Smoke and Mirrors

by Casey Daniels

  ‘Yes, yes. The O’Donnell boy. Not the most industrious of lads, I think you’ll agree. Knowing that, I sent a letter, too, and a rider who was faster and more experienced and with better horses. I have already received a reply.’

  He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and smoothed it open in front of him on the table.

  From where I was sitting, I could not read what was written there, but I saw the letters were small and cramped.

  ‘It is from Sarah Hanks,’ Phin told me. ‘Andrew and Madeline’s aunt.’

  I remembered the woman well, for she had an orchard and, when we were children, she often let us pick the apples. ‘She must be distressed by news of Andrew’s death.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Phin tapped a finger against the paper. ‘But that is not all she’s worried about. You see, Evie, it seems Madeline is no longer in Bethel.’

  ‘Not in Bethel? Then where—’

  Phin cleared his throat. ‘No one has seen Madeline Emerson in weeks,’ he said. ‘No one has heard from her. The last time she was seen …’ Even my brother, who was so audacious in so much else, could not look me in the eye when he spoke the words. He stared at the chandelier above our heads. ‘The last time she was seen she was getting on the coach that was traveling from Bethel here to New York City. She was with James Crockett.’

  SEVEN

  I could not help myself. I tried, and oh, how I prayed that I might succeed!

  But as it was, I simply could not help myself.

  I spent that morning in my office at the museum, the ledger books open in front of me, my lamp lit and the door closed. Yet I could not work. I could not think.

  Not of anything but what Phin had told me.

  Madeline had been seen leaving Bethel for New York City.

  With James Crockett.

  Even now, hours after first hearing the news, the enormity of it brought tears to my eyes.

  She needs your help.

  Dear God, if Madeline was truly with James Crockett, she did need my help.

  And I had turned away from him when Andrew came to seek it.

  My heart squeezed, and I again reread the fragment of writing Andrew had tried to press into my hands as we stood together in front of the Feejee Mermaid.

  I love you with all my heart. I love you, my dearest James.

  As things so often do after it is too late to change them, it all made sense now – Madeline had written a love letter to James Crockett and her brother had found evidence of it. It was, no doubt, why Andrew had followed his sister to New York and why he thought I might help, for, like everyone else in Bethel, Andrew knew that James and I had once been friends.

  No.

  Even to myself, even when I so desperately wanted to, I could not lie.

  James and I had been more than friends.

  Back in Bethel, when I stopped walking out with James, when people no longer saw him calling at our door, word went around – as it always does in towns both large and small – that there had been a falling out between us, that perhaps the whispered rumors of James’s true character had finally worked to change my mind and my heart. No doubt Andrew thought I might speak to Madeline and deliver her from the unhappy destiny that was the fate of any young woman who had the misfortune of falling in love with James Crockett.

  If only he knew the enormity of the truth!

  My gaze on the fragment of Madeline’s letter and my hands clasped together on my desktop, I realized that thinking about it no longer clutched at my heart and did not keep me up at night as it had for so many months. It was simple fact. Andrew could not have known – no one except my own family would know that if James’s good looks and his fortune, his charm and his honeyed tongue had seduced Madeline as they had me, she was in far more danger than he might have imagined.

  For James Crockett was the father of my child.

  I cannot say how long I sat lost in my thoughts. I knew only that I’d just put away the scrap of the letter when my door flew open and Phin stuck his head in my office.

  ‘Come on, Evie! It’s Monday.’

  For what I feared was far too long, I gawped at him, my mind in such a whirl I could not think what he meant.

  With a click of his tongue, Phin dashed into the office and grabbed my hand, the better to tug me to my feet. ‘Monday, Evie, and we have sellers we need to receive. You must come down to my office, it’s nearly eleven.’

