“Are you going to tell her about Blackthorne when she comes to see you tomorrow?”
“No, not just yet, Freddie. If I were in her position and found out the truth, I’d probably contemplate murdering the men responsible for ruining my life. She’s been through enough without a charge of well-justified homicide being laid at her door. Anyway, a vengeance killing would be too quick and easy. You can be sure I want those two scoundrels to suffer the pains of the damned before I’m through with them.”
Freddie drew back in surprise at the cold fury he saw in his friend’s eyes.
Evangeline continued to think out loud, unaware of Freddie’s reaction. “Poor Rosa! She never found out Jonathan’s true identity. In fact, she never suspected him of anything. He was able to walk away clean...” Evangeline stopped short. Her eyes flew open wide in shock. “My god, I’ve been so stupid!”
“What?”
She stood up and began pacing. “All this time I never made the connection. I can’t believe it! What an utter fool I am!”
Freddie jumped to his feet and took her by the shoulders to shake her out of her soliloquy. “What is it?”
Evangeline looked at him and smiled bitterly. “Do you know how Elsa found out Jonathan’s real name?”
“Of course I don’t!”
“I was the one who told her.” She sat back down, shaking her head in disbelief.
“You what?”
“It never occurred to me. The event had little significance at the time. Now in retrospect, it seems so clear.”
Freddie sat back down beside her. “Then please elucidate. I’ve spent the better part of the evening under cover of darkness. I don’t want to experience the mental equivalent of that condition any longer.”
Evangeline sighed. “Sometime at the end of the summer, I began to notice a change in Elsa’s attitude. When she came to class she was listless and didn’t seem to care about anything. It was so unlike her. I thought an outing to the theater might cheer her up. One of the downtown theaters was performing Sheridan’s The Rivals. Thinking that a comedy might be just the thing, I arranged an excursion for her and several of her classmates. The evening started off well enough and she actually seemed to enjoy the play—at least as much as her general despondency would allow.
“During intermission, I saw her glancing around the theater, looking at the faces of the other patrons. Given the size of my group, we weren’t in the box seats but in the first balcony. She asked me if I knew anyone at the theater that evening. She specifically asked about society people—the ones in the box seats lining the walls below us. I pointed out several people I knew, and then I happened to notice Jonathan seated with his family. I don’t believe he saw us, since we were seated above him and out of his range of vision. Anyway, I mentioned his name and she repeated it, almost as if she were trying to memorize it. I remember because she commented on what a distinguished fellow he was and asked whether I had known him long and if he lived near me. I attached no importance to the questions. She had always exhibited a great deal of curiosity, and I took it as a sign that her spirits were reviving. A little while later, she pleaded a bad headache and said she had to go home immediately. Because there were so many others in my group I couldn’t leave with her. I sent her home in a cab and stayed to watch the rest of the play.”
“And nothing triggered your suspicions?”
“No. Elsa had been acting strangely for some time, and I attributed it to a physical ailment. But now I realize that by telling her Jonathan’s name, I must have made her realize he’d been lying to her. She probably put enough of the facts together to understand what had happened. She may have contacted him and threatened exposure. That was probably the reason they met on the night of her death.”
“Well, where do we go from here?”
Evangeline leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling for a few moments to collect her thoughts. “It’s clear to me that these two are devoid of conscience and morality. Their behavior with respect to Rosa proves that.”
“Yes, and...?”
“If there’s such a thing as honor among criminals, I don’t believe it applies to these two. Up until now, they’ve been held together by mutual selfish interest.”
“Each one deriving some sordid benefit from the association.”
“Exactly. I’m convinced that if the two of them remain united in their silence, we’ll never know who was responsible for Elsa’s death.”
Freddie looked at her despondently. “Thank you for that ray of hope.”
“But there is hope!” Evangeline smiled triumphantly. “What if we were able to drive a wedge between them, break asunder their unholy alliance?”
