“You come straight here after that rendezvous tomorrow, Josephine Mann. I won’t be able to sleep tonight as it is.”
“I will, Bridget, and I will be careful. I have absolutely no desire to be discovered in the ruse.”
~*~
Bridget wasn’t the only one to have misgivings, I must admit. Between my worries about Alistair and my concerns about the rendezvous, I got little sleep that night. At least Priss received some more much-needed attention.
I was up at the crack of dawn and dressed in Bridget’s habit. Of course, it was hours until noon, and there was nothing pressing for me to do until time to leave for the meeting…except think. Thinking, however, couldn’t bring Alistair back to me, so I made myself do something physical.
I practiced loading and unloading the pistol, making sure to keep an empty chamber under the trigger so I didn’t have another accident like I’d had at the convent.
A more pressing problem was where could I carry the thing? I couldn’t carry my reticule with the habit, and the pockets provided in the garment were intended for a rosary or prayer book, maybe a handkerchief in the winter. They certainly weren’t equipped to carry pistols.
Fortunately, I had time to correct the problem.
I slipped off the habit and found a scrap of fabric to fashion into a little bag. I picked out a section of the pocket seam on the side of the gown and sewed the addition into it. The pepper-pot slipped easily into its folds, but it was still accessible when I wanted to retrieve it.
I felt much better when I put the habit back on this time. Now, it was a question of slipping out of the house past Ma without getting caught. I didn’t want to have to explain my current attire.
Luck was with me—I could hear her in the kitchen, humming to herself amid the banging of pans and the smells of breakfast cooking. I was sorry to miss it…but I had a job to do.
I tiptoed to the front door and eased it open. I had become quite good at this.
Of course, once I stood before the brownstone, I realized there were a number of flaws in my plan. First of all, there was no room in the pocket for anything more than the pistol. Therefore, I had no funds for a cab, and I certainly couldn’t ask Aunt Emily for the carriage dressed as a nun. Longacre Square was a good twenty-five blocks away, at least. I sighed. Best start walking.
Squaring my shoulders, I started off for the rendezvous. It was a pleasant walk, and I spent my time practicing being a nun. I nodded to the people I passed, schooling my face into a serene expression of contemplation. This wasn’t too hard.
A woman wearing a worn apron and a dress that was little more than rags stepped in front of me carrying a crying baby.
“Sister, my baby…she’s sick. Can you do anythin’ for her?”
I froze.
She thrust the baby into my arms. I reacted instinctively, cradling the little mite. Poor thing. It was nothing but skin and bones, its color more yellow than anything else. My heart sank. What on earth could I do for a sick child?
“Take her to Our Lady the Star of the Sea,” I blurted out. “Th—My Sisters will care for her there.”
“Thank you, Sister,” the woman said, her eyes filled with tears. “You are a good woman.”
I felt a bit guilty about pretending to be something I was not, but at least I hadn’t offered a blessing or anything that might be more blasphemous. At the moment, I was just guilty of wearing the wrong clothes, and a confession should clear it all up. At least, I hoped so.
Of course, I hadn’t been to confession for quite some time…
Trying to remember everything I should tell the priest next time I entered a confessional took up the rest of the walk.
Longacre Square was a busy, bustling area with carriages everywhere, horses neighing, carters swearing, couples promenading. How was I supposed to find one man in all of this confusion? Especially not knowing who I was looking for. What an idiot I had been!
“Mother Mary Frances?”
I turned. “Yes?”
The speaker was a shortish man, between Alistair and Herbert in height. His hair was pomaded to his head in oily black streaks. He had an elaborate mustache with the ends waxed and curled, and a trimmed goatee. Altogether, a smarmy-looking individual who had read way too many dime novels. Which was saying something, coming from me.
He was the very personification of a villain.
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” I said, tilting my chin.
“My name is Clarence Smythe, Mother Superior,” he replied, doffing his top hat. “Perhaps you have heard of me?”
His voice lifted at the end of the question, as if eager for a positive response.
I could honestly shake my head no. I had never heard his name. Perhaps Bridget had—but I doubted it.
His face fell into a frown.
“Be that as it may. I assume you received my letters.”
I fought not to roll my eyes.
“Of course, I have. If I hadn’t, how could I have known to meet you here?”
“Good point.”
I folded my hands together in the sleeves of the habit to hide their shaking. There was no reason to be afraid. This man didn’t appear capable of violence. Besides, I could feel the consoling weight of the pistol against my thigh.
“What is it you want, Mr. Smythe?”
“I believe I made myself abundantly clear in my letters.”
“Oh, yes. You want me to hand over the deed to the orphanage. To remove shelter from several dozen children who have no other place to go. Even if I had the power to do so, why would I agree to such an action?”
“Come now. Those children would be just as well off at a poor farm—maybe even better off. Just think of all that fresh air and sunshine.”
“And working their poor fingers to the bone!” I responded hotly.
“What difference does it make?”
My fingers itched to pull out the pistol. This man would never get his hands on the convent if I had anything to say about it.
“What is this proof you claim to have?” I asked him.
“That is none of your concern.”
