Where Cowards Tread

by Sabrina Flynn

  Tobias looked through the receipt stack: brandy, pipes, tobacco, pharmacies, launderers. What was he expecting to find in here? That Mr. Hughes owed money to the newspaper?

  Tobias abandoned the receipts and turned to a ledger. He knew what it was because his mother had the same kind. She tallied everything at the kitchen table nightly and had shown Tobias how to manage his own accounts. She made him keep a running ledger of his money earned and his candy store trips.

  He squinted at the numbers. It took him a bit to sort them out. His mind mixed things up at times. Then he frowned. Mr. Hughes’s account book looked like Tobias’s. Not in the expenditures, but the money going out.

  Mr. Hughes spent a whole heap of money (more than Tobias), but there was never money coming in. None at all. Not even a balance.

  Tobias shut the account book and closed the desk. Bored now, he poked around the room. He opened the wardrobe hoping to find a skeleton (there was none), then turned to the nightstand. An old-fashioned pistol lay on a stack of postcards. Distracted by the pistol, Tobias ignored the postcards and picked up the weapon. It was the kind pirates used. Newer maybe, and it had a pearl handle.

  Tobias set it back down, and picked up a business card with some lady’s name on it and flowers. He was about to turn over a postcard when a loud meow sounded from under the door, followed by scratching.

  Tobias’s heart leapt in his throat. He quickly closed the drawer. Stupid cat.

  Watson’s yowling got louder, and then footsteps came. Ponderous and labored, it could only be one person. Tobias started to scoot under the bed, but it was filled with boxes and books. He scrambled towards the wardrobe and closed himself inside.

  Tobias made himself small and compact in a corner, and held his breath.

  “I don’t have any food for you in there,” Mr. Hughes said. He was good-natured and cheerful, and talked to the cat like he was a friend. “Making me walk all the way up here again. Then you’ll just want to go back out. What did I tell you about scratching on doors?”

  The bedroom door opened, and soon Watson was meowing and pawing at the wardrobe. Tobias squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Oh, stop that. Bad kitty.” Mr. Hughes huffed. “I don’t know why I put up with you. It’s three hours until dinner. I’ll tell you what, old fellow. You and I will walk down to the market and get a treat. The bakery for me, and the fish market for you.”

  Watson’s purr pierced the wardrobe. And then it opened.

  Tobias held his breath, and cracked an eye open, waiting for an outburst. Hangers scraped against the back of the wardrobe. Then Mr. Hughes tapped on wood. A soft whisper of wood, and Tobias was crushed between a wall that hadn’t been there a moment before and the side of the wardrobe.

  Through his cracked eye, he could see Watson staring at him, his tail waving lazily in contemplation. The cat seemed to be weighing his options: attack the boy or get shrimp. Shrimp won out.

  Both doors closed without incident, and the Lone Outlaw just about pissed himself. He sat curled against the wardrobe wall, panting softly in darkness.

  After what seemed like an hour, Tobias moved a foot, then an arm. He reached out and pushed the wardrobe door open. He squinted against the light, and quickly scooted out.

  The room was empty.

  He sighed with relief, then turned back to the wardrobe. Mr. Hughes had opened something in the back, pressing Tobias against the inside of the wardrobe. A false back?

  Tobias moved the clothing aside, just as Mr. Hughes had done, and knocked softly on the back. It took some minutes before he spotted a scratch on the wood. Tobias picked at it with a fingernail, and a small rectangle of wood slid aside to expose a latch. Tobias pulled the little lever down.

  The back of the wardrobe opened, revealing narrow shelves.

  Tobias stared in shock. A bit of drool curled down the side of his face, and he quickly closed his mouth. Glancing over his shoulder, he reached out a tentative hand and picked up a stack of paper. Bank notes. They looked old. The top one read one hundred silver dollars, with a picture of James Monroe (it said below) on the left side and a little one hundred on the right. A giant red stamp in the center drove home to Tobias White that he was holding a one hundred dollar bill.

  Tobias looked back at the shelves. There were enough bank notes in there to stuff a mattress.

  “You did what?” Sarah asked.

  “Shh,” Tobias shushed her loudly. “That’s what we planned.”

