“Anyway, at least Mrs. Loveland didn’t subject us to any theatrics like tying all our hands together. Once we were all seated, she came into the room. Swooped in like a bird, actually, wearing some absurd costume that floated around her.” Brown chuckled over the memory before continuing. “I never did figure out how the sounds were produced.”
“What sort of sounds? Voices? Music? Rapping?”
“More like sighing.” The doctor ran his right hand along his jaw, pausing to absently scrub his goatee. His signet ring caught the light from the window. “Mrs. Loveland moved on to the rapping business when we took turns contacting our loved ones in the beyond, as she called the practice. One for no, three for yes, and the like. Rather tedious, if I may say so.”
“Nothing came up that explains, as far as you’re concerned, why Mr. Smith compiled a list of who’d all been at that séance.”
“If there was some particular incident, I didn’t notice, but Justina may have,” he said. “If she did hire the fellow, I’m sure she regrets it.”
Nick considered the man seated across from him, who was looking far too comfortable with the direction of the conversation. “Have you encountered Mr. Griffin since the séance?”
“No.”
“He’s been observed watching your surgery, according to one of my associates.” He’d never, ever tell Mrs. Davies he’d referred to her as an associate. “Just today, in fact.”
“Really?” He sounded alarmed. “I’d like to lodge a complaint against him, then, Detective Greaves. The man sounds like a menace.”
“We’re trying to locate him,” said Nick. “Who was it who wished to contact Etta that evening?”
“I don’t remember that name,” he replied. “There were so many mentioned. That Griffin fellow trying to reach his beloved grandmother. Miss Kimball—that was her name, correct?—attempting to speak with some cousin or something. Mr. Emery trying to contact a friend lost in the war.”
“Who did you want to speak with?”
“No one. As I said, I only went to please Vivi.” The other man rose to his feet. “Now, Detective, if you are quite finished—”
“I’m not.” Nick gestured for him to retake his seat. “If you will, Dr. Brown.”
“I am a busy man. Justina will be waiting dinner on me.”
“I won’t take much longer. Please. Sit.”
The doctor dropped onto the chair. “I’ve told you what I remember about that night, Detective.”
“But there’s more,” said Nick. “I came here from your surgery. Your assistant there told me you’ve received several letters recently. Troublesome letters.”
“She told you.”
“Shouldn’t she have?”
“We’d decided to ignore them. A man in my position, who is in the newspapers regularly because of my charity work and the speeches I give, attracts attention from the unhinged,” he said. “It’s an unfortunate fact in this world, Detective Greaves, that individuals exist who suffer from mental disturbances. I expect you’ve encountered several such folks in your police work.”
“Most of the folks I’ve encountered aren’t unhinged, Doctor,” Nick replied. “Just calculating. Or desperate.”
“Ah.”
“I’m surprised you’d be so upset by a few letters,” he said. “Did they contain threats of violence? Or maybe some sort of blackmail?”
The doctor fiddled with his signet ring. “I’d rather not go into specifics, Detective, except to say that the tone became more serious, more alarming with each successive one.”
“Was Miss Brown aware of these letters and what they contained?” asked Nick, speculating that if she had been aware, it would have given her a reason to have hired Mr. Smith.
“She saw the one that came to the house, however, I can’t say if she read it or not.”
“What about your fiancée? Did you tell her about them?”
“I did not. I didn’t want her to know,” he said. His voice took on a hard edge. “Nothing must disturb Vivi’s peace and calm. She is a pearl of great price to me, Detective. I would do anything to protect her.”
Anything? “You should have brought the letters to the police, Dr. Brown,” said Nick. “We don’t like people making threats.”
“I’m sorry, but I burned them.”
How convenient.
Chapter 10
“That’s all you want the telegram to say, Mr. Greaves?” asked the fellow behind the telegraph office counter. “‘Not coming home’?”
Another agent standing next to the fellow tried to pretend he wasn’t listening to the conversation, but he didn’t succeed in hiding his smirk. The woman the agent was helping asked what he was laughing at, which sobered him pretty quickly.
