The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1) (22 page)

Evangeline waited for more without interrupting.

“Anyway, for no accountable reason, she stopped coming to classes here. Since she had been such a regular student, I wondered what had happened and went to pay her mother a visit. When I asked Mrs.
Grandinetti
about her daughter, she told me that she had no daughter.”

“She couldn’t have meant that literally.”

“No, figuratively.
Rosa
had turned to prostitution to make her living.”

Evangeline registered surprise. “Was her family in such dire straits that she had no alternative?”

“Not at all. She had three brothers and a father—all of whom were working at the time. That’s what made the business so unaccountable. I couldn’t let the matter rest. Like you, I suppose I wanted to explain an event that made no sense to me. So I traced her whereabouts and went to see her. I began to ask her questions but she wouldn’t speak to me. Just hid her face in her hands and started crying. It was most distressing to see her that way. Most distressing. She showed such promise, too.”

Evangeline felt a chill run down her spine as she heard her own words about Elsa repeated back to her. On a hunch, she asked, “Was she unusually pretty?”

“Oh, my yes. Shy though. Not the sort one would ever expect to take to the streets.”

“Did you hear anything about a romance that ended badly in connection with her?”

“No. I couldn’t get anyone in her family to talk about her at all. I was fortunate that they even told me where to find her.”

“Perhaps she still lives in the same neighborhood.” Evangeline had already begun planning her next move.

“I’m sure she does.” Jane’s voice held a note of strain. “It’s one of the houses of prostitution on
Clark Street
. I can give you the address if you really feel the need to speak to her.”

“That would be a great help to me, Jane. As it is, I’m grasping at straws.”

The other lady nodded and wrote an address on a slip of paper. As she handed it to Evangeline, she asked, “
Engie
, you don’t seriously believe there’s a connection here, do you? If that were true, then somehow I can’t help thinking we may all be at fault.”

Evangeline was troubled by the thought. “Well, that would be a hard truth to face, wouldn’t it? By creating an island of trust here, we may have opened the door to a murderer masquerading as a benefactor.” She stopped short. “No, I won’t have it! The work you do here, the work all of us do here is good. It may have been put to an evil use, but how could we have known it would be? All we can do now—all I can do—is to make certain the wolf who has been preying on your little flock never has the opportunity to do it again.”

Evangeline folded the paper decisively, placed it in her handbag, and left. She fancied that the worried look on Jane’s face wouldn’t depart until long after she had gone.

Chapter 22—The New Jerusalem

“Good morning, Jonathan,” Evangeline whispered playfully.

The junior banker looked up from his paperwork in surprise. “
Engie
!” he exclaimed when he realized who stood before his desk. “This is certainly a welcome diversion! I hope it will be the first of many such visits.”

Evangeline assumed her most pleasing manner. “I’ve come to see if I can persuade you to be derelict in your duty.”

Blackthorne
frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,
ma
belle
.”

She sat down in one of the wooden chairs facing his desk and leaned forward conspiratorially. “
Carpe diem
, dear man. The Exposition will be closing next week.”

“Yes... ,”
Blackthorne
said guardedly.

“I’ve had time to reconsider my rather abrupt refusal of your invitation a few weeks ago. It would be grand to see the Fair one last time, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose that it would... but today?”

“Jonathan, don’t tell me you would be so ungallant as to disoblige a lady?”

Blackthorne
appeared to be impaled on the horns of a dilemma.

“It’s such a beautiful autumn day. There won’t be many more of them before winter. Do say you’ll come with me! I would be inconsolable if you were to fail me now!” To complete a convincing gesture of appeal, she extended her hand across the desk toward him, waiting for him to take it.

Blackthorne
glanced around him apprehensively. He sighed and looked down at his appointment calendar. After wrestling for a few more moments with his conscience, he took the lady’s hand in his own. “Of course, my dear, of course. I have nothing pressing today, and I would hate to disappoint you. Who knows, second thoughts about one proposal might lead to second thoughts about another.” He stood up, put on his hat, and offered his arm to Evangeline. “Shall we?”

She approximated a giggle of delight and took his arm. Outside, Jack was waiting at the curb in the driver’s seat of Evangeline’s brougham. “I thought we might take my carriage rather than braving
la
canaille
on the Illinois Central line,” she said as
Blackthorne
helped her inside.

He laughed. “Why,
Engie
, what an undemocratic sentiment to come from you. However, I’m delighted you share my view of the rabble.”

