Time of Fog and Fire

by Rhys Bowen

  Bridie stood in the doorway, her arms laden with bags. “Where should I put these?” she asked.

  “Oh, just leave them in the hall,” Gus said. “Thank you so much, Bridie dear.”

  “I’d better go back,” I said. “I’ve dinner cooking and Liam in there alone. But when you’re settled I have something I have to show you.” Then I added, “I’m making a big hot pot. I’ll bring some over when it’s done, so that you don’t have to worry about cooking.”

  “How kind of you, Molly.” Sid held out her hand to me. “I can tell you I’m not going to find it easy being an invalid. But this leg hurts like billy-o when I try to move. A compound fracture, the doctor called it. So rest is really the only cure.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of you,” Gus said, putting her hand on Sid’s shoulder.

  I went back across the street and finished preparing the meal. Then I fed the children, swallowing back my impatience, and it was only when I finally carried over a bowl of the hot pot for Sid and Gus that I brought the letter with me.

  “You said you have something to show us?” Sid said, holding out her hand for the piece of paper I held. “Something good?”

  “A letter from Daniel. But it can wait. You should eat while the food’s still hot.”

  “Of course not,” Sid said. “I can see that you’re dying to show us this letter. Good news, I hope?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. I handed it to Sid, and Gus came to perch on the arm of the sofa to read it over her shoulder. I saw their expressions change as they read it.

  “Well!” Sid looked up as she finished reading. “I am quite lost for words. One can only conclude that your husband has lost his mind.”

  “Or that he was very drunk at the time?” Gus suggested. “How insulting, Molly. Why would Daniel say those things?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it all day,” I said. “At first I was angry. I thought he’d written such a letter because he wanted to somehow impress the company he was with to demonstrate that he was the man of the house and I was just the little wife. But then I decided that was not like Daniel one bit.”

  “No, I have to admit that Daniel has always treated you with more respect than most husbands would,” Sid said. “He didn’t even forbid you to continue with your detective work, although he did try to persuade you to stop.”

  “So what does it mean?” I asked. “None of it makes sense. Daniel is not one for writing long, flowery letters, for one thing. Even when I was away in Paris and he was worried about me he only wrote a few lines. ‘All is well here. Please give Liam a kiss from me.’ That’s about it.”

  “And that sentence about the opera,” Gus said. “You have never been to the opera together, have you?”

  “Never,” I said.

  “And the embroidery,” Sid said with indignation. “When have you ever done embroidery?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “I have come to the conclusion that he must have written all those ridiculous things for a reason. Either he was being watched as he wrote or he thought there was a danger of his letter being read so he wanted to convey a false impression for some reason.”

  “Or?” Sid looked up at me.

  “Or he thought he was being funny, maybe?” I suggested. “He thought his ridiculous statements would make me laugh?”

  “But they didn’t. They made you annoyed,” Gus said.

  “That’s true.”

  We stared at the sheet of paper in silence.

  “I suppose it really is Daniel’s handwriting?” Gus said at last. “Someone else didn’t write the letter to give the false impression that Daniel was in California?”

  “I’m sure it’s his handwriting,” I said. “It’s neater and less of a scrawl than usual because he’s always in a hurry. But I think I’d swear that he wrote it.”

  “Then he wrote it for a reason,” Sid said.

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking. Daniel never does things impulsively. He thinks them through. So I’m wondering if he’s trying to tell me something—some kind of hidden message.”

  “Much of what he says is the exact opposite of the truth.” Sid was frowning now as she stared at the letter. “The opera. The embroidery. Even your sweet and gentle nature. All lies.”

  “I can be sweet and gentle if I put my mind to it,” I said hotly.

  They exchanged a knowing smile. “But it wouldn’t be the usual description of your temperament, would it?” Gus asked.

  I paused, staring at the sheet of paper. “Do you think he’s trying to tell me that he’s in some kind of danger?” I asked. “If so, why not write a note in secret and slip out to mail it?”

