Pat O'Malley Historical Steampunk Mystery Trilogy

by Jim Musgrave

  Missus Mergenthaler was thinking, as her right hand went up to the left side of her raven hair, and she held her palm there as she stared at the photograph of Seth that was sitting atop the piano near my shoulder. After two minutes had passed, she neatly placed her knitting needles and yarn back inside the satchel and sat up straight to face me again.

  “We will never tell Seth exactly what he is doing this for, will we?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

  “No, of course not! We can tell him some imaginary story that will never make him suspect what he will be doing for us. We must first ascertain whether or not Doctor Foote prefers a boy or a girl child. We can dress Seth up, whichever choice is made. The boy believes he can change shapes and even disappear, so I don’t imagine he will blink when we tell him to do this.” I was remembering Seth and his wild imagination.

  Bessie stood up. “All right, Mister O’Malley. You can take Seth to the American Museum now. Let me explain our ruse later. I don’t want him confused.”

  “By all means. I want this to be his day of fun,” I said, and I also stood up. I hit a few keys on the piano, and they rang out in the parlor.

  As we left the parlor, Irene was standing in the hall. I wondered how long she had been there. “Hello, Irene. Where did you leave Seth?” Bessie asked.

  “I got him dressed to go into the city. He’s so anxious. I left him in the playroom. I wanted to know, Missus, if I could have Daniel over later. I have not told him about my condition as yet,” she smiled, and looked down at the long Persian rug.

  “I suppose so. But you are to be chaperoned at all times. Miss Charming will be back from her appointments, and she will play host.” Bessie touched the girl on her arm, and Irene smiled again.

  “Thank you, Missus M. You have been so very kind to me. I will never forget you!” Irene ran off to her bedroom down the long hall.

  Inside the playroom, Seth Mergenthaler was all dressed for his excursion to the American Museum of Oddities. As if he were auditioning for us, he said, “I want to become a little man like Commodore Nutt! Then I can fall in love and sing like John taught me.” Seth then began to sing a song, shouting out the words, moving his little feet in a kind of shuffle, and waving his hands high in the air, and turning in circles with ecstatic rhythm. “It’s a long John, he’s a long gone, like a turkey through the corn, through the long corn. Well, my John said, in the ten chap ten, ‘If a man die, He will live again.’ Well, they crucified Jesus and they nailed him to the cross; Sister Mary cried, ‘My child is lost!’”

  John the butler, hearing the echoing refrain from one of his beloved ring-shout spirituals, came into the hallway and grinned at little Seth and began to clap time with the boy’s dance. “You sing it, boy! Lawd say suffer the little children to go to Him!”

  Bessie also smiled. “Oy, Gottenyu! How will I ever get this boy to shul? He learns Negro spirituals before he learns Torah.”

  * * *

  The traffic on Futon Street was heavy as we walked toward the museum. The sound of the carts, trucks and hackneys moving heavily over the bulbous cobblestones was deafening, and I did not speak to the boy until we were under the building’s awning on the portico.

  I pointed toward the big sign over the front of the building’s façade above our heads. "There it is! P. T. Barnum's world famous American Museum."

  "Commodore Nutt! I want to see him. We can exchange. He can become me, and I shall become him," said Seth, skipping into the lobby ahead of me.

  There were throngs of people queuing up to the entrance of Mrs. Pelby's Wax Museum portion of the exhibit. Some of the visitors were so stiff and well-dressed that they, too, looked to be waxed manikins. As I stood in line, I noticed a sign on the wall that read, "Notice to Persons of Color: In order to afford respectable colored persons an opportunity to witness the extraordinary attractions at present exhibited at the Museum, the Manager has determined to admit this class of people on Thursday morning, next, March 10, from 8 A.M. to 1 P.M. Special performances in the Lecture Hall at 11 o'clock."

  “Let’s go in here first,” I said, taking Seth by his hand. “The life-like creations are quite startling to behold,” I added.

