Deadly (13 page)

And then I heard someone say, “Looking for me?”

I turned and saw the peculiar science fellow at the other end of the room coming out of a closet, behind him, rows of jars shining like teeth. I stood up straight, caught.

He was holding a bottle of white powder, which he put down. Slowly he started walking toward me, his face wolfishly pointed. I wanted to back up and run away, but the door seemed a mile off, and my legs still as logs.

“What a nice surprise,” he said. “You came to see me. I
can't say I was expecting you,” he said, all the while advancing on me.

I felt mesmerized by the glittery look in his eyes. My arms tingled—I had never felt frightened of him before, but now, with the building empty, he seemed much bigger than me.

“I know you came in here the other day with Mr. Soper just so you could be near me,” he said.

I couldn't believe my ears. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“You weren't interested in seeing no typhoid germs,” he said. He sat on the desk close to me. Sitting that way, he overshadowed me like a tree. “You're sweet on me, aren't you?” he said.

His hands seemed ready to touch me. I folded my arms over my chest.

“I—I don't even know you,” I said. A strange sensation came over me—I felt sure that if I ran, he'd chase after me.

“Sure you know me,” he said.

He was so close, I could smell his gutter mouth. I tried to keep the tremble from my voice as I asked, “Why do you speak to me this way?”

He laughed and slid closer.

“I wouldn't do that,” I choked out. I tried not to show my fear—why couldn't I move my feet? Just a few steps back?

“Oh, really? Not even a little kiss?” he asked. “You're so serious all the time. I just want to give you a little kiss to make you smile.”

I tried to back away from him, but my legs were frozen. I felt tears stinging my eyes, but I willed myself not to cry. I shook my head.

He leaned in toward me, and I turned my face, holding my breath as I felt his mouth coming near, in my mind, pushing him away—

I heard the door open behind him, and a voice thundered: “What on earth is going on here?”

I opened my eyes and saw with immense relief that it was Mr. Soper. The fellow backed off, immediately pointing to me, saying, “She came in here.”

Remembering why I was really there, I felt my mouth open in protest, but no words came out. I could only shake my head, fearful of what the scene might look like.

The fellow said, “I was trying to get some work done, but she interrupted me.”

I covered my cheeks with my hands. I couldn't look at Mr. Soper's face; my gaze stuck to my feet.

“Prudence, why are you here so early?” Mr. Soper asked.

I shook my head. I couldn't tell him my plan to look through his private notes.

“You can finish your work later, Jonathan. Get your coat, go see if those samples from the Robertson laboratory are ready. I'll take care of this,” Mr. Soper said.

“Thank you, sir,” the fellow muttered.

I could feel my hands ball into fists as I watched that boy put on his coat and leave the room. A thin layer of ice covered Mr. Soper's countenance as he closed the door after him.

“I have to say, I am utterly shocked and surprised by your behavior. It is most unbecoming,” Mr. Soper said, his face sour as if he'd encountered a wharf rat.

I still couldn't find anything to say.

“Perhaps I made a grave error in hiring you,” he said.

“No!” I exclaimed, the word escaping my throat.

“We do not have many women working here, and perhaps there is good reason for that. Their very presence is distracting—but I thought you were different, more advanced than your sex. I see I was wrong,” he said.

“Please, no,” I said, meeting his eyes. “Mr. Soper, please don't think you were wrong about me. I don't know that boy, I don't care a whit about him.”

“What were you doing here, then, Prudence?” he said, his face still tight against me.

I told him about the lights being on, and my awful curiosity. I told him of the boy's attention to me from the very beginning, and his advancement on me. I began to cry; I couldn't help myself. I stood there, covering my wet face with my hands, trying to hide my tears. I wanted to stop crying, to show him that I was no girl, which only made me cry harder.

Mr. Soper took out his handkerchief and came to me, dabbing at my cheeks with awkward movements.

“I'm sorry,” I sobbed, “I'm so sorry.”

