“How could she do that?” Varina asked.
“Beret is reasoned and smart, and she knows the underworld as few women of our class do.”
“Then you don’t object?” Beret asked.
The judge shook his head. “Make sure you aid instead of hinder the investigation, but I have complete faith in you.” He paused and added, “I only ask that you be aware of your aunt’s feelings and do nothing to upset her.” He smiled at his wife, who rose.
“Then I shall leave this to the two of you. I am not anxious to hear the particulars of Lillie’s death once again. I have a headache. Don’t be too long, dear. Beret has had a very tiring day,” she told her husband, then embraced her niece, saying she hoped the young woman would rest well. She left the room, and the judge stared at the closed door for a long time.
“This has been very hard on her.”
“And on you, too, Uncle.”
“Yes.” Without asking if she wanted more brandy, the judge refilled Beret’s glass. “Sit down.”
Beret seated herself on a footstool beside her uncle’s chair. “It’s my fault, you know. I ordered Lillie out of the house.” Beret’s voice quivered, and she cleared her throat. She would not allow herself self-pity. She asked in a voice that was barely audible, “Did Lillie tell you about…?”
“Yes. I don’t like the man, never did, to be truthful. Lillie blamed him, of course, and said you had wronged her, that he was at fault. She said the two of you had a row over it, that you refused to believe her to be an innocent, and you forced her out of the house. She had no choice but to come to us.”
“And Aunt Varina?”
“She knows, too. We heard only Lillie’s side of the story, of course, and I have been a judge long enough to know there are always two sides, so I did not believe the entirety of what Lillie said. Perhaps one day you will tell us how you view it. We felt sorry for her, and it was our duty to take her in, although we would have, no matter the situation. You know how we have always felt about the two of you, how we have treated you like daughters in this home.”
Beret nodded. Her uncle had always thought of her happiness. He had supported her after her parents died, when she wanted to stay in New York with Lillie and run the mission, instead of moving to Denver. He had even agreed that Beret should raise Lillie. “She had you and Aunt Varina, at any rate, even if I’d turned against her.” Beret stopped, because her voice was unsteady. She wished with all her heart that she had not forced Lillie to leave.
The judge leaned forward and gripped Beret’s shoulder, until she looked up at him. “You can’t blame yourself. Who wouldn’t have acted the same in your place?”
“But she was my sister!” Beret almost sobbed.
“This is no time for recriminations. Our duty is to find Lillie’s killer.”
There was a knock on the library door, and a few seconds later, William entered the room, his arms filled with logs, and busied himself building up the fire. When he was done, he brushed his hands together and asked, “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“No, go to bed,” John said, and after the butler left, the judge told Beret, “With all these servants to fetch and carry, I shall die of lethargy. But your aunt likes having them about, so I must put up with them.”
Beret had risen from the stool and seated herself in a chair. Her glass was empty, but she didn’t want more brandy and set it on the table. “Detective Sergeant McCauley gave me the particulars of the murder. Would he have left out anything?” Beret tried to put her feelings aside to concentrate on the investigation.
“We—he, that is, doesn’t know much. You are aware that she was stabbed with her own scissors? The house was empty at the time, except for Lillie and her killer. The detective believes she was murdered by someone in a rage and that he was not a thief, because he failed to take money and other valuables that were in plain sight.”
“But he took Lillie’s diamond earrings. They haven’t been found.”
“So they say. But I think it just as likely that the madam or one of the girls pocketed them.” He paused, considering something. “You’ll excuse me for my indelicacy, Beret, but the coroner believes, after a thorough examination of the body, that she was not raped. At least she didn’t suffer that indignity.”
Beret did not find that consoling but said anyway, “We can be grateful for that.” She looked away and said in a soft voice, “I am told she was pregnant.”
The judge swallowed but said nothing.
“Does Aunt know?”
“She knows, but it is best if you don’t mention it to her. She has had to face enough as it is.”
“Was Lillie tortured?”
The judge shook his head. “Not unless you consider being stabbed eight times by a pair of scissors torture.” He put the back of his hand to his forehead for a few moments. “I would not talk about such things with you, but I know your work at the mission prepares you—”
“Nothing prepares me.” Indeed, Beret had seen women who had been beaten to death by their husbands, children who had been tortured by parents crazed by liquor or drugs, men who had been slaughtered in rage, but nothing had moved her like the death of her own sister.
“No, of course not.”
Beret stared out the window for a moment and was startled to see a shadow pass in front of the glass. “Uncle?”
John looked up. “It’s only Jonas. He’s begun checking the grounds in the evenings since Lillie’s murder. He’s under the impression we might be in danger.”
“Are you?”
The judge smiled. “Not that I’m aware of, but Jonas feels protecting us is his duty.”
“I met him earlier. He seems … odd.”
