by R. J. Koreto
Mrs. Cowles looked at me and then laughed. “Oh, dear me, Alice. Mr. St. Clair has had a hard life. I imagine he learned about trade-offs and sacrifices by the time he was ten. Considering that most men in our set wait until their thirties to learn that—if they ever do—that’s impressive.” Alice looked at me curiously and smiled.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said.
“But that’s enough for now. It’s time for you to get dressed. Mr. St. Clair, we’ll be staying in, so you’ll have the rest of the day off. Right now, I have a few arrangements to check,” she said and swept out of the room.
“Well,” said Alice when we were alone. “That was interesting. And we got more than I thought we would. Delilah Linde wouldn’t accept the limits of her life. Neither would Miles. I wonder…”
“You wonder what, Miss Alice?”
She grinned at me. “I wonder exactly what other men haven’t learned at thirty that you learned at ten. We shall see. Good night, and I’ll see you at breakfast.”
I wished her a good evening and headed downstairs. Often, I’d be able to wheedle a dinner out of Dulcie, but with important people coming, she’d be even more bad-tempered than usual, and I had had enough for one day. I picked up a meat pie from a little place under the El and stopped by the doorman on my way back in.
That talk about the Lindes was interesting, but I had other things I wanted to mull over. The doorman read the Herald, and I knew he kept a pile of back issues in the package room to give to any porters or servants who had to wrap something up. I took a few copies and headed back to my half basement room.
While I ate, I read some of Felicia Meadows’s columns. I’m not a good judge of journalism, but there was no denying she had a way with words, and I could see why the Herald valued her. When I finished, I gave her some further thought. Then I checked my wallet to make sure I had plenty of money, filled up my flask with bourbon, and headed to my card game.
CHAPTER 24
The next morning, I joined Alice at the usual time for a breakfast of pancakes and bacon.
“Did you have a good evening?” I asked.
“Yes, thank you. I think I’m properly coming along as a political hostess. Many of the guests seem to appreciate my humor. I’m not sure Aunt Anna does, but I think the general consensus was that I was amusing. How’d the card game go?”
“Not much amusing conversation, as you’d say, but I came out ahead, so nothing to complain about. Mrs. Cowles still here?”
“Yes, she has some sort of breakfast meeting, which I managed to wriggle out of. You’re worried that Miss Meadows will come before Aunt Anna leaves. It may be a little tricky, but I have the matter well in hand, Mr. St. Clair. There’s a pretty good chance my aunt will walk right by. Meanwhile, I left word with the doorman that Miss Meadows was expected and could be sent straight up.”
“And if Mrs. Cowles does come around and see us?”
“If, if, if … you have an unpleasant habit of always looking at the worst possible outcome of any event.”
Before I had a chance to think of a suitable reply to that, the doorbell rang.
“That’ll be Miss Meadows.” I just shook my head and went with the maid to answer the door.
“Miss Meadows, you’re looking well this morning,” I said. Indeed, she was looking pleased with herself, and maybe it was my imagination, but her hair was done up nicer than usual. Her eyes were especially bright, and there was a liveliness to her step as she entered the apartment. She looked around with curiosity at the spacious entranceway and expensive decorations. I showed her into the breakfast room.
Alice stood to greet her. “You look like a woman bearing a lot of information.”
“Yes, Miss Roosevelt, I am. I think you’ll be very impressed.”
“Tell me all! But first, please, have a seat, and help yourself to coffee and breakfast. Our cook Dulcie excels at breakfast.” Miss Meadows appeared delighted with the bounty. She struck me as the kind of girl who just took something on the run on her way to the office.
After helping herself to eggs and bacon, Miss Meadows pulled a notebook out of her bag. “Miss Roosevelt, my colleagues and I have found out quite a bit. Understand, these are things we know but can’t necessarily prove, quiet words in our ears, background talk. So we can’t publish anything yet because of libel laws, like we discussed earlier. But we can at least hold the information and maybe use it.”
