“What hospital is she at?”
“Again, that is not something I am at liberty to disclose. Mrs. Drake’s safety is of the utmost importance.”
Vinni stood. “Fine. Then the questioning of my client is over. Margaret Drake is known by the court system to have orchestrated a systematic campaign to frame my client and his family. Aside from her manufactured evidence, you have no probable cause to detain my client. We’re leaving.”
Nick stood and followed his attorney out the precinct door, down the front steps, and onto the bustling street.
And straight into Rosalind, who loitered at the lamppost at the bottom of the stairs.
“I thought I told you to go home.”
Her chin lifted. “I’m loyal too. Loyal enough to stand on this street corner for the past two hours and note every message delivered here from St. Agatha’s Hospital.”
“St. Agatha’s?” He glanced at his attorney, already heading toward the nearest livery station. “Let’s go.”
“I’m coming with you!” Rosalind said, scurrying after him.
He didn’t even break stride, just extended his hand to her, which she clasped, grinning up at him. They were a team, and he’d been an idiot trying to pretend otherwise.
The scent of carbolic acid permeated the air as he stepped inside St. Agatha’s. The police had obviously telephoned to warn the hospital of their likely arrival, for the moment they inquired about a patient named Margaret Drake, the young lady staffing the front desk summoned a security guard.
“Mrs. Drake is not receiving visitors,” the guard said. He was a skinny man with a wiry build. Nick wouldn’t have any difficulty plowing past him, but he needed to play this smart. This wasn’t the place for brute force.
“I’m not a visitor. I’m family,” Nick said.
“Then she’s especially not seeing you.”
“Rumor has it she’s not ‘seeing’ anything. Is that true?”
The security guard folded his arms across his chest, trying to look tough and refusing to say another word. Vinni tried some fancy lawyer-speak, but it didn’t make much of an impression either, and within two minutes, a pair of burly hospital orderlies showed up to add to the muscle. And these two looked like they could carry out business.
The standoff continued, but a faint melody cut through the haze of Nick’s anger. Piano music.
It was no ordinary music. It was haunting and profound—layers of music cascading down and then building up again, unlike anything he’d ever heard before. He turned his head, trying to determine where it was coming from, because music like that could reach straight to the human soul, and he wanted more.
“Do you hear that?” he asked Rosalind.
“It’s beautiful.”
That was an understatement. Even the burly hospital orderlies seemed to be holding their breath to listen.
“It’s coming from the chapel at the end of the east wing,” the lady staffing the desk said. “The daughter of one of the patients has been playing on and off all morning. I’ve never been so tempted to abandon my desk and go listen.”
It had to be Eloise. Nick clasped Rosalind’s hand and headed down the east hall, following the music as though the Pied Piper were leading him straight to the chapel. He stood in the open doorway, spellbound as he watched.
The chapel was empty save for Eloise at the piano and a single man in the front pew. The man was doubled over, face buried in his hands. Eloise’s eyes were closed, the music flowing effortlessly from her fingers as they glided over the keyboard.
The music scudded to a stop when she noticed Nick. She didn’t rise or acknowledge him in any way. She just stared at him from the piano bench, her spine straight and stiff as a bayonet.
The man in the front row straightened and whirled around. It took a moment for Nick to place him, because in the past Bruce Garrett had been a big bear of a man, but today he looked gaunt and hollow.
“Why are you here?” Eloise finally asked.
“Rumor has it your mother is ill,” Nick said.
Eloise raised a brow. “She’s dying. She went into a coma about an hour ago.”
“You certain about that? From what I hear, it sounds like she might be faking it.”
Eloise bowed her head, her voice exhausted. “She’s not faking. We got here last night, and she was vomiting blood and her lips were blue. You can’t fake that.”
Against Nick’s will, a wave of pity took root. In the past hour, he’d convinced himself that this was just another of Margaret’s schemes, but no. She really did hate him enough to embark on this self-destructive path. He reached out for the end of a pew, his hand shaking as he lowered himself onto the bench.