  “I did not tell you to break into Mr. Hughes—”

  Tobias clamped a hand over her mouth. He glanced around the empty room. It was a dance hall. At least that’s what he’d heard it was. It was downstairs, a vast empty space with wood floors and a fireplace. His ma made him polish those floors whenever he did something stupid. The room tended to echo.

  “Let’s go to my fort.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes, but followed. When they were hidden away in his fort, he told her what he found.

  “How much do you reckon was in there?” Sarah asked. She sat on the makeshift bedroll that Jin used when she was feeling particularly ornery.

  Tobias shrugged. “Loads. There were all sorts of bills. And he didn’t keep a balance in his books. My ma says there’s no use keeping an account book if you don’t tally the balance.”

  “Unless he keeps it in his head,” Sarah said.

  “Who’d do that?”

  “Maybe Mr. Hughes.” Sarah blew out a breath. “If he has so much money, why would he sell an article to the Call?”

  “We don’t know he did,” Tobias said.

  “Mr. Lotario thinks so.”

  “No. We don’t know that either. Mr. A.J. said that’s what Mr. Lotario said.”

  “Why would Atticus lie to me?”

  Tobias gave her a look. “’Cause he knew you were fishin’. Mr. A.J. ain’t dumb.”

  Sarah blinked, shocked at the suggestion that Atticus might mislead her. But then hadn’t she tried to trick him? Thinking on it, it seemed like the sort of thing he’d do. Her brows drew together. “Or Mr. Lotario is wrong,” she suggested.

  Tobias nodded at that too. “Or he knew you’d cheat and gave Mr. A.J. the wrong name.”

  Sarah fiddled with a spring Tobias had found under a house some months ago. “Maybe it wasn’t for money. What other reasons are there for writing that article?”

  Tobias shrugged.

  “Why do you tell on Maddie?” she asked.

  “Maddie? She doesn’t do anything bad.”

  “All right. Why would you tell on Jin?”

  “She’d kill me.”

  Sarah made a frustrated sound worthy of her sister.

  “All right, let me think.” Tobias rubbed his chin in imitation of Atticus, who sometimes stroked his beard in thought. “Maybe Mr. Hughes wanted to get Miss Dupree in trouble.”

  “Maybe. But it got all of us in trouble. Mr. Löfgren may not move in with his wife, and the other women in the house have their reputations to worry about.”

  “Do all women care about their reputation so much?”

  Sarah gave him a patient look. “A woman has to, Tobias. Otherwise she can’t find respectable work, or a husband.”

  “Miss Isobel don’t seem to care about hers. And she found work and a husband.”

  “Isobel is…” Sarah faltered. “Special. Most women aren’t. You heard Mrs. Lane, she’s worried about her job. And Mrs. Clarke is a God-fearing woman. She doesn’t want that kind of stain on her name.”

  “Miss Pierce has a job,” Tobias pointed out.

  “True,” Sarah said slowly. “She didn’t mention that her employment was at risk. Only that she got paid less…”

  Tobias sucked in an excited breath. “Maybe it has something to do with Miss Dupree’s rooms. They’re the best in the house.”

  Sarah abandoned the spring. “Aside from the turret room.”

  Tobias shook his head. “That big ol’ room is on the third floor. Miss Dupree’s is on the first, and it ha
s its own entrance. Mr. Hughes wouldn’t have to walk up and down all those stairs. He could come and go as he pleased, and let Watson in and out all day.”

  Sarah was beginning to see why Lotario suspected him. “Maybe Mr. Hughes thought the article would force Atticus to evict Miss Dupree, so he could rent her rooms.”

  “My ma would be the one to do that. Mr. A.J. don’t even know who’s in his own house.”

  Sarah couldn’t argue with that. Atticus was barely ever home, and when he was, he kept to his rooms or the family kitchen. “The article might make people move out. Then your ma would be forced to get new boarders, or maybe even lower the rent.”

  “She’d never do that.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve heard Atticus talking with Isobel. From the sound of it there’s not much money.”

  Tobias nodded. “I peeked at my ma’s account books of Ravenwood estate. She breaks even every time.”

