The Case Book of Emily Lawrence

by KB Inglee

  She turned up Russell Street before nine in the morning and walked its length. There was nowhere unobtrusive where she could position herself to watch the front door of the house. Chances were good that the perpetrator would come from Cambridge rather than Somerville, so she found an inconspicuous place across North Avenue to wait. Traffic up and down Russell Street was almost non-existent. Every half hour or so, Emily would cross the busy avenue and march to the Somerville end of the street, stay a few minutes, and then repeat the process. She had made the round trip four times when she saw a young man who fitted the description turn onto Russell Street from the Cambridge side. He carried a small brown paper bag.

  Emily crossed the avenue and walked slowly behind him. Without a glance he turned up the long walk to the little white house, left the package on the front porch, rang the bell and fled back to North Avenue, nodding to Emily as he passed.

  He took the trolley to Harvard Square, and Emily found a seat across from him where she could study his face. He was not one of the men whom Emily had visited in May, but he turned into the yard of Abner Purdy, the man who had sold Mrs. Underwood’s house for her.

  Perhaps he was the son of the man in question.

  * * * *

  She was home by noon, sketching his likeness onto a sheet of drawing paper. What had been in the brown paper bag?

  After a light lunch, she walked to Cambridge City Hall and began her search for Mary in the town records. First she matched Mary’s birth certificate to the public record. Corporal James Callahan and Rose McGuire had been married in January of 1864. Their first child, James Junior, was born just before Christmas. Mary was their last, born in 1875. James Senior died two months before Mary’s birth, the cause listed as “war wounds.” Someone had written a notation in pencil at the top of his death certificate, now smudged and hard to read, saying he “put his life at risk to save others.” Rose died in 1877. Between James and Mary there were four other children, all girls. So James, a boy of eleven, had been the only support for a family of seven. No wonder the youngest were sent to the orphanage.

  The city directory listed five James Callahans, all living in North Cambridge. It shouldn’t be too hard to find the right one.

  * * * *

  “Mrs. Stevens, I’d like Mary to do a bit of work for me; on her day off, of course.”

  “Is this something Patrick could do?” Patrick Sullivan, one of the student boarders, had been her right hand more than once, and was content with the pennies she doled out to him each time.

  “No, and I can’t do it myself without breaking a promise. I want someone who isn’t likely to rub shoulders with the person socially. He will never see Mary again. I need her to ask a few questions. It won’t take long and it isn’t dangerous, though I think it might be if I went. The man would probably try to strangle me, and I wouldn’t blame him.”

  “This is how we will do it,” said Mrs. Stevens firmly. “You will reimburse me for the time that Mary is out, and you will do her work for her while she is gone. You can send her any time you like.”

  “She makes so little that I don’t think I could calculate what an hour would cost. A few cents at the most. You do drive a hard bargain.”

  Mrs. Stevens nodded. “By the way, I spoke with Hanna. She said that Mary speculates from time to time about having family here and meeting them someday. Sometimes she is sure she has brothers who are rich merchants, or the mayor of Cambridge. Other times she says they must work in the brick yard, or perhaps they are all paupers, or dead. I think you can continue your investigation.”

  * * * *

  “Mary, I’m going to need you this to do a special job for me. Can you come to my sitting room when you finish the breakfast dishes?”

  Mary glanced at Hanna, who nodded almost imperceptibly. “I still have to make the beds and sweep.”

  “I’ve made a bargain with Mrs. Stevens. I’ll make the beds if you do this for me.”

  “But….”

  “If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine, but at least come find out what it is. I’ll be upstairs making beds.”

  Emily had finished three of the beds on the second floor and was on her way to the last room when Mary came up the stairs.

  Once safely shut in her third floor sitting room, Emily pulled out the portrait she had drawn of the young man who left the brown paper parcel.

  “What I want you to do is to go to this house.” She handed Mary a slip of paper with the address. “Find out the name of this man and what his position in the house might be. I would like this done without bothering the master of the house, but if you must, you may walk up to the front door and present my card.”

  Mary looked at the address. “This is the home of one of the men you went to visit last spring.”

  Emily paused and narrowed her eyes. “Yes. How did you know?”

  “You left the files out for a while, and I saw it,” Mary replied with a blush.

  “Do you read all of my files?”

  Mary paused for a long minute before meeting Emily’s gaze. She took a deep breath and said softly, “Only the ones you don’t lock up, and only if I happen to be here for some other reason. I don’t remember why you weren’t here.”

  “Did you know I had hidden a gun here as well?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mary stared at the carpet, which was only proper, but out of character for this particular maid.

  Mary turned to leave the room, head bowed and shoulders slumped, as Eve must have appeared when she was cast out of Eden.

  “So, will you do the job?” said Emily. “I’ll pay the same as I pay Mr. Sullivan.”

  Mary straightened and looked directly at Emily. “You still want me to?”

  “Of course. I’m not so foolish as to believe that anyone in any household can keep secrets from the maids.”

  * * * *

  Armed with the addresses of each of the James Callahans, Emily headed for North Cambridge as soon as Mary left on her errand. The first door was answered by a harried-looking woman engulfed in a cloud of children.

