Darlene and George slowly made their way to the piano. Darlene’s glasses glinted in the light, but her eyes were as dry as her husband’s.
The last time Hetty had seen the pair together was the evening she and Benjy had visited their home—the night Marianne and Charlie had turned an impromptu gathering into a social event that had reduced Darlene and George to guests. The event itself was little reason for murder, but maybe it was a spark sprung from tinder composed of grievances. Grievances Hetty would have little idea about. These last few months had passed with Hetty spending as little time as possible in the Richardsons’ company. She had no idea of any of their interactions, not even from a reliable secondhand opinion. Penelope was not fond of Marianne, and Oliver had ceased to attend any social event once Thomas left.
George and Darlene stood at an angle from the piano so they could easily speak to both Hetty and Benjy.
“I would say it was a pleasure,” George said, “but these are not the best stars to meet under.”
“Though we’ve met under worse,” Benjy replied.
“Yes,” George said with a small laugh, “that’s true. Luckily those days are long behind us and we’re free to meet under good, bad, or worse circumstances.”
“George,” Darlene interjected softly.
“Oh yes, that sounds quite rude, I apologize,” he said. “Have you had the opportunity to speak with Marianne?”
“Not today,” Hetty said. “You wanted to talk to her?”
“Just a few questions about a matter she was privy to.”
“If I see her before you do, I’ll tell her exactly that,” Hetty said. “Vague words and everything.”
“It doesn’t involve you.” George bristled. “You made it clear you don’t want anything to expand your horizons with the aid you give back to the community.”
“For the final time, George, I am not teaching at your school.”
“You should consider it. You might get paid well working for that dressmaker, but wasn’t part of the reason you ran away to avoid serving others?”
“George!” Darlene protested. “Don’t be rude!”
“I’m not wrong, am I?” George swung toward his wife and then back to Hetty as he spoke. “If you’re going to slave away—”
“I thought you had plenty of teachers,” Benjy interrupted, playing louder now. “You and Darlene, plus two others.”
“One is no longer with us.” George stopped scowling at Hetty long enough to look in Darlene’s direction. “We let her go. Not a good fit.”
Hetty was growing bored talking about the school. She understood its importance. Learning her letters and numbers opened up the world for her. But while George’s heart was in the right place, he was going about it the wrong way. The students were taught various subjects, but they did not learn. Nor were they inspired to seek knowledge unless they already had the taste for it. Like Sy Caldwell, or the shy poets that caught Darlene’s eye. Telling George all this was a mistake, one she dearly paid for each time he asked her to teach a class. Still it didn’t stop her from giving him her opinion.
“Poor teachers are what you end up with when you get recommendations from your rich donors. They always have a younger sibling that fancies themselves knowledgeable of the world because they took some fancy courses.”
“You think you’re better than them,” George snapped.
“I think you’re so worried about running the school, you’ve forgotten its purpose. When you are not doing that you’re chatting up people who would never look your way if you didn’t have something to offer. I bet—”
“Why, there’s Clarence,” Darlene called rather desperately. She waved and called his name until he turned their way. “Clarence, thank you for hosting the repass.”
“It was all Eunice’s idea.” Clarence’s eyes went around the little group at the piano. He drew close but remained on the edge of the circle. Clearly he had heard bits of their conversation. “Nothing to do with me. I preferred it be held at the church, especially with all these people. It’s such a mess.”
“You’re a better man than me,” Benjy said. “With all this, you won’t have your home to yourself for quite some time.”
“It’s expected,” Clarence said. “We are celebrating the life of a great man who knew so many.”
“Many is an apt word,” Hetty said. “Who was that man that tried to shift dirt with magic? I don’t know him.”
“That was Isaac Baxter. He’s the president of E.C. Degray,” Clarence said.
“That doesn’t give him the right to do such a thing,” Hetty huffed. “It’s not proper.”
“Funny for you to say that when you sew magic into clothes simply because you can,” George grumbled.
“Some things you just don’t use magic for. That’s one of them.”
“Have any of you met Charlie’s mother yet?” Clarence asked. “She’s quite a character, much like he was.”
Darlene shook her head. “That poor woman. She finally learns where her son is only to miss him by days.”
Hetty stiffened even before the piano music halted after an earsplitting crash.
“Charlie’s mother is here! He found her?” Benjy declared, half rising from the piano bench.
“Didn’t your wife tell you?” Clarence asked as Darlene and George swung toward Hetty, both equally confused. “Letters got lost in travel, which was part of the delay. His mother was not far from where he knew her last to be. Terrible all around for everyone, and they’re the lucky ones.”
“Not always lucky,” George pointed out. “When people were sold, they were good as dead. You’d likely never see them again, so you moved on with your life. When the past shows up it causes problems. That puts me in my mind one of my night classes. Class was interrupted when a student’s wife showed up. Let me just say it was not the one he was currently living with!”
Darlene hissed. “Don’t tell that story here!”
“Charlie would enjoy this more than anyone.” Ignoring his wife, George turned to them. “This student of ours had been married back in the old days, but he’d gotten sold, and so they lost track of each other. He comes here after the Surrender and marries a new woman, starts a new life. Never looks for his first wife, or says he does, but I don’t believe it. Neither does the first wife. She listens to all this and starts throwing books at him.”
