The Innocents (The Innocents Mystery Series Book 1)

by C. A. Asbrey

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Mrs. Earnestine Cadwallader,” Abigail stood at the desk of the hotel in full little-old-lady regalia. “What rooms do you have available?”

  The clerk’s round spectacles twinkled. “For you, and Mr. Cadwallader, I can offer you our best double room. It’s a corner room, right at the front and gets the sun first thing in the morning. Windows on both sides.”

  He stretched to look over her shoulder. His brow creased at the size of her enormous trunk. “Is that yours, ma’am?”

  “Yes, but it isn’t heavy, though.”

  “It’ll need two men to carry it upstairs just for the size alone. Is your husband getting the rest of the luggage?”

  “My husband died years ago, and there’s no more luggage.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” the clerk’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d just said. “About the luggage, not your husband. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, but as it happened fifteen years ago, I’m not in deep mourning,” Abigail inclined her head benignly.

  “She’s travelling with her son,” Nat’s baritone voice drifted from behind her as an arm slipped around her thick waist and dropped a light kiss on her surprised cheek. “A double room, you say? Perhaps a twin would be better?”

  She swiveled around to glare at him, but he stared ahead at the clerk, a charming smile beaming sweetness and light like an annoying beacon through a window in the dead of night which disturbed sleep. “Can you help?”

  “Well,” the clerk began as he pored over his register, “number five can be converted into a suite with twin beds adjoining by opening the double doors in between. It’s a little more expensive but—”

  “We’ll take it,” Nat announced. “Shall we say three nights in advance for cash? We may need more.”

  “That will do very nicely, Mr. Cadwallader. Can you complete the register?”

  Nat fixed Abigail with a keen eye while still grinning at the desk clerk. “Sure.” He picked up the pen and scrawled in an exaggerated expansive scrawl. “Nathaniel Cadwallader.”

  He turned to Abigail. “Mother, dear. Would you like to sign?”

  “That won’t be necessary. We only need the signature of the head of the household.”

  The clerk clicked his fingers and the bellboy appeared, his jaw dropping in dismay at the sight of a trunk just inches shorter than himself. The clerk pointed to the stairs. “Johnny, get Bert and take the luggage to number five.”

  Johnny frowned scratching his head at the enormous trunk. “We moved West in somethin’ smaller’n that.”

  Nat led his ‘mother’ toward the stairs. “There’ll be a generous tip in it for you, son. Women don’t travel light. You know what they’re like.”

  “I thought I did,” muttered Johnny, “but this one seems to come with a box of spares.”

  ♦◊♦

  Nat threw open the double doors between the two rooms and nodded in appreciation.

  “Over here, sir?” Johnny and a waiter placed the trunk by the dresser.

  “Perfect,” Nat fished out a tip and tossed a few coins to both men.

  “Thanks.”

  The doors closed behind the lad and Abigail’s mouth opened, but Nat placed a finger on his lips and padded over to the door. He took a cautious glance outside before locking it. He reached into his pocket jammed a door wedge in place, then walked to the adjoining room and forced a chair under the door handle.

  “Can’t be too careful, can we? This way, nobody can force their way in and surprise us.”

  “Do you always wedge the door shut?”

  “Sure, I do. Locks can be unlocked. This buys us more time to get away if we need it.”

  “Mr. Quinn, I have no intention of ‘getting away’. If you don’t feel safe here you should have gone back to the cabin instead of muscling your way in. What were you thinking?”

  He turned back to her, the sunlight from the window catching his chestnut hair, lighting it with golden-red tones. “I thought there was no need for you to spend a night here without protection. It’s too late for us to head off Paris tonight and we’ve got to stay somewhere. This is perfect. It’s the right side of town.”

  “You just want to poke around in my chest.” She flushed bright red as she realized what she had just said.

  Nat laughed and wandered over to the trunk. “You’re not wrong. Are you offering a key, or do I have to force my way in?”

  “I’m offering nothing. My possessions are private.”

  “I think you’ve got a whole wardrobe of disguises in there; everything from boys to old men. Am I right?”

