It was not difficult to follow Sullivan. At first, she could trace him by the startled looks on the faces of the people he’d pushed out of his way. Soon, he slowed to a walk, his hand pressed to his side. He did not look around but led her deeper into parts of Richey with which she was unfamiliar.
After riding with Jeff, she’d been lulled into believing she understood how the town was laid out. But this part of Richey was different from the neat houses and respectable storefronts. Even though the day was still bright, the narrow streets seemed darker, dirtier. The citizens here did not take as much care to keep the sidewalks clear of garbage and waste. Many of the windows she passed were broken or boarded.
Keeping the nattily dressed man in sight, Edith began to close the gap between them. She did not like the way loafers stared after her or the mutters she heard after she passed.
The music of an ill-tuned piano floated out of the doorway Sullivan entered at last. Edith looked up at the three-story building. Dingy lace curtains hung in some of the windows. Across others, peeling shutters closed out the daylight. The building had a neglected, resentful look as though it were scowling at the uncaring world.
The scarlet-painted door was ajar. Edith stepped up the splintered stairs and pushed the door open. A dingy hall with steps along one wall with a shadowed well beneath, a gold-and-black beaded curtain across the entrance to a large main room, and a plush sofa met her wondering eyes. The piano music continued to crank away, a maddeningly circular tune.
The smell of cooking cabbage reminded her powerfully of her former boardinghouse. Yet there was something different about this house. Maybe it was the odor of cheap perfume, overlaying the cabbage. Maybe it was that the entire household seemed to be asleep in the middle of the day. Maybe it was the photographs on the walls, of half-naked women reclining on plump cushions or of wholly naked women standing up, with one foot on a hassock. All had coy expressions as though pretending they didn’t realize they’d carelessly forgotten their clothes.
Deciding to find the pianist to ask some questions, Edith put out her hand to push aside the clacking bead curtain. But the piano music stopped. Then she heard a familiar voice and halted, stunned.
“If that don’t beat all! Somebody gives you a sideways look and you’re shaking in your boots. Just calm down, Victor. It’s not like you’ve done anything so terrible. So you saw Vera Albans and scared her some . . .”
“Guess I didn’t scare her enough.”
“Don’t bother doing anything else to her. The minute we’re married, I get my money. Then we’ll get away.”
“But what if your folks find out? They’ll never let you and me get married then.”
Dulcie laughed, a hard, cold sound. In a flutteringly sweet voice, she said, “Just tell ‘em how you’ve reformed. Cry a little over your sins, if you can manage it. They’ll buy that genuine gold-plated kind of repentance very time.”
“I don’t know. . . .”
“Come on, don’t you want to shake the dust of this place off your feet as bad as I do?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“Are you still worrying about that bigamy stuff? Haven’t I promised once we’re out of here you’re a free man?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. . . .” Sullivan’s voice dropped into a huskier register. “We could go places, you and me. There’s some big scams waiting for a couple of clever . . .”
“Keep your hands to yourself!” Dulcie snapped. “I’ve told you before, quit grabbing me!” There was a crash as something fell over. “All I want from you is a quick marriage. Then I give you what’s yours and we leave Richey for good. ‘Til then, you keep your hands off me!”
“Ah, but, baby . . . ,” Sullivan said, wheedling. “Let me just . . . you sure got some figure on you. ...”
“All right,” Dulcie said, obviously bored. “But keep your hands where I can see ‘em. Don’t even try anything else.”
Edith’s stomach turned. It was as though she were hearing a younger version of Mr. Maginn and Mrs. Webb, whose low and unclean souls expressed themselves in every word they uttered. She couldn’t believe that gentle Dulcie could talk in such a way.
“Edith!” Jeff said in a low, quick voice behind her. He walked up to her. ‘Don’t you know any better than to . . .”
“Shush,” Edith said, taking his hand and listening hard. There was silence from the parlor. Then Dulcie said, “Did you hear something?” Only a low moan came from Sullivan. “Hey, I thought I heard somebody say something.”
“Some of the girls,” he said. “Oh, Dulcie, can’t I...? Just a little more . . .”
“No. It wasn’t a girl. Go see if anybody’s there.”
Jeff tried to push Edith toward the door.
She shook her head and tugged on his hand. Waving him to silence, she made him follow her into the well beneath the stairs. It was dark and close under there, with a musty smell like old clothes. Picking up on her disquiet, Jeff pressed back against the wall, holding Edith within the circle of his arm. Leaning forward the least bit, he saw Sullivan part the curtain and look up and down the hall.
“Nobody there.” He turned around and the whole set of his shoulders showed disappointment. “What’d you have to go and button up for? I was just getting started.”
“Started is as far as you’re going. If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll be grateful after I get my money and let you do what you want. In the meantime, though, a taste is all you’re getting.”
