The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1) (9 page)

They sat for a few minutes in silence and watched the procession of steamers and barges that churned across the water. At this time of year, the number of pleasure craft was diminishing as few souls were foolish enough to venture out on the lake for amusement with conditions so unpredictable.

Evangeline waited until Sidley had begun to regain his composure. His breathing had almost returned to normal when she recommenced her inquisition. “Mr. Sidley, you gave me quite a start there. You look almost as if you’d seen a ghost. Was it anything I said?”

“W... well, it’s just that talk of m... m... murder always upsets me. Good Lord, and to think it was someone I knew!”

“Yes, that reminds me again. It’s the fact that you knew her. There’s something that keeps nagging at the back of my memory. Something to do with you and Elsa. What could it have been...” Evangeline paused and allowed the silence to become deafening, waiting to see if Sidley would leap into the verbal breach.

He didn’t but continued to stare off across the water, his hands gripped tightly to the seat of the bench as if he might tumble over forward if he let go.

“Oh, I remember now.” Evangeline smiled sweetly. “I understand that you took her to the Columbian Exposition.”

“I, wh... what!” Sidley burst out. “Where did you h... hear such a thing!”

“Why, from her landlady.” She hedged the complete truth. “Was I mistaken?”

“Well, yes... ,” the accountant paused, “a... a... and no.”

“I see. Thank you for clarifying the matter.” Evangeline allowed herself a half-smile at the accountant’s distress.

“What
I m
... mean, Miss LeClair, is that
th.
.. there were plans...” He began to rub irritably at the corner of his eye. “Please p... promise me that this goes no further.”

“Sir, you have my word.” She waited breathlessly for more.

“It was
th.
.. this way. Elsa was a f... favorite of mine, too. You have seen how isolated my role at Mast House is. I come into c... contact with so few. There were never many who would stop to v... visit as you have so kindly done. But one day, Elsa came walking past my door. She said she wanted to ask about h... how the bookkeeping for the settlement was done. I’m sure you know what she was like. She was so curious and w... wanted to learn everything there was to know about everything.”

“Yes, I know.” Evangeline was saddened by the memory of her young friend’s liveliness.

“Well, I found her interest t... touching. I thought her intellectual curiosity deserved a reward. Right after the F... Fair opened at the beginning of May, a friend of mine gave me two special passes. I’m sure you can guess from the solitary nature of my h... habits that I am not attached to anyone.” He glanced down, seemingly embarrassed, before continuing. “A... anyway, there was a spare ticket and I thought what an incentive it would be for a girl like Elsa, to get a wider glimpse of the w... world, to see a display of culture such as she’d never known.” Sidley appeared calmer now, lost in the reconstruction of the memory. “You m... must understand, Miss LeClair,” he added earnestly, “There was never any romantic design on my part.”

“Then what could your motive have been, sir?”

Sidley cleared his throat apprehensively before replying. He seemed to doubt Evangeline would believe what he was about to say. “It was merely as an incentive to a young p... person who deserved better than life had given her.”

Evangeline felt a heaviness across her heart as she heard her own sentiments about Elsa echoed by another. “But why all the secrecy then, if your motives were innocent?”

Sidley shrugged unhappily. “That’s just it, Miss LeClair. How m... many are there, do you think, who would have believed that my motives were innocent? Even though she was hardly more than a
ch.
.. child, I can only imagine the vile rumors that would have started had the event become p... publicly known.”

“Yes, I see your point.”

“I told Elsa to tell no one about the ticket. I even planned to meet her at the F... Fair, rather than escort her there, so that no one would question our leaving together.”

“And did you meet her?”

“N... no, unfortunately, I did not. Some pressing business with the settlement’s bank intervened, and I was obligated to attend a m... meeting instead.”

“So, then Elsa went alone?”

“Why y... yes, as far as I know.” He was silent for a moment, catching his breath. Then he asked abruptly, “This landlady who confided in you. Did she tell you a... anything else?”

“There was one detail that I thought rather bizarre.”

“Oh, wh... what was
th.
.. that?” Sidley’s grip on the bench tightened. His knuckles began to turn white.

“I believe it was something about a silk rose.” Evangeline frowned in deep concentration.

“Oh, y... yes, that. I s... suppose that could be m... misconstrued as...”

“As a love token?”

“Yes.” Sidley sighed. “You see how things can be misinterpreted.”

“Then help me to understand the proper meaning of the gesture.”

“Well, it was b... because of my eyes.”

“Your eyes? Really, sir!” Evangeline couldn’t help sounding incredulous since the connection between silk flowers and the accountant’s vision was far from obvious.

