Blackthorne shrugged. “Assume whatever you like. But as you said yourself, ma chérie, I have no reason to lie now.” He regarded her speculatively. “You want to believe I’m guilty because the thought of convicting an innocent man wouldn’t fit into your tight and orderly universe. Evil is punished and good is vindicated. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?”
Evangeline stared back at him and said nothing.
He began to stroll around the perimeter of his narrow kingdom as he spoke. “I’ve always been amused by the naiveté of charity—by the benevolence of the well-intentioned ladies of the upper class. You believe you can save the world, don’t you? If you read enough poetry to the poor, I’m sure you can, without resistance, eradicate the slums of Chicago. But nowhere in your benign philosophy of the universe have you left room for the devil.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Do you believe in the devil, Engie?”
She gazed back at him evenly. “I suppose I never really did... until I came to know you.”
“At the very least, I think you owe me a debt of gratitude for broadening your horizons,” he replied caustically.
“Indeed, I'm most obliged to you for that lesson.” Evangeline's voice was filled with pain. “The world has become a darker place for me because of it.”
“The world was always a dark place, dear lady! It’s no fault of mine you deluded yourself into thinking otherwise. The only reason you ever stumbled across events that were so wounding to your moral sensibilities is because you interfered in matters that didn’t concern you. What was Elsa to you, after all, but another one of your many stray puppies!”
“She was far more than that to me!” Evangeline shot back angrily, advancing toward the center of the cell as she spoke. “All along you’ve made the mistake of underestimating both me and my motives.”
“Not to mention my greatest mistake," Blackthorne added wearily, "which was falling in love with you. A mistake which is about to cost me my life.”
“As loving you cost Elsa hers!” Scarcely registering his wounded expression, Evangeline forged ahead. “You think Elsa was no more than another object of charity to me? Another reason for me to feel sanctimonious and complacent at the end of each day?” She was practically shouting. “The one horrifying fact of which I've never lost sight is that I might have been her!”
“What?” For the first time, Blackthorne looked perplexed.
“Hasn't it occurred to you that this has become my nightmare? Do you really believe that you or I were born to a life of wealth because we were more worthy of that privilege that anyone else? We are the result of an accident of birth and no more. I'm painfully aware that without my fortune and education and the countless other advantages that protect me, I might have been lying in that coffin instead of Elsa. You're much mistaken if you think she was only one of my little projects. I've taken this matter very personally indeed!”
Blackthorne advanced toward her, his face assuming a look of wry satisfaction. “Why, Engie, that explanation had never crossed my mind. If you’re being candid, then I've seriously underrated my ability to captivate you.” He began to circle her in a languid manner, finally leaning down to whisper in her ear, “You must be a trifle unsure of your ability to withstand my advances, after all.”
She glanced up at him apprehensively. “Why couldn’t you have been a better man?”
He stepped back and swept his arms wide. “I am as God made me!”
“God had nothing to do with what you've become!"
Blackthorne responded with a hollow laugh.
“You really didn’t have to kill her, you know. No one would have believed her story about you anyway. You, a respectable banker and she, no better than she should be. An absurd attempt at blackmail on her part.”
“Whatever the facts of the matter may have been”— a cold smile played about his lips—“you’ll never be certain, will you? And that’s what you can’t bear. Not to receive the final confirmation from me that you knew the truth. That you were right!”
Evangeline turned away and began to pace, her hands clasped behind her back. “Directly after your trial, I might have agreed with you. But I’ve had months to think about it, and now I’ve come to an entirely different conclusion.”
Blackthorne lifted an eyebrow quizzically.
“The truth isn’t something that you control, Jonathan. Something you can grant or withhold. You didn't create it and you can't destroy it. All you can do is admit to it. Sooner or later, we're all brought to that inevitable point of acknowledgement when there is nowhere left to run.”
His eyes held a spark of defiance. “Dear lady, you may have failed to notice that there are precious few days remaining in which to effect my redemption.”
Evangeline ventured closer. “This day or another. Here or hereafter. All men must converge to the same point at last.”
He chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. “Engie, I'd always thought we shared a common contempt for Bible stories. I believe the worst I'll encounter at the end of my days is sweet oblivion, not the fiery furnace."
Evangeline stopped in the center of the cell and stared at Blackthorne. When she spoke, it was in a voice of utter certainty. “My notion of heaven and hell is hardly that simple. There's something more terrible for you to fear than that.”
“Pray enlighten me,” he drawled.
“Whether bidden or unbidden, truth abides!”
Abruptly, Blackthorne's temper flared. “Leave me!”
“Which do you suppose it will be, Jonathan? Endless night or relentless day. You will very soon be in a position to prove which of us is right.”
He retreated a step. His demeanor, which had been assured only a moment before, showed a flicker of something else—a faint tremor of doubt, followed by an even fainter tremor of dismay. He lashed out, “I told you to leave! Leave me this instant, or I will not be responsible for the consequences!” He walked to the back of the cell and resolutely turned his face toward the wall.
Evangeline stood looking at him silently for a long moment. He remained frozen in place.
