A House Divided

by Jonathan F. Putnam

  “Miss Flannery.” I attempted a deep bow, although I may have wobbled in the execution. The lady smiled.

  “As I recall,” she said, “the last time we spoke, I told you some of what I knew about you, but you did not reciprocate. Have you learned anything about me since then?”

  “Er … not much, I’m afraid.”

  “What an appalling lack of curiosity.” Her eyes glimmered.

  It really was, I thought. Miss Flannery was wearing the same light-green dress she had worn when I’d first seen her at the gala, without any overcoat. At that moment, she shivered. Perhaps a breeze had blown through.

  “May we step inside?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  The hotel lobby was brilliantly lit by several chandeliers laden with blazing candles, and it was thronged with persons, men and women in fine dress coming or going from one social occasion or another. The legislature had just wrapped up its annual proceedings, and there was a boisterous, festive sense in the air. Miss Flannery gestured to an empty space along the wall, near a small palm tree growing in a blue pot. I joined her, standing as close to her as decorum permitted. Perhaps even a little closer.

  “I’ll give you another chance,” she said. “What do you know about me?”

  “Much less than I wish. You are from Chicago, I believe, and you’re in town with your cousin. Other than that …” I spread out my arms helplessly.

  “It’s an appalling deficit,” I continued, “one I must address at once. Were you born in America?”

  She shook her head. “County Kerry. My father sailed for this country when I was four. He found work, digging the canal in New York, and then he sent for me and my mother.” She paused. “But I never saw him alive again. He died in an accident, two weeks before we arrived. Another navvy hit him in the head with a shovel while they were working beside each other.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I wish I’d seen him just one more time. He called me his ‘Róisín.’” She pronounced the word RO-sheen. “It means ‘little rose’ in our language.”

  “How did your mother endure on her own?”

  “It was hard, but we managed. Her brother came over from County Kerry, too. He’s Patrick’s father—that’s my cousin, who’s in town with me. They worked hard, and they made a decent life for themselves. Like my people do. Now my uncle’s running his own crew up north, for the Illinois and Michigan Canal, with my mother’s help.”

  “That’s all most impressive. What brought you to Springfield this season?”

  “The legislature, naturally. Our family’s interests along the canal route are greatly affected by issues being debated by your Mr. Lincoln and his colleagues. Patrick’s father sent him, and they thought it would be advantageous for me to accompany him.”

  “Speaking selfishly, I concur wholeheartedly.”

  She smiled demurely. At that moment, Belmont passed through the lobby not far from where we were standing. I didn’t think he saw me, but I turned away nonetheless. The last thing I wanted was for him to intrude upon my conversation with Miss Flannery.

  The lady had seen the man and my reaction, however. “He is not a friend of yours,” she said. A statement, not a question.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Decidedly not. I overheard something he said of you the other day … Unequivocally not a friend.”

  “What did he say?”

  She leaned closer still to me. I breathed in her intoxicating scent. “Mr. Belmont is nothing to us. What I wish to speak with you about this evening is something different. Something confidential.” She glanced around at several couples standing nearby and whispered, “Only for your ears.”

  “Perhaps we can find a quiet corner?” I looked around for one.

  Miss Flannery shook her head. “Even the corners in this room have ears. Perhaps we should repair to my chamber. My cousin is out on the town. He won’t be back until late.” My cheeks must have colored at her boldness, because she added, “Unless you have some objection to my chamber.”

  “Not at all. Lead the way.”

  And I followed after her, my head still a little foggy but my blood surging with desire. It had been several years since I’d been with a woman. We passed near Major Iles, standing at his counter and directing traffic, and he managed to catch my eye. He winked.

  Miss Flannery led me higher and higher until we had reached the very top landing of the staircase. I stepped into the hallway, feeling dizzy. Either the hotel was spinning or my head was. I followed Miss Flannery to the end of the hallway. She reached into her dress, pulled out a key, and opened the door.

  “Come inside,” she offered, striking a match.

  I followed her wordlessly. The room was smaller than Belmont’s chamber, and she lit a single candle sitting on a side table. There was nowhere to sit in the room except for the double bed. She turned to face me.

  “I believe you and Mr. Lincoln are searching for someone who might have seen something relating to the murder that took place on the night of the gala at the hotel.”

  My eyes widened. “How do you know that?” I considered. “Knowledge gleaned from the hotel lobby, I suppose.”

  “Normally, I wouldn’t go anywhere near a court case, but when I heard you were involved, I decided I should tell you what I saw.”

  “I’m very glad you did.” I winced twice, trying to clear my head.

  “Will I have to testify?”

  “It would be up to Lincoln. He’s representing Archibald Trailor in the murder case. But I can tell you Archibald is a good man, a friend of mine, and if you’ve got any information that could help him avoid an unjust fate, then I’d urge you to share it.”

  “You sound very loyal to him.”

  “I’m loyal to all my friends.”

  “I like that.”

  Suddenly, Miss Flannery took two steps forward, grabbed my frockcoat, and pulled me toward her. Her face was less than a foot from mine; I could smell the rosewater in her hair and feel the warmth of her body. The lust coursing through my body felt uncontrollable.

