Living Spectres: a Chesterton Holte, Gentleman Haunt Mystery

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “I think it’s possible,” she admitted.

  “Sweet Je—” he began, then stopped himself. “Sorry. He wouldn’t be that… quixotic, would he?”

  “He might,” said Poppy.

  “If GAD does that, I hope Blessing will send another telegram to me at once. That never crossed my mind, not realistically, and now it’s going to haunt me until I have word from Blessing, or Mister Pearse.” Loring swore under his breath. “What a mess.”

  “That it is,” said Poppy. “But it’s only conjecture.”

  “For now. I should phone Pearse in a little while, before he calls me. I want to ease him through the news if I can; he tends to go off half-cocked and he doesn’t brook correction. I have to tell you, I pity the people who work for him. It’s hard enough to be doing my part of the job. If I had to answer to him, and only to him…”

  “No wonder you phoned me in advance of speaking with Pearse. Thanks,” said Poppy, wondering why she had heard nothing more from Holte; “had he played a role in any of this?” she asked herself, but could provide no answer. Surely, she thought, Holte would know what GAD had decided to do.

  “If he should phone you, will you let me know? I mean Pearse,” Loring said.

  “You’re more likely to hear from him before I do; you have the public ear, according to Mister Pearse, which he does not approve of. He believes—or he used to believe—the police should not talk about their cases with the press until the whole matter is tried in the courts, and even then, he would like to keep the police and the press apart; he’s not fond of the press,” Poppy said, beginning to feel chilly as the dampness from her body soaked into her bathrobe, or that was what she told herself it was. “Unless he’s changed on that point, he’ll want to instruct you, much the way he appears to be dealing with Blessing, and me.”

  “I’m not sure that Mister Pearse is giving Blessing hard orders, but I hope it’s not the case. Blessing works best when allowed leeway in his dealings,” said Loring. “Blessing knows what’s going on far better than the Pearses—or I—do, and it’s wise to give him free rein on this.”

  “If you can, find out if the Czechs follow through with more serious charges, and what those charges might be.” Poppy continued to feel cold growing within her. What on earth had GAD got himself into?

  “Of course. And good luck when you talk to Mister Pearse. He’s going to be in a bad mood.” Loring sighed.

  “Tell you what: I’ll phone you if I hear from him if you’ll phone me if you do,” she said, and noticed that Miss Roth was gesturing in her direction. “Hang on a minute, Loring, would you?”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Missus Sassoro would like to know when you want your breakfast,” Miss Roth whispered.

  “In twenty minutes or so. Is Aunt Esther up yet?” Belatedly she put her hand over the receiver.

  “No, not yet.” Miss Roth glanced at the clock.

  “Then make it half an hour. I don’t need to be at the paper until eight-thirty this morning.” That settled, she spoke again to Loring. “Sorry. There are a few household things…You know what it’s like.”

  “That I do,” said Loring. “If you hear anything else about GAD today, from anyone, will you let me know? Please? I won’t even ask what your source is, if it’s the reliable one you won’t reveal to me,” he hinted broadly.

  “If you like; the same applies to you,” Poppy said, trying not to sound too accommodating. “If I don’t get an assignment that takes me away from the office, I will be waiting for your call at my desk. Otherwise, I’ll call you this evening, or you may phone me, say after dinner, when we’ve both had time to unwind?”

  “I will. Thanks. Talk to you later,” Loring said, and before Poppy could make her farewells, he hung up.

