“Nah. My mam couldna take care of me. Put me in the orphanage so’s I could eat.”
“Did you know her?”
“Oh, yeah, I know ’er. She’s beautiful. Works in a fancy office for a rich man. Sleeps with a piller, fancy shoes, and lace on ’er knickers. Cakes ever’ day for tea and sometimes saves one for me.”
I felt sorry for him. If he had a living mother at all, she most likely worked as a prostitute.
He continued. “Someday she’s goin’ ta take me back. We’ll live in a nice house and have chickens in the back, eggs ever’ day.”
“Sounds nice. Will she know what happened to you, you coming with me?”
“Oh, sure. She knows ever’thin’.”
* * *
Mother Fenton had apparently seen us coming, for when we arrived at the house she was standing on the stoop, her arms crossed and her face stormy. “Yer not bringin’ that one in this house! I seen the like of ’im, I had one meself, and I won’t have that brand a trouble again, and lice to boot.”
“He’s a child. I’m sort of … adopting him.”
“Well, you undopt him if you know what’s good for you.”
Curly hung his head and wiped at his nose disconsolately. I told her Curly’s story. Mother rolled her eyes and stared at the sky for a minute before sighing, then shook a finger at me. “You scrub him up, Ned. If he passes muster, we’ll talk about it, but I won’t have vermin in my establishment.” She shook her head. “So close to dinner. No help for it.”
We followed her into the bath and she pulled the hip tub out of the closet. “He’ll have it cold. Can’t cook and heat water at the same time.” She handed me a big bar of soap and a ferocious-looking brush. “If he don’t come clean, Ned, I won’t hear any more. Behooves you to do it right.” She turned to Curly. “Unlessen you want to be back in that pit, you keep your mouth shut. No howlin’ no cryin’; you jus’ take it till you’re the right color for livin’ with civilized people.”
Curly looked at Mother in awe and nodded. When she left he shook his head. “Cor’ she’s a giant one, ain’ she?” He licked his lips. “Like to put ’er on a spit and roast ’er.”
Under all the grime, Curly had very white skin, his hair practically glowed flame. He was terribly thin and, worse, scarred from one end of his body to the other. He pointed out the scars, like someone showing artifacts of his travels. “Knacker horse kicked me. Priest at the orphanage with a stick. Skritchin’ under a fence. Burn movin’ water. Rat bite got all stinky. Fell outta a tree.”
I was relieved to hear some usual childhood activity. “You like to climb trees?”
“Nah. Pinched a loaf a bread and thought they couldna see me up there.” He peered at the jagged scar on his calf. “Dog could smell me well enough, though.”
Mother took a slit-eyed look at Curly when presented to her, at his shiny face, fingernails pared free of coal, my other set of clothes rolled up around his wrists and ankles. She tipped her head to one side as Curly grinned widely at her, then drew back and slapped him hard enough to knock him to the floor.
Curly jumped to his feet, his fists balled and his skinny lips twisted. “Wot’s fer?”
Mother pointed a tiny finger at him. “Don’t look me straight in the face. Not me, an’ not anybody who ’as more’n you. Got it?”
“Me ma said I was good as anybody. Good ’nuff for anybody. Good ’nuff wot look ’em in the eye.”
“That may or may not be so, but keep yer good opinion of yerself to yerself if yer goin’ to bed here. I won’t have you draggin’ trouble to my house!”
Curly glared. I didn’t relish being between these two in a scrap and I elbowed him sharply. He dropped his gaze to his feet.
Mother nodded. “He can sleep on your floor, quarter a day, Ned. But if I catch ’im on the bed, you’re both out.”
I drew her aside. “Professor Quillan owes me two weeks’ pay. Can I give you the money later?”
Mother frowned. “I’ve aready done my charity in this life, Ned Bayard. You don’t pay, I lose my house, I don’t eat, and I don’t like not eating.”
“He’s strong as a horse,” I promised. “He’ll do chores.”
