“Yes, well . . .” He had no defense for himself. “What? Wait. Lottie Fox spoke to you personally? Where? At the police station? Do they know anything more about the Annie Wilcox case? Have the police figured out who fled the scene yet?” I said nothing.
“Aren’t you going to tell me anything about Jasper Neely’s murder? About what the police questioned you about?”
“I wouldn’t,” Walter said. “You’re a scoundrel, Harper. Why should Miss Davish tell you anything?”
“Sure, I’m a scoundrel. But I too have read all those newspaper articles about you, Miss Davish. I even wrote one of them. I know you want justice done.”
“And telling you will help?” Walter said.
“Yes.”
“That may be so—” I said.
“So you’re going to tell me?” Harper interrupted.
“I would, but I’m too tired to tell this tale twice.”
“Twice?”
“I have to tell Sir Arthur. So come with us to Senator Smith’s house and you can learn everything I know.”
“Aaaggh,” the journalist groaned. “You know they won’t let me back into Smith’s house.”
“Yes, I do know,” I said, feeling pleased with myself. Walter smiled and Harper fussed as Swift slowly plodded toward Lafayette Square.
* * *
“Sir?”
After parting with Walter and Simeon Harper, I’d headed straight for Senator Smith’s study. My head pounded, my arm was beginning to hurt again, and all I wanted to do was go to my room, but I had to explain what had happened to Sir Arthur first. I stood outside the open study room door, not having been invited to enter. A haze of smoke filled the air as Sir Arthur, Senator Smith, and Chester lounged about puffing on cigars. Claude Morris, with his back to me, was hunched over a stack of papers at the secretary desk against the opposite wall. He glanced up for a moment, saw that it was only me, and then returned to his work.
“Ah, Hattie. You just getting back then?” Sir Arthur said.
“Yes.”
“Did you have a chance to get the records I wanted this morning?”
“I did,” I said, trying to keep the sigh out of my voice.
“Good. Have those typed up for me by morning.” And then, as if an afterthought, he glanced at my arm bound in the new, proper sling Walter had rewrapped it in during the carriage ride back. “That is, if you can manage.”
“It will take me a bit longer, only having one hand to type, but it will be done by morning, sir.”
“Good. I knew I could count on you. Now, tell me what happened at the station.”
Before I could answer, Spencer came scampering into the room, a tattered rag white with flour and smelling of sour milk and yeast hanging from his mouth. He’d been in the kitchen wastebaskets again.
“Mildred!” Senator Smith shouted. “Mildred! Come get your goddamn dog!”
I consciously maintained my composure, not because of the senator’s use of such a vulgarity, but because of my own urge to smile at the senator’s growing annoyance as he rose from his chair and attempted to kick the dog from the room. The dog easily avoided his master’s foot and instead ran behind the overstuffed leather armchair the senator had been sitting on. As Mrs. Smith was not forthcoming, the senator shouted again while Spencer attempted to bury the filthy rag behind the chair.
“Mildred, come get your blasted dog!” Senator Smith’s face was beet red with anger as he muttered more obscenities under his breath. “If she doesn’t do something about this dog . . .” he threatened.
“Don’t worry, sir,” Claude Morris said, springing from his chair. “I’ll take care of it.” With great ease, he knelt behind the armchair and scooped the dog into his arms. Spencer attempted to wriggle from Claude Morris’s grip, but dog, rag, and clerk quickly disappeared through the door and down the hall.
“I swear if that dog . . .” the senator muttered again.
“Mother does indulge it, doesn’t she?” Chester said, smirking. His father merely glared at him as he collapsed back into his chair.
“As I was saying before we were interrupted,” Sir Arthur said calmly, as if the butler had delivered the post, “what happened, Hattie?”
“I’m not sure we can trust what the girl has to say,” Senator Smith said, as if I wasn’t standing a few feet from him. “In fact, I’m wondering if she should even be in this house anymore.” His mood was fouled by the incident with the dog.
“And why is that?” Sir Arthur said, a current of tension in his tone.
