by Kari Bovee
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“I don’t believe she killed anyone,” said Anna Parnell, her voice almost a whisper. “She did despise the Fenians, but mostly because of one man, Michael Davitt. He and I had a relationship. He promised he would marry me and take care of me and Becky forever, but his love of the cause eclipsed his love for us, and he, too, left us. He abandoned us after one of Becky’s fits. Said he wouldn’t marry me unless I put Becky away in an institution. He and my brother agreed it was for the best.”
Annie, her hand still on Miss Parnell’s shoulder, knelt down in front of the woman.
“I can understand why she would have issue with the Fenians, Miss Parnell. Their cause directly affected her happiness. But can you think of any reason she would want to kill the queen?”
Miss Parnell held her handkerchief to her nose, shook her head. “No. She often blamed the queen for the troubles in Ireland. Said if it weren’t for her, the movement would never have started and our lives would have been different. But that is no reason to want to kill her.”
“But how do you explain the evidence, the fingerprints?” Emma stepped closer. She’d been quiet, scribbling on her notepad. Annie had almost forgotten she was in the room.
“I can’t,” said Miss Parnell. “Only that they weren’t her fingerprints.”
Emma sighed.
“We can show you how they match, if you’d like,” Annie said. “I know this is a horrible shock, Miss Parnell.”
The door burst open, and the colonel came in followed by the captain.
Annie explained the entire situation.
“We’ll have to take her to the brig.” The captain put his hands behind his back. “When she comes to.”
“No!” Miss Parnell stood up, facing the captain. “Please. I can keep her here with me. She can’t be alone. She needs to be monitored. Please, Captain, I beg of you. Let me take care of my daughter.”
The captain pressed his lips together, considering. Annie put an arm around Miss Parnell’s shoulders.
“You could place a guard at the door, Captain.”
“I suppose we could,” the captain said. “We only have four more days till we arrive at port in England. The authorities there can handle the rest.”
Miss Parnell broke into tears, her knees weakening again. Annie helped her to the chair.
“They will take her away from me now,” Miss Parnell said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I know they will. Even if she is innocent, our secret has been revealed. She will be taken away, and I will be ruined and alone.”
Annie looked up at Emma, her heart crumbling in her chest. Sometimes, she wished she didn’t have a gift for finding the truth.
PART TWO
Chapter Sixteen
London, England 1887
Annie sat at her vanity in the tent she and Frank shared, pulling tight the strip of leather onto the bottom of the braid running down her back. The previous day’s disembarkation from the S.S. Nebraska and their move to Earl’s Court in Kensington, smack dab in the middle of London, had exhausted her. Frank, still not feeling well, lay in bed watching her at her toilette.
“I’m impressed with the grounds.” Annie said, trying to cheer both herself and Frank. She pinched her cheeks and turned away from the mirror to face him. “The colonel said that seven acres of the American Exhibition here at Earl’s Court have been reserved for the Wild West Show. Everything is so green and manicured. Perhaps if you are feeling better later, we can take a ride through the exhibition.”
“Yes, perhaps.” Frank’s voice sounded weak and defeated. She had never seen him so listless. She thought getting off the ship might help with his condition, but so far, it hadn’t. At least he would be safe from the deranged Miss Brady. Frank’s body just needed time to heal, she tried to convince herself.
“Did you ask? Is Dr. Adams staying on with us throughout the tour?” Annie asked him.
“Yes, he said he was.”
“I may go seek him out if you don’t rally by this afternoon.”
Frank didn’t answer, but turned over in bed and fell back asleep.
Annie got up from the vanity and walked over to him, watching him breathe. His face had grayed again, and for the first time, she saw him as a much older man. Her heart sank. Her hero, her love, her cherished Frank had, in two weeks, become a shell of his former self.
Her theory that Miss Brady and Miss Parnell had attempted to poison him seemed silly now. They hadn’t had contact with him for the last week while they were confined to their stateroom. If they had poisoned Frank, he should be healing by now. As much as she wanted to convince herself he was improving, he seemed to be no better, perhaps even worse.
