by F. M. Parker
Cécile stepped away from Lew. She seated herself at the piano and began to play.
Lew sank into the big chair and listened to the delightful tune springing from under the woman’s nimble fingers. He watched her as she became caught up in her music. Her body swayed with a supple grace as she reached for a note. Her fingers sometimes became almost invisible in the faster section of the piece.
The selection of music ended, and Cécile began another. The piece was slow, almost a lullaby. Lew had never heard it before, but found it enjoyable and relaxing. He laid his head back on the velvet of the chair and closed his eyes, so that the sight of the beautiful woman would not detract from the music.
The tune ceased. Lew opened his eyes and looked at Cécile. She stood up and came to the center of the room.
He quickly stood up. He realized the particular pieces of music selected were not accidental, but rather had been very carefully chosen to create some desired effect upon him. He believed he knew what it was. The woman was intelligent. He liked that.
“Very lovely,” Lew said. He moved closer to her.
She gazed back at him, her eyes still holding that cold, faraway expression. “Why did you come to see me, Mr. Wollfolk?”
Lew saw a pulse beating visibly in the small hollow at the left base of her throat, like a tiny trapped animal trying to escape. She was human, very human, and the tension was great within her as she waited for his answer. The piano recital had been an exhibition of one of the skills she possessed, skills of pleasure that she had to give to a man. She was on the stage of reality, where the harshness of life was acted out. And she knew what the reality was.
He extended his hand and placed his index finger on the throbbing spot in the hollow of her throat. He felt the rapid pulses of blood rushing past beneath his fingertip. The cold, unemotional aloofness was but an act.
“My uncle was very fond of you. I came to see why,” Lew answered. He removed his hand and lowered it to his side.
“He was a very gentle man, and good to me,” Cécile replied. She was taken aback by his manner of touching her, as if reading her inner thoughts through the contact of his fingers.
“Yet he had men who hated him,” Lew said.
“He did not treat men as kindly as he did women.”
Lew thought he detected a twinkle in the black eyes. He smiled. “Few men do,” he said.
“Mr. Wollfolk, would you be kind and have dinner with a lonely woman?”
Lew’s smile broadened. And suddenly she was smiling with him. Without waiting for an answer, she clapped her hands together.
Almost instantly the mulatto woman came to the door of the room. “Yes, Miss Cécile?”
“Dinner for two, Titine.” Cécile turned to Lew. “Do you like fish, Mr. Wollfolk? I have pompano fresh from the docks. Its flesh is firm and white. Or would you like meat?”
“The fish,” said Lew. “I’ve had only red meat for a very long time.”
“Then we shall have the pompano. And, Titine, serve it with your delicious sauce, richly seasoned with spices, and at least three kinds of fruits. Serve my favorite wine.
Have the bread hot from the oven with lots of butter.” She cast an inquiring look at Lew. “Is that satisfactory?”
“Sounds like a wonderful meal to me.”
“Titine, please see to it,” Cécile told the woman.
“Yes, Miss Cécile.” The woman hurried from the room.
“Now, Mr. Wollfolk, I know you want to talk with me, but can’t it wait until after dinner?”
“Yes, I’d prefer that myself.” Lew felt a strong desire to touch the woman again.
“Then I have a suggestion. Do you dance?”
“Yes, but likely not the same steps that you dance.”
“We shall see. Come with me.”
Cécile guided Lew to an adjoining room. The rug had been removed from the center of the space and the wooden floor was smooth and waxed. A divan, two padded chairs, and a small table with straight-back chairs sat near the walls. Five large music boxes some two feet across sat on the table.
“Albert Wollfolk loved to dance.” A momentary shadow of sorrow cloaked Cécile’s face, then she spoke to Lew again. “He had those boxes made to play his favorite tunes. Perhaps you would like to also dance to them?”
“I would like to try.”
“We can listen to them and you can select the one you like. Or maybe we could start with a waltz.”
“A waltz would be fine,” Lew said.
Cécile walked to a domed silver music box and raised the lid. She wound it tightly.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“I’m always ready for an easy waltz.”
Cécile closed the lid and came to Lew. He caught her hand and waist. Her hand was no longer cold, but rather like a little warm animal cuddling against his palm. The music started. They moved off in the fluid steps of the waltz.
Lew thought of his predecessor to this room. Albert, you were a lucky man. Until someone killed you. As the hours had passed, Lew had become ever more certain that murder had been committed.
He shoved aside the thoughts of Wollfolk and concentrated on this time and the girl Cécile in his arms. She was a mere wraith instantly responding to his slightest movement, even if offbeat, making him feel very skilled. He knew he could create an entirely new dance and still her steps would have been in complete harmony with his.
They danced to the tunes of the music boxes, one after the other. Titine’s announcement that the food was prepared was an intrusion to Lew. But Cécile led him off to the dining room.
They ate at a small table, one that could accommodate but two. Wollfolk must not have liked visitors. Neither did Lew, and more and more he wished he had known the man. He felt a sadness, as if he had lost a good friend. Strange thoughts. How many of them were because of the woman and this place?