“Is there a minimum requirement?” asked Nick, scowling. “Your operators would probably appreciate a brief message.”
Beyond the office counter, men sat at rows of desks, wires snaking overhead while they huddled and tapped on their machines. The sound was an endless stream of clicking more irritating than the summer buzz of cicadas had been when he’d lived in Ohio.
“No, sir. There isn’t a minimum requirement,” replied the man. “I just thought you might want to send an explanation. There’s no extra charge up to ten words.”
“I don’t need to offer an explanation to my sister,” said Nick.
He should have sent a response to Ellie’s telegram days ago, and now an answer was long overdue. He could blame his police work—he had before—and say he was too busy to come home. But even if he wasn’t trying to find Smith’s murderer or locate Miss McHugh, he’d still conjure up some excuse to avoid going to Sacramento. He missed Ellie and her daughter, expected the girl had grown so much he wouldn’t recognize her if they crossed paths on the street, but nothing and no one could entice him to visit his father. Not even the sister he dearly loved.
The fellow was frowning. “So that’s all you want to say.”
“Add ‘sorry’ if you’re so interested in getting more words out of me,” said Nick. “And ‘love.’ That ought to be enough.”
It was going to have to be enough. Someday he’d explain to Ellie. Once he sorted through the pain that knotted his stomach.
Once he forgave himself.
• • •
“Miss Adler is here to see you,” said Addie from the doorway to Celia’s bedchamber.
Celia, busy pinning her hair into place, looked at Addie’s reflection in the dressing table mirror. “At this hour of the morning?”
Her watch, ticking upon the table’s surface, indicated half past six. Extremely early for a member of the leisure class, who had no need to arise before dawn to earn their livelihood.
“Maybe she’s an early riser, ma’am, but I have my doubts,” said Addie. “She insists that you sent for her.”
“What a curious thing for her to say, when I did not.”
Celia stood, finished fastening the jet buttons at the neck of her black dress, attached her watch to the waist, and went downstairs.
The woman inside the parlor twirled to face her, her hooped skirts flaring. Celia wondered if she’d done that for the effect produced, a dizzying blur of peach and yellow and white lace. She was quite lovely, with a delicate pointed chin and large, expressive eyes. And a tiny waist that had never been exposed to the rigors of carrying a child.
“Ah, Mrs. Davies.” She smiled, revealing two rows of even white teeth. The mouth, thought Celia, of a well-to-do young lady and unlike most of the women who crossed Celia’s threshold. “I am so glad to meet you. I am Genevieve Adler. My friends call me Vivi. You can call me Vivi, if you’d like.”
“I am pleased to meet you as well, Miss Adler.”
“Who is he?” asked Miss Adler, gesturing at the portrait of Uncle Walford that hung above the settee.
“My uncle and my ward’s deceased father.”
“Jolly-looking fellow.” She dropped onto the settee underneath the painting. “I know all about you, y
ou know. Justina talks about the Ladies’ Society of Christian Aid meetings that you’ve spoken at. About the work you do with the Chinese girls.” She wrinkled her nose for a second, as though an unpleasant smell had wafted past. “You’ve probably heard all about me and my family, too.”
“I do not circulate among society ladies much, Miss Adler, so I must admit that I am unfamiliar with your family,” said Celia. “Aside from the fact that you are from the East Coast. I briefly lived in Philadelphia myself.”
“How interesting.”
Her eyes, their pale depths flat, did not suggest she found it interesting at all. “Would you care for breakfast, Miss Adler? I’ve not had the chance to eat as yet.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. It is early, isn’t it?” She laughed, a short burst of self-indulgent merriment. “I hope you’re not too unhappy with me. I’ve been told over and over that I’m impulsive, but I did want to make sure I spoke with you.”
“You told my housekeeper that I had sent for you.”
“Oh, that. A tiny exaggeration to get her to let me sit in your parlor while you were upstairs,” she said. “She’s quite fearsome. Bravo to you for hiring her.”
“She is protective of me, and I value that attribute, Miss Adler,” Celia replied. “If you do not care for some breakfast, might I offer some tea or coffee?”