“Good-bye, Jonathan,” she whispered. “This is the last we'll see of each other.” In a louder voice she called, “Guard, you may let me out. Mr. Blackthorne wishes to be left to his own reflections.”
***
Shortly before sunset that afternoon, Evangeline was kneeling in her garden cutting zinnias to make a bouquet for her breakfast table. Monsieur Beau sat nearby, supervising the effort. Evangeline heard someone walking across the lawn and looked up to find Freddie standing beside her.
“Well, did you talk to him?” he asked excitedly. “What did he say?”
Evangeline didn't reply at first. She quietly packed up her gardening tools and began to walk toward the house with Freddie beside her. She looked at her friend solemnly. “He said nothing of any importance, but he looked like a man who feared very much to die.”
Chapter 30—Trompe-L’Oeil
Blackthorne’s last day on earth dawned muggy and sullen. Evangeline and Freddie took their places in the City Jail courtyard to see their maiden voyage of amateur detection brought to a somber close with his execution. They said nothing to one another throughout the gruesome spectacle and, in unspoken agreement, fled the spot as soon as it was over. Only about fifty onlookers had been allowed to attend: influential citizens, newspaper reporters, and members of the Blackthorne family.
When they reached the Dearborn Street gate, Evangeline noticed Blackthorne’s mother being helped into a carriage by her coachman. The matron glanced briefly through red-rimmed eyes at the pair responsible for her son’s death. In a pointed gesture of scorn, she lowered her black crepe veil and turned her back on them. Evangeline made no attempt to speak to her.
She whispered to Freddie, “Did you know Mrs. Blackthorne actually threatened me?”
Freddie raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “With what, a hatchet?”
“No, with social ostracism.”
Evangeline smiled grimly. “She said no respectable home in Lake Arbor would ever receive me again.”
The young man scratched his head in puzzlement. “I wonder what method she uses to measure respectability. Her son was hardly a model of propriety.”
“I suppose all that matters is that he was her son... ,” Evangeline sighed, “... and is her son no more. She’s entitled to her grief.”
Freddie flipped his notebook closed and placed it in his coat pocket. “Time I was back at the Gazette to write up the final chapter of this little saga.” He added mordantly, “Readers love a good eyewitness account of a hanging.”
Jack stood nearby, waiting to hand Evangeline into her carriage. She was about to climb in when Freddie nudged her. “Not so fast. I think there’s someone here who wants a word with you.” Following his gaze, she looked across the street where Patsy O’Malley stood. The girl was anxiously hopping from one foot to the other. She waved eagerly when she realized Evangeline had seen her.
“I’ll leave you two to chat.” Freddie tipped his hat in Patsy’s direction and ambled up the street.
The girl skipped across to join Evangeline.
“Well, Patsy, this is indeed a surprise. Does your mama know you’re here?”
The girl scraped the sidewalk self-consciously with the toe of her boot. “No, and it would be better if she didn’t. She was pretty worked up last night because everybody kept reminding her the hanging was today.”
“Why should she be concerned about it?”
Patsy shrugged. “Well, ma says all the neighbors started bothering her with questions about Elsa again and stirring up gossip about whether we’re respectable or not and she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Your family must have provided much grist for the gossip mill, especially after your papa ran away last fall.” Evangeline thought back to her disturbing encounter with Patsy’s father. “Are his whereabouts still unknown?”
“No. He came back home yesterday night.” Patsy made the statement matter-of-factly. She hardly seemed thrilled that her father had returned. “Didn’t say where he’d been or why. He was sober, but he was talking even crazier than he usually does when he’s drunk.”
“What did he say?” Evangeline was intrigued.
“Well, after ma started complaining about Elsa and the shame she brought on the house because of that terrible Mr. Blackthorne, pa just smiled. He said that now he could stop looking over his shoulder and that maybe he’d finally get a good night’s sleep.”
“What do you suppose he meant by that?”
The girl fidgeted. “Don’t know. When pa says odd things, it’s best not to ask too many questions.”
Remembering the gin bottle thrown at her by the temperamental Mr. O’Malley, Evangeline silently agreed. She changed the subject slightly. “Did you come to see the execution, Patsy? Only a few people were allowed to witness it. I’m sorry if you came all this way for nothing.”
“No, I didn’t want to see it. I just wanted to be here to know it got done.”
“Yes, it got done,” Evangeline assured her succinctly. Not wanting to dwell on the image of how it got done, she changed the topic yet again.
“You’ll be in a new grade at school this fall, won’t you?”
The girl perked up immediately. “Yes, and I can't wait. It was hard last year. Being in a class with all the little first graders because I didn’t know how to read. Trying to keep up with everybody. It was nice of you to spend so much time at Mast House teaching me my ABCs.”
“And what does your mama say about our arrangement now?”
Patsy gave a conspiratorial giggle. “The day your last check came in the mail, I heard her mumbling to herself when she didn’t think I could hear. She said if you wanted to throw your money away on something as foolish as sending me to school, it was all right with her.”
“Very good.” Evangeline nodded approvingly. “You may rest assured that I intend to spend my money just as foolishly for many years to come.”
Evangeline and her young friend had to step aside as more spectators emerged from the City Jail courtyard. “This probably isn’t the best place to be standing now that the show, so to speak, is over.” As she moved toward her carriage, she asked, “Can I drop you back at home?”
