by Ann Parker
“No relation!” the silver-haired lawyer said hastily as he picked up the singular replacement for his discard and grimaced.
Ah! Cooper trying for a flush or a straight, I should guess. He should know better. He’ll probably fold this time around.
“—Sir Astley made historical contributions to otology, vascular surgery, and, apropos of our discussion here, cerebral circulation.”
Percy stayed pat, looking more jolly by the moment. Inez experienced a twinge of suspicion.
“Yeah, yeah.” Jed had pulled out his notebook and was tapping it with his pencil. “This Astley fellow, he gets all the glory, and who’s getting the short end of this deal, or maybe I should say the sharp end of the scalpel? The dead and their families, right? Probably the poor, come to think of it, because who misses the unknown wretches who die and are dumped into the potters’ fields?”
Percy took that moment to say cheerfully, “I say, I shall have to think of a good name for the mine. Perhaps I’ll call her the Silver Queen. How about that, Mrs. Stannert? An homage to you and your hospitality?” His gaze roved to the ceiling, fixing on the chandelier. “Why, I might just move to Leadville so I can keep a close weather eye on my investments here and hobnob with Tabor and the other silver barons.”
“Move?” inquired Inez.
Doc picked up his three replacement cards and sighed, making no attempt to hide his disappointment.
“Investments?” said Epperley incredulously. “Plural? As in more than one? In Leadville?”
“Why, yes. I bumped into Mr. Stannert earlier, and he mentioned the possibility of opening up a gentlemen’s club not far from here, semi-exclusive and all that. I imagine he heard of my good fortune on the hill and was looking for backers.” Percy’s teeth flashed.
Tipton, Balcombe, and Quick stirred from their posts by the sideboard. Quick squinted at the empty brandy decanter while Tipton pulled out his pocketwatch, announcing, “Don’t want to miss the show at the Grand Central. You coming, Epperley? How about you, Percy? Remember that little redhead from last night? I’m certain she’d love to rekindle her acquaintance with you, especially now that you’re a silver baron.”
“After this hand,” said Percy. “Save us a box seat.”
Quick said, “Right-o, we’ll put the champagne, on your tab, Percy.”
The three squeezed past Elliston, who repositioned himself by the sideboard and helped himself to a whisky, neat.
Inez discarded a lowly trio comprising a deuce, three, and six, and studied her replacements, keeping her face and hands still even as her heart did a joyous little caper. Not only had chance graced her with the last vagrant ace in the deck, but with two queens as well. She turned to Evan.
“Twenty,” said Evan.
Cooper shook his head. “I’m out.”
He tossed his cards toward the center of the table, as if waving goodbye to the pot in the center.
Inez switched her attention to Percy.
“Let’s liven things up a bit, what say you, Evan, old son? See your twenty and raise you one hundred.” Percy pushed a portion of his remaining coinage into the center of the table.
Doc rubbed his jaw as if deep in thought, the jowls beneath the muttonchops quivering. Inez knew it was all for show. For as long as she’d been playing poker with Doc, he never stayed in for the high stakes. Being a patron of the Saturday night game and being able to drink a quantity of brandy in the company of the regulars had always seemed enough for him. In fact, sometimes he didn’t play at all, preferring to take his brandy, sit by the parlor stove, and chat with other nonplayers who happened in, such as Reverend Sands.
Sands.
She thrust his name away from her thoughts, keeping her gaze steady on Doc for his pronouncement.
“Ah well. This is where I bow out.” Doc threw in his cards and gathered his meager stash of currency.
Gregorvich had pointedly turned his back on Elliston and was now watching the remaining players as if they displayed some intriguing symptom of a mysterious disease he was determined to diagnose.
Inez pushed in the requisite one hundred-twenty, then turned to Evan. He added a hundred and said, “Call.”
They revealed their hands. Evan had a decent flush, all clubs. With a triumphant flourish, Percy presented three jacks and two queens. “Sorry, Evan, better luck next time,” he said with a grin.
