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

by N. S. Wikarski

  The envelope bore no return address. The note inside was only a page long but quite effective in destroying Rosa’s hopes. Freddie read:

  Rosa,

  It pains me beyond belief to have to write these words to you. I was being watched too closely to reach you any sooner, and when I managed to break away I found you in our usual spot with another man. Because I had no desire to be recognized, I determined to wait outside until I could speak to you privately. Instead of going home, I saw you go with your new friend to a house where I can only presume you had a rendezvous. I saw you call for revenge as you smashed the rose necklace I had given you. Still I waited, thinking that I might be able to see you alone after the man left in order to explain myself. To my surprise, I saw you invite the attentions of a stranger and bring him back to what I now can only assume was a house of ill repute. Apparently, I was as much mistaken in your love as I was in your virtue. You could not wait for word from me. You had no faith that I would make good on my promise. Instead you chose to betray me with the first man you could find. No matter how great my love for you once was, such a breach of trust is unforgivable. Do not try to explain, because I would have difficulty believing whatever you might have to say. I cannot bear to see you again. Do not attempt ever to find me.

  Farewell,

  Jonathan

  Freddie put the letter back in its envelope. All he could think to say was, “You must have been shocked to receive this.”

  “I think a part of me died that day. I couldn’t plead my case with him. I didn’t know where to find him. Besides, he confirmed what Mrs. Hatch and Mr. Sidley had already told me I had done. It seemed as if I didn’t know myself at all till then. Didn’t know just how evil I could be.”

  “No, Rosa, not evil. Don’t say that.”

  “Yes, evil! I betrayed the only man who ever loved me, don’t you see? What could be worse than that? Mama was right about me all along. I never told her about this, but I just packed up and left home that day.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Here,” she swept her arm around the room, “where someone like me belongs.”

  “And you’ve been punishing yourself ever since,” the young man observed in a soft voice.

  “Punishing myself?” Rosa echoed in disbelief. “No, not just punishing myself. I’ve been trying to kill myself! One day at a time.”

  Freddie was silent.

  She looked at him expectantly. “But if he sent you, maybe it’s because there’s still a chance?”

  Without replying directly to the question, Freddie took a piece of paper out of his pocket and wrote an address on it. “Rosa, I’d like you to see a lady friend of mine. She knows Jonathan even better than I do. I’d like you to talk to her. She may be able to do something to help.”

  “Do you really think so?” Rosa was overwhelmed at the prospect.

  “Can you get away to see her tomorrow?”

  “I think so. They won’t worry if I leave for a while.” She laughed coldly. “They know I’ve got no place else to go, and I’ll always come back.”

  “Well, I’ll tell the lady to expect you. We’ll see what we can do about finding someplace else for you to come back to.”

  Rosa said nothing, but her face took on an expression it hadn’t known for over a year and a half. She looked hopeful.

  Chapter 26—RSVP

  After Freddie left Mother Connelly’s, he nearly flew back to the office, both because he had been gone an unusual amount of time and also because he wanted to call Evangeline to let her know the news. In his haste, he almost forgot to remove his disguise. About a block before he reached the offices of Simpson And Austin, he realized his error and started tearing off his false whiskers. A lone female pedestrian walking toward him froze in her tracks as she saw him apparently trying to pull the skin from his face. He merely tipped his hat to her and wished her good day before she ran to the other side of the street. He managed to remove most of the glue before he entered his office.

  “Afternoon, Aloysius.” He brazened it out as he passed the company spy in the hallway.

  “Afternoon, Simpson, what happened to your hair?”

  Freddie immediately tried to muss up the top of his head to remove the slick center part and the thick layer of pomade he had applied to keep it in place. “Oh, nothing. Nothing. Just went to a new barber, that’s all.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t a butcher instead of a barber?” Aloysius’s nose had begun to twitch ever so slightly with suspicion.