“Yes, r... really, Miss LeClair. You must believe me. My eyesight is not the best, even with these.” The accountant pointed ruefully to his spectacles. “In a crowd of t... ten thousand people, how could I hope to single her out?”

“Surely, you must have had a prearranged meeting place.”

“Of course, we were to meet by the F... Ferris wheel.”

“I don’t believe the Ferris wheel opened until
some time
in June.”

“Y... yes. You’re correct, but it was under c... construction. It was the h... highest object in the fairgrounds.”

“Ah, I see. A logical choice.”

“Yes, that was so Elsa would have
no t
... trouble finding the spot.”

“And yet... ,” Evangeline wasn’t entirely convinced of Sidley’s veracity, “you still thought some additional method of identification would be necessary?”

“I am a very c... careful man, Miss LeClair. I leave nothing to chance. Did your confidante also tell you that I asked Elsa to be s... specific about the clothes she would be wearing that day?”

Evangeline was genuinely surprised. “Why no. I didn’t hear about that.”

“Well, the fact is I asked Elsa to tell me exactly what c... color and style of clothing she would be wearing and also to fasten the red rose to her hat. That way I would be sure to s... single her out.”

“My goodness, you are meticulous with regard to detail, aren’t you!”

“I am very careful in everything I do. Did you hear anything else that requires me to defend my character f... further?”

Evangeline commanded her features to remain a mask. “I don’t believe so. Is there anything else to be told?”

“N... no, no, I was just w... wondering. I thought perhaps Elsa herself may have been guilty of some romantic fancy and may have portrayed the r... rendezvous in that light to her landlady, that’s all.”

“No, nothing of that sort was said.”

“Ah, that’s good.” The accountant appeared relieved but then began to frown. “Miss LeClair, you know I must r... rely on your discretion in this matter.”

“You can rely on it, sir, as a matter of course.”

“
I d
... do thank you, sincerely, for that reassurance.” For a few moments, Sidley seemed lost in thought. Then he said, as much to himself as to Evangeline, “Such a shame, such a waste, and such a b... beautiful girl, too.”

“Yes...” The two sat silently looking out over the water for a while longer.

Finally, Sidley stood up. He leaned down and offered Evangeline his hand. “It’s getting late and the wind has rather picked up. Don’t you
th.
.. think we should be getting back?”

Evangeline squinted in the growing twilight. “Yes, I quite agree. It’s getting very late and it’s hard to see anything clearly in this light.”

Chapter 8—Of Barristers, Bards,
And Barrooms

Although Freddie had committed himself, in theory, to helping Evangeline, he didn’t attack the problem with the same fervor as his friend. He sidled up the issue, and backed away from it, and sidled up to it again, with the result that he procrastinated a full three days without taking any action whatsoever. By Tuesday, guilt finally outweighed timidity and he steeled himself to make a contribution to Evangeline’s grand cause. He reported to work at his usual time of eight o’clock, intending to sneak out at an opportune moment to hunt for clues.

The law practice of Simpson And Austin had been started by his father and uncle. After his father’s death several years earlier, Freddie’s uncle had assumed the formidable task of training the young man in the family business. Mr. Horace Simpson was of a sanguine disposition and believed he could achieve the impossible. Freddie, aware of his own limited aptitude for the law, knew his uncle was attempting to refashion a sow’s ear.

When Freddie arrived at his desk on this particular morning, he found an unexpected, and unwelcome, note from his uncle requiring a meeting at ten o’clock. Knowing that his uncle only planned a
tête-à-tête
when a reprimand was in order, Freddie groaned, sat down at his desk, and shuffled papers until the hour appointed for his execution.

When the young man arrived at his uncle’s office on the hour, he found the door closed and the elder Mr. Simpson
incommunicado
. As a further guarantee of privacy, the reception area was guarded by Mr. Simpson’s secretary, a Miss Louise Russell. Though hiring females in secretarial positions was a recent development in
Chicago
’s business community, Mr. Simpson liked to think he was being progressive by offering the position to a young woman who could type at the phenomenal rate of forty words per minute.

Louise looked up when Freddie approached. The young man raised a quizzical eyebrow. “What’s going on in there, Louise? Uncle Horace left a note saying he wanted to see me at ten.”

The guardian of the gate laughed. “Don’t worry, young master.” She liked to use this particular title for Freddie, but whether as a term of respect or insult he could never be sure. “He won’t be long. He’s in conference with one of Mr. McCormick’s attorneys. Why don’t you just sit down there.” She pointed to the green leather sofas that lined the walls of the reception area.

Freddie sighed and threw himself down on one of the squeaky couches.

Apparently aware of his mood, Louise asked, “Are you about to be called out on the carpet again?”

