by Michelle Cox
“Gwen!” exclaimed Rose, though it was unsettling to hear the thing she herself had thought of a hundred times said out loud—and by someone other than herself.
“Good riddance to the bastard. You’d be doing humanity a favor, the way I see it. The sooner he’s off the earth the better.”
“Gwen!” Rose admonished again, nodding her head toward Billy, who was rocking now, staring forward and sucking on the wet rag covered in dark-brown bloodstains.
“One of these days,” Gwen said in a low voice, “he’s going to cross my path, and I really will fucking kill the fucking bastard. Just like that.”
“How?” Rose said, actually a little curious.
“Gwen, come on,” Lucy interjected. “Knock it off. What are you going to do, Rose?”
“Can Billy stay here?” she asked hesitantly. “Just for a little bit?”
Lucy looked over at Gwen.
“Well, sure, sweets,” Lucy said with just a trace of hesitation as she looked back at Rose. “But not permanent, right? Not that we mind, but . . . you know . . . we all work crazy hours, and Bill, while being a fine man,” she said in his direction, “isn’t exactly self-sufficient, is he?” she whispered, this last bit at Rose. “Know what I mean?”
“That, and, like I said before, our landlord is a real jerk, and if he found out we had a guy living here with us, he’ll charge us extra. That or kick us out. He’s an ass like that.”
“No, not permanent! Of course not,” Rose said hurriedly. “But . . . just until I can figure something out . . .”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Rose sighed. “Something.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lucy look over at Gwen, and she felt a corresponding knot in her stomach. They were obviously uncomfortable keeping Billy, but what could she do? “I’ll come over early in the mornings and get him off to work,” she said quickly. “He knows the way to work from our place, but he might be confused from here, at least at first. He won’t be any trouble, will you, Billy?” she said to him. “You want to stay here tonight, Billy? Have a visit with Aunty Gwen and Aunty Lucy?”
Billy snapped out of whatever daydream he appeared to have been in and looked at Rose, fear and distrust writ large across his face. He was so like a lost child most of the time that her heart skipped a beat every time he looked at her like that, with that pleading sort of panic.
“You’re staying, too, right, Rosie?” he said thickly.
“No, I’ve got to go back and look after Dad. But I’ll come back in the morning.”
“I don’t want to stay without you, Rosie,” he whined.
“Hey, Bill, I’ll make apple fritters in the morning,” Lucy said temptingly. “You’d like that, right? Nice and warm and gooey . . .”
Billy’s face cracked a smile as he nodded at her.
“And Aunty Gwen will tell you a story, won’t you, Aunty Gwen?”
Gwen shot Lucy a quick, annoyed look before she turned toward Billy and gave him a big, false smile. “Sure I will, kid,” she said. “It’s the one about Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf that gets boiled in a pot of water at the end.”
“You’re mixing up your fairy tales, Gwen,” Lucy commented.
“So?”
“See, Billy?” Rose broke in, ignoring them. “This won’t be so bad, right?”
“Okay,” he said dully, sucking the rag again.
“Maybe you should stay, too, Rose,” Lucy said quietly. “Sure you’ll be all right?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’ve got to go back and clean everything up, so he hopefully won’t know what happened. Somehow get him up to bed.”
“Sure he won’t take a swing at you? Billy won’t be there, you know, to deflect it . . .”
“Nah, I’ll be okay.”
In truth, she was a little bit apprehensive to go back, but she knew it would be worse if he woke up that way. Normally, he didn’t hit her, though he had taken off his belt to her many times in her room for a different reason, even as a girl, and she had learned early a different meaning of misery and despair.
As she grew older, she finally grew bold enough to lock her door and burrow deeper under her thin quilt each time she heard him try the handle of her door. He would bang on it, then, which would sometimes cause Billy to shuffle from his room and stand in the hallway, looking at him with his usual dumb expression on his face.
“Go back to bed, Billy,” their father would snarl. “This don’t concern you.”