  As if they were buried in tabby, my feet kept their place and Phin relented, at least for a moment, gentling his hold on my hand. His smile melted and his eyes brimmed with the kind of sympathy only a man who so keenly gauges the moods of others can offer. ‘The sellers who are downstairs will take your mind off the bad news I gave you earlier, and besides, if you leave the buying to me …’ As suddenly as the laughter in them had stilled, his eyes gleamed again. ‘If you are not there to keep me in check I’m bound to spend far more money than I ought. You are the only one who can stop me!’

  By the time we made our way to Phin’s office, there was already a line outside it, young and old, men and women, all eager to show their wares to my brother in the hopes he might purchase what they offered and display it in the museum.

  He was right in the observation that this, our usual Monday routine, helped keep my mind focused on things other than Madeline’s plight.

  But then, boredom is sure to do that to a person.

  Over the course of the next hours, I watched a man from Maine spill a box of rocks on Phin’s desk and do his best to convince us that they were the product of the eruption of Vesuvius and, thus, of interest to one and all. Another man, this one surely from the Bowery for he had both the long sideburns called soaplocks and the swagger that were the sure signs of that neighborhood, swore he had a three-legged chicken he would be most delighted to present to us – if only we would give him the sum of ten dollars so that he might have the creature shipped from Pennsylvania. A third man, so old he teetered as he stood before us, was convinced the discarded black glass bottles he’d collected from the nearby breweries were as valuable as the gemstones we displayed in the gallery.

  Phin gave the man a dollar coin for his bottles and sent him on his way.

  ‘One woman left and then that’s the last of them,’ Mr Dewey told us. ‘She’s got a bag with her, and the bag …’

  The woman, the bag in question under her arm, strode into the office. The bag wiggled and a mournful meow emanated from its depths.

  ‘Got a cat here,’ the woman said, plunking the bag and the mewling animal inside it on Phin’s desk. ‘He’s the color of a cherry.’

  After a morning that had been decidedly disappointing even by Phin’s somewhat loose standards, this piqued his interest.

  ‘A cherry, you say?’ He sat up straight and looked my way. ‘That surely sounds like something our patrons would enjoy. A cat the color of a cherry! Madame, I would be most interested in your cat,’ he told the woman.

  She had not taken her hand off the bag and now she clutched it a little tighter. ‘I’d like nothing better than to give him over to you, Mr Barnum. But it will cost you. Twenty-five dollars.’

  It was a large sum, indeed, but that hardly dampened Phin’s interest. More intrigued than ever, he went into his desk drawer, drew out the sum of money and handed it over.

  The woman tucked away the money and overturned the bag on the desk.

  A black cat tumbled out.

  ‘But—’

  The single word was barely out of my mouth when Phin cut me off. ‘I’ve been duped!’ he yelled. ‘Madam, you told me—’

  ‘That he was the color of a cherry, Mr Barnum!’ Her eyes sparkling, the woman turned on her heels and headed for the door. ‘And as you well know, sir, some cherries are black!’

  Phin froze in amazement for a second, long enough for the woman to leave and, once she was gone, he burst into laughter. ‘Black cherries! The color of black cherries!’ The cat had already made himself at home atop of pile of pa
pers and Phin ruffled a hand over its head. ‘We shall surely cause a sensation with this, Evie. We’ll advertise him as a cat the color of cherries and when people come to see him, they will surely enjoy the jest, just as I have. What do you say?’

  I would have said that the cat looked comfortable and I did not have the heart to turn him out, but I never had the time because Mr Dewey stepped into the office again.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Barnum. Another gentleman has just arrived. I told him to come back next Monday, but he told me that by next Monday he will have already set sail for Zanzibar.’

  ‘Zanzibar, you say? Now that sounds like an interesting fellow! What do you say, Evie?’

  There was no use in my saying anything because, from the gleam in his eyes, I knew Phin had already made up his mind. I was not surprised when he told Mr Dewey to show the fellow in.

  But I was surprised when the man walked into the office.

  His beard had been shaved to reveal a face that was far more appealing than I remembered it: a strong chin, a well-shaped nose, lips that were full. His hair was cut and combed to the side. He was cleanly and fashionably dressed, much as Phin was that day, in light-colored unmentionables and a dark frock coat. His waistcoat was a brilliant red.

