Capturing the Devil

by Kerri Maniscalco

  Thomas stepped beside me, taking in my expression and then the view. His mouth inched up on one side. “It’s hard to be certain, but you appear almost as excited about the city as I was with that chocolate cake with espresso frosting.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous; that cake was not of this world.” I playfully nudged him with my elbow. “Look”—I spun slowly—“can you imagine? Living in a place where you needn’t require an escort to go anywhere?”

  Thomas looked at me a bit sadly, and I realized he did know what that felt like. He wasn’t required to have someone watch his every move when he left his home.

  A man ringing a bell scowled at people exiting the train station. “Sinners! This city is home to the devil. Wicked, wicked creatures running amok. Begone from whence you came! Flee back to the safety of your homes or you’ll be taken by the demons stalking these streets!” He turned in my direction, his eyes as wild as untamed fire. “You! Go home to your mother, girl. Save yourself!”

  My excitement and smile evaporated. I stared at him, all warmth gone from my features and my tone. “My mother is dead, sir.”

  “Come.” Thomas gently guided me to the far end of the sidewalk. We waited, in silence, taking in the street noise while Uncle arranged for our trunks and medical equipment to be brought to our temporary home. The man continued his tirade. I ground my teeth together.

  “Why is that man shouting about sinners and demons?” I asked, watching him ring his bell at a young woman who hurried past him, her face purposely turned away. “He’s not referring to women, is he?”

  “I imagine he is.” Thomas inspected him. “Not everyone believes Chicago’s such a magical, progressive place. I read an article that described it as a city where decency came to perish. It’s a city under siege—wickedness is replacing morals. At least according to some.” He nodded toward another young woman walking alone. “Men are keen on blaming women for the rise in sin. It’s been something plaguing humanity since the Bible first accused Eve of tempting Adam. As if he had no mind to taste that forbidden fruit before she offered it to him. Everyone seems to forget God told Adam the fruit was forbidden. He created Eve later.”

  “Honestly?” I snorted. “I didn’t realize you were so well versed in religion.”

  Thomas placed my hand in the crook of his arm, steering us toward my uncle, who’d just exited the station. “I enjoy causing discord when forced to attend parties. You ought to hear the arguments that break out from uttering something so supposedly blasphemous. The one question no one can answer is always, if Adam had been warned, why didn’t he pass the message along to his wife? Seems he was more to blame than she was. Yet Eve is always the villain, the wicked temptress who cursed us all.”

  “Who are you?” I asked, only half jesting.

  He stopped walking. “I am the man who will love you unto forever.” Before I could collapse from either swooning or chiding him for his flirtation, he quickly added, “I’m also a student of observation. And a brother. The truth, Miss Wadsworth, is I’ve watched my sister navigate the world of men. Doing so with more grace than I ever could, were I in her position. I’ve watched you do the same. Biting your tongue when I’d want nothing more than to bite the offender. I delight in pointing out areas where man has failed, even if it changes only one mind. Or if it changes none. At least I feel as though I’m fighting on the side of women, not against them. Everyone needs to take responsibility for their own failures.”

  I clutched his arm a bit tighter. “You’re remarkable when you choose to be, Cresswell.”

  He looked at me, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. “I long to live in a world where equal treatment is not something in need of commending.”

  Uncle stuffed his hands into his cloak, turning his face away from the increasing wind.

  “Streetcars are available, but I’ve hired a carriage due to our trunks.” He lifted his attention to the man still hollering about Satan. His jaw tightened as the man pointed to our group, cursing my family for bringing me to this den of sin. Uncle sighed. “You’re not to go out unaccompanied under any circumstances, Audrey Rose. We’re no longer on familiar ground, and I’ll not worry about your whereabouts while we’re investigating this case. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Satan is coming for you! He’s coming for you all. Every last sinner among you will be burned alive!” The man charged a young woman, waving a cross in her face. When she didn’t flinch, he sank to his knees. “Angel of vengeance! Have you come to save us?”