  “Perhaps we can use our newfound friendship to mutual advantage, Mr. Speed,” she said quietly. Her palms were on my chest, and I felt sure she could feel the beating of my heart. My gaze was locked on her ruby lips.

  “What did you have in mind?” I managed.

  “An exchange …” she breathed.

  “Yes?”

  “Of information.”

  “Yes.” I would have said yes to an exchange of anything in the moment.

  She moved even closer, her lips now inches from mine. “Can I trust you?”

  I was breathing too quickly to think straight. To think at all. “Most certainly.”

  “Good. I’ll go first, because I want you to know you can trust me.”

  She leaned forward and brushed her lips against mine. My heart surged; my head pounded. But then, before I could return her kiss, she leaned back to look directly into my eyes.

  “Here’s what I know. Late the night of the gala, in the small hours after midnight, I saw William and Henry Trailor working in concert. It was not at all like they’d had a falling out, as Henry is saying. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, wordlessly.

  “They drove up in a large, enclosed carriage,” she continued, “with Henry on the high box and William inside the carriage. They went inside the hotel together and came out again carrying several pieces of baggage. They loaded the carriage together and drove off. The whole time they were dead silent. Moving stealthily. They definitely didn’t want to be seen or heard by anyone.”

  She leaned forward again and pressed into me, and I closed my eyes, expecting another kiss. But it never came. Instead she said, in her most breathy voice, “Now it’s your turn.”

  I opened my eyes and let out a long breath. “Of course. Anything.”

  She nodded over her shoulder at the bed. “Do you think we’ll be more comfortable sitting there?”

  �
�Definitely.”

  She took my hand, led me over to the bed, and settled herself onto its edge. I sat beside her, hoping she couldn’t hear my pounding heart.

  “My cousin and I need to know when work on the canal is going to start again. When will the new funding from the legislature arrive? Knowing the exact date will give us an advantage over the other crews, you see.” She gave my hand a squeeze, for encouragement.

  My heart sank. “I wish I could help you, Miss Flannery. I truly do. But I’m afraid I know no more about the workings of the legislature than you do. Less, almost certainly.”

  “I think you know more than you’re admitting.” She took her other hand and started running it along the top of mine.

  “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could help you. Anything in the world.”

  She smiled. “You know the legislature has been working out the terms of a loan from the banker,” she said.

  “That’s right.”

  “There’s going to be a shipment of gold to Chicago?”

  Based on what had been reported in the newspapers, I figured this was more or less well known to everyone already. “Yes.”

  “And the shipment’s underway?”

  I couldn’t remember whether this was public knowledge, and as I felt her body so close to mine, I couldn’t remember why I should care. “I believe they were planning to leave St. Louis a day or two ago.”

  She leaned forward and gave me a soft kiss. “By stagecoach or steamer?”

  “Packet steamer from St. Louis.”

  Another small kiss. My body was on fire. “Up the Mississippi?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then?”

  “And then up the Illinois as far as she can navigate. Peoria Lake.”

  Another kiss. I was mad with desire. “And then the shipment of gold will go overland from there to Chicago?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I think they’re planning to take a regular stagecoach.”

  “With all the gold?”

  “Yes.”

  “All the way home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Until all that hard currency has entered the bank vault?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good idea,” she breathed, and she lay back onto the bed and pulled me on top of her.

  CHAPTER 25

  I woke early the next morning in my own bed, my head pounding. I thought perhaps I had dreamed the encounter with Miss Flannery, but then I felt by my cheek her lace handkerchief, which she’d given me as we parted. And I sighed contentedly and turned over and fell back asleep.

  When I woke again, it was to a hard, unrelenting rain. I foreswore the morning walk to the Globe and breakfasted instead on stale biscuits I took from the store’s shelves. The rain had driven most of Springfield’s populace inside, and so when I heard the door creaking open a few minutes after ten, I expected our first customer of the day. Instead, it was Sheriff Hutchason, water dripping from every limb.

  “Awfully wet morning for your rounds, Humble,” I said.

  “Without the downpour, I doubt I would have found him.”

  My pulse quickened. “Found whom?”

  “Fisher. At last. I need shovels and a burlap bag, for collecting the remains. If you want, saddle up your horse and come see for yourself.”

  After fetching the supplies for the sheriff, I threw on my greatcoat and grabbed an old straw hat that was already ruined for proper occasions. Then I hustled around the corner to the Globe stables and got Hickory ready as quickly as I could. She never minded the weather, and as it had been several days since I had taken her out for exercise, she was jangly and eager to set off.

  The sheriff called out impatiently from the yard, and I jumped aboard Hickory and we took off, the mud flying up from both horses’ hooves. Sometime later we came to an abrupt halt, and I blinked through the rain to gauge our location. After a moment, I realized we were about a quarter mile distant from Hickox’s millpond, only on the side opposite where Henry Trailor had led Big Red and his search party.

  In front of us was a low bank, about four feet high. Rainwater streamed down the bank, and there was a muddy pool at its base. Parts of two weathered military boots stuck out, soles first, from the sloping surface.