“And just how do you propose to accomplish that?”
“I think something dramatic and unforeseen is required,” Evangeline said pensively.
“Yes?” Freddie waited expectantly. “Having them arrested together and dragged downtown for questioning?”
Evangeline looked at her companion as if she had lost all hope that he would ever amount to anything as a detective. “No, I was thinking of something more effective than that,” she tapped her chin, “more along the lines of a dinner party.”
“A what?”
“Yes, a dinner party will do quite nicely, I think.” Evangeline strode over to her desk, sat down, and began writing. “So much to do before Friday and so little time. You’ll be good enough to return to me the photographs of Sidley and Jonathan. I’ll be needing them tomorrow. Oh yes, and I’ll also have to contact the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker... not to mention the tailor, the jeweler, the doctor, and the innkeeper’s wife.”
Freddie followed her to the other side of the room, protesting. “Have you completely lost your mind? We’re talking about two dangerous suspects who need to be handcuffed and locked away in a cell. And all you can do is plan a party?”
Evangeline smiled up at him serenely. “Exactly so. But before you cast judgment on my methods,” she handed him the paper on which she had been scribbling, “just have a look at the guest list.”
Chapter 27—Parlor Games
At promptly eight o’clock on Friday evening, Freddie and Bill Mason stood on the steps of Evangeline’s townhouse. Bill had paused just long enough to light up a cigar before Freddie rang the doorbell. Jack answered the summons.
“Evening, Jack, are we the first to arrive?” Freddie asked.
Jack smiled, briefly flashing his gold tooth, and nodded conspiratorially. “Evening, Mr. Freddie. The first as planned.”
He ushered the two into the drawing room where Evangeline sat waiting to receive her guests. The newspaperman eyed the expensive French tapestries that hung from the walls. He also noted the oil paintings, most of them from that avant-garde school for myopic painters known as Impressionism. He catalogued the marble floors and oriental carpets, the walnut paneling and antique Chinese vases on the mantelpiece, and finally the lady herself who owned all of it. He could see why Freddie was jumping through hoops for her. Blue stockings weren’t usually that good looking.
He realized, with a start, that while he had been taking inventory, so had she. Evangeline watched him silently, a slight smile on her face. She rose to greet him, holding out her hand as she said, “You mustn’t judge me too harshly for this decorative overstatement, Mr. Mason. I am the humble recipient of the objects you see about you, not their collector.”
Bill, usually not at a loss for words, was taken aback by both her vocabulary and her directness. He merely mumbled, “Miss,” and shook her hand like a schoolboy being introduced to his first-grade teacher.
Freddie stood back, grinning at his friend’s discomfort. “I told you she was a terror, Bill. Now you can see for yourself.”
Belatedly recovering his usual aplomb, Mason retorted, “I’d hardly call the lady a terror, my boy. Formidable might be a better word.” He ground out his cigar in an ashtray, not quite sure why he felt the need to be on his best behavior.
Mason replied, “Not much, other than something is going to happen that will make a terrific front-page story.”
“Only if I’m right in my assessment of the situation, Mr. Mason,” Evangeline qualified. “But if I am correct, and your paper gets an exclusive on something that’s worth printing, I must exact a promise from you in return.”
“Name it, miss, and it’s yours,” Mason said cavalierly.
“That’s the rub, Mr. Mason. I will not name my price. You’ll have to trust me for a while. But I will give you the opportunity to judge the quality of the product I’m offering for sale.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be asking me to cut off my arm, or take a temperance vow, or anything like that, would you?”
Evangeline laughed. “No, nothing quite that extreme. I merely require your word as a gentleman of the press that you will comply with my wishes in regard to how this matter is to be handled journalistically. Consenting to my terms will do you no personal harm.”
“Even though I may have just bought myself a pig in a poke, you have my word.” Mason held out his hand. “Let’s shake on it.”