  I took an involuntary step closer to Thomas as the woman grabbed her skirts and ran out of the man’s way. He was clearly suffering from some affliction of the mind if he truly believed angels and demons walked amongst us.

  “Here’s our transportation.” Uncle motioned to a carriage. “Let’s be on our—”

  “Professor,” Thomas began, “would it be all right if we met you there in an hour? I’d love to see the Sanitary and Ship Canal.”

  “I suspect you’re asking permission to take my niece. To the sanitary.” Uncle pinched the bridge of his nose when Thomas nodded eagerly. “One hour.”

  Thomas helped Uncle into the carriage, probably promising his firstborn to get us both home safely within the hour. Once the horses rode off, Thomas held his arm out for me, his smile near contagious. I hesitated only a moment before accepting it.

  “We really need to work on your wooing skills, Cresswell,” I said. “I’m afraid visiting a sanitary canal isn’t the most romantic way to court someone.”

  He chuckled as we made our way down the street, steering us far away from the religious man’s bell ringing. I noticed how tense his muscles were beneath my hand. “It’s one of the most remarkable feats of engineering—they’ve reversed the flow of the river away from Lake Michigan.”

  “Since when have you become so enamored with engineering?” I looked up at him, brow arched. “It doesn’t quite fit in with your science and deductions.”

  “Miss Wadsworth!” An almost familiar voice cried out. “Mr. Cresswell!”

  Startled, I searched the crowd, which was turning out to be an impossible task. Five o’clock in Chicago was dreadfully busy. People rushed from sleek metal trains, green-and-cream-colored streetcars, and all manner of carriages both swift and more leisurely. Sidewalks bustled with workers emptying from the buildings, depositing dozens more into the already crowded walkways. We stood there, parting the crowd as if we were rocks jutting out from a raging river. No one came for us. Thomas shrugged, then gently guided me to the nearest building.

  “In Bucharest,” he said by way of explanation, “my mother used to say, ‘If you get lost, stay put. It won’t do any good if you’re running about like a plucked goose.’”

  I crinkled my brow. “Aren’t geese plucked after they’ve been killed?”

  “There, there, Wadsworth.” Thomas patted my arm. “I didn’t have the heart even at eight to tell my mother the error of her statement. Although,” he said, as if coming to some new realization, “perhaps the absurdity of the image was meant to stick in my mind.”

  Finally I spotted a familiar young man with dark skin and a bright smile working his way toward us, moving against the flow of the crowd. Mr. Noah Hale. Our friend from the forensic academy in Romania. I couldn’t believe our luck!

  As he got closer, Thomas practically dropped my arm to rush to him. Catching himself at the last moment, he made sure I was all right before greeting our friend. “Noah!”

  “Thomas!” The two young men embraced, a clap of hands on backs and gripped elbows. I rolled my eyes skyward. Men always seemed to have a secret ritual instead of simply hugging each other. Once they’d completed their greeting, Noah beamed in my direction. “What a surprise! It’s good to see you both. Moldoveanu didn’t admit it, but I think he missed you. The academy wasn’t the same after you left.”

  “I’m fairly certain our old headmaster only misses taking out his hostility on me,” I said, grinning
back at him. Moldoveanu had despised almost everyone in our forensic course, though he’d taken greater exception to me and Thomas for the unforgivable sin of solving the murders taking place in his school. “Speaking of him, why aren’t you at the academy?”

  Not that I wasn’t pleased to see him. Mr. Noah Hale was one of my favorite peers. I marveled at our good fortune of crossing paths with him here.

  Noah’s expression fell. I watched the gleam leave his dark eyes, replaced by something much sadder. “Momma got sick. I had to come back and help with the family. My dad works from sunup ’til sundown and the little ones needed me.”

  I gripped his hand in mine. “I’m sorry. How is your mother feeling now?”

  One of the qualities I admired about Noah was how nothing ever seemed to keep him down for long. A smile lit up his face again. “Better, thank you. Don’t feel too bad that I’m not suffering under Moldoveanu.” He opened a flap of his overcoat, pointing to an insignia sewn onto his vest. It was an eye with WE NEVER SLEEP stitched around it. It was unfamiliar to me, but Thomas seemed impressed as he offered a low whistle. “I’ve been invited to apprentice with the Pinkertons. They gave me a filler case for now, but it’s interesting.”

