Though This Be Madness

by Penny Richards

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “You need to stay here in case Amos needs you for something.”

  “Am I a part of this little family or ain’t I?” the boy asked.

  “Of course you are.”

  “Then it’s my day off, too, right?”

  Cade sighed. “Hop in.

  Robbie was grinning from ear to ear as he climbed into the wagon. As he took a seat between Lilly and Cade he flashed her a triumphant smile.

  Determined not to let him get the best of her, Lilly smiled back. “I’m glad you’re coming, Robbie. I’m sure you’ll be a big help. I’m hoping to persuade Cade to buy me some ice cream later on. How does that sound?”

  He frowned, uncertain what to make of her friendliness. “Sure. Why not?” he replied, folding his arms across his chest. Lilly didn’t miss the excitement in his brown eyes. Why shouldn’t he go? He’d worked hard and deserved a day off, too.

  “Lilly and I have been wonderin’ if you’ve heard anything of interest.”

  “Haven’t heard a thing. Saw something interestin’ Sunday night, though.”

  Cade shot a sharp glance the boy’s way. “And what was that?”

  “That lawyer fella tried to corner Neecie in the hallway.” He looked at Lilly to see what she made of that bit of information. “Then his Mrs. called out for Neecie, and she slipped inside the room.”

  Preston—the disgusting worm—had been trying to get Neecie into a corner. Lilly’s intuition was more on target than she thought. “What were you doing abovestairs?” Lilly asked.

  “Working, the same as you.”

  Cade cast a baleful glance her way. “You probably don’t want to know.”

  No doubt he was right.

  During the ride, she thought of what Robbie had told them. She hoped Preston burned in a fiery hell for even thinking of being unfaithful to his pregnant wife . . . with a woman who was expecting her own child no less! Of course, it didn’t surprise her, but still . . .

  Another memory from Sunday slipped into her mind: Neecie carrying the eggs from the kitchen and carefully skirting Preston and the group he’d been talking to. At the time it hadn’t seemed important, and perhaps it meant nothing at all, but hearing about his inappropriate advances toward her caused Lilly to wonder. With a little growl and a shake of her head, she banished the troubling thoughts, reminding herself that it had no bearing on their reason for being there. Still, the thoughts wouldn’t quite leave her alone.

  It wasn’t long before Cade pulled to a stop in front of the building Amos had told him housed Henri Ducharme’s medical practice. “We’ll wait for you,” he told her.

  “It may take a while.”

  “There’s no way I’m goin’ off and leavin’ you in a strange town. Just get a gander at the license and come on back. We’ll wait, colleen.”

  Lilly glared at him, but inside she was pleased that he cared enough to be concerned for her safety.

  Ducharme’s offices were located on the second floor. When Lilly entered the outer room, she noticed that the furnishings were plain, basic. Three other patients sat waiting for their turn to see the doctor. They looked up curiously. A prim matronly woman dressed all in white sat behind a table and smiled when she entered. “May I help you?”

  “I’m here to see Dr. Ducharme,” Lilly told her. “I’ve been having a bit of dyspepsia and thought perhaps he could give me something for it.”

  The woman looked at the book on the table that served as a desk, and said, “As a matter of fact, he can see you after he sees these patients. Please have a seat, Miss . . .”

  “Warner,” Lilly said without a second’s hesitation. No one here would connect Mrs. Lilly Warner with Mrs. Brona Sullivan. “Mrs. Lilly Warner, and I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but to be fair we have to take the patients in turn. I’m sure you understand.” She gave Lilly a tight smile, and she thought she saw a hint of irritation in the woman’s eyes. “Now, have you had the upset stomach long?”

  “The past few mornings,” Lilly lied.

  The woman smirked, as if she already knew the cause of the ailment. Good heavens! Lilly thought. The matronly lady assumed she was with child, but she’d learned a couple of weeks ago that she was not carrying Tim Warner’s baby, thank goodness!