Miss Meadows had a generous-sized bag with her and pulled out a notebook. “First, I’m going to talk about Wall Street,” started Miss Meadows, consulting her notebook. “As our finance editor says, the business of New York has always been business, and Reuben Roth, that is, the father of your friend Abraham Roth, has been very busy with some big deal in recent months, but no one knows exactly what.” Alice looked disappointed at that, but Miss Meadows raised a hand to forestall any protests. “But there’s more of interest here. Working with the finance editor, I found out something that normally would not be that remarkable, except for the context. I think Reuben Roth has something going on with Simon Rutledge. And to hide it, instead of visiting each other or using their usual subordinates, they’ve been using their children.”
“Philadelphia? Philly Rutledge has been a business courier for her father?”
“It would seem so,” said Miss Meadows.
Alice glanced at me, and I knew what she was thinking: this was the secret that Cathleen O’Neill was keeping for Philly, even as Philly was keeping the secret of Cathleen’s engagement.
“I can understand Abraham,” said Alice. “He’s not formally in the family business but rather has his own related business. He was saying how after college his father sent him to wander around Europe for a few months, and when he returned, his father set him up importing antiques and other fine goods from the Continent. Maybe his father is involving him in the family business quietly. But Philly?”
“You don’t think she’s sharp enough?” asked Miss Meadows. “I don’t believe it’s usual to involve a young woman like that in something like this. So this must be very big.”
“Philly is a bright girl. And I know as her father’s only child, he wants her to know the leading officers of the family firm—and vice versa. But I wouldn’t have thought Simon Rutledge would involve his daughter in such details. Or that she would be bold enough. What makes you think this? How can you be sure?”
“Think about that, Miss Roosevelt. She’s a young lady of Society. People are interested in the other ladies she meets, the merchants she patronizes. And that’s what connects her to her father’s business. It seems that every Thursday, Simon Rutledge is driven to the Wall Street offices of the family firm, and he reviews the books and chairs meetings. As you said, Philadelphia typically goes with him but then is sent home in the family car after lunch, although she’s been seen shopping in the better stores before going home. But on two occasions at least, she was seen leaving the family motorcar—and entering Abraham’s offices.”
“Very good,” said Alice, spearing some bacon in delight. “You’ve hit a rich vein there. Presumably, Simon Rutledge meets with other members of his firm, reaches some sort of decision, and passes information through Philly to the Roths. And Abraham Roth was at her debutante ball. The Roths have been threatened, as have I. I’m seeing the connections.”
“Then you’ll love this next bit,” said Miss Meadows, turning a page in the notebook. “Another one of my colleagues had some insights into the darker parts of Society life.”
“Ooh, this is going to be good,” said Alice with more enthusiasm than a young lady should have for a topic like that.
“I can offer you something courtesy of an easily bribed bank teller—and we shouldn’t delve too deeply into the details there. A colleague was following the fall of the Van Dijks and any connections to Marcus Linde, who saved Delilah. It seems that Miles van Dijk suddenly had some money again.”
“We gathered,” said Alice. “We went to visit him, and he said he had
a new job. A job with a certain … organization.”
“Indeed? You may know some things even the Herald staff doesn’t know about. Anyway, you may be right, but that’s not where the money came from. At least not all of it.”
“Really? His brother-in-law was helping him out after all?” Alice asked.
“No. A check was sent to him by Simon Rutledge. The day after the death of Lynley Brackton.”
“That sounds like a bribe,” said Alice.
“That’s what we thought. And the timing is very suspicious. It must relate to the murder.”
“I agree,” said Alice. “This is fascinating. It means that there is some kind of connection, so close after the murder. Everything is tying together.”
“And we have one more thing for you,” said Miss Meadows, flipping another page in her notebook. “There’s still some Society secrets we have to reveal. One young reporter knows some clerks, and from time to time, I get some information from them. And I don’t know if it relates to anything else, or if it’s just men being men.” At that, Miss Meadows gave her a thin smile. “But it seems Abraham Roth has a girl. You can’t hide everything—all you need is one loose-lipped clerk bragging one night after one drink too many with his friends. It seems that money coming out of Abraham Roth’s import-export business has been used to purchase a townhouse. The perfect hideaway for a mistress.”