  She shook her head. “This isn’t helping. People talk more freely to an old woman alone.”

  He leaned on the trunk crooking one leg casually. “I’m not going to get in the way of chatting. You’ll be surprised at how people take to me. They find me very personable,” he patted the luggage. “They rarely come with as much baggage as you.”

  “Are you just going to stand there making puns?”

  “You started it,” he picked up his saddle bags and took them through to the twin room. He closed the double doors, smiling through the crack. “I’m going to get changed for dinner. No peeking unless you really have to. In which case, you’re welcome to come join me.”

  ♦◊♦

  The old lady settled herself in the lounge, smiling at the people enjoying a pre-dinner drink. Her attentive son soon arrived with a glass of sherry and a whiskey for himself. “Here you go, Mother,” Nat sat on the sofa beside her and crossed one leg over the other, propping his ankle on his knee.

  Abigail leaned forward. “Are you staying here, Mr.—?”

  “Rigby Daintree. Yes, ma’am. I’m a travelling salesman.” He leaned forward with a gapped-tooth smile. “Novelties and curiosities. They’re very popular.”

  “How interesting. Is there much call for such things in the West?”

  The skeletal-thin man nodded. “Sure is. I’ve been doin’ very well.”

  The old woman’s gray head inclined with interest. “How long have you been here?”

  “Oh, a couple of weeks.”

  “What kind of curiosities? They must sell well to keep you here.”

  “Ahem,” all eyes turned to the small, dapper man at the other end of the lounge who hooked Nat with a warning glance. “This is your mother? Those curiosities aren’t fit to be seen by a decent woman.”

  The man’s graying hair had been bright red, given the traces of gold flashing through the silver, and his little polished feet barely touched the floor. In another outfit, he could be mistaken for an aging leprechaun. “You’re going to get yourself shot if you keep offering that trash of yours to ladies, Daintree.”

  Nat darted a warning glance to Daintree and smiled gratefully at the little man. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Tiberius Ulysses F. Dunbar, at your service.” He gave a twinkle of previously unseen charm. “A bit of a mouthful, I admit, but there’s something about Irish mothers; the poorer they are, the grander the name they give their offspring. As you can probably guess from my extravagant moniker, my sainted mother was as dirt poor as they come. She wasn’t the religious type; she preferred the classical over a congregation of saints. People call me Tibby.”

  “What does the F. stand for?” All heads turned as Jake walked into the lounge and took a seat beside Nat.

  “Nothing. She thought an initial sounded good, so she threw one in. All my life people have been volunteering their versions. They vary between the very unoriginal to the obscene.” Tibby appraised Jake with shrewd blue eyes. “And your name sir?”

  “Jake Black, and this is my partner Nathaniel Cadwallader. The lady is Nat’s mother. She’s taking the chance to travel with us to visit relatives.”

  “What line of work are you gentlemen in?” asked Tibby.

  “We work for a charity,” Nat toyed with his glass. “It’s a charity who helps place orphans without exploitation. We
inspect processes and establishments. And you, Mr. Dunbar?”

  “Politics. I advise people on how best to run their campaigns.”

  “That’s a job?” Nat grinned. “Who knew?”

  “Yes. Who knew yours was a job, either? It takes me away from home a lot, much to Mrs. Dunbar’s delight.” Tibby sat back in his chair. “I’m a constant disappointment to her. I think she hoped I’d drink myself into the grave like her father, but I haven’t mastered that either, so I work away from home.”

  “Goodness! That’s terrible,” Abigail’s eyes widened.

  “Tell me about it,” Tibby chuckled. “It wasn’t even his grave. There was a terrible to-do pulling him back out. Don’t drink until after the funeral, that’s my advice.”

  “I think you are messing with me, young man,” laughed Abigail.

  “Guilty as charged, madam,” the little man relaxed back in his chair. “A few laughs always help the evening pass far more quickly.”

  All eyes turned to the couple who walked into the room. The woman’s curt nod to the company was an obvious dismissal. They took a seat in the corner as the man walked over to the waiter.