  While Poppy went back up the stairs, she pondered what Loring had told her. How unlike GAD it had seemed, to hear that he had caused a ruckus at an official meeting; that was so different to the boy she remembered, who was content to pass hours by himself, spent his holidays alone in the forest, and could not bear the sight of an injured animal. She could not decide if Sherman Pearse would be pleased or disappointed to hear of it. But what had Blessing told Pearse in his telegram? Had it been as extensive as the one Blessing sent to Loring? She went into her room and closed the door, preparing to dress, but found it hard to concentrate on choosing clothes. After dithering for ten minutes—and mentally upbraiding herself for her lack of concentration—she selected an iris-colored long jacket and a slightly paler bell-shaped skirt with a trumpet hem. For a blouse, she took out one that was yellow-ochre with a double-shawl collar. She reminded herself to take her new raincoat, just in case, for there were scattered clouds in the sky. Her selections made, she began what now felt was the tedium of dressing, then putting on her very modest make-up-mascara, a little face powder, and a little lip rouge. If I were only five years younger, she thought, I might be a flapper; considering the possibilities, she realized that it was unlikely that she would break so much with tradition, or would enjoy the frenetic energy being a flapper seemed to require. Having settled that to her satisfaction, she turned her attention to the final stages of her dressing; the last thing she selected was a pair of shoes, and after careful consideration, she took out the pair of tan pumps with the princess heels; they were low enough for work, but stylish.

  From his place on the bed, Maestro regarded her with a jaundiced eye, then set to vigorous grooming of his fur.

  Going downstairs, Poppy discovered Missus Sassoro busy in the kitchen, although Miss Roth was nowhere in sight. “Oh, good morning, Miss Poppy,” she said as she caught sight of her in the doorway. “Miss Roth has gone out to the morning market for me. I’m out of spinach for dinner, and I was hoping for a few new potatoes for the soup. It’s important to get to the market early. All the best vegetables are gone in the first hour.” Behind her, the stove had three different vessels on it, each belching its own kind of steam.

  Poppy nodded to her. “Good morning Missus Sassoro. What am I going to have this morning?”

  “Your usual coddled eggs, with a pat of butter, and Miss Roth is planning to bring back some fresh-baked muffins from Fletcher’s Bakery. I expect her to return in the next ten minutes, if that’s no problem for you.” She stopped and sighed, then turned to Poppy, a look of chagrin on her countenance. “Pardon me. I’m worried for my husband. He has a growth on his back that is going to be removed on Friday, and his doctors have told me that it may mean he will not be able to continue in his work. Your aunt pays me well, but not enough to make up for the loss of his salary, if it comes to that.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that Missus Sassoro,” said Poppy with complete sincerity. “I hope that won’t be necessary.”

  “We all are Miss Poppy. I feel ashamed that I should worry about money when his life may be at stake, but I can’t help it. I have my children to think of, as well as my husband, who is a proud man, and would not like having his wife support him. Two of my sons have offered to leave school and get jobs, so their father need not continue to worry, but for now, I will not permit that. They need their education, even my two girls do, though their need is not so urgent, no matter what your aunt says. It will be some time before any of them are wholly on their own.” There were tears in her eyes; she dashed them away with the back of her hand. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “Ye gods, of course you should,” said Poppy at once. “I’m astonished that you aren’t hanging from the light fixtures, gibbering. I know I’d probably be.” This was less than the truth, but it did describe how she had felt for the eighteen months it took her mother to die.

  “You’re most kind to say that,” Missus Sassoro said as she used the edge of the dishtowel as a handkerchief.

  “Have you told my aunt about any of this?” Poppy asked.

  “Not really; it’s not her concern,” said Missus Sassoro. “Not with her leaving again so soon. I shouldn’t have told you, but it�
��s so much on my mind.” Then she changed the subject. “I’m about to put the coddler into the boiling water, Miss Poppy.” She nodded toward the saucepan on the right-front burner. “If you’ll go in and sit down, I’ll have your coffee and coddled eggs out in less than five minutes. You’ll want tomato juice, as well, won’t you? Or would you prefer something else? I have apple juice.”

  “Yes, please; tomato,” said Poppy, stepping through the open pocket doors into the breakfast nook; she sat down and turned her attention to what Missus Sassoro had told her, and tried to decide how much to pass on to Aunt Esther about GAD; not that she was worried that Esther might gossip, but with so much misinformation about GAD already being passed around, Poppy did not want to add to it. She found herself wishing that Holte were with her, to advise her, and to add his take on what she had heard. She sat down at what had become her usual place at the table, one of two laid for breakfast.