“It is very much my concern. How do I know that you will uphold your end of the bargain?”
“I am a man of reputation,” he replied, his cheeks flushing with temper.
I needed to regain control of the situation. I took a deep breath, and began again.
“I am merely the caretaker of the orphanage, Mr. Smythe. I would have to contact the archdiocese to acquire permission to transfer the deed,” I replied, thinking quickly. “I sincerely doubt they will be receptive to the idea.”
“Then you must make them receptive. My card.” He handed me a visiting card. “You have one week.” He replaced his hat and melted into the crowd as if he had never existed.
I sighed heavily. This was not the outcome I had hoped for. I don’t know what I had expected—to speak to the man and have him entirely change his mind? Now what were we to do?
“My great-aunt passed away recently, and she left me this broach.” With a show of reluctance, Amy produced an ostentatious bauble from her handbag. It glittered with emeralds and diamonds showcased in an ornate gold setting.
Phineas’s eyes lit up at the sight of it. “May I?” he asked, licking his lips.
Outwardly tentative, but inwardly crowing, she handed him the broach. He turned it back and forth, examining the piece with undisguised avarice.
Little did he know it was merely gilt and paste.
-- Garrett Goldthwaite
Analytical Amy and the Case of the Covetous Cad
Chapter 9
On the long hike back to the boarding house, a thought struck me. I looked down at the card in my hand. In addition to Clarence Smythe’s name, the square of pasteboard had a business address. Business…
Suddenly, I knew where Alistair might be.
Paul Blessant had been more than a university professor dabbling in inventing, just as Alistair was. Alistair had fa
mily money; Blessant had real estate. One of his commercial properties would be a logical place to hide a captive until Blessant was freed for lack of evidence. Of course, he wouldn’t have physically taken Alistair himself—even if he weren’t still incarcerated, he wouldn’t deign to dirty his own hands. He would have his minions do it.
Even if he had property in Ohio, it seemed unlikely that Blessant would risk holding his nemesis so close to the location of the trial. After all, Alistair could escape, and thwart his plans further. Knowing something of the intellectual quality of Blessant’s hired help, if he told them to take the prisoner somewhere and hold him, it was quite possible they would take Alistair back to the warehouse which Blessant had used to imprison Phaeton before—it was a known location after all.
The warehouse where Alistair had fought for my honor. It all made sense! After all, a fast train could easily have made the journey by now.
My mind was racing now. I needed to get to that warehouse. Should I speak to Kevin Reilly again? Some police presence might be useful, and the precinct house was along the way.
Of course, I was dressed as a nun…
But under the circumstances, I didn’t care. If I could rescue Alistair, I would go to any lengths to do so.
I practically ran through the streets—I’m sure I was a spectacle with the habit flapping about my legs, but I didn’t care. If they had been holding Alistair for several days, who knew what they had done to him? Blessant’s men had never been subtle but had often been violent.
I was gasping for breath by the time I pelted up the steps of the precinct house, the habit held up around my knees, exposing my stockings to the view of several startled police officers—including Sergeant Doyle, who surged to his feet.
“What in th’ name of th’ Saints are ya doin’ here, girl?” he roared.
“No time,” I gasped as I ran up the stairs to Inspector Reilly’s office. “Explain later.”
I was reasonably sure Doyle had mistaken me for Bridget, but I didn’t have time to stop and rectify his misconception.
“Kevin!” I cried, throwing open his office door. “I need your help.”
There was a second man in the office, a portly gentleman with a fringe of gray hair around a balding crown. He was frowning into a walrus mustache. When I interrupted their conversation, Kevin shook his head at me.
“I assume there is a reason for this intrusion,” the stranger said, his voice deep and disapproving.
“I think I know where Alistair may be!” I cried. “Come with me.” I turned back toward the door.
“This is the young woman who was here yesterday?”
“Yes, sir,” Kevin responded, a deference in his voice I had never heard before. “Miss Mann, what are you doing here?” That tone was one with which I was much more familiar. “And what on earth are you wearing?”
I ignored the question. It was irrelevant to the matter at hand.
“Blessant’s warehouse. That’s where they are holding Alistair, I just know it. And I know who the blackmailer is, too. His name is Clarence Smythe, and—”
“Blackmail, kidnapping?” The older man sputtered into his mustache. “These are very serious accusations, young lady. And you are bandying around some very prestigious names there. Do you have any evidence to back up these allegations?”
“I showed Kev—Inspector Reilly the letters that have been received by the orphanage. Today I met with the blackmailer—”
“You did what?” Kevin gasped.
“He sent another letter after I left here yesterday, arranging a meeting. I went in Mother Superior’s stead. He told me his name was Clarence Smythe. But that is unimportant at the moment. What is important is getting to that warehouse and rescuing Alistair.”
“Young woman, Inspector Reilly has apprised me of the situations you brought to him yesterday. You came to him with typewritten letters, which cannot be traced to an author—although you were carrying a typewriter at the time. A machine that is hard to come by, and expensive if you do. You also claim to have been accosted by villains on the street, but can offer no descriptions of said men or any other way to find them…if they exist.”