  “Unless he’s being watched or even guarded,” Gus said.

  I shuddered. “A prisoner, you mean?”

  Another silence followed while the three of us digested this thought.

  “I think.” Sid cleared her throat. “I think that he wants you to go out to California.”

  “Go out to California? How do you interpret the letter that way?” I asked.

  “He stresses how much he misses you, how you would enjoy the scenery. Then he says what a pity it is that you can’t travel because you are too frail. We all know that you are not too frail and could easily travel. And to emphasize the point he goes on about the opera and embroidery, both of which are the opposite of the truth. Ergo—he knows you are not too frail to travel and wants you there.”

  “Holy Mother of God,” I exclaimed. “You really think that?”

  “Don’t you?” Sid looked up at me.

  “I suppose it’s possible.” I stared at the letter again, willing its message to come clear to me.

  “You know Daniel. You said yourself that if he wrote anything it would be for a good reason,” Sid went on, warming to her subject now. “He says he’s been well looked after, entertained. Is that meaning that he can’t get away to have time on his own or even that he’s being watched every minute?”

  “But what could I do if I went out to him?” I was trying to stay calm but it was hard to get the words out. The thought that buzzed around inside my head was that my husband might be in terrible danger and it might be up to me to rescue him, which was absurd.

  “You’ll find out when you get there, presumably,” Sid said.

  “But if he’s in danger, why not simply leave, or write to Mr. Wilkie to send out reinforcements?”

  “If he’s virtually a prisoner, how could he write to Mr. Wilkie?” Gus said. “And presumably if he’s on some kind of spy mission he won’t be using his true name or credentials.”

  “Oh, dear,” I said. “So you really think I should go out to him? All the way to California?”

  Sid nodded. “I really think so. Don’t you, Gus?”

  Gus looked more hesitant. “If Daniel is currently in danger, why would he want to subject Molly to the same risks? If anything, he’d want to make sure she was safe. I think he’s giving her the details of where he is and who he is staying with so that if anything happens to him, at least Molly will know.”

  “Don’t say that, please,” I said. “Do you think he wants me to contact Mr. Wilkie for him? Should I send on the letter to Mr. Wilkie so that he can come to the rescue?”

  “I still think he wants you there,” Sid said firmly. “I know it’s a frightfully long journey but why else would he have said that he’s sorry you were too frail to travel with him? He’d have had no need to say such a thing if he just wanted you to know he was in San Francisco. In fact he could have stopped after the first paragraph. He goes on to tell you things that aren’t true, Molly, so that you’ll see that all his statements are the reverse of what he says. That means you are strong enough to travel and he wants you there.”

  “I just wish I knew,” I said. “I need to think.”

  “Of course you do,” Gus said gently. “Go home and sleep on it. We may all have more insights in the morning.”

  I nodded. “Yes. That’s what I’ll do. Maybe Daniel
will come to me in a dream tonight and then I’ll know.”

  But he didn’t. I hardly slept at all that night. I tossed and turned. I sat up and stared out of the window at the dark street, listening to the distant noises of the city. I ran my hand over the cold spot on the bed where Daniel usually slept. Now that Sid had spoken the words out loud I realized that she was voicing my deeply hidden fears—that Daniel was in danger. That for some reason he could not tell me the truth in a letter. And that he wanted me to go to him.

  In the morning I awoke from troubled slumber, bleary-eyed, and with my head throbbing and in truth no clearer as to what my decision should be. Should I send a telegram to Mr. Wilkie? But if Daniel wanted me to do that, why hadn’t he hinted at it in the letter? He could have made some veiled comment about our dear friend John and how I must give him my best regards when I speak to him. I would surely have picked up on that. But then so might Daniel’s nebulous captors, whoever they might be.