She glared, her arms crossed, then sighed and patted her belly. “Lucky for you, I got some reserves. And a jam of work. You have a week to make good.” She wagged her finger. “And no more. I don’ care if you’ve brought baby Jesus home.”
Curly ate his dinner with relish, chewing huge bites with his mouth wide open, murmuring and humming and gulping with pleasure.
Mother seemed to soften toward him and his appetite, providing nonstop helpings as if he were a baby bird. Curly took a long drink of buttermilk and looked up at Mother, delighted. “Wondered why you was so fat.” He shook his head wonderingly and took another huge bite. “Here I come!”
That night, on a blanket on the floor beside my bed, my coat for a pillow, Curly sighed happily. “Ain’ this nice?” In less than a minute he was snoring like an old man.
The next day I left Curly to do Mother’s bidding and headed in to work. I expected Quillan would be in the same ebullient mood he had left Pittsburgh in. But when I came into the lab, he was sitting in his office at his desk, head in his hands.
I called through the open door, “Professor, are you all right?”
He looked up. His eyes were red, his face puffy. He shook his head, then nodded, finally mumbled, “Problem at home. Soon straightened out, I’m sure.”
I thought of the thugs. “Is Mrs. Quillan all right?”
He looked stricken, tottered from his desk, and shut his door.
Quillan paced behind his frosted door throughout the day. Sometimes I discerned the sound of crying. I kept quiet, taking it on myself to clean the lab. I carefully reboxed the samples we had been working with, dusted and wiped the shelves, the tables, the tops of dozens and dozens of boxes, and still the professor did not emerge. I swept the floors, I mopped. I had begun to wash windows when a telegram came. I signed for it and knocked on the office door. “Professor, a telegram for you.”
He bolted from the room, took the telegram with a shaking hand. He stared at the front of it with terrible disappointment. “It’s not from her.” He dropped it on the table.
I picked it up. “It’s from American Coal, sir. Shouldn’t you read it?”
“I don’t care, not a whit, not anymore.” He stared at the paper in my hand, looking as formless and lethargic as a landed jellyfish. After a moment he put out his hand, halfheartedly ripped open the envelope. When he read the contents he groaned, then staggered to the chair and sat down. “No, no, no. It can’t be. How can this be?”
“What is it?”
“Pulling the funding. Someone … has said … something.” He seemed to regrow bones, straightened, and glared at me. “Did you tell anyone, anyone about our project?”
“No sir. No one. I don’t even know anyone to tell.”
“The men who struck you, did you break? Tell them under duress?”
“No! Mrs. Quillan came out after the one punched me in the nose. I told her to be careful, that they were working for the other side, and I got your wallet, dropped it off, and went straight to the boardinghouse. I saw no one else.”
He looked at me, incredulous. “You talked to Mrs. Quillan?”
“Yes. It happened right outside her window, and I thought maybe they were waiting for her, that she might be attacked.”
He seemed to be struggling with mighty currents of emotion. His face washed from anger to sorrow to disbelief and back to anger. He choked out, “What did you tell her?”
“Nothing. I only said you were working on an important project, that they were trying to stop you, so she must be careful.”
“Did you say anything about coal?”
“She knew. Your blackened shirts.”
He worked his mouth. “Did you let on about Pennsylvania?”
“I said you needed the wallet to buy tickets.”
Th
e professor’s face had gone to purple. “Fool! Traitor!” He stood up, his fists at his side. Was he going to hit me? I took a step back just as there was a knock on the outside door. I jogged to the entry, glad of the interruption.
Phaegin stood on the other side with her arms akimbo. “What are you doing?”
I stepped outside. “Excuse me?”
“That guttersnipe. What are you doing with him?”
“Are you talking about Curly?” I stepped out and shut the door behind us. “Listen, I’ve got a situation here…. How did you know about Curly?”
She sighed. “My brothers saw you at the train station.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are those two thugs—”
“My brothers.”
“Your brothers? Why have they been following me?”
She shrugged. “They thought you were makin’ moves on me.”
“I thought they were spies. You know one of them almost broke my nose?”