“No,” Billy would say, resolutely.
“You don’t say ‘no’ to me, you fuck,” her father would say, or something similar, and then usually shoved him up against the wall. But it was enough to distract him from Rose, and once he stumbled off to bed, Billy would disappear back into his room. She had tried sometimes to whisper thanks to Billy before he retreated, nervously poking her head out from behind the door, but he always refused to look at her, as if he felt ashamed for her.
This had worked for a while, but in a mad fury one night he ended up kicking her door in—despite Billy’s attempts to stop him—and shattered the wood holding the lock, rendering it useless from that point on. She had no choice but to submit to him that night, but after that, she had gotten the gun. It was just a little thing; a Baby Browning that she had bought at a hardware store, but it shot real bullets just the same. She had pulled it out from under her pillow one night, her hands shaking as she pulled the hammer back, and he had just laughed. His smirk turned to rage, however, when she actually fired it and a bullet whizzed past him, and even now was lodged in the plaster of her bedroom wall. He had stood there, stunned, and in his fury took another step closer to her. But when she fired a second time, this one barely missing him, he finally left, calling her a “stupid bitch.” He hadn’t ever tried to come into her room again, but she still found it hard to sleep deeply most nights.
“Still got the gun?” Gwen oddly asked her, as if reading her thoughts.
“No, I lent it to Henrietta, remember?” Rose answered.
“Shit, you can’t go back there then!”
“It’ll be all right. He doesn’t know I don’t have it. He won’t try anything more tonight.”
“You need to get that thing back.”
“Yes, I know. But I don’t have a telephone, remember? And in case you haven’t noticed, we don’t exactly run in the same circles. Our butler just quit,” she said, attempting a weak joke.
“I’ll telephone her tomorrow for you,” Lucy said anxiously.
“Thanks, Lucy. But that’s the least of my worries these days.”
Gwen took a big drink of her coffee. “Yeah, what about the dope? Can’t he do somethin’ to help?”
“Don’t call him that, Gwen,” she said, giving a warning nod of her head toward Billy, who, though sitting straight up, had his eyes closed. “Stan’s all right, you know. For a guy.”
“Still gonna marry him?”
“Of course, I’m still going to marry him. What choice do I have?”
Gwen seemed about to retort but stopped when Lucy gave her a quick shake of her head.
“Like turning tricks?” Rose asked bitterly. “No—I can’t do that anymore. I think that’s when he started beating Billy. Like he knew somehow. It’s too risky; it’s like playing roulette.”
“You could live with us,” Lucy offered.
“Yeah? With Billy?” she asked wryly.
Neither Lucy nor Gwen said anything to that.
“Nah, it’s better to marry Stan,” Rose went on, their silence adding to a sadness she barely knew she felt. “He’s a good enough guy.”
“Does he . . . does he know everything?” Lucy asked quietly.
“Not everything, but enough. He’s not exactly prince charming; he’s more the woodsman that comes along and saves Red Riding Hood, kind of by accident, if we’re talking fairy tales. It’s not really what he set out to do, but something he stumbled upon. He’s trying to do the right thing.”
&nbs
p; “But are you?” Gwen asked.
“Oh, just lay off, Gwen. I’m doin’ the best I can.”
“Well, sor-ry. I gotta ask, though. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”
Rose chose not to answer.
“Come on, don’t be sore,” Gwen urged. “What are you going to do about Billy? Is he going to move in with you two once you’re hitched?”
“Of course, he is. That’s the whole point.”
“Does the dope know that?”
Rose hesitated. “I think so.”
“When you gonna inform him?”
“I’ll get to it eventually, Gwen,” Rose said, standing up now. “Anyway, I’d better go.”
“Still aiming for a June wedding?” Lucy asked.
“I guess so. His parents approve of me, apparently. Just . . .” She gave a small curtsey. “I’m supposed to convert so we can get married at his church.” She shrugged as she buttoned up her coat. “It don’t matter to me. Whatever I need to do, I’ll do.”