  “Ha! Ha!” Freddie enunciated the laugh with sarcastic precision before retreating to his office and shutting the door. His heart was hammering by the time he called Evangeline’s townhouse. His enthusiasm was dampened the minute Jack’s voice emerged from the other end of the line and informed him that the lady had gone back to the country house. Cursing the lack of telephone service to the North Shore for the thousandth time, Freddie was forced to wait until he got back to Shore Cliff that evening to deliver his news in person.

  While making a pretense of examining the stack of documents on his desk, he marked the clock at five-minute intervals until quitting time. The second the pendulum gave him permission, he ran out of his office with hat and briefcase, nearly knocking Waverly over on his way out.

  “Watch out, Simpson. You almost trampled me,” the spy complained.

  “Well, what are you doing skulking outside my door?”

  “I wasn’t skulking! I was merely passing by.”

  “Then pass by some other time,” Freddie said over his shoulder, “I have a train to catch,” as he darted out the exit.

  Waverly stood looking after him and shaking his head in disapproval. “Nepotism!” he muttered under his breath. “That’s the way the world is. The spoils go to the unworthy every time. If anyone deserves to have an uncle who owns a law firm, it’s me!” He wandered off to present his inconclusive report to Uncle Horace.

  Freddie was able to catch the 5:15, which made all local stops as far as Waukegan. Every time the wheels ground to a halt at another station, Freddie ground his teeth in frustration. More than an hour later he jumped off the train and raced down Center Street to the LeClair house. By this time it was pitch dark, and the gas lamps that lined the street twinkled like fireflies against the overarching night. He raced up the porch and pounded authoritatively on Evangeline’s front door. Knowing that he would have to face interference first, he was prepared.

  When Delphine came to the door muttering, “Mon Dieu, qui est là?” Freddie merely pressed himself through the narrow opening she had made in the doorway. “Not now, Delphine. Any other time I’d be happy to trade insulting remarks with you in the language of your choice, but not tonight. I need to speak to your mistress immediately.”

  When she hesitated, he summoned his meager knowledge of French and thundered, “Maintenant!” Then added only somewhat less aggressively, “S’il vous plaît!”

  Looking at the young man as if he were a dangerous madman, Delphine merely said, “Oui.” She motioned him to follow her to the drawing room. Over her shoulder she said, “Mademoiselle is with a guest.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care if it’s Blackthorne, I need to see her!”

  Freddie could have sworn a malicious smile crossed Delphine’s face. “Mais non, jeune Monsieur, c’est Mademoiselle Henrietta Burke.”

  Freddie turned pale at the name. Henrietta Burke bore the dubious distinction of being the only female he knew under the age of thirty-five who didn’t interest him romantically. Unfortunately, she found him irresistible and used every excuse to throw herself in his way. Nature hadn’t favored Henrietta with a pleasing appearance, unless one defined beauty in exclusively equine terms. However, it had compensated by giving her an overabundance of tenacity.

  “Ye gods!” Freddie muttered under his breath. “Why now!”

  “Pardon?” Delphine turned to him with exaggerated politeness. “I did not hear your words.”

  “Nothing,
Delphine. Never mind.” He sighed dejectedly.

  The housekeeper smirked as she opened the door of the drawing room to announce the visitor. “Mesdemoiselles. A gentleman has just arrived. It is Monsieur Simpson.” She quickly stepped out of the doorway, exposing Freddie to the attack which he believed was imminent.

  Evangeline and her guest were seated together on the sofa, going over some papers. Evangeline nodded a greeting when Freddie was announced, but Henrietta sprang from her seat as if ejected from a cannon.

  “Frederick! Frederick Simpson! Why how positively felicitous to see you!” She rushed over, extending her hand for him to kiss. “It’s been an age at least since last we encountered one another.” Freddie recollected that Henrietta was addicted to romance novels. He knew that she adopted an elevated style of diction whenever she was speaking to some poor fool she’d set her cap for.

  Freddie took her hand and gave a limp handshake in return. He cleared his throat nervously. “Very sorry to intrude, but I have some important business I need to discuss with Evangeline.”