“If you’re here to convince me to speak to the police, you needn’t bother,” Eloise said. “Once mother has passed, I’ll provide a complete confession, but I will be loyal to her until the end.”
Unbelievable. Sweet, sad Ellie, always so desperate to please. Even now, as Margaret lay unconscious on her deathbed, Eloise was doing her best to please her coldhearted mother. And then she would fall on her sword by confessing to participating in a fraud.
“There’s no need,” he said. “The testimony of the police was enough to get the judge to drop the charges.”
Eloise covered her face with her hands and sagged so abruptly that Bruce rushed to her side. He sat beside her on the piano bench, propping her up. As Nick watched the two of them, he was stunned he hadn’t recognized their physical similarity immediately. They had the exact same shade of hair and eyes. They were father and daughter.
When Eloise straightened, she was once again composed. “I’m very sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you,” she said quietly to Rosalind, then looked at Nick with all the grief in the world in her bewildered eyes. “I know Mother is making more wild accusations against you. Once she’s gone, I’ll do whatever I can to help.” She managed a weak smile as she looked at her father. “I’d like to go back to Mother now. We can stay with her until she passes.”
Bruce nodded and helped Eloise up from the bench. Her chin was high as she walked away.
For the life of him, Nick could not figure out the mystery of Eloise Drake. She was as poised as a duchess and had musical talent to rival any virtuoso. She had no cause to love a mother who had rejected her from the hour of her birth, but even after this monumental stab in the back, Eloise was still loyal to Margaret.
Two hours later, it was announced that Margaret Drake had died.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
One week after Margaret died, the medical examiner declared her death a suicide, and the police dropped the investigation into Nick. The women from the Scandinavian Tearoom had proved to be powerful witnesses in his favor. The moment Nick had made his unusual appearance at the ultra-feminine tearoom, they had cocked their ears to eavesdrop on the entire conversation and heard Margaret blackmail, goad, and threaten Nick all in the space of five minutes. In addition, a doorman at the building where Nick worked admitted to accepting twenty dollars for allowing Margaret Drake into Nick’s office after hours. She claimed to be planting a birthday surprise, and the doorman was too interested in the tip to investigate that Nick’s birthday was in February.
With their legal worries behind them, Rosalind let Nick begin courting her. She resolved to go slowly this time and do everything so properly that her conservative aunts in Germany would beam with pride. On Sunday mornings, Nick came to Jersey City to escort her to church, and each Saturday, she, Gus, and Ingrid went to Manhattan to take Nick sailing on the bay.
The first time they went sailing, Nick arrived with Sadie dressed in a precious little silk outfit with a matching cap and purse. Ingrid was horrified, muttering in German about the waste of fine silk getting ruined on a boat. Nick didn’t understand German, but he could hear disapproval, and as the day wore on, it was obvious that silk dresses had no place on a twenty-foot sloop. That didn’t stop him from having a marvelous time as Rosalind and
Gus handled the sails. The wind buffeted them with a clean breeze, and their laughter bounced over the water.
It was the first of many Saturdays sailing on the bay. In the afternoon, they would pull into a cove to share a basket of good bread, salami, and cheese. After the first Saturday, Nick dressed Sadie in a plain cotton smock short enough to allow her to scramble around on the boat as Gus showed her how the rigging worked.
Those Saturdays were golden, their memories sustaining Rosalind through the work week when she couldn’t see Nick, but she took his telephone call each evening, and she could tell him how work progressed in the lab. Ever since the court ruling, Dr. Leal had been flooded by requests from cities across the nation to consult on their water systems. He could now afford to pay her a salary, and two lab assistants were formally hired once the students returned to class in September.
In the following weeks, she answered correspondence from all over the country about the details of their project. It was exhilarating. By the end of the year, their chlorination system was going to be rolled out in two dozen cities. Could she ask for anything better?
