No Comfort for the Lost

by Nancy Herriman

  Celia hastened through the kitchen and up the servants’ stairs to the main bedchambers. Hastily, she opened and shut doors to rooms rich with Brussels carpets, rosewood furnishings, and silk curtains.

  “Barbara?” she called out.

  The door to the largest bedchamber stood open. Celia stepped through. It had to be Elizabeth and Joseph’s room, large and airy, with a lovely view toward the western hills. Celia darted from chest to wardrobe to bedside tables. Every door and drawer was locked.

  “I guess you don’t trust Rose, Elizabeth, do you?”

  Celia retreated to the ground floor via the main staircase. She quickly searched the parlor, library, and dining room and was relieved when she didn’t stumble over Barbara’s inert body.

  She hurried back to Mr. Palmer’s library, its blinds open to let in the light, the room filled with bookshelves and leather chairs, a mahogany desk and walnut tables. It smelled of lemon wax and cigar smoke. No weapons hung on the walls, but then the Southerners had been forced to give up their weapons after the war. She shouldn’t expect to find a bayonet dangling from a silk cord or stashed behind the cushions.

  A flash of color outside the window caught Celia’s eye. Rose was leaning against the property’s far fence, chatting with a neighbor’s servant, which explained why Celia hadn’t noticed her. Rose was standing perfectly out of sight from both the backyard and the front. At some point, though, she would return to her duties. And find Celia in the house.

  Celia scanned the room. Mr. Palmer was just as orderly as his wife, not a pen out of place, every piece of paper neatly stacked. She rattled the desk drawers. They were locked, too, meaning she wasn’t going to find clumsily penned love notes from Li Sha or a bill of sale for the silver locket.

  She crossed the floral Royal Wilton carpet and thumbed through the books on the shelves. People did hide confidential papers inside books.

  Celia heard a creak and halted, holding her breath, but the sound wasn’t repeated.

  Moving more hastily now, she entered the parlor to continue her search. Expensive textiles covered tables and upholstered chairs. Freshly cut salmon-colored peonies spilled from ceramic vases. The Palmers had done well in this world, which begged the question why Joseph Palmer would ever endanger that success by murdering a pregnant Chinese woman. Even if he were never prosecuted for the crime, the gossip would irrevocably damage his reputation.

  Still, if Li Sha had threatened to reveal their relationship if he did not give her money, he might have become angry enough to kill her. Perhaps they’d arranged to meet that Monday, Joseph Palmer possibly anticipating a resumption of their liaison. Only to discover Li Sha had bribery in mind.

  “Was that what happened?” she murmured.

  “What did you say, Celia?”

  Celia spun around.

  “Gad, Elizabeth, you startled me!” she squeaked, her voice pitched as high as if she’d been pinched by corset strings. “Emmeline,” she added, as the girl stepped from behind her mother. “Good afternoon. You are both looking well.”

  Elizabeth Palmer stood in the doorway to the parlor, dressed for afternoon visits, her daughter gaping at her side. In truth, Emmeline did not look well at all but had turned particularly ashen.

  “What are you doing in our house?” Elizabeth asked. “And whatever happened to your face?”

  Celia touched the bruises along her chin. “I fell last night. I am so clumsy.”

  Just then, Barbara entered the room. Alive and well. Thank heavens. “Why, Barbara, there you are! I was worried when I discovered you’d left the house without telling anyone.”

  “We were on our way home from our daily visits,” explained Elizabeth, looking put out, “when we spotted your cousin seated alone on a bench in Union Square. I was confused to see her there, wasn’t I, Emmeline? I thought she was coming this afternoon to stay with us.”

  “I explained that I’d needed some air and left the house. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Cousin Celia,” said Barbara, her voice unsteady. “Mrs. Palmer suggested that I come with them right then and send you a note asking Addie to have my bags sent. I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Ah yes,” said Celia, calling forth a smile. “So sensible, Elizabeth.”

  “I insist you tell me why you’re here, prowling through my home, Celia,” she said.

  “I am quite embarrassed to say that I’ve misplaced a hair comb. I thought it might have fallen out when I was here for your luncheon the other week. Do you recall?”

  “Of course I remember my luncheon.”