“You saw the article in the paper mentioning her in connection with the death of that strumpet.”
“Yes, I was indirectly mentioned as well. Are you asking me to leave?”
“No, no, of course not.”
“Did you see the headlines this afternoon?” Chester said. “The police are calling for the unidentified man to come forward. He’ll never do it, of course.”
How would you know? I wondered, still suspicious of Chester’s late-night stroll.
“Never mind that,” Smith said, grumbling. “The girl was witness to it, not you.”
“And how is that her fault?” Sir Arthur said. Silently I sighed in relief. Until now, I had no idea how Sir Arthur felt about my involvement in Annie Wilcox’s drowning and the subsequent mention in the newspaper.
“The girl was also brought to the police station for questioning, Sir Arthur. I can’t be associated with a woman questioned by the police. It’s not proper.”
“But she’s my secretary, not yours.”
“Thank God!” Senator Smith said, ignorant of the sting of insult evident on Sir Arthur’s face. “Morris would never do anything to bring scandal into this house. He is as loyal as a bee.”
“And Hattie would never do anything to discredit me either, Senator,” Sir Arthur said, crushing his cigar forcefully into the tray. “What are you bloody implying?”
“That she’s a liability,” Chester said. “I should know all about that.” He glared at his father, who ignored him.
“I am a guest in your house, Senator,” Sir Arthur said. “I resent your accusations. My word that she is above reproach should be enough.”
“It’s nothing personal, Sir Arthur, but I’m a politician, man,” Senator Smith said, trying to defuse Sir Arthur’s anger. “I can’t have anyone think I condone this march or its message. What will people think when they learn a woman staying at my house was arrested at the march and was associated with such depraved men, let alone a murder? With elections coming up, I can’t afford to be tainted by scandal.” He pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket and wiped his spectacles.
But you went to the camp! I wanted to shout, but wisely said nothing to point out his hypocrisy.
“She wasn’t arrested,” Sir Arthur said, quietly seething before I had a chance to defend myself. “She was merely brought in to aid the police in their murder inquiry. Nor was she ever associated with Coxey’s men, any more than you or I were. Isn’t that right, Hattie?” He said it without looking away from the senator.
“Yes, sir. That’s right.”
“The police lieutenant who escorted her to the station probably knew how she had been a boon to other police departments during their murder investigations and thought she could aid him in this one,” Sir Arthur said. I nodded. That was only partially true, but I knew better than to enlighten them.
“Well, then tell us exactly what happened, to put Father’s mind at ease,” Chester said.
“As I’d asked her to do before she was interrupted,” Sir Arthur said, still annoyed. “Hattie?”
“Yes, sir.”
I wasn’t asked to sit nor was I even looked at as I described the interview with Lieutenant Whittmeyer. The two Smith men puffed on their cigars and stared purposely at the bookshelves filled with volume after volume of the United States Statutes at Large. Sir Arthur glowered as he lit himself another cigar. I related my tale with as little emotion and as little embellishment as possib
le. I could feel the tension in the room and didn’t want to add to it. None of the men interrupted me, but Chester Smith yawned loudly several times.
“Is that it?” Chester asked when I’d stopped talking.
“Yes.” I’d briefly mentioned Lottie Fox’s inquiries about the drowning, but said nothing of her mention of Mrs. Smith or Sarah or her cryptic message, nor did I mention Billy McBain. That was between him and Daniel Clayworth.
“Very well. It doesn’t seem I have much to fear from the girl after all. Will you accept my apologies, Sir Arthur?”
“Of course,” Sir Arthur said, having regained his composure. “Thank you, Hattie. You’re excused.”
“May I have a private word with you, sir?” I said, reminding him he’d promised me a moment alone.
“Tomorrow. By the looks of you, you need a good night’s rest.”
I nodded as I retreated from the doorway. Disappointment and frustration were all that kept me from stumbling, as the pain in my arm and the final humiliation of the day had sapped my strength. Yet again I’d been denied my private interview with Sir Arthur, but he was right. I didn’t even have the strength for it. I wanted only to go to my bed.