As she sealed an envelope to the Atlanta water authorities, one of the lab assistants interrupted her.
“There’s a visitor for you, Dr. Werner.”
She looked up to see Elmore Kleneman standing awkwardly in the door of the laboratory. He looked as uncomfortable as a sinner in church. Accusing her of theft and having her incarcerated for six days might have been the cause of his discomfort.
She did her best to summon a welcoming smile. If Dr. Clean had stood beside her from the outset, she might never have been arrested, but maybe she couldn’t blame him. The evidence had looked pretty bad.
“Come in,” she said, gesturing toward a chair at their lunch table.
“I’d like to speak to you privately, if you don’t mind.” His voice was conciliatory, and this overdue conversation was probably best handled outside.
“It’s a lovely day for a walk,” she suggested and led him down the hallway.
Elmore didn’t even wait until they reached the door before he began apologizing. “I hope you know how sorry I am about that whole ugly incident.”
“It was a difficult time for all of us,” she said. Her most of all. Peter Schmidt had his reputation dragged through the mud as well, but at least he hadn’t been forced into a sweltering attic jail cell.
“I’ve brought a peace offering,” Elmore said once they were outside and under the shade of a maple tree. “It’s the world’s best fruitcake, homemade by my wife. The recipe has been in her family for generations.”
The tin of cake was surprisingly heavy, and Rosalind accepted it with a gentle smile. An envelope taped to the lid was probably some sort of formal apology, but she would wait to read it later.
Elmore hesitated, looking more uncomfortable than ever. “I’ve gone ahead and included a check for the value of your shares in the company,” he said with a nod to the envelope. “You must understand, the public image of my company is squeaky clean and wholesome. Of course I know that the criminal charges against you were hogwash, but those other stories in the newspaper, the ones about Germany . . . well, it just isn’t the sort of thing I’d like associated with my company. I’m sorry, Rosalind. We’re buying you out.”
It was a kick in the teeth. Maybe it was silly, but she hadn’t expected this, and it hurt. What was she supposed to say? She tried to smile politely. She was always polite.
“I understand,” she said. “Of course I do. And thank you for the fruitcake. It was so thoughtful of you.” She wanted to throw it on the ground and kick it into the next county, but she gamely held out her hand and wished Elmore and his company the best.
He smiled but seemed eager to disengage and be on his way. She’d never seen him march so quickly as he headed back to the main road and the streetcar stop.
This wouldn’t hurt so badly if she hadn’t thought so highly of Elmore Kleneman. Was this scarlet letter going to follow her for the rest of her life? It shouldn’t matter what other people thought of her, but it did, and it hurt. She’d already started consulting on the New York City water project, where everyone treated her with the utmost respect, but perhaps there would always be people who harbored disapproving thoughts behind her back.
She wished Nick was here. He could always make her laugh and put things in perspective.
She returned to her desk, struggling to lift her sagging spirits. She drew a calming breath and raised her chin. After all the trials and tribulations she’d been through, this was such a tiny thing, but it was still difficult to concentrate on her recommendations for chlorine concentrations in the Baltimore water facility. She calculated the mathematical equation three times and came up with three different results. She threw her pencil down in frustration. This sort of analysis required her full attention, and she couldn’t focus.
“I’m going home for lunch,” she told the assistants. “I should be back by one o’clock.”
She almost always had lunch at the office, but she abandoned her cheese sandwich in the icebox and headed home. Perhaps the walk would do her good.
Coming home for lunch was a bad idea. Gus had his law books spread out on the kitchen table, and Ingrid was in full swing in the kitchen. A kettle of soup simmered on the stove, and Ingrid whisked cream into a pan of gravy. The tiny counter space was filled with chopped mushrooms and bowls of bread crumbs. Ingrid sent her an unwelcoming glare as Rosalind nudged inside. The soup certainly looked more appealing than her cheese sandwich.
“That smells good,” Rosalind said. If she hoped the compliment would soften Ingrid’s attitude, she failed miserably.
