Where the Light Enters

by Sara Donati

  Just before Charlotte Louden reached the door she hesitated and turned back. “May I call on you, with my daughter? Would you be willing to consult with her?”

  Sophie wanted to tell this woman no. She was not available to her or anyone in her family. But she thought of Minnie Gillespie and the daughter-in-law and nieces, who had no part in what had happened here, and had no one trustworthy to consult.

  “Yes,” she said finally. Her voice came hoarse. “You may.”

  58

  ANNA DISLIKED LEAVING Sophie behind at the bookshop, but she had an obligation to see that Neill Graham was admitted to the hospital in a timely manner. This was not a case she could hand over to an ambulance driver.

  Two burly patrol officers helped Graham downstairs to the ambulance and Anna climbed in after him, ignoring the suspicious stares. Ambulance drivers were a surly lot, and they didn’t like women doctors on principle. She told them who she was, which only made them more suspicious. If there hadn’t been police officers standing by they might have tried to put her out.

  It seemed they might just refuse to drive at all and Anna was wondering where to turn when Jack and Oscar jumped out of a cab.

  Jack took both her hands and looked up at her, scanning her face.

  “Tell me.”

  It took far longer than she would have liked to recount the events of the last hour and a half.

  Oscar said, “Do they have Nora Smithson in custody?”

  “I heard that they do,” Anna said. “I hope it’s true, but right now—” She looked over her shoulder at Neill Graham. He was on his side on the gurney, scratching his face and beginning to writhe. “I have to go with him to the hospital.”

  Jack and Oscar exchanged looks, a whole conversation in that one glance. Then Oscar took off—presumably to find someone who could give him a status report—while Jack climbed into the rig. To the scowling attendant he said, “This is a police matter. You go back to the station, I’m taking your place.” The driver turned around to protest, but one look at Jack’s face stopped him.

  “I can manage this,” Anna told him.

  “I know you can.” He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

  She was so glad to see him that she left it at that.

  Graham was struggling to sit up. “Detective Sergeant, I wondered when you would show your face.”

  To Anna, Jack said, “How bad is he?”

  Anna hesitated, and Graham leaned forward. “Go on, Dr. Savard, tell him. Don’t mind me. Or shall I?”

  “Go on,” Jack said. “I’m listening.”

  In the light of day Graham looked far worse than he had in the bookshop apartment. His lips were cracked and bloody, and a rash covered his neck and face.

  “Let’s see. I’m dehydrated. I haven’t eaten a thing in days, but that’s because I spend most of my time sleeping. Morphine will do that. It’s not nearly so sweet as smoking opium, but it does make the world go away. If I had time I would write a piece about it for one of the journals. What do you think, Dr. Savard? A comparison of the effects of morphine injected by hypodermic and opium smoked in a Chinese den.”

  “Get on with it,” Jack said.

  “Impatient, aren’t you? Fine. I’ve got scratches on both arms—you’ll hear about the fine accommodations I’ve been keeping soon enough, I’m sure. They look innocent, but do not be deceived. Tetanus has snuck up on me and I’m done for.”

  Jack frowned at Anna, and she nodded. “Tetanus is lockjaw. He has all the symptoms.”

  “It’s not what I would have chosen for myself to end things,” Graham said. “A triple dose of morphine would be more to my taste. Dr. Savard, tell me. Have you ever seen an advanced case of tetanus? Because,” he went on, not pausing to see if she might have something to contribute, “because I have. At Bellevue. A dockworker, big strong man of thirty or so. Some barrels got loose and came down on his foot. The break wasn’t too bad, but then he started with the spasms. It starts in the jaw, that’s true enough, but before the end every muscle is screaming. This dockworker, Hancock by name if I recall, just before he died he arched his back like a cat in a fit. Arched so hard and long that his spine snapped. Sounded like a gunshot.”

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “All the torments of hell before I even get there.”

