by Fedora Amis
O’Rourke said, “Do you think me a fool? Police business is always conducted in the public holdover, not the entrails of a cave. I daresay you must have a bit more strength than a woman. Surely you could deliver one female to the authorities without roping her to a chair.”
Medley whined, “If you’ll just hear me out.”
“One more word from you, and I’ll give you a concussion.” O’Rourke smacked his hand with his blackjack—twice. “Now, Miss Benigas, can you tell us what all this is about?”
“I persuaded Q.B.—Mr. Sproat—to quit the boxing racket. He and I wanted to start a new kind of business. Mr. Sproat would teach fisticuffs while I played piano. We believed music would help students achieve concentration and coordination. When Amos Medley realized he was losing his star boxer, he hit the ceiling. Then he hit my beautiful boy over the head and horsewhipped him to death.”
Pervia hissed at Medley. “You monster—why did you use a poisoned whip? Wasn’t a lashing enough?” Pervia would have jumped down from the table if Hal had not prevented her.
O’Rourke said, “Sorry to put you through this, miss, but what do you know about this other death—the death of Mabel Dewoskin?”
“Q.B. bought cordials for his mother from the Dewoskin woman. She made all kinds of potions and looked like a witch straight out of Macbeth. I imagine he got the poison from her and wanted to make sure she couldn’t tell anyone.”
Medley started to speak. O’Rourke beaned him with the blackjack. “I’m a man of my word, by thunder. Two warnings is enough.”
To Pervia, O’Rourke said, “What proof do you have that Medley killed either person?”
“None for Mabel, but I know Medley whipped Q.B. My beautiful boy told me as much. After he died, I spoke to people backstage at the Crystal Palace Theatre. A grip and the costume mistress both saw him go into Q.B.’s dressing room with the whip. I didn’t know how Q.B. was murdered until tonight. Medley himself said the whip was poisoned with belladonna. How could he know unless he was the poisoner? Jemmy heard him say it. Didn’t you, Jemmy?”
Jemmy nodded and began to shake. Tom Rafferty put his arms around her and pulled her against his chest.
Lucy clucked her tongue. “I have nothing to treat these rope burns on Pervia’s body. Her wrists need salve. So do Miss McBustle’s, but I can’t find any in the kit.”
Hal turned to Autley. “Make yourself useful, Flinchpaugh. Find the lady some salve. Try the changing room we passed on the way.”
“Get it yourself. I don’t take orders from you, Mr. Harold Dwyer.”
“The salve is not for me. It’s for Jemmy and Miss Benigas. Don’t you care that two ladies are in pain, and you could do something to help?”
“It’s your idea. Go hunt for salve yourself. Nobody is stopping you.”
“I used to think you were a decent fellow. What’s caused you to get so contrary and—yes, I’ll tell it like I see it—so downright mean?”
Autley marched to Hal and looked up at him. “So I’m mean, am I? A fine thing for you to say, you disgusting pig.”
“I’d be obliged if you’d take that back.”
“I can’t think why I should. You’re a repulsive brute and a contemptible cad.” Autley slapped Hal’s face, and the pair began grappling on the floor—for the fourth time in as many hours.
O’Rourke poked at Hal’s back with his blackjack. “Stop that rolling around on the floor, you two. By thunder, we have serious work to do. We have ladies to take to hospital and a felon to take to jail. Your quarrel will have to wait.”
Hal and Autley paid no heed.
O’Rourke called out, “Rafferty, lend a hand. Help me separate these two imbeciles.”
Tom pulled his jacket tighter about Jemmy shoulders before he left her to aid the lieutenant.
Jemmy shivered at the blast of cold that replaced Tom’s warm arms.
O’Rourke grabbed Hal’s arms and twisted them behind him. He dragged Hal to the side and dropped him on the floor. “I’d manacle you if I carried a second pair.” Hal scrambled to his feet and moved out of range of O’Rourke’s blackjack.
Tom glided around the table and offered a hand to pull Autley to his feet. Autley slapped it aside. “I can get up on my own hook.” Tom shrugged and returned to his place beside Jemmy.