  “Good evening. I was beginning to think I was the only lady,” beamed Abigail. “How do you do? Mrs. Earnestine Cadwallader. I’m travelling with my son and his friend.”

  The woman didn’t respond, so Abigail pushed the issue. “And you are?”

  “Mrs. Richards, Victoria Richards. And this is my husband, Denham.”

  The husband returned with a frown at nobody in particular. “Victoria. Enough.”

  “The lady asked.”

  “We like to keep ourselves to ourselves, madam.” The husband tugged at the creases of his trousers to stop them bagging at the knees as he sat. “We don’t mean to be rude.”

  “I completely understand,” Abigail pressed regardless. “You don’t mean to be. That’s fine. It’s just that I’m so pleased to have a lady to talk to.” A dull stare met her questions. “It's boring here for a lady. Perhaps your wife could point me to any ladies’ meetings and associations? Have you been here long? Is there much for a lady to do?”

  “Vicky doesn’t mix well. She’s shy.” Nat and Jake shared a look of amusement as the husband glared at Abigail. “My wife isn’t available for your entertainment.”

  “Of course, sir,” Abigail’s smile buried fierceness amid the brightness. “I’ve encountered many ladies like your lovely wife. I can understand why you would guard her closely. You cherish her so much it hurts. And you, Mr. Richards? What do you do?”

  “I came here to be the headmaster of the new school they are building. The accommodation isn’t completed yet, so they put us up at the hotel. It wasn’t what was promised. I’m not amused. ”

  “Nobody could tell. How long have you been here?” asked Abigail. She caught her breath as the waiter arrived and the man stretched out an arm to receive the drinks. His cuffs slid back and revealed a myriad of vermillion tracks, deep red and newly-healed scars. “Since the beginning of last month. It is not what I expected at all.”

  “What did you do to your arm, Mr. Richards?”

  He averted his eyes, tugging at his cuffs before glaring at Abigail for daring to encroach on his privacy. “Nothing which concerns you, madam. Please stop bothering us.”

  The room fell into an icy silence and Mrs. Richards stared at her feet. Her husband stood. “Come, Victoria. We will sit in the dining room.”

  “I don’t think they’re ready for us yet, Denham.”

  “I don’t care. They can lay tables around us,” he stood, beckoning abruptly with his fingers. “Victoria. Come.”

  She stood, following her husband. Abigail watched the cowed eyes and stiff posture in the woman and relented. She turned her attention back to Tibby. The little man arched his brows and smiled around the room. “That was fun, wasn’t it? Makes you glad you’re not at school where people like that rule anymore, huh?” He turned back to Abigail. “At least we have some conversation around here. How long are you staying?”

  “I’m tired of travelling,” Abigail replied as all heads turned to watch the waiter fold back the doors to announce dinner. “I will rest here for a few days before moving on to San Francisco. My son has work in the area.”

  “I’ve been here a few weeks,” Tibby replied. “I came in on the train where the guard got shot. The one which was held up. Very scary.”

  “You were?” gaped Abigail. “You must have been terrified.”

  “Not very, more shocked.” Tibby shook his head, a rueful moue on his expressive face. “I’m glad they put them behind bars so fast.”

  “It was The Innocents. Wasn’t it?” Daintree ventured.

  “Imposters,” Jake murmured. “The Innocents never kill.”

  “They’ll steal from ya, though,” Daintree continued. “Ain’t ya worried about bringing your mother out here?”

  “I don’t scare easily, young man. In any case, I can’t see a gang of criminals in having any interest in a little old lady. I’m far from wealthy.” She smiled at Daintree. “So they frighten you?”

  “No. I was just thinking of you.”

  “Well, there’s a first,” chortled Tibby. “In all the weeks I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you think about anyone but yourself, Daintree.” He turned to the waiter who stood by the doors to the dining room. Tibby lowered himself to the ground and walked over to Abigail, proffering an arm. “It looks like dinner is served. May I escort you in, madam?”

  She stood towering over the man by a good three inches as she took his arm.

  “You may. How refreshing to find a gentleman out here. Thank you, Mr. Dunbar.”

