The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1)

by N. S. Wikarski

  “Engie?” Freddie squinted in the lantern shadow.

  “Yes, Freddie, it’s me,” a voice replied wearily. “I’ve been out walking.”

  Upon hearing her lady’s voice, Delphine rushed to her, draping her own shawl around the young woman’s shoulders and launching into a bilingual harangue on the dangers of hiking on the cliff after dark.

  “Pourquoi, ma chérie, tu fais comme ça? What do you think you are doing? And this one,” she jerked her head in Freddie’s direction, “he is no help. À quoi pensais-tu? Mon Dieu! You come inside now,” she said to Evangeline. “You go home!” she commanded Freddie.

  Evangeline tried to control her chattering teeth. “No, Delphine. I need to talk to Monsieur Freddie awhile. Put on some tea, please. I’m so cold, I could drink it boiling.”

  Freddie silently followed the two indoors. Delphine continued to cluck and scold and remonstrate and cast evil looks in the young man’s direction, but Evangeline made straight for the library to warm herself in front of the fire. Freddie sat and waited until she had thawed sufficiently to speak.

  “Engie, do you really think it was wise to go down there so soon after...”

  “I had to go. I had to sort things out. Just when I thought matters couldn’t get any more complicated.” She launched into a summary of her encounter with Humphrey and her distressing visit with Franz.

  Freddie didn’t interrupt until she was finished. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, Freddie. Something quite ugly if I’m not mistaken.” Evangeline’s composure began to return as the blue tinge left her lips.

  “About Franz?”

  “No, about Sidley.”

  “But I thought you dismissed him as a suspect.”

  “And so I did, Freddie. So I did. But something happened yesterday evening to make me change my mind. When I got to Mast House, I remembered there was a guest lecturer from England. All the residents showed up to meet him. One of them was Sidley. He became my escort for the evening.”

  “And...?” Freddie saw no heinous offense in that.

  “And... an accident occurred—one of those small events to which one pays no attention but which, in retrospect, changes everything.”

  “You found him pocketing money from the admission receipts.” Freddie adopted a teasing tone in an effort to lighten his friend’s mood.

  Evangeline smiled weakly. “No, nothing quite that obvious.” She sat forward in her chair. “Freddie, do you remember what I told you about his eyesight?”

  “Well, it’s rather hard to forget when you describe someone as being blind as a bat even with spectacles.”

  “That’s just it. I discovered he isn’t. The residents’ dining hall was crowded with people, and I was trying to locate Jane Eaves or Ellen Archwick but to no avail. He managed to pick Miss Archwick out seated at the opposite side of the room. Seated in shadow, Freddie, and wearing a dark gown. He was able to find her in a matter of seconds.”

  “Interesting. But it’s possible that he was just looking off in the right direction at the time.”

  “That’s what I thought, so I put the matter to a further test. We were seated at the back of the auditorium. You’ve been there. You know the size of that hall.”

  Freddie nodded his assent.

  “I directed his attention to a small banner directly over the speaker’s podium. I had to strain to see the lettering and could just barely make it out, but I wanted to know if he could see as well, so I pretended not to be able to read the entire inscription.”

  “And...?”

  “And he rambled off the whole motto with ease. As a matter of fact, he pointed out some decorative detail that I could barely see.”

  “Hmmm,” was Freddie’s considered response.

  At that moment, Delphine entered carrying a tray. She set it down on the small table beside Evangeline’s chair. “I have not brought you tea, ma petite. Voilà, du chocolat chaud. It will warm you better.”

  Evangeline looked down at the tray and then back up at Delphine with a pained expression. “Delphine, there is only one cup on this tray.”

  “Hmmph! I did not think this one,” meaning Freddie, “would be bothering you so long.” Then, as if the hint were not broad enough, she turned to stare directly at the young man. “I did not think he would be so outrageux as to sit here half the night when you are cold and tired and need your rest!”

  Freddie smiled placidly. “Oh, I’m quite that outrageux, Delphine. Probably far worse even.”