  “The Pinkertons, as in the famed detective agency?” Thomas asked, perking up further. “The ones who stopped the assassination plot against Lincoln?”

  “How do you know that?” I stared incredulously. “That was before you were born!”

  “As were the Romans, but we learn that history, too,” Thomas said matter-of-factly. He turned his attention back on Noah, running all sorts of Cresswell deductions. “They haven’t given you any problems, have they?”

  “Mr. Pinkerton had a cabin about fifty miles north of here that used to be a stop on the Underground Railroad. Only thing he cares about is taking on the best people for the job.” Noah buttoned his coat back up, breathing into his gloves. Snow started falling, twirling every which way as it tumbled to the ground. New York had been cold, but Chicago seemed born of ice. “You two here for the fair?”

  Thomas glanced at me, perhaps searching for permission he didn’t require. We had no rules or restrictions between us. “My uncle was called to New York for a case,” I said. “Through a few strange twists, it brought us here.”

  “Oh? It wouldn’t be the murder of that woman in New York, would it? The one they’re claiming was done by Jack the Ripper?” he asked. Noah was always particularly astute, especially when it came to collecting details of things left unsaid. “I thought a man was found guilty of that.”

  “Yes, well, it’s unfortunate but I don’t believe it’s the first time a man’s been wrongfully convicted of a crime,” I said. “You mentioned a case you’re working on? Does it involve forensics?”

  “Unfortunately, it doesn’t. No body, no crime scene or evidence of any acts of malice in her home. I’m not even sure a crime was committed.” Noah stepped out of the way of a harried-looking businessman. “It’s as if she simply vanished.”

  “Her family is nearby?” Thomas’s gaze traveled over our friend, no doubt deducing details of the case before Noah offered them. “Which is why you’re here. How long has she been missing?” Noah didn’t have time to open his mouth before Thomas nodded. It was impressive, even for him. “Ah. Not long. A week?”

  “It’s a bit unnerving when you do that, you know.” Noah scratched the side of his neck, shaking his head slightly. “Miss Emeline Cigrande went to work five days ago. Left to have luncheon, then never returned. Her father expected her home for supper—she was his caregiver. When she didn’t return…” I followed Noah’s gaze as it settled on the man ringing the bell and spouting about demons. “Poor Mr. Cigrande. He’s been out of his mind, hasn’t slept since she left. He keeps ringing that bell like it’ll bring her back home safely.”

  I softened at the hell that must be waging war inside of Mr. Cigrande’s mind. His daughter was gone; he was unwell. No wonder he believed the devil was to blame.

  “Anyway, enough about that. Have you been to the fair yet?” Noah asked, changing the subject rather abruptly. I shook my head, pulling my attention back to the present. “You’ve gotta see it at sunset. The water in the Grand Basin looks like lava!”

  “We won’t have much time to see the sights once our investigation is underway.” Thomas seemed intrigued. “We’ll need to ask the professor’s permission first, but why not go this evening?”

  “I’m game if you are,” Noah said. “I’ve got to speak with Mr. Cigrande and go over his story once more. Which should give you both time to send a telegram. Meet me near the Statue of the Republic around six thirty. You won’t regret it.”

  Court of Honor, World’s Fair, Chicago

  THIRTY

  ILLUMINATION

  COURT OF HONOR

  WORLD’S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION

  10 FEBRUARY 1889

  We stood on the bridge overlooking the Grand Basin, admiring the domed Administration Building, waiting as the sun gracefully sank into a curtsy, its rays a rich tapestry of salmon, tangerine, and deep gold. Covered boats crossed from one side of the Court of Honor to the next, gliding across the otherwise still waters of the reflecting pool. American flags snapped in the light breeze, their sound swallowed by the large crowd. Every so often a flurry fell from the heavens, as if Mother Nature was adding a bit of her own magic to this shimmering city.