  A voice Lilly recognized as Henri’s called out from the hallway, and with a murmured apology the woman disappeared through a doorway. Lilly shook off the irritation that accompanied the very thought of Timothy and took the opportunity to wander around the room and examine the various framed medical illustrations hanging on the wall as well as the prominently displayed diploma.

  It seemed that Henri had received his medical training in Ohio. That was interesting. His speech and his name suggested that he was Louisiana born and bred, but one never knew. She’d have to ask Lamartine if she knew anything about his past. At least they had something to check on.

  With no intention of waiting for the woman’s return, Lilly left the office and headed downstairs. There was no sense keeping Cade and Robbie waiting since she had the information she’d gone for, and she had no intention of letting Henri examine her just to glean a morsel of information. The very thought sent a shudder through her.

  Seeing her step through the outer door, Cade hopped down from the wagon. “That didn’t take long,” he said, giving her a hand up.

  Lilly explained what had transpired between her and the nurse. “When Henri called for her, I got a look at the certificate and left. I certainly had no intention of meeting him face-to-face.”

  “So where did he go to medical school?” Cade asked.

  “Cincinnati.”

  “Hmm. Let’s go check out Henri’s gambling haunts and then we’ll stop by the telegraph office so you can ask William to look into Ducharme’s medical records.”

  Lilly felt a rush of pleasure that Cade was allowing her to do her part in the investigation. Perhaps teamwork wasn’t such a drudge after all.

  * * *

  Armed with a list of places Amos claimed were favorite haunts of Henri’s, they headed toward an area where disreputable taverns were a dime a dozen. This time it was Lilly and Robbie who sat and waited while Cade went inside to find out what he could about Henri’s habits. She had no idea why Cade cared what Henri did when he left the house at night or where he did it. Wasn’t it enough that they knew he gambled heavily? How could knowing where he lost money be of any use to their investigation?

  Their first stop was a small grog shop near the docks called The Wharf.

  “Well, isn’t this a proper dump?” Robbie said, regarding the exterior of the building in disgust. “I hope McShane don’t get to feeling too much at home in there.”

  The comment took Lilly off guard. She curled one hand around his chin and forced him to look at her. Regret lingered in his eyes. The boy had no notion how much his offhand comment had revealed. “What does that mean?”

  “It don’t mean nothin,” he mumbled, jerking free of her touch. “I was just runnin’ off at the mouth.”

  “Jenks . . .” she began, knowing before she spoke that he would offer no explanation. “If there are things you know that would help me to better understand Cade, things that might help me be a better partner, I’d like you to tell me.”

  “You’ve asked me before, sister dear,” he said in that mocking tone that made her want to give him a good shaking. “And I’m tellin’ you again that I don’t snitch on my friends. And it’s not Jenks anymore, it’s Robbie, and don’t ya be fergettin’ it, Brona.”

  * * *

  As Cade strode through the fleapit toward the bar, he, like Lilly, wondered what on earth would bring a man of Henri’s social standing to such a place. And aren’t you the one to be disgusted by such a dive?

  There had been a time, not too long ago, when he’d spent most of his waking hours in places like this, or lying in front of them, too drunk to stand. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead, an
d he wiped it away with a quick swipe of the handkerchief he drew from his rear pocket.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Beer. Dark.” While the barman drew the brew, Cade examined the reflection in the hazy mirror. All taverns were basically the same, yet some were fancier and frequented by a higher class of patrons. This was a workingman’s bar. Hard used. Smokey. Filled with men who had no money to spare for such things. Men who used the rent money in search of the forgetfulness at the bottom of a glass and women trying to scratch out a meager living with the only commodity they had left to sell.

  At ten in the morning, the room was relatively smoke-free, though the smell lingered, no doubt having penetrated into the very walls. The piano stood silent. The girls were upstairs sleeping, preparing for another night. Only two men sat at one of the scarred tables, and they were dressed as if they belonged in a gentleman’s club.

  The server slammed the foamy mug of beer onto the bar. Cade stared at it for long seconds before picking up the mug and cradling it in his palms. Lifting the thick glass to his nose, he drew in a deep lungful of the yeasty hops-filled scent and closed his eyes. Then he set it back onto the bar.