  Before Delphine could pick up the lone tea cup and hurl its contents at Freddie, Evangeline intervened. “Bien! C’est assez, Delphine! What I have to say to Monsieur Freddie is very important. Please bring another cup. Now!”

  Delphine backed away at the sharpness in Evangeline’s tone. “Oui, madame,” she said and left the room. The two sat and waited in silence until she returned with the second cup and finally closed the door to leave them in privacy.

  The interlude had given Freddie time to formulate a few more questions. He settled back into his easy chair and sipped his hot chocolate with great satisfaction. “Well, I don’t see why this is troubling you so much, Engie. The man in the hotel lobby was most likely Blackthorne.”

  “Humphrey said the man was sandy-haired, not dark.”

  Freddie shrugged. “He might have been mistaken.”

  “I don’t think so.” Evangeline’s voice was ominous. “The desk clerk says medium coloring, medium height. The porter says dark-haired and tall. What if they’re both right?”

  “I can tell from your tone that you’ve drawn a whole string of conclusions about this—conclusions that I apparently don’t grasp. Would you care to share them with me?”

  The lady stood up and walked closer to the fireplace, spreading her fingers to warm them in the glow. “It’s not the business in the hotel lobby so much that I’m concerned about. It’s what happened at the Fair.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “When I first interrogated Sidley, he confirmed what Patsy O’Malley, the landlady’s daughter, had told me—that he’d requested Elsa to wear a red silk rose in her hat.”

  “Yes...”

  “Furthermore, he requested that she tell him what sort of apparel she would be wearing that day.”

  “And the reason he gave you, as I recall, was that he feared his eyesight wasn’t good enough to pick her out in all that crowd.” The young man whistled through his teeth. “Well, what do you know!”

  “Yes, Freddie. Now you see.” She smiled fully for the first time that evening. “Forgive the wordplay.”

  “All right, Engie, you’ve established that he’s a liar. But why?”

  “I retract my previous observation.” Evangeline smiled again, this time wryly. “I guess you don’t see.”

  The young man waited in martyred silence.

  Evangeline returned to her chair. “The reason why he lied may be the grimmest part of this whole business. Do you remember your hypothetical scenario in which Elsa met a gentleman at the fair?”

  “Not a gentleman,” Freddie corrected her, “we can be fairly certain that the man she met was Blackthorne.”

  “And on that point I agree, but in your hypothesis, the encounter was purely by chance.”

  Freddie felt himself turn pale as the implication of her words struck him. “My God, Engie! Do you know what you’re suggesting?”

  “Yes, Freddie. Exactly so. I’m suggesting that Elsa had been targeted for the encounter before it ever occurred. The thought gives me chills. She never stood a chance.”

  “Of course. Why else would he take such care to know what she was wearing ahead of time, if not to describe her to someone who’d never seen her before.”

  “And the rose?”

  “To make her as conspicuous as possible in the event the rest of the description failed to bring her to Blackthorne’s attention.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But Engie, I don’t understand the moti
ve for this!”

  “Neither do I. But that’s only one of any number of things I don’t understand about this business, Freddie. Now do you comprehend my agitation? When confronted with such a dizzying array of unanswered questions, I had no idea where to start.” Evangeline stood up again and returned to the fire. Freddie watched her in silence as she stirred a log.

  She continued speaking while brandishing a poker. “I suppose we can only begin with the facts we know. We know that Jonathan is somehow connected to Elsa, and Sidley is most probably responsible for establishing their initial contact. My principal concern at the moment is to understand the connection between these two men.”

  “Was Blackthorne ever a visitor at the settlement?”

  “Not to my knowledge. And even if he were, the chances that he would encounter Sidley during a visit are fairly remote.”

  “Well, what do you know about Sidley, then?”

  “Not nearly enough. And that’s where I think we must begin. Wait here.” Without another word Evangeline put down the poker and flew out of the room.

  Freddie listened as her footsteps retreated down the hall. He poured himself another cup of hot chocolate, by this time lukewarm. He swirled the dark liquid contemplatively for a few moments, pondering the new scenario Evangeline had suggested. His ruminations were cut short as his friend came bursting through the door, out of breath.

