“I’ve never had a woman deliver before,” she murmured before turning back. “Jason, come see. There’s a woman bringing candy to the house.”
A robust young man appeared. He looked to be a houseboy, hardly old enough to be out of school. He took the crate from Camri. “I love candy.”
“Well, it isn’t for the likes of us,” the young woman declared.
The houseboy laughed. “One of the boxes could fall and just happen to spill out. The master wouldn’t want it then.”
“Get those to the kitchen and stop talking nonsense.” The woman turned back to Camri and frowned before reaching into her pocket. She drew out a small coin purse. “If he doesn’t improve, he’ll be fired before Christmas.”
Camri thought of a dozen things she might say but declined them all. She took the few coins the woman offered and headed back to the carriage. People were funny. Under different circumstances, she might have come to this house as a guest and been waited upon by the same young woman and boy. There would have been no conversation between them, and certainly no voicing of opinions.
She climbed back into the carriage and put the horse in motion. She couldn’t help but dwell on the matter as she made her way along the avenue of the wealthy. While working at the factory, she’d been able to forget about such concerns as social standing. Where a person lived and where they intended to take entertainment for the evening seemed very unimportant in light of struggling to feed a family.
Back in Chicago, Camri had often lectured younger women on the importance of education and securing for themselves the ability to master their own destinies. With God’s help, of course. She was never one to believe a person could do anything without divine guidance. Her students, mostly daughters of upper-middle-class working fathers, had received her wisdom with rapt attention. The times were changing, after all, and women would soon have the right to vote. After that, who knew what rights they might be able to secure for themselves?
But what of the poor who had no hope of leaving low-paying jobs in order to attend school? Most employers wouldn’t be as generous as her father had been. Most employers had little desire to see their workers educated. An educated man was dangerous. He would get ideas about how to better his situation. An educated man or woman would soon be discontent and demand more.
Camri thought of Patrick and his sister. Had either of them been allowed an extended education, they might not now be living in poverty. Not that there was anything wrong in being a contractor, but a college education might have allowed Patrick the knowledge to protect his holdings.
But he’s Irish.
There were a great many people who felt the Irish were worthless and should be forced back to Ireland. There were an equal number who’d been fighting for years to force the Chinese back to China. There was no desire in people in positions of authority to allow these groups to better themselves. She’d often seen signs in Chicago declaring, Irish and Jews need not apply!
Patrick and his sister would have had a hard time getting anyone to allow them a better education. If they’d been rich, their heritage might have been overlooked, but as the children of a common contractor, she doubted they would have changed the hearts and minds of very many people.
She tried to keep her mind on the increasing traffic, but thoughts of Patrick and Ophelia wouldn’t leave her. She found herself heading in the direction of their neighborhood almost before she realized what she was doing. Judith and Kenzie would think her mad for venturing alone into a place deemed so dangerous, and Mr. Lake would be furious at the delay of her return. Patrick would probably admonish her as well, but none of that deterred her. Let them all have their say and their worries. She wanted to check on Ophelia and see how she was feeling.
After passing through the better parts of town, Camri made her way along the same route she’d walked with Patrick. Although she’d only been there a couple times, the sights were familiar. She’d always been one to note landmarks and oddities, and this time it was to her benefit. By the time she turned onto Patrick’s street, she felt pleased with her decision. She’d arrived safely and on her own.
But then she saw the black crepe hanging from the front door of the building where the Murdocks lived.
For a moment Camri wasn’t sure she could draw breath. She stopped the horse and set the brake, unsure what to do. She knew without being told that the crepe was there for Ophelia.
Tears came to her eyes at the thought of that sweet, gentle woman passing away. She wondered how long ago it had happened and how Patrick had taken the news. A sob broke from her throat and without a thought as to what the people around her might think, Camri buried her face in her gloved hands and cried.
It was probably foolish. Someone might come along and take advantage of her, but still Camri couldn’t help herself. She felt a deep loss for this woman she barely knew. Life seemed suddenly so overwhelming. Ophelia was dead. Caleb was still missing, and she had no more idea of where he was now than when she’d arrived a month ago.
“Camri?”
When she first heard Patrick speak her name, she thought herself imagining it. But when he said it again, she looked up. He stood beside the carriage, looking at her as if she were some ghostly figure. She barely maintained control as she whispered his sister’s name.
“Aye.”
She burst into tears anew. Patrick climbed into the carriage and pulled her into his arms. Camri sobbed against his well-worn coat. She didn’t care that she was making a public display of her grief and familiarity with Patrick. He didn’t seem to care either.
He was sympathetic and tender and all the things she needed in that moment. Things she’d convinced herself she didn’t need in life. All of her strongholds of self-created strength dwindled, and in the wink of an eye, Camri felt more vulnerable than she’d ever known. Nothing in her education had prepared her for this rush of emotions.
Finally, after a long while, she straightened. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry.” She was barely able to speak.
“Aye.” His soft Irish brogue very nearly sent her into another fit of tears.