When Tom once again put his arms around Jemmy, Autley objected. “Kindly remove your person from contact with Miss McBustle.”
“I’ll do no such thing unless she asks me herself.”
Autley balled his hand into a fist. “I ask you again to remove your arms from Miss McBustle.”
“She stops shivering when I hold her. Surely you don’t want her to swoon again.”
Autley limped around the foot of the table. “If Miss Mc-Bustle needs to be warmed by someone, that someone should be me.”
Rafferty blinked and chuckled. “What cause, pray tell, have you to give orders on Miss McBustle’s behalf?”
“I intend to marry Miss McBustle.”
Jemmy winced. Oh, Flinchpaugh, do you have to force the issue now—now when I’m so weak, so tired. Please just go away.
Hal stopped dusting moss off his trousers. “You say Jemmy promised to marry you?”
Hal would have to meddle. Why does he always have to butt in at the wrong time?
“She hasn’t promised as yet. Not exactly. I wanted to ask for her hand, but circumstances prevented me. I haven’t made an official proposal, but I have the highest expectations.”
Arms still around Jemmy, Tom said, “Why do you believe the lovely Miss McBustle would deign to marry you?”
“Because he won’t.” Autley pointed to Hal.
Dismay darted through Jemmy. Heavens in a handbag, I can’t face this now. Maybe I should pretend to faint again.
The room fell silent for what seemed like an hour.
All waited for some response from Hal, but Hal stood silent, with mouth shut and eyes the size of duck eggs.
Lucy stuck her hands on her hips. “Mr. Dwyer, I’d be much obliged if you’d explain what this man means.”
Hal finally found his voice. “I don’t know what that fighting banty rooster is talking about.”
“I suppose she hasn’t told you.” Autley nodded in Jemmy’s direction.
Hal’s voice fairly exploded with exasperation. “Told me what?”
“That she is having your baby.”
“My what?”
All eyes turned toward Jemmy. She pulled herself away from the warmth of Tom’s arms and faced the group, but no words came—just a creeping blush up her cheeks.
The room erupted in an explosion of voices. Jemmy could only catch a few words here and there.
“Harold Dwyer, have you been toying—”
“By thunder, this is a—”
“If Jemmy told you that I—”
Autley got down on one knee, “Miss McBustle, I regret the circumstances . . .”
Jemmy could feel Tom’s warm breath as he spoke into her good ear. “You seem to have caused quite a—”
Pervia Benigas began a low pitched laugh that sounded remarkably like a coonhound baying at the moon.
At length, O’Rourke pulled out his whistle and produced a mighty blow. The sound screeched across the hard limestone. Jemmy covered her good ear in fear of losing her hearing. Conversation stopped as heads turned toward O’Rourke. “One at a time, please.”
Hal raised his hand. O’Rourke nodded.
“Jemmy, Flinchpaugh accused me of putting you in the family way. You tell him right now that I did no such thing.”
“No, Hal did not put me in the family way.”
Autley said, “But you led me to believe that he was the father.”
O’Rourke said, “Let me understand this, Flinchpaugh. You were willing to marry Miss McBustle even though she was, well . . .”
Autley nodded.
Hal said, “So that’s why you’ve been attacking me every whipstitch. You think I shirked my duty to this fallen
woman.”
Autley nodded.
“I’m sorry, Flinchpaugh. If I’d known your reasons, I would have been easier on you.” Hal turned toward Jemmy. “If I’m not the father, then who is? Is it O’Rourke? He’s been making moony eyes at you. Maybe he did more than ogle.”
“You forget yourself, Dwyer. I’ve never even seen Miss Mc-Bustle except in great crowds of people. And, believe me, if I fathered a child—Miss McBustle’s or anyone else’s—I’d stand to my responsibility. By thunder, with Miss McBustle, I’d count myself fortunate.”
Pervia threw in her opinion. “We’re all on tenterhooks, Jemmy. Do tell your whelp’s parentage. Of course, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out it’s the milkman who made you enceinte.”
Hal pointed to Tom Rafferty. “Then it must be this actor fellow.”