  “I was always taught to be respectful to my elders, madam. It’s just that it’s getting harder and harder to find one by the day.”

  ♦◊♦

  A thin-faced fair-haired man strode into the dining room and glowered at the large communal table in surprise.

  “Ah, Davies.” Tibby waved the man over. “There you are. Isn’t your wife with you? We kept you both chairs.”

  “One table?” Davies queried in disbelief.

  “Yeah, Mrs. Cadwallader insisted,” muttered Daintree. “Wants us all to get to know one another on her first night here. I don’t see why you should get away with it.”

  “You have a wife with you?” Abigail trilled.

  Davies nodded, his face sullen. “Mary isn’t coming to dinner. She’s having one of her headaches. They’re giving her a tray in her room.”

  “Oh, how sad. Then you must join us,” she insisted. “We can’t have you eating alone. Move over gentlemen, there’s plenty of room.”

  The place filled with the echoes of clattering dishes, tinkling cutlery, and scraping chairs, leaving the new arrival very little choice but to join the table.

  “So, here we all are,” Abigail beamed around the table. “You have all been here for weeks and know one another well, so I’m glad to get the chance to get acquainted with you before my son goes off to work for a couple of days. I won’t feel so alone now. It can be so hard to join a social group once they are already gelled, don’t you think?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly describe us a social group,” Davies replied. “More a bunch of people thrown together.”

  “Kinda like a salad,” grinned Tibby. “Or a carriage accident.”

  “Or a prison,” Daintree added.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Tibby replied. “Have you been inside, Daintree?”

  “Of course not,” the thin man snapped. “What kind of question is that?”

  “You brought it up,” Tibby turned back to the new arrival. “The missus is out of sorts? The family business not doing so well?”

  Davies shrugged. “Yeah, well. You know how women are. Just a lot of fuss about nothing.”

  “A hole is nothing, until you break your neck in it.” Tibby sat back, allowing the waiter to serve the soup. “Does that mean you’ll be leaving soon?”

  “No. We hav
en’t finished here yet.”

  Davies sighed. “There’s one more thing to wrap up.”

  “What exactly is your business?” Abigail asked.

  Davies glared at her. “It’s a family matter. It’s private.”

  “I see,” she smiled, clasping her hands together, showing off the fingerless lace gloves which disguised her youthful skin. “I didn’t mean to intrude. We were talking about criminals earlier. Have you encountered any outlaws while you’ve been out here? Mr. Dunbar was on a train which was robbed. Where are you from?”

  “No, I’ve seen nothing like that,” Davies picked up a bread roll. “We came in from San Francisco. It’s been just fine.”

  Tibby turned and frowned at Davies but stretched across him and stabbed a bread roll with his fork. “I certainly found the robbery more than I cared to have happen in a day. Wasn’t that enough dishonesty for a lifetime?”

  “I didn’t see it,” Davies dipped his bread in his soup and nodded at Nat and Jake. “Who are these two?”

  “This is my son, Nathaniel, and his colleague, Jake,” Abigail smiled. “They’ll be leaving me here for a couple of days while they attend to work. How long do your wife’s incapacities generally last?”

  Davies shrugged. “She’ll be fine tomorrow, I guess.”

  “Then I may see her after all?” Her eyes brightened. “I shall look forward to it. Another lady to chat with.” She scanned the people gathered around the table. “I’m sure you men will soon tire of an old lady’s company. I shall call on her. Please tell her.”

  ♦◊♦

  They watched the thin rubber strips stretch her skin as she stripped them away and peeled away the gum which clung like a parasite. Gradually, the young woman emerged from the prosthetics and part-masks and rubbed her skin fresh and clear. She wiped away the greasepaint from the remaining skin until she was pink and youthful once more.

  “So, we have a collection of people who were here in town when Dora and Bessie were murdered. Tibby is very amusing. He doesn’t look big enough to overpower Bessie, though, so if he did it he was most certainly acting with someone else. He and Davies don’t seem to like one another very much, nor does Daintree. Daintree is interesting. He must have saturated the area in those novelties by now? He can’t be earning enough to pay his hotel bill.”