  “It was not until this morning that I remembered where it might be,” said Celia, warming to her story. “So I came to the house, found the rear door open, and decided to search for it. I am sorry for the intrusion, of course.”

  “Emmeline, have you seen a hair comb anywhere?”

  Her daughter, who appeared struck dumb, shook her head.

  “I didn’t expect so,” said Elizabeth.

  “I was so certain it had fallen out here,” Celia replied, glancing around the room.

  “And I am certain Rose hasn’t found one,” insisted Elizabeth. “She is very thorough.”

  And then suddenly there was that other thought, the one that had been so elusive until that moment. “How long have you had Rose?”

  “Celia, I don’t see what this has to do with anything,” said Elizabeth. “I’m sure your cousin would like to get settled into her room. She’d probably appreciate that you return home immediately and send her things here. Wouldn’t you, Barbara?”

  “Why, yes, Mrs. Palmer.”

  “You hired Rose only last week, didn’t you?” said Celia. “Tuesday or Wednesday, correct? Which means . . .” Rose was not in the house the night Li Sha died. The Palmers had been between servants that evening, and if Li Sha had come to the house, only the Palmers would know.

  Celia felt her breath whistle between her teeth and wondered when the parlor had turned so very icy. “Li Sha did come here to ask for money that evening, didn’t she? Which is why Mr. Greaves has been unable to find whom she approached. Because she came here and asked you.”

  “Mama, she knows,” said Emmeline.

  “Hush, Emmeline,” hissed Elizabeth. “She’s asked this before, and I will give her the same response. My answer remains no, Celia. Li Sha did not come here that evening.”

  “But I think she did,” said Celia. “She came here wearing the silver locket, the one your husband had given to her as a present, and she asked for money.”

  “My husband would never give that woman a gift.”

  “But he was in San Francisco the night she died, wasn’t he, Barbara? Because you saw him here.” Her cousin nodded mutely. “Why, though, did he lie and tell everyone he was elsewhere? Unless he feared the police would start to ask too many questions about that night.”

  “He did not lie,” Elizabeth insisted, but her protests were growing more feeble.

  Celia continued, “I’d begun to believe that Li Sha had met him in the city somewhere, but she could have come here. And, of course, neither of you would admit that.” Celia had no proof of her hypothesis. Only the agitated look in Emmeline’s eyes, the startled stare of a deer before the gun is fired, told her she had guessed right. “She would get money in exchange for not telling the world the baby she carried was his. The locket was proof of his affection. Rather embarrassing, I would say.”

  “And my husband never got some prostitute with child!” A flush covered Elizabeth’s cheeks. “I demand you leave. Now! And take your cousin with you!”

  Rose scurried into the room from the direction of the kitchen. “Mrs. Palmer, whatever is the matter in here?”

  “The necklace,” said Barbara. “Do you think Li Sha’s necklace is here someplace, Cousin? I thought he must have thrown it away.”

  “Mama!” Emmeline pressed her glove
d hands to her face, trembling so hard her knees buckled. Her mother caught her before she collapsed to the floor. Celia rushed over to help.

  Elizabeth pushed Celia away. “We don’t need your assistance,” she said, leading Emmeline to the settee beneath the front window. She fanned her daughter with her hand. “Rose, please fetch the police. This woman is deranged and is upsetting my daughter. And she has trespassed in our house.”

  But Rose didn’t move. She was fumbling through the pockets of her plain russet dress.

  Barbara continued, “I told Joseph . . . Mr. Palmer . . . I wouldn’t say anything about the necklace. At the funeral.” Emmeline let out a moan. “I let him know that I wouldn’t tell anybody he’d given it to Li Sha, or that I thought he’d later taken the necklace from her, to keep the gift a secret. But when I said that, he looked so confused . . .”

  “Are you meanin’ this necklace?” asked Rose, retrieving what she had been searching for in her pockets. She pulled out a silver chain and locket. “I found it beneath the stove this mornin’.”

  The moment froze like a photographic portrait captured on albumen paper: the necklace suspended from the maid’s fingers, glinting gold; Emmeline, her hand covering her mouth, staring at the locket as though it might lunge and bite; Elizabeth’s face a livid shade of red; Barbara’s eyes wide.