  “Oh, what creatures you men are! All you can contemplate with any degree of enthusiasm is business.” Henrietta rolled her eyes in a languishing manner.

  Freddie thought she looked like a cow in its final death throes. Alarmed by the sight, he stepped back a few paces—almost out the room in fact—when Evangeline intervened. The mistress of the house stepped between Freddie and his captor.

  “Well, are you coming in or aren’t you?” Evangeline took his arm and pulled him toward the sofa. He noted gratefully that she seated him next to her. Unfortunately, she had miscalculated the available space and allowed about a foot to remain free between Freddie and the arm of the couch—just enough room for Henrietta to wedge her sturdy frame in the gap.

  “Well, this is cozy, isn’t it.” The latter pressed herself close to Freddie and batted her eyelashes.

  He turned desperately toward Evangeline and whispered, “For God’s sake, move over before she crushes me to death!”

  Despite the fact that Evangeline was having a great deal of fun watching the scene unfold, she took compassion on her friend and slid all the way to the opposite end of the couch, leaving about four feet open in the middle. Freddie claimed this space immediately, defying even Henrietta to commit the unthinkable breach of decorum of moving over to press up against him. Instead, Miss Burke only readjusted herself so that all of her bulk fit on the couch. She contented herself with looking upon Freddie dotingly from that vantage point.

  “Well, Frederick! What can be so excessively important that you come bursting in here to confabulate with Evangeline the minute you get off the train?”

  It was one of the sad ironies of Freddie’s existence that he had always longed to be called Frederick by someone as a sign that he had grown to adulthood. But the only person who ever called him that was Henrietta.

  “Sorry, Henrietta, but it’s rather personal.”

  “Personal, is it?” Henrietta raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. “You’d better have a care, Mr. Simpson, or there will be gossip about wedding bells for you and Miss LeClair.”

  “Don’t I wish,” Freddie muttered sotto voce.

  “What was that?” Henrietta asked. “I didn’t catch what you said.”

  “I said that’s a nice dish.” He nervously pointed to a crystal candy dish on the table in front of the couch.

  “Indeed,” Evangeline retorted archly. “You’ve only seen it a thousand times before today without remark.”

  “You seem to have forgotten my question,” Henrietta intruded. She was apparently intent on establishing if Evangeline was a rival for Freddie’s affections and would not be distracted.

  Evangeline placated her with a laugh. “Don’t worry, Henrietta. Freddie and I aren’t attached.”

  “Says you,” Freddie growled to himself again.

  Evangeline looked at him irritably. “Freddie, if you don’t stop muttering to yourself like an escaped lunatic, I’ll send you home this instant.”

  Freddie sighed and lapsed into a martyred silence.

  “Oh, spare him I beg you, dear Evangeline,” Henrietta gushed. “He’s a thinker, and thinkers are always musing out loud. You shouldn’t interrupt his ineffable cogitations. I’m sure he’s thinking something brilliant even as we speak.”

  Evangeline seemed to be having difficulty commanding her facial muscles to keep still. “Is that what you were doing Freddie? Thinking brilliant thoughts?”

  “You have no idea some of the things I’ve been thinking,” he said with acid dripping from his voice.

  Henrietta seemed oblivious to the undercurrent and finally moved on to another topic.

  “Before you arrived, Frederick, Evangeline and I were perusing the menu for the next event the Ladies’ Charitable Auxiliary is planning. Would you like to see?”

  “Who are you trying to save this time?” Freddie asked sarcastically. “Vagabond polo players?”

  Henrietta laughed violently for an undue amount of time to demonstrate the delight she took in Freddie’s repartee. “Oh, Frederick! You’re so clever and erudite. I do so enjoy your eruptions of wit.”

  “And I enjoy it a great deal more when he adopts the soul of wit rather than its form.”

  Freddie rolled his eyes, knowing the direction in which his friend was going.

  “The soul of wit?” Henrietta repeated, looking lost. “What might that be?”

  “Brevity. There’s been precious little of it in this conversation.”

