane, whom she regarded with a mixture of admiration and bewilderment. While Jane was as independent and idealistic as Evangeline, the similarity ended there. Jane Eaves was a plain woman, in appearance and in speech, whose only true need in life was to be needed. In contrast, Evangeline had little desire to be needed by anyone and heartily wished her fellow man to the devil if he thwarted her own need for freedom.

  Jane was wise enough to accept Evangeline’s contribution to the settlement on its own terms—never insisting, as Ellen might have done, that she make Mast House her driving passion in life. In consequence, Evangeline and Jane got along well together, mutually tolerant of what each regarded as the other’s eccentricities.

  Evangeline’s eyes swept over the clutter in the office. Jane’s rolltop desk was piled high with books that threatened to topple and crush their owner if one more were added to the stack. Jane sighed as she regarded the bibliographic explosion before her. “There’s so much to wade through. We’ve gotten our first set of statistics back on the neighborhoods, but I never imagined there would be so much paper!”

  “What do you intend t
o do with it?”

  “We’re compiling a map for the mayor’s office showing where each immigrant community is located and how many people live in each neighborhood. This is the first time any city has attempted a study of this magnitude.”

  Evangeline eyed the desk warily. “You have my congratulations and my condolences as well.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d have time...” Jane was hesitant, as always, to ask for assistance.

  “At any other time I would, Jane, but I have a little matter that’s occupying a great deal of my attention just now.”

  “Of course, I understand.” Jane cleared her throat self-consciously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to presume." As a distraction from embarrassment, she took her glasses off to clean them. Like Ellen Archwick, Jane Eaves was near-sighted but rather than a pince-nez she wore spectacles. The lenses were of such small dimensions and pressed so close to her face that they gave the impression of propping her eyelids open. She polished the spectacles for a full minute which, considering the surface to be cleaned, was far in excess of what was required.

  Evangeline watched her with a faint smile, amused by so much effort exerted to so little purpose. She tried to ease Jane's unfounded discomfort. “It seems very generous of you to go to such trouble for the mayor. I hope he appreciates it.”

  Jane readjusted her spectacles. “Well, this time I had an ulterior motive.”

  Evangeline said teasingly, “You? I don’t believe it! Jane Eaves does not possess a calculating bone in her body. That is, if bones may be said to calculate. What can you be after?”

  Jane sat back down at her desk and replied significantly, “Well, it’s the garbage, you know.”

  Her visitor sat as well. “Ah, I see. The garbage. Well, that explains everything, doesn’t it.” Evangeline knew that she was being teased in turn. “Please elucidate, Miss Eaves, or I shall be forced to conclude that you are being deliberately obscure to addle my poor, weak brains.”

  Jane smiled, half to herself. “Engie, your brains are about as weak as a bear trap.”

  The two women looked at each other and laughed.

  “Seriously, what are you after?”

  “Seriously, I’m after the garbage. City contracts were awarded for garbage collection in the Nineteenth Ward, and as far as I’m concerned, the men who received those contracts are nothing but a pack of boodlers!”

  “Well, that’s a strong charge coming from you, Jane, since you never criticize anybody. I take it they’ve been pocketing the money and leaving the garbage to rot in the alleys?”

  “Exactly.” Jane spoke in her characteristically quiet voice, but a grim look had come into her eyes. “No one at City Hall may take the spread of disease in this neighborhood seriously, but I do.”

  “I pity the gentlemen of the city council if you’ve decided to adopt this cause as your own. You have the persistence of water dripping on granite. It may take you several thousand years, but you will eventually crack the most obdurate stone just the same.” She looked at her listener appraisingly before continuing. “But I believe it would be easy to underestimate someone like you— so soft-spoken and mild-tempered.”

  “Oh, bother, Engie, am I really that much of a shrinking violet?”

  “Only to those who've made the fatal error of superficial judgment. Such creatures will get what they deserve.”

  “And what might they deserve?”

  “A hard lesson in never judging a book by its cover.”

  Jane tilted her head to the side and smiled again, almost shyly. “Yes, I suppose I’ve taught that lesson more than a few times over.”

  “Well, it’s not something you need to be embarrassed about, Jane. It’s hardly your fault that the elected officials of this city are dolts."

  “Not all of them, Engie. Not quite all.”

  “Then you have a few friends at City Hall?”

  “Yes, enough to carry my point if need be, but in return I’ve offered to undertake this study of the neighborhoods as a gesture of cooperation.”

  “Oh, I see. Remind me never to call you disingenuous again.”

  “How could I be, Engie?” The champion of the poor sighed. “We live in one of the most corrupt cities in the country. If we ever hope to accomplish any good here then...”

  “Then, to paraphrase from scripture...,” Evangeline completed the thought, “... the doves must be as wise as serpents.”

