O'Hare House Mysteries

by Kate Danley

  20

  Marguerite pulled the carriage up in front of the club. Torches with flickering gas lit the entrance. Red sat across from Clara, shifting uncomfortably. He looked quite dashing in his borrowed coat and tie. Only his rough hands gave away his working status. He carefully placed his calloused fingers into the white gloves.

  Marguerite climbed off of the carriage and opened the door. She gave Clara and Red a wink. "I might need to consider a new profession," Marguerite jested. "Better guard your job, Red."

  He smiled at her. "You're a natural. I'll trade shifts with you any day."

  Red stepped out and had to stop himself from going over to give Daisy a grateful pat.

  "Careful, Red," Marguerite warned. "You're giving yourself away."

  He caught himself and stepped back, holding out his hand to help Clara out of the carriage.

  "Stay close by," Clara murmured as she looked up at the front of the club with apprehension. "We may need to make a hasty retreat."

  "I wouldn't dream of going anywhere else," retorted Marguerite. "Now, you two kids enjoy yourself." Marguerite closed the door and climbed back towards the driver's seat. She jerked her chin to the park across from the club. "I'll wait right over there for you. If you need me, come to any window and get my attention. I'll be there faster than a hound after a hare." She looked back at Clara and Red. "Remember you're going into a den of snakes. Try not to stir them up."

  Clara took Red's arm and said reassuringly. "We shall hope they don't even realize that we're here."

  Marguerite nodded grimly and, with a tip of her hat, drove away.

  Clara and Red turned back towards the club. The marble steps led up to the large brass doors. There were four columns holding up a neoclassical roofline. Clara looked down at her dress. It was brown in color and borrowed from Marguerite's closet. Marguerite said she had it made with the particular instructions for it to be the most non-descript, boring dress ever fashioned. The neckline was modest. The ornaments only the most plain. It had minimal ruffles and bows, just enough to get by in society. Mrs. Nan had worked wonders putting the shoe polish in Clara's hair, reducing the bright scarlet to muted brown. Everything about her seemed to say, "Look elsewhere for anything of any value!"

  Clara put her hand in the crook of Red's arm. He looked over at her. The lines of his face were tense but determined. He pulled the envelope with the invitation out of his pocket and tapped it nervously on his leg.

  "Stop fidgeting," Clara whispered kindly. "Pretend that you belong and no one will think otherwise."

  He swallowed, but then squared his shoulders and stepped forward towards the door of the club. A staff member opened the door for them and ushered them in. He took their invitation and glanced it over.

  "Viva les Quatre Portes," said Clara.

  The man nodded that all was in order. "Thank you. I did not recognize you as one of our regular members."

  "We are here at the invitation of Lord Trevor Beltza," Clara informed him, and then added, "acting on his behalf since recent tragic events keep him away."

  The man inclined his head slightly. "Please pass along my deepest condolences on the loss of his mother. Let us hope that soon death will not hold us in its grip."

  "Indeed," said Clara, trying not to let the man know how puzzling his words were.

  The man opened his arm to the club, inviting them in. "This way, sir and madam. Please enjoy yourselves."

  Clara and Red traveled past the foyer and into the main hallway. The floor was cream colored marble and laid in the center was the symbol of the room with four doors. Several footmen carried trays of drinks and appetizers. Red was so taken by their surroundings, he backed into one of the servers and almost knocked his tray from his hands. Only quick reflexes kept them from becoming the center of attention.

  "Steady," Clara muttered, taking two champagne glasses from another passing tray and handing it to her friend. Red took a healthy swig, Clara was sure to steady his nerves, but she refrained, knowing that she needed a clear head for the evening. The glass was no more than an accessory, something to keep a well meaning host or hostess from feeling the need to come over and encourage her to partake.

