To his horror, he saw one of the spectators pull a gun out of his coat pocket and point it at his own head. Before the man could pull the trigger, two others tried to wrestle the gun away from him. A shot fired and whizzed into the wall above Freddie’s shoulder. The battle for control of the gun continued as a dozen other bystanders ran for cover. Another shot tore through the air.
Freddie ducked low to the ground, frantically searching for somewhere to hide. Spying an unmarked door at the back of the waiting room, he crawled to it for cover and shut it behind him. His head was still spinning as he uttered a silent prayer of thanks that his father had been a lawyer instead of a broker.
The serenity of the inner room was shocking in contrast to the donnybrook going on outside. A middle-aged, balding man sat at a desk immediately before him. He looked up and said mildly, “May I help you?”
It was all Freddie could do to bleat, “Personnel?”
The man at the desk smiled reassuringly. “You’ve found it, sir. I’m Mr. Wallace, the personnel director. In what way can I be of assistance?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I regain my hearing.” Freddie noticed a dizziness along with the ringing in his ears.
“Yes, it can be a bit much out there, can’t it. You picked an unfortunate time to arrive. The market is just about to close, and it’s been an unusually active day of trading.”
“But... but... ,” Freddie stammered, “I just saw a man try to shoot himself!”
Wallace sighed. “Yes, that does happen from time to time. Very unfortunate. Well, what can I do for you?”
Freddie looked askance at the man’s composure. “But shouldn’t you do something? Call someone for help?”
Wallace smiled, unruffled. “Don’t worry. The security guards will be up soon. They’re accustomed to handling situations like this.”
“Oh... ,” Freddie trailed off in a small voice, trying hard to assimilate the meaning of business-as-usual in the world of stock brokers. Realizing that Wallace was still looking at him quizzically, he attempted to state the reason for his visit. “Well... you see, Mr. Wallace, well... ahem... yes... well... my name is Frederick Simpson, and I represent the firm of Simpson And Austin.”
At first tentatively, and then by degrees more confidently, Freddie launched into a story about how his law firm needed some background information on Jonathan Blackthorne. The personnel director, apparently used to far stranger scenes than a lone attorney asking for information, nodded and went in search of the employment file. Freddie managed to calm himself as he waited for the man to locate it in the back room. His attention was drawn to a group photograph hanging on the wall behind the personnel director’s desk. “These things seem to be all the rage now,” Freddie said to himself. He walked behind the desk to get a closer look.
When Wallace returned, he noticed Freddie’s interest. “That’s a photograph of all the members of our firm, about fifty of us.”
Freddie scanned the faces and located Blackthorne standing in the top row, looking serious and financially responsible. He pointed to the face and turned to look at the personnel director for confirmation.
“Yes, that would be the man you’ve inquired about. That’s Jonathan Blackthorne. I remember him well. A very quiet young fellow, as I recall.”
On an impulse, Freddie pulled out the Mast House picture. “I wonder if you might recognize another gentleman in this photograph I have. I’m not at all sure he ever worked here. His name is Jacob Sidley.”
Wallace looked at it for only a second. “Oh yes, I quite remember him, But his name isn’t Sidley, it’s Kingston, Jacob Kingston. That’s him right here.” Wallace pointed to one of the figures in the group portrait on the wall, standing in the row below Blackthorne. Freddie could make out a face that exactly matched the one in his own photograph. In the Dresden picture, however, Sidley was sporting muttonchop whiskers which made the resemblance more difficult to see at first glance.
“Good Lord, it’s him!” Freddie exclaimed. It’s really him!” He looked at the date in the lower right corner of the picture. “This was taken in 1889?”
“Yes, I realize it’s a bit out of date. But there seemed no reason to have it redone since only two men have left the firm in the interim.”
“Let me guess which two.” Freddie began to feel a sudden chill.
“Yes, now that you mention it, you’re right. If my memory serves me correctly, Kingston left early in the winter of 1890 and Blackthorne in the fall of the same year. How odd.”