Mr. Soper sighed, and I could feel the rough hair of his coat on my cheek as he reached for me and patted my back.

Near my ear, I heard him say, “It can only bring trouble, one so young and lovely.”

I smelled his fragrance, a sweet cologne, and pressed my forehead into the crook of his arm.

He gently extended his arm, pushing me away as he straightened my shoulders. He wiped the last of my tears with his kerchief.

“We will send for a carriage to take you home now, Prudence. You can return tomorrow, when you feel better.”

I didn't want to leave him just then, but I could see in
his face that there was no other choice; I put on my hat and told him that the boy lived two blocks from me, that I feared another incident.

He seemed troubled by the mention of the boy, and said he thought that being caught had hopefully embarrassed him sufficiently, and he would most likely bother me no further.

Gently my chief led me to the street by my arm. I felt an ache in my chest. The words he had whispered echoed in my head. Mr. Soper had called me lovely.

The force of my feeling for him overwhelmed me.

As I climbed into the carriage, I looked into his face, wondering if he was feeling the same about me, but a paternal worry had settled over him, and I felt him untouchable. He uttered something about the office, and our work, then paid the driver and sent me off. By the time I arrived home, Marm had already left for the Junger birth.

Here I sit, tangling with this emotional state, trying to wrestle it down. I see that I don't know the first thing about love. It's as if I've taken a poison, one that makes my head dizzy, that gives me an insatiable thirst, not for water, but for the sight of my chief. I try to stand outside myself, to be scientific and unemotional. In order for two people to join, I
tell myself, humans have been given this feeling. Does that mean I want to love Mr. Soper? The thought frightens me—I have never even kissed a boy, no less a man. I couldn't possibly want love with him.

I just want to return to work and be near him.

Maybe I should take a sick leave, stay home and talk to Marm about my feeling until it has dissipated. But I think of my old teacher Mrs. Browning's warning then, and know that is impossible.

I could walk the streets all day so the feeling can fly out and disappear into the buildings. But I don't think it will go away so simply.

I don't recognize myself. I don't want to be me. I want a return to my innocence. I
must
have my innocence back, I must
will
it back to me. I have spent a good deal of the day writing out my feelings in a long letter to Anushka, begging her advice.

I wait for tomorrow to begin so I can see him again.

A
t the chime
of the churchbells, I dressed, breakfasted with Marm, and left for work.

When I arrived at the office, the first person I saw was the science fellow, who bowed his head with puppy-dog eyes before I could turn away. It seemed to be an apology of sorts, but I didn't feel I could accept it. I entered Mr. Soper's office, but he was not in. I breathed deeply, smelling his cologne, which seemed to course through me like a silvery stream. On my desk, I found a note in his hand which said:
Miss G., In a meeting with Mr. Briggs about M.M. Will return around lunch, Mr. S.

He had finally given in.

I folded the note carefully and placed it in my desk drawer. I looked for the records of our typhoid case, but Mr. Soper had taken them all to Mr. Briggs for the meeting about
Mary Mallon. There would be no chance for me to re-examine them; even Mr. Soper's private journal was gone. I straightened my desk and looked through my jottings of other cases, distracted every time I heard footsteps or a door slam. Finally Mr. Soper returned.

I looked up from my typing, struck by the handsome curve of his cheek. I saw that the meeting occupied his thoughts, so I asked him about it. He seemed to notice me then and said that Mr. Briggs had listened to the case, that they discussed different options for approaching Mary, and Mr. Briggs would give us his decision soon. He said that they had called the hospital and found out that the little girl who had taken ill had
died
. When they called the mansion, they discovered that Mary had
quit
the family. I stood up and went to his desk.

I felt foolish for my moony feelings about Mr. Soper when this woman, this cook, this very possible
killer
was loose.

“Do you know where she is?” I asked.

