Stubbornly, Geraldine shook her head, and not a single word rattled out between her lips.
Hetty was tempted to force the secrets out, but the crowd was growing and she didn’t want to draw unwanted attention.
“I’ll get your wares. Stay put.”
Hetty retraced her steps. But the small stall, the basket, and the jars were all gone.
She turned around, but she knew already the only thing she would see of Geraldine was the trail of her maroon dress as it disappeared into the crowd.
Clever trick, but pointless in the end. Hetty knew where to find her.
Without any further distractions to waylay her, Hetty arrived at a rather handsome building that, despite its best efforts, still looked like a private home instead of the headquarters for E.C. Degray.
As Hetty drew near, she saw the front door open as several men departed.
They passed her, giving her a cursory glance that glided right over her. Hetty waited until they were gone before she approached the door. She made to knock, but a prickle that started at the band at her neck had her jumping back even before the door swung open.
A man peered out and frowned at her.
“Unless you’re here to pick up the laundry, you have no business being here.”
“That’s quite rude,” Hetty said, even as she pondered if it was worth it to hit him with a sleeping spell. “You don’t even know what I’m here for.”
He coolly eyed her. “You’re no wife to any member here. Even if you had a reason, no one is here to talk to you.”
“You are,” she pointed out.
“I’m on my way out.” That man patted his coat pocket, nearly crinkling the slips of paper sticking out. Were those tickets? “There’s no one else—they’re all at the excursion.”
“Everyone?”
“Everyone who can go. It’s members only, and even if you could, there’s no more tickets.”
Hetty attempted a grin. “Not even for the right price?”
He sneered. “You can’t afford it.”
Those words settled how this encounter was going to end.
“Excuse me! That’s not fair at all.” Hetty jostled forward, placing a foot firmly on the step.
The wards around the building buckled and responded just as she thought they would. Over the shrill alarm she raised her voice. “This is a club to encourage suffrage and participation in elections. It’s not some elite club that only accepts a few.”
She said more, her voice rising with the alarm, not caring at his attempts to quiet her. She lost the thread of her words after a while and started repeating phrases that sounded decent until the man held up his hands, which were glittering with magic.
“Enough!” he declared, as tiny star-speckled doves darted to the building to settle the wards. The world went quiet, and Hetty stepped back. “I don’t make the rules. I just follow them. Go on with your day in peace.”
He stepped around and strode off down the street.
“Oh,” Hetty said, holding up the excursion tickets she had pulled from his pocket while chaos danced around them. “I most certainly will.”
She dashed off before her theft could be caught, slipping through a web of alleys and side streets to the blacksmith’s.
There was no one out in the front, but sounds of conversation led her into the back of the forge.
Sy clutched a hammer in his hand as Benjy pointed out a spot on a cauldron resting on the workbench.
“Try again,” Benjy said. “Focus right here.”
“You should do it—you’re better at it,” Sy protested.
“And you’re not, which is why I’m trying to teach you.” Without looking up, he called out to Hetty: “Don’t stand over there—you’ll be in the line of fire.”
Sy swung. He missed hitting the cauldron’s rim. There was a flash of light and the cauldron jumped off the table like a startled bird. It bounced, striking the other tools lying nearby and sending everything crashing to the ground.
Benjy only sighed as the last of the crashes echoed in the room, hardly surprised but disappointed all the same.
“Sorry,” Sy mumbled. He handed the hammer to Benjy before running to collect the fallen tools.
Benjy picked up the ruined cauldron and tossed it aside. Studying her for a moment, he asked, “What interesting thing brings you here?”
“I wouldn’t call it interesting.” Hetty held up the tickets. “But I managed to get these for the excursion. I’m going. As I don’t wish to go alone, I’m taking Penelope with me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “Penelope won’t go.” He pulled off his apron with a dramatic sigh. “I suppose if you must have company, I’ll simply have to come.”
“Not dressed like that.” Hetty waved at the soot and grime that covered him. “We have to dress the part.”
“Church clothes it is,” he said, undeterred. “Sy,” Benjy called. “I’m leaving for the day. Bank the fire, don’t do any repairs. If someone comes around with something to mend, be vague about when it’ll be ready, especially if it’s not urgent.”
Sy poked his head over the workbench, tools clutched in his arms.
“What if Amos comes around looking for you?”
“Tell him I’m off doing work that got shoved aside for the work I did on the cradle. Practice drawing the sigil, but don’t work any magic. I’ll tell you what you did wrong tomorrow. I made the same mistakes myself when I first learned.”
This assurance lifted the embarrassment in Sy’s face, and when he said he’d take care of things, Hetty was certain the forge would be standing the next time she returned.
“That’s kind of you to teach him to repair magical objects,” Hetty said as Benjy led the way out.
“It’s a useful skill. And despite what you saw, he’s picking it up better than the last apprentice. Which is funny, since I only took him on because Penelope tricked me into giving him a job.”
“Penelope tricked you?” Hetty scoffed. “You don’t do anything that you didn’t want to do in the first place. Whether it’s fixing rooftops or agreeing to go on excursions put on by political clubs.” She looked up at him significantly as she said the last bit. “Why did you change your mind about us going?”
