by Radha Vatsal
The maid went over to one and knocked. “Mrs. Bright, are you well?” Then she knocked again, louder. Still, no response.
Kitty fiddled with the doorknob. “How did she seem when she arrived home?”
“I’ve never seen her in such a state,” the maid said. “Not since Miss Elsie passed.”
Kitty turned to the butler. “You need to break this open.”
“She may be sleeping,” he said, horrified.
Kitty banged on the door. “Do you think she could sleep through this?”
He adjusted his jacket nervously, then swung his shoulder into the door a couple of times. It opened on the third try.
Mrs. Bright lay on top of the bedclothes, her face slack, one arm outstretched. A half-drunk glass of water stood on the bedside table beside a spoon and a couple of empty sachets.
The maid gasped. “Mrs. Bright!”
“Call the doctor,” Kitty said at once.
“Dr. Bright?” the butler said, dazed.
“No, man, a real doctor! Then her husband.”
Kitty approached the supine woman. She reached out and touched her wrist for a pulse. The skin wasn’t entirely cold. There was still a faint pulse.
“Mrs. Bright,” she whispered and laid a hand on the woman’s forehead. She wished she knew what to do or how to help.
The maid took a look at the empty packets. “Her sleeping medication.”
The butler returned. “The doctor will be here soon. He said to keep her warm.”
What was she doing in a stranger’s bedroom? Kitty watched as the maid covered her mistress with a blanket. Death seemed to follow her. Elspeth’s might have been unrelated, and Georgina’s was an accident, but her words seemed to have precipitated this one.
The doctor arrived a quarter of an hour later.
“I’ll take over from here,” he said, opening his medicine bag. “Are you a friend?” he asked Kitty.
“An acquaintance. I’ll give you some privacy.” She left the room, ready to slink back home, when the front door opened and Dr. Bright stood in the entryway, silhouetted against the light.
Kitty made her way down the stairs, one hand sliding along the bannister.
“Wait for me in the parlor, Miss Weeks.” He handed his bag to the butler.
She took the chair by the fireplace where she had first met Elspeth’s mother.
The maid came in. “Can I get you something to drink, miss?”
“No, thank you. How is Mrs. Bright?”
“The doctor said she will pull through, but that it’s lucky we found her in time…”
The maid put more logs onto the hearth, and the smoldering fire crackled back to life. Kitty gazed into the dancing flames, allowing her mind to go blank until Dr. Bright joined her.
“It seems I have you to thank again,” he said. “But the fact that you’re here, that you guessed something might be amiss, suggests to me that you might know why it happened.”
Kitty didn’t have a reply. How to explain to a man that she had almost killed his wife by telling her something of what had happened to his daughter.
Fortunately, she was saved by the bell—a buzzer rang, and the butler walked past to answer it.
“Is Mrs. Bright home?” She heard Mrs. Marquand’s supercilious voice. “She left the Waldorf without me.”
Dr. Bright rose and went out into the hallway. Kitty heard him tell her, “Ephigenia’s fine. Just a bit under the weather. So kind of you to check.”
He returned a minute later. “You were saying?”
She wasn’t going to be let off the hook so easily. “I overstepped,” Kitty said. “I involved myself in determining the cause underlying your daughter’s death. If it is any excuse, I will say that it was because Miss Bright made such a strong impression on me.”
“Elspeth was quite some girl, wasn’t she?” He rubbed his hand across his forehead, stretching the skin beneath his fingers. “We should all have asked more questions about how and why she slipped away from us. But I felt responsible. I thought our quarrel had brought it on. Elspeth had stopped sleepwalking, you know—”
“She wasn’t walking in her sleep, Dr. Bright,” Kitty interrupted him gently. Now she would have to tell him what she had learned, and she had no idea how he would react. “Miss Bright had arranged to meet Mr. Emerson after dinner.”