“Oh, no. I had our maid bring me oodles of coffee and eggs before I left. Besides, I don’t plan to stay long,” she said. “I’m here because I received a message from Jane Hutchinson that you’d like to meet me. Well, I admit I’m not a patient person and didn’t want to wait for your invitation. Arthur, my fiancé, is always correcting my bad habits. I do have so much to learn from him.”
“I’ve not had the opportunity to meet your fiancé, Miss Adler,” said Celia, taking the chair across from her. “And I do not recall ever being introduced to your future sister-in-law at a Ladies’ Society meeting.”
“She remembers you. Oh, how Juss loves her charity functions,” she said, giving a wink. “She hates when I call her that, by the way. The best thing about her, Mrs. Davies, is that she cares intensely about Arthur. There’s only the two of them left in their family. Sometimes Juss acts as though Arthur might crumble into pieces if he were out of her sight for more than a few hours.”
Was Miss Vivi Adler always this outspoken and candid?
“I should explain why I had Mrs. Hutchinson tell you that I wished to meet you,” said Celia.
“Oh, I can guess why you did. Jane mentioned that séance I attended with Arthur and Justina,” she said. “An amazing evening. Truly amazing.”
“How kind of your fiancé to arrange an evening like that for you.”
“Arthur arrange going to a séance? Merciful heavens, no. He hates that sort of thing. It was my idea. I’ve always been fascinated by spiritualism. Arthur says I am quite ridiculous about it.” Her words were followed by more tinkling laughter. “But I don’t understand why you’re interested in a séance, Mrs. Davies. Unless it’s because of that investigator, Mr. Smith. Was he an acquaintance of yours?”
Miss Adler’s response put Celia on guard. What all did the young woman know about her? “I had hired him to do some work for me at one time.”
“I thought you might have.” She flipped a white-gloved hand at Celia. A gold bracelet dangled from her wrist, and it caught the light as she moved. “Arthur and Justina have been whispering like mad about him the past couple of days. They must think I’m deaf as a stone.”
“What have they been saying?”
“That the police detective who came to talk to Arthur yesterday said the fellow was murdered, and that his death might have something to do with the séance.” She wrinkled her nose. “Nasty, smelly person. He had the nerve to come to my house and talk to our servants. They’re going to gossip for ages and ages!” she exclaimed. “Although why they’d know anything about some upsetting letters Arthur received, I have no idea. Not the actions of a competent investigator, if you ask me.”
“Dr. Brown has received correspondence that has upset him?”
“Oh, yes. He is trying valiantly to keep the information from me, but I am not so easy to fool!” She grinned. “Arthur refused to say much at all about the letters. Not what had been written or who’d sent them. He said I’d be upset, so they must have been bad. I think they contained some sort of threats.”
“How very alarming.” Is that why your name was circled, Dr. Brown? “Did Mr. Smith question you about these letters, as well, Miss Adler?”
“He did, but I hadn’t seen them, so I couldn’t help him at all. Are the letters somehow connected to that séance? They must be!” Miss Adler pressed fingertips to her open mouth. “Of course they are! I am daft, as you Britishers might say. It all makes sense. Otherwise that nasty investigator wouldn’t have shown up to talk to me—and our servants—about them. I think Arthur did begin to receive them after that night at Mrs. Loveland’s. We never should’ve gone, should we? Somebody at that séance is behind sending those letters. Makes perfect, perfect sense.”
“A sensible conclusion.” But her conclusion provided no explanation for why Miss Brown had scheduled an appointment with Mr. Smith before the séance.
“If somebody at that séance has been threatening Arthur, I can suggest who.” Vivi Adler paused for dramatic effect. “Miss Kimball. She acted very strangely all evening. And when Arthur and I and Juss left, she chased after us like a banshee!”
“What did she want?”
“I couldn’t make sense of her screeching,” she said. “Arthur bundled me into the carriage and got rid of her.”
Intriguing. “What was your impression of the others, Miss Adler? I am curious about them.”