  “It’s Li Sha’s,” said Barbara, breaking the spell. “The one he gave her!”

  Celia stared in horror at Elizabeth and Emmeline as full realization dawned. It all made terrible sense. She had suspected the wrong Palmer.

  CHAPTER 17

  “She does know, Mama!” Emmeline cried out.

  “Emmeline, calm yourself,” snapped Elizabeth.

  Emmeline struggled up from the settee and crossed the room to grab Celia’s arm. “It was an accident. Li Sha came here looking for Papa. She wanted money, just like you said, and Mama got angry. So very angry.”

  “Emmeline, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Elizabeth, too, rose from the settee. “You’re confused. The laudanum you take makes you imagine things. And you were ill that evening—”

  “I didn’t imagine what happened, Mama. How can you say that?”

  Celia focused on Emmeline, who was trembling and struggling to breathe. “What happened that night, Emmeline?”

  The girl tightened her grip on Celia’s forearm, cutting off her circulation. “Mama didn’t mean to hurt Li Sha with Papa’s sword bayonet from the war. It just happened.”

  “Emmeline, come sit down and rest.” Elizabeth spoke sharply and came to her daughter’s side. “You’ll have another of your attacks if you do not calm down. And stop telling Mrs. Davies your fancies.”

  “But they’re not fancies!” she shouted, causing Rose, who’d been watching in shocked silence, to gasp. “I’ll confess to killing her, Mama. You know I didn’t mean to, but I can say I did.”

  “Em, no,” said Barbara, her voice breaking.

  “You did not kill Li Sha, Emmeline dearest,” said Elizabeth, slowly. She stroked her daughter’s cheek with the back of her fingers. “You’re talking nonsense.”

  “But, Mama, it is my fault! I can make the police understand it was an accident,” she said, wheezing. “We should’ve told them right away.”

  “Emmeline, honestly!” Elizabeth dragged her daughter away from Celia, the girl releasing her grasp only at the last second, jerking Celia’s arm. Celia’s fingers prickled with the sudden return of blood. “You know the laudanum makes you have strange dreams sometimes. That’s what you’re remembering.”

  Behind the two Palmer women, Barbara had started to inch toward the hallway leading to the front door.

  “She was here, Mama,” exclaimed Emmeline, her cheeks spotted with color. “You have to say she was. Please. She’d come to see Papa, but she found us instead. Because we didn’t go to the society meeting that night.”

  The expression on Elizabeth’s face changed, her eyes taking on a look of calculation. Assessing, Celia supposed, how readily Celia would accept what Elizabeth was about to say. More lies. Who hadn’t been fabricating falsehoods since Li Sha’s death?

  “It’s true she came here, Celia,” Elizabeth said, her gaze unwavering. “I admit that. She’d come to ask for money—we’d been generous to her before and since, as you know—but I refused. Neither of us hurt the girl, and she was very much alive when she left this house.”

  “But that’s not what happened at all. Tell the truth,” pleaded Emmeline, clinging to her mother. “Li Sha was going to tell everybody that Papa went to the Barbary Coast every Monday night to visit Chinese prostitutes and that he was the father of her child!”

  “Holy saints!” murmured Rose.

  Hatred flashed across Elizabeth’s face. “It was an utter lie.”

  Dora had insisted that Li Sha had been true to Tom. Celia still wanted to believe Dora, and she wanted to believe in Li Sha. But the girl had made a dangerous claim in order to persuade Elizabeth to give her money, and she had paid a terrible price.

  “I was upset by the gossip such talk would cause,” said Elizabeth. “Do you understand what it’s like to scratch a living from a parched farm, Celia? I suspect you don’t. But that is what I came from.”

  At the parlor doorway, Barbara bumped into the large vase Elizabeth used to hold gentlemen’s canes and umbrellas. Elizabeth, engrossed in her account, apparently did not hear the tiny clink of porcelain against the oak floor.

  “I dragged myself up from poverty,” Elizabeth continued. “I escaped my family, who are still digging in the dirt back in Missouri like there’s gold in the mud instead of sorrow. I found a husband who would make me rich and provide a comfortable, respectable life. Who’d take me away from that hell. Away from my father.” Elizabeth’s expression hardened. “I didn’t want Li Sha to ruin the life we have here. I was terrified of gossip and tried to get her to leave before the neighbors spotted her. You understand, don’t you, Celia?”