  “All right,” the boy replied, “but then I want to meet Commodore Nutt!”

  As we entered the exhibit, I was struck by the life-like quality of the wax figures. The first display, a collection of Mexican Generals from the war, looked life-like and realistic, down to the touches of green guacamole sauce left on the beard of General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna Perez de Lebron, as he dined in his tent with his "Yellow Rose of Texas," the voluptuous mulatto slave, Emily Morgan.

  "He looks so authentic one would expect him to break into Spanish!" I said.

  "Yes, I've read that Mrs. Pelby studied under the famous Madame Tussaud in Paris. When I was in Europe, I saw her Chamber of Horrors. It featured quite frightening depictions of notorious murderers throughout history." These words came from the mouth of six-year-old Seth Mergenthaler.

  At first, I thought an adult might have been standing next to him speaking these thoughts, but nobody was within ten feet of the boy. The voice was the same high-pitched, intelligent tone I had heard on many other occasions, but this information seemed to come from somebody else.

  I felt a fear growing inside me. I remembered Seth’s father and his claim to be a supernatural being, a Mazikeen, as was his son. Could this be proof that they were? I then realized Seth was probably just repeating something he heard an adult say, the way he was able to sing the song taught to him by John the butler. The boy was simply a bright, talking parrot, so I took his hand without remarking on his statement, and we walked on down the aisle to the next exhibit.

  The mechanical panoramic pictures next attracted my attention. The first was a "Vue du Pont Neuf a Paris"-steamers in motion, carriages passing, and omnibuses proceeding to their respective stations-all beautifully represented. The next picture in line was a steam engine in operation. The third was a scissors- grinder at work. The fourth depicted stonecutters sawing a block of marble. The fifth picture was a railroad bridge, with cars passing over. The sixth showed opera-dancers, with all gayety and beauty. The seventh was the musical concert of monkeys. I noticed the delicacy of the principal performer's touch, the motion of his fingers, the beating of his foot to the tune; the leader was beating time and accompanying the music with his voice.

  "How is it these mechanical wonders are so much more entertaining as works of art?" I asked, more to myself than to the boy. "I have always enjoyed the abstract quality of invention more than the final result. I suppose I am more of an artist than an engineer."

  "That's fine, Detective. My father is quite similar to you in that respect. I remember his spending fourteen hours designing the decorative display of our Christmas tree for the house staff, but he spent not one second doing the work! He delegated the task to mother and me," Seth said.

  Again, I was taken aback by the sudden maturity of the boy’s conversation. The idea of his being an ancient soul or angel kept playing in the back of mind, but I wanted to get rid of this thought, so I moved on down the way to a Biblical exhibition of wax figures.

  "That display is quite fascinating," I said, and I looked over at Seth. He was standing beside the recreation of "The Last Supper of Our Lord, with Disciples."

  Inside the alcove, the Michelangelo painting was depicted with wax figures for all twelve disciples and Jesus. The figure of Judas was quite striking, and he seemed to be skulking, looking down in obvious guilt.

  "And here, they have the trial of Jesus before Pontius Pilate," said Seth, moving up to the next exhibit. I was still observing the details of The Last Supper, but I finally moved on to where Seth was standing, in the shadows, in front of the trial. Jesus stood on a raised platform, right beside the boy, and there were several Roman soldiers also standing to the sides, armed with swords, spears and shields.

  "I'm glad we'll be traveling together after this battle. I really
believe we will have a much more fulfilling life when we’re all together," said Seth, reaching out and placing his little hand into my large one. There was a look of sublime innocence in the small boy's countenance that I had admired from the moment we first met. It was this innocence that I had lost many years before, but I wanted very much to recapture it.

  The boy then turned back around to the exhibit, and was staring straight ahead, observing the trial figures, when one of the figures moved! Yes, I could clearly see it. The tall wax soldier on the left was moving an arm under his tunic! Before my gun could be drawn, I watched, terrified, as the wax soldier jumped down from the exhibit and lifted the small boy into his arms. He then ran, full speed, toward the exit, about forty yards down the aisle and to the left.