  My gaze fell from one wonder to the next, drinking in each detail. From proud stone bulls facing east on the banks of the shore, to the Statue of the Republic before us, I could spend a lifetime traveling from building to building.

  Noah and Thomas chatted about the architecture, commenting on the pleasing aesthetics of each cornice being built at the same height. What struck me was the neoclassical design—the creamy whites of each building, and the way they shifted to even softer hues as twilight cast its opal-colored net across the fair. I swore it appeared as if some celestial artist painted the buildings before our very eyes, taking care to gild their edges.

  “It’s incredible,” I said. “How did they create such a palace so quickly?”

  “Wait until the real magic starts,” Noah said, gazing at a boat cutting through the water. “I’ve come at sunset at least once every week since I got back, and it never ceases to amaze me.”

  I inhaled the fragrant air. Potted flowers were surprisingly in full bloom in every direction, but other scents carried on the cool breeze. A couple standing nearby happily crunched on a new treat—caramel-coated popped corn called Cracker Jack. The Court of Honor was unlike anything I’d ever witnessed before—more ethereal and beautiful than even St. Paul’s Cathedral. The buildings gleamed even at this hour. I couldn’t wait to see them at the height of the morning sun. I found myself unable to fully describe the vast expanse of buildings fanned out around us, or how large they were. Giants could run from one end of them to the other, tiring even their long legs out well before they reached the end of the fairgrounds.

  If heaven existed, surely this city must be fashioned after it.

  I thought of Mr. Cigrande, the man whose daughter was missing, of his insistence that we were all walking blindly into Hell. He need only step into this White City to feel the presence of a higher power. Even someone like me, who wasn’t sure what to believe, felt moved.

  “… he didn’t have much to add. Says the same story each time. Honestly, I’m not sure what to believe. I asked around and he did have a daughter, though neighbors recall hearing them argue at all hours. Dishes breaking…”

  I tuned Thomas and Noah’s conversation out, not wanting any hint of darkness to invade this most sacred of spaces. It was selfish, but after our ruined wedding and the horror of our job, I longed for one hour to be swept away in the fantasy of our surroundings. While the sun continued its slow procession past the horizon, I studied the Statue of the Republic—my pamphlet stated it was sixty-five feet in height. One hand held a globe with an eagle aloft, while the other gripped a staff. She was
as fierce as a goddess and equally intimidating.

  “It’s almost time.” Noah bounced on the balls of his feet. The sun was fighting for its last breath before the moon ascended to its heavenly throne. Pure golden light pulsed before twilight crept in. “Get your handkerchiefs ready.”

  Thomas puffed his chest up, no doubt ready to unleash an entire litany on why that would be unnecessary, when electrical lights flashed on across the grounds. My mouth hung open. Words failed me. My scientific-centered mind understood the engineering behind such a feat, but my heart raced at the brilliance. Never, in my whole life, had I witnessed such an event.

  Thousands of lamps evenly posted from one end of the grounds to the next, from each building as far as I could see, all of it illuminated in unison. Brilliant white light reflected off the pond, shimmering. I reached for Thomas’s hand the same moment he grabbed for mine.

  “I-It’s…” My eyes stung as I struggled to put my feelings into words.

  “Magic.” Thomas’s expression held pure wonder. “The magnitude…”

  Noah offered a knowing grin, but I noticed his eyes also misted. “There are over two hundred thousand incandescent bulbs, according to the program. Nikola Tesla’s alternating current is going to be huge. You should see what else he’s done in the Electricity Building.”

  “Tesla?” I asked, dabbing at my eyes with Thomas’s handkerchief. “He’s here?” I’d read of his mechanical experiments—how he’d perform feats unlike any other for patrons in his laboratory. I gripped Thomas, ready to drag him all the way into the exhibition hall to meet a man who truly made magic from science. Nathaniel would have loved seeing him. I couldn’t wait to—I sucked in a sharp breath. Sometimes, even now, I forgot my brother was dead. A bit of my mood darkened, but one glance at the shimmering lights and the sound of the cries of the people standing all around us kept my sadness at bay.