Alice and the Assassin

by R. J. Koreto

  “But Uncle, I thought you wanted me to become more involved in the family business?” Preston said it deliberately to tweak his Uncle Henry. I could see the older man’s jaw set tightly.

  “You’re taking that trip. We discussed it.”

  “But maybe I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I want to take my father’s place?” He was clearly entertained at what he was doing.

  You could tell the old man wanted to lash out, but he mastered himself. “Miss Roosevelt, perhaps with your charms you might have more influence with my nephew than I do. Perhaps you could convince him to take such a trip, to help mature him before settling into business, and suggest some cities to visit.”

  And Alice decided she had pushed things far enough. At least for now. “Paris, you must visit Paris. And that’s just to start with. After Europe, you must see the Orient. I very much want to see Peking.”

  I saw Preston give her a quick wink, and they were off and running on a discussion of world cities that didn’t particularly interest me.

  It didn’t seem to interest Julia any more than the business discussion had. It wasn’t that the food was taking all her attention, either. There’d been a pretty good fish course, followed by a roast, but Julia didn’t seem to touch any of it. She hardly met anyone’s eyes, and Brantley didn’t seem to spare a lot of attention for his wife.

  “Have you lived all your life in New York, Mrs. Brantley?” I asked. It wasn’t the most original conversational line, and I already knew the answer was probably “yes,” but it might get something going.

  She seemed a little startled. “Yes, I have,” she said, giving me a shy look. “I’ve always lived in this house.” She paused. “We have a place in Buffalo, too, but we don’t go there very often.” I think she was considering asking me a question in return but couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  “I grew up in Wyoming, just outside of Laramie,” I said. She gave me the smallest smile.

  “I understand it’s a very . . . empty state,” she said.

  “It is, ma’am. It’s one of the biggest states, but far fewer people live in that whole state than on this one island. It’s a beautiful part of the country, and I often find myself missing it very much.”

  She got a dreamy look in her eye at that. “It must be lovely to just be so alone there. To be by yourself for hours and for days without anyone else. I am never alone. I am never by myself. Are you married, Mr. St. Clair?”

  “Not yet,” I said.

  “You have a kind face. I think you would be kind to your wife, wouldn’t you?”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Brantley glancing at us with some curiosity.

  “I’m sure I would. I have a sister. Her name is Mariah. And I’m sure she would expect me to behave myself.”

  I wanted to ask her something that would help us, but I doubt she knew anything. She seemed to be in her own little world.

  “I would’ve liked a sister,” she said.

  “You have your cousin Preston,” I said. “A cousin is almost like a brother or sister.”

  “Preston is a man—and I already know about men,” she said in a tone as if I had missed something very obvious, and maybe I had. There weren’t any other women in this house, and the Van Schuylers did not seem to be a very social group, which is perhaps why she seemed a little . . . odd.

  Eventually, a maid came around and took away our plates. Julia still hadn’t eaten anything.

  “You know, if you ever wanted to see the West, ma’am, it’s easy now with all the railroad lines. I’d be happy to accompany you and Mr. Brantley. I still have family out there, and we’d be delighted to show you some Western hospitality.”

  Julia looked at me curiously. “You really are very kind, Mr. St. Clair. I’m sure you mean very well, but Mr. Brantley and I . . . I don’t really—” She struggled for words, but never got there, because her husband jumped in.

  “Now dear, I think you’ve been monopolizing Mr. St. Clair’s time. He’s been very indulgent, but let’s not take advantage of his good nature.”

  The poor woman seemed embarrassed at that and just looked down. In other circumstances, I’d have told Shaw to mind his own damn business, but Alice had already ruffled a few feathers, and I didn’t see any point in making things worse for Julia by jumping to her defense. Maybe if the poor girl was being badgered, that would explain the lack of appetite.

  But I saw Alice taking it all in, and I realized we’d be coming back to Julia before the evening was over.

  For now, Brantley was content to continue the conversation I was having with his wife, but on his own terms.

  “I don’t think we’ll be taking any trips West soon, but if Preston is going to see the Orient, he might want to finish up at California and see a bit of the country by train on his way back east. You wouldn’t want to go, Julia,” he said with a laugh. “Red Indians on the warpath. Am I right, Mr. St. Clair?”

  “I’m a quarter Cheyenne,” I said. “But I’ll put in a good word for Preston if he’d like.”

  Brantley and Van Schuyler didn’t seem to know what to make of that, but Preston seemed amused, and Alice was trying hard not to laugh.

  After dinner, we all went to a lounge with some very comfortable furniture. I made myself at home in a deep chair where I could easily keep an eye on everyone. Then the servant who had let us in came around with glasses and poured us all some of the best brandy I ever had. He didn’t offer anything at all to Julia, who took a seat near the hearth and hugged herself as if she was cold.

  “I do so like your dress, Mrs. Brantley,” said Alice. “I need to increase my wardrobe before I relocate to Washington. Who is your dressmaker? I need some more fashionable dresses.”

  “Oh, the same woman my late mother used. I . . . I don’t use her very often. I have her name somewhere.”