Miss Meadows looked closely at Alice as she helped herself to more coffee. I think she was wondering if that would upset or embarrass Alice, but if it did, neither of us saw any sign of it. “I don’t know who it is, but that’s what men do when they have a lot of money and want to quietly set up a lady friend. Anyway, I wrote out the address for you.” She pulled a slip of paper out of the notebook and handed it to Alice. I looked over her shoulder—it was an address on a quiet West Side street.
“Really? I thought better of him,” said Alice. “How do you know it’s Abraham and not his father?”
“It could be,” said Miss Meadows. “You never can tell. But why run payments for a mistress through a clerk who works for the son’s end of the business? Why risk your son finding out? He could’ve done it through his own accounts. It must be Abraham, not Reuben.”
Alice looked at me as if this were my doing.
“It’s not my fault. I can’t afford to keep a girl like that,” I said.
“Otherwise, you would?” asked Miss Meadows.
“Mr. St. Clair is constant. Mostly,” said Alice, and she eyed me again. “Anyway, that does bring us to another topic, and now that I’ve gotten your information, I’d like your insights on information I already have. Again, you have to sit on this until the whole story is out.”
“Of course,” said Miss Meadows, and her eyes were shining. I could tell she was thinking that this arrangement was going to be even better than she thought.
“It seems the late Mrs. Linde was carrying a child. And I’m betting Lynley Brackton was the father.” She watched me and Miss Meadows for our reaction. “Mrs. Brackton has clearly always been obedient. And I’m betting Delilah Linde was, too, the young wife married to the much older man who was used to having his way.”
“That is … something,” said Miss Meadows. Alice was pleased she had surprised the older woman. “But can you prove it?”
“Well, no. Not yet. But it makes sense from what we know about all of them. Mr. St. Clair, will you give me odds that he was the father of her child?”
I tried to think of why that could be wrong, but it made a lot of sense. “I won’t take your bet, Miss Alice. It explains why Mrs. Linde was sticking with Brackton at the party.”
“Yes. Now both of you think on this: let’s assume that Marcus Linde knows for an absolute fact he can’t be the father. He knows there will be talk, and he’s a proud man. Let’s say he knew his wife was having another man’s child. He loved her—in his way. But she betrayed him. So I could see he’d want to kill Brackton and his wife, but why Victoria? And he wasn’t even at the Rutledge party. It would’ve been impossible for him to make an arrangement like that.”
“He could’ve hired someone,” I said. When you had Linde money, you could hire anyone to do anything.
“But it’s too bizarre,” said Miss Meadows, who seemed just as excited as Alice at this new line of inquiry. “Even if he did that, he’d open himself up to blackmail from whomever he hired. And why hire someone to do it at a party with so many possible witnesses?”
“But it’s possible he just didn’t care if his wife was with child,” I said. “It’s possible he might’ve wanted a child, even if it wasn’t his in the full sense. Maybe he didn’t care about Society talk. He apparently didn’t get out much, anyway.”
Alice gave that some thought. “You may be right, Mr. St. Clair. It’s so hard, people with their odd motives and passions.”
The thing of it was, we couldn’t get away from Victoria’s story. She was very clear that she was the target. The shadow of the XVII was over all of this, too.
“I don’t know how all this fits in, but it may. There are a lot of pieces here, a lot of secrets, and a lot of things we can follow up on. We have to think about how to best approach Simon Rutledge and Miles van Dijk about the money changing hands right after the murder…” She forgot about us for a moment as she thought.
“Follow up on what, exactly?” asked Miss Meadows. “You told me about Mrs. Linde and Brackton, but there’s even more here? You’ve trusted me thus far. I can really move ahead if I can bring a big story in. What’s this all about?”
She looked so hopeful; that sharp look fell away for a few moments, and she seemed very young.