  “There will be morphine,” Anna said. It was the best she could offer. “They won’t be stingy with it.”

  “I damn well hope not,” Graham said. “I want to bathe in the stuff.”

  Jack said, “Who locked you up in that room?”

  Graham blinked at him. “Don’t know.”

  “Was Mrs. Louden already there when you arrived?”

  Long fingers, the nails filthy, scratched through his beard as Graham thought about this question. He shrugged, finally. “Not sure.”

  “Did you talk your sister out of giving Mrs. Louden morphine?”

  Graham grinned. Somewhere in the last weeks he had cracked a tooth and it had gone dark. “If I did something like that, it was because I wanted it all for myself. You know, all these questions have tired me out. Wake me when we get to my final abode, would you?”

  “Just one more question,” Jack said. “Are you planning on taking the truth about your sister to your grave? You want her to start up this bloody game with another innocent?”

  Spasms took over Graham’s lower face for a very long time. When they subsided he looked at Jack with something like pity. He said, “Innocence is a tricky thing. I wonder if you’ll ever sort it all out. I’ll be gone before you do, that’s for certain.”

  * * *

  • • •

  IT WAS ALMOST four before they got away from the hospital. Jack spent most of the time listening to Anna talking to doctors about Graham, his history and his symptoms. He didn’t follow a lot of it, but really he was interested in the way people responded to her. At first what he heard was reluctance—older men unsettled by the appearance of a young female claiming expertise—that gave way to begrudging respect. Anna had been in medicine long enough and she knew how to handle the men who challenged her. Her posture, the tilt of her head, the tone of her voice and the sharp edge to her words all made it clear that she would not tolerate their condescension.

  Graham was right there in bed, stripped out of his filthy clothes and wrapped in towels. He was a miserable, unlikable piece of work, but it seemed he had done what he could for Charlotte Louden. It was hard not to feel pity for him as he lay there shivering and sweating and twitching, asking for his shot. Grabbing at the nurse, calling to the doctor, he wanted his morphine injection, and it must be now. Now. Now.

  When an intern came in carrying the hypodermic on a tray, Graham held out both hands, like a child reaching for a toy.

  “I can inject myself,” he said, fingers beckoning.

  “So I see,” said the intern. “Your left arm looks like the butcher’s been to call. Let me try your right arm.”

  * * *

  • • •

  DEATHBED CONFESSIONS COUNTED for a lot in a court of law, but according to Anna there was no way to predict how long it would take the infection to end Graham’s life. A few days, a week: either was possible. If they had a week, they might be able to convince him to tell them about his sister for her own good. If he could still open his mouth at that point.

  In the cab Jack put an arm around Anna’s shoulder and pulled her up against him, kissed her mouth, her nose, her forehead.

  “You know,” he said. “Most people spend a day off sleeping, or doing something entertaining. Instead you rescued a kidnapped woman.”

  She gave a little hiccup, a sound caught halfway between laughter and tears. Jack examined her expression.

  “You’re not weeping for Neill Graham, are you?”

  Another hiccup. “I wouldn’t wish anybody what’s h
appening to him, but no, I have no tears to spare for him. I am worried about Sophie. I’m exhausted. And hungry.”

  “The hunger we can do something about,” Jack said. “The caterers are already at the house getting ready for this evening.”

  Real tears began to stream down Anna’s face, and Jack’s concern blossomed into fear.

  “Did you hurt yourself at some point? Tell me what’s wrong, Anna.”

  She laughed, pressing her handkerchief to her face, and then hiccuped and the tears started again.

  “Anna.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just—” She drew in a deep breath. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

  * * *

  • • •

  IT WAS VERY wrong of her, but Anna quite liked the look of concern on her husband’s face. She took it as further proof of what she had come to accept over the past year: he would take care of her when she couldn’t take care of herself. Jack would stay; he couldn’t be frightened off or intimidated.