“Indeed, gentlemen,” said Inez, setting out her aces-high full house. “Better luck next time.”
There was a moment of silence, then Percy exploded in laughter. “Well played, Mrs. Stannert, I’ve been comb-cut most expertly! And here I thought the lovely owner of the Silver Queen was simply here to grace the table with her presence and provide the feminine touch. I was so addled I forgot that she has as keen a mind as any highly trained Inner Temple barrister.” He gave her a sly wink to show he was not holding any kind of grudge.
Inez addressed both Evan and Percy. “Thank you, gentlemen, for being such good sports. I will confess that my good fortune is all due to Lady Chance.” She slid the winnings into the moneybox she kept near at hand. “Surely you will all stay and allow the lady an opportunity to smile on you as well. The night is still young.”
Evan and Cooper nodded.
Percy shrugged. “Apologies, dear lady. Places to go. Redheads to see. You understand.” He pushed back his chair and stood, looking relaxed and happy. “Ah well, it’s a come-day, go-day for me. Jolly good fun all around.”
Epperley however was scowling as if it was his money, not Percy’s, that was sliding into the Silver Queen’s moneybox.
Percy caught his expression and said, “Oh, buck up, Epperley.You’re as bad as the paterfamilias, scolding me to ‘save for a rainy day’ et cetera. Let’s go on down to the Grand Central and you can wash your neck with some of their imported champagne.”
Without a word, Epperley disappeared out the door. Clapping hat to head, Percy followed, pausing with one hand on the crystal doorknob. “You must forgive Epperley. He’s been working much too hard at that resort hotel of his in Manitou. Fellow’d be a lot happier if he let that money-losing property go and loosen up a bit. Ah well. Cheerio!” He departed, and they could hear him whistling a jaunty tune as he descended the stairs.
Inez stood. “Gentlemen, shall we take a short break and then resume? Jed, will you be joining us?”
“Of course.” Jed drained what was left of his whisky. “Seems like a good time to pull up a chair, now that Evan and Cooper have been properly humbled.”
Inez tucked the moneybox under her arm and began heading toward the office, with the idea of depositing a portion of the winnings in the safe. Too much available was too much temptation to take chances.
A quick tread behind her warned her that she was being followed. She pivoted, moneybox in one hand, the other sliding into her hidden silk-lined pocket for her revolver.
Dr. Gregorvich stood in the hallway, too close for comfort. Inez retreated a step. “Doctor, can I help you?”
He said, “I want to apologize, Mrs. Stannert. I was made aware by my colleague Dr. Cramer I may have been overbearing in my enthusiasm for my chosen field of medical passion.” He smiled, and the lingering threat in the air dispelled.
She, however, kept her hand in her pocket. “Apologies accepted. All of us have our passions, and sometimes they can overtake us.”
“Yes, indeed. The brain or the mind, if you wish, is such a fascinating subject. Our knowledge is yet imperfect, but compared with the obscurity which surrounded it for years, we are rich in material and in observational results.” He held up a hand as if to forestall her shifting yet another step toward the office. “But I don’t want to overstate the position of our profession. We are not yet able to demonstrate that particular lesions in the nerve cells are found only in connection with, for instance, the hypertrophied caudate cell which has been
found in general paresis, melancholia, and brain atrophy. Ah, but I wanted to ask a question regarding that young charge of yours from the afternoon.”
The abrupt change of subject put her on guard. “Yes?” she said cautiously.
“The niece of your friend. I should pay a professional visit so I can check on her symptoms and progress. The vagaries of high altitude and exhaustion, particularly in children and women, can be most damaging.”
“Yes, well,” Inez thought quickly. “I should ask my friend. You understand. The young girl was not my charge. I was merely bringing her to her proper family.”
“Of course.” He paused. “I have particular interest in the mind and brain’s connections to vision, the eye, and the optic nerve. How does vision work? Are hallucinations created in the brain proper or through aberration in the optic nerve? It is an area of fascination to me. I noticed your young traveler had heterochromia iridum—eyes of different colored irises. Very unusual. I would like to see her again, to ascertain she has recovered from her travels and also perhaps run a simple examination regarding her sight.”