  Just like the string of primitive beads that peeked from below the edge of his black cravat.

  At the same time he caught sight of me and closed in, a sly smile on his face, I blinked away my astonishment.

  ‘It is good to see you again, Miss …’

  ‘Barnum.’ My brother supplied the name. ‘Evangeline Barnum, though I wonder that I need to inform you of as much, sir. Something tells me you have already made the acquaintance of my sister.’

  ‘We have …’ his smile intensified, ‘… bumped into each other.’

  My own smile in return was tight. Then again, I couldn’t help but remember I had last seen him outside St Patrick’s Church. He had followed me to Five Points and, because I didn’t know why, the thought sat uneasy with me. I gave him a nod. ‘Mr Burke.’

  ‘Just Burke.’

  ‘Well, Burke, I am especially delighted to meet you since you are a friend of Evie’s.’ Phin rubbed his hands together. ‘What do you have to show me?’

  ‘Nothing at all, sir. But there are crates outside on the rig I hired. Ten of them all told. Rather than go through the trouble of unloading them, I assumed you’d be intrigued enough to—’

  ‘So intrigued that we would simply hand over our receipts in exchange for merchandise we haven’t seen?’ I didn’t dare look at the cat when I said this since, in buying him, it was exactly what we’d just done. I rose to my feet and made my way across the office. ‘Really, this beats the Dutch! Phin, you cannot possibly think—’

  His palms flat and his hands out, my brother backed away from the argument. ‘If this fellow is a friend of yours, Evie, I leave the decision solely to you.’

  ‘Then that decision is easy enough.’ At the door, I turned to face Burke. ‘We are not interested. Good day, sir.’

  I was scarcely out into the lobby when Burke caught up with me.

  ‘The least you can do is pay me something for saving your hide on Saturday.’

  I had no intention of any further interaction but, astonished, I turned to face him. ‘You? Saved me? The way I remember it, sir, you are the one who nearly broke my every bone.’

  ‘And I apologized for it.’ A smile skimmed his lips. ‘And nicely, too, the way I remember it.’

  I would give him that much but didn’t dare let him know it. I stiffened my shoulders. ‘Still—’

  ‘Still, I’ve been around the world and back and have a grand collection of artifacts you might find interesting.’

  ‘Is that what you do?’ I had not meant to ask the question and thus prolong our encounter, yet I could not help myself. My curiosity got the better of me. ‘Are you an adventurer?’

  Without the beard, his smile was even more disturbing than it had been in the Bowery. It was too broad, too knowing, and it made me anxious in ways I did not want to consider. ‘A traveler, an explorer, a finder of treasures, a trader, a dealer. I dig in the dirt. I haggle with the natives. I’ve even risked my life a time or two, though I try to avoid that sort of thing as much as possible. I leave on my next voyage tomorrow and would like nothing better than to take good memories along with me.’

  ‘You mean the good memories of us paying you money for wares we haven’t seen.’

  ‘I was thinking more of the good memories of the two of us having dinner together this evening. Then I could set sail tomorrow a happy man.’

  Fortunately, I remembered the gathering at Succor and my promise to attend along with Charity. Otherwise, I’m not at all sure I wouldn’t have succumbed to the magic of his smile. ‘I have an engagement,’ I told him.

  ‘Then luncheon. Right now. Surely you must eat.’

  ‘Not when I have other business to attend to.’ I backed away.

  His grin faded, his dark brows dropped low over his eyes and he laid a hand over his heart. ‘Then perhaps I’ll see you when I return, Miss Barnum. If I return. The world is full of dangers. Tell me you’ll regret not sharing a meal with me if I never come back.’

  ‘I hardly know you. Certainly not well enough to know if I might regret it.’

  ‘Then tell me you’ll regret not getting to know me better.’

  In spite of myself, I couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘Ah, see!’ He wagged a finger at me. ‘You do appreciate the fact that I watched over you on Saturday.’