  That was the trouble. I did not know the nature of his assignment. Was he dealing with foreign spies? Anarchists? Criminals? All I knew was that he was staying with a Mrs. Rodriguez who was a doyenne of San Francisco society in a mansion above a sea of fog. It all sounded eminently respectable. Maybe he was really having a good time and we were completely misinterpreting the nature of this letter.

  But if he wasn’t? a small voice whispered in my head. Why had he regretted I was too frail to travel? Sid had to be right. Daniel wanted me out there with him. I picked up the letter that lay on my bedside table. I even held it up to the early morning light. All I noticed was that Daniel had written the name “Caruso” extra forcefully. Even underlined it. Well, of course that made sense. Caruso’s arrival was big news. The preparations had even been shown here in a movie theater. Then I noticed that he had also highlighted the word “opera” in a similar way. And the word “myself.” And “embroidery.” There was nothing really out of the ordinary about this. Daniel often wrote in the same forceful manner with which he spoke. He did sometimes underline words. I went downstairs to Daniel’s desk and wrote down the four words. “Caruso.” “Opera.” “Myself.” “Embroidery.”

  “Holy Mother of God,” I said out loud. The first letters spelled out the word “COME.”

  Seven

  I packed Bridie off to school and waited with impatience to share what I had discovered with Sid and Gus. Was I reading too much into those four words? But then why hadn’t Daniel emphasized other, equally important words? Why would he have stressed the word “embroidery”? But for that matter why would he ever have mentioned embroidery? It had always been one of our jokes that he had not married a quiet little miss who sat at home with her embroidery. A private joke. So he was saying, “You and I both know that you never do embroidery. So I want you to take everything I say in this letter as the opposite.”

  And as Sid had pointed out: you are not too frail to travel. Therefore you should travel.

  I believe my hand shook a little as I held the letter. A journey to California was a huge undertaking. Several days on the train with a lively toddler. Clearly I couldn’t leave him behind. And what about Bridie? Should I take her with me to help with Liam? But it would not be fair for her to miss her schooling and certainly not fair if I was heading into danger. And then there was the money. We had a small amount put away in savings. We were not destitute. Daniel would inherit a property in the country from his mother one day. But a trip to California and who knows how long a stay in a hotel would certainly eat into those savings.

  I just wished Daniel’s message had been clearer. If he had written to say, “My dear wife, I miss you. Please take the next train out to be with me,” I would have known what was expected of me. Now I worried that I’d arrive in California only to have Daniel say, “What in God’s name possessed you to come out here when I’m in the middle of an assignment? You could be putting my work in jeopardy. Please take the next train home.”

  I was relieved when Gus tapped on my front door to say she’d just returned from the bakery and I should come to have coffee with them. I picked up Liam and carried him across the street, noticing how heavy he had become lately. How would I manage with such a lively youngster on a train and in a strange city?

  Sid was sitting propped up on the sofa again. She looked rather hollow-eyed and held out a languid hand to me. “Molly, how are you? You look about as tired as I feel. I hardly slept a wink all night with the pain in this wretched leg, and I’m sure you didn’t sleep much either.”

  “You’re right,” I replied. “I was awake and worrying most of the night. But I think I might have discovered something that confirms everything you said, Sid.”

  I came over to her and handed her the letter. Gus came over to join us, peering over Sid’s shoulder. “Notice there are four words that are heavily written and even underlined?”

  “I see that ‘Caruso’ is emphasized,” Sid said. “Well, that makes sense. Obviously Daniel is impressed that Caruso is to visit San Francisco. Oh, and the word ‘opera’ is also stressed. And ‘myself’. And ‘embroidery.’”

  “Look at their first letters,” I said.

  “They spell ‘come,’” Sid said, her voice no louder than a whisper. She looked up first at Gus and then at me. “How clever of you, Molly. And now you know that I was right. He does want you with him.”

  “I’m afraid I have to agree now,” I said. “But what a huge undertaking. Obviously I can’t leave Liam behind.”