Phaegin shook her head and waved her hands as if to fan the question away. “The guttersnipe, Ned. What are you doing with him? My brothers say he’s trouble, and if they think he’s trouble, I can’t imagine. You want to do yourself out of your Yale education? Don’t be stupid.”
Quillan flung open the door. Phaegin’s eyes went round as saucers at the florid man. Quillan jabbed his finger in her direction. “Who is this?”
“A friend,” I stammered. “Phaegin Harte, Professor Quillan.”
Phaegin curtsied but Quillan ignored her to shout at me. “You said you didn’t know anyone.”
I shrugged. “Except for Phaegin.”
He looked at her. “What kind of friend is she? What have you been telling her?”
Phaegin frowned. “Whaddaya mean, what kind of friend?”
He stared at her a minute, then pointed at the chain around her neck. “What the deuce is that?” He grabbed it and jerked while Phaegin shrieked and slapped at him.
The professor stared at his palm. “Where did you get this?”
Phaegin looked at me. I looked at what lay on the professor’s palm. It was the tiny turtle fossil I had given Phaegin on Christmas, hung on a chain.
My heart sank. “I am so sorry, Professor. This is my fault. My mistake.”
“Your mistake? No. My trust in you is the mistake. This is robbery! Get out. Get out! Leave now, before I call the police!”
He backed into the lab, banged the door shut, the lock grating into place.
CHAPTER 21
I pounded on the door. I yelled, “Please, Professor, let me explain! Please!” I went around and shouted under the high window of his office until Phaegin stopped me.
“This is doing no good at all. You’ll just convince him he was right if you act panicked.”
I shook my head. “I am panicked. My life is in there. My future. My Yale education, my career, my patron.” I paced. “My notebook is in there.” I threw up my hands. “My jacket is in there and Tilfert’s hat.”
Phaegin took hold of my arm and shook it. “Calm down. He’s not opening the door, is he? If you don’t stop he’ll call someone to make you. Is that going to be an improvement?”
My knees shook. It was worse than the mine, because there wasn’t any tiny bright star to crawl out to. How had this happened?
Phaegin led me away. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat, and—”
“Eat? With what? My last pennies are in my jacket!”
Phaegin glared at me. “I’ll buy you a blasted roll. You’ll sit down, tell me what this is about, and we’ll figure what’s what.”
“I don’t know what it’s about!”
She put her hand on my chest. “There. It’s gonna be fine. Ready?” She waited a minute as I panted, wild-eyed. “You gotta be ready, Ned. No coat, you’ll catch your death out here with all the dramatics, and none of us got the haves for a doctor. Now, let’s go.” She strode off.
I took a steadying breath and followed her.
Phaegin brought two mugs of tea to the table at the Royal Finch, and I filled her in on what had happened in the three days since the professor and I had left for Pittsburgh.
She dunked a fried doughnut in her tea. “It’s the kid. You’ve brought on bad luck with that one.”
I scoffed. “You haven’t even met him.”
“My brother said he saw him pinch a lady’s wallet and pick a pocket in five minutes.”
I frowned, thinking of Curly and the pastries he’d paid for at the station, then snapped at Phaegin. “Why have your brothers been dogging me?”
“Because they’re stupid.” She shrugged. “They thought you and I … don’t worry. I straightened them out. You’re safe.”
“Safe? I’m wrecked. Why did you have to wear the stupid fossil like that?”
Phaegin stiffened. “Why did you have to give me stolen goods as a gift?”
“Why did you have to get me drunk?”
“’Cause I never saw anybody get drunk on half a beer before.”
We glared at each other. Phaegin put her chin in her hand. “It couldna been just the fossil, Ned. He was mad before he saw it.”
I nodded. “It’s something about his wife, and then the money the coal company was giving him was canceled or something in that telegraph. I told him I warned Mrs. Quillan about your brothers and told her we were going to Pittsburgh, and he called me a fool and a traitor.”
“Whoo. Can you make heads or tails of it?”
I shook my head. “He never told me anything except how big it was and how I had to keep quiet about it all.”
Phaegin finished off her drink. “Well, now you can lose the kid.”