With a bemused look on his face, Tom didn’t deny or confirm. “Well, Miss McBustle, you seem to have dropped another china plate. Shall I catch it for you?”
Jemmy blinked twice. Did Tom Rafferty just propose? No time to think about that. I have to tell these people something. She pushed herself away from Tom’s arms and set her jaw. She turned toward the expectant faces.
Anticipation thickened in the room until Lucy broke the tension. “Please, Miss McBustle, put us out of this misery of not knowing.”
Jemmy took a deep breath and raised her chin. “I am not a fallen woman. I am not in the family way. Such a thing is not only unthinkable, it’s impossible. I am a virgin.”
The room erupted again in an avalanche of people talking at the same time.
“Hal dearest, I apologize for suggesting—”
“By thunder, I’m relieved to hear—”
“Lucy, I’ve never given you any reason to think—”
Tom whispered in Jemmy’s ear. “As always, everything you do surprises and delights me.”
Pervia filled the room with baying laughter.
Autley’s voice rose above the din. “Miss McBustle. I demand to know why you told me you were with child.”
“I protest. I did no such thing. You drew that conclusion all by yourself.”
“Yet you did nothing to set me straight. A lie is still a lie even if it’s a lie of omission.”
Hal jumped in. “Buck up, man, she gave you only a little taste of what I have to put up with every single day.”
“Dwyer, can’t you keep your mouth shut for ten minutes while I try to find out why this woman has so abused me?”
Hal and Autley moved toward each other as if they were going to mix it up all over again.
Lucy raced to put herself between them. “Harold, dear, let the man have his say. Surely you want to know what’s been going on. Even if you don’t, hush up and listen, because I do.”
Silence descended yet again.
Pervia broke it. “Do put the little troll out of his torment, Jemima. Confess to us all just how black your greedy little heart is.”
Jemmy lowered her head. “Mr. Flinchpaugh, I am deeply sorry for the way this has turned out. I was very wrong to play on your emotions. I never wished to hurt you.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“I needed your help, and it seemed the best way. I was going to tell you as soon as I could—not in front of everybody, like this—in private.”
“You needed my contacts to help you get the story.”
“You knew as much days ago. That’s why I came to you in the first place.”
“You could have told me the truth before I made a fool of myself at your home today.”
“You’re right, of course. I should have. I was in such a hurry to get the story that I . . . Well, you’re a journalist. Surely you’ve cut a few corners to get a story.”
Autley turned on his heel and walked toward the archway. “I’ve never deliberately humiliated another journalist—not to get a story, nor for any reason at all.”
“I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I’ll find a way.” Her voice rose higher as he limped into the hall without a single backward look. “I will make it up. You’ll see.”
Jemmy slipped down from the table and followed Autley into the hall. “Please, Mr. Flinchpaugh. Autley, will you stop and let me explain.”
“I’ll hear no more of your lies.”
“But where are you going?”
“Where I should have been an hour ago. I have a boxing match to cover.”
Autley reached the opening to the grand auditorium and disappeared. Jemmy started to run after him but tripped. Fortunately, Tom steadied her, then swooped her into his arms. “I think you’ll be safer if I carry you.”
Tom led the way down the hall with Pervia and Lucy close behind. O’Rourke and Hal shoved Medley in front of them as they brought up the rear.
Hal stuck out a leg to trip the prisoner. Medley yelped when his face hit the rock wall.
O’Rourke said, “Leave off, Dwyer. He’ll blame me for that bloody nose.”
“He deserves that and more for ruining my only means of transportation. He threw an iron bar into the spokes of my tandem bicycle’s wheel.”
“Next you’ll accuse me of blowing up the Maine in Havana Harbor and assassinating President Garfield.”
“Are you saying you didn’t try to kill Jemmy and me?”
“Never even saw you until today.”
Once in the grand auditorium, O’Rourke blew three short blasts on his whistle. A half-dozen policemen came to his aid. He spat out orders.
“You, stand guard at the entrance to the hall leading to the boxers’ changing rooms.
“You, find a telephone and tell headquarters to send a wagon. And see if Detective Captain Fergus Connolly can come at once to Uhrig’s Cave.