He swung in beside her and closed the door. Jack steered them as best he could through the traffic-choked downtown streets until they were well south of the business district. Skyscrapers gave way to the genteel dwellings of
Chicago
’s wealthy citizens along
Prairie Avenue
. This elegant scenery in turn gave way to a flat, weedy plain, which contained a marvel that some observers had called the “New Jerusalem.”

For there on the shores of Lake Michigan, in what had formerly been the swampy and undistinguished mud hole of Jackson Park, the world’s most noted architects had fashioned a city of dreams—the great
White
City
of the Columbian Exposition. The fairgrounds ran two miles in length and, like the
Grand Canyon
that other wonder of the new world, had the effect of exceeding the capacity of imagination to comprehend what the eyes beheld. With endless lagoons and fountains, statuary of Greek gods and goddesses, and exhibition buildings more immense than the great pyramid at
Giza
, it was no surprise that spectators required the relief of the Midway to bring them back to earth.

The Midway
Plaisance
was an offshoot of the Exposition and stretched about a mile from
Stoney
Island
on the east to
Cottage Grove
on the west. It contained a series of exotic and lurid attractions, which the planners of the fair acknowledged only to the extent that they boosted revenues. Here a polyglot of nations was represented. Here stood the Street of Cairo where Little Egypt danced. Here stood
Hagenbeck’s
Animal Show and the
Dahomey
Village
where a primitive tribe had been imported for the inspection and amazement of the civilized world. Here, too, the great Ferris wheel pushed the limits of the sky itself. At its apex, the wheel lifted the spectator two hundred and sixty-six feet in the air—commanding a godlike view of the city skyline seven miles to the north, the blue gem of
Lake Michigan
to the east, and the Midway to the west. A thirty-minute ride on the wheel, costing fifty cents, was as expensive as an admission ticket to the Exposition itself.

Evangeline instructed Jack to drive to the entrance at
Fifty-Seventh Street
and
Stoney
Island
, where she and
Blackthorne
alighted. As the two entered the fairgrounds, Evangeline asked, “Can you guess how many tickets have been sold to this event, Jonathan?”

Blackthorne
surveyed the milling crowd of foreigners, rustics, and city dwellers before him. “Judging from today’s attendance alone, I should say several million.”

“Over twenty-four million to be more precise. I’ve been reading up on the latest news from the Fair.”

“Well, I’m just grateful they aren’t all here today,” he muttered.

“Jonathan, you seem unhappy to be here. Have I upset you by dragging you along with me?”

“Not at all,
ma
belle
. Not at all.” He took her hand and folded her arm under his own. “I’m just disappointed that I have to share your company with so many others.” He fixed her with a slow smile. “My sole intention today is to please you. Where do you wish to begin?”

She affected a casual air that she hoped would disguise the purpose she had in mind. “I should like very much to start at the
Palace
of
Fine Arts
, if you please.”

“I am your servant,
ma
chérie
.”
Blackthorne
raised her fingers to his lips before he let go of her arm. He then walked over to a concession stand to purchase a guidebook to the exhibits.

After the two had located their destination on the map, Evangeline said decisively, “Well, let’s be off then. The Fine Arts Building is that way.” She gestured with her parasol toward the far end of the fairgrounds.

The couple skirted the North Pond, one of the endless shallow pools complete with gondolas that made Jackson Park more reminiscent of
Venice
than
Chicago
. They arrived at the colossal bleached building that housed a temporary collection of the world’s art treasures. These were on loan from the royal houses of
Europe
, primarily through the efforts of
Berthe
Templar. Evangeline held her hand up to shade her eyes.

“How bright the glare is from these white buildings. A shame none of them will withstand the blast of one good
Chicago
winter.” She looked up at the immense stone maidens supporting each side portico of the building by bearing the massive weight of the roof on their equally massive heads. She secretly felt herself as overburdened as they at the moment. The couple climbed the steps and reached the shady protection of the main entrance.

“Well, it says here that this one will.”
Blackthorne
consulted the description of the
Palace
of
Fine Arts
in the guidebook.

“Really?”

“Yes, it seems that the construction was made sturdier and more fireproof at the insistence of the governments that donated so many of their national treasures for the Exposition.”

Evangeline laughed. “You mean they weren’t willing to trust that
Chicago
had learned its lesson after the last blaze?”

“Apparently not.”
Blackthorne
squinted up at the front pillars. “This building is to be converted to a permanent museum after the fair is over.”

“Well, that’s something at least! Jonathan, doesn’t it bother you that all this splendor was created out of nothing more substantial than painted burlap and plaster?”