  “He’s in there.” She pointed toward an archway into what seemed to be a combination kitchen and bedroom.

  “Are you James Callahan?” Emily asked the man who was reading the paper at the kitchen table.

  “Umm. Why da ya wanna know?”

  He didn’t stand up when she came in, but he looked up at her with twinkling blue eyes that belied his sullen manner. He was seventy if he was a day, unshaven, and wearing a ragged blue work shirt.

  “I am looking for the son of Rose and James Callahan.”

  He looked her up and down. “And yer visitin’ every Callahan household in Cambridge till you find him?”

  Emily laughed. “Just about. There are actually only five James Callahans in the city directory.”

  “Well, the one you want lives at 38 Bellis Circle. Works at the brick yards. This about money?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. Thank you, sir, you’ve been very helpful.” Emily put out her hand and he took it after running his own hand down the front of his trousers. The twinkle in his eye touched the corners of his mouth and he almost smiled.

  “Good day to ye, lady.”

  It wasn’t hard to find the right house, and the woman who answered this door was less burdened by children. “Jimmy’s down the brick yards. Be home ’bout dark.”

  Emily handed Mrs. Callahan her card and said she would be back then.

  * * * *

  By the time Emily had returned to the Villa, Mary had finished her task. “I took the picture to the servants’ entrance. I said I had been out with you one afternoon and we had seen the man in the picture. You had found him attractive and done the drawing. I had liked him too, and wanted to know who he was. I sort of let them know I was sweet on him. The parlor maid who answered the door made it very clear that Mr. Llo
yd Chelsey was far too good for the likes of me, being the master’s secretary, not his man-servant.”

  The parlor door banged open and there stood Dr. Benjamin Bryers, one of the two professors who boarded at the Villa. He had instigated the original case against Isaiah Underwood. “Did I hear someone mention Mr. Chelsey?”

  “I had expected a little privacy,” snapped Emily.

  Undaunted, he continued. “He was in my classes maybe five or so years ago. Bright, personable young man. Don’t know what’s become of him.”

  “You know him?” asked Emily.

  “Isn’t that what I just said?” replied Bryers, taking the picture out of Mary’s hands. “You set your cap for him, Mary?”

  “Oh no, Dr. Bryers. I’ve never laid eyes on him. I just had this picture Mrs. Emily drew.”

  “Thank you, Mary, you’ve done very well. I don’t think Dr. Bryers will find that I have done your job as well as you have done mine.”

  Mary bobbed a curtsey to them both, and hurried out of the room.

  “This is for the Underwood woman?” he asked. “I saw she called on you yesterday.”

  “Yes. I think Mrs. Underwood may very well have set her cap for the young man. And since you know him, you will get to provide the necessary introduction.”

  Emily smirked, but his smile in return was sincere and warm.

  “Are you done with all this pre-Christmas investigation, then? You deserve a vacation as much as Cox and myself.”

  “Not quite yet. Only one or two more things. I have to go to North Cambridge tonight.”

  “You can’t go there by yourself after dark,” protested Dr. Bryers. “I’ll get us a cab and accompany you. You can pay me back when you are paid your fee, which I suspect will be never.”

  Emily smiled and accepted his offer with a nod. His company would be welcome, though this was not his responsibility.

  * * * *

  Once they were seated in the privacy of the cab, she told him what she was up to.

  He snorted. “If you keep working without asking a fee you will starve to death.”

  She patted his hand. “Not before next March. By the time my next payment to Mrs. Stevens comes due I should have a few clients who are not friends or family. The kind who pay for services. I need the practice; I need to meet people who can help me; I need to know a great deal more about Cambridge than I do now. All this will come in handy when I actually have to make money.”

  He made a noise in his throat that conveyed his disbelief.

  “You know,” she said, comfortable in the darkness beside him, “they all talk to me so easily. I don’t understand why they say the things they do.”

  Dr. Bryers chuckled. “They don’t all talk to you so easily. I remember a certain person who angered you with his silence.”

  “You were the exception. Your silence forced me into helping Mrs. Underwood when all I wanted to do was hide from the world. You seem free enough with me now.”

  “Yes,” he paused thoughtfully. “As a woman, and one with, oh, I don’t know, a desire to know everything simply because it’s there to know, you are less threatening than a policeman. You don’t lord it over anyone. You make them feel like they are the experts, and no one can resist that. I tell you this as a teacher.”

  “You like teaching, don’t you?” she asked.

  “I can’t resist the eager, open minds. If what I know is a treasure, I am happy to place it in good hands, but more likely to protect it from the callous young men who want only the degree at the end of the journey. I suspect your father taught you how to be a good student, and that’s what makes you a good detective. Now if we can only teach you to stop giving away your skill…”

  The cab stopped with a jolt.

  “Here we are. I’ll wait, but if you aren’t out in half an hour I am coming in after you.”

  At least she didn’t have to tell him to stay put.