“No.” He gripped the arms of his chair. His expression switched from disbelief to anger, and he jumped to his feet. “He killed her! That unconscionable, despicable— And to think I only have myself to blame for bringing him into this house.”
“Please, Dr. Bright. He told me she had already passed away when he arrived in the park.”
“He’s a liar!” The scientist trembled with scorn. “That man is everything that is most rotten in this world.”
“I did consider that.” Kitty spoke softly, almost to herself.
Dr. Bright picked up a poker and violently jabbed the logs in the fireplace, causing sparks to fly. “I can’t fault Ephigenia for straying… She’s a woman of passion, and I was busy with my work, while she was at home, alone with the boys.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Bright had strayed? With whom?
“I found out by accident.” Dr. Bright was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice Kitty’s confusion. “Ephigenia had written him some compromising letters. That ingrate was blackmailing my wife.”
Mrs. Bright and Mr. Emerson? It didn’t seem possible. A picture of them together flashed through Kitty’s mind. She and her father had come to pay their condolences, and Emerson had been standing right there, right where Dr. Bright stood now.
“Did Miss Bright know about this?” Fool that she was, Kitty had assumed it was Elspeth that Emerson was keen on.
Dr. Bright hung his head. “I’m not proud of it, but I told her—only about the blackmail. I thought of confronting him myself, but Effie would have died of shame if she knew I had found her out.”
“And then?” Kitty said.
“Elspeth invited Emerson to dinner on Christmas Eve. She told me she had a plan. But she didn’t give me any details because, as it so happened, we fought. We argued over those godforsaken batteries that evening, and that was it. Dinner was uncomfortable, we finished early, everyone left, and Elspeth went to bed—”
“Except she didn’t go to bed,” Kitty interrupted again. “She went out to meet Mr. Emerson—most likely to get her mother’s letters back.” Now, that was more in keeping with what she knew about Elspeth.
“And that’s why he killed her.” Dr. Bright thumped his fist against the mantel. “I don’t care what he told you, and I don’t know how he did it, but he killed her. He’s taking his revenge. He’s hated me and my work ever since his brother died on the F-4. And poor Effie. She doesn’t know that I’m aware of her transgressions, but she blames herself for Elspeth’s death. In some profound way, she feels she failed her daughter.”
“Excuse me, Dr. Bright.” Kitty felt awful for the family, but something else he had said touched off alarms. “Did you say that Mr. Emerson’s brother died on a submarine?”
“That’s right. Chlorine gas from the old lead-acid batteries killed all the sailors on board that craft. You would think that, as a result, Phillip Emerson would be in favor of a better, safer cell, but then you don’t know him.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Kitty’s pulse began to race.
“Emerson’s mind is twisted. For him, better batteries mean better submarines, and better submarines mean a better navy, which, in turn, gives the government more of a reason to go to war. And that’s where he draws the line.”
“That’s ridiculous. He thinks we’d go to war simply because our equipment has improved?”
Dr. Bright didn’t seem to find the logic strange at all. “It’s what the Europeans did. Once they developed the
ir weaponry, built up their armies and navies, the pressure to unleash all that power became irresistible. All they needed was a pretext, and they found one.
“In fact, when you told me you had seen Emerson at the docks, I thought he’d blown up the E-2 himself. But later it became clear that the batteries weren’t up to par.”
Kitty scrunched her eyes, willing herself to concentrate. Emerson at the docks. Emerson prepared to take lives to further his cause. Emerson’s friend outside the Waldorf where the president would be giving a speech that was, in effect, a call to arms. His warning to Emerson not to ruin “the plan.”
“My Elspeth was right, and I wasn’t.” Dr. Bright gave a tremulous sigh. “And now I must go to the police. That fellow has to be put behind bars.”
“I’m afraid not, sir.” Kitty gathered her thoughts. “We can’t go to the police without exposing Mrs. Bright and your daughter. But there is something else we can do.” She hated to say it. She hated even to think it. “We must act to prevent another catastrophe that I fear may occur tonight.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“That’s preposterous.” Dr. Bright shook his head once Kitty had finished.