  “Was she planning on raising the rent?”

  Tobias shrugged. “I don’t know, but it still doesn’t make sense. Mr. Hughes could buy his own place with that much cash. Why rent a room on the third floor?”

  “Maybe he’s lonely.”

  “I don’t think so. He had lots of calling cards from ladies.”

  “I never see any of them visit.”

  “Maybe he calls on them.”

  Sarah thought a moment. “I think we should tell your ma what you found.”

  Tobias nearly choked. “Are you crazy? I’d die before I told her what I did.”

  “Fine, but we have to find out if any of the boarders asked to switch rooms, or for their rent to be lowered.”

  “Or if they had trouble paying.”

  Sarah nodded. “I still think we should tell someone about all that money.”

  “Maybe Mr. Tim?”

  That seemed a good start. Mr. Tim would hardly get mad at Tobias for using the lock picks he had taught him to use.

  “You found what?” Tim asked.

  The boy fidgeted with his cap, while Sarah stood watching for Mr. Tim’s reaction. “We were only trying to find the writer of that article, Mr. Tim.”

  The old man was sitting on a stool in front of a wood stove, mending a pair of boots. He had, as it turned out, worked as a cobbler at some point. “I don’t care how you got there, boy. But come again on the other part.”

  “He has a whole bank in his wardrobe,” Tobias said. “There’s enough to stuff a mattress.”

  “A hundred dollar note, you say? With James Monroe and a giant red stamp in the middle? You sure?”

  Tobias nodded. “There were other bills, too.”

  “What should we do, Mr. Tim?” Sarah asked.

  He grunted. “I’d like a peek at them.”

  “You gonna break in too? Here’s the pick that worked.” Tobias showed him the key pick from the ring.

  Tim snatched the lock pick ring. “You can’t go borrowing these without asking.”

  “I figured you wouldn’t let me do it if I asked first.”

  Tim pinned the boy with a crisp blue eye. “Now why the hell would I stop you when I was the one that taught you?”

  Sarah turned red at the curse. Tobias’s mouth worked. He finally settled on an answer. “’Cause you’re old.”

  “Do most old folks teach you lock picking?” Tim asked, rubbing his beard in thought.

  “Well, no,” Tobias admitted.

  Tim had a twinkle in his eye. “Why’d I teach you something if I didn’t want you to use it?”

  “I’m not sure you should encourage him, Mr. Tim,” Sarah said.

  The old man grunted. “Maybe not. But then I was never one for sense.”

  “What should we do?” Sarah asked again.

  “The man has a stash of cash in his room. There’s nothin’ criminal about that. Most old people don’t trust banks. Myself included.”

  Tim set down his boot and tools, and reached for a coat. “I reckon we should consult with Miss Lily.”

  “You can’t tell my ma what I did!” Tobias said. “She’ll skin me.”

  “Don’t you worry, boy. I’m not going to get you in trouble.”

  Sarah glanced at Tobias. Her look said it all.

  Tim was an odd man. Sarah’s gramma would’ve found him crass and uncivilized. And a bad influence. Which meant she wouldn’t have allowed Sarah near him. He was sly, crafty, and had likely tried out all the sins in the Good Book, but he had the largest heart Sarah had ever known. He cared about things. Most of all, people.

  Tim as usual took extra care to wipe his feet and wash in the mudroom sink before setting foot in Miss Lily’s kitchen. They found her downstairs, in front of a crackling hearth in what constituted the White family’s sitting room. It was cozy and well used, but as clean as could be.

  Tim greeted Lily with a polite ‘Good evening.’ She was mending clothes by the light of the fire and a small lamp.

  “Evening, Mr. Tim. Tobias, Sarah.” Her cheeks dimpled, her eyes warmed. “It’s a cold night again.”

  “I’ll check the furnace,” Tim said.

  “No rush, Mr. Tim. Can I get you some hot tea? Coffee?”

  “No thank you. I told you before I can get my own.” Tim did not like being waited on. As he had put it one day, “The second I stop moving is the day I die.” He said plenty of things like that.

  “You can,” Lily said, a twinkle in her eye. “But I don’t want you rummaging through my kitchen.”

