The day spent looking for Elle was no different, except this one had a happy ending. Most of their cases ended in death, especially ones like this. Being able to bring that girl home, alive and only slightly shaken, was a delight in every fashion.
HERDSMAN
2
AS THE NIGHT CREPT UP on them, they left toward home. At the street corner, Hetty turned right instead of left. Benjy turned with her, although he was not quick to follow.
“I want to pay Penelope a visit,” Hetty said. “Let her know what happened with the girl. You can wait downstairs. I won’t be long.”
“I think I hear thunder.” Benjy cupped his ear. “It’s very distant, but it’s there.”
“I won’t be long,” Hetty repeated.
He scoffed and started naming all the times she said this before.
Benjy had listed a dozen examples by the time they arrived at the house, and if the day hadn’t been such an eventful one, she might have considered prolonging her stay just to be petty.
It was a cool spring evening without a chance of rain. She could leave him waiting for half a night and not feel guilty, especially considering he would wait for her. He always did.
The windows of the schoolroom that took up the ground floor of the building were dark. But the second level was quite the opposite. Even before Hetty reached the top of the stairs, she heard muffled laughter, and voices that threatened to spill out into the hallway.
This apartment belonged to Darlene and George, and while lights flickering in the windows were expected, such rambunctious noise was not.
“Are they having a party?” Benjy asked.
Benjy stood a few steps below her, curiosity drawing him near despite his greater reservations.
“I would have heard,” Hetty said, though she couldn’t be sure.
Darlene and her husband, George, taught letters and numbers in the schoolroom below. Daylight hours were for the fifteen children that attended regularly, but two evening classes for adults met each week. Devoted educators, the couple lived very simply, forgoing most pleasures in their private lives. However, to help raise the prestige of their little school, they had gotten themselves wrapped up with the rich elite—people who enjoyed fine dining, gossip, and filling their homes with trinkets that could have fed a family of four for a month. While Darlene claimed the rich elite of the city were a trial to contend with, she made no effort to curtail George’s ambitions.
“Why don’t we ask Penelope together?” Hetty suggested. “Or you can ask, since you’re curious.”
It was too dark to fully make out his expression, but she smiled anyway, imagining the displeasure on his face, since he had stumbled into a trap of his making.
The stairs went up for one more level to Penelope’s apartment. She lived in a small set of rooms filled with plants on every possible surface and space. The fewest number was in the kitchen, where a dozen plants were spread across the windowsill and the counters, waiting to be used in a potion or poultice. The air always held traces of freshly cut leaves, and there was always a half dozen herb bundles suspended over the sink by a wire, drying for some later use.
Although Penelope rented from Darlene, she paid no money, and instead taught music lessons or performed small favors.
Hetty knocked once and heard the slight tinkle of mugs. She knocked a second time and heard chairs move. On her third knock, the door swung open.
“Hetty!” Penelope pulled the door open wider, urging her to come inside. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon! It’s just you, isn’t it? No one behind you causing trouble?”
“No one,” Hetty replied. “Except for my husband.”
“Benjy’s here?” Penelope called out to the shadows with a broad grin. “Well, he can stay outside and out of the way!”
Despite being her opposite in most things, Penelope was Hetty’s closest and dearest friend. While Benjy was willing to entertain her complaints, gripes, and fears—not to mention numerous other ills—he lacked a certain sensitivity about certain matters. In Penelope, Hetty had a listening ear, a companion to perform hijinks with, and someone who took her blunt words without insult or annoyance.
Penelope had thought herself alone in the world, until her mother’s sister found her through the theft of records from a burned-down sugar cane plantation. With five children of her own—three married with families—adding Penelope into the mix was no trouble. But while Penelope loved her newfound relatives, she chose to live apart for reasons she never quite explained. Skilled with herbs and brewing magic, she worked at the best herbalist shop in town, providing remedies and charms alike. While she took pride in this work, her true passion was singing. Penelope lent her voice to contests and traveling shows, and she ran the choir at church as a labor of love. If she could make a living off her voice, Hetty had no doubts Penelope would drop everything to try.