  “Slow day?”

  “About normal,” the bartender said.

  Cade jerked his head toward the two men. “I mean no offense, but what brings a couple of gents like them to a place like this?”

  “None taken. I’m not sure about those two, but sometimes the upper crust comes here to meet someone they don’t want to be seen with in public, if you know what I mean.”

  He did. Like a mistress. Or someone in cahoots on a shady deal. Oh, yes, he knew well.

  “Many of them come to gamble?” Cade pushed his drink back.

  “Not so much. The locals have a game every now and again, but most everyone comes to drink, or enjoy the girls when they can scrape up the cash. There’s a swell comes in every now and again to meet up with some of his rich friends and they play.

  “Really? Do you know his name?”

  “No.” The barkeep frowned. “Why are you asking?”

  “There’s a guy who owes me some money from a long time ago,” Cade lied. “Can you describe this fella?” He slid a coin across the bar to the man, who looked at it curiously and then, never losing eye contact, slipped it into his pocket before describing a man who fit the bill for Henri. Cade knew the description could match a dozen others, but it would be worth it to explore a little more.

  “He was in a few nights ago,” the bartender offered before Cade could delve further into the unknown man. “In fact, he lost big to some Yankee hotshot. He wasn’t none too happy over it, and said the man was cheating . . . only not saying it to his face.”

  “What about you? Do you think he was cheating?”

  “Mister, I serve drinks. Unless a fight breaks out over something, I don’t pay any attention to what goes on in the games. All I can say is that when the Yankee scraped up his winnings and left, all the other swells agreed that he was at least a professional, if not a downright cheat.”

  “Thanks for the information.” Cade stood and pulled some money from his pocket.

  The bartender frowned. “Something wrong with the draft?”

  “Nothing. I don’t drink. You enjoy.” He placed money for the beer on the counter, stood, pulled his cap from his back pocket, and plopped it onto his head. The man behind the bar stared after him with a curious expression on his face.

  * * *

  “So what do we do with this information?” Lilly asked when Cade told her and Robbie what he’d learned.

  “I’d like to see just how heavily he loses and how often, who he meets and so on. I’ll tag along next time he goes out for the night. Robbie, you ought to come, too. I’m sure you can pick up a lot of information hanging around on the street.”

  “Well, that’s big of you, McShane,” Robbie drawled, his Irish brogue as thick as the humid air. “I thought per’aps ya’d forgotten I’m part of this team, don’t ya know.”

  “You will not go,” Lilly said, giving Robbie a look that said she meant business, a look that had been programmed into women since God fashioned Eve from Adam’s rib. She turned to Cade. “Perhaps, McShane, it has escaped your notice that he’s a child. He has no business staying out all hours and hanging around taverns. He needs to be at home in bed having someone reading him a bedtime story.”

  Robbie burst out laughing. “Well, ain’t that rich? Brona’s worried about little Robbie.” The last was spoken in a pitiful sing-song tone that scorned the notion that anyone could care for him.

  Weary of his disrespect and unprovoked dislike, Lilly snapped, “Yes, Brona does worry about little Robbie, though she cannot imagine why, when he obviously doesn’t give a fig about himself.”

  The boy looked taken aback by the statement and the vehemence behind it and opened his mouth to reply, but Cade stayed him with a curt, “Fine. I won’t take him. Let’s find some ice cream and cool off.” The look he gave them both told them he meant that in more ways than one. “After that, we’ll go to the telegraph station and you can send the agency a note about Henri’s diploma.”

  Lilly did her best to calm her irritation. She knew she should not have reacted to the child’s antagonism with exasperation, but he really did have a way of getting under her skin . . . just like Cade. The truth was that she was in over her head, both with the case and with dealing with her two male counterparts.