Lew finished his food. Quietly sipping his glass of wine, he looked at the woman across the table from him. Evening dusk had come early because of the gathering clouds, and her eyes had dimmed to large pools of darkness. He wondered what she was thinking as she gazed back at him.
Cécile studied the young Wollfolk. She felt her deep loss at the death of Albert Wollfolk. Her use of the words “lonely woman” to Timothy were true. Could he lift some of her loneliness? He seemed to like her.
A hard brittle burst of rain rattled on the glass panes of the window. Cécile jumped at the sudden sound. She turned to stare out through the window, watching the new rain swiftly increase to a driving downpour.
“I hope the dreaded vomito doesn’t come,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Often a wet spring and summer bring the vomito, the yellow fever.” Cécile continued to stare out the window.
“Why is that?”
“No one knows. Even our best doctors are mystified. Sometimes many people die, hundreds in a week. Then, gradually, the dying stops and the fever is gone. Over the years New Orleans has seen many plagues.”
“I have heard of the fever,” Lew said.
Cécile turned her dark eyes upon Lew. “The rain is hard and will most likely continue until morning. Would you want to remain here tonight?”
“I would like that,” Lew replied.
“Good. I’ll have Titine prepare for your stay.”
“I’ll take care of my horse.”
“There are stalls and feed at the end of the courtyard. You may use the raincoat by the rear door. It should fit you.”
Lew left the house. He hardly felt the rain beating down and pouring inside the raincoat, for the thoughts of the woman filled his mind. Swiftly he untied the gray horse and led it across the dark courtyard to the stables. He gave the animal a ration of grain and hay and hurried back to the house.
Titine met him at the door with a candle. She helped him out of his rain gear. “I’ll show you to your room, Mr. Wollfolk. Please come this way.”
She guided him up a stairs t
o the second floor and down a hallway containing three doors. “This room is yours, sir,” she said, and pushed open a door. “If you wish to bathe, the water is drawn and warm.” She gestured at another door.
“Thank you, Titine,” Lew said.
“There are several candles and an oil lamp in the room. You can light them with this.” She handed him the candle.
A large double bed occupied one side of the room. There was a dresser, two chairs, a writing table, a brass-bound trunk, and a closet door standing open to show a long rack of clothing: shirts, coats and trousers. Hats filled the top shelf. A complete outfit of dry clothing had been placed on the bed.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Lew said under his breath. Cécile was telling him that he was master of the house. What he wanted was his merely for the asking. And he would indeed ask.
He bathed leisurely, luxuriating in the feel of the water on his skin and the pleasant surroundings. He had stepped into a ready-made world. The properties and pleasures that had taken Wollfolk many years to accumulate were now Lew’s. And all because he had come to help a man being murdered and then killing those men who had committed the terrible deed.
He dried himself, donned the fresh clothing, and went out of the bath. The house had become quite dark. His candle cast but a faint glow in the hallway. The doorway at the end of the passageway stood open and full of bright-yellow light. Inviting light.
He went along the passageway to the door and knocked lightly on the wooden jamb.
Someone stirred in the room. Cécile came to the door. She looked him up and down. “Everything fits,” she said.
“Everything fits,” agreed Lew. “Would you like to talk now?”
She took him by the hand and pulled gently. “Please come in and we will talk. And then we shall entertain ourselves while it rains outside.”
10
Lezin watched Tim come down the stairway from the balcony of the house and climb up into the wagon beside him. The white man moved stiffly, favoring his left side. Still, he was much improved, healing cleanly and quickly, as young healthy animals do.
Marie waved from the balcony. Tim waved back and smiled up at her.
Lezin saw the happy expression on his daughter’s face. Soon it would be time to speak to her about Tim.
He slapped the horse with the reins and drove out of the carriageway and toward New Orleans. Once they settled down on the main road, Lezin let the horse have its head.
He extracted five twenty-dollar gold pieces from his pocket and held them out to Tim. “This should be enough to buy what you need in the way of clothing. How much additional money do you want?”
“No more. That will be plenty,” Lew said. For a fisherman, Lezin seemed to have considerable money, and he handled it in a casual manner. His house was well-furnished. Marie had been sent away to school for several years. Lezin himself appeared to be an educated man. Probably self-taught, thought Tim.
They entered New Orleans and Lezin began to point j out the important and interesting places of the city. He drove through the Garden District and then into the Vieux Carre. They halted at stores Lezin knew, and Tim purchased new clothing. He put the garments on as they were acquired, and he placed the items borrowed from Lezin in the rear of the wagon. Tim’s letters to Cincinnati were mailed at the U.S. post office.
Morissot halted the wagon at a small law office. “Earl Kidder is a black lawyer,” Lezin told Tim. “He does legal work for me now and then; he can find out what properties Albert Wollfolk owns—at least those that are recorded in the public records. Let’s go in and see him.”
“It might be best if nobody knew who I am until I get the identification back from up north,” said Tim.
“You may be right. Wait here. I’ll just be a minute. Then we can drive down to the waterfront and take a look at the warehouse and docks that have the Wollfolk name on them.”