“It’s not funny,” Darlene said. “It’s horrible. How would you like it if I had a husband that showed up, claiming rights on me?”
“Well, you would have been too young for that,” George said with confidence. “You were a child when your father bought your freedom. Although Hetty would have been old enough for such a thing. What do you say? Does Ben have something to fear?”
“You do if you don’t stop treading on dangerous ground,” Hetty said.
This didn’t seem to dissuade George. “It’s a simple question.”
“I don’t know how it was on the farm you ran off from,” Hetty said, “but on the plantation I was at, marriages only happened to make more hardworking slaves.” She ran a finger along the cotton band at her neck, pressing against the scars the fabric hid. “I was too magic for that to happen.”
“Some marriages were by choice,” Clarence said, rather thickly.
Their gazes turned to him, and Clarence cleared his throat, but he did not say a word more.
“What happened with the student?” Benjy asked George. “Did he choose his past or his present?”
“From what I can tell he’s taking time to choose his future carefully.”
“Wise man,” Benjy said, and the music started up again.
Clarence mumbled excuses and disappeared without anyone trying to stop him. With him gone, it left Darlene and George to linger uncomfortably, unable to make the same excuse to leave. George nudged Darlene’s shoulder and whispered a word into her ear. Darlene gave an almost imperceptible nod, then said to Hetty, “Shall we get something to eat?”
Lea
ding her away from their husbands, Darlene waited until they were by the laden table before speaking.
“Why didn’t you tell him about Charlie’s mother?”
“It wasn’t an important detail,” Hetty admitted, staring at the piles of good and hearty food.
“Does he know of the other secret you’re keeping?”
“What secret?”
“Trouble.” Darlene snatched a plate from the table. “Trouble that places you in a situation that has nothing to do with you. No matter what you heard, you need to leave it alone.”
“I can’t leave it alone,” Hetty said at once, even though Darlene’s words could mean so many things. Some harmless. Some terrible. “You can’t expect me to.”
“Leave it alone. This is my advice. Do with it what you wish.”
Darlene went on to fill a plate with food, but Hetty stood there rooted in stunned silence.
She wanted to take Benjy’s suspicions with a laugh. That naming their friends as suspects was all part of the process of him discovering Charlie’s murderer. But those words. Those were damning words that couldn’t be explained away.
One thing was clear. Darlene might be her friend, but until they found Charlie’s murderer, she had to question as much as she could.
Like the story Darlene told her yesterday about Marianne and the strange man. It matched up in some places with the spiel Marianne had told her, but it was also different. And there were Darlene’s reasons for telling her in the first place.
Darlene, who the other night was quick to say let the past be past, and stay out of Hetty’s investigations, was now suddenly very eager to drop information into Hetty’s lap. Were there other reasons than just being helpful? What about the missing page in the sketchbook? It could be a drawing Darlene wanted to keep. Or maybe something less innocent. What if it was a spell?
At this twist of her thoughts, Hetty welcomed the sight of Penelope across the room. But only for a moment. A second glance found Penelope stuck between an awkwardly placed table and a man who moved forward every time she leaned backwards.
He turned his head slightly, and once Hetty saw the beard, she recognized him as the man from the cemetery who’d tried to enchant Charlie’s burial dirt.
“I must insist,” he was saying. “It may be short notice, but this will be well worth your time. You’re such a beautiful singer.”
“I have work.” Penelope leaned as far back as she could. “Mr. Baxter, I can’t—”
“Call me Isaac,” he said. “And I trust you can do more than just sing on your own. I felt the Holy Spirit through your singing, and that is a gift that must be shared.”
Penelope smiled. “Don’t let Pastor Evans hear you say that.”
“Sing for me, for all of us—you won’t regret it.”
“I’m afraid I must decline. I have other engagements that day, Mr. Baxter—”
“Isaac,” he corrected Penelope, once more grabbing ahold of her arm.
“Penelope!” Hetty cried, elbowing her way through the crowd toward them. The first moment she could, she grabbed Penelope’s arm, pulling her from Baxter’s clutches. “I’m so glad to see you! I need your help with something urgently! Remember what we talked about earlier?”
“Oh, yes.” Penelope nodded rapidly. “I’m sorry I forgot. Another time, Mr. Baxter.”
Baxter made noises of protest, but Hetty whisked Penelope away into the crowd before he could stop either of them.
“What was that about?” Hetty asked.
“Isaac Baxter wanted me to sing at this excursion tomorrow.” Penelope waved a hand. “It’s too sudden for me to make any sort of promise.”
“Nothing worse than a man who can’t take no for an answer. I wouldn’t have been as polite as you.”
“You have a shorter fuse than I do,” Penelope said, her smile fading a bit. “And you have a husband to shelter you.”
“I suppose there are some advantages of being married.”
“And plenty of disadvantages.” Penelope downed the rest of her drink. “You should hear my cousins. From their talk you would think they were considering sprinkling arsenic in their husbands’ coffee.”