  “Now look here, I washed all up and made myself presentable.” Tim brandished his hands.

  “I’m not sure all the hot water in San Francisco would do the job properly.”

  Tim huffed, and stuck a cold pipe in his lips. He knew better than to light it up in the main house, but Lily allowed him the comfort of it.

  “Are you children hungry?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am,” Sarah said. She glanced at Tobias, who made a motioning gesture. In turn, Sarah looked to Tim, who seemed to take a moment to remember why he was there.

  “What’s on your minds?” Lily asked, without looking up from her stitch work.

  “Does Mr. Hughes pay with cash every month?” Tim asked, bluntly.

  “Yes, he does. He’s never been late.” She looked up. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’d like to see the money he pays with.”

  Puzzled, Lily stood up and walked down a hallway.

  Tobias leaned over to whisper into Sarah’s ear. “She keeps a strongbox behind a loose panel in her room.”

  Ravenwood Manor was full of all sorts of nooks and crannies. The children kept searching for a secret door and staircase, but so far hadn’t found one.

  Lily came back with three bills. She handed them over to Tim.

  He stretched one and held it close to the lamp, and shut one eye.

  “Don’t tell me they’re counterfeit bills,” she said.

  “No, no,” Tim said. “These are the real thing.” The way he said it left a wide open space for a larger question.

  Sarah blinked in surprise. “There’s such a thing?” she asked.

  Lily frowned, realizing she had exposed the children to a criminal enterprise.

  “Indeed,” Tim said. “Forgery is an art. You’d likely be good at it.”

  “Mr. Tim!” Lily said. “Don’t be putting ideas into their heads.”

  Tim winked. “You said it, not me.”

  Lily shook her head, and returned to her seat.

  “Mind if I hold on to one of these?”

  “Are you going to spend it?”

  “No, no. Just check on a few things.”

  “You can keep all three.”

  Tim stuffed the money into his pocket.

  “Why the sudden interest in Mr. Hughes? Is this about that article?” Lily asked.

  Tobias and Sarah sat on the hearth rug letting the fire toast their backs.

  “Yes and no,” Tim said. “The kids here think he wrote it.”

  “Now why would you suspect Mr. Hugh
es?” Lily asked. “I thought you were set on Mr. Dougal.”

  Sarah glanced at Tobias, who somehow managed to shake his head without moving it.

  “Mr. Lotario thinks Mr. Hughes wrote it,” Sarah said. “But we… I was wondering if Mr. Hughes has ever asked to move rooms? Or complained about any of the other boarders?”

  Lily’s fingers stilled over her mending. She looked up in thought. “I don’t think Mr. Hughes has ever made such a request. Why would Mr. Lotario think he wrote it?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Well…” Sarah looked to Tobias.

  “We think he wrote it so Miss Dupree would be kicked out. That way he’d get her room and wouldn’t have to walk up all those stairs,” Tobias blurted out.

  “I see. Do you have proof?”

  “No, but we need to start somewhere.”

  “Mr. Hughes pays his rent on time. Gets along with all the other boarders, and his doctor wants him to walk up all those stairs for his health.”

  Tobias wrinkled his nose. “Who do you think wrote it, Ma?”

  “You finally thought to ask me,” she said.

  “Ma. Just tell us.”

  “Doesn’t matter who I think wrote it. Not until there’s proof.”

  “All the same,” Sarah said. “You know the boarders best.”

  Lily went back to her stitching, and Mr. Tim, never one to sit idle, leaned forward to toss another log into the fire, and stoke it to life.

  “You both know I don’t gossip.”

  “This is hypothesthising…” Tobias stumbled over the word.

  “Hypothesizing,” Sarah corrected. “Like in science.”

  “Miss Pierce is having trouble paying her rent. She supports her mother and a number of younger siblings outside the City.”

  Sarah frowned. “But that article could damage her reputation. She might be let go from her job.”

  Lily tilted her head from side to side. “Perhaps. But she’s a mathematician. Any woman making her own way in a male-dominated profession has a questionable reputation in the minds of those who concern themselves with such things.” Miss Lily did not concern herself with such things. Her tone left no doubt of that.