  As if he had read her thoughts, Holte came in through the south-facing window, and wafted up to her. “This is going to be a hurried visit; I want to get back to Brno to hear what the magistrates decide.” He leaned forward. “I have a message for you Poppy.”

  Poppy blinked at him. “Where have you been?” she asked, keeping her voice low so as not to draw Missus Sassoro’s attention.

  “Following the court’s hearing of GAD’s case; it’s been quite a carnival, in its Slavic way,” Holte said, coming down to stand more or less at floor level.

  “In Brno?” Poppy wanted to be certain she understood him. “The court there is taking on GAD’s case in Brno? No change of venue?”

  “Certainly, in Brno. The magistrates are listening to the Living Spectres just now, and will be doing so for a couple of hours more, so I thought I’d come and tell you what GAD has agreed to do, since he refuses to write to his family about any of this, or ask for their help directly.”

  Poppy’s misgiving increased. “What would that be?”

  “Blessing tells me GAD’s going to send you an open letter, with permission for you to print it in your paper, so everyone will know what he has done, and why; he wants to explain the reasons he has taken on the cause of the Living Spectres when so many have forgotten their suffering. He trusts to your discretion, or so he told Blessing. It took Blessing most of the morning to convince GAD that the charges that were being assembled against him would keep him in a cell for a decade at least.”

  “What sort of charges are we talking about?” Poppy asked, trying to resist the dread that was increasing within her.

  Holte would have taken a deep breath if he had had lungs. “GAD’s said he’s not going to leave the Living Spectres until they are properly settled somewhere they can be safe, but he is promising not to cause any more public disruption in Brno. That’s contingent upon the more serious charges against him being dismissed. He is willing to agree to stay out of the city with the Living Spectres, and to leave Czechoslovakia as soon as they are settled elsewhere. He will be allowed to undertake to help the Living Spectres get fair treatment when they have found a place where they can live—to assist them in their negotiations with whatever authorities are involved—assuming that those negotiations can be done in German, but not in Brno. He’s exiled from the city, and that’s not negotiable, little as GAD likes it. That’s the substance of what Blessing will be telling Mister Pearse; he’ll send you a telegram tonight or tomorrow.”

  “How is GAD, do you know that?” Poppy asked, feeling a bit breathless.

  “Somber. When he was informed that the magistrates were prepared to level a charge of attempted murder against him, GAD was deeply shocked,” Holte said.

  “Attempted murder?” Poppy shrieked softly. “How did they manage to come up with that?”

  Holte shook his head. “When the Living Spectres were marching on the magistrates’ building a few rocks were thrown, and GAD is the one accused of throwing them; the Living Spectres are known to have taken vows against committing violence, and since Americans are reputed to be rowdy, the suspicions about rocks devolve to GAD; they do not accept the account that the same group of young men who raided the Living Spectres’ camp had anything to do with the stones being thrown, although GAD insists that it was they who did. The magistrates are not persuaded; they say that it was a reckless thing to do, and might well have injured or killed people in the street.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Poppy.

  “Maybe,” said Holte, “but that’s what’s being held over his head. And the Czechs mean it: they’ll lock GAD up for as long as they can, as an example to obstreperous foreigners.” Holte moved a little closer to Poppy, his faint countenance taking on a little more definition. “Those courts aren’t like American courts; they’ll do it and think no more about it.”

  “Sherman Pearse will be enraged,” said Poppy, just in time to startle Missus Sassoro bringing in her coddled eggs and a small pot of coffee.

  “Miss Poppy?” Missus Sassoro said uncertainly.

  “I’m sorry—thinking aloud.” She smiled as best she could and moved her woven place- mat to provide easier access for the coddler.

  “My Teobaldo does that. Says it helps him decide how to do things.” She poured coffee into Poppy’s mug.

  “Your husband?” Poppy guessed.

  Missus Sassoro laughed. “No. My oldest. He’ll be fourteen in February, and doing well in school, God be thanked. I am determined that he will go to high school, and to a teachers college.”

  “What does Teobaldo think of that?” Poppy asked, her curiosity stirring.