  “Very good. Perhaps when you find it, you could bring it to me in person at the Caledonia, where I’m currently living with my aunt, and we can have a lady’s luncheon. Would you like that, Mrs. Brantley?”

  As Alice rolled on, Mrs. Brantley looked more and more stricken, as if she was being told she was being sent to a surgeon instead of being invited for one of Dulcie’s lunches. “Thank you, Miss Roosevelt. I . . . I . . . will you excuse me? I’m suddenly feeling a little unwell.” And she practically ran out of the room.

  I thought Mr. Brantley would follow, and so must Alice have, for she glared at him when no one left. “My wife has a nervous temperament, Miss Roosevelt. Fortunately, her maid is very good at soothing her.”

  “Maids are very useful for things like that,” said Alice brightly. “But perhaps a friend, another lady, would be even more welcome. If you gentlemen will excuse me . . .” and she took off after Julia. Brantley looked like he was going to say something, do something, but realized too late that Alice had gotten a march on him, and there was nothing to be done. He just grimaced and settled back into his chair. Preston continued to look amused, which seemed to have become his standard expression in Alice’s presence.

  And Van Schuyler? I wouldn’t want to play cards with him—he was unreadable. It was quiet for a few moments as we enjoyed our brandy, and then he turned to his nephew.

  “Preston, I don’t imagine Miss Roosevelt will be long with Julia. She usually wants to go straight to sleep after one of her spells. When Miss Roosevelt leaves her, you two young people will no doubt want to spend time together. Why don’t you wait for her in the green parlor? She can find you there when she’s done talking with Julia.”

  Preston was being dismissed. He looked like he might argue it for a moment, then downed the rest of his brandy and gave in with good grace. Or maybe he just wanted to see Alice.

  I briefly wondered if I would be dismissed, too, as Alice’s companion, but Van Schuyler quickly ended any confusion.

  “Can I offer you a cigar, Mr. St. Clair?” He opened a wooden box by arm.

  “Thank you, sir, yes.” I lit it up, and it was even better than the o
ne Don Abruzzo had given me. I felt a little bad for Alice, who wasn’t there to have one, too. Van Schuyler and Brantley also lit up, and both of them were watching me very closely.

  “I understand that you worked with the president when he was ranching in the Dakotas. It must’ve been very hard work. Especially for someone who was as young as you must’ve been,” said Van Schuyler.

  “You grow up fast there. I found myself up in the Dakotas looking for work, and Mr. Roosevelt was hiring.”

  “What my father-in-law is getting at, is that you know what hard work is. You know what it is to take responsibility. Preston doesn’t. And Miss Roosevelt certainly doesn’t,” said Brantley. “We are responsible for hundreds of workers, for business partners who have entrusted us with their money and their futures. I am sure, as a ranch hand, as a lawman, and as a Secret Service agent, that you have had to make hard decisions, that you have had to . . . be strict. So have we. Alice seems to think something mysterious was happening upstate. But it was just business as usual. Hard business. I don’t want you to think our business is any more than that.”

  I took a couple of puffs on my cigar. Now this was interesting. “Why would I think what Alice was talking about was any more than that?” I asked.

  “We’ve heard rumors. Rumors about rumors, if you will,” said Van Schuyler. “That people are saying our work upstate is about more than just being hard. That there is something”—he waved his arm, leaving a curl of smoke—“something sinister. Rumors of this Archangel. And maybe you found out we’ve been hiring many people in recent months, and that’s how rumors get started. But let me set the record straight. We’re a large presence in Buffalo and were so busy there around the time of the assassination. And we were plagued by anarchists even before one of the bunch killed McKinley. People do like to gossip. But you are an experienced man, Mr. St. Clair. And I think you understand that what we are doing is business as usual.”

  They were being vague, but I knew what was going on. Alice’s mention of the Archangel had upset them. And they were thinking that if Alice knew about the Archangel, there could be other things she might know.

  I had just one question after that speech. “This is all well and good, sir, and let’s say I accept it all. Why are you telling me?”

  “Because I’m thinking, and I’m hoping, that you have some influence with Miss Roosevelt. Probably bored, and left to her own devices, she has spent too much time listening to Preston’s stories. He’s a good boy, but he doesn’t get the full picture and has little understanding about how business is done. I’m hoping, as she trusts you, that you can get her to see reason.”

  “Mr. Van Schuyler, I’m just a Secret Service bodyguard. I thought you knew that.” I couldn’t believe he had gotten it so wrong. He seemed like a knowledgeable man. Did he think I was some sort of presidential advisor?

  “Are you playing a game with us?” asked Brantley. He seemed irritated, like I was making fun of him. But Van Schuyler just waved at him to be quiet.

  “Mr. St. Clair is just being circumspect, and I don’t think any less of him for that. I don’t entirely know what your writ is, but a mere bodyguard would be sitting in the kitchen in a bad suit drinking beer. When Preston asked me to invite Miss Roosevelt for dinner, I thought, fine, a young man wants to introduce us to his young lady. But Preston said that she insisted you be invited as a guest. So we know there’s more going on here.”

  That was a nasty surprise, and I’m proud of myself that I didn’t choke on my cigar. That made a lot more sense than Preston wanting me there. I gave myself a little more time to smoke, but that was acceptable. I think that was expected.