  “Here.” She handed him a photograph.

  “Who are these people?”

  “It’s a group photograph of the residents at Mast House. This was taken about six months ago. You’ll oblige me by noting the gentleman in the second row, third from the left.”

  “Is that Sidley?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not particularly distinguished-looking, is he? What do you want me to do with that bit of knowledge?”

  “I would like you to call on his former employer and find out as much as you can about his tenure in that job.”

  “And where would that employer be found?” Freddie’s interest was sparked, the latent news-reporter instinct beginning to take control.

  Evangeline noted the transformation in her friend. “At this moment you remind me of nothing so much as a racehorse put out to pasture who has just heard the starting gun.”

  Freddie smiled self-consciously. “Yes, I suppose. But all this sitting around and waiting has gotten very depressing.”

  “Then despair no more, young Frederick. Your waiting is at an end. Tomorrow morning you must pay a call on Messieurs Hart And Hudson. I’m told they conduct an accounting practice on one of the upper floors of a building on State Street. I trust to your resourcefulness to discover the rest.”

  Freddie, in a mock chivalric gesture, went down on one knee. “Fear not, dear lady. I shall not fail.”

  Evangeline took the picture, rolled it up, and tapped Freddie on each shoulder with it. She returned the item to him with a flourish. “Your weapon. Rise, Sir Freddie, and God go with you!”

  “Lady, I take my leave.” Freddie bowed deeply as he stood in the doorway.

  Delphine had walked down the hall just in time to hear him utter his parting words. “Bon!” the housekeeper muttered, “And it is high time, too!”

  Chapter 19—Exchanges

  The following day, Freddie set out with high hopes of learning something useful about Sidley’s past. Since State Street was only a few blocks from his office, the young man ducked out during his lunch hour and assumed he could wrap up his investigation without being missed.

  He managed to find the building where Hart And Hudson was located, only to be confronted by a shaded window and a locked office door. He was informed by the building manager that no one had rented that particular office for the past decade. The only significant clue Freddie derived from this wild goose chase was that Sidley had lied about his previous place of employment.

  He then reasoned that if he couldn’t trace Sidley to Blackthorne, maybe he could trace Blackthorne to Sidley. With that purpose in mind, he sauntered off to the Merchant's Bank And Trust where Blackthorne worked to see if Sidley had ever been employed there as well. After being informed by the personnel manager that no one named Sidley had ever worked there, Freddie was running out of ideas.

  “Some reporter I’ve turned out to be!” he said to himself. “Chasing down leads that end up being blind alleys. Following hunches that don’t pay off! I can’t go back to Engie with this. She’s counting on me to find something, and right now I feel like a complete fool!”

  He walked out of the bank in a dismal mood. By now it was 1:30 and he had been away from the office for over two hours. He had no desire to return and had no idea what to do next, so he headed for Lake Park and found a shady bench where he could sit and indulge his misery. He sat motionless in an attitude of despair for so long that the park pigeons began to flock around him. Whether they came looking for food or because they mistook him for a new, oddly-shaped statue would have been hard to tell.

  Freddie’s eyes were still fixed on the ground when he noticed a shadow obscuring the patch of sunlight he had been focusing on. He looked up to find his own figurative shadow standing beside him.

  “Aloysius, what in God’s name are you doing here! I didn’t think my day could have gotten any worse!”

  “Simpson, do you know what time it is?” the company spy asked anxiously. “Your uncle will be asking me where you are and why you aren’t at work.”

  “I know the hour is late, my friend. And getting later. You may tell my uncle that I have decided to commit suicide by sacrificing myself to the park pigeons. You will find my bones picked clean by tomorrow morning.”

  “Simpson, what’s wrong with you? Do you really want me to tell your uncle that?”

  “Aloysius, does the word ‘hyperbole’ have any meaning whatsoever to you?”