With a sheepish grin, Benjy shrugged. “I realized you were right.”
“Of course I was,” Hetty laughed. “I always am.”
“That you are,” he said softly as a streetcar rolled by, leaving Hetty uncertain if she was meant to hear his words or not.
LEO
19
THE TRAIN TOOK THEM across the river into New Jersey. Though there was a location on the ticket, they did not need it. The wind carried boisterous laughter and familiar tunes, and the path before them bore signs of passage of many feet. Soon enough the tops of tents rose up before them, cheerfully beckoning them towards one of the more popular sites for excursions.
The habit of such excursions may have started as a way to raise money for churches and other organizations, but their main appeal was a small break from daily life. Hetty and Benjy had gone on a few of them in the past, but never for long, and they were often working instead of enjoying the activities.
But this time they were here to answer questions about Charlie and ferret out any connections that might lead to the murderer. Yet as they milled about the booths and makeshift stages that lined the boardwalk, the task’s urgency faded.
After several overcast days with rain threatening to make an appearance, the brilliant blue sky and the fluffy white clouds that greeted Hetty were enough to push aside all but the most indulgent of thoughts.
She never planned to come alone to the excursion but she expected she would have had to twist Benjy’s arm to accompany her. That he agreed without a word was a pleasant surprise. That he appeared contented and at ease was a delight. When he glanced over at her with a smile more relaxed than it had been in days, those pesky temperamental feelings washed over her until she forced herself to
look away.
“That looks interesting.” Benjy pointed to the man atop a wagon bed delivering a soliloquy to the onlookers gathered at his feet. Illusions of flowers and vines appeared around him as he spoke. “Although his diction is rather poor.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Hetty chided. “We are here to look for answers.”
“Where do we look first?” Benjy asked. “Or should I say for who?”
“I—” Hetty began looking around: at the stalls that peppered the boardwalk along with families, at couples, and other groups. All were unfamiliar faces, and all, from the first to the last, seemed to have no clear ties to the murders they had uncovered. She thought she might have spotted the arrogant Isaac Baxter in the crowd, working his charms on the small crowd gathered around him, but even if they could manage to talk to him, there were few spaces welcoming to private conversations.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose that’s why you were against coming. It’s a waste of time if we don’t know who or what we’re looking for.”
“That’s an easy puzzle to solve. Amos paid me for the cradle, we can use the money at that booth.” He pointed to a game set up in a nearby stall, where a woman tossed a baseball at milk bottles placed on shelves. “That’s a good central spot. We can take turns playing while the other watches the crowd.”
“Maybe just you.” Hetty absently smoothed her clothes. Her plum-colored dress had been a canceled commission once upon a time. In scattered spare moments she altered it for her figure, adding lace to the cuffs. It suited her just as she hoped, but it came with other worries. “I don’t want to ruin this.”
“I’m not sure why you wore it, then. There’s nothing practical about it.”
“Practical is the last word you give pretty dresses, unless it’s the manner of their removal.” Those words shut him up rather effectively, leaving him so visibly flustered that she couldn’t help but add, “It’s not like I have a maid to help me with them.”
With a laugh she took his arm. “Knocking over milk bottles is not a terrible idea. We’ll attract less attention if we’re seen taking part instead of just shaking answers out of people.”
They did play the milk bottle game, although they quickly learned it was rigged. Benjy managed to hit every bottle except one placed on the highest shelf. He would have gone through all their money to get it, too, if Hetty hadn’t discreetly set about a detecting charm to find the magic at work. She pointed it out, Benjy fumed a bit more, and they moved on playing the other games that caught their attention. There were quite a few of them spread out along the boardwalk—guessing the number of beans in a jar, tossing horseshoes, or spinning wheels to collect prizes.
“You are terrible at this game,” Hetty laughed, as another dart fell outside the colored rings. The children that gathered to watch scrambled across the grass to retrieve the far-flung fallen darts.
“Why don’t you try?” He smirked as he handed the feathered dart to Hetty. “Unless you’re afraid of ruining your pretty dress?”
“I’m not.” Hetty balanced the dart in her hand, smoothing the feathers. She studied the target for a long moment. Then tossed the dart.
It sailed into the center of the dartboard, not dead center, but right on the edge. A mark that Benjy hadn’t been close to meeting.
“Ah,” she said, feigning disappointment, “I missed.”
“Missed!” Benjy exclaimed. “You almost got it!”
There were giggles from the children, which turned into laughter as Benjy exaggerated his shock and surprise for their benefit.
“Would you like to try again?” The man running the booth plucked Hetty’s dart from the ring. “If you hit direct center, you’ll get a prize.” He smiled as he said this, but the smile was as forced as his cheer.
This game wasn’t rigged like the milk bottles, but it was designed to be impossible to win. The board was placed there on an angle, and colors only added to the illusion. Benjy probably would have been able to tell if he stood closer, but he had a harder time than he would admit at seeing things at a distance.
“What sort of prize would that be?” Hetty asked as she picked up a dart.
“Depends if you hit it.”