“Agreed.” Evangeline shook his hand. “And to seal the bargain,” she turned to Jack who had been standing near the door, “bring the gentlemen some whiskey.”
Mason could feel his eyes assuming a luminous glow at the mention of spirits. “Freddie, you didn’t tell me your lady friend was such a good hostess.”
“She usually isn’t,” the young man said curtly. “It must be a full moon or something.”
“Freddie, I distinctly remember inviting you to tea and lavishing you with delicacies no less than a month ago,” Evangeline retorted.
Freddie took the glass of whiskey Jack offered. “And given the high price you exacted for those delicacies, the very thought of them ruins my digestion even now.”
Evangeline regarded Freddie with a skeptical eye. She turned to Mason to remark, “You are doubtless already familiar with his penchant for exaggeration whenever it suits his purpose?”
Mason eagerly received the glass Jack held out to him. He took a delicate sip of whiskey and rolled it around on his tongue. Smacking his lips appreciatively, he swallowed it. “No, Miss LeClair, I wasn’t. But I’ll be on notice henceforth.”
“Well, now that we’ve settled matters between us, I expect our next guests to arrive any minute.”
***
Almost as if prompted, the doorbell rang. The three in the drawing room waited expectantly. Instead of Jack, the door was opened by a young fellow in livery, presumably the doorman for the evening, who announced, “Mrs. Templar has just arrived, miss.”
“By all means show her in, Humphrey.”
The doorman almost doubled himself in two as he bowed the grand dame into the room.
Smiling graciously at Freddie and Bill, Berthe Templar walked over to greet Evangeline.
The lady of the house warmly embraced her guest. “I’m so grateful for your presence here tonight, Berthe.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Mrs. Templar replied archly. She was dressed in a white satin evening gown whose train swept half the room as she crossed it. Her pearl choker was surmounted by a diamond as large as a robin’s egg.
“Gad, Mrs. Templar. Your get-up is too flash for us. That diamond alone must be worth a king’s ransom,” Mason offered impishly.
Freddie jabbed Bill in the ribs. He apparently felt that the newsman’s attempt at charm left a bit to be desired.
Ignoring the awkwardness of the comment, Mrs. Templar favored Mason with a wink. “Yes, the diamond did set Mr. Templar back a few pennies. It’s one of my favorite pieces.”
Evangeline took Berthe’s arm and led her to a chair where the two ladies held a conspiratorial tête-a-tête. Freddie continued to lecture Bill in an agitated undertone until the doorman announced, “Police Superintendent Flint is here, miss.”
“You may show the gentleman in, Humphrey.”
The newcomer entered the drawing room warily. When he saw Bill Mason, he glared.
“What’s the meaning of inviting him here, Miss LeClair?” Flint spat out the pronoun with contempt.
Evangeline replied with aplomb. “Politics and a number of other crimes sometimes make for strange bedfellows, Superintendent. I told you that you would hear something to your advantage if you attended my little soirée this evening, and so you shall. So you shall.”
“Maybe I should have asked to see the guest list ahead of time,” Flint mumbled. “A boy still wet behind the ears and an alcoholic newshound are hardly what I would consider good company.”
Bill Mason stood up defiantly. “Sir, I must protest. I’m quite sure Freddie dried his ears before he arrived here this evening!”
Flint glowered and, after paying his respects to the ladies, took a seat at the far corner of the room.
Jack moved around unobtrusively, dispensing refreshments. About five minutes later, the doorman reappeared to announce, “Mr. Sidley, miss.”
“Send him in then.” Evangeline stood up and walked toward the door. Humphrey clicked his heels and drew back to allow the gentleman to enter.
The near-sighted accountant bowed his way into the room and, in his most self-effacing manner, greeted the assembled guests. Comments like “... what an honor...” and “... I never expected to m... meet anyone so important...” flowed haltingly from his lips.