  “Yes, quite.

  “I always thought you were a rare bird indeed, Miss Eaves.” Evangeline's eyes twinkled with mischief. “Now I know it’s literally true.”

  “That’s funny, people keep telling me the same thing about you.” Jane laughed demurely. "But enough of our silliness. What is it you wanted to see me about?”

  Before Evangeline could begin, the door opened and one of the girls who managed the reception desk came in bearing a tea tray.

  “My goodness, look at the time! Is it so late already? Rachel, would you be kind enough to fetch a cup for Miss LeClair as well?”

  Taking the mild request as an edict, the girl flew from the room and returned bearing a table setting for the great lady’s guest.

  As the brief ceremony of refreshments began, Evangeline broached the subject uppermost in her mind. “Jane, you know I’ve adopted a crusade of my own lately.”

  “Oh, what is that?” Jane stirred her tea.

  “I’m looking into the cause of Elsa Bauer’s death.”

  “Yes, I thought you might be. It’s hard to believe something as shocking as that could have happened to one of our own.”

  “Even more shocking to consider that her brother might have been responsible. No doubt Ellen has filled you in on the details?”

  Jane nodded gravely. “Yes, I’ve heard all about it and about Mr. Schuler’s unfortunate influence over poor Franz.”

  Evangeline balked at Jane’s choice of adjective. She wasn’t sure whether Franz deserved to be pitied or not. Suppressing her own ambivalent opinion of Franz’s innocence, she forged ahead. “Schuler’s influence worries me more than anything else. I must solve this little mystery before he talks Franz into some fatal gesture of defiance.”

  “Do you have any evidence that might cast suspicion in another direction?”

  Evangeline laughed ruefully. “Suspicion, yes. Evidence, no. There are at least three other persons who could be implicated in Elsa’s death but no evidence that would stand up in a court of law. However, I am on the trail of something promising. That’s why I need your help. I have a theory that Elsa’s murder may not have been an isolated incident.”

  Jane looked up from her teacup in surprise. “What on earth do you mean, Engie?”

  “I mean that the man who killed Elsa may have done the same before and that his target may have been another girl who came here.”

  “Good heavens! Surely not here!”

  “I know how you feel, Jane. Mast House was meant to be a refuge for the poor. The one place they could come and be treated as human beings.”

  “And you have reason to think...” Jane’s eyes entreated a denial.

  “Yes, I have strong reason to believe that at least a few young girls here have been preyed upon, perhaps murdered by a creature I can scarcely define as human!” Evangeline was becoming unsettled. She put down her cup and began to pace back and forth. “At first, the possibility seemed so absurd that even I couldn’t believe it. But each day I grow more convinced that a pattern exists, and that it can be traced here.”

  She wheeled about, her hands gripping the desk urgently. “Jane, you must help me! Think back. You’ve always kept a close watch on everything that touches Mast House. You know nearly everyone who comes through the front door by name.”

  Jane shook her head in distress. “But there have been so many... so many, like falling leaves. I can’t begin to guess.”

  “Please, you must try! Another life could well depend on your answer. I’ll narrow the field for you. Over the past three years, can you think
of any young girls who left without an explanation? Any bad news you heard about them afterward? Please think!”

  Jane set down her own cup and walked over to the window, lost in thought. She looked out over the street for several minutes without saying a word. Finally she turned back to Evangeline. “I can only think of two who struck me as particularly unfortunate cases during the time you mention.”

  “Yes?” Evangeline sat down on the edge of her chair.

  “Well, there was poor Janet Stewart, but that happened quite a while back. It may have been very soon after we began the settlement here.”

  “Janet Stewart? I don’t think I remember hearing anything about her.”

  “Oh, it would have been well before your time, my dear. She was one of the very first young girls to visit us.”

  “What happened to her?” Evangeline dreaded to know.

  Jane sighed deeply. “It was a suicide. She hanged herself in the attic of her tenement building.”

  “Are you sure it was suicide?”

  Jane looked puzzled. “Well, it certainly appeared to be. That was what the police concluded.”

  “But did she leave a note?”

  “I don’t remember hearing about it if she did.”

  Evangeline was not convinced. “Why would she have wanted to do away with herself?”

  “I’m not at all sure, though I do remember her family said it had something to do with a failed romance. There was apparently a mysterious gentleman she had been seeing. He may have abandoned her.” Jane waved her hand distractedly. “But that was all speculation. I don’t believe a satisfactory answer was ever found.”

  Evangeline tried another approach. “Do any of her family still live around here?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t think so. Her mother passed on soon afterward, and her brother being a tradesman was able to find work elsewhere—Cleveland, I think—and so he moved away.”

  “Oh.” Evangeline felt disappointed. “I suppose that means there’s no one left that I could speak to. But you said there was a second incident?”