His gentle manner aside, the doctor’s words and looming presence set off alarms for Inez. She decided to parry with regret. “You are most kind and I appreciate your concern. I shall pass your request along to my friend. I can assure you that the young girl in question was made to rest and, by all accounts, is doing well. As for her eyes, you are far more observant than I, for I didn’t notice.”
His own eyes narrowed, and she feared she had perhaps overplayed her hand.
“Will you be staying for the second half of our evening?” she asked. “Lady Luck may smile upon you yet.”
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Other duties await. Our presence on State Street and in the alleys is particularly needed on the weekends, so I shall be on my way to provide medical aid to those who need it and prayers to those who are past need.” He inclined his head. “Thank you for a most educational evening, Mrs. Stannert. I have not had the pleasure before of meeting a woman who can ‘think like a man’ in the rather demanding game of chance. Oh yes, I watched, and saw you watching as well.”
He stepped forward, and she involuntarily stepped back. “Do you know,” he continued, “the weight of the average female brain is an estimated five to six ounces less than that of the average male brain? That general inferiority in size exists at every period of life, from newborn to old age, even taking into account body weight.” His gaze lingered in the vicinity of her forehead, and Inez could imagine that he was attempting to weigh her brain by virtue of his gaze. “It is accepted in medical and scientific circles that a woman’s body and mind are inferior in vigor and power to those of the man. Accordingly, if pitted against one another in a physical or mental race, she, to use a sporting phrase, would be heavily handicapped.”
Inez blinked, thinking of all the women she knew who spent their lives in hard physical labor—cooking, washing, cleaning, birthing and raising children. Those same women and others as well used their “inferior brains” to keep household accounts, negotiate in the buying and selling of daily goods, and run family- or self-owned businesses, all while negotiating the minefield of what was “right” and “expected” of the so-called weaker sex.
She responded with cold asperity, “I would suggest, Doctor, that you look not to the size of the brain nor its weight but to the use an individual puts that particular organ. I would further suggest that, if we were to be pitted in a mental race, the winner would entirely depend on what the race was about. If it were about anatomy of the brain and medical matters, well, sir, you would certainly finish the easy winner. But if the race involves dissecting Chopin’s Waltz Number Seven or Milton’s Paradise Lost, or the practicum of running a business successfully—balancing the books, weighing the investment options of the myriad opportunities in a mining boomtown—I do believe I would leave you spinning in the dust.”
With that, she turned on her heel and went into the office, closing the door with a firm click behind her.
Chapter Twenty-six
Tony knocked on the back door of Alexander’s Undertaking, glancing around as she did so. Crumpled papers skittered in the ice-cold breeze that skirled through the alley. Back in the clothes borrowed from Ace, Tony shivered. She found herself longing for all the fancy girl’s clothes and layers that she’d left folded neatly at Miss Carothers’ studio. The key to the back door of the studio was fastened to a simple piece of string around her neck.
“You can come and go as you please,” Miss Carothers had said. After a worried pause, she’d looked at Tony with those soft brown eyes and said, “You could just stay here. Do you really need to take this job at the undertaker’s?”
Tony was tempted, but shook her head. “If I’m going to find out what happened to Maman, I need to know more about Mr. Alexander and his missus.”
Although she hadn’t said so to Miss Carothers, Tony also figured that she was less likely to run into anyone who might recognize her at the coffin-man’s place than at the studio. Turns out, the woman photographer knew the nobs, or at least they’d been her customers. Tony had recognized one of them, the one with the pale hair who always looked so angry, in a photograph in the studio showroom.
Tony shivered again at the recollection, but then reminded herself where she was. If any of the nobs showed up here, well, they’d probably need measuring for a pine overcoat, so no worries there. She knocked again, a little louder. A wavering light leaked through the dusty window in the back door, growing stronger, until she heard the unmistakable grind of a door latch being withdrawn. The door opened, revealing Mr. Alexander on the other side, holding a lamp. The sharp scent of kerosene wafted out with the warmer air. He said, “Right on time. Excellent. Come in, Mr. Donatello.”