“I have to say, Sir Arthur,” Senator Smith said as I slowly made my way toward the stairs. “I was surprised when you first arrived, what with all the scandal she’s been mixed up in, that you still employed that girl. Now look what happened today. Sure, she might not have been arrested this time, but I’d discharge her if I were you.”
Too tired and frightened to hear Sir Arthur’s reply, I scrambled up the stairs as fast as my aching body allowed.
CHAPTER 21
To my delight and surprise, a package and a telegram waited for me in my room. With renewed strength, in part due to drinking more of Walter’s medicine, I read the telegram. It was from Miss Lizzie and Miss Lucy, the elderly sisters who had befriended me after my first foray into solving a murder. Having last seen them in Newport last summer, we wrote often. This was their response to the telegram I had sent them on Saturday. Both being in good health and good spirits, they were overjoyed with the news of my engagement and hoped for an invitation to the wedding. I smiled. And then I opened the package. It wasn’t my trousseau purchases from Hutchinson’s as I assumed, for the simple card was signed: LOVE, WALTER.
What could he be sending me?
I carefully lifted the light pink tissue paper and gasped. Inside was the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen. For several moments my fingers hovered over the ivory silk satin fabric, afraid to touch it. And then, with my free hand, I lifted it out of the box, first the bodice and then the skirt, and laid it out on the bed. With stylishly puffy gigot sleeves, it had pale pink silk chiffon decoration at the neck and bodice. The long skirt had an asymmetrical sunbeam-and-cloud pattern of pale pink silk tulle and bead embroidery. I’d never seen anything like it. I peeked at the label. It read: HOUSE OF WORTH. Exhausted but happy beyond words, I climbed onto the bed next to my dress.
My wedding dress, I thought, smoothing the skirt beneath my hand until I fell asleep.
* * *
And I slept better than I had in weeks. I woke early but refreshed and typed the pension records Sir Arthur had requested last night. Even my arm felt better, though having to wear the sling created an awkward situation when I tried to type, let alone undress and dress by myself. I’d slept in my clothes. That morning, after realizing I was unable to undo the buttons of my dress, I had to ask Mrs. Smith for the help of a maid. As I awkwardly stood while the maid helped me out of my dirty, torn dress and stockings and then into a clean shirtwaist and skirt, I reflected on ladies like Mrs. Mayhew, my employer in Newport last summer, who had ladies’ maids assist them every day. But then I thought of women like Lottie Fox and Annie, who spent most of the day in various stages of undress. I was grateful and relieved when the maid was finished. I thanked her for her help while at the same moment vowing to dress myself from now on, even if it was a struggle to do so.
Once I determined I was presentable, tucking a stray curl back under a pin and smoothing my skirt with my good hand, I took another peek at my House of Worth dress, carefully packed back in its box, and then picked up the typing I’d finished and headed for the senator’s study.
“Come!” Sir Arthur said from inside when I knocked.
“The pages you requested,” I said, holding out the typed pension records.
Sir Arthur was sitting behind the senator’s desk, breakfast on a tray and several newspapers spread out before him. He took a sip of his tea with one hand and took the pages with the other.
“You managed despite your arm. Jolly good, Hattie.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Today, I’d like a copy of that index to the property destroyed by the Confederates and by the Union. With the march behind us, the Treasury should be open.”
“Of course, sir.”
When planning this trip to Washington, Sir Arthur had acquired several invitations to stay with friends; even Simeon Harper had offered his house on Vermont Avenue near Iowa Circle. When Sir Arthur had accepted Senator Smith’s invitation, I’d been surprised, as he knew the senator only by association and had therefore to refuse offers from much closer friends. But when we approached Lafayette Square for the first time, I discovered how clever Sir Arthur was. The senator’s house was a block from the Treasury, the White House, and the State, War and Navy building: all the places we knew for certain we would need to access for his research. Granted, I’d discovered boxes of Civil War records and photographs stored in basements, storage rooms, and attics of other buildings scattered around the city, but the bulk of his work, my work, would be done mere steps from Senator Smith’s house. I could easily fulfill Sir Arthur’s requests in a fraction of the time.
