City of Secrets

by Victoria Thompson

  “I’m not asking her to do that! I’m just asking her not to break the law.” Which seemed a perfectly reasonable request!

  “You make it sound very black and white.”

  “It is very black and white.”

  “To you, perhaps. But you are not a mother with two young children facing a life of poverty.”

  “I’m not planning to abandon Priscilla to her fate.”

  “Are you planning to support her for the rest of her life?”

  “Mother—”

  “Because that’s what she needs. If it were possible for her to get a job that would support her and her children, that would be different, but as far as I know, she has no training or education to make that possible. She could get a job in a factory, perhaps, and leave her children alone and unattended in a tenement, I suppose. Or, if she were very lucky, she could find a third man willing to marry her and support her and her children, except she isn’t likely to meet such a man in a tenement or a factory.”

  “All right, I surrender. Priscilla needs more help than I can give her.”

  “She needs more help than your laws can give her, Gideon. The real solution is to change the laws or at least the unwritten rules so women like Priscilla can find employment and they aren’t at the mercy of men who behave as Mr. Knight has done.”

  “I’m afraid that’s beyond my power, Mother.”

  “Yes, it is, so you need to decide what you can do that is within your power.”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to help. I intend to do everything I can.”

  “As long as it is within the law.”

  “Most mothers would be proud of a son who wants to obey the law,” he said in exasperation.

  “I am proud of you, Gideon, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “The law isn’t always fair, especially to women.”

  “I know that.”

  “I hope so.”

  * * *

  • • •

  THE NEXT MORNING, BEFORE SHE WENT OUT, ELIZABETH HAD to put cold compresses on her eyes to reduce the swelling caused by her weeping. Even then, she looked as if she hadn’t slept for a week. She settled for a veil, although she knew it wouldn’t fool the Old Man. At least people wouldn’t be staring at her in the street.

  She had to appreciate the irony of going to Dan the Dude’s Saloon in a veil, though. If she were engaged to Gideon—or married to him!—she wouldn’t dare be seen entering such a place. Now that it no longer mattered, she was discreetly covered.

  Of course, she didn’t go through the front door. She slipped down the alley to a door few even knew existed and tapped out a code on the weathered wood. After a minute or two, someone slid open a small spy panel and peered out at her. She flipped up her veil to show her face, and the door flew open.

  “Lizzie!” Spuds grinned broadly, every wrinkle in his withered face deepening with the effort. “What brings you here?”

  “I need to talk to the Old Man. Is he here?”

  “He sure is. Come on inside.” He led her down the hall, and as they entered the large room where the Old Man’s mob gathered, he called out, “The Contessa’s here!”

  Only about half a dozen men were there, but they all jumped up from their card games to greet her. When they’d finished, she turned to see the Old Man waiting his turn.

  He was as well groomed as ever, with not a hair out of place and his tailored suit looking as fresh as the carnation in his lapel. “What brings you all the way down here, Lizzie?”

  “I have a job for you.”

  He smiled at that. “Does your young man know?”

  “I don’t have a young man.”

  His eyebrows rose and his smile vanished. “Maybe you should come into my office.”

  His office was a sparsely furnished room where little actual business was discussed but where he could conduct private conversations when necessary. “I feel like I should offer you a shot of whiskey,” he remarked when he’d seated her on a threadbare sofa and sat down beside her.

  “I don’t need a shot of whiskey. I’m fine.”

  He frowned his silent disapproval of her lie. “What happened?”

  “I realized Gideon and I will never suit. That’s all. You shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “No, I shouldn’t, but . . .”

  “As I said, I have a job for you.”

  “Does it have something to do with Matthew Honesdale?”

  “As a matter of fact, it does, although it turns out Matthew Honesdale was an innocent victim.”

  “Innocent?”

  “Well, not guilty of these crimes, at least.” She told him everything they’d learned about the Honesdales and their blackmail scheme.

  “I never had much use for churches, but this story is making me question my judgment, Lizzie,” he said when she was finished. “I never dreamed there was so much potential for grifting there.”

  “Don’t get any ideas. Besides, blackmail is a long way from grifting.”

  “I’m sure many people would disagree, but I believe you are correct. So what is the job you have for me?”

  “I’d like to get Priscilla’s money back from the Honesdales. They were blackmailing Knight long before he married her, so presumably they have his money as well. You’re welcome to keep that.”

  “Unless they’ve spent it all.”

  “I don’t see any evidence of it at their house. I’m guessing they’re going to use it to run off somewhere and start some kind of new life, away from the constraints of being a minister.”

  “Or maybe they just want to keep blackmailing people and getting richer and richer.”

  “Not many people have that kind of discipline, and if they started spending a lot of money, the people in their church would notice and begin wondering where it came from.”

  “Ah yes, you’re reminding me of why I don’t like churches.”

  “Too many prying eyes. So if you find out they have a lot more money than I think, you’re welcome to that as well. I just want to see Priscilla safely settled again.”