“By the time he finishes with me, I’ve no doubt I’ll wish I were underneath the carpet.”

“What did you do this time? Were you playing hooky with your friends at the paper?”

“I wish I had been. It would have been less painful than what I was actually doing. This time I can use the argument that I was helping an old family friend.”

“Use the argument...?” Louise echoed in surprise. “You may want to save that one for the courtroom. Besides, young master, you’d better remember that you’ll be arguing with one of the finest lawyers in the city. He gets paid a great deal of money because he’s very good at arguing with people.”

“Thanks, Louise. Your words of comfort have managed to completely alleviate my concern about my fate.”

“Oh, Freddie, you’re a caution.” Louise turned back to her typing and left Freddie to the contemplation of the epitaph on his tombstone.

After a few moments, the office door swung open and Mr. Simpson ushered out his colleague. Concluding with a brief exchange at the elevator, the gentlemen parted, leaving Mr. Simpson Senior free to focus his attention on Freddie.

“Nephew,” he said curtly by way of greeting.

“Uncle,” Freddie said in return.

“Come in.” As Mr. Simpson gestured Freddie through the door, he said to his secretary, “Miss Russell, I’m not to be disturbed during this meeting.”

“Yes, sir.” The girl shot a sympathetic glance in Freddie’s direction.

Mr. Simpson closed the door and motioned his nephew into one of the high-backed Spanish chairs that faced his desk. Before Freddie sat down, he took the precaution of moving the chair back half a foot in case he felt the need to make a speedy exit.

After the older man had settled himself in the seat of judgment, he began, “Nephew, I’ve heard some unpleasant reports about you lately. Waverly tells me you didn’t report to work last Wednesday and that you left early on Friday afternoon.”

“I’ll have to thank him later,” Freddie mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking out loud.”

“Well, think about this. You are not only a member of this firm, which has a certain reputation for reliability to maintain, but you are a member of the family as well. That means that your behavior ought to be a model to the other young men employed here.”

“Yes sir,” Freddie assented meekly.

“What were you doing anyway? Gadding about with those newshounds down at the paper? When I think what your father would say if he were alive!” Mr. Simpson raised his eyes heavenward, presumably invoking his dead brother’s spirit to witness the proceedings.

“For once, Uncle, I’m not guilty as charged.”

“Oh?” Mr. Simpson’s bushy white eyebrows drew up at least an inch in surprise.

“I was helping a friend.”

“A friend... ,” Mr. Simpson repeated skeptically.

“Yes, a friend of the family as a matter of fact.”

“I see. And who might that be?”

“It was Miss Evangeline LeClair. She asked me to attend a funeral in the city with her.”

“Hmmm...” Mr. Simpson paused, appearing to consider the evidence. Freddie inferred he was really trying to buy time in order to figure out what obscure defense strategy his nephew was using. At any rate, he seemed less confident that he had caught the young man red-handed in an act of dereliction of duty.

“I didn’t think you would want me to be rude to a lady in a state of hysterical grief.” Freddie tried to play his hand for all it was worth.

“Hysterical, you say?” His uncle propped his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “The day Evangeline LeClair exhibits signs of hysteria is the day I expect to see
Lake Michigan
turn into a desert.”

“Well, perhaps I overstated her grief just a bit. But the rest is true. I did attend a funeral with her on Wednesday. Would you have wanted to see her travel to the city alone and unescorted?”

“No, I certainly would not.” It was Horace Simpson’s turn to look uncomfortable. His old-fashioned notions of protectiveness toward the fair sex made him vulnerable to this particular line of attack, and Freddie knew it.

The younger man pursued his advantage. “What do you take me for, Uncle? Do you think I’m the sort of fellow who would abandon a lady in distress? Here was a young woman of long-standing acquaintance appealing to me for help. I ask you, what would you have done under the circumstances? I didn’t think to notify anyone here of my whereabouts. I merely answered the call of duty, and now I see I’m to be treated like a convicted felon for extending a helping hand!” Freddie threw his arms wide in a theatrical gesture of appeal.

“All right, Freddie, that will do. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. Whose funeral was it, anyway?”

“It was one of Miss LeClair’s students from Mast House who passed away unexpectedly.” Freddie neglected to mention the circumstances surrounding Elsa’s demise.

“Regrettable,” Mr. Simpson tapped a pen contemplatively, “but not entirely unaccountable. That whole neighborhood around Mast House is disease-ridden, and the immigrants who populate it live in filthy conditions. Typhoid, was it?”

“Something like that. Something equally unexpected.”

“I see,” the older man replied. Then, to Freddie’s delight,
 
he dropped the subject entirely. “Well, I think that’s all I wanted to speak to you about today, Freddie. You may return to your office now.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” He tried to keep all trace of irony out of his voice. “I really appreciate the personal interest you take in my career here.” The young man rose to go but turned just before opening the door. “Oh, and Uncle Horace...”