“Did you find Elle?” Penelope asked.
“Yes, she’s back with her mother. This”—Hetty held up the candle—“is our reward.”
“I knew you’d find her!” Penelope clasped her hands together. “I was so worried. I keep seeing her talking to that man after practice. I should have done something when I saw him pull her out of sight. I just stood there and watched.”
“You did do something,” Hetty assured her friend. “You told us and set us searching. What you call nothing meant Elle and the others lured away would not be sent to have their magic harvested.”
“Magic harvesting?” cried a voice from inside. “That can’t be going on!”
“Darlene,” Hetty said, spying the other woman seated at Penelope’s table. “What are you doing up here?”
Darlene’s appearance on its own wasn’t strange. Penelope’s large round table was the place they gathered to gossip and discuss various matters in and around town. But Darlene should have been in her own apartment given what Hetty had seen as she came upstairs.
Instead, Darlene sat hunched over her sketchbook, gently rocking a basket with her foot to keep the little baby swaddled inside in the arms of sleep. Her glasses slipped off her nose, and as usual there was a smudge of charcoal along the right side of her face, like a beauty mark against her skin. Reserved and quietly elegant, Darlene was often the voice of reason in their little trio.
Together her friends presented an interesting contrast, vividly expressed in their attire. Penelope favored bold colors, pumpkin orange, canary yellow, and even rose pink, all paired with frothy lace and ribbons. On anyone else it would have been overwhelming but with Penelope’s fuller figure and flair for dramatics it all suited her rather nicely. Darlene, on the other hand, stayed with earthy brown and maroon and was quite keen on buttons. Buttons on her sleeves, to be precise, to keep the fabric from ruining whatever painting she was working on.
All their dresses were made by Hetty. While a few times she was bribed to make something, like the butterfly-themed dress Penelope had wanted for one Easter Sunday, Hetty took on the work without much fuss and without asking for payment. Her dresses were worn by some of the richest people in the city, but her greatest pleasure was working away on a new dress for her friends.
“We’re just having a bit of a chat.” Darlene’s lips pressed into a thin line. “What’s this about magic harvesting?”
“Nothing to worry about.” Hetty handed the candle to Penelope and slipped inside the cheery kitchen.
Something had driven Darlene up here. It didn’t look to be the baby. Since she had adopted the child last month, Darlene took every sniffle, cough, or sneeze as a precursor to doom. With Penelope’s proximity and talents with healing remedies, she was the first stop for Darlene’s frantic queries.
But instead of worry, irritation creased Darlene’s face.
Whatever brought her up here?
“Magic harvesting sounds like a great deal to worry about,” Darlene replied. “Given it’s not herbs.”
“Don’t mind her. When we don’t know why people suddenly vanish, she calls
it magic harvesting.” Benjy moved out of the shadows. He didn’t come inside but leaned against the door frame. “Don’t understand why.”
“Because that’s how it was back in slavery times.” Hetty kept her voice earnest. “Magic users were snatched up so their bones could be ground up into wands.”
“That’s only a story,” Darlene said, but her eyes flicked around. “Isn’t it?”
“The stories have to come from somewhere.” Hetty took a seat across from Darlene. “Why do you think”—she tapped her thumb against her neck and at the scars hidden from sight— “we were collared?”
Hetty had her for a moment, like she knew she would. Darlene was the most imaginative of her friends, which meant with the right story Darlene was easily tricked, especially when Hetty weaved in bits that were true. People did disappear suddenly and without reason, but magic harvesting wasn’t likely the cause—or even a true practice.
Darlene shook her head, breaking the power of Hetty’s words. “Now I know you’re telling tales again. Why do you persist on making up stories like this? Wands are just made of wood—they aren’t rubbed with bone dust!”