  “Of course it does, but I find it a useless bit of nonsense to engage in just the same.” Waverly's nose twitched in disapproval. “Really, what shall I tell your uncle?”

  “Whatever you like, whatever the hell you like!”

  Waverly sat down beside him. “Look, I’m trying to help you. Don’t you see?”

  Freddie studied him contemptuously for a few moments. “I’m sure you expect some recompense for the trouble you’re taking on my behalf?”

  Aloysius looked down at his shoes. “Well, you were rather generous last time.”

  “As my desire to live diminishes, so does my fear of reprisal. I’ll give you five dollars to tell my uncle I went home sick. Not a penny more.”

  Waverly hesitated, apparently realizing that Freddie’s present mood made bargaining a waste of time. “Very well.”

  Freddie opened his billfold, counted out the money, and gave it to Waverly. “Aloysius, the five dollars is also to buy some privacy. I don’t expect to see or hear you again for the remainder of the day.”

  Waverly stood up and nodded. “I was never here.” The company spy walked away to fabricate a plausible lie.

  Freddie sighed. A pigeon standing on the ground by his left foot gurgled sympathetically. The young man put his head in his hands and said to himself, “Engie, old girl, if there ever was a time when I needed to speak to you, this is it.”

  Freddie tried to imagine what his friend would say if she were there. The image took such control of him that he could see her pacing the sidewalk in front of him, dressed in purple silk, hands clasped behind her back. Finally she wheeled to face him, eyes flashing. “Think, man, think! For God’s sake use your head for something other than a hat rack!”

  Freddie chuckled at the image he had conjured. “Well, that sounds like Engie, all right.”

  “Freddie, what do Blackthorne and Sidley both have in common?”

  “Well, they’re both connected to Elsa Bauer somehow.”

  “Yes, we know that!” The manifestation stamped her foot impatiently. “But what about their past? What do they share in their history?”

  Freddie wracked his brain and could c
ome up with nothing.

  “What do they do for a living?”

  “One’s a banker and one’s an accountant,” Freddie said, half-aloud. “They both have a background in finance.”

  “Quite so.”

  “But, Engie,” Freddie defended himself, “I’ve already tried tracing Sidley to Blackthorne’s bank and it didn’t pan out.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Perhaps he used an alias.”

  “But the clerk didn’t recognize his picture either.”

  “It’s a big bank, and Sidley may have left there three years ago.”

  “You know, you really aren’t helping me!” Freddie said out loud in exasperation. Evangeline’s image smiled and sat down beside him.

  “Maybe we just need to go a little farther back in time...,” she trailed off and then evaporated.

  Freddie cocked his head to one side, evaluating the idea. “Well, it’s worth a try. I’d be no worse off than I am now. Hmmm...” He stood up abruptly, causing pigeons to flutter in all directions. Dusting feathers off his coat with great resolution, Freddie marched westward once more to the Merchant’s Bank. He intended to find out the name of Jonathan Blackthorne’s previous employer.

  ***

  A half hour later, Freddie stood before an imposing edifice known as the Chicago Exchange. This was the building where all of Chicago’s commodities were traded. Architecturally, it resembled a Gothic cathedral—a cathedral dedicated to the worship of fatted calves and pigs. Blackthorne’s former employer was Dresden And Company, a brokerage firm located on the fourth floor. As Freddie turned the door handle to the company’s office, he was sent spinning by a messenger rushing down to the trading floor.

  “Sorry, sir, are you all right?” The boy helped Freddie regain his balance. “Have to run. I have to get this trade downstairs right away!” With that, the boy flew out the door leaving the young man to collect himself.

  Dazed by this encounter, Freddie wandered into the waiting room, where a small multitude of the firm’s clients were checking quotations being updated on a chalk board suspended from the wall. All around him, he heard a sea of turbulent voices muttering angrily. The muttering increased to a collective shout of rage with the appearance of an innocent-looking number newly chalked in the column for May wheat. Though Freddie didn’t dabble in commodities trading, he could smell financial ruin in the air and guessed that someone had just tried to corner the market in wheat futures.