She walked over and kissed Billy on the cheek. “Bye, Billy,” she said as he sleepily opened his eyes. “See you in the morning, okay?” She rubbed his short stubble of hair, another thing their father insisted on—that Billy have a shaved head at all times. Billy hated it, though, and screamed every time Rose brought out the scissors or the razor, making Rose wonder if her father insisted on it just to torture him. Billy reached up and put his arms around her neck as she bent toward him and held on tight.
“Bye, Rosie,” he said sadly, not letting go. Finally Rose had to unhook his arms from around her neck, giving him a quick kiss on the head as she did so. She picked up her wet coat she had dropped on the floor when they came in and shrugged back into it.
“Thanks, girls,” she said as she buttoned it. “Be back in a few hours.”
“Be careful,” Lucy said as Rose tugged open the door and stepped out into the freezing air.
Chapter 5
“Ah, darling, there you are,” Clive said as he entered their small sitting room in the east wing of Highbury, the whole of which had been converted for their private use upon their marriage. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back in time for dinner.”
“Yes, I wasn’t sure, either,” Henrietta said, unpinning her hat. “I’ve only just arrived. I’m glad I did, however, as Edna informs me that Bennett will be dining tonight. I would hate to leave your mother outnumbered,” she added with a smile.
“Bennett?”
“Yes, I assumed you had asked him.”
“No, I didn’t. That’s odd. Maybe he’s stopped by with some documents for me,” Clive said, letting out a sigh and running a hand through his hair. “Well, whatever it is, it can wait. I’ll investigate later. How about a drink before we dress?” he asked tentatively.
“Yes, all right. Maybe a small sherry.”
“I’ve had rather an interesting day,” he continued, leading the way to their small sitting room, which already had a low fire burning in the grate. Clive strode toward the fireplace and, taking a poker from the stand, jostled some life into the flames. He turned to look at Henrietta staring out the garret window at the darkness beyond. He was unsure of how to proceed, how to bring up the case.
“It’s getting darker later each day, isn’t it?” Henrietta said, turning toward him now. “I simply can’t wait for spring.” A small smile crept across her face as she stepped forward to take the glass of sherry he had poured for her. She seemed in a better mood than she had been in a long time.
“Did you enjoy your trip into the city?” he asked, encouraged, taking a sip of brandy from his thick, crystal glass.
When she proposed a visit to her mother and Elsie following a telephone call she had gotten not two days ago from Elsie, he wasn’t sure it was what she needed at the moment. Usually trips to see her mother left her disquieted or depressed. But Henrietta had been insistent that Elsie needed her help with something, and he didn’t want to thwart her, as it was the first thing she had shown any interest in since before the mishap. However, he had foreseen the possibility that it could go rather badly, as it usually did.
“I did in fact,” she said with a mysterious smile. “But you first. You said you had an interesting day.”
“Well,” he said, turning toward the radio set and absently rubbing the top of it. “As it turns out, I’ve been to see Davis this afternoon.”
“Oh, you should have told me! I would have liked to come, too.”
“He’s out of the hospital now and back to work.”
“Oh, I see. How is he?” she asked, concerned.
“Seems all right. Usual scruffy self. Turns out he has a case he’d like us to look into,” he said, taking care to use the word “us.”
“He does?” She seemed skeptical.
“Well, yes.” Clive tried to sound convincing, hoping she couldn’t already see through this ruse. “He’s asked for our help.”
“Why doesn’t he just investigate it? Or the chief, for that matter?”
“Well,” Clive scrambled. “You know what the chief’s like. And Davis claims it’s not really a case for the police, so he naturally thought of us.”
“Well, it must not be all that serious, then,” Henrietta said with a shrug.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. Just a bit . . . unconventional perhaps.”
This was certainly not the reaction he had been expecting from her. He had thought she would be thrilled to have a case before them. Maybe she had changed her mind about detective work . . .