Of course, Frank had been exhausted by the activities of the previous day. Annie tried to tell him he needed to rest, but he wouldn’t listen. He had to help.
Their day had been full of activity—greeting the tremendous crowd at the Royal Albert Dock and taking the train to West Brompton. Buck had again become agitated, but the train trip seemed such a short time compared with the sea voyage.
When they arrived at Earl’s Court, Frank had seen to securing their belongings while Annie got Buck settled in his pen. It hadn’t taken him long to relax and start eating.
Frank and Annie then helped with the erection of their tent, as well as Hulda’s and Emma’s. Annie hadn’t done nearly the work Frank had, but still felt exhausted, despite being in perfect health. He probably just needed another day to rest. She’d let him sleep.
“I’ll check on Hulda,” she whispered to Frank, knowing he wouldn’t hear her, but it made her feel better to say it.
Annie stepped out into the sunshine to see a woman standing outside Hulda’s tent. She recognized her immediately.
“Miss Tessen, how are you? I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Hello, Miss Oakley.” Miss Tessen’s hands shook and her face was drained of color, all but the dark circles under her eyes. “I’d like to have a word with you, if you have a minute.” The woman looked on the verge of collapse. She placed her hand against the tent wall for support.
“Are you well, Miss Tessen?”
“Yes. Just a bit hungry. Haven’t had a meal since we disembarked. Couldn’t keep much down when I was below decks on the ship.”
“Come. I’ll see if Cook has anything to eat.” Annie reached out and took Miss Tessen by the elbow, afraid the woman would crumple. “I’m not sure they’ve got the dining tent completely set up, but I’m sure there is some food available.”
Annie guided her through the rows of tents, some completely erect, some still in the process of being put together. Cowboys and crewmen from the show, as well as an English crew, were milling about. The loud clink of sledgehammers hitting spikes, rolling cart wheels, wagon wheels, and orders being shouted back and forth rang through the air as the Wild West Show took form.
The large, white-and-red-striped tent they used as an eating hall lay on the ground, the poles erected but nothing else. Annie noticed Hal, their chief cook, working at his coal-burning stove. A steaming pot hung over a stone-ringed fire pit, and the aroma of fresh meat-and-vegetable stew made Annie’s stomach rumble with hunger—for the first time since she’d left America, she realized.
“Hi, Hal.” Annie said, her arm linked through Miss Tessen’s as she approached the cook. “I’m famished. Could my friend Miss Tessen and I have a bowl of that delicious smelling stew?”
Hal, a short, round fellow with a ginger colored bushy mustache, beard, and eyebrows that had a life all their own, frowned at Annie’s request. The caterpillar across his brow rippled downwards in consternation.
“’S not quite finished stewing.”
“We don’t mind, do we Miss Tessen?”
The woman shook her head. She leaned heavily on Annie’s arm, her face ashen.
“Please, Hal.” Annie feared Miss Tessen would buckle if she didn’t get food into her fast. “And some bread if you have it.”
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Hal bent over a large crate and pulled out two wooden bowls. He set them down on the stove with an irritated clunk. He reached into the camp oven and pulled out a large round of freshly baked bread.
“’S’not eatin’ time. Don’t let them cowboys see you with this food, or they’ll come over here like bees to honey. Can’t keep their bellies full no matter what I do.”
“We’ll just take it back to my tent,” Annie said.
Hal took the bowls to the pot and scooped out two servings. He handed the bowls to them, plunked a spoon in each one, and cut each of them a slice of bread. He never made eye contact with Annie, and she knew she’d angered him, but she couldn’t watch Miss Tessen suffer another moment. She thanked Hal and he gave a grunt in response.
They walked back to Annie’s tent.
“Frank, my husband, is still not feeling well,” Annie said, setting her bowl on a table that stood outside the tent with a chair next to it. “You sit here and start, and I’ll be back in a moment with another chair.”