“Why?” Kitty retorted. “You believed Mr. Emerson capable of violence when it came to your daughter. When it came to workmen at the navy yard.”
“But this is the president of the United States.”
“Exactly. And what better moment to put a spoke in the march toward war than to bring down Mr. Wilson right when he’s presenting his preparedness plan to the country for the first time?”
“I don’t know, Miss Weeks.” Dr. Bright looked old and tired, and the furry muttonchop whiskers covering half his face made him seem out of step with the times.
“Do you mind if I use your telephone?” The more Kitty thought about it, the more she felt she might be on to something. If nothing else, the mere fact of such an act would demonstrate the strength of the antiwar factions’ grievances. And if there was even the slightest chance that the president could be in danger, she had to warn someone. Of course, she couldn’t be sure, and she had no hard proof, but one shot was all it took. One shot killed President Lincoln. One shot killed Archduke Franz Ferdinand and set off the war in Europe. And President McKinley had been shot in public by an anarchist just fifteen years ago and died from the infection that resulted. How hard would it be to draw one’s pistol at the Waldorf and aim? Kitty had been close enough to do it herself this morning.
The operator connected her to the hotel. “Could I speak to an Agent Soames?” she said to the switchboard attendant. “He’s with the Secret Service. I think he may be staying at the hotel with the president.”
“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to direct calls to the president,” droned the voice at the other end of the line.
“I don’t want to speak to the president. I want to speak to one of his Secret Service men.”
“If the gentleman is a guest, then I can connect you. If not, I’m afraid it won’t be possible.”
“Can you check if he’s a guest? The last name is Soames. S-o-a-m-e-s.”
A pause. Then, “I’m afraid he’s not on the list.”
“Can I speak to someone else then?” Kitty shook the earpiece in frustration. “Anyone connected to the president’s party? This is very important.”
“Would you like me to leave a message with the hotel’s security?”
“I don’t want to leave a message,” Kitty said. “I need to speak to someone who can help me now.”
“If you can’t give me a name, madam—”
Kitty disconnected the line.
“No luck?” Dr. Bright said. He’d been listening to her conversation.
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’ll notify the police. I’ll ask them to keep an eye out for him.”
“That’s a good idea, Dr. Bright,” Kitty said. It was better than nothing. But more needed to be done.
• • •
The cab raced to the Sentinel. Kitty thought she ought to put in an appearance and tell Miss Busby about the events of the morning before she excused herself and tried to come up with her next steps.
Miss Busby tapped her table impatiently. “That took a lot longer than I expected.”
“There was a lot going on, Miss Busby.”
“And how was the president? Did he make any commitments to the ladies?”
“None whatsoever. He said that the pace of change would be glacial, but when change came, it would be here to stay.”
“In other words, wait, be patient, don’t fuss.”
“Exactly.”
“Why is it that women always have to wait?” Helena Busby’s earrings, made of pink-and-blue cloisonné, swung back and forth. “Why don’t men have to wait for what they want sometimes? By the way, did you happen to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Galt?”
“She wasn’t with him, not at the meeting.”
“What’s the matter, Miss Weeks? You seem very down in the mouth for such an exciting day. Don’t tell me you’ve become a secret suffragist and are disappointed by our president’s lack of support.”
“I’m just a bit frazzled.”
“Go on home.” Miss Busby waved her hand. “It’s late for you in any case. I’ll expect your story on my desk first thing tomorrow.”
• • •
As Julian Weeks liked to say, he was suited and booted. He sported a carnation in his lapel. His hair was brushed to glossy brilliance.
“You look sharp.” Worn out, Kitty collapsed in the study.
“I have a big evening ahead of me. How was the Congressional Union meeting?”
“Eventful… I think I’m going crazy. I believe someone might try to harm the president tonight.”