“I never said anything like that,” Hetty teased.
“I don’t know anything about wands,” Penelope admitted, too lost in her thoughts to pay attention to either of them. She turned the inky black candle over in her hands as she leaned against her counter. “But it’s no worse than what I feared might have happened to Elle.”
“You must have an idea why they snatched her,” Darlene said, jumping to turn the tide of the conversation, “or why they were doing such a thing?”
“We don’t know yet, but we’re going to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Hetty reached for Darlene’s sketchbook. “May I?”
Darlene nodded, pushing the book across the table. Hetty turned to an empty page and drew a horseshoe.
“These men all had the same mark on their hands. It’s worth keeping an eye on.”
Darlene looked away. “I told you, the past is behind me.”
“You know people,” Hetty persisted, “and some of them aren’t fond of me.”
“With good reason.” Darlene attempted a smile. “I’m sorry.”
So was Hetty.
Freed at a very young age, Darlene had been an agent with the Vigilance Society, acting as a point of contact in the city. When Hetty got involved with conductor work, Darlene familiarized her with the procedures of the organization and provided assistance beyond the city’s limits. With slavery abolished, others in the Vigilance Society turned their hands toward making freedom more than just words on a piece of paper, but Darlene retreated from the work. She had reasons for it, some of them good, but to Hetty’s ears they sounded like excuses.
“Don’t be sorry.” Benjy’s words drifted in, paired with a pointed look at Hetty. “This is a task for us to handle.”
Taking the hint, Hetty pushed the sketchbook back to Darlene.
“That’s all I came for and—”
“Stay for a bit,” Penelope pleaded. “It’s not that late.”
From his spot in the doorway, Benjy shook his head. “What should I do while you chatter on?”
“You can go downstairs,” Darlene huffed. “Plenty to keep you occupied.”
His curiosity about the excitement in the apartment below was greater than Hetty had anticipated. Eager as he was to go home, Benjy slipped inside instead, joining them in the kitchen.
“What is going on downstairs?” he asked.
“George is hosting a group of people from this political club he joined, E.C. Degray.” Darlene turned a page in her sketchbook, the paper snapping with the action. “There’s an excursion later this week across the river. They’re finalizing details now, or so they claim.”
“E.C. Degray?” Hetty echoed. “Is this another one of those secret societies?”
“I couldn’t tell you. George keeps shying away from giving me a direct answer. I can certainly guess what they’re about, but I like to be told things!”
Hetty nodded along but hid a bit of a smile. She did not have this problem. Her marriage to Benjy hadn’t been a love match, but theirs was an agreement that suited them rather well. She often thought their understanding made a stronger marriage. Hetty had seen the pain love matches caused in both the past and the present. She was glad to be spared it.
“I suppose it’s about voting.” Darlene tapped her pencil against the table. “But isn’t it too early to be talking about elections? October is so far away.”
“It’s good to know who our husbands will be voting for,” Hetty said. “Benjy, what do you think?”
“It’s too soon to tell,” he murmured as he sat down, drawing up a chair next to Hetty.
“About the candidates?”
“About this club. Charlie waxed on about it the other day but didn’t tell me anything of value.”
“You should join.” Penelope placed mugs in front of them. Swirling steam lifted fresh mint into the air. “You’ll bring sense into that group. I heard from my cousin Sy that there’s talk of recommending people for public office. He didn’t like some of the names being suggested, but thought you’d do a good job. Is that not a good idea? You were saying that there were many things you wanted to fix.”
“I don’t disagree there,” Benjy replied. “But the job does not suit me.”
“Surely better than Charlie,” Darlene grumbled. “He shouldn’t be in a position to make decisions about anything more important than the cut of his coat!”