“He is that. Jonas is a pet of your aunt’s. He was a newsboy. Varina saw some older boys beating him in the street. They’d stolen his money and broken his leg. She took her horsewhip to them.” The judge chuckled. “Your aunt can be a mighty impressive woman when her ire is raised. I believe you take after her in that respect. She got him into her carriage and took him to a hospital, then brought him home and set him up in a room in the carriage house two years ago, not long after your last visit. He’s been with us ever since, and there’s not a thing he wouldn’t do for any of us, especially your aunt. He all but worships her. Sometimes it seems as if he thinks she’s his mother. I believe Lillie’s death hit him hard, and he makes up for it by patrolling the house and garden to keep us safe.”
Beret thought that over. Her aunt might be dedicated to society, but like Beret’s mother, Varina was also compassionate. “The other servants liked Lillie, too?”
“As far as I know.”
“Then why did she leave? What I don’t understand, Uncle, is why she left this house and went to work in a brothel.”
The old man looked into the fire, watching as a log snapped, sending up sparks that lit his face. “Don’t you?”
Beret turned away and closed her eyes, then gave an involuntary shudder. Despite the fire, she suddenly felt cold. “He’s here, then.” It was a statement, not a question.
John did not answer.
“A prostitute the detective talked to said she was seen talking to a dark-complexioned man—twice.” Beret did not mention that she had talked to the prostitute, too. “But even if he was here, that’s no reason for her to leave this house.” Beret thought that over and added, “Unless you asked her to.”
“No, no, of course not. But I believe she must have left because of him.”
Uncle and niece sat lost in thought for a moment. Then Beret asked, “Was there anyone else? Was she seeing someone?”
“A young man. Lillie met him at one of your aunt’s soirees, the son of a friend.”
“Who?”
“His name is Joseph Summers. His father, a stiff-necked old soul, has mining interests. Joey’s a wild sort. I never cared for him, but I didn’t say anything to Lillie. I thought he was her business.”
“Did she care for him?”
&n
bsp; Beret’s uncle shrugged. “She saw enough of him. Lillie could be wild, too, you know.”
“I suppose so.” Had Lillie been wild all along and she hadn’t noticed? She was confused. She had learned so many things about her sister that day.
The judge rose then, slowly, as if he were weary. “We can talk about it later, the two of us. It would be best if we didn’t discuss this in front of your aunt. She has had a hard enough time of it. Just hearing Lillie’s name spoken aloud is enough to send her into tears.”
“I’m sorry I’ve brought this on you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Yes I did.”
“It was not your fault, and the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”
“Then if not I, who bears the fault?”
The judge went to the fire and hit a log with a poker. It broke apart, the halves settling down into a soft glow. “It was Lillie’s.”
He left the room, his footsteps echoing as he walked across the marble foyer, but Beret stayed, so intent on watching the fire die that she didn’t notice the shadow that passed across the window again. The house was silent, as silent as death, Beret thought, as she closed her eyes only to rest a little, but fell asleep in her chair. When she awoke, the room was dark, the fire dead, and she was covered with a blanket taken from the back of a chair. The idea that someone, even a servant, had stolen into the room while she slept unnerved her.
Chapter 5
Detective Sergeant McCauley sighed audibly the following Monday as Beret walked briskly through the squad room and stopped beside his desk. He stood, and without greeting the woman, he said, “I was hoping your uncle had forbidden you to come here.”
“So I understand. But he did not.” Beret hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. That morning, when her aunt had asked again what in the world Beret could bring to the search for Lillie’s killer, Beret hadn’t answered. But now she knew: passion and determination.
“Well, he certainly was surprised to find out he’d given his blessing to your interfering in this investigation.”
“I am not interfering. I am participating. And once I explained that to him, he assured me that I had his blessing.”
“My bad luck.” Mick pointed to the chair beside his desk, and they both sat down.
“What do we have scheduled for today?” Beret asked.
“We?” Mick scoffed. “I was going to talk to Miss Hettie. I’d have left before now, but I got held up. More bad luck. You’ll recall Miss Hettie owns the whorehouse where your sister was murdered.”
“And this is the first time you’ve talked to her?” Beret was displeased. Could the authorities really be that slow? Her uncle had assured her this case was a priority. She couldn’t help but wonder if the police even bothered to solve the murders of victims who were less important than a judge’s niece.
“The second.”
“It is early for a brothel to be astir. I can’t help but wonder if the madam is up yet.”
“She wasn’t when I left.”
“You may be crude if you want to, Detective, but I think we will get along much better if we are courteous to each other.”
“This is a police investigation, not a class in deportment.”
Beret would take her lead from the detective. She lifted her head a little. “Quite right. Shall we be on our way?” She stood and started across the room, aware of the smirks directed at the detective sergeant. She wondered how long it would be before he accepted her. Perhaps never.
Outside, Mick told her, “I hope you’re used to hoofing it. The department doesn’t pay for hacks or even streetcars.”
“I am quite used to walking.”
He nodded and set off at a fast clip, and when he’d gone half a block, he turned around as if expecting to see Beret lagging behind, but she had kept up the pace. “I can walk as fast as you can, Detective, but doesn’t it make sense for us to walk together so that you can tell me of any developments?”