“I . . . wish—I wish you would have sent . . . me word.” She drew a deep breath. “When?”
“The night before. We buried her today.”
Camri straightened and wiped her eyes with the back of her coat sleeve. Patrick reached inside his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to hand her.
“Thank you.” She dabbed her eyes and wiped her nose. “I don’t know what came over me. I suppose the shock of it all.” He still had his arm around her shoulders, and Camri didn’t even try to move away. “I wanted to stop by and see her. That’s why I’m here.”
“Ye shouldn’t have come alone.” There was no real chastisement in his tone, and the look on his face told Camri he was glad she was there.
“I had to make deliveries to Nob Hill for Mr. Lake. This is his carriage, and I’m sure he’s half frantic, wondering where I am.”
“Why don’t I drive ye back?”
She nodded and handed him back his handkerchief. “Please.”
He pushed her hand away. “Keep it in case ye need it again.” He picked up the reins and freed the brake. “Get on with ye now.” He slapped the lines, and the gelding set off.
Camri couldn’t begin to think of what she could say to offer comfort. Patrick and his sister had been every bit as close as she and Caleb were. What if it were Caleb who had died instead? What words of comfort would she want to hear?
They rode in silence as Camri pondered the matter. There was really nothing she could say or do that would prove her sadness any more than the tears she’d already shed. To try to say anything flowery or poetic would be a waste, and to offer religious platitudes might even offend.
“Is it silly to say that I loved your sister? I know I only just met her a short time ago, but there was something about the way she touched my heart that leaves me unable to put it any other way.”
“’Tis not silly at all. Sh
e loved ye too. She even thought of ye like a part of our family.”
Camri nodded. “I’m so glad. I would want her to.”
The traffic and noise increased around them as they neared the factory. A freight wagon narrowly missed clipping them as it came around from the right and decided to turn left in front of them. Patrick reined back the horse and reached out to keep Camri from flying forward at the same time.
“There goes a man determined to meet his Maker,” Patrick muttered.
A young boy hawking papers up and down the sidewalk drew closer. It was only then that Camri made out the words he shouted. “Extra! Extra! Henry Ambrewster murdered!”
She felt a cold sort of electricity start in her toes and flood through her body. She began to shake uncontrollably.
Patrick immediately understood. He pulled the wagon to the curb and motioned to the boy. “Give me a paper.” He flipped him a coin.
The boy handed up the paper and went on with his declaration. Patrick scanned the front page.
“It says he was shot in his office.” He was quiet for a moment. “I’m thinkin’ it would have happened just after our meetin’.”
“What?” Camri looked at him and shook her head. “What meeting?”
“He sent me a message to come to his office. I went to see what he wanted.”
“And what did he want?”
“To know what I knew about Caleb.” Patrick shoved the paper at her and grabbed the reins. He slapped them and glanced over his shoulder as he pulled them into the city traffic.
“I don’t understand any of this. How could he be dead? Who would even want him dead?” Camri asked.
Patrick’s face had gone pale. He clenched his jaw tight, but she could see a slight tic in his cheek. What was wrong with him? Then it dawned on her. He’d gone to see Ambrewster. Someone might have seen him there.
Without thinking, she put her hand on his arm. “They can’t think that you did it.”
He shook his head. “They can think what they will.”
“But I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
He glanced at her, still shaking his head. “If anyone saw me there, I doubt it’ll matter much what ye’re thinkin’.”
CHAPTER
19
Camri directed Patrick to where he could park the horse and carriage, then allowed him to help her down. Her mind churned like clouds in a summer storm.
“I’ll be takin’ my leave of ye.” Patrick started to walk away.
“Wait.” Camri wanted to ask him about Ambrewster and confront him about his work for her brother, but she knew it wasn’t the right time. “Come share supper with us tonight . . . please.”
He looked as if he might say no, but then finally nodded. “Aye. I’d be glad to.”
“Come any time after six.” She glanced at the factory entrance. “We should be home by then.”
“I’ll be there.”
She watched him walk down the alleyway. When he disappeared around a corner, she finally headed into the building.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Kenzie declared as Camri stepped into the office.
“What’s wrong?”
“One of the machines went down, and Cousin George is convinced there’s a conspiracy against him.” Kenzie rolled her eyes. “I honestly don’t know how he manages to keep from having a heart attack. He’s been ranting and raving almost the entire time you’ve been gone.”
“Is there anything to be done about it?”
Kenzie shook her head. “If there is, I don’t know what it would be. He’s had to stop production in order to tear the machine apart and see what the trouble is. He’s questioning each and every workman to see what they might know.” She nodded toward Camri’s hand. “Is that today’s newspaper?”
Camri glanced down and remembered all that she’d just learned. “It is. Henry Ambrewster has been murdered.”
Kenzie paled. “When?”
“Yesterday. Someone went to his office and shot him.” Camri tossed the paper atop Kenzie’s desk. “Not only that, but I went to see Patrick and Ophelia.” She bit her lower lip as tears blurred her vision. She drew a deep breath. “Ophelia died the same day as Mr. Ambrewster.”