“Yes?” The older man glanced up from the document he had started to examine.

“Perhaps in future you won’t immediately credit all the reports you hear about my bad behavior.”

“Agreed, young man, agreed. Now be about your business.” Freddie’s uncle waved him out of the room.

“Whew!” Freddie closed the door behind him.

“Congratulations.” Louise paused in her typing, noting Freddie’s expression of relief. “You don’t appear to have been flayed alive.”

“My dear girl.” Freddie leaned impudently over her desk. “My logic was irrefutable, and in the end I made him see the error of his ways.”

Louise made no comment but held her hands suspended above the typewriter keys, staring skeptically at Freddie as she waited for more.

“And you can tell my uncle, that if he should hear any further tattling about my absence from the office for the next few hours, it’s because I have to see to some additional arrangements for Miss LeClair.”

“Unharmed and with a license to play hooky! You really did come out of this one smelling like a rose.”

“Who knows,” Freddie said over his shoulder as he left the reception room, “I may make a good lawyer after all.”

“I’m sorry, young master, I didn’t catch that last part. Did you say ‘lawyer’ or ‘liar’?”

***

Freddie, gleeful at having obtained even an insignificant victory over his uncle, left immediately for the
Gazette
building. He grew more alive with every step he took. Aside from his romantic designs on Evangeline, Freddie’s only other object in life was to become a news reporter. This career had been discouraged by every member of his family down to his youngest sister. His mother went so far as to say that journalists were one step below circus sideshow performers. Freddie had been sent to law school for the purpose of eventually stepping into his father’s shoes. His family’s assumptions about his destiny were not at all in accord with Freddie’s own wishes.

While he reported to work as a junior associate of Simpson And Austin, he spent every available moment hanging around the
Gazette
offices. Being viewed as a mascot was Freddie’s curse in life. Not only did Evangeline treat him as one, but his reporter friends sent him on errands as the price of admittance to their inner circle. Rather than chasing down news leads, Freddie spent his time chasing down lunch orders. He bore all of this with the resignation of a man who has never been taken seriously by anyone.

The sole bright spot in this bleak personal portrait was that his family shared the popular view of his low potential. This meant that after a decent interval of incompetence at the law firm, he would be left to his own devices. For his own part, Freddie would have been quite content to sacrifice his already tarnished reputation in exchange for one really good feature story. Tracking down Elsa Bauer’s murderer was his best hope of ever achieving that dream.

The clock was just striking eleven when he ran up the stairs to the city news room. His entrance was heralded by a series of catcalls and howls from the inmates. Comments like “Where in blazes have you been?” and “It’s about time!” were followed by a barrage of paperclips and wads of paper aimed in the general vicinity of Freddie’s head. Having recently been treated to a similar missile attack from Evangeline, Freddie was becoming adept at dodging injury.

“Greetings, animals! Is it feeding time at the zoo already?”

“What do you mean, already?” a voice demanded from the corner. “When you didn’t show up yesterday, one of us had to bring back lunch instead.”

“Imagine that. You actually had to exert that much energy yourselves? What’s the world coming to?”

“Well, now that you’re here, you can bring me a corned beef on rye,” another voice called out.

“Stop right there, fellows.” Freddie held up his hands. “I’m not here to play delivery boy today.”

A disappointed rumble arose from the group who had begun to cluster around Freddie. One malcontent even growled, “Well, what are you good for, then?”

Choosing to ignore the insult, Freddie persisted. “I’m here to see Bill. Do any of you fugitives from the public baths know where he might be?”

“You could try the print shop,” a surly voice answered. “I saw him going that way about fifteen minutes ago to run down some final copy for tomorrow’s edition.”

“Thanks.” Waving his arm above his head, Freddie said to the assembly, “Always a pleasure, gentlemen! You can interpret my use of that term as loosely as you see fit!” Narrowly dodging a copy ruler that came whizzing past his shoulder, he heard “
Awww
, get lost!” as he ducked out the door.

His exuberance still undiminished, Freddie ran back down the stairwell to the print shop that was located on the ground floor. As he opened the double doors to enter, the roar of the rotary presses pounded his ears like a pair of iron fists. The cylinders were powered by steam engines that could produce twenty-thousand pages of print an hour. The entire building shook from the vibration they made. Freddie edged past one of the monsters, imagining the damage that could be done if a hand accidentally got caught in the mechanism. Eventually he saw Bill Mason standing against a back window. The reporter was chewing on one of the two-cent cigars he favored and frowning as he read over a galley proof.