I turned to leave but stopped, appreciating for the first time that he was alone in the room. “Sir Arthur, would you have a minute to discuss that personal matter I spoke of?”
Sir Arthur pulled out his pocket watch. “Yes, I have a few minutes.” He clicked the watch closed. “Sit, Hattie.”
He indicated the armchair I’d often seen the senator occupy. I had no intention of sitting, I was too nervous, but I knew Sir Arthur wasn’t making a request. So I slipped onto the edge of the armchair, smoothed out my skirt, and waited for him to speak.
“Now, what is this personal matter you need to discuss with me?” He lathered marmalade on his toast and took a bite. “I don’t think you’ve ever required my advice or opinion regarding your personal life before.”
Because I did what I was told and had no personal life before, I thought but wisely left unsaid.
“It is something that concerns you as well, sir, or I would never have bothered you with it.”
He set down his toast. “Oh, yes? I see. What is it?” He frowned as he raised his teacup, light blue with gold trim on the rim and handle, to his lips.
“Dr. Grice has asked me to marry him and—”
“What?” Sir Arthur, lunging forward, sputtered between several coughs. “What?”
Thinking he hadn’t heard me, I repeated myself.
“I heard you the first time, damn it,” he snapped. He stabbed a sausage on his plate and then another and then another. He lifted them to his mouth. After a moment’s hesitation, he thought better of it and hurled the fork, sausages and all, against the wall. They smacked against a row of books and dropped to the floor. With no more warning than the slight clicking of nails on the parquet hall floor, Spencer bounded into the room, pounced on the sausages, and darted back out the door.
“How dare he!”
“Oh,” I said, taken aback by his sudden irritability. I was used to his brusque manner, but had never seen him like this about something as minor as a dog’s frisky behavior.
“What a scoundrel,” Sir Arthur muttered. He leaped out of his chair and began pacing. “And to think I admired him.”
“Sausage was bound to be a temptation for Spencer, sir,”
I said, trying to placate Sir Arthur without contradicting him. “Dogs are said to have a strong sense of smell.” Sir Arthur stared at me, his eyebrows pinched.
“I’m not concerned with the dog, Hattie.”
“But then who?”
“How dare Dr. Grice try to steal my secretary? Bloody hell! How does he expect me to find someone as competent, obedient, and discreet?” He spoke as if I wasn’t in the room. It rankled me to hear him speak of Walter, or me for that matter, in such a way, but the fear of his disapproval was deeply embedded and I remained silent. “Damn him! What does he think he’s doing?”
Was that a rhetorical question or not? I wondered. And then he swiveled on one foot to face me. He pinned his eyes on me. I couldn’t have looked away if I’d wanted to.
“As always you did the prudent thing, coming to me, Hattie. You must not worry one moment more about this. Leave it to me. I will speak to Dr. Grice and put an end to it all.”
As he spoke, my toes tingled and my body began to shake with anger. This was not what I had expected. This was not anything I had prepared for. In one thoughtless sentence, Sir Arthur had revealed his plan to destroy my future. With the pain in my arm throbbing, the strain of the last few days, and now this, I couldn’t take anymore. I’d been a loyal, discreet, and efficient worker. I’d done nothing without considering Sir Arthur’s opinion. I’d done everything, everything this man had ever told me to do. But I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t sit there in silence and let him do this. So instead, I did something I had never done before.
“No,” I said.
“What did you say?” Sir Arthur said, taken aback by my defiance. Luckily, by then I had regained my senses.
“I’m truly sorry, Sir Arthur. I don’t mean any disrespect and I appreciate your concern, but you have misunderstood me. I love Dr. Grice, and it is my sincere wish to marry him. I had hoped to get your approval.”
“You’ve accepted him?” I’d never seen surprise on Sir Arthur’s face before. He was genuinely astonished.
A March to Remember Page 17