“Oh, my. I am sorry.” Kenzie put her arm around Camri. “Do you need to sit?”
“No.” Camri pulled out Patrick’s handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “I don’t think it would help. I’m completely stunned by all of this. I was in such a state that Patrick had to drive me back to the factory.”
“I’m glad. It’s dangerous enough to drive without such an enormous distraction.”
Camri ignored her comment. “I invited him to join us for supper. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Patrick Murdock? No, I don’t mind. I think he enjoys our company—especially yours.” Kenzie moved away as the office door opened.
Mr. Lake flew into the room like a crazed sparrow seeking refuge. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news, Miss Coulter. We are at a standstill until the machine can be fixed. My Christmas orders are doomed. I can’t possibly hope to fill my orders now. We’ve been sabotaged once again.”
Camri knew that nothing she said would matter. She pulled off her gloves and stuffed them in her coat pocket, then began to unbutton her coat while Mr. Lake continued with his rant.
“I knew it was too good to be true. I knew the police were wrong about the break-in being nothing more than random thievery.” He went to the filing cabinet and opened the top drawer, muttering as he pulled out first one folder and then another. “I am ruined. Plain and simple. I am ruined.”
A knock sounded on the office door. Kenzie went to open it and admitted one of the men who worked for her cousin.
“Sir, we’ve repaired the problem,” the workman announced. “It was just a piece that had come loose and detached itself. The safety mechanism stopped the machine before it could do any damage.”
Lake tossed down the folder he’d just pulled. “It’s fixed? We’re up and running again?”
The man nodded. “Yes. Come see for yourself.”
Without another word, Lake rushed past them and out the door. The workman looked at Kenzie, gave a quick shake of his head, then followed his boss.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Camri said, taking off her coat. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything serious.”
“This time,” Kenzie replied. She went to pick up the folder.
“Do you really suppose someone is trying to sabotage your cousin’s work?” Camri hung up her coat. “I know we’ve talked about this before, but it doesn’t seem to be an issue that we’ll be rid of anytime soon.”
“I wrote my mother about it, and she replied that Cousin George has always been this way about most things in life. He’s always been certain someone is out to do him in.”
“But why?”
Kenzie shrugged. “No one has an answer for that. He had a very quiet upbringing. His father was a farmer, and there was no intrigue to speak of. Mother thinks Cousin George thrives on dramatics for some reason. She says he’s mostly harmless in his fears and worries, and she suggested we humor him when we can and ignore him otherwise.”
“So his fears of being sabotaged are probably just his imagination running wild?”
“That is Mother’s opinion on the matter.” Kenzie put all of the folders back in the file cabinet. “And we obviously haven’t seen any proof to suggest otherwise.”
“Well, I’m glad it was something that could be easily repaired. As for humoring Mr. Lake, I’m not at all certain that’s wise. He has his notions, and I’ve seen things like this before. He’ll either spend the rest of his life fretting and looking under every rock to find his spy, or he’ll kill himself—or possibly someone else—trying to prove his plight.”
“I’m afraid you may be right.” Kenzie looked at the door to the factory. “I’ve tried to reason with him, explain that he’s doing quite well for himself and that the factory is in good order. He has reliable workers and a stron
g clientele, but that only serves to strengthen his resolve that the other chocolatiers will want to see his demise.”
Camri fished the delivery list from her coat pocket and took it to Kenzie. “I suppose we shall just have to endure. Things are bound to calm after the holidays pass.”
“I can barely believe Christmas is in four days.” Kenzie took the list. “Were all the deliveries made?”
“Yes, and everyone seemed happy.” Camri wished she could share that feeling. With all that was going on around her, she felt a growing despair. She squared her shoulders. There was nothing to be done about any of it at the moment. “I’d best get back to helping Judith. She’s no doubt overwhelmed.”
Patrick sat in Caleb’s front room, admiring the Christmas tree the girls had decorated, as Judith regaled them with Christmas carols. Camri said the tree had come from Henry Ambrewster, which reminded Patrick of his meeting with the lawyer. Ambrewster had been angry at his lack of trust, but given what had happened, Patrick was glad he’d said very little. He only hoped that Ambrewster had managed to hide Caleb’s book of notes before he was attacked.
Attacked alone in his office. Murdered. There were no clues as to who had committed the act, or so the article in the paper said, but Patrick couldn’t shake the feeling that Ruef was setting him up again.
When Kenzie moved to sit next to Judith at the piano, Camri came to sit beside him. “Doesn’t she play beautifully?”
Judith looked up to smile. “I’d play so much better if you would all sing.”
Camri shook her head. “I’m content to listen. Your playing reminds me of my brother.”
Judith’s expression became sympathetic. “I hope that’s a good thing. I can stop, if you like.”
“No,” Camri said, shaking her head. “It is a good thing. It’s almost like having him with us.”
Judith smiled and began to play “Silent Night.” Patrick did his best to remain stoic. This song had been his mother’s favorite as well as Ophelia’s.
In Places Hidden Page 17