I was aghast. “You’re kidding.”
“You shouldna taken him on in the first place. If he wanted out of that mine, he’s got two legs to walk.”
“He was indentured.”
“Now he’s free. Give him his paper and off with him.”
“You’re softhearted.”
“But not softheaded.”
“Just meet him. He’s not bad.”
But Curly wasn’t at Mother’s. Mother waved at a pile of kindling. “I gave him a job to do, and he did it all right, but that one wasn’t hangin’ round for the next instruction. I haven’t seen him since lunch.”
Phaegin nodded. “Well, there’s a problem that took care of itself.”
But Curly walked in, his hands behind his back. “Ned, I been lookin’ for ya!” He stared at me accusingly. “You said you’d be at the Peabody.”
“Oh, God, you didn’t go there, did you?”
He grinned. “Did. They said you worked downstairs. The outside door was locked, so I nipped through the museum.” Curly shook his head. “That Quillan fella’s worse today than he was yestiday. Said you was fired and called me a thief and a sneak.” He brought his arms forward and offered my jacket and Tilfert’s hat. “Got these back for ya.”
I groaned. Curly looked dejected. I took the jacket and hat then had another look at him. “You’re dressed different.” He’d lost the short pants, newsboy cap, and scuffed shoes. He had dungarees on, a woolen vest, and boots. I fingered the cloth he’d tied around his neck: a dishrag.
Curly stuck his thumbs in his lapels. “Wanted to look like a cowboy. Like you. But I couldn’t find a hat.”
“Where did you get the money?”
Curly pulled a sly face. “Folks gave me these clothes. They’re jus’ throw-ways.”
Mother clicked her tongue.
Phaegin snorted loudly and Curly took a good look at her. He whistled. “Hey, sweet potato!”
Phaegin smacked him on the cheek and Curly laughed like he’d been tickled. Phaegin pointed at him. “Cut your line before he drags you in.”
Curly looked astonished. “He’s the one two-handin’ that professor’s wife’s hooty-toot. Least I got morals about married wimmin.”
“What are you talking about?”
He looked sorry. “I don’t fault you, Ned. Can’t make a mare drink an’ all
.”
I wanted to strangle him. “What about the professor’s wife?”
He grinned. “They’re all bombilatin’ ’bout it, museum-wise. Honey’s gone off with some dinosaur fella from Boston.”
Mother clucked again. “Oh, dear. You’ve been stirred in the stew.”
Phaegin nodded. “You weren’t the fool and traitor, Ned. He was calling himself a fool, and his wife is the traitor!”
Curly nodded. “An’ the fella found out about Professor Q turnin’ the sheets inside out and sellin’ ’em new.” He poked the air. “Makin’ ’is own fossils, Quillan was. Carvin’ ’em out of coal. And that other fella breaks wind about it to American Coal and all bets is off!”
I felt my knees wobble. How could this be happening? At breakfast I was a man of prospects. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet. I grabbed Curly’s shoulder. “How could you know this?”
He looked proud. “Hid in the teeny elevator. Had to wait the longest time for the room to clear out; they was all in a chatter. Then the box went down—somebody pullin’ the rope. I thought I was a goner fer sure—and when the door opened, Quillan was lookin’ at me like he seen a ghost. But when he got his hoo-hah back—ohhhh, boy! Tried to trim my hair with his shovel. I grabbed those”—he waved at the coat and hat—“on my way out.”
I sank down, my back against the wall. “This just gets worse.”
Mother shook her finger at me. “I tol’ you to watch that fellow. Anybody works a man like he worked you is going to have no good in him, and now look at the state of Molly. Shit always drops, Ned.”
“What am I going to do?” One week ago I was practically Edward Turrentine Bayard III again; now, Mother and Phaegin were looking at me with pity. And they didn’t know the half of it. No one would hire me as a scientist, now that I had inadvertently aided Quillan with his scheme. They’d mark me an idiot, and they’d be right.
Curly looked absolutely nonplussed. “Ah, it always works out.” He fussed with the dishcloth around his neck.
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