  ‘You mean the way you followed me to Five Points?’

  ‘Saw me, did you?’ One corner of his mouth pulled tight. ‘Actually, I was thinking more of Carey’s. Nasty place, and had I not kept the fellow at the door engaged he certainly would have seen you slip inside without paying. The least you can do in return for my services is buy those crates that wait outside.’

  He was maddening. And I knew that one more minute in Burke’s company and I might forget all about Succor.

  Looking to be done with Burke, his infuriating manner and his disquieting smile, I reached into my reticule and came out with a stack of coins. I dropped them into his hand. ‘There. I have no interest in your merchandise, sir, but there is my payment for your services on Saturday. Goodbye.’

  I am not sure how I expected him to react; I know only that when Burke was done studying the coins, he clapped his hat upon his head and, when he turned for the door, he was whistling a jaunty tune.

  The Society for the Relief and Succor of Needy Women was housed on the second floor of a tidy and unpretentious building not far from the museum. By the time I arrived, Charity was already there, teacup in hand, as were a dozen other well-heeled ladies, all of them wearing the red-and-yellow Succor ribbon just as I was on my cloak.

  ‘There you are, Miss Barnum. It’s good to see you again!’ Sebastian Richter’s cousin, Sonya, greeted me warmly and handed off my bonnet and cloak to a woman with a pinched face who was dressed all in black. Sonya showed me to a seat near the windows that looked over the street. ‘We were just about to get started.’ She glanced toward the woman in black who’d left to deposit my cloak in another room and was back. ‘Matron, why don’t you tell the ladies a bit about Succor.’

  ‘Of course.’ The woman known as Matron stood before us in front of a sturdy desk, her hands clutched at her waist. She was tall and thin, with hair that was neither blonde nor brown and was streaked through with gray, and she had a pair of spectacles pinched to the bridge of a long, slender nose. ‘There are many women in this city who are alone,’ she said simply, her voice high-pitched and so brittle I had the impression that her spectacles were cutting off her air supply. ‘They arrive here in New York thinking they will somehow provide for themselves and discover soon enough that it is nearly impossible without either the benefit of a husband or the assistance of family.’

  It was not my imagination; Charity glanced my way. I pretended not to notice but I c
ould feel her eyes on me.

  ‘Many of these women are immigrants,’ Matron continued, imbuing the word with a twist that made me think it must have tasted bad in her mouth. ‘They have few skills when they land on our shores and fewer prospects once they are ensconced in the dreadful tenements where so many of them gather.’

  ‘They should know better.’ The comment came from a woman in a gown of dark plum and was met with nods of assent from the women seated all around. ‘To come across the ocean, all by themselves.’

  ‘But isn’t it true that many don’t come by themselves?’ I thought it nothing more than a question worthy of discussion, yet the scowls on the faces of the women who turned my way when I spoke made me feel as if I’d offered an insult.

  ‘They do come with their families,’ I was quick to explain. ‘But so many die on the voyage. It’s only natural the women who are young and strong survive when others don’t, and so once they make port of course they are alone. It is not how they intended to begin a new life here.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Matron’s words crackled. ‘Then there are others, of course. American girls who find themselves in …’ She coughed politely behind one hand. ‘Difficulties.’

  Had I been a kinder person, I would have thought it nothing more than coincidence that Charity chose that particular moment to clink teacup on saucer. The small, crisp sound reverberated through my bones like a rifle shot.

  ‘These women deserve no pity for their poor and immoral choices,’ Matron said, and again, a number of the women nodded. ‘Yet it is our Christian duty not to turn them away. We at Succor, inspired by the work of the late Mrs Sebastian Richter, provide them with training so that they may eventually learn correct behavior and serve in large houses. We offer them assistance and hope and a place to stay if they have no other. When all the world has turned its back on them, we give them succor.’

  I don’t know if Matron was finished but the woman in purple applauded and the other women joined in. I waited until they were done to ask, ‘And who may come here for help?’