  “That’s him,” Hutchason said. He was bareheaded and his scalp was wet and glistening. “What remains of him, anyway.”

  “How do you know it’s Fisher?” I had to shout to be heard over the din of the pounding rain.

  “When he first turned up missing, I got a description from Ransdell of what he was wearing on his last day. Keeps a close eye on anyone who owes him money. Ransdell told me about the boots, and the jacket and hat, too.” Hutchason pointed, and I saw a tattered half-coat caught in some brambles a few feet from the boots. The coat bore a pattern that, while faded, I recognized as the insignia of a band of military irregulars. And a few feet away, impaled on the end of a bare branch, was a discolored fur hat, with part worn away. It was exactly what Ransdell had told me, too, of Fisher’s final outfit.

  “Is any of his flesh and bones still there?” I asked. A steady stream of water was pouring off the brim of my hat, and I had to squint to make out Hutchason.

  “There’re a few bones scattered about. I’ll walk around carefully to recover what I can, but I don’t think much is left. The wolves must of eaten him. There’s not much else for them to eat this time of year.”

  “How do you think he got here?”

  “Dunno.” The sheriff shrugged. “Maybe this is where the Trailor brothers buried him, until the rains eroded away the bank and put him to the surface again. Or maybe they left him on the other side of the pond, where Henry indicated, and the wolves dragged him over here to have their meal.”

  We sat atop our horses quietly for a minute or two, while the rain pounded down on the lonely remains of Flynn Fisher. It was a gloomy scene, befitting the sorry end to Fisher’s life.

  “How did you come to look for him here?” I asked, breaking the silence.

  “That’s the funny part,” said the sheriff. “This morning, when I went to check on William Trailor in his cell in the capitol basement, he asked me if Fisher’s body had been found yet. I said it hadn’t, and he said why don’t you search again, on the far side of the pond. Indeed, he gave me pretty decent directions to this exact spot.”

  I gazed up in confusion. “But why would William want you to find the body? Surely it’s better for his defense if it never surfaced.”

  The sheriff shook his head, flinging a jet of water off his scalp.

  “Perhaps it’s some kind of trick,” I said, trying to answer my own question. “Perhaps William arranged for another set of remains to be placed here, suggesting it was Fisher, and then in the middle of the trial he’s going to prove it’s not him, in order to discredit the prosecution’s case.”

  “Beyond the clothing, I’m not sure how anyone could prove for certain whose bones these are,” said Hutchason. “Unless the wolves left his skull, but I don’t see anything that large. Not intact, anyway.”

  I had a sudden inspiration. “Did you spot a mourning ring among the remains?” I related what Archibald had told me about the ring commemorating Fisher’s dead wife and child.

  “Haven’t seen anything of the sort.”

  “Let’s keep an eye out for it as we collect what’s left,” I said, swinging off Hickory. “Here, I’ll help you.”

  We dug and poked around in the mud for the better part of an hour. We bagged the clothing and the bones we could find. They were human bones, no doubt, although they added up to considerably less than a full skeleton. The wolves had scattered, or eaten, the rest.

  We were nearly finished with our work when I thrust my spade into the muddy ground one more time and heard a sort of clink. Excitedly, I dropped to all fours and dug. Finally, I was able to scoop the object up, and I held it in my cupped hands. As the sheriff watched beside me, the falling rain washed away t
he mud, gradually revealing a silver ring with intertwined initials.

  “The very one I saw on Fisher’s finger in Chicago,” I said. “It’s him, all right.”

  As we parted, Hutchason asked me to tell Lincoln about our discovery of the body, but when I called at Hoffman’s Row, he was absent. Hay told me he was closeted with Belmont and Big Red, overseeing the final details of the gold shipment. In fact, Lincoln was gone all day, and when I awoke the next morning, his side of the bed had not been disturbed.

  Later that morning, Herndon and I were behind the counter of my store, sorting through a newly arrived shipment of fashionable hats from New York City, when my sister Martha burst in. Her face was flushed, her hair dripping, and she was gasping for breath. She waved her arms frantically.

  “What is it?” I said, coming through the gap in the counter at once.

  “Joshua … I need you,” she panted. “Come with me to the sheriff’s house … at once. Archibald Trailor’s future may depend on it.”

  “Of course—but why?”

  “He’s about to confess to something he didn’t do. You’ve got to stop him.”

  I shouted to Herndon to find Lincoln, wherever he was, and send him to the jail cell immediately. Then I took Martha’s arm and we hurried through the door.

  Outside, it was a chilly spring morning. It was raining again, though more gently than the day before, and the streets were sloppy and slippery. Martha’s shoes and stockings were already coated, but she paid them no heed as we splashed through the muck.

  “Tell me what happened,” I said, holding my hand to my brow to keep the rainwater from running into my eyes.

  Martha’s chest was still heaving with agitation. “I was having a conversation with Archibald this morning out back at the cell. Henry Trailor came into the backyard and said he’d arranged for Big Red to be by shortly, and Archibald nodded and said something like, ‘It’s set, then.’ And Henry told me Archibald was going to confess that he and he alone was responsible for Fisher’s murder.”

  “What?”