Mason, who dismissed Sidley as of no interest, walked over and began to badger the police superintendent good-naturedly. In the meantime, Berthe Templar and Freddie carried on a whispered conversation regarding the deplorable state of law enforcement in the Levee District, a conversation not meant for the ears of the superintendent. Ignored by the others, Sidley commandeered Evangeline’s attention, presumably to establish her motive for the gathering.
“Miss LeClair, I was so overwhelmed with g... gratitude to receive your invitation. Quite taken by surprise, and by joy, I might add. To th... think that you would include me in so distinguished a party for one of your elegant suppers.”
Evangeline half-smiled. “Oh, I’d hardly call a party that includes Freddie a distinguished one. But thank you for the compliment just the same.”
“And who else might w... we be expecting this evening?” Sidley hesitated. “Forgive me if the question appears impertinent, but I want to prepare myself m... mentally in case I am introduced to any more eminent people of your acquaintance. I’m quite overcome as it is.”
“Calm yourself, Mr. Sidley.” Evangeline’s voice held cool detachment. “Only a few old friends, that’s all.”
“Oh, I see.”
Evangeline could guess that he wanted to ask specifically whose old friends they were, but ultimately decided not to press the matter.
A lull had just developed in the conversation when the doorman returned again to say, “Mr. Blackthorne has arrived.”
“Oh yes, by all means, show him in.”
Humphrey stood aside to allow the newest guest to pass. Blackthorne appeared apprehensive as he cast his eyes around the room and saw the number of people it contained. Evangeline was well aware this was the evening on which she was to give him a final answer to his proposal. No doubt, he hadn’t anticipated so many witnesses to that scene. Nor was he aware that the response she had planned didn’t fall within the range of possible alternatives he had imagined. The muscles in his face seemed to twitch ever so slightly when he saw Sidley, but Evangeline thought perhaps her imagination was playing tricks on her.
She walked toward him, wreathed in smiles and held out both hands to him in greeting. “Jonathan how lovely to see you. I believe you know almost everyone here.”
/>
Blackthorne looked disturbed. “I assumed your invitation to dinner would be just the two of us, Engie. We have matters to discuss.” He took the lady’s hands uncertainly and allowed her to lead him to the center of the room.
“Yes, there are important matters to be discussed—matters of life or death, as a matter of fact. But all will be revealed in time.” Linking her arm through his, she began a round of introductions. Sidley, she noted, had stepped back into the corner as far as he could, presumably trying to be mistaken for a potted fern.
Blackthorne acknowledged the introductions and then turned toward Sidley. “I don’t believe I know that gentleman over there.”
“Don’t you?” Evangeline gasped theatrically in surprise. “Oh, do forgive me. For some strange reason I thought the two of you were acquainted. Quite extraordinary.” She shook her head in disbelief. “So you mean to tell me you’ve never set eyes on this man before in your life?” She stared directly at Jonathan, a challenge in her eyes.
He returned her stare. “No, never, but if you’d be good enough to introduce us now, we might form an acquaintance.”
“Quite so.” Evangeline walked over to Sidley, who had been nervously shredding a palm frond while the foregoing interchange was being concluded. She separated him from the greenery and dragged him forward.
“Jonathan, may I introduce you to Mr. Jacob King—,” she broke off in seeming alarm. “My goodness, what a silly goose I am! I almost said Mr. Jacob Kingston. Now why do you imagine I would have done a thing like that?” She turned from Blackthorne to Sidley in helpless appeal for an explanation.
Sidley, by this time, looked like a bird caught in a trap. His mouth had flown open, and he was inhaling huge gulps of air.
Evangeline waved her hand dismissively. “No matter. The name I should have said was Mr. Jacob Sidley. Mr. Sidley, this is Mr. Blackthorne.”
The two men shook hands politely as Evangeline watched. Blackthorne’s face was unreadable. Sidley removed his glasses and began to polish his foggy lenses most energetically.
The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1) Page 27