  Should she agree? Should she try to placate her? Celia glanced over the woman’s shoulder and noticed Barbara moving deeper into the entry hall as unobtrusively as she could. Where was Mr. Greaves? Had Addie failed to find him?

  Off to Celia’s right, Rose muttered a string of prayers.

  “Rose, please hush. You’re giving me a headache,” said Elizabeth, and with a snivel the maid fell quiet.

  “But Li Sha didn’t leave,” Emmeline said, stepping between her mother and Celia. “I have to tell her everything, Mama. I can’t bear the guilt anymore.”

  “Stop, Emmeline,” warned Elizabeth.

  “Mama only wanted to scare her. I saw it all,” Emmeline continued, undeterred by her mother’s efforts to silence her. She pressed a hand to her chest as if to help her lungs move air. “I was upstairs, trying to sleep,” she said slowly, “but I heard them shouting at each other in the kitchen, and I came downstairs to see what was going on. Mama had the bayonet in her hand, and she swung it at Li Sha. She didn’t hit her with it, and Li Sha didn’t look scared at all, which made Mama angrier.”

  Emmeline’s brow furrowed. “And then I saw that Li Sha was wearing the necklace. That one.”

  She pointed at Rose. The maid goggled at the necklace, forgotten in her grip.

  “The necklace was meant to be mine, Mrs. Davies,” Emmeline said. She’d turned an alarming shade of red as her breath hissed through her lips. “Papa promised it to me. I saw it one afternoon in the jewelry shop, and he told me I could have it. But he never gave it to me. Instead he gave it to her.”

  Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut while her daughter spoke.

  Emmeline’s gaze was glassy, distant. “I ripped it off her neck, breaking the chain. I must have scratched her, because she hollered like a cat and then tried to grab it out of my hands. She was quick, and she managed to slap me. And then Mama . . .” She looked back at her mother, who had turn
ed her face aside. Tears fell down Elizabeth’s cheeks. “And then Mama slashed at her. She was only trying to defend me. Weren’t you, Mama, weren’t you?”

  “Emmeline,” Elizabeth sobbed.

  “It was awful. There was blood everywhere, splattered on the floor, on the table, on the stove. Red, bright red, like the banners in Chinatown.”

  Rose screeched, dropped the necklace, and crumpled to the floor, moaning between bouts of tears. The rest of them were transfixed like insects trapped in tar. Celia had stopped watching Barbara’s progress, and her cousin had disappeared from view. Had the front door opened? She hadn’t heard.

  “And Mama . . . Mama cut her again. I tried to stop her. I dropped the necklace and pushed Li Sha out of her reach,” said Emmeline, her eyes widening, her breath coming in asthmatic gulps. “And then Li Sha tripped, I don’t know why, and tumbled backward. She must have hit her head on the edge of the stove, because after she fell to the floor, she didn’t move. There was blood coming from her nose and everywhere and she stopped breathing and then she died! It was awful!”

  A blow to the head in the right location could be quickly fatal, thought Celia, causing the brain to swell.

  “That prostitute attacked my daughter,” said Elizabeth, her voice so much smaller than usual, tight and choked.

  “I never thought somebody could die so easily,” said Emmeline, shuddering. “Mama panicked and told me to fetch an old blanket from the attic. I brought it down and we wrapped her in it. Mama brought out the buggy, and I helped her put Li Sha in the back. It was so hard, she was heavier than I could carry, and the rain made everything slippery. Then we drove her into the city.”

  She paused. Celia wondered if Emmeline had felt forced to help her mother. The girl, always frail and quiet, had likely never thought to refuse Elizabeth’s demands.

  “We didn’t know where to take her,” Emmeline said. “But eventually we found a quiet wharf and dragged her out of the buggy, unwrapped her, and rolled her into the bay. I was so certain somebody would see us and stop us, but nobody did. We came home and burned the blanket and cleaned the kitchen as best as we could before Rose arrived for her first day of work the next morning.”