* * *
Lew read the documents, one attesting to his identity as Timothy Wollfolk and a second formally accepting the conditions of the inheritance. He signed both papers with a flourish and handed them back to Rosiere. He hoped the lawyer did not possess a letter or some other paper containing the dead man’s signature with which to make a comparison.
Rosiere took the papers. He evaluated the young Wollfolk and the expensive clothing he wore. Today he resembled the older Wollfolk more.
“I have an appointment with the district probate judge at four p.m.,” Rosiere said. “I’m certain he’ll find everything is proper and will sign an order legally making you the beneficiary of your uncle’s estate. By evening, all of the properties will be for your use and enjoyment.”
I have already enjoyed some of Wollfolk’s possessions, thought Lew. He spoke to the lawyer. “I appreciate your help in handling my uncle’s will. I hope you will continue as the Wollfolk lawyer and give me advice.”
“It would be my pleasure to do that,” said Rosiere. “What do you plan to do now?”
“It’s time I get involved in the business. I will stop by the office and talk with Spandling and find out how everything is going. Then I’ll go down to the docks and warehouse.”
“I should warn you again that competition for business of the waterfront is very cutthroat. Trust nobody.”
“Not even the men my uncle hired?”
“He must have thought they were honest men. But he has been dead for a month. Men change as the situation changes. Who knows how they will act to a new owner of the company? The new white foreman came well-recommended, but I personally know nothing about him.”
“I may need money. When can I draw from the bank?”
“I’ll record the probate papers in the public records today after the judge signs them. Then I’ll stop by the bank and give them copies so that they will be informed that you are now the legal owner of the Wollfolk accounts. By tomorrow, the funds will be at your disposal.”
“All right. If you want to get in touch with me, leave a message at the big house. Jacob will hunt me down.”
* * *
Lew entered the ground-floor office of A. Wollfolk, Warehouse & Dockage Company. The space was quite large. A vacant desk and chair sat on the right back near the wall and facing the entrance. A door stood ajar and Lew saw three men perched on stools drawn up to a long desk. Ledgers and papers were scattered about each worker. On the left, a hallway led off to the rear.
Lew walked to the open door and called inside. “Where’s Tom Spandling?”
“Back in his office,” the nearest man said. “I’ll get him for you.” He came out the door and went down the hallway.
A moment later he returned with an elderly man, quite spindly with a pair of tiny glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose. The man looked closely at Lew. “I’m Tom Spandling,” he said.
“And I’m Timothy Wollfolk.”
Abruptly the man smiled, as brightly as a young boy’s smile. He held out his hand. “Glad to meet you, Timothy. I saw Mr. Rosiere on the street earlier this morning and he said you were in town.”
“Hello, Tom.” Lew shook the man’s hand. “I’d like a rundown on the business.”
“Certainly, come into my office.”
“That was Mr. Wollfolk’s office,” Spandling said, pointing as they neared the rear of the building. “Do you plan to continue with a private office here?”
“For now, yes. Let’s talk in there instead of your office.”
Lew went immediately behind the large walnut desk and sat in the tall-backed leather-upholstered chair. The floor was covered with a thick-pile wool carpet. The walls were of stucco and painted white. The painting of a graceful three-masted clipper ship hung on a wall. Directly below it were framed architectural drawings that Lew thought could be of the same ship.
He gestured at the painting. “I would guess that’s the ship Honest Traveler that’s being built in Algiers. When is it scheduled for completion?”
“On September thirty this year. Or I should say it was until I stopp
ed construction immediately upon Mr. Wollfolk’s death.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I had told Mr. Wollfolk that shipping was a hazardous business, much more a gamble than a business such as we have with the docks and warehouse. I recommended to him that if he insisted on building a ship it should be a steamship. I decided to hold up the construction until the new owner could decide what he wanted to do.”
“Then go tell the shipbuilder to begin work at once. Tell him to make up for the lost time. I want the Honest Traveler completed and ready for sea on the original schedule.”
“But don’t you want time to reconsider Mr. Wollfolk’s plans and make your own decision? I can advise you on the current conditions of shipping and waterfront business.”
“Does the company have enough money in the bank to pay for the ship and meet other operating costs?”
“Yes. Also we are profitable month to month, but expenses are high, and because of the accelerated war effort, they are going even higher.”
“Tom, I appreciate what you did, but I’ll trust my uncle’s judgment until I have solid information to the contrary. We will proceed with his plan.”
“Certainly, Tim.”
“Then restart the building of the ship at once.”
“I’ll go across the river and speak to the shipyard-owner tomorrow.”
“Please go today, just as soon as we finish here. Tell the builder that I’ll be over tomorrow to talk with him about the ship.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Tell me about the work we have now and what contracts are coming up in the future. How full is the warehouse?”
“The warehouse is about three-quarters full. The dock space is about the same. But the contracts for storing and transporting cargo are drawing to an end. We have no bids out for new business.”
Lew looked sharply at Spandling. “Why are there no bids on army and navy contracts? There must be dozens open and waiting for bidders.”
“True. There are nearly two dozen contracts of varying sizes open for bids. Nearly all of them will be closing in less than four weeks.”
“Then why aren’t you bidding?”