  “Oh, my.” Henrietta took the rebuke personally.

  “Henrietta is staying for dinner, Freddie. Would you care to join us?” Evangeline asked in a pointed tone.

  At these words the young man was panic stricken. He sprang off the couch and words began to tumble out of his mouth about “... late...” and “... home...” and “... family...” and “... must be going...” and “... let myself out...”

  Before the two ladies could collect themselves enough to bid farewell, he had dashed out of the room and run from the house.

  Henrietta heaved a melodramatic sigh, “That Frederick—so je-ne-sais-quoi, so unusual.” Then she added sententiously, “You know I’ve heard it said that eccentricity is a sign of true genius.”

  Evangeline stared at her in perplexity a long time before replying. “There’s a fine line between genius and insanity, Henrietta.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Evangeline rose and rang the bell as a signal that dinner should be served. “I mean that most of the time it’s difficult to tell which side of the line Freddie is on.”

  “Oh, I see. Still, I suppose an insane genius is quite as good to have as a normal one.”

  “I’m sure you two will be very happy together,” Evangeline commented laconically. “Shall we go into the dining room now?”

  ***

  By nine o’clock Evangeline stood on the front porch waving goodnight to her guest. After Henrietta had walked down the street and out of sight, Evangeline noticed a rustling sound in the hedges below the verandah. “Oh, the devil take them! It’s those raccoons again.”

  A choked whisper emerged from a hydrangea bush. “It’s not the raccoons, it’s me.”

  “What on earth!”

  “Is she gone yet?” the bush asked.

  “Yes, she’s gone, and what do you mean by wearing my shrubbery in that manner?”

  Freddie stood up with a groan, pressing his hand tentatively into his backbone. “Thank God! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been crouched in those bushes waiting for her to go?”

  “However long it was, I hope your back aches tomorrow for it. You’re an incredible coward, Freddie!”

  The young man limped up the stairs to join her. “Until you’ve been hunted by Henrietta Burke you have no right to talk. Anyway, let’s go in. What I have to tell you can’t wait until tomorrow.”

  “Very well.” Evangeline relented at the mention of the investigation. “Let’s go into
the library.”

  ***

  A half hour later, Freddie had finished recounting Rosa Grandinetti’s sad story. He paused for effect, expecting Evangeline to applaud his skill as a detective. Instead, she sat motionless, hands clasped, staring at the floor.

  Finally, to break her out of her mood, he asked tentatively, “Well, old girl, what do you think?”

  She looked up. Her face seemed careworn in the dim light. “I have never had a high opinion of my fellow man, Freddie, but what you’ve told me is almost incomprehensible. Such calculated wickedness is beyond the scope of what I might ever have believed possible.”

  “I know. I felt very sorry for Rosa. It was painful to listen to her and not break out and tell her the truth.”

  “They were so careful, the two of them. How elaborately they must have planned these little scenarios. Their stories always tallied, but they were never seen together. She wouldn’t have had the slightest reason to connect them.”

  “What do you think of her dream?”

  “That it wasn’t a dream at all. I’m sure they drugged whatever she was drinking, but apparently not enough to render her completely unconscious.”

  “Then the nameless stranger never accosted her at all?”

  “Oh, he had a name all right, and I’m sure it was Blackthorne. But I doubt that she went out in search of him. He let himself into her room instead.”

  “Well, if she didn’t go out and invite the attentions of a stranger, then that means—”

  Evangeline finished the thought, “That Mrs. Hatch was in their confidence too and fabricated the story about a stranger in her house.”

  “Maybe the boarding house wasn’t a boarding house after all. Maybe it was a brothel.”

  “No, I don’t think so. It was a residential neighborhood. A brothel would have been too obvious, too hard to disguise. It might have aroused the suspicions of even someone as naive as Rosa.”

  “And the pendant?”

  “Probably smashed by one of them to make their story of her betrayal more convincing.” Evangeline rubbed her forehead wearily. “It’s incredible, isn’t it? After all this time, she still thinks she’s the one to blame.”