  He was looking at her now as if she were a specimen on a laboratory slide. Something odd but intriguing, a puzzle: a woman who wept and laughed at the same time.

  Then his expression shifted. She had seen this look when Jack sat down to go over the accounts and bills, adding and subtracting. Amounts due and due dates.

  “You’re late.”

  She nodded.

  “I should have realized. What, two weeks?”

  She bit her lip, and nodded again.

  “Well,” he said. He sat back and pulled her closer. “What do you know. We did it.”

  * * *

  • • •

  AT HOME ANNA stripped and climbed into the tub, submerging herself in soapy warm water. She was on the verge of sleep when Jack pulled her out, wrapped her in towels, and put her to bed. There was a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and a thick slice of buttered bread and a glass of milk. As sleepy as she was, Anna ate every bite and drank the milk without complaint. Jack sat beside her, and for once neither of them had the presence of mind to speak. There was simply too much to say.

  Finally he took the tray and got up. “Sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to get ready for dinner at Sophie’s.”

  Anna drifted off, worn out by the events of the morning and the demands of her interloper. A tyrant already, demanding sleep from her when there were so many other things to attend to.

  * * *

  • • •

  MINUTES OR HOURS later she roused at the sound of the door opening. Opened her eyes, closed them. Opened them again, and blinked. The beloved face was still there.

  “Amelie?”

  “The very same. Stay still.” Amelie sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled at her. “Aren’t you the prettiest thing, Liliane Savard. The very image of your grandmother Elizabeth. She would have been so proud of you.”

  Anna caught Amelie’s hand and sat up to hug her. “It is so good to see you,” she said. “Finally. But why now?”

  “Oscar came to fetch me and tell me about Nora Smithson. This is where I need to be. I need to see this to its end.”

  Anna could not help but frown. “But Comstock—”

  Amelie held up a hand. “Never mind about any of that just now. Tomorrow is soon enough for tomorrow’s trouble. Today there’s a party, as I understand it. At Sophie’s new house. Come, get up and ready so we can go.”

  Anna realized that for once she was looking forward to a party. Just a small group of the people she loved best in the world. They would want to hear every detail of the morning’s drama, but she found that it was Amelie she wanted to talk to.

  “How much did Oscar tell you?”

  Amelie stood at the window studying the street, and glanced back at Anna.

  “Let’s see. You and Sophie were at Hobart’s this morning and you heard odd sounds from upstairs. As impulsive as ever, you two girls, you went to investigate. Mr. Hobart hanged himself in the cellar, Nora Smithson has not spoken a word since she was arrested, Mrs. Louden claims to remember nothing of her ordeal, and Neill Graham is dying of tetanus. Still no sign of Mr. Smithson. I think those are the highlights.”

  Anna groaned into her pillow. “I don’t believe it. Nora Smithson is going to walk away from all of this.”

  Amelie came to sit on the edge of the bed. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s all too simple. Graham won’t say a word to harm his sister and he’ll be dead before he can be compelled to testify. Hobart is dead and Geoffrey Smithson is gone. Probably dead, too. Charlotte Louden’s memory has failed her, and all that means there is not one witness to testify for the prosecution.”

  “There’s the housemaid,” Amelie said. “Grace?”

  “Grace,” Anna echoed. “And who else?”

  “Seth Channing, and me,” Amelie said. “They have me.”

  Anna sat up straighter. “What about Leontine Reed? Any luck finding her?”

  Amelie pushed out a soft sigh. “Yes, but it won’t help. Leontine won’t say a word about Charlotte Louden’s history.”

  “Out of fear for her pension, or respect?”

  “I hope the latter,” Amelie said. “But I suppose the former is closer to the truth, and you can’t blame her. You really don’t need to worry, I want to testify.”

  Anna shook her head. “You put yourself in harm’s way.”

  “Wait and see,” Amelie said.