  “Do you have any suggestions for how to approach them?”

  She smiled at that, the first time she’d smiled since last night. “I wouldn’t dream of telling you how to conduct your business.”

  “I was just wondering if you knew Reverend Honesdale’s vices. If he likes the horses or he speculates in the stock market.”

  “I doubt he does either one, although his cousin Matthew hinted he might have some blackmail-worthy appetites. The key might be the house that Knight mortgaged to Matthew Honesdale. Maybe you decide you want to buy it and approach them because of some mix-up in the names.”

  “Could Peter Honesdale be jealous of his cousin’s financial success?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised, and probably of his freedom from Peter’s father, too. If he hasn’t actually thought of it yet, you could plant the seed.”

  “I might be able to come up with something from that.”

  “And maybe . . .”

  “Maybe what?” he said when she hesitated.

  “Maybe you could find something for Jake to do.”

  The Old Man frowned. “Did you talk to him?”

  “Yes, and he did tell me he’s lost his nerve, but it could be temporary.”

  “And if it isn’t, I don’t want to find out when I need him most.”

  “I didn’t say he had to play a big part.”

  He sat back and studied her for a moment. “Why all this sudden concern about Jake? I thought you two hated each other.”

  “We don’t hate each other!” she protested.

  “Well, you never got along.”

  “Few siblings do. Didn’t you fight with Cybil?”

  “All the time. But the two of you didn’t grow
up together.”

  “Which made it worse. Did you know Jake thinks you like me the best?”

  He smiled at that. “Maybe I do.”

  “But I always thought you liked him the best, because he’s a boy and you taught him everything you know.”

  “I taught you, too.”

  “Only after I begged and pleaded and threw tantrums.”

  “You’re a girl.”

  “And he’s jealous because you married my mother, but you didn’t marry his.”

  “I couldn’t marry his mother. I was already married to yours,” he said indignantly.

  “And that makes it even worse,” she told him sternly.

  “I suppose you’re right. Is that why you feel sorry for Jake?”

  “I feel sorry for Jake because he can’t do the only thing he knows how to do well.”

  “Becoming respectable has really softened your heart, Lizzie.”

  “Becoming respectable has nothing to do with it and my heart isn’t soft. Being in jail is what made me realize that life isn’t fair for other people, too, and that I can do something about it.”

  “So you want to change the world?” he asked skeptically.

  “I want to change the part of it I live in. That’s ambitious enough. So will you help me? And if you need some incentive, Knight had a tidy little fortune before the Honesdales got ahold of him, and there’s the house, too.”

  “The house, yes, and Mrs. Honesdale was a madam.”

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  When he told her, she laughed out loud.

  * * *

  • • •

  GIDEON CONSIDERED STAYING HOME FROM THE OFFICE AFTER A sleepless night during which he thought of every argument he should have used to convince Elizabeth he was right. In the light of day, none of them seemed any more convincing than the ones he’d used, however, and if he stayed home, he’d have to listen to his mother giving him more advice on how to win Elizabeth back. So, bleary-eyed, he made his way to Devoss and Van Aken.

  Smith must have thought he was hungover and wordlessly brought him some coffee with a splash of whiskey. Gideon drank it gratefully before picking up the stack of mail Alfred had left on his desk. He disposed of most of it quickly, and then he came to an envelope from the Manchester Club. The bills for his club membership usually went to his house, and it took him a moment to realize what this must be.

  Remembering Tom’s promise to find the name of the company that had removed the gargoyles from the building, Gideon tore open the envelope and found a single sheet of paper with Tom’s best wishes and the name of a masonry company.

  From the depths of his memory, which was still fuzzy from lack of sleep, came his promise to Elizabeth to investigate DeForrest Jenks’s death. If he could prove it had not been an accident, perhaps he could at least get justice for Priscilla. She couldn’t eat justice, as Elizabeth had pointed out, but it would be something.

  He checked the address of the company and decided to walk over. The cold and the exercise were just what he needed to clear his head.

  Wilson Brothers Masonry was on the west side of the city in a large building near the river. The wind whistled down the streets and alleys, making Gideon sorry he had decided to walk, but at least he was completely awake when he arrived.

  The front part of the building seemed to be devoted to offices where, presumably, the Wilson brothers conducted the business portion of masonry, while the rest appeared to be a warehouse where the actual work took place.

  A paunchy middle-aged man greeted him from behind a counter and asked him his business.

  Gideon gave the man his card. “I’d like to speak to someone about the gargoyle that fell off the Manchester Club a little over a year ago. I’d just like some more information about why it fell,” he added hastily when he saw the fellow’s alarmed expression.

  That didn’t seem to allay the fellow’s suspicions, but he told Gideon to wait and disappeared into one of the offices, closing the door behind him. A few minutes later, someone emerged from a door that apparently led to the warehouse portion of the building. He wore work clothes and was wiping his hands on a rag as he came. He stopped short when he saw Gideon waiting, then moved more cautiously to the office the other fellow had entered. The door opened instantly at his knock and closed just as instantly behind him.