Freddie’s pulse began to race. “I would consider it a great favor if you could give me the exact dates when these two men left and also the previous employer of Mr. Sidley, that is, Mr. Kingston.”
Wallace, appearing somewhat taken aback by the feverish intensity in Freddie’s voice, nodded and went into the file room to retrieve the Kingston file. He returned quickly, studying a page in the manila folder he was holding. “It says here that Mr. Kingston’s previous employer was a bank in Iowa.”
“The exact name, please!” Freddie reached in his pocket for a notebook and pencil.
“It was in Dodgeville. The First Dodgeville Savings Bank is the name of the institution. He was a bookkeeper there. That was also the position he occupied here. He came to us in 1889 and left on January 21, 1890.”
“Would you happen to have the name of the person who wrote his letter of introduction?”
Wallace examined the application file further. “The letter is signed by Harcourt Smythe, a vice president of the bank,”
“One final question. Can you give me the same information regarding Mr. Blackthorne?” Freddie turned another page in his notebook.
“Of course.” Wallace picked up the other folder on his desk. “It would seem Mr. Blackthorne came to us straight out of college. His letter of introduction is from one of his professors at Northwestern University. He started at the firm in 1885 and left on September 10, 1890.”
Freddie wrote an additional note to himself and then shook the older man’s hand enthusiastically. “You have no idea how much you have helped me, Mr. Wallace! If there’s ever anything I can do to repay you, please don’t hesitate to call on me.”
Wallace appeared flustered by this outburst of gratitude. He cleared his throat self-consciously. “Very well, Mr. Simpson, very well. No need to make such a fuss. All in a day’s work, I’m sure...” Before he could finish the last sentence, Freddie had already flown out the door.
Chapter 20—A Chat With Mother
Evangeline sat in a box seat at the Acropolis Theater watching Jonathan Blackthorne’s mother arrange herself. Unfortunately, she had committed herself to attending this social event long before Elsa’s death. The Ladies’ Charitable Auxiliary was staging a benefit theatrical performance to raise funds for the Chicago Children’s Hospital. Many of the ladies of Shore Cliff and Lake Arbor were active members of the society. Evangeline was no exception and neither was Mrs. Blackthorne.
Evangeline feared that an evening spent with her mother-in-law elect might provide an opportunity to discuss an extremely unpleasant topic—Jonathan’s veiled proposal. However, Mrs. Blackthorne appeared to have other things on her mind as she greeted acquaintances from the heights of her private box. She was a plump little woman with skin like rose petals that had just begun to wilt. The pleasure she derived from displaying her social status was equal to, if not greater than, the pleasure she derived from Shakespeare.
“I will never understand why on earth the planning committee chose this play to present.” The older lady adjusted her silk shawl and took her opera glasses out of their Moroccan leather case.
“I think Measure for Measure was an interesting choice, not nearly as well-known as Shakespeare’s other comedies. It possesses some intriguing, dark elements.” Evangeline intoned ominously, “‘Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.’”
Mrs. Blackthorne paused in the midst of refurbishing herself to give Evangeline a puzzled look. “That line has always b
een a mystery to me. I hear it quoted often enough, but what in the world is one to make of it?”
“I think it’s all about hypocrisy. Those who offer a model of public behavior are often the greatest villains at heart, while those who are publicly condemned for some act of indiscretion are often the most innocent.”
Mrs. Blackthorne’s attention was temporarily diverted as she nodded to a lady in an adjoining box.
Evangeline forged ahead. “I also think the line offers a warning. Those who think themselves above the reach of the law are eventually brought to justice. Those who have been wrongly condemned are, in the end, acquitted.”
Mrs. Blackthorne waved her lace fan distractedly. “What a moral dilemma that presents. How is one to know what is good and what is bad, if the voice of authority itself is called into question? How is one to know who can be trusted? Who can be believed?”
“That’s just my point. One never knows.”