  "Stop! Kidnapper!" I yelled, pointing at the fleeing man and child and extracting the Colt pistol from my calf holster. I raced after them, but when the others in the room saw my gun, they all stampeded for the exits, and the women and children screamed in terror. They had blocked my way, and by the time I reached the exit, the kidnapper had disappeared from the museum and was running down Fulton Street carrying Seth under his arm like a sack of potatoes. They mixed into the swarm of pedestrians as if they were blackbirds flying together above a marsh before sunset.

  * * *

  There was only one group I knew which could have done this criminal act. Somehow, one of Hester Jane Haskins’ rogues had managed to kidnap a child in broad daylight. This was the child of one of the wealthiest women in New York, and this was the child who could assure Jane the Grabber of enough money to allow her to own all the brothels in the city. It would also steal money from the liberal elite who stood against Haskins and her unscrupulous enterprise.

  Unlike his father, I was certain little Seth was not being used for any other purpose than to extort money. What bothered me was that somebody knew where I was taking Seth, and they were able to set a trap of their own before I was able to set mine. If they knew where I was taking Seth, then they might know even more information. The suspects were changing in my mind as I walked alone back from Barnum’s American Museum of Oddities. It seemed the Mergenthaler family was cursed by ill fortune, and I was once again tasked with the job of making things right for them.

  I played out the possible scenarios in my mind. If Becky were secretly working with the Palace Theater, then she could share in quite a profit. By folding and placing Jane the Grabber in power, Rebecca would never have to work another day in her life. She could earn all of her money simply by not doing anything to interfere with Jane the Grabber and the Tammany Hall politicians behind her. It was similar to a prizefight, when one of the combatants throws the fight by pretending to be knocked down. Then, both sides share the proceeds of the wagers that were made at a much higher value.

  However, I could not bring myself to believe that my Becky would do such a thing, no matter how much money was being offered. Her confession to me about being raped and about how much she wanted to protect women in the profession was quite sincere, and it assured me of her innocence.

  I also had to place Bessie Mergenthaler back on my suspect list. She had agreed to my trap using her son, and she could have easily informed someone who could have then sent the kidnapper to meet me in the museum. The motive would also be money, but then again, what did she really need with that kind of money? Then again, it was an investment she could make without being connected to the investors. They would collect the blackmail money and then use it to buy brothels in the city. However, her reputation would be placed in extreme danger of being ruined for all time, and I did not believe she would have risked it all just for a momentary dalliance with power, and the associates she had to be with were extremely unsavory. No, Missus Mergenthaler would also have to be toward the bottom of my list.

  Another suspect would have to be John, the butler. Some of the staff was already associated with taking drugs, and John certainly knew about everything going on inside Bessie’s mansion. He acted as if he owned the place. His arrogance and need for the money put him up there on my list. On the other side, he had been a loyal employee of the Mergenthalers for many years, and he traveled with them around the world. Why wouldn’t he have done something illegal before this? Maybe this was the big money he had been waiting for? I would need to inquire into his actions in more detail.

  Irene Sanders, of course, was a good candidate for this kind of activity. She already came from the very place that I suspected was behind the kidnapping of Seth. The Palace Theater and Jane the Grabber Haskins had already kept her under their tutelage for several weeks. It was more than enough time to concoct a plan. She was also able to communicate with outside sources, as Bessie and even Becky had given her some freedom to be on her own. She could even be in on something with John or another staff member in the house.

  Now I had to add Dan Maguire into this mix. He may have worked this out with his little lovely, Irene, and they both might be working for Haskins in some capacity. No matter that Maguire worked for my best friend, Walter McKenzie. This kind of possible money could lure the Pope out of his chambers at the Vatican to see what he could get out of it all. It made me think about whether or not Irene was even pregnant. She could have faked the vomiting.