  “He is willing,” said Missus Sassoro in a steely way. She indicated the creamer and the sugar bowl on the table. “Filled this morning as soon as I got here.”

  “And they’re most welcome,” said Poppy. “Is Aunt Esther up yet?”

  “I believe so. And Miss Roth is parking now; your muffins will be ready shortly.” She almost curtsied and went back into the kitchen.

  Holte, who had been watching this exchange from the foot of the table, looked directly at Poppy. “Would it be better if we talked in the Hudson? So you wouldn’t have to explain why you’re talking to…um…yourself?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I’ll be leaving here in fifteen minutes, right after I give Maestro his breakfast. He’s being allowed to have all his meals in the kitchen now, starting yesterday.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, and avoid him; can’t have him hissing at empty air when the staff is about,” Holte said, and sped out through the window.

  Poppy went back to her coddled eggs and was about to add a spoonful of sugar and a bit of cream to her coffee when Aunt Esther appeared in the arched door of the breakfast nook, where she paused as if surprised to see her niece at the table ahead of her.

  “Good morning,” Poppy said as her aunt pulled out her chair and sat down, a frown darkening her features. “Is anything wrong?”

  Esther was in her most formidable suit—the one she saved for public lectures and formal meetings—a charcoal worsted frock-coat with a straight skirt with a deep kick-pleat in the rear; her blouse was mauve silk with matching froths of lace at collar and cuffs. “I hope not,” she said at her most foreboding. “I have to appear before the Grants Board today. The Society will decide how much of my travels they are willing to finance, and let me know what they expect me to do for them.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I loathe having to do this every time. They don’t do it to the men after the first two or three expeditions; the explorers submit their plans and their budget, the Board reviews them, and decides how much to pay for, no fuss, no questions. I have to appear before them every time. This is the eleventh time in fifteen years. I could just spit!”

  “If you do, please use your napkin,” said Poppy with a propriety she did not feel.

  At that, Esther laughed. “Thank you,” she said, and looked over at Miss Roth, who had come to the breakfast nook door. “Nothing to worry about. My niece just made a very clever remark,” she informed her housekeeper. />
  Miss Roth kept her opinion to herself. “Shall I tell Missus Sassoro to start your breakfast now Miss Thornton?”

  “Yes, if you would, please. I’ll begin with two of those delicious-smelling muffins. With butter and blueberry preserves.” She turned back to Poppy. “That was very kind of you. I had got myself into a lather again, and that would not have helped me.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Poppy, still a bit baffled.

  Esther leaned back in her chair and raised her voice. “Missus Sassoro, may I have coffee now, before my muffins? And after that, I’d like some diced ham with shredded potatoes, if you would? I’m not in a great hurry today.”

  “Very good Miss Thornton,” Missus Sassoro called back.

  Esther dropped her napkin into her lap and smoothed the place-mat. “I don’t know what comes over me; I always tell myself to keep my resentment in check, but it comes back anyway. You’d think I’d have more self-discipline after all these years.”

  “Why?” Poppy sipped her coffee. “I haven’t got the knack of it yet; frustration is frustration, no matter what.”

  “Hiram Schippers is the worst—always implying that I’m too old and too female to go gadding about in foreign places.” Esther snorted. “No matter what my family may believe, I’ve never gadded in my life. That’s not what I’m doing, and never will be. Schippers thinks it is unbecoming of me to want to travel to remote parts of the world, and that it is his duty to stop what he calls my excesses. Pompous old fool.”

  “You certainly haven’t gone gadding,” Poppy said, and went back to her eggs. “You’ve traveled, you’ve explored—no gadding in that.”

  Missus Sassoro brought in a mug of coffee for Esther and a glass of tomato juice for Poppy, set them down, and went back into the kitchen.

  “I hope they’ll cover the cost of an aeroplane rental. I’ll use my own funds if I have to, but it looks so much better if the money comes from the National Geographic Society than out of my accounts.” Esther sighed. “They may balk at the cost of the stateroom on the Evening Star, as well. They would like it if I traveled second-class instead of first.”