“I can see Clarabelle and Jobelle complaining but not—” Hetty stopped, remembering the strands of gossip Maybelle often brought her. “Penelope, is Maybelle here?”
Penelope pouted. “Is my company not good enough for you?”
“It’s just with that shoe shop of hers, she knows so many people, and I wanted her to ask around about a missing person.”
Penelope nodded. “You wanted her help in looking? Who is it? I’ll tell her.”
“A woman named Judith. A servant, maybe a former servant?”
“It’s quite a common name, and quite a common profession. You only have that?”
Hetty nodded. “And the fact she’s teaching Sorcery.”
“That’s quite risky.” Penelope frowned. “Is she in trouble?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. Anything your cousin hears will be useful. I’m sure Maybelle will find something. She’s good at this sort of thing.”
“And if she can’t, I’ll ask myself. It’ll keep me busy.”
“The shop is not busy enough?”
“It’s plenty during the day, it’s just those evening hours.” Penelope dropped her eyes. “I know I overreacted last night, but the thought is still there. What if they were involved—what would you do?”
“I’d be impressed by their acting ability. Considering neither are particularly convincing no matter what play they are cast in.”
Her friend would not be deterred. “If they did do it, what will you do about it? What should I do?” Penelope persisted.
“Nothing I would tell you here.”
Penelope swallowed, and then nodded, understanding at once.
“Then you must tell me later. I promised a visit to my aunt. Rosabelle is sick again.”
“I wish her well,” Hetty said, “and, Penelope, if you can’t stay in your apartment with peace, you can always stay with us.”
“I appreciate that,” Penelope said, “but I would try Oliver first. There is more space in his home.”
“You might not have the choice.” Hetty wrinkled her nose. “After he left us scrambling about, it might be his funeral you’ll be attending next.”
A small laugh lightened Penelope’s features, even though Hetty had not meant her words as a joke.
Parting with her friend, Hetty headed back to the corner occupied by Benjy and the piano. Halfway there, she spotted Cora Evans standing next to Benjy. The music stopped for a moment as Cora handed him something. Hetty didn’t see what it was because she got distracted by someone tapping her on the shoulder to ask about drinks.
Hetty pointed in a random direction and turned back, but Cora had already been swallowed back into the crowd. Benjy was alone once more.
“I wondered where you went,” Benjy said as she sat down next to him on the bench. “Did anything catch your ear?”
“The excursion is still going ahead as planned,” Hetty replied, “even without Charlie.”
“It’s probably too late to stop it.”
“If we go, we might find out why.”
Benjy appeared to be considering her words, but he didn’t have a chance to give an answer.
Hetty heard footsteps behind them and she turned slightly to see Marianne moving toward them in the crowd.
“There you are!” Marianne’s voice boomed over their heads, louder than the situation merited. “I was looking for you! I wanted to make proper introductions.” Marianne swept her hand toward the rather formidable older woman standing next to her. Her eyes gleamed with unspent tears, and her face had echoes of her son’s in it.
Benjy stood up at once, and Hetty was on her feet moments later.
“This is Beulah Robinson, Charlie’s mother. Mother, these are friends of Charlie’s. Benjamin and Henrietta Rhodes. They helped the Vigilance Society bring runaways to Phi
ladelphia and onward. I forget how many trips, but they brought back several dozen people and never lost a passenger. Charlie used to call them the conductors.”
Beulah studied them as if they were an untidy stitch on the end of a hem.
“You took my son north.”
“Yes, he was one of the first—”
“You should have left him alone,” Beulah said, then continued, her voice shaking. “I knew where he was before. That he was just the county over on the Baker plantation. But he gone up and disappeared one night like smoke. You might have done him and others a good turn, but it would have been well to wait for the Surrender. Then our family could have stayed together. All you did was risk death by running. What could there be gained from such foolhardiness?”
“Freedom,” Hetty said.
“And what did you give up to get it?”
A vision from the past flashed before Hetty’s eyes. The rush of water, and her sister slipping away from her.
“It was a risk well worth it,” Benjy replied. His hand looped into Hetty’s, placing a gentle but firm pressure on it, pulling her back into the room. “For some, if they stayed, they faced things worse than death.”
“Trust me, I know far better than you ever will,” Beulah said. “What do you think happened to those that stayed behind? Many suffered the sins of a few. All these conductors. They were looking for a fight and didn’t care about the harm it caused, and they still are. Pushing people to vote, staging protests, making too much noise, attracting too much attention, and then they die.”
“Nothing changes if we stay quiet and don’t raise our voices,” Hetty retorted.
“If you stay quiet, you live to see another day.”
“Mother!” Marianne exclaimed.
Beulah patted Marianne’s hand absently. “It hurts, but what I say is true. My son involved himself in the affairs of the conductors and died before I could see him again. Because of them. He’s dead, and nothing will ever change that.”
Alarmed, Marianne sputtered out apologies that Hetty didn’t heed. She didn’t even notice when Marianne and Charlie’s mother moved out of sight.
A glass could have shattered above Hetty’s head and she would not have moved. All she could hear were those words—harsh words, and sad words, too.
The Conductors Page 17