The older lady sighed and patted her companion’s hand. “My dear, you think entirely too much.”
“So I’ve been told, Mrs. Blackthorne. So I’ve been told.” Evangeline sighed. “But given my present state of mind, I should have preferred to see Titus Andronicus instead of Measure for Measure.”
Mrs. Blackthorne turned pale at the mention of the name. “That awful tragedy! That bloodbath! Why, whatever for?”
Evangeline smiled bitterly. “Let’s just say the character of Lavinia interests me at present.”
“My dear, you shock me! A character who is ravished by two men and then has her tongue cut out and her hands hacked off so she can’t reveal the guilty parties! What sort of morbid thinking is this?”
“Mrs. Blackthorne, I had no idea you were so conversant in your Shakespeare, even the awful plays. Despite all the atrocities committed against her, Lavinia still manages to write the names of the guilty men in the sand, holding a stick between the stumps that were once her hands. One can’t help but admire such grim tenacity of purpose.”
By this time, Mrs. Blackthorne’s complexion had taken on a faint greenish tinge. “Really, my dear, you must stop. You’re making me quite ill with your description.”
“I am sorry, Mrs. Blackthorne. I truly am, but such things happen in the world.”
“Such things happen only in fiction! I can’t imagine encountering in my own life such a devilish business or people capable of such brutality.”
“Oh, madame... ,” Evangeline’s tone was grave, “you must have a care and look about you more closely. You may know someone quite well who is capable of it.”
Mrs. Blackthorne shivered slightly. “The thought is preposterous. Such people do not... can not exist! Let us speak no more about it.”
Evangeline complied and gave up the topic.
The two women lapsed into silence as they surveyed the new arrivals entering at the back of the theater. Mrs. Blackthorne edged forward in her seat to see over the railing. “Oh, look my dear. It’s Mr. and Mrs. Fenton just walking in. Did you know that he has just purchased one of those horrible horseless carriages?”
“Indeed, I didn't. I had no idea he was that progressive.”
“Progressive? Progressive, you say?” Mrs. Blackthorne seemed astonished. “He has frightened the entire town half out of its wits with that foul-smelling, noisy contraption. And that just accounts for the general population, not to mention how it’s upset the horses.”
“Really?” Evangeline leaned farther over the railing for a better look at the malefactor. “It’s hard to believe that one motor car could cause all that commotion.”
“But it has, my dear, it has.” Mrs. Blackthorne placed her hand solemnly on Evangeline’s arm. “It became such a crisis that we had to organize a committee!”
“You did what?”
“We organized a ladies’ committee for the public welfare and went to call on Mrs. Fenton.”
“On Mrs. Fenton?” Evangeline failed to grasp the connection. “Not Mr. Fenton?”
“Well, we thought it would be more tactful if we appealed to her first. The committee went all around Lake Arbor and got up a petition. Two hundred signatures. An overwhelming response! And we presented it to Mrs. Fenton.”
Evangeline was having a difficult time forcing her features to assume the solemn look that the subject required. “And what were you petitioning for?”
“Nothing unreasonable. We merely wanted advance notice for those days when Mr. Fenton was planning on driving his mechanical horse around town.”
“Advance notice, how?”
Mrs. Blackthorne looked exasperated at her companion’s dullness of wit. “We requested that Mrs. Fenton fly a black flag on those days so that the whole town could be alerted to keep clear. I mean, think of the consequences otherwise. Careening down the street at twenty miles an hour! Have you ever heard the like? Twenty miles an hour! This is a great danger to us all, and we deserve appropriate warning. Considering the gravity of the situation, Mr. Fenton should have been relieved we asked no more of him than that!”
“And was he relieved?” Evangeline could guess the reply.