  Red and Clara strolled quietly into one of the main reception rooms. There were groups of people clustered about in conversation. The men and women around them were speaking in jovial tones with no mark of self-consciousness or worry. Unfortunately, all of the conversations they overheard were on more mundane topics of life and how long it had been since they had seen one another. It was the least threatening group of people Clara could have imagined.

  "I cannot think why they are all gathered here," Clara whispered to Red.

  It was as if her curiosity had acted like a catalyst, for it was at that moment a gong rang. The doors in the room opened and the entire party milled their way into the other room. Clara gave a little gasp as they walked in.

  The entire room was painted to look almost as if they had stepped into an Egyptian tomb. The walls had crude reproductions of hieroglyphs painted on the walls. Seated on pillars around the room were real artifacts. As Clara and Red walked in, the wait staff handed them long red robes with embroidered collars, as if some seamstress had tried to recreate the look of the collars worn by the ancient Egyptians in cloth. Cane chairs were set up in rows. The other guests were merrily finding their seats, but many of them paused to gawk at the treasures in the room. Clara was relieved to feel like they were not the only fish out of water.

  A servant in tails rang the gong once more with his white gloved hands. It seemed to be a sign. Clara and Red sat down and an elegantly dressed woman leaned over. "Hello! I'm afraid I don't know you."

  "We're new," stated Clara.

  "Well, welcome! Vive le Quatre Portes!" said the woman, raising her fist spiritedly.

  "Indeed," replied Clara, raising her fist in kind.

  A robed man walked to the front of the room and took his place behind a podium. The entire gathering rose to their feet.

  "Vive le Quatre Portes! Vive le Quatre Portes! Vive le Quatre Portes!" the entire crowd chanted in rhythm, lifting their fists.

  "We know that death—" started the man.

  "—is just the beginning of life," the crowd finished.

  "We fear not death—"

  "—for with the sun we rise."

  And then the crowd sat down. Clara and Red had followed along as best they could, but Clara wondered what other strange traditions might catch them off-guard. So far, the people around them seemed to be ordinary citizens, albeit of the upper class. But she did not understand the need for such secrecy and the fear which had been built up around their existence. What was it they did which caused her husband to fear them?

  "Ladies and gentlemen…" The man at the front of the room's voice droned on. He spoke of upcoming business and meeting minutes from their last gathering.

  But once he was finished with the administrative duties, his speech began to talk on a much more interesting bent.

  "I thank you for joining us tonight. I direct your attention to the artifacts we have brought from the Egyptian fields. Tonight, I bring you tidings of great joy on our quest to end the finality of the afterlife. An artifact of great worth and unimaginable power has come into our possession." He pulled back the curtain and a man dressed in purple robes stepped forward carrying a gold leafed staff. "This staff is said, in the ancient writings, to be able to open the four doors each of you have built, to invite the dead to rejoin us, to cast aside the barriers between this world and the next. It was with great personal risk that this object was brought to you, to reunite you with those you have lost, to regain the bonds that death has severed." There was an excited murmur which ran through the crowd. The man silenced them, though, raising up his arms to quiet them down. "Alas! This object is missing a piece and, as such, its power lies dormant." The murmur ran through the crowd again, this time in disappointment. The man pointed at the top of the staff in between the teeth of t
he cobra. "A ruby of great value was stolen from this staff, but we believe we have located it. Alas, the funds to purchase this object were stolen from the personal bank account of one of our members..."

  Clara felt herself go cold. She was almost certain the funds they spoke of were the ones her husband took.

  "And so, we require donations from all our members to purchase this ruby!" the man continued, his voice filled with passion and furor.

  And that was the moment that Clara realized that this group was getting hoodwinked greater than any gathering Wesley had gathered around a table. The Quatre Portes was after Trevor for money while also taking money from their members. They were bilking people right and left for funds.

  "Trevor Beltza assures me that with your generous donation, the ruby is all but ours!"

  A basket was passed down the row. Although the people around her dug deep into their wallets, Clara placed only a handful of low value coins in the basket before daintily closing her handbag.