Mr. Weeks adjusted the flower fastened to his chest. “How? Slipping poison into his drink? Or shouting partisan slogans?”
“I’m not joking.”
“I was afraid of that.” Julian Weeks grimaced, or perhaps he needed to stretch his lips. “I take it you know who this someone is and what his aims are?”
“He’s Dr. Bright’s former assistant.” Kitty looked her father in the eye.
He returned her gaze calmly. “Well, if you have grounds for suspicion, you should alert your young man.”
“He’s not my young man. But yes, I tried to contact the Waldorf, and they wouldn’t put me through.”
“So who else knows about this possible plot?”
Kitty couldn’t tell whether he was making fun of her. “Dr. Bright, who said he would notify the police, you, and I. That’s all.”
“May I ask why you believe this fellow wants to harm Mr. Wilson?”
“He’s antiwar, like Erich Muenter.” This past summer, the German-American fanatic had snuck into J. P. Morgan’s mansion and, in the name of peace, shot the banker twice.
“Like Muenter, although perhaps not so cracked?”
“I think Mr. Emerson is very sane.” She recalled Emerson’s cool conduct in Brooklyn. His refusal to buckle under when Mills threatened to call the law. “You’ve seen him. He was the handsome fellow with Mrs. Bright the day we paid our condolences.”
“I will keep an eye out for him over dinner then.” Her father still didn’t take Kitty seriously.
“I don’t believe that will be enough.”
“You’ve thought this through, Capability?”
“As best I can… I’ll go to the Waldorf and look for Soames myself.” Given the president’s packed schedule, he was probably at one of his other appointments right now.
“Without a ticket? I doubt they’ll let you in.”
Kitty suspected he had a point.
“Why don’t you come with me?” Mr. Weeks suggested.
“What about Miss Lane?”
“If there’s even a chance that you’re c
orrect, then you must speak to an agent, and we’re both going to have to be on the lookout.”
“I’ll find a different way.” After all the effort she’d put into healing the breach between her and her father, Kitty didn’t want to be the one causing a rift between him and Sylvia Lane.
“You have to put your money where your mouth is, Capability.” Mr. Weeks stood. “You told me that you had no choice but to delve further into the Brights’ business. And now it’s come to this. Don’t worry about Sylvia. She will understand.
“This is about you, Capability. Do you have the courage of your convictions?”
• • •
The traffic was terrible going downtown, and there were gawkers on Riverside Drive.
“I heard that the president and Mrs. Wilson were motoring here this afternoon,” Rao said as he drove the Weekses to the Waldorf.
“Alone?” Kitty asked. She pictured the Wilsons meandering along the Hudson, like Franz Ferdinand and Sophie near Sarajevo’s Miljacka River. Crack. The Packard went over a twig, and Kitty jumped.
“You’re nervy,” Mr. Weeks said.
“Yes, I am.” Anyone, anywhere, at any moment could get at the president. Nothing about his schedule was a secret. The entire city seemed to know where he was, and when, and for how long. And who was the fellow who started Europe’s war? Just a young man, like Emerson, with ideals, like-minded friends…and luck.
A path had been cleared for vehicles carrying invited guests to approach the hotel. Still, the Packard inched along, as car after car stopped at the entrance, and one by one, prosperous couples stepped out and onto the red carpet.
A uniformed porter asked to see their invitations.
“This is quite a turnout,” Mr. Weeks remarked.
“Five thousand applied for tickets, but we only have room for twelve hundred and fifty.”
“Where will everyone sit?” Kitty held on to her father’s arm.
“Tables have been arranged on the main floor, madam, as well as in the galleries and adjacent halls. Diners not located in the main ballroom will be invited to come in and stand while the speeches are in progress.” He checked the card that Mr. Weeks proffered and marked it off on his ledger. “You have no cause for worry. You’re seated in the balcony and will have a fine view of the proceedings.”