Patsy looked panic-stricken. “Lord no, Miss Engie! If ma knew I was here at all, I’d be in big trouble.” She reached into her skirt pocket. “Besides, I just wanted to give you this and then I’ll be going.”
“What is it?” Evangeline unfolded a crumpled piece of paper. “It looks like a receipt of some sort.”
“That’s what I thought,” Patsy beamed and added proudly, “now that I can read.”
“Where did you find it?”
“It was jammed at the back of the dresser in one of the drawers Elsa used. I didn’t see it when I packed all her things for you. Yesterday, I pulled the drawer out to shift some clothes around and it just fluttered down on the floor. I don’t know what it’s for but I know it was hers and I thought you’d want to keep it with all her other things.”
Evangeline frowned in intense concentration as she studied the receipt. A thousand questions leaped into her mind at once. She absentmindedly bid her young friend goodbye and stood on the sidewalk for several more moments just staring at the paper. When she finally looked up, she realized that all the other spectators had dispersed and Jack still stood holding the carriage door open. She glanced down once more at the paper and exclaimed, “Good Lord!”
***
At the beginning of October in the somewhat tarnished year of 1894, Evangeline and Freddie stood near a gravesite in Gracehill Cemetery. They were contemplating a tombstone newly placed over Elsa Bauer’s grave.
“It was a year ago today, wasn’t it?” Freddie asked.
Evangeline merely nodded, intent on some silent message she was communicating to the spectral world.
“What a difference from the last time we were here, eh?” Freddie attempted a humorous observation. “I remember Mrs. O’Malley doing her best to flatten me like a pancake.”
Evangeline smiled at the memory. “I also recall that afterward you made a veiled death threat toward me, young man.”
Freddie waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, that’s just water under the bridge, Engie. The constant humiliation and aggravation to which you subjected me—think nothing of it.”
She looked up at her friend, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “I wouldn’t say you exactly suffered by the arrangement, Mr. Reporter.”
By this time, Freddie had become comfortably installed in his new line of work as a journalist. His Uncle Horace had sighed and washed his hands. Aloysius Waverly duly mourned the young attorney’s passing, primarily because it meant the end of a lucrative side business in bribery. Freddie’s mother had given him up as lost to all good society. And the young man’s coverage of the Blackthorne affair had raised him in the estimation of his fellow reporters to such a degree that they only sent him out for lunch orders once a week instead of every day.
Freddie’s voice softened. “Yes, I do owe you a debt of gratitude for that, old girl.”
They stood together in silence for some minutes. The air was cool but clear, and a high breeze rustled in the massive oak tree above the grave.
“I take it this is to be some sort of private dedication ceremony of yours?”
“Yes, Freddie, some final unfinished business.”
The young man studied the new headstone, topped by a large granite cross. He wrinkled his forehead, trying to understand the meaning of the epitaph. “An odd choice for a tombstone. And why isn’t there any capstone?”
He pointed to the top of the central column of granite which appeared to be hollow.
By way of reply, Evangeline opened her handbag and held out toward him a granite capstone.
“Well, what are you carrying that around for?”
“Because
there’s something that has to be placed inside before we seal it,” she replied mysteriously.
“Really, Engie, I had no idea I was attending an Egyptian burial service, complete with artifacts to be entombed with the dead.”
Evangeline merely reached into the handbag again and withdrew another object. It gleamed of gold and rubies in the autumn light. She handed it to Freddie.
“The hair ornament. You got it back after the trial?”
Evangeline nodded. She took it back from him and turned the object over in her hands. “A fatal flaw in my character. I’m relentless so long as a twinge of doubt remains. Do you remember when Patsy O’Malley came to speak with me on the day of Jonathan’s execution? She gave me a paper she’d found in Elsa’s dresser, thinking I would want it as a memento. It turned out to be a jeweler’s receipt."
“A jeweler’s receipt?” Freddie echoed.
“Yes. I knew that the hair ornament had been reworked at a later date to add the concealed knife. The original jeweler said he didn’t know who had done the work. The paper Patsy gave me was the receipt from the second jeweler.”
“But how did it get into Elsa’s possession?” Freddie was beginning to feel uneasy.
Evangeline held up her hand to silence any further questions. “I’m getting to that. I took the receipt back to the jeweler’s shop and questioned the man about the circumstances of the commission. He remembered modifying the ornament according to the instructions of a young woman who had been sent by Mr. Blackthorne. She said that the hair comb was meant as a gift for a lady who often carried a great deal of money with her, and who had occasion to go into some dangerous neighborhoods unprotected. The ornament was supposed to be a weapon that didn’t look like a weapon, one that the lady could conceal on her person.”
“It was a weapon all right, but one that was intended to be used on the lady, not by her,” Freddie added ominously.
“When the jeweler’s work was completed, the piece was picked up by the young woman who had given the design instructions on Jonathan’s behalf. The jeweler said she spoke with a slight foreign accent. Her name was written on the receipt and on the back of the design sketch that he kept in his files. It was Elsie Farmer.”
The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1) Page 30