  "We are so delighted to have guests of Lord Trevor Beltza here tonight," said the man. His arm was outstretched and pointing at Clara and Red. Clara froze. The entire room turned to look at Clara and Red. She felt the cabbie stiffen beside her, tensed as if he were prepared to bolt. "I hope that we can entrust you to inform him that his request has been fulfilled."

  Clara bowed her head in acquiescence hoping that her confusion was not playing across her face.

  The room turned back to the speaker. "By vote of all those here, failure to produce this ruby shall result in Lord Beltza's death."

  "Death?" squeaked Red, his eyes as round as saucers. Clara banged his knee to keep him in line. Nervously, she glanced around.

  She thought that the people in the room were raising their hands to vote, but then they clenched their hands into fists and said in unison, "Vive les Quatre Portes."

  It felt as if a giant hand wrapped itself around her heart and was squeezing. It felt as if her breath had been pushed out of her lungs. The hands released and once more, she felt her heart begin to beat. She looked over at Red. He was bent and pale. The room broke out into polite applause.

  "Your votes have been noted. To his colleagues, please send Trevor Beltza our message and our commitment to his request." The man at the front of the room smiled at Clara and Red. "Shall we move on to the next order of business?" He looked down at his paper. "Ah! Yes! It is with great pleasure that I inform you that a precious member of our company, one whom we thought lost, has come back to the fold. Peter Nero has returned!"

  21

  Marguerite had been true to her word. The carriage was at the front of the club seemingly seconds after Clara and Red exited. They both climbed in with controlled haste.

  "You must get us away from here as quickly as possible," said Clara.

  Marguerite gave a healthy crack to the reins and the horses took off. The carriage rocked back and forth as they went careening down the street.

  "You were spectacular, ma'am," said Red, looking out the window. "I was sure that they were on to us!"

  "We're not safe yet," said Clara nervously. "They all got a very good look at us towards the end and I suspect that word of our infiltration will reach Trevor Beltza far quicker than I would like."

  Neither of them spoke anymore until they reached the house. Marguerite drove them all around back, not wanting to risk any prying eyes from seeing who was inside.

  The alley behind the house was empty and as soon as they arrived, Red hopped out, ready to take over. Marguerite shook her head. "Get inside and get changed. Wesley will have your head if you ruin his rented clothes."

  The door to the kitchen opened and Mr. Willard waved at them to come inside. "Really, you're being so loud it is a wonder you are even attempting some sort of subterfuge."

  Clara ran inside with Red fast behind her. "Perhaps we can hope that we are hiding in plain sight."

  "How was it, Clara?" Mr. Willard asked, taking her things and shooing them both inside.

  "Quite informative," said Clara, exchanging a nervous glance with Red.

  Wesley was standing in the hallway and rushed to Clara the moment the door was safely shut. He held her close. "Thank god you are safe!"

  Mr. Willard cleared his throat. "He's been pacing the hallway since the moment you left and every five minutes I had to remind him not to go peering out the windows."

  "If anything had happened to you…" Wesley said, gripping Clara's hand to his heart.

  She gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze. She wanted to fling her arms around his neck and stay there in the safety of his embrace. But such exuberant displays of affection would have to wait for more private moments. Instead she extricated herself and said, "Perhaps we should all retire to the dining room."

  "If you will excuse me for just a moment, ma'am," Red said with a polite bow, indicating he was ready to be rid of the restrictive borrowed cloths.

  "Right this way, Red," said Wesley, clapping him on the back. "I shall serve as your own personal valet tonight in gratitude for seeing Mrs. O'Hare safely home."

  The two men went on upstairs and Marguerite came in, stomping her boots and wiping away the city muck. "Daisy has been seen to. Settling in with a nice nose of oats which should keep her busy until Red can retire." Marguerite rubbed her hands together. "Brisk evening, isn't it? Perhaps a little something to warm me up?"

