“Oh, Priscilla, we’re so sorry to have to tell you this,” Mrs. Bates said quickly. “It’s such an awful betrayal, and you can’t even have the satisfaction of seeing him punished for it now.”
Tears flooded Priscilla’s lovely blue eyes, and she instinctively pulled a black-bordered handkerchief from the sleeve of her black mourning gown and dabbed at them. “I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone this much in my entire life!”
“You have a right to,” Elizabeth said before Mrs. Bates could chime in with some bunkum about Christian forgiveness. Priscilla could think about that later. Right now she needed to be angry. “And you have a right to wish him dead, but since he’s already dead, we need to think about something more practical.”
“Practical?” Priscilla echoed, thoroughly angry now. “What part of this is the least bit practical?”
“We’re going to try to find out who the blackmailer is and see if we can get him to return at least some of your money.” Elizabeth could feel Mrs. Bates’s astonished stare, so Elizabeth didn’t dare even glance at her. She kept her focus on Priscilla and her fury.
“Do they do that? Return your money?” Priscilla asked with almost comic astonishment.
“Not voluntarily,” Elizabeth said. “But they have done something criminal and probably don’t want anyone to know that.”
“Are you thinking of blackmailing the blackmailer?” Mrs. Bates asked.
“We’re thinking of asking him to do the right thing in his own best interest,” Elizabeth explained to Priscilla in answer to Mrs. Bates’s question.
“That seems . . . dangerous,” Mrs. Bates said.
“Blackmailers aren’t dangerous,” Elizabeth said with certainty, “unless they know your secrets.”
“But Endicott is dead,” Priscilla said.
That stopped Elizabeth for a moment. She really hadn’t considered Knight’s death except as the catalyst that had started their investigation. Now that she thought about it, though, it had come at a particularly significant time, just when Priscilla’s money had run out. And how had Knight died? She realized she didn’t really know any details. “Wasn’t his death an accident?”
Priscilla pursed her lips as if she’d tasted something unpleasant. “That’s what we told people. A terrible accident.”
“But you don’t think it was an accident?” Mrs. Bates said gently.
“I told myself it must have been. What else could it be? But now . . .”
“What exactly happened?” Elizabeth asked.
“He was hit by a train on Eleventh Avenue.”
“Death Avenue,” Mrs. Bates murmured.
“Yes, Death Avenue,” Priscilla said. “Because so many people have been killed by the train that runs right down the middle of the street.”
“But don’t they have the cowboy who rides in front of the train to warn people?” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, the West Side Cowboy,” Mrs. Bates said, “but somebody on a horse waving a lantern and riding far ahead of the train still doesn’t stop people from crossing in front of it if they think they can make it. Most of the people killed are children, who don’t know any better. Adults are usually more careful.”
“Yes,” Priscilla said with a trace of bitterness. “You’d think a grown man would have sense enough to be careful, but it was nearly midnight and they said he’d been drinking.”
“Midnight?” Mrs. Bates echoed.
“Midnight in Hell’s Kitchen,” Elizabeth mused as she realized in what neighborhood the accident would have taken place.
“And what on earth was he doing there?” Priscilla demanded. “He told me he was going to his club. Of course, that’s what he always said when he left every day, and I never questioned him.”
Hell’s Kitchen was home to any number of saloons and brothels and all manner of vice and depravity, which probably explained exactly what Endicott Knight was doing there, but Elizabeth wasn’t going to mention that to Priscilla.
“It could have been an accident, then,” Mrs. Bates said. “If he’d been drinking, that is.”
“Yes, and I had no reason to doubt it. Now, however, I can’t help but wonder . . .”
“Wonder what?” Elizabeth asked, wondering herself if Priscilla had come to the same conclusion she had.
She had not. “If he didn’t commit suicide.”
“Suicide?” Mrs. Bates said, obviously horrified by the idea.
“If he really had stolen all my money to pay his blackmail,” Priscilla said, “and he knew my money was gone and he had no way to get any more, well . . . I’d like to think his conscience bothered him at least a bit, but I imagine he was just in despair that he was going to be ruined.”
“So he took his own life,” Mrs. Bates said. “It’s possible, I suppose, but we’ll never know, will we?”
“Not if it was suicide, no,” Elizabeth said. But there was a third possibility, although she couldn’t imagine why a blackmailer would murder his victim. A dead victim couldn’t make any further payments. Knight wasn’t able to make more payments, of course, but did the blackmailer know that? And even if he did, why bother to kill his victim and risk discovery?
She really needed to know more about blackmail.
“I do know DeForrest’s death was an accident, though,” Priscilla hastily explained. “He didn’t have a mistress or any other dark secrets, so I know he wasn’t being blackmailed, and he certainly had no reason to kill himself.”
“No one ever suggested otherwise, did they?” Mrs. Bates asked.
“Of course not. He couldn’t possibly have done that to himself.” Priscilla dabbed at her eyes again.
“How did Mr. Jenks die?” Elizabeth asked. “If you don’t mind telling me, that is.”