“He certainly was not! And he was most uncivil in his response, too! He happened to walk into the drawing room while we were in conference with his wife. After she handed him the petition, he tore it up and said he would...he would...” Mrs. Blackthorne fanned herself vigorously at the thought of what her lips were about to utter. Steeling herself, she continued. “He said he would drive his motor car around town whenever he deuced well pleased, and we could make of it what we liked! And 'deuced' wasn't the exact word he used!”
Evangeline snapped her own fan open quickly to cover the lower half of her face. By this time she was shaking with suppressed laughter. Luckily, before her convulsions became obvious, the electric lights began to flicker as a signal the performance was about to start. She closed her eyes in relief when Duke Vincentio and his attendants walked on stage.
***
When the house lights rose again for intermission, a few of the august dames of Lake Arbor walked around to pay a visit to Mrs. Blackthorne. The topic of conversation continued to be the recalcitrant Mr. Fenton and his infernal machine. While the controversy over what to do next raged behind her, Evangeline glanced absently across the theater to the boxes on the other side. To her amazement, she saw Freddie, looking quite the martyr, surrounded by his own brigade of female relatives. He must have seen Evangeline at the same moment she spied him, because he broke into a relieved grin and motioned with his head that he was coming around to see her.
To avoid having their conversation overheard, Evangeline decided to meet him in the hall. She stood waiting, tapping her foot impatiently until he arrived, even though Freddie managed to squeeze his way through the crowd in record time. Without a word, he took Evangeline by the elbow and steered her away from the box-seat doors, toward the stairwell.
“I had no idea you’d be here!” she exclaimed.
“I called the townhouse only to be told you were out. When I got home, I was presented with an ultimatum. Either attend this, or a church bazaar on Saturday afternoon, and you know how I hate those.” Freddie rolled his eyes.
Evangeline smiled in mock sympathy. “Poor Frederick. What a sad life you lead.”
“Oh, stop it, Engie! We don’t have much time and I have such news!” Pulling her farther down the stairs so they wouldn’t be seen, Freddie launched into an extended narrative of his investigation that afternoon—playing up his own ingenuity and perseverance.
“So Sidley, or Kingston, or whoever he is, was lying all along.”
“He must have something to hide. But what?”
“Unfortunately, we don’t know just yet.” Evangeline scowled and concentrated. “It’s a disturbing coincidence that he and Jonathan left Dresden together over three years ago. Three years! Why come together again now?”
“Yes, I was wondering the same thing. We can be fairly certain that they left at close to the same time for a reason. But if they w
ere both implicated in something sordid, why didn’t Blackthorne conceal his identity as well?”
Evangeline pondered Freddie’s question. “Maybe because Jonathan wasn’t implicated in the crime, whatever it was. Maybe he discovered it.”
“And perhaps he’s been blackmailing Sidley with that discovery ever since.”
“Yes, but Sidley isn’t a rich man now and probably never was.”
“Maybe... ,” Freddie suggested, “maybe the payment Blackthorne’s exacting isn’t in currency.”
“You mean Jonathan is using Sidley to perform a service for him, such as arranging the meeting at the Fair with Elsa?”
“Yes, something like that.”
Evangeline stared off into space. “But why wait three years to call in a debt? Especially for a girl that he’d never even seen before. Unless...”
“Listen, Engie, we can’t stay here much longer. They’ll be starting again any minute. Now isn’t the time to get all dreamy-eyed and obscure.”
Evangeline barely heard him. Her attention was focused on the idea forming in her mind. “What if this wasn’t the first time! What if they’ve been doing this all along and this is the first time they got caught at it!”
“My God! If that’s true, it’s almost too horrible to consider. The cold-blooded calculation of it. It’s... it’s... ,” Freddie struggled to find an adjective strong enough to describe such a level of depravity. “It’s beastly... it’s beyond beastly! It’s monstrous!”
“Steady on, young Frederick.” Evangeline tried to pull him away from the image she had provoked. “We don’t know that for certain yet. But I know a way we can find out.”
“How?” The echo of fewer and fewer voices on the steps above signaled that intermission was nearly over.
The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1) Page 19