“Of course,” said Alice. “That seems fair. Mr. St. Clair and I have come to the conclusion that Mr. Brackton’s death, and then Mrs. Linde’s death, were murders somehow involved with a group called the XVII. There will be a big story; I can promise you that. I will give you the full details. But—” Alice leaned over the table. “If I see one thing in the paper about this before we’re ready…” She didn’t finish the threat. Her look said it all. Miss Meadows recovered herself and gave Alice a cool look back. She extended her hand. “Once again, Miss Roosevelt, on behalf of myself and the colleagues, I’m going to have to work with on this, we have a deal.”
The breakfast meeting was winding down. I thought we might actually get Miss Meadows out of the apartment before Mrs. Cowles came by, but I congratulated myself too soon. We heard her brisk steps in the hall, and then she entered the dining room.
CHAPTER 25
Miss Meadows and I stood. I wasn’t sure that Miss Meadows knew who this was, but Mrs. Cowles had that look about her that made you take her seriously.
As usual, Alice was up to the task. I think she had learned at a young age that when you looked surprised, it only made you seem guilty of something. Business as usual was your best bet.
“Good morning, Aunt Anna. We thought you had left. May I introduce you to a member of the press? This is Felicia Meadows, who wrote that embarrassing profile of Mr. St. Clair, but he has decided to overlook it with a great generosity of spirit, and we’re all friends now. This is Anna Roosevelt Cowles, my father’s sister. We were having a most interesting discussion, and I am learning a great deal about how the press works.”
We had a couple of moments of silence before Mrs. Cowles spoke.
“Miss Meadows, I am familiar with your work, although I am not a regular reader. Alice, I am glad you are learning, but I trust you are not giving unauthorized interviews.”
“Of course not. This is what is called an ‘off the record’ discussion. I thought it would be a good idea to learn how to cultivate the press, and why not start with a woman?” Alice said smoothly.
“So you get information. What does the Herald get in return?” Mrs. Cowles asked. No one said anything, and I was curious to see how Alice would respond.
“A very nice breakfast. Also, the promise of an exclusive interview at such time as I am in a position to talk more o
penly with the press.”
“With all due respect to the reporters from the Herald, you don’t think it’s unfair that you are excluding, for example, reporters from the Times? From the Tribune?” asked Mrs. Cowles.
“This is just the beginning,” said Alice. “I expect to get to know reporters from all the major papers.”
“What a noble goal,” said Mrs. Cowles. But her eyes said something else. “I must be going. Miss Meadows, Mr. St. Clair, good day to you all.” She had one final look for Alice that said, “If I find out you’re up to something you shouldn’t be, I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your life, young lady.” Then she strode out the door.
The doorbell rang again.
I left Alice with a somewhat overwhelmed Miss Meadows and followed Mrs. Cowles into the foyer. I stepped ahead of her and the maid who came to answer the bell, and after checking the peep hole, opened the door to a very unhappy-looking Captain O’Hara. After the recent meeting in the dining room, I wished O’Hara had arrived a minute later.
“Damn it, St. Clair. Something’s happened, and I need—” I put my finger to my lips, but Mrs. Cowles was standing right behind me.
“Oh, good morning, ma’am,” said the captain.
“Captain O’Hara was just meeting with us to coordinate security for the Gadsden ball,” I explained to Mrs. Cowles. I turned to O’Hara. “Don’t worry about problems at your end. We’ll work it out later.”
“Oh, ah, yes,” he said, trying to change gears quickly.
The maid was still standing by. “Enid, please show Captain O’Hara into the dining room,” said Mrs. Cowles. He gratefully followed Enid, leaving me alone with Alice’s aunt.
“Mr. St. Clair. It’s become abundantly clear that Alice has taken an unhealthy interest in the recent deaths related to the Rutledge party.”
“Ma’am—”
“Don’t say anything, Mr. St. Clair. It will be easier for you later to deny any knowledge if you don’t lie to me now. That is a kindness on my part. I will find out what Alice is doing, anyway. You know I will. Good day.” And with that, she was out the door.