  Even though she had no desire for a partner, especially one who seemed to dislike her so intently, the longer this case went on, the more she realized that she could have never worked through all the angles if she’d been on her own. Not only was her time too limited, with one day off a week, but she would never have thought of some of the avenues to explore that McShane had brought up. Experience.

  It was hard working so closely with a virtual stranger, obliged to share your observations and thoughts with him when you were more or less feeling your way through each day and were trying hard not to look the fool. But she couldn’t fault him for his willingness to throw himself wholeheartedly into his work for the agency or the Fontenots, or even Robbie for that matter. She was fast learning that Cadence McShane was one of those people who gave one hundred percent to whatever task he undertook, and she saw him working to impress those values on Robbie.

  Sharing a room with her partner was a whole different source of conflict and distress. Just knowing that he was there was disturbing. She was sensitive to his every move, conscious of every breath he took. Every rustling movement of his body.

  She told herself it was simply that he was an attractive man and she was a woman who had tasted the sweetest fruits love had to offer. Then she would remind herself that her feelings were nothing but her mother’s foolishness coming out in her, and she had sworn she would not behave as imprudently as Kate. It was a vow she meant to keep no matter how often thoughts of Cadence McShane entered her mind. She’d learned hard lessons from Timothy Warner, and she refused to be so easily led astray a second time.

  CHAPTER 11

  Tensions among the trio eased somewhat as they sat outside in the April sunshine enjoying a dish of ice cream. Though Robbie was quiet, she and Cade tried to lighten the mood by making a game of watching the people passing by and trying to guess who they were and where they were headed just by their clothing and manner. To her surprise, he actually smiled a time or two at her outrageous guesses. Allan Pinkerton had been right. A lot could be learned from observing people and learning to read their actions. Isn’t that what she did to prepare for her onstage roles?

  “We should go and visit Missus Patricia.”

  The suggestion came from the boy, who was focused on scraping the last drop of melted ice cream from his bowl.

  “The doctor doesn’t want her having visitors,” Lilly told him. “He doesn’t want reminders of home to upset her more than she already is.”

  His fearless brown gaze met hers. “Did we come here to do what the doctor says o
r to find out if the missus is batty?”

  “Robbie, that isn’t very nice.”

  The boy shrugged and swiped his tongue along the edge of his bowl.

  A twinkle of amusement flickered in Cade’s. “He has a point. We do need to figure out how to get into the asylum and see her. There’s no other way to gauge her mental condition.”

  Lilly recalled challenging the sheriff of Vandalia with a similar statement about doing her job. “B-But you’re always saying that we don’t need to rush into things, that we need to plan our strategy. We’ve barely arrived, and we don’t know much about anything yet. Why don’t we wait until a day that we can come dressed a bit better and tell them that we’d like to check out the hospital because we’re looking for a place to put my poor grand-père.”

  He shrugged. “There are advantages to surprise attacks, too.”

  She didn’t know if she was afraid of what they would find, or uncertain of their ability to make any headway by rushing into this crazy plan. “I don’t know. . . . What will we tell them?”

  “How about we buy a sweet of some kind and you and Robbie go in and say you worked for Patricia and you’ve brought her a treat from the girls in the kitchen and would like to give it to her.”

  For a spur-of-the-moment plan, it was a good one. “Not bad, Mr. Sullivan,” Lilly said with a sigh of agreement. She turned to Robbie. “Are you willing to go in with me?”

  His shrug was offhand, but she saw the interest in his eyes. “Ain’t I here to help?”

  “All right, then. Listen to me, Robbie. You keep your mouth shut and let Lilly do the talking, right?” Cade ordered.

  He gave another unconcerned shrug. “Sure.”

  “Mouth closed, eyes wide open.”

  “No need to draw me a picture, McShane,” the boy said in a testy tone.

  Cade frowned, but that twinkle in his eyes was back. Good grief! Lilly thought. He was as bad as the boy.

  * * *

  In less than thirty minutes, the rig was sitting in front of the hospital. From where they sat, it did not look like a happy place. Lilly and Robbie climbed down and started toward the door. Robbie carried the pralines they’d purchased.