  “We would look after him for you,” Sid said.

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask that of you,” I replied. “He’s into everything these days as you know very well. A real handful. And you need looking after yourself.”

  “How stupidly inconsiderate of me,” Sid said. “If I hadn’t had that ridiculous fall, then we could have taken the train to California with you. You heard us say that we were longing to visit the West Coast. We would have had a wonderful adventure together. But as it is…”

  “As it is you can’t travel,” I finished for her. “But you know, I was wondering whether Bridie could stay with you? I would hate to take her out of school when she’s doing so well and enjoying it so much, even though I’m sure she’d be a big help to me on the train. And you know she’s no trouble. She can help around the house and run errands for you.”

  “Of course she can stay with us,” Gus said. “And you’re quite right. You should not interrupt her schooling. I’ve been so impressed at how quickly she’s making progress.”

  “Like a little sponge,” Sid agreed. “Loves to read. She can work her way through our library.”

  I sighed. It seemed that every obstacle was being removed from my path. I was going to have to go to California whether I liked it or not.

  * * *

  It was only when I had taken down my valise from the top of the wardrobe and was thinking about what to pack that I remembered Mrs. Endicott. If I was now really going to San Francisco, perhaps I could undertake to find her husband and report back on him. Perhaps I could even persuade her to come with me. I would dearly appreciate company on that long train journey. I bundled Liam into his buggy and set off for her house. I was shown into her back parlor, where she was lying on the chaise longue, a rug over her, and clearly still in her night attire.

  She held out a hand to me. “My dear Mrs. Sullivan. How good of you to call. And dear little Liam too.”

  “You are unwell?” I asked as I pulled up a chair to sit beside her, holding Liam firmly on my lap as he squirmed to be put down.

  “Just a little tired,” she said. “I have been overdoing it recently and with my delicate constitution I have to recuperate from time to time. I am thinking of going up to Saratoga to take the waters. That always seems to revive me. Have you visited that delightful town? The waters are truly curative and there is such a variety of wonderful entertainment too. Concerts and plays and all kinds of soirees.”

  “I haven’t had the chance to go there yet,” I said.

  �
�Then you must come with me. I’d welcome the company and I will pay your way. We shall take the waters together.”

  “I’m sorry, but I came to tell you that I am about to undertake quite another journey,” I said. “I am going to California. My husband has written to say that he wants me to come out to him.”

  “But that is wonderful.” Her face broke into a smile, making her look much younger. “I’m sure you will love it. They say the scenery is incredibly beautiful and San Francisco has become such a fashionable city. And Caruso. You will be there for the arrival of Caruso.”

  “I came to see if you would not come with me,” I said. “Would you not like to surprise your husband with a visit? I would be on the train with you to help you with baggage and things. You could get a sleeper car. It would not be too strenuous.”

  She held up her hands. “How you do tempt me, Mrs. Sullivan. I would dearly love to see Mr. Endicott again, but I fear I have to reject your kind offer. I know my limitations. You see for yourself that after a few small excursions in the city I am thoroughly exhausted. And I travel so poorly. I should be prostrate with travel sickness within half an hour of leaving New York. And in addition Mr. Endicott might not be glad to see me.”

  “What husband would not be glad to see his wife?” I asked, mindful that the same doubt had entered my own head.

  “You do not know Mr. Endicott. He is a very masterful man. He likes to arrange everything, to be in control of everything. He might well be furious that I had undertaken such a journey without his permission at a time that might not be convenient for him.”

  She sat up and leaned toward me, resting her hand on my sleeve. “But you, Mrs. Sullivan. You can go on my behalf. You can seek out my husband for me. You can report back on him. I will naturally pay you for your time and effort. I will make it worth your while to find Mr. Endicott for me.”

  “I’m not sure how much free time I will have, but I will certainly do my best for you,” I said. “I am only sad that you will not come yourself.”