For the briefest moment, Tony wondered who “Mr. Donatello” was. Then, she remembered. Here, she was Tony Donatello. She was wearing so many different names for so many different places and people that it was hard to keep track.
Alexander ushered her inside, saying, “No need to come to the back. Feel free to use the front door. If it’s locked, there’s a bell to ring. If I leave it open, it has a bell above the door to let me know someone has entered. I happened to be coming up the stairs just now, otherwise I might not have heard your knock.”
He locked the door behind her and led the way down a dark, wide hall toward the front of the building, the lamp hissing venomously. He continued, “I don’t often leave the front door unlocked, however. This isn’t the kind of business, where people come in off the street for a look-around. Most of my clients make appointments.”
For one wild moment, Tony thought he meant the corpses. How could the dead make appointments? But then she realized he had to mean the living.
The light from the lamp threw dancing shadows around the dark hall. As they emerged into a large, gaslit room the light from the lamp shrank and disappeared, overwhelmed by the intense brightness. Tony looked around, bedazzled by an array of hulking, oblong wood and metal coffins.
“These are some of the more expensive ‘eternity boxes’ we have to offer,” Alexander said matter-of-factly. “Tonight, you’re to dust and polish these, inside and out. That will take you some hours, if done correctly. But first, I’ll just tell you a bit about them. I find some people are uncomfortable around these wares. Throwing the light of knowledge upon them lessens the fear and makes them what they are—resting places for the dead, not objects for holding sorrow, fear, and distrust.”
He extinguished the lamp and moved to the first. “To begin with, most of these are properly called ‘caskets,’ not coffins. We have bronze,” he laid a hand atop a gold-colored container, “copper, various woods such as oak and mahogany.” He moved on. “And here is a metallic burial case.”
Tony gulped. “It’s kinda shaped like a body.”
Alexander lay a hand on the case. “This was designed with Egypti
an mummy cases in mind. When sealed, it is airtight, slowing the decomposition of the remains to a remarkable degree, making it the perfect choice for long distance transport. But this kind of burial case is expensive, so mostly of interest to the well-to-do.”
Tony ventured closer. “Why’s it got a window?”
“For one, it allows those who receive the coffin to identify the one who lies within. We line the interior with fabric in the head and shoulders area. My wife takes care of the fabrics we use here and in the shrouds and so on.”
Tony thought of the pale sad-eyed Mrs. Alexander, all in black, standing outside her maman’s shack and looking her over with her disturbing gaze, and then later that night, hanging onto the billiard-hall door with a grip of pure death. No wonder she’s so death-crazy, having to always be sewing shrouds and things for corpses.
“So, the bodies—”
“The remains,” Mr. Alexander corrected.
“The remains aren’t up here?”
“That’s right. When someone dies at home, I go to the house and take care of the arrangements and do the embalming on the premises. I also hire the help and transport necessary to bring the casket or coffin to the home and arrange bringing the remains to their final resting place.”
“Embalming?” She wasn’t sure what that word meant, but it didn’t sound pleasant.
He nodded, and she detected a touch of pride in his voice as he answered, “Embalming replaces the blood and fluids in the body with a special mix of chemicals, including alcohol, creosote, zinc chloride, sugar of lead, turpentine, and so on. It is the modern, medical way to preserve a body after death from further decomposition.”
“How’d you learn all this?” His business obviously went far beyond just knocking together pieces of wood to throw the dead corpses into.
Alexander retreated to a countertop at the back of the room, which reminded Tony of a shortened version of the bar at the Silver Queen. Minus the drinkers and the drink. “I started as a furniture maker. Making furniture and coffins went hand-in-hand, back in the day. Eventually, I moved into the undertaking business and all that entailed. As for embalming, it’s been an area of interest to me since the Great War, when I worked with the embalming surgeons. After the War, I aligned myself with physicians who offered such services so I could learn more about it.”