Annie slipped inside the tent with her bowl of stew, hoping Frank would want to eat it. He lay sleeping peacefully, so she decided not to disturb him. She lifted a chair by one of the back rungs and, holding her bowl, made her way back outside. Miss Tessen had finished her bread and was tucking into the stew like a starving animal. Annie set the chair down opposite her and began eating.
When Miss Tessen was finished, she lifted her head and wiped her mouth with the back of her tattered jacket sleeve.
“Thank you for your kindness.” She gave Annie a curt nod.
“You’re welcome.”
“I told you a bit of a fib.” Miss Tessen’s eyes did not meet Annie’s. Annie continued to spoon the stew into her mouth. “I’m not visiting family. I have no family. I didn’t have any luck finding work in America—well, not the kind of work a woman likes to do, if you know what I mean.”
Annie pressed her lips together, completely understanding. She knew what a hungry belly and desperation felt like. Luckily, she’d never had to resort to the kind of work Miss Tessen spoke of.
“So you hope to find work here, in England,” Annie finished for her.
“Yes. Well, actually, I want to find work here, at the Wild West Show.”
Annie tried not to show her shock and surprise. Why hadn’t she said anything on the ship? She’d had complete access to the colonel and Mr. Salisbury for the entire voyage.
“Why didn’t you mention this before, Miss Tessen, on the ship?”
“I wanted to see what kind of people you all were.” Miss Tessen stared into her empty bowl. “I haven’t had much luck with people. But then I saw you and your husband and how you are with your horse. I saw how the colonel treats his people, the American Indians, and his horses. You are good folk.”
“I’d love to help,” Annie said, warmed by the woman noticing their kindness and respect for one another. That feeling of kinship made Annie proud. She also knew what it was like to feel the ache of hunger and despair. “What kind of skills do you have?”
“I can take care of horses. I loved doing it as a girl. My mother didn’t like me in the stables all of the time—thought I should be sewing or singing or dancing.”
“That sounds familiar.” Annie couldn’t help smiling. She knew all too well the pressures of trying to live up to feminine expectations, but oh, so much wanting to do almost anything else.
“I’d like to take care of your horse, Miss—Annie.”
“Buck? Well—” Annie hesitated. She didn’t want anyone but Mr. Post, Bobby, or herself taking care of Buck. How could she explain that three years ago, he’d been poisoned and stolen from her? She’d never let him be out of her care ever again. Not for a moment.
“Please don’t take offense, but I don’t think that would be a good idea. Buck is rather particular about who takes care of him. He only eats for me, Mr. Post, or Bobby. I hope you understand.” That I have embellished the truth.
Miss Tessen waved her tattered gloved hand in front of her face.
“I do understand. Just thought I would ask. What about the other horses? You have about two hundred head here, don’t you?”
“Yes, we do.”
“I know how to shoe horses. I used to help our blacksmith all the time. Who does blacksmithing for the show?”
Annie tried to hide her surprise. Blacksmithing had been the last occupation Annie expected from the petite, almost frail woman. The art took hard, lean muscles, the strength of an ox, and a tolerance for extreme heat. Gail Tessen hardly fit the bill. But she supposed many people said the same thing about her. In fact, she knew they did.
“Most of the Indian ponies are barefoot,” Annie said. “The cowboys trim their own horses’ feet, make their own shoes—usually at a campfire.”
“What about you? What about the colonel?”
The questions hung in the air. Before Annie knew Bobby, she or Mr. Shaw, owner of the North Star Mercantile, had always taken care of Buck’s feet. Since she’d joined the show, it had been Bobby. He also took care of Isham and Charlie’s feet, and Fancy’s when Frank had her before she passed of old age.
Annie put a spoonful of stew in her mouth to stall. Now that Bobby was a featured performer of the show, his duties had grown, and he would love to have some help. But something made her hesitate.
“I can’t speak for the colonel, but I can ask him, or Mr. Salisbury, if there are any available positions. I will also mention your skills at the forge.”
“I thank you for your kindness.” Miss Tessen stood up.
“Come back tomorrow and hopefully I will have an answer for you.”