“You two, take custody of Amos Medley. When the wagon gets here, go with him to headquarters and charge him with murder. He’s a big fellow, and strong. You be careful he doesn’t get away. I’ll have your badges if you let him. In fact, if he so much as looks like he’s about to run, you cosh him a good one.
“Mr. Dwyer and Mr. Rafferty, I thank you for all your help. I’d be obliged if you’d take Miss Benigas and Miss McBustle for medical assistance. I have to go back where Medley had the ladies tied up to see if I can find anything useful in the way of evidence.”
Jemmy urged, “Hal, do you think you might stay here and . . .”
Hal got the message. “Yes. Mr. Connolly is my uncle. I’d like to be here when he comes.”
“And Hal, be sure to stop by your mother’s cousin’s saloon in the morning for a telephone message from me.”
Hal nodded.
O’Rourke said, “I suppose Miss Lucy and Mr. Rafferty can manage Miss Benigas and Miss McBustle. I’ll have the ambulance boys take you.”
Tom said, “Don’t bother. My brougham sits four quite comfortably.”
At St. Pius hospital, both Pervia and Jemmy were pronounced only a little the worse for wear and sent home with sulfurated salve and orders to rest.
Tom discharged Pervia at Lucas Place and Lucy at her home on Sidney Street before escorting Jemmy to her door. “Miss McBustle, when I offered to catch the china plate you seemed about to drop, I hope you . . .”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Saturday, November 26, 1898
Jemmy woke at dawn with achy shoulders and skin scraped raw in a dozen places. The mere act of getting out of bed took a good five minutes. She wrapped herself in a quilt and dragged herself to her desk. Before eight o’clock, she’d finished the first story in her “Death of a Boxing Legend” series and sent recovered-from-the-flu sister Nervy off to the Illuminator.
She cowered at the thought of putting her bruised body into a corset, but she had places to go and people to see.
Once downstairs, Jemmy telephoned the Boatmen’s Bank president. They set the time for turning over Frank James’s letter at 12:15, a few minutes after the bank closed for the day.
Mother tried to dissuade her. “Jemmy, you need rest. I insist you go back to bed.”
&
nbsp; “I hope you don’t mind if I make another telephone call. I must let Hal know when to meet me at the bank.”
Mother hovered over Jemmy while she ate oatmeal and drank Postum. “Truly, Mother, I’m fine—just a little bruised.” Thank Heavens in a handbag she can’t see my skin. It’s the color of black plums on one shoulder and Hal’s chartreuse bike on the other.
“I worry about you. That newspaper job puts you in harm’s way. I’ll be glad when you leave it. Though, of course, I’ll still fret when you leave for Europe with your Aunt Delilah. A trip across the Atlantic has its own dangers.”
“I see Auntie Dee told you her plans, but . . .”
When Jemmy didn’t finish the sentence, Mother prompted, “But what?”
“Nothing. I’m overjoyed that you and my sisters feel well again.”
“Yes, the girls have recovered completely. In fact, the family’s health is nearly normal, which means today is cleaning day.”
Jemmy moaned.
Mother hastened to add, “Not that I expect you to help. The rest of us need to get back our energy. We’ll feel all the better for doing your chores along with our own. So you go return to bed and give your body time to mend.”
“Believe me, Mother. I long to do exactly that, but I have responsibilities.”
“Now, Jemima—”
“Mother, you cannot treat me like a child.”
Mother gazed at her eldest daughter for a silent moment before she said, “I thought when you became a woman I wouldn’t worry about you. I see I was wrong. Still, I suppose you must do what you must do.”
Jemmy winced when she stuck her arm through her coat sleeve. Mother held the coat and guided her other arm.
Jemmy looked around for her father’s muffler—then remembered she’d given it away.
Mother took her own pale-yellow scarf of soft wool from its peg. She wrapped it around her daughter’s neck.
“Aren’t you going to scold me for losing another muffler—Father’s muffler?”
Mother smiled as she shook her head.
“You must think me careless and ungrateful.”
“No, just stubborn like your father.”