“I don’t like talking about it, of course, but not because I think there’s anything suspicious. I just hate remembering that he’s gone, and for no reason. It was all so awful.”
“It was terribly tragic,” Mrs. Bates said. “And undoubtedly an accident.”
“A gargoyle, of all things,” Priscilla said bitterly.
“A gargoyle?” Elizabeth wasn’t even sure what that was.
“One of those ugly statues you see on the roofs of buildings,” Mrs. Bates said.
“Outside his club,” Priscilla said. “He was standing there on the sidewalk, probably waiting for a cab, but it was late and . . .” She had to stop when her voice broke.
“It fell off the building,” Mrs. Bates said. “The gargoyle, I mean. A huge thing, made of cement or stone or something.”
“If he’d been standing just a few feet away, it would have missed him completely,” Priscilla said. “They said he died instantly, which I suppose was a blessing, if anything about it could be called a blessing.”
“How awful” was all Elizabeth could think to say. And how convenient for Endicott Knight that a young woman of his acquaintance suddenly became a rich widow just when he was in need of a new fortune.
Was it really one of those freak accidents that happened in a city like New York, or could someone have found a unique way to quickly get rid of poor DeForrest Jenks? Dropping a stone gargoyle on someone’s head seemed like a rather risky enterprise, though. How could you be sure he’d be standing in just the right spot? Wouldn’t he hear someone prying the thing loose? Surely they were attached rather securely, or people would constantly be dodging them and the city would be littered with smashed gargoyles. Still, Elizabeth couldn’t help thinking how fortuitous Mr. Jenks’s death had been for Knight.
And she didn’t believe in luck.
CHAPTER FIVE
AS ALWAYS, THE SIGHT OF ELIZABETH IMMEDIATELY RAISED Gideon’s spirits when he arrived home and found her sitting in the parlor with his mother that evening. She jumped up and came to him, taking both his hands in hers, her eyes bright with happiness at the sight of
him.
“You’re freezing,” she said when she’d squeezed his hands. “Come over here by the fire so we can tell you about our day.”
When she had seated him in her own chair and brought over a footstool for him, and his mother had greeted him, Elizabeth perched on the arm of his chair and rested her hand possessively on his shoulder. She smelled delicious, like violets, and he slipped his arm around her waist, just to keep her from slipping off her perch. He needed to send his mother on an errand or something so he could kiss her.
“We found out some interesting things today, but first tell us if you heard from Matthew Honesdale.”
He briefly considered telling them about Albert’s experience at the brothel but thought better of it. “Yes, I did. Mr. Honesdale is going to call at my office tomorrow at two o’clock.”
“I told you he’d come if he thought he’d inherited some money,” Elizabeth said, smiling smugly.
“I will never underestimate you again, my darling girl,” he promised.
“See that you don’t. And I told your mother all about it, and she is determined to escort me to your office for safekeeping.”
Gideon managed not to wince. “Mother, do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I’m not going to see Mr. Honesdale. I’m just going to accompany Elizabeth there and back. She may need my support after this meeting.”
He couldn’t argue with that reasoning, although having yet another female for whose well-being he felt responsible so near Matthew Honesdale made him more than slightly nauseated. “I’m sure Mr. Devoss will be happy to entertain you, Mother.”
“Oh dear, I didn’t think of that. I don’t suppose we can afford to offend your employer, can we?”
“More importantly, you don’t want to break his heart. He asks about you often. We should probably have him for dinner.”
“What a wonderful idea. We could invite Mr. Miles, too, and make a party of it.”
Elizabeth looked slightly panicked. “I hope you two are joking.”
“Mother never jokes about her social obligations, do you, Mother?”
She shook her head in mock despair. “Elizabeth, tell him what we learned from Priscilla today.”
“You went to see Mrs. Knight?” he asked in surprise.
“I knew she would be worrying about what you had discovered from the papers I brought you to look at, so I thought we should at least tell her something.”
“You didn’t tell her about . . .” He caught himself and glanced warily at his mother.
“Your mother knows everything, no thanks to you,” Elizabeth said. “She’s much more worldly than you give her credit for.”
“You didn’t show her the photograph,” he said in dismay.
“How could I? You have it locked away.”
“Oh, that’s right. Such a wise move on my part.”
“She wouldn’t even describe it to me,” his mother said, pretending to pout.
“You don’t need to be any more worldly than you already are, Mother.”
“So your mother knows everything,” Elizabeth said. “And no, we did not tell Priscilla about the photograph. I thought she should know Mr. Knight was being blackmailed, though.”
“Didn’t she want to know why?”
“Of course she did. I told her we thought he had a mistress.”
“Didn’t she want to know who this mistress was?”
“But we don’t know ourselves, just as we don’t know who the blackmailer is, so we couldn’t tell her anything. But now she knows what happened to her money and why it’s unlikely we’ll get any of it back.”
“Elizabeth did say you were going to try, though,” his mother said.