  My head was spinning with possibilities as I came up to the mansion on Fifth Avenue. I now had to inform Missus Mergenthaler that another one of her family had been kidnapped. I did not look forward to doing this, and I also did not relish the contact we would most likely be getting from the kidnappers.

  I decided, before I rang the bell on the front door, that I was going to get in touch with John Kennedy, the Superintendent of Police. We needed to sort things out and design a counter-plan for when the kidnappers made their move and asked for the ransom money. I trusted in Kennedy’s experience, and was certain he had been involved in this kind of crime before. I had only been involved in a kidnapping without a ransom demand, which was a completely different affair.

  John answered the door. His wide grin turned into a concerned frown. “Missah O’Malley, where’s the boy?”

  “I need to see Missus Mergenthaler,” I said, pushing past him and marching to the parlor on the first floor of rooms. I noticed the faces of the other house staff as I walked past them. I wanted to see if any one of them showed any kind of emotion or expectant expression on his or her face. No, they all looked quite normally curious.

  Bessie met me at the wide door to the room. “What is it? Where is Seth?” The mother immediately sensed there was something wrong.

  “I’m so sorry, Bessie, but Seth was taken while I was at the museum.”

  She collapsed. I should have expected this, but I had not. I bent over, and then John come over and assisted me. We both carried her over to the long purple divan in the parlor and reclined her head toward the plush pillows on the end.

  “Thank you, John. Perhaps you can call for Doctor Jacobi? I think we should keep this information in the family. We have a long night ahead of us, and I want to be certain the family is aware of everything that must be accomplished from this moment forward.” I placed Bessie’s head up on the pillow so she appeared comfortable. She was still unconscious, and I knew this was not unusual. Her husband was kidnapped a year before, and now her son. No human should have to endure such torture in a lifetime. I had seen many men die in battle, but even though you knew them in the line of duty, they were not family in the sense that the Mergenthalers were family. The losses Bessie Mergenthaler was suffering put her into the category of Shakespearean tragedy.

  Now I had to determine who absconded with our little Hamlet and left dear Gertrude alone. I was also worried about Irene, who was playing the role of Ophelia in this drama. Also, Becky would be returning home soon from her errands around the city. What should I explain to her? We were going to leave her out of the trap we had concocted, but now that little Seth was kidnapped, I expected we would have to include Becky in all future activities. In fact, I believed we would need h
er intelligence and creative intuition to battle the gathering forces against us.

  “Where is Irene?” I asked the staff, who were still standing around in the hallway and inside the parlor.

  One of the upstairs maids stepped forward. “She gone with Mister Maguire, sir,” she said.

  “Maguire? He was supposed to come here to visit. She was not supposed to leave,” I said. She was moving up quickly on my list of prime suspects.

  “She say she want to be away to tell him ‘bout the baby,” the young woman said.

  I wondered how much Irene told the housekeeping staff. She certainly had no idea about how a young woman behaved in more cultured environments.

  “All right. If you see her, please tell her I want her to report to me. I also want to speak with Daniel Maguire. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied.

  “Is that clear to all of you?” I asked the entire staff, as I walked up and down the carpeting. “From this moment forward, I am declaring that we are in a state of emergency. Nobody is allowed to leave this house without permission, and everyone must inform me or my designated official about where you will be.”

  “Yes, sir,” they all responded. There were eight house servants, and I was going to ask John for all of their names.

  Just then, Bessie Mergenthaler staggered into the hall. Her face was pale, and she held her right hand to her forehead. “What happened? Are you going to catch these people, Patrick?” she asked.

  “I believe this time the criminals want money, Bessie. We need to determine how we can approach this with the best possible outcome. I want to contact Superintendent John Kennedy. May I have your permission to send one of your staff to request his assistance? I can give you the address.” I walked over and put my arm around her thin shoulders.