  Though not yet thirty, James Callahan was just beginning to show the wear of age and the labor at the brick yards. His dark hair was turning gray, and his face was weathered. His hand, when he shook hers, was callused, but the grip was strong and he met her gaze cheerfully. He waved his hand vaguely toward a wooden chair, and when she sat down, he took a chair facing her. He glanced at the card she handed him.

  “My cousin says you are looking for the children of James and Rose. I’m their oldest, and the only son. What’s your interest, Mrs. Lawrence?”

  “I work for an agency that specializes in finding lost people.”

  “I don’t think I’m lost, and I haven’t lost anyone myself.”

  “You have several sisters?” Emily asked.

  He nodded. “One’s married and lives in Watertown. One lives in Cambridge with her family, her husband works on the bridge. Lost track of the others, now that you bring it to mind. I think one’s dead. Maybe the other, too.”

  “Do you remember your father?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I was almost grown when he died. He was pretty sick most of my life, lung trouble, so it was no surprise. Ma got some money from the government, but not much.”

  “He fought in the war?”

  “Wounded in ’63. Ma said he was some kind of hero.”

  “Yes, he was, Mr. Callahan. I don’t know much about it, but the record of his death in Cambridge City Hall lists war wounds as the cause of death.”

  “You been looking us up at City Hall?” he said with some alarm. “What’s all this about? Why are the Callahans so important to you? Is it about my sisters?”

  How best to tell Mr. Callahan why she had come? While she pondered, a child, barely old enough to walk, fell against her skirt. As she reached down to pick him up, the child dropped to the floor and crawled rapidly away from her. He pulled himself erect against his father’s leg. With a smile at the child and a shy look at Emily, the proud father lifted the boy into his lap and began bouncing him on his knee.

  Emily smiled at the child, then looked up at James with a more serious expression.

  “I am looking for any surviving relatives of Mary Callahan. She was placed in an orphanage, and is now a maid in the boarding house where I live. She knows very little about her parents, and I thought at least she would like to see their graves.”

  His eyes widened. “My sister Mary? She’s alive? You know her?”

  Emily nodded.

  “Our parents are in the cemetery off Ringe Avenue. Will you send Mary to look?”

  “I thought I would take her myself on Christmas afternoon. I don’t know how she’ll feel about my meddling in her life like this, though I have reason to believe she would welcome it. I’d like to start gently. If she is pleased by my finding the graves, and if you want me to, I can bring the two of you together.”

  “Mrs. Lawrence. I don’t know much about the records at City Hall, but I am smart enough to know that if you have the names of folks, you can find out where they’re buried without tracking down the rest of the family. Now you’ve told me you’ll be at the graves on Christmas afternoon. This is an invitation, isn’t it?”

  “If you care to take it that way. We have another errand to see to first, but we should be along about the middle of the afternoon.”

  He stood and she held out her hand again. “What do you do at the brick yard, Mr. Callahan?”

  “I’m day shift foreman,” he said proudly.

  The children of Rose and James Callahan were clearly very bright.

  * * * *

  By Christmas morning, Emily had caught some of the spirit of the season. Cox and Bryers left after breakfast wearing the gloves and scarves she had knit for them. Everyone at church had been joyful and the air rang with greetings as Emily and Mrs. Stevens walked home together.

  Once more the house seemed lonely and cold. Emily was glad have something to do after the dinner she and Mrs. Ste
vens shared in the dining room.

  “We’re going for a walk, Mary,” she said. “I need your services one more time. We have to tell Mrs. Underwood how the case turned out.”

  Wordlessly Mary glanced at Mrs. Stevens, who nodded her permission. Mary bustled off to get her coat and hat, and joined Emily by the front door. The walk to Russell Street in the cold, clear air was pleasant.

  Caroline Underwood’s mother answered the door. Emily had not seen her since the night Isaiah was born. As Caroline was now more sure of herself, her mother was less of a storm cloud; it was as though the two women’s temperaments had been working their way toward each other. They now seemed more like mother and daughter than they had when Emily first met them.

  “You’re Mrs. Lawrence, aren’t you? I can’t thank you enough for what you have done for my daughter. Come in, both of you.”

  There was a small, cheery Christmas tree set up in the parlor, covered with pieces of candy, blown glass ornaments, and unlit candles. Mary’s eyes went wide when she saw it.

  “Why don’t we have a tree?” she asked softly.

  “I could give you the long answer, about old New England families and traditions, but I think the real reason is that there are no children at the Villa. Charles and I had a tree but once. And that was for the children of the people who worked for us.”

  Mary looked at her encouragingly, apparently wanting the long answer, as well. Emily shrugged and went on.

  “Dr. Follen set up a tree for his son back before I was born. He came from Germany and brought the custom with him. The people of Lexington thought he could have been more discreet than to set it up in the front hall where they could see it every time the door was opened. Nevertheless, it has become quite popular these days, but my family and the Stevens never had trees. Did you know that it used to be illegal to celebrate Christmas in New England? You were fined for it.”

  Mary started to protest, but Caroline Underwood joined them and Emily silenced the girl with a hand on her arm. “Ah, Mrs. Underwood. This is my associate, Mary Callahan. We have the name and address of the man you asked about. We have located a third party who knows him and would be willing to introduce you, if that’s what you want.”