  Clara smiled and led Marguerite into the dining room, indicating the woman should help herself to any of the stronger spirits she might wish to partake. Marguerite looked over her shoulder. "Care for some?"

  Clara shook her head and collapsed on the chair. "I am afraid that even if I drank every drop in that decanter, it would still not chase away this chill."

  Marguerite poured the amber liquid into a crystal tumbler. She downed it in one draught and filled it again. "I better give back these loaner duds," she said, looking down at the clothing Red had let her borrow, "otherwise your driver is going to be doing his best impression of Lady Godiva on his ride home."

  Marguerite walked out of the room and Clara noticed that Mrs. Nan appeared out of nowhere to follow her friend upstairs and offer dressing assistance.

  Clara sighed, her mind a whirr of thoughts and emotions until the parties returned. Wesley and Red settled in while Marguerite walked over to the sideboard to replace her empty glass.

  "What have you learned this evening?" asked Wesley.

  "They had a staff," said Clara, "which they said could open the doors to the afterlife. They said it was missing a ruby which would make it work, but took up a collection from the attendees to raise the funds to purchase it. The most important thing, though, is that Peter Nero has returned," said Clara.

  The glass clanged noisily. "What?" asked Marguerite.

  Red nodded. "It's true! They announced it in front of everybody.”

  "But he is dead!" said Marguerite. "Everyone was sure he was dead! Even his own wife and daughter!"

  Clara gave a helpless shrug. This new information was startling to her, too.

  Marguerite began to pace. "Now, if you were a wanted man who was associated with the disappearance of a large amount of money, and were on the bad side of the Beltza family, what would you do?"

  "To begin with, I would disappear," said Clara.

  "Which he did."

  "I would then try to find the money," said Wesley

  "Which he has not been able to do."

  "And if I could not find the money, I would find something else that was even more valuable so that those where were angry with me could be convinced to give me a little more time until I could find out where the money had gone," said Clara.

  "Bingo," said Marguerite. "Give the little lady a prize."

  "Which seems to be exactly what has happened," said Clara.

  Wesley looked at her sharply. "You believe Peter has brought back something even more valuable and dangerous than the Queen's heart? It would be madness!"

  "Madness?" laughed Marguerite. "Do
you think we are dealing with sanity? Think of what we know about this organization. They have graves in the basements of their houses. They delight in causing people to rise from the dead. They have possessed several women's souls in the interest of… well, I honestly don't understand why someone would feel like that was a wise course of action. But they've done it. They are obsessed."

  Wesley nodded. "It was that which allowed me into their inner circle. They were all so interested in speaking with a medium who could talk to the dead, so interested, they were willing to accept whatever I told them with blind faith."

  Clara wandered out into the hallway and glanced outside the front window. Standing there beneath the dim gas lamp was the same ghostly specter who had been watching her for several days. He tipped his hat at her. Clara shivered. "Do you suppose any of them have the slightest inkling of what Pandora's box they are about to open…"

  22

  The next morning, Clara and Wesley were taking their breakfast in the dining room when Marguerite entered.

  "Did you sleep at all?" asked Clara worriedly.

  "Don't you fret your pretty little shoe-polished head about that," said Marguerite, motioning to Clara's still stained hair.

  Clara smoothed her dark hair nervously, but Wesley smiled. "I think you look lovely."

  "Red took me home straight away last night," continued Marguerite sitting down, "and I was ready for him when he arrived this morning."

  Clara looked around. "Where is he?"

  "Out back tending to Daisy," said Marguerite, smearing a bit of toast with orange marmalade.

  Clara picked up a box and pushed it across the table towards Marguerite. It was the one filled with scarabs. "I went and visited Dr. Van Flemming—" But Clara did not finish her sentence. Instead, she gasped. A tingling pain shot down her left arm. She gasped again. It felt as if someone had thrust their foot into her chest. She gasped again, all air knocked out of her. The clattering cup and saucer in her hand fell to the floor with a crash.