“What do you need?” Ingrid asked. “As you can see, I am very busy.”
“I thought I’d come home for lunch. Perhaps grab some of the dumplings from last night’s dinner.”
She angled around the stove and accidentally bumped the handle of the pan. Ingrid lunged for it before it tipped over, but the whisk fell on the floor. Rosalind reached for it to clean it off, but Ingrid was not appeased.
“How can you be so clumsy? You’re ruining the Jägerschnitzel!”
Rosalind said nothing as she rinsed the whisk, but sure enough, the sauce for the Jägerschnitzel was beginning to burn. She returned the whisk quickly and retreated from the kitchen.
A piece of her wanted to throw Ingrid out of the house and tell her to go live on the Lower East Side with all the other new immigrants to this country. What kind of Jägerschnitzel could Ingrid make in a tenement without running water or a proper kitchen or a pretty garden with fresh herbs? Would she still be so crabby?
Rosalind sighed as she drifted to the window. This didn’t feel like her house anymore. Diapers and baby bottles were scattered everywhere, and Ingrid reigned supreme in the kitchen. Once this had been the perfect house for Rosalind. She’d bought it right before the new subway line was announced, and since then, its value had soared. She could never afford a house like this were she to buy it today. With the subway only a few blocks away, people were clawing to live on this street.
The subway Nick taught her to ride. Even though she was a country mouse and he was a city boy, she and Nick were a pair. She felt more at home with Nick than in this too-small house.
Without a word she marched upstairs, rummaged through her bureau, and removed a stack of papers. Bank notes, legal records, a list of addresses of her family in Germany. She finally found the document she was looking for—the title to the house. It was the single most valuable thing she would ever own, but she no longer wanted it. She didn’t need it. She knew where she belonged, and it wasn’t here anymore.
Her footsteps were loud as she clattered down the stairs, nudged Gus’s law books to the side, and laid the title flat on the table. She signed the back with a flourish.
“Here!” she said, thrusting the title at Ingrid. “It’s now your kitchen. Your herb garden. Your house. Take it.”
Ingrid looked horrified, holding
up her hands and backing away.
Gus stood. “Rosalind, what are you doing? I’m sure Ingrid didn’t mean—”
“I didn’t!” Ingrid stammered, looking appalled. “It’s your kitchen! Of course I know that—”
Rosalind set the paper on the table. “It’s your house now.”
Ingrid was a difficult woman, but Rosalind had to acknowledge that she paid a higher price than any of them for what happened in Heidelberg. Ingrid had to leave her family, venture to a new country where she barely spoke the language, and live off the charity of relatives. All because of Rosalind’s naïveté. Money or the gift of a house could never erase the damages, but at least the gesture was an acknowledgement that Rosalind understood her role in the sacrifice Ingrid had been forced to make.
Rosalind gazed around the interior of the house, a cozy space she had worked to make her own, but her heart wasn’t here anymore. It was with a brash, bold plumber who lived in the center of Manhattan. A smile tugged at her mouth. She was ready to leave. Ready to step into a new life with a man she loved to the marrow of his bones.
“I want you and Gus to have the house,” she said without a hint of bitterness, only gladness. “I’ll move out by the end of the year. Keep everything, for I won’t need it where I’m going. There’s only one thing I want.” She nodded to the framed patent for the water chlorinator.
Nick wasn’t in his office when she arrived in Manhattan. His secretary said he was underground inspecting a pumping station and didn’t know if he would return to the office at all that day.
“And how do I get to him there?” Rosalind asked.
The secretary looked appalled. “You can’t go below, ma’am. There are rules about things like that.”
In the last few months, Rosalind had learned a lot about bending the rules. She had never seen the vast underground waterworks, and given her job, it seemed about time that she did.
She traveled to a structure erected on a street corner known as a hog house, where underground workers came above ground for their meals and for meetings.
A Daring Venture Page 29