  “Gentlemen, what you said makes a lot of sense. And I promise you, I will have a very serious talk with her. As for my position . . .” And it was my turn to just wave my hand and leave a curl of smoke in the air. Silently, I thought about how I’d get my revenge on Alice. “It’s not something I can really discuss. You understand.”

  “You answer to President Roosevelt?” asked Van Schuyler, and it was halfway between a statement and a question.

  “Yes, I can tell you that much,” I said, and that had the advantage of being the truth. Van Schuyler nodded and then smiled. The tension melted away, and he changed the subject.

  “I know the East Coast, and Shaw here knows the Midwest, being from Chicago. But your part of the world is a little new to us. We have some questions . . .” And I got to spend a pleasant hour or so talking about how life worked in Wyoming and surrounding states and how the Van Schuylers might be able to make some money out of it.

  “I’m thinking of sending my cousin out West,” said Shaw with a smile. “A bit of a hot-head, I guess you could say. Did some work for us . . . but anyway. Maybe he’d do better where he had more room than in Chicago or New York.” And I agreed that the West could be a good place to get a fresh start.

  At least the evening ended better than it began. Alice and Preston rejoined us just as we were finishing our talk, and they seemed in good spirits. Julia did not come down, and no one mentioned her.

  “As much fun as this has been, we really should be getting home,” said Alice. We stood up, and a servant got Alice her coat. Van Schuyler said something vague about getting together more frequently and hoping her father could come to the launch of their new ship. Preston took her hand in both of his and said how pleased he was that she came, and their eyes lingered on each other.

  And then we were off into the night.

  CHAPTER 18

  “That was very interesting,” Alice said after I started the car and we were on the road.

  “It sure was,” I said, and something in my tone caught her ear.

  “Are you upset about something? It all went so well.”

  “First of all, Miss Alice, that wasn’t very kind of you. You pushed poor Mrs. Brantley until she fell to pieces and ran to her room. You saw how fragile she was, and you did it anyway just to get her alone.”

  “That’s an exaggeration. Yes, I wanted to talk to her, but how could I know she’d have a nervous collapse from a simple lunch invitation? I was just trying to befriend her. I don’t think we’ve seen each other since we were little children, and she doesn’t seem to have any friends. Anyway, I found out something interesting from her. Mr. Brantley and her father have her under their thumb. Everything I asked her, about having lunch or perhaps taking in a play together, was met with the same excuses—she was unwell, or Shaw wouldn’t approve. She’s being drugged. Her maid had a range of pills and powders.”

  “Did you bring that up with Preston?”

  “I did, but he couldn’t tell me much. He said Julia had always been highly strung, but he didn’t know her very well. He was at school and then college, so as she grew, he didn’t really see her very often. But she seemed to like me. I turned the conversation to mothers, how we both lost ours early, and it went rather well. I think she likes me, and if those drugs hadn’t taken effect, I would’ve learned more about this family. She’s been in the middle of things while Preston was away at Yale, and I’m sure she has something to tell us. But you were with Brantley and Van Schuyler. They clearly sent Preston away. What did you men discuss?”

  Her eyes were bright, and she was clearly excited. By that point, we were almost home, so I said we’d wait and talk about it more upstairs. She sighed with impatience but let it go. I parked the car, and the evening doorman gave me a look—“You’re moving up in the world,” he seemed to say. I would’ve rather just gone to my room and changed, but Alice wasn’t going to wait.

  A maid let us in and told us that Mrs. Cowles had already come home and gone to bed. We sat in the main parlor, and Alice could barely contain herself.

  “So what did they tell you? Did they admit anything when you were all alone together?”

  “First of all, Miss Alice, they told me that it was you, not Preston, who wanted me there as a guest.”

  Her eyes shifted a little evasively. “Well, I may have mentioned
to Preston you wouldn’t mind coming as a guest, but he was the host. He was the one who invited you—”

  “Miss Alice, I’ve been pretty good all along, considering everything you’ve done and considering you’ve almost gotten me fired. So don’t play me for a sucker.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right. Take it as a compliment. I needed you there. I needed another pair of eyes and ears there, and you wouldn’t do me any good in the kitchen.” She paused, and I could tell more was coming. “You don’t have to make it sound like it was such a burden. There are scores of young men in this town who’d be delighted to be my dinner partner.”

  “And I’m not one of them, Miss Alice. I’m a Secret Service agent. If you need some help at the dinner table, let me in on the plan, but let’s not pretend I’m your young man for the evening, or that I like dressing up in dinner clothes, or that I want to spend an evening drinking punch in some ballroom while you write my name down on a dance card.”

  I felt bad about that but figured to end it there, even if it did put her into a major sulk. She didn’t talk for a while, and finally I figured I’d take the step of changing the subject.

  “But no harm done. Anyway, we sent a certain message to the Van Schuylers. They don’t believe I’m just a bodyguard. They seem to think that I’m something more, someone who has the ear of your father.”

  That brought her around. “But that’s wonderful! It puts you—it puts both of us—in a much better position. Now tell me what they said, word for word if you can.”