“Should it bother me?”

“Doesn’t it seem a form of trumpery to you? To invite the world to come and marvel at our accomplishments when all that we’ve created for their inspection are a series of stage sets, and neoclassical ones at that?”

Blackthorne
squeezed her hand. “My dear, you think too much.”

Evangeline raised an eyebrow. “How odd. Your mother told me the same thing. It must be a
Blackthorne
family trait.”

“But if you just consider the matter,
Engie
, don’t you see that everything in life is a facade? Civilization is nothing more than a veneer that barely coats the savage within.”

Evangeline chose not to contradict him. She didn’t want him to become suspicious of her motives for bringing him here. Her plan was to lead him through the exhibits at random and tire him out. When his guard was down, she would make her move.

***

They spent the next several hours touring not only the
Art
Palace
but the exposition buildings devoted to fisheries, horticulture, manufacturing, electricity, mining, and transportation. Evangeline was particularly interested in viewing the Women’s Building designed by a female architect. Finally, as a much-needed diversion from all these educational exhibits, Evangeline proposed that they go to the Midway to see Little Egypt dance.

Blackthorne
scowled at her daring suggestion. “Do you really think that’s an appropriate place for you to be seen,
Engie
?”

“Oh, nonsense, Jonathan, it’s a fair, not a bordello. I certainly don’t expect to have my morals corrupted by the sight.”

“It’s not your morals that are at risk, my dear. But, you are in very real danger of having your purse stolen.”

She smiled up at him impishly. “I’m quite sure you’ll protect me if it comes to that.”

Blackthorne
sighed. “As you wish, though I find the entire Midway distasteful.”

“How so?” Evangeline led him on.

“It’s vulgar and cheap. The Exposition is debased by its proximity to something so common.”

“You don’t much care for the common man, do you, Jonathan?”

Blackthorne
gave a contemptuous grimace. “I have very little reason to. The city is overrun with foreigners, who seem to do nothing but push and shove their way through the streets and knife one another in alleys. Every time I open a newspaper, I expect to see a list of casualties implying that this city is in the midst of a war.”

“Perhaps it is a war. A war between the way of life that you and I know, and theirs.”

Blackthorne
looked at her gravely. “God help us all, if you’re right,
Engie
. I think it was a great mistake to let so many of them overrun our cities in the first place—with their disease and their violence. At times I feel as if they should all be exterminated like the vermin they attract.”

“They’re human beings, Jonathan. Just as you and I are.” Evangeline could barely conceal the shock she felt at his words.

“Are they,
Engie
? Are they?”
Blackthorne
came to a full stop as they neared the entrance to the Midway. He pointed toward two dirt-encrusted urchins standing outside the gate. He reached into his pocket and casually flipped a nickel in their direction. The boys dove to the ground for the coin, kicking and gouging one another until the victor ripped it away from his mate and took to his heels before a counterattack began. The loser screamed curses in some foreign language and ran after him.

Blackthorne
cocked an eyebrow as he looked down at his companion. “Human, you said. Are you quite sure of that?”

Evangeline made no direct reply to the question, but she shivered as a cloud blew across the sun. The couple walked in silence through the entrance to the
Plaisance
. As they proceeded down the central path that led them to Evangeline’s chosen destination, the walls echoed with a barrage of carnival sounds. At close range, the music of a German band contended with North African drums. The odor of food from a variety of countries, French and Turkish, Irish and Moroccan, Dutch and Chinese, assaulted them as they made their way toward the Street of Cairo exhibit.

They entered the crowded street, which was swarming with a visual polyglot to match the aromas and sounds they had already encountered. They saw Americans and Arabs, Soudanese and Nubians, camels and donkeys, all crowded together as the couple searched for the theater where sword dancers and ladies who performed
la
danse
du
ventre
could be found.

Evangeline knew they had arrived when she saw that the crowd milling around waiting for the next show to start was primarily male. They were all eager to see the foreign girl who had started such a flurry among
Chicago
’s more straitlaced residents. She was a Syrian dancer named
Fareeda
Mahzar
, and she did what was known in local papers as the “
hootchy-kootchy
.” Although her costume as described in the press contained more material than a lady’s bathing suit, the force of imagination had weighed so heavily that there were those willing to swear they had seen her dance wearing nothing more substantial than a diamond garter. Evangeline was curious to test the accuracy of such reports but, as she was about to press forward through the doorway to the theater, Jonathan gripped her hard by the arm. She wheeled about in surprise.