Penelope laughed at this, although with a hesitation that Hetty shared. Charlie, the husband of one of their friends, fretted about the cut and style of his clothes so much that they’d taken to calling him Peacock—until he learned about it and took all the fun out of a good joke. But even before the joke was ruined, Darlene never used it. It was unbecoming and rude, she said, with a stiffly held chin that didn’t waver despite their insisting it was harmless fun. How odd for her to say different now.
“Do you think George would be better suited?” Penelope asked.
“Me? The wife of some politician!” Darlene exclaimed. “Who do you think I am? I’m not—”
Darlene’s words stuttered to a halt. Her face filled with a panic Hetty had seen quite often in the months since that last disastrous tea party with Marianne last winter.
“Marianne,” Hetty supplied. “She’s downstairs, isn’t she?”
It was as if she’d spat out a hex into the room. Penelope and Darlene both drew back, and Benjy shot Hetty a look filled with more concern than when they’d concocted the plan to strike at the kidnappers.
That look stung the most.
Hetty nursed less than kind feelings for Marianne these days, but if they were expecting her to storm down there and turn Marianne into a frog, they were wrong. Such magic wasn’t possible.
“Darlene,” Benjy said in the silence that fell in the room, “do you know if anyone by the name of Randall is down there? George told me the fellow had a job for me, but we couldn’t find the time to meet.”
This was a lie. Made worse by the excessive details. And Darlene snatched it up eagerly.
“I don’t know.” Darlene reached down and pulled out the bundle that was her baby. “Why don’t we go find out?”
With her daughter cradled in her arms, Darlene led Benjy out of Penelope’s apartment, presumably in an effort to keep Marianne away from Hetty.
“Not going with them?” Hetty asked, as the door slammed shut. “Or are you here to keep me out of trouble?”
Penelope settled into Darlene’s empty chair. “We all have our tasks to play in this world. Although, this is the perfect time to show you what I found. I think you’ll find it interesting.”
Penelope waved a hand. The Arrow star sigil whipped past and struck a cabinet drawer. Under Penelope’s guidance, a squat green vial floated across the room and landed on the table.
Hetty recoiled at the sight.
The last time she
saw a vial like this, she’d had to break the fingers of a dead woman to pry it free.
Hetty picked it up. The more she studied it, the more she had to stop herself from smashing the bottle onto the table.
“Where did you get this?”
“A customer at work showed it to me.” Penelope’s mouth curled into a wry smile. “Wanted to know if we had something similar on our shelves. It was lucky she showed it to me. Miss Linda would have lost her temper. We got enough trouble without charlatans cutting up our trade. It’s the same kind, isn’t it?”
“It’s the same.”
Penelope expelled a breath. “How dreadful.”
Dreadful was not a big enough word. People sold the moon and the tides as far back as anyone could remember, winking and laughing as they cheated people out of their hard-earned money. Doing it with brewed magic was just the latest variation.
But brewed magic was a finicky beast. It required patience, time, and access to ingredients and tools that often proved hard to gather. Penelope worked at a herbal shop that provided such things, but she often lost customers due to frauds offering cheap remedies and faulty herbs. These swindlers sold potions and brews to straighten hair, lighten skin, even to make a womb comfortable for a child. However, as with most claims, the small promises delivered but the big ones didn’t.
With a heart full of hope, a woman named Emily Wells had drunk an entire vial of a potion just like the one Hetty held. It brought the woman to death’s arms. It was a simple case, the culprit easily found. But solving the mystery was not enough for Hetty. The death was an accident, but Emily Wells would have not died if her mother, her husband, and even her friends didn’t pressure her to have a baby her body could not carry.
But that wasn’t the only reason Penelope showed this to Hetty now.
Darlene had nearly been the next victim. Darlene had been trying for ages to have a baby. No miscarriages, thank the stars, but no luck. In fact, a twin of this very same bottle was in Darlene’s pocket when one of her students approached her after class. The girl had a hand pressed on her heavily pregnant belly and asked if Darlene would like to raise a baby that would otherwise be unwanted.
The Conductors Page 2