The woman nodded and trudged off toward the tree-lined road, leading out of Earl’s Court. Annie had almost asked if she had a place to stay, but then decided against it. She couldn’t figure out why the woman made her so uncomfortable.
Hulda popped out from behind the flap of her tent, the apples of her cheeks ripe with enthusiasm.
“Did you hear, Annie? We’re invited to a society gala!”
A society gala. Annie felt a sudden itching and dampening of her palms.
“We’ll have to find you a suitable dress since you ruined the last one I made for you,” Hulda prattled on. “You must have one in that old trunk of yours, but I’m sure it’s not in the latest fashion. I’ll have to spruce it up a bit. I suppose I could alter the neckline and sleeves. . . .” Hulda swept past her, talking a blue streak as she started to enter Annie’s tent.
Annie grabbed her by the sleeve. “You’ll wake Frank. He needs to sleep. I’m sure whatever I pick will be suitable enough. Mind what you wear, little sister. Don’t forget who you are and where you come from.”
Hulda scowled and marched back to her own tent.
Annie sighed, stood up, and stepped from the shadow of the tent. She turned and gazed out toward the road, wondering where Gail Tessen would sleep tonight.
Later that evening, after Annie and Frank had shared a piece of apple pie—the only thing Frank felt like eating, much to Annie’s concern— Bobby appeared at their tent with a note from Mr. Salisbury stating, “The former Prime Minister of England, Mr. William Gladstone will be visiting the encampment at 2:00 in the afternoon. Please be in costume and ready to receive him at that time.”
“Oh, dear,” Annie said aloud, crushing the note in her palm. She looked over to tell Frank the news, but he’d climbed onto the bed, still clothed, and was already asleep. She hoped he’d be up to meeting Mr. Gladstone tomorrow. With Frank by her side, Annie always felt less awkward when meeting important people, like when she’d met the Governor of Ohio or the Mayor of Greenville. While others fawned over people of “authority,” Frank always treated them like they were old friends. His buoyant personality and natural charm smoothed the way for her to do the same.
She felt they’d hardly had time to catch her breath since disembarking from the ship and setting up camp. Already, they had to make appearances and greet people. Annie set the note
on the nightstand, dressed for bed, and after blowing out the lantern, molded her body to his, reciting prayers in her head that he would be back to himself soon. She missed the old Frank.
In the morning, Annie woke to find Frank tossing and turning in his sleep. She nudged his shoulder.
“Frank, wake up. I think you are having a nightmare.”
He rolled over to face her and opened his eyes. “Yes, I was,” he said, his voice thick and groggy. “I was in the water with Buck again. The ship was sailing away with you on it.”
Annie laid her hand on his cheek. “I’m right here, Frank. Always.”
He smiled and closed his eyes again.
“Mr. Gladstone is coming today to visit the exhibition. Will you be up to meeting him?”
Frank opened his eyes wide. “Yes, of course. I’ll be fine.”
“You look like you didn’t sleep at all,” Annie said, concerned by the pallor of his skin. He still did not look well.
“I’ll be fine. I just need a little sleep. Wake me in a couple of hours.”
After she’d dressed, Annie went to Hulda’s tent in search of one of her new costumes, relieved that the colonel had insisted they wear them to meet Mr. Gladstone. She always felt more comfortable in costume as opposed to the fancy dresses Hulda liked her to wear.
Hulda had not yet completed the new costumes, so Annie had to make do with one of the older costumes that Kimimela had made for her. Putting it on made Annie’s heart ache for her dear friend who had died at such an early age. She wondered how Kimi’s little daughter, Winona, was faring with her new family. The child must be four years old by now.
The former prime minister and his wife entered the grounds of Earl’s Court in a shiny black coach pulled by four chestnut geldings with gleaming white blazes and four white socks each. They rounded the 1200-square-foot exhibition building and came across the dirt road to the encampment, where they were greeted by visiting Americans and English nobility.
The colonel had instructed his cowboy band—all dressed in gray shirts, slouch hats, and moccasins—to strike up “Yankee Doodle” as Mr. Gladstone and his wife made their way out of the carriage to meet the troupe.