He nodded his head slowly. “We called her bureau to inform them of the epidemic, and they said they have assigned her to a new house, the Bowings, a family of six over on the West Side. They were quite rude, in fact. Seems they get a commission for Mary Mallon that they don't want to lose, and they are worried about their reputation. I feel we should warn
the family somehow, but it's a risk, and I don't want to scare Mary off again. We must wait for Mr. Briggs to make a recommendation. I have told him that Mary Mallon is a serious danger, and a police guard is in order.”

Mr. Soper rubbed his forehead in a way that gave me a glimmer of despair. So he
had
been thinking of calling the police. He went on, “Prudence, I don't want you to come into this building alone ever again, do you understand what I mean?”

I looked at him, the red tinge about his face that comes when he doesn't sleep much.

“Of course, Mr. Soper. I've learned my lesson.”

He nodded and handed me a new folio. “Get to work on this until we hear from Mr. Briggs,” he said.

I took it and started to type out notes of a new case, but I couldn't put my mind on it. We waited all day to hear from Mr. Briggs, but by this evening, still no word. I won't be able to concentrate on any of our other cases until we hear back from Mr. Briggs about Mary Mallon.

I try to drive away my feelings for my chief, to bury them deep inside the cave of me, but it's not so easy. It
is
like a sickness, this feeling, like a hunger that won't go away. My heart feels like an open wound.

T
he postman
brought a reply from Anushka this morning, and in it were the wise words of a truly experienced friend. Her compassion, but more, her directness, entered me like a steel rod. It helped me enormously to read the fact that she made me face: Mr. Soper will never return my affection. To understand that no matter what I do, he will always see me as an office girl, an assistant, even a scientifically-minded person, but never as a woman, helped a great deal. Once I accepted that fact (and cried a bucket of tears), I was able to move on to her three rules of behavior for forbidden love: Keep quiet, keep cool, pretend. I think of her with these rules, the model of manners when in the presence of her Randall—and I remain composed and contained as a corpse.

Mr. Soper is wrapped up in our business with the cook,
especially after hearing from Mr. Briggs. It seems our superintendent has discussed this case with a number of people, including his colleagues from the fourth floor, where a woman doctor runs the department's center for mothers with infants. This was the first I had heard of such things (the woman doctor
and
the center). The thought of a woman doctor floods me with wonder. I picture a thick, ugly creature who's indelicately pushed her way through a man's field. Questions buzz around me like bees: How did she become a doctor? (I didn't think they allowed women in medical school!) What is it like to be surrounded by male doctors? (As I've learned, some males in the sciences see women as objects of procreation rather than thinking beings.) Would I have a chance to talk with her? Biggest question for me is: Why has Mr. Briggs chosen to discuss this case with her? (I know very well that the problems of mothers with infants is a far cry from our work in epidemiology. How would she know anything about investigating a disease? How would she be useful?)

Mr. Briggs and several department heads gathered for a meeting. It was decided that Dr. Baker (the woman doctor) would be assigned to our case, and once she had read through our records and made a plan with Mr. Soper,
she would accompany us, along with a police guard, to the West Side manor where Mary is presently working.

When I heard about the police guard, I felt terrible that the case had reached such a low point. I wished I could talk to the cook alone and beg her to see reason and not respond to us in such a violent way. We are only trying to do good, really; it's awful that she can't comprehend that. I try to picture her life, the strangers who keep approaching her, the trail of fevered she leaves behind, how trapped she must feel. There is no one with whom she can discuss what is happening to her. I can only imagine how she'll respond to this woman doctor, to the team of police, to us once again on her doorstep.

T
onight I am
to accompany Marm and Mr. Silver to the flickers, which will take my mind off this case for a few blessed hours. I have been in their lighthearted company three times, and he is a gentleman in every sense. He treats Marm with such kindness and generosity, and me as well, that I can feel tendrils of attachment growing to him. I feel my heart cleaving, with my purest love going to my father, yet broken by a budding affection for Mr. Silver. I fear that the fragment that belongs to my father is beginning to shrink; the colors of my memories of him fading. He has become a feeling, a longing I wish I could fulfill.