The dart struck dead center a heartbeat later, still quivering even as Hetty smiled very politely at the man.
“My prize?”
“Provided by me.” A woman from a nearby stall presented a kite painted on one side with the imagined likeness of a griffin. She leaned close to whisper, “I’ve been watching him part people from their money all day. It’s one thing to raise money, but to cheat people out of a good time! Good job on that.”
Hetty held up the kite to Benjy’s appreciative eye. “That’s fine craftsmanship,” he declared. “Did you want me to carry it?”
“No.” Hetty turned to the children. “This deserves a good home.” She knelt down in front of the trio of children and handed the kite to what appeared to be the oldest. “Enjoy.”
They cried out their thanks and skipped off in a cloud of dust.
A hand appeared before her.
“That was kind of you,” Benjy said, “considering they were making fun of me the whole time.”
She took his hand, letting him draw her up onto her feet. “It was probably the best bit of fun they had the whole time,” she said, still holding his hand as she gazed thoughtfully up at him. “Everyone deserves some from time to time. We haven’t found any signs of a murderer, but none of this has been a waste of time.”
“I’m glad we came,” he said quietly.
She was too, but not for the reasons he was.
Hetty let go of his hand but didn’t fully pull away. “We should start asking people questions.”
“Let me indulge in one more game,” Benjy said.
She followed his gaze to a rather abandoned stall. Next to it was a tall vertical pole with a bell set on top, and hand-painted numbers that increased in value as they neared the bell. The person manning the stall sat with a large mallet waiting to be used.
“I’m pretty sure I can win this one.” Benjy removed his jacket and handed it to her. His waistcoat, made from the satin scraps of her dress, caught sunlight as he moved to roll up the sleeves of his shirt.
“This one is likely to be rigged as well,” Hetty cautioned as she folded his jacket over her arm.
His grin was more than a bit reckless. “If it is, it won’t be afterwards.”
The man at the stall eagerly took Benjy’s money and handed over the mallet. Benjy flipped it in his hand, gave the strength tester a single look, and struck.
The bell rang like a church’s bell calling all to its side.
The man at the stall jumped up. Loudly he protested it wasn’t set up properly, that its settings had been for kids. He made his voice carry to the gathering crowd as he pulled at levers. Benjy just smiled as he watched this activity.
“Your husband is the first person I’ve seen to get that thing to ring.”
Eunice stood next to Hetty, holding a basket filled with socks. Her pale pink dress had a festive air that suited her quite well, although the roses embroidered along her collar were too large for Hetty’s taste.
Of their list of suspects, Eunice was last, just below Clarence. Eunice was too nice, too quiet, too eager to please. But that might only seem true because Hetty didn’t know her that well. Nor did she know enough of Eunice’s movements to know her whereabouts the night Charlie died.
“What’s the basket for?” Hetty asked.
“This? I’m just collecting money for veterans of the USCT. Though I only have a few donations.” Eunice shook her head. “There’s so much enthusiasm when there’s fighting, but no one cares when soldiers come back injured. The government promised pensions for soldiers who fought for the Union, but the Colored Troops got left behind. None of our boys have seen any money. Which is expected, but I had hoped for more from the community. You can’t say ‘support soldiers’ and then turn a blind
eye to those that come back injured beyond words.”
“I think you might do better some other time. It looks like people are saving their coins for fun.”
“That might be true. Are you here to enjoy the day?” There was a bit of a pause even though her words were still quite pleasant. “I didn’t even know you two were coming.”
“Didn’t decide until quite recently,” Hetty said as the bell rang clearly over the crowd once again. “I hope we haven’t missed anything.”
“Nothing much yet. Have you heard they’re having a ladies’ race on bicycles? With the new bicycles that have become all the rage.”
“How exciting!” Hetty did not have to fake her enthusiasm this time. Her interest in bicycles had gone from curiosity to fascination since the new versions arrived from Europe. Where a bicycle had once been this monstrous thing with a giant wheel that was impossible for most to ride, this new bicycle was much more reasonable in every way. The front wheel was only somewhat larger than the rear wheel, and the frame had a nice sloping angle that was suitable even for skirts. With the pedals moved to the center, and gently curving handlebars, it rode like a dream. Which it very much was. The English inventor had woken up in the middle of the night and declared he had seen the future.
Hetty had ridden a bicycle a handful of times before, encouraged by Penelope, who was both frightened and intrigued by the newfangled machine. They had borrowed it from Penelope’s snotty cousin Clarabelle, who had only bought it because it was a growing fashion among the luminary ladies in town. Penelope had fallen off a few times, but Hetty had taken to it like a bird stretching its wings.
Sadly, the bicycle ended up being sold when Clarabelle decided not to chase that particular fashion, so Hetty had few chances to ride one since.
“What’s this about a race?” Benjy asked as he joined them. He couldn’t quite hide the smug smile on his face as he took back his jacket.
“There’s a ladies’ bicycle race,” Eunice said. “There’s a prize of fifty dollars to the winner.”
“That much!” Hetty exclaimed. “Where can I sign up?”
The Conductors Page 20