He slowed only slightly. “There aren’t any, not since yesterday, at any rate.”
“You’ve already talked with the madam, you said. Why is it necessary to interview her again?”
They had reached a corner, and Mick suddenly took Beret’s elbow and propelled her across the street, past hacks and carriages and delivery wagons. Surprised at the courtesy, she nodded her thanks. “The drivers can be treacherous along Larimer Street, but I suppose they’re no worse than New York.”
“Have you been there?”
Mick nodded but didn’t elaborate. “I talked to Miss Hettie only once, the day we found your sister’s body. I want to talk to her again, now that she’s had time to think about the murder.”
“And has she had time to find alibis for herself and her girls?”
“She already had them. What I’m hoping is she’ll give us the name of your sister’s mac. Miss Hettie hates pimps. I’m thinking if Lillie, that is, Miss Osmundsen, had one, Miss Hettie might be willing to talk about him now. She wouldn’t the day your sister was killed. These madams, they don’t admit to anything. Why, I bet if you gave her a thousand dollars, she still wouldn’t give you the names of your sister’s customers.” He paused. “But I guess you already know that, you being a mission lady.”
Beret ignored the taunt. She was used to such remarks. “Can’t you compel her to?”
“To remember something she can’t remember? How would I do that?”
“I see your point.”
Beret held her tongue then. It was clear the detective wasn’t going to confide in her any more than he had. She was grateful he hadn’t skipped out on her. They hurried up Larimer Street, past cafés and rooms to let, a millinery, a hardware store, then a block of gambling halls in striking buildings of carved stone and stained glass. Beret paused to glance inside, and Mick told her those were the places the macs hung out—the Arcade, Murphy’s Exchange, and two or three others. If Miss Hettie gave them the name of Lillie’s macquereau, they would come back and look for him there. Beret shivered to think those were the men her sister had slept with. She studied the few customers visible from the street but saw no one who was swarthy. It was early, however. The men probably didn’t gather until later in the day.
They went on, past the Windsor Hotel, an elegant five-story stone castle with cast-iron porte cocheres that would have drawn admiring glances even in New York. Beret had been inside, with her sister, on previous visits to Denver when their uncle had escorted them to the hotel. They had taken in the rotunda with its glass ceiling and marble floor and admired the three staircases, although Lillie, superstitious, had said she would never use the “devil’s-head” staircase, which threw a shadow on the wall like the head of Satan. Beret wondered if Lillie had climbed it after all, perhaps to visit some john. She would have to stop thinking of Lillie that way, imagining the men who paid to sleep with her sister.
Instead, Beret concentrated on that afternoon with their uncle. He had ordered champagne and strawberry ices. Lillie had been young then, perhaps twelve, and she had begged Beret to let her taste the champagne. Beret had given in, of course, then watched in astonishment as Lillie drained her glass. The rest of the afternoon, Lillie had been as bubbly as the champagne. If Lillie had gone into the Windsor in the past few months, had she remembered that day when they were so carefree? Beret desperately hoped that Lillie had kept a few good memories of her sister.
Mick turned, and Beret followed him to Holladay Street. “A strange name. Is it purposely misspelled?” she asked.
“Named for Ben Holladay of the Holladay Overland Mail and Express. There’s talk the city will change it. Mr. Holladay’s friends don’t want the most notorious street in the West named for him.”
“Change it to what?” Beret asked.
“Market.”
When Beret raised an eyebrow, the detective explained, “There is a wholesale market at the other end of the street.”
They walked another block, and Mick stopped in fron
t of a sedate brick house whose only adornment was iron cresting on the roof and a shuttered two-story bay window. “This is it, Miss Hettie Hamilton’s House of Dreams,” Mick said.
Beret was taken aback. The building, which was set back only a few feet from the street, looked like the home of a middle-class merchant. It was neatly kept and hardly ostentatious, with its conservative porch and heavy front door set off by a transom, nothing like the elegant sin palaces she had observed in New York, with their carved-stone trim and crystal windows covered by heavy draperies. “I thought my sister was in one of the better bagnios.” The idea of Lillie working in a second-rate house tormented Beret, who knew firsthand how prostitutes spiraled downward from bawdy houses to cribs to the streets. At least Lillie hadn’t lived long enough for that indignity.
“This is one of the better houses. There’s not a one that’s better. But don’t worry. The outside’s deceptive. Wait till you see what’s inside. It’s much nicer and bigger than it appears. These are all whorehouses along here.” Mick waved his arm at the plain buildings around them that Beret had missed.
He started up the steps, but Beret hung back, until he asked, “You’re game, aren’t you? Or have you changed your mind?” He almost smirked at her.
“Of course I’m game,” she replied, and he rang the bell.
After a time, a large colored woman opened the door. “We ain’t open, sir … oh, it’s you, Mr. Mick.” She looked past the detective at Beret but said nothing more.
“Is Miss Hettie up?” the detective asked.
“She up. You want talk to her?”
Fallen Women Page 6