  Anna had fetched her clothes and was stepping into the overdress when Amelie came to help her, smoothing over the panels that fell away from the yoke at her shoulder blades. “This style suits you,” she said. “And you will be able to wear it until you’re near term. Don’t groan. Is it supposed to be a secret?”

  “From you? Hardly.”

  Amelie smiled. “I have spent most of my life looking after women. Including your own ma. I remember still how she laughed when you were put in her arms, she was so happy to have a girl. Your da choked up with tears running down his face, but Birdie was so full of joy she couldn’t keep it to herself.”

  She finished with the hooks that closed the overskirt and turned Anna to look her up and down. “You’ve got some of that shine to you already. By the time this child comes along you’ll be as bright as a full moon.”

  “Will you be with me?” Anna’s voice wobbled the slightest bit.

  “Of course,” she said. “We’ll all be with you. I’ll be with you, Lily and Sophie, your Mrs. Lee. I don’t doubt your ma and grandmas and aunt Hannah will be keeping watch, too. Now let’s go see Sophie. It’s been too long, and I’ve been worried about her.”

  59

  NEW YORK DAILY NEWS

  RESCUED!

  MRS. LOUDEN AND DR. GRAHAM FOUND SAFE

  ACCUSED THADDEUS HOBART DEAD BY HIS OWN HAND

  MRS. SMITHSON HELD FOR QUESTIONING

  A chance visit to Thaddeus Hobart’s bookshop on Sixth-ave. across from Jefferson Square Market is responsible for the discovery and rescue of two missing persons.

  The Drs. Anna and Sophie Savard stopped by Hobart’s bookshop yesterday morning and noted that Mr. Hobart was acting oddly. When they went in search of the books they wanted, the two ladies heard alarming noises coming from the second floor. According to the police report, the lady doctors feared that the elderly Mr. Hobart, who was unsteady on his feet, had fallen. They went to investigate.

  Instead of Mr. Hobart they discovered Mrs. Charlotte Louden of Gramercy Park, heiress to the Abercrombie shipping fortune, who has been missing for several weeks. Dr. Neill Graham, missing since April 11, was also rescued.

  There is confusion over exactly who is responsible for this crime. Police found Mr. Hobart in the cellar, where he hanged himself. This alone would seem to indicate his guilt, but suspicion has also turned to Mrs. Nora Smithson, who has been in the public eye since her broth
er and husband both disappeared. Whether or not Mrs. Smithson has made a statement to the police is unknown.

  Mrs. Louden, who could clarify many of these points, is secluded from the public and unavailable for an interview. Dr. Graham’s health has been compromised by his detention, and physicians have refused all requests for an audience with him. Neither will either of the Drs. Savard provide the public with details, at the request of the detectives investigating this case.

  Both the bookshop and the apothecary are closed pending the resolution of the investigation.

  60

  THE NEW YORK TIMES

  DEVELOPMENTS IN THE LOUDEN CASE

  KIDNAPPING AND FALSE IMPRISONMENT CHARGES

  PENDING PRELIMINARY HEARING

  DR. NEILL GRAHAM IN DECLINE

  As more information comes to the fore in the Louden and Graham kidnappings, the complexity of this case grows.

  Sources close to the investigation have suggested that Mrs. Nora Smithson was the primary agent in these and similar crimes.

  Three witnesses are thus far scheduled to testify at the preliminary hearing to begin on Monday. They are Grace Miller, a housemaid formerly of the Shepherd’s Fold; Dr. Seth Channing, a retired physician; and the midwife Amelie Savard, who has returned to the city after a long absence to provide evidence in this case. Assistant District Attorney Allen will represent the prosecution, while Abraham Hummel of Howe & Hummel is representing Mrs. Smithson.

  The two victims are not expected to be called on during the hearing. Mrs. Louden is in seclusion and her doctors are unwilling to allow her to be interviewed due to her fragile state. Dr. Graham is suffering from tetanus, a mortal disease of the nerves resulting from injuries sustained during his captivity. He is not expected to live more than a week.