“And who might you be, sir?” I asked him, my voice as chilly as I could muster, considering the outrage he was generating in me.
“I am Captain Leonard Murchison Caldicott, and I am not going to waste the resources—very limited resources, I might add—of this department on such flimsy accusations and bogus evidence.”
I could feel the anger beginning to boil in my breast. I opened my mouth to protest.
Kevin Reilly hastily rounded his desk and put a hand on my back, steering me toward the door.
“I’m sorry, Miss Mann. I am very busy today.”
I planted my feet and refused to be moved.
“So, the police will not help me?”
“No, Miss Mann,” replied the captain. “And if you come back to the precinct house with such spurious charges and flimsy evidence again, I will have you thrown behind bars for making a false report!”
Furious, I whirled on Kevin.
“Fine. I see that being a responsible, law-abiding citizen of this city is not enough to warrant the help of the police. I will deal with these things myself. Good day, Inspector.”
I felt the blood pounding in my temples. I was so angry I saw spots in front of my eyes. Strangling Kevin Reilly would have been satisfying—if imprudent—but he was too tall for me to do so.
Instead, I flounced from the office as best I could in the habit. Not wanting to run into Sergeant Doyle again on the way out, I took advantage of the rear stairs to leave the precinct house and continue home.
The anger was almost enough to drive out all my anxiety about Alistair, especially now that I had a potential solution to his kidnapping. I was also distracted because my feet were protesting so much walking in my good boots. By the time I got back to the boarding house, I was hot, tired, and most assuredly out of sorts. I didn’t even try to sneak up to my room. I clomped up the stairs, each footfall slower than the last.
I was halfway up the first flight when Ma stepped out of the back hall, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Josephine Mann! What on earth are you wearing?”
I stopped. “It’s a long story, Ma.”
She swiftly made the sign of the cross.
“Well, go and take it off as soon as you may!”
“I was about to.”
“Good!”
I had never seen her angry with me before. I flew the rest of the way up the stairs and changed out of the habit.
I felt I owed Ma an explanation; she deserved to know what was going on. Besides, I needed an ally, and Fred and Herbert weren’t due back for several days yet. I wondered if they even knew Alistair was missing. Herbert had been planning to stay in Rosebush Junction with Fred and her brothers to be near the Pearl crash site, and there was no reason for them to be in daily contact with Alistair in Cleveland.
I found Ma in the kitchen, where I expected her to be; I had never seen her personal spaces. She was always in the kitchen or the dining room.
“Ma, I need to tell you something.”
She sniffed, stirring the contents of the saucepan she held.
“You don’t need to explain anything to me, Miss Mann. I am sure—”
I pulled out my chair and plunked down in it.
“Ma, I’m sorry if I offended you. There really is a good explanation for my wearing a nun’s habit.”
She set the pan down on the stove top with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have overreacted, Josephine. But the Church—’tis nothin’ t’be trifled with.”
“I know, Ma. I was, in fact, trying to protect it. My friend the mother superior of Our Lady the Star of the Sea…” I paused. How much should I tell her?
She held up a hand.
“If a mother superior sanctioned whatever ya were doin’, I suppose I’m not one to question. But…promise me you won’t do it again.”
&n
bsp; “I don’t know what to do next, Ma,” I confided with a sigh.
It spilled out of me, I couldn’t help it. I had to talk to someone, and my choices were Ma—or my cat.
“My stars! Do you mean Perfessor Conn may be in trouble?”
“Yes, Ma. And the police refuse to be any help at all. I’ll have to deal with this myself. As usual. I’m going round to the warehouse this evening to see if I can discover for sure if he’s there. If I have proof, Inspector Reilly will have to listen to me.”
“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “It seems to me ya must discover who this Smythe fellow is as well. Still—being strictly selfish about the matter—savin’ the perfessor is more important even than the convent.”
“I agree.” The thought of Alistair in danger made my heart flutter unpleasantly. “He’s my first priority. I have to get him to Ohio in time to testify. Blessant is not going to get away with this. And I must find out what has happened to Phaeton.”
“Go ’round to Mrs. Estes and ask Roderick t’ go with ya instead o’ goin’ off on yer own into likely danger. No sense bein’ incautious.”
“That’s good advice, Ma.”
“And ya can save tha perfessor a fair amount o’ time if ya get him a ticket back to Ohio on the way t’ tha warehouse.”
Before we could discuss the matter further, there was a knock at the front door.
“Who on earth could that be?” I wondered.
“I weren’t expectin’ any deliveries today,” Ma said, heaving herself to her feet.
We hurried to the front hall, and opened the door to a drayman.
“May I help you?” Ma asked the fellow.
“Gots a deliv’ry fer a Miss Josephine Mann.”
What on earth? I peeked around Ma to see a huge steamer trunk sitting on the step.
“Well, you can’t leave it there on my front stoop,” Ma scolded. “Pick it up and take it to her room.”
She gestured toward the stairs, and the man’s face fell. I vowed to give him a good tip. Or as good as I might with the funds I had left.
The Nearly Notorious Nun Page 6