“Well, the one fellow—I don’t remember his name—just sat and brooded. And Mr. Griffin was polite enough. Mrs. Loveland . . . well, she is an odd bird. Maybe we should also be suspicious of her.” She pinched her brows together. “I wonder what the photograph Mr. Smith showed me has to do with all this. He didn’t only want to talk about those letters, you know.”
No, I do not know. “A photograph?”
“An old carte de visite of Arthur with some woman seated on a bench.”
“He was married before,” said Celia, recalling what Jane had said about his first wife, her death such a source of distress that Dr. Brown never spoke of it or the woman herself. “Perhaps the woman with him was the former Mrs. Brown.”
“Mr. Smith didn’t show it to you, too?”
“I’ve never seen this photograph.”
“Oh, of course he wouldn’t show it to you! Silly me!” She laughed again. “I’m pretty certain the woman wasn’t Arthur’s wife. That Mr. Smith pried and pried, though, trying to upset me. Trying to make me jealous of some grainy photograph of some female Arthur once knew years ago. But I would never be jealous of Arthur. He loves me far too much.”
Celia studied Miss Adler, the careful tilt of her head, the almost too easy smile on her full lips. “Was the name of the woman in that photograph Etta, by any chance?”
“Mr. Smith didn’t give a name. I think he was hoping I could tell him who she was,” she said. “Who is that woman in the picture, Mrs. Davies?”
“I have no idea.”
But I surely wish I did.
• • •
“How extraordinary that Genevieve came to see you this morning, Celia,” whispered Jane, seated upon a chair in the Browns’ front parlor. “Maybe even a bit brash.”
“She asked me almost as many questions as I asked her,” said Celia, wishing she’d not allowed Miss Adler’s visit to distract her from having breakfast before Jane arrived to collect her. She was rather hungry. “Vivi Adler is an interesting young woman who might not be as silly as she attempts to appear.”
“I completely agree.”
Jane’s gaze flicked over at the room’s closed door, as it had numerous times already while she and Celia waited for Justina Brown. Celia was beginning to wonder if Miss B
rown intended to meet with them after all, despite having accepted Jane’s request for a visit.
The mantel clock chimed beneath its glass bell cover. Footsteps rapped across the marble entry floor outside the room, giving Celia momentary hope before the person moved off. Voices echoed in a distant room.
“She’ll be here soon. I’m sure,” said Jane.
“Miss Brown may be hoping we abandon our plans and depart.”
“She wouldn’t be that rude.” Jane frowned. “At least, I can’t imagine she would. And here I am, quivering with curiosity. Justina must be panicked about those letters sent to her brother, otherwise she wouldn’t have hired Mr. Smith.”
“But Miss Brown had an appointment with Mr. Smith before the séance,” pointed out Celia. “The letters could not have been the sole reason she wished to employ him.”
“Oh,” said Jane. “This is confusing.”
The pocket doors slid open, interrupting Jane, and a woman entered the room. Nearly as tall as Celia, she had an angular face with a sharp jaw, and watchful, somewhat protuberant eyes. She was dressed fashionably in pale yellow silk, which set her brown hair—parted in the middle and pulled tautly into a chignon at the nape of her neck—to its best advantage.
“Jane.” Miss Brown looked at Celia with a neutral expression. “Mrs. Davies.”
“Miss Brown, I am pleased to at last meet you,” said Celia.
“We have met before,” she replied. “At a Ladies’ Society of Christian Aid meeting. But it’s been a long time.”
“Justina, what is all this about?” asked Jane. “You never did explain why you needed an investigator. And now the man is dead. Possibly murdered.”
“So this isn’t a friendly morning visit,” said Miss Brown. “I didn’t explain when I asked you for a recommendation, Jane, because it was nothing to be alarmed about. And you didn’t need to involve Mrs. Davies.” Her watchful eyes shifted to Celia. “I’ve heard about you. I’m sorry Mr. Smith is dead, but don’t you think it’s a matter for the police? Not some amateur detective.”
Jane gasped at her friend’s blunt insult.
No Quiet among the Shadows Page 11