  After a few more minutes, the office door opened and the first fellow came out. “Mr. Wilson would like to see you.” He escorted Gideon into the office, where an older man in a suit sat behind a desk and the man in work clothes stood beside him. Neither of them looked happy to see Gideon.

  The man in the suit held Gideon’s card. He glanced down at it as if double-checking the name. “Mr. Bates, I’m Ezra Wilson. How can I help you?”

  He hadn’t offered Gideon a seat, so he remained standing. He’d had some time to think while he waited, and he’d realized they probably thought that, since he was an attorney, he was going to sue them or something. “I’m a member of the Manchester Club, and I wanted to find out exactly how and why the gargoyle fell off the building and if the club is in any way responsible.”

  “The club?” Wilson echoed suspiciously.

  “Yes. You’ll remember that one of our members was killed in the incident, and his widow has found herself in reduced circumstances since his death. If the club was responsible because of negligence, we should probably pay her a settlement.” That much was true, at least.

  Wilson glanced up at the man in work clothes.

  “I told them it was dangerous,” the man said. “I told them if they didn’t fix it, it was going to fall off and kill somebody.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “YOU KNEW IT WAS GOING TO FALL?” GIDEON ASKED IN WONDER.

  “This is Alden Vickery, Mr. Bates,” Wilson said. “He’s one of our masons. Tell him what you just told me, Vickery.”

  “The gargoyle, the one that fell. They sent for us to take a look at it. The gargoyles are part of the gutters and that one was clogged up. I went out and I saw some of the stone had broken off and created a dam, so I opened it back up, but the water had been standing a long time, and the iron bolts holding it to the building were rusted nearly clear through. I told them they needed to repair it or it was going to fall.”

  The hairs on the back of Gideon’s neck were standing at attention. “Who did you tell?”

  “I don’t know. Some gentleman. Said he was the club president, I think. I wanted to do it right away, but he said the club would have to vote or some such nonsense. He said they’d let us know. I tried to tell him—”

  “When was this?”

  Vickery blinked in surprise at Gideon’s vehemence. “I don’t know exactly.”

  “How long before the gargoyle fell do you think?”

  “A week or two, I’d guess. Not long.”

  “So you see, Mr. Bates,” Wilson said quickly, “Wilson Brothers is not responsible. We warned your club president or whoever he was—”

  “Yes, yes, I know. You aren’t responsible at all. Mr. Vickery, it’s my understanding that the remaining three gargoyles were removed, even though they did not appear to be in danger of falling. Is that correct?”

  “Yes. They said they didn’t want to take any chances and the other members wouldn’t feel safe until they were gone.”

  “They? Did you speak with more than one person that time?”

  “I . . . Yes, I did. It was the same fellow as the first time and some other man was with him.”

  “Do you remember what the other man looked like?”

  “I don’t know. Ordinary looking, except he was a preacher. I could tell by his collar.”

  “I see. Thank you, Mr. Vickery. And thank you for your help, Mr. Wilson.”

  “You can’t hold us responsible,” Wilson said again.

  “
I don’t, Mr. Wilson. You can rest assured of that. I know exactly who is responsible for this.”

  * * *

  • • •

  CONSULTING WITH THE POLICE WAS A BIT MORE DIFFICULT THAN dealing with Wilson Brothers Masonry. Gideon began to regret not having a background in criminal law, because he would have been much more familiar with the police department, but eventually he was directed to the correct precinct and the detective who had investigated DeForrest Jenks’s death.

  Detective O’Reilly was a jovial, red-faced Irishman almost as big around as he was tall. He suggested Gideon treat him to a beer in a nearby bar so they wouldn’t be interrupted. Gideon was only too happy to buy O’Reilly a beer or three if he could give him the information he needed.

  “Oh yeah,” O’Reilly said when they received their beers and had withdrawn to a booth. “I’ll never forget that poor sod. What a terrible way to go. And if he’d been standing a few feet away, it would’ve missed him completely.”

  “Where exactly did you find him?”

  “Under the big stone monster,” O’Reilly said and laughed heartily at his own joke.

  Gideon smiled politely. “I meant how close to the building?”

  “Of course you did. Not far away. The . . . what do you call them things?”

  “Gargoyles.”

  “Gargoyles.” He gave a little shudder. “It didn’t jump off the roof, you know. It just kind of let loose of its moorings and fell straight down from where it was.”

  “So Jenks must have been standing right next to the building.”

  “I guess so. That’s where we found him. Flat on his face and the gargoyle perched on his back, so to speak.”

  “His back?”

  “Yeah. It was almost funny. Would have been if the man wasn’t dead, I mean. It was like the man had cushioned the gargoyle’s fall, so the thing was hardly even damaged, just sitting there on him.”

  “Let me get this straight. Jenks was lying on the sidewalk, facedown, and the gargoyle was on his back.”