“Was that a good idea?” he asked Elizabeth, knowing full well it was a horrible idea.
“I couldn’t leave her without hope, but she knows it’s unlikely.”
He studied her beautiful face for a long moment. Usually, he was so taken with her beauty that he didn’t notice anything else, but this time . . . “You don’t really think it’s unlikely.”
“I need hope, too.”
Now he was nauseated again. “You really think you can get her money back, don’t you?”
“Oh, Gideon, how could we possibly do that?”
“I don’t have the slightest idea, but I have a feeling you do.”
“You know I’ve spent a good portion of my young life studying ways to take money from people.”
“Not from blackmailers. They’re too dangerous.”
“I’m sure you’re right. It would be much too dangerous to take money from a blackmailer.”
Gideon frowned. She’d agreed much too easily. “Did you just say it would be too dangerous to take money from a blackmailer?”
“Yes, I did. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I am pleased.” Then why didn’t he feel pleased?
“Isn’t that what I should have said? Your mother has been so patient, helping me learn how a respectable lady is supposed to act, and I thought for sure I should agree with you just then. Wasn’t that the right thing to do?”
“Of course it was. You should always . . .” Always what? Agree with her husband? He wasn’t her husband yet, and even if he were, should she always agree with him? Well, when he was right, surely, and wasn’t he always thinking of her best interests?
“I should always what?” she asked.
“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he said lamely.
“And no one can fault you for that, my dear,” his mother said so sweetly he had to look at her to make sure she really meant it.
He needed to change the subject. “Does Priscilla know about Matthew Honesdale?”
“Of course not. We agreed not to tell her yet, remember?” Elizabeth said. “I just told her you were investigating.”
“Good.”
Elizabeth smiled at his praise. Or at something.
“We also found out some interesting things about Mr. Knight’s death,” his mother said.
“His death?”
“Yes, do you remember how he died?”
“Some sort of accident, I thought.”
“He was run over by a train on Death Avenue,” Elizabeth said a little too gleefully for Gideon’s peace of mind.
“You hardly ever hear of people getting run over there anymore,” he said. “Doesn’t that cowboy scare them off?”
“He tries, I’m sure, but people in a hurry will take chances,” his mother said. “And apparently, Mr. Knight had been drinking.”
“And it was midnight, so it was also dark,” Elizabeth said. “If you’re going to get run over by a train, I think those circumstances would be perfect for it.”
“Do you think he wanted to get run over by a train?” Gideon asked in amazement.
“Priscilla thinks it’s possible,” Elizabeth said. “It occurs to me that someone might have pushed him, but I think Priscilla may be right about suicide. Think about it. He had already used up his entire fortune paying blackmail, and he’d managed to save himself once by marrying Priscilla practically against her will. Then he’d used up all of her money. Short of committing bigamy, he had no prospects for refilling his coffers, so he would be unable to continue paying the blackmailer to keep his secrets.”
“Most men in that situation would probably choose to end their lives rather than face the scandal and humiliation of exposure,” his mother added.
Gideon wanted to refute the claim that most men would choose suicide, but since he was unlikely to ever find himself in that situation, he really couldn’t judge. “I suppose suicide is more likely than murder, too. A blackmailer isn’t likely to kill the goose laying the golden eggs, even if he was temporarily out of gold.”
“And the timing is suspicious as well,” Elizabeth said. “Just when he’
d exhausted Priscilla’s fortune, he receives the photograph in the mail with a note reminding him of his indiscretions. He must have been desperate.”
“And whom could he turn to for help without revealing the very secret he was trying to keep?” his mother added.
“Poor devil,” Gideon said.
Elizabeth gave a very ladylike snort. “The only ‘poor’ person in this mess is Priscilla.”
“You’re right, of course. She’s the one who deserves our sympathy,” Gideon said quickly.
“We also discussed her first husband’s death,” Elizabeth said, apparently placated. “Did you know he was killed by a gargoyle?”
“Yes, I’d forgotten about that. There was quite a bit of outrage when it happened.”
“Why?”
“Because it happened at the club. We belonged to the same club, DeForrest and I. There was an official inquiry about how the building was being maintained. A lot of the members were worried they’d be the next to go if one of the other sculptures fell.”
“Did they find that the other sculptures were also loose?”
“As a matter of fact, they didn’t. They all seemed quite secure, but we had them removed just the same.”
“A very good idea,” his mother said.
“Didn’t anyone think it odd that Mr. Jenks just happened to be standing there when it fell?” Elizabeth asked.
“Everyone thought it odd,” Gideon said, remembering. “Especially because he’d stayed so late that night. It wasn’t his habit, you see. He also seemed a little drunk, which also wasn’t his habit. No one remembered exactly when he left, but he must have been the last one to go that night.”
“Why would he have been standing on the sidewalk?”
“Waiting for a cab to go by, probably. That’s what everyone said must have happened. There aren’t many cabs that late, though, and if he was drunk, he might not have realized how long he’d been waiting or that he should walk down to a busier street or even give up and take a trolley or the El.”
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