“Such as?” Henrietta asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
“It has to do with some sort of spiritualist, apparently,” Clive responded, deciding just to plunge straight into it.
“A spiritualist?”
“Yes, a man by the name of Tobin came into the station the other day. Spoke to Davis, thank God, and not the chief, claiming that some spiritualist his wife’s been seeing has ‘hypnotized her’—I think his words were—into packing up her jewelry and carting it off to her.”
“Is that a crime, though?”
“Well, not enough for the police to get involved,” said Clive, taking another drink. “But Davis suspects a fraud. A charlatan, obviously, taking advantage of people’s gullibility. Might be underhanded. These things usually are.”
“I see,” Henrietta mused.
“As he’s just getting back to work, Davis says he’s got several things to look into and is still not fully recovered. The doctors have advised him to take it slowly, not take on a full load right at the beginning . . . but it seems the chief wants him back in action.” Clive hoped she would believe him. “So he thought maybe we could help. I suppose we owe him, don’t we?” he managed to say in a rueful tone. “It’ll probably turn out to be nothing, but we should check it out, don’t you think? Maybe drive out there tomorrow?” He watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye.
“Yes, of course we should help Frank,” she said, biting her lip and looking into the fire.
Why did she always call him Frank? Clive wondered. Ever since the Neptune incident when the two of them had paired together to rescue Clive from Neptune’s grasp, she had become very familiar with Davis in a way he wasn’t always comfortable with. He understood why, of course, but it had irritated him when she had insisted on going to see him so many times in the hospital, bringing him flowers and chocolates. As if a man liked those things, anyway.
But now was not the time to bring up all of that.
“I’m not sure we’ll have time, though,” she answered, looking up at him.
“What do you mean, darling?” he said, his brow furrowed. “We have plenty of time.”
“Well, as it turns out, I’ve found a case as well. It’s a missing person’s case. And it’s very interesting, Clive.”
Clive groaned internally. This must be what Elsie had called about for help. It explained Henrietta’s chipper mood upon returning from the visit. He so badly wanted to make a sarcastic comment about it being a “mi
ssing” college student who would undoubtedly turn up in a couple of days, having successfully slept off a particularly bad bout of drunkenness, but he managed to resist the temptation. “Oh?” he said, with passing sincerity.
“Yes,” Henrietta went on enthusiastically. “It seems Elsie has gotten involved with the custodian at Mundelein, who finds himself in a bit of trouble.”
“What do you mean involved? Please tell me you don’t mean romantically?” he said with a sigh.
What was it about Elsie that seemed to attract these rather precarious predicaments? he wondered. Granted she appeared to have lost quite a bit of weight from the time he had first met her, but she still had a large build, so unlike Henrietta’s. They looked nothing alike. And since Agatha Exley had gotten ahold of Elsie, she had certainly smartened up. Her clothes were stylish now, and with the way she did her hair these days, she could almost pass for pretty in a certain way. So why did she seem to always be a target for men who wished her harm? He supposed it was either the lure of the Exley money or the prospect of an easy conquest, as Elsie practically oozed naiveté and gullibility. It made sense that she was constantly being taken advantage of. Though he hated to admit it, Clive, like Oldrich Exley, had hoped that by Elsie attending Mundelein, there would be an end to such affairs. But apparently not. He was learning that nothing about Henrietta’s family was predictable—except that they were unpredictable.
“Well, it may have strayed in that direction,” Henrietta answered, “but that’s not the trouble, at least not yet, if I can help it.”
“I beg to differ, but go on; enlighten me.”
Henrietta then proceeded to share the whole long story regarding Gunther and Liesel and Anna, though she was not as clear on how Elsie had gotten mixed up in it all. “It’s obvious, though, that there’s been some sort of miscommunication. The poor man has been working at Mundelein College, looking for this Liesel woman, who all the while has been somewhere in Mundelein, Illinois.”
“Hmm. Most likely the seminary out there.”
“You know it?” Henrietta asked eagerly.