Dulcie appeared in the doorway, her lightweight plaid shawl crossed in front over a chambray blouse. With her plain hat and pink cheeks, she looked like any prim young lady out for a morning’s shopping. “Be at the house early, about six. Dad’s going to talk to us about the duties of marriage. It’s his usual speech; lasts about half an hour. And don’t dress so flashy. Leave the diamond ring and stickpin here.”
“Somebody’ll steal ‘em!”
She threw him a contemptuous look. “Then stick them in your pocket. See you tonight. Remember, show up early. God!” she said explosively. “I can’t wait to get where they don’t preach morning, noon and night!”
Dulcie didn’t wait for Sullivan to open the door. She swept out. He watched her with a twist to his thin-lipped mouth.
After a moment or two had passed, putting her safely out of earshot, he muttered, “Give orders now, sweetheart. You’ll be taking ‘em later. Oh, yeah.” He rubbed his hands together. “You’ll be singing a different tune soon as we’re hitched.”
He walked up the stairs, whistling, Edith shuddered at each footfall over her head. She rested her forehead against Jeff’s chest. He was safety and sanity in a wretched world.
He murmured, “I think it’s time to go.”
As soon as they were a reasonable distance down the street, she asked, “What was that dreadful place?”
“A whorehouse,” Jeff answered absently.
“What?”
“Uh, I mean . . .” He pushed his hat back with his thumb. “Dang it, don’t look at me like that.
I’ve
never been there before. But I know about it—everybody knows about it. Even Dulcie, apparently.”
“I didn’t.” Edith put her hand on his sleeve. “And I’m not thinking anything about you, Jeff. After what I overheard, I can realize the worth of a good man.”
He smiled at that, pleased beyond words. Then he remembered that he was annoyed. “All I can say is, next time you want to chase some bravo with dirty work on his mind . . .”
Squeezing his arm, she said, “I know. You have every right to be angry. I just thought . . . maybe I could do some good.” Sighing, she said, “Poor Dulcie.”
“Poor Dulcie? Save your concern for her folks. When we tell them about this . . .”
“We can’t do that!” Edith said, stopping.
Jeff urged her on, not liking the looks of the loiterers, they were men he didn’t know. “Dad’s waiting around the corner.”
“Good, I want to get home and take a bath. I don’t know why, but I feel . . . unclean.” The antique word fit her feelings precisely, yet it conjured up images of lepers and disease that made her all the more eager to scrub herself thoroughly all over.
“I know how you feel,” Jeff said, scratching his arm.
“Even though you had a bath last night?” She glanced up at him with a flirtatious gleam, reminding him how much she had seen. At that moment, they reached the wagon, so Jeff couldn’t very well say the things he wanted to. As he boosted her up, however, he gave her curving rear a little squeeze, then looked offensively innocent when she squeaked.
“So what happened?” Sam wanted to know.
She told him briefly, Jeff taking over from the point he’d entered. Sam whistled. “I always wondered if they weren’t raising those kids too strict. Isn’t natural to reject all vain adornment, you know. Everybody likes to be well-turned-out.”
“It was more than that,” Edith said. “It was as if she were a trapped animal, desperate to escape. Yet, to me, Richey seems such a peaceful town. All except the part I was in today.”
“You’ve had a wider experience of the world, Edith,” Jeff said. “You can see the value of peacefulness. For someone like Dulcie, the very things you like most would drive her crazy.”
“And not just Dulcie,” Sam added, glancing at his son. “Seems to me I recall a certain pair of wild cards who couldn’t wait to light out for adventure, once upon a time.”
Jeff nodded ruefully. “It’s different for boys. They may get knocked around some . . . it’s good for ‘em. But for a girl . . . there’s too many men who’ll take advantage. Even Dulcie, who’s asking for it, has found more trouble than she bargained for.”
“Your daughters have an excellent father,” Edith said.
Jeff looked bashful, then said, “I still say, we’ve got to tell her folks about this.”
“No,” Edith said again.
“Now just a darned minute. You were bound and determined to tell the Armstrongs all about Sullivan, but now you say . . .”
“Jeff, Dulcie can’t be all bad. She’s going out of her way to make this look like a love match. Now, why would she do that unless she was trying to spare her parents pain?”
“I think you’re wrong, Edith. I think Dulcie is all bad. And getting worse.”
“Sounds like it,” Sam agreed.
“No, I don’t believe it. I’ll talk to her . . . make her see reason. She can’t throw her life away on this man.”
“Not to be crude, Edith, but he did have his hand up her shirt ... at least her shirt.”
“Well, you had yours . . . that doesn’t necessarily make her a bad person.” She felt as though she’d been painted scarlet. Fortunately, Sam seemed to have missed what she’d said.
He said, “I don’t much care what happens to Dulcie, though I wouldn’t want any girl I knew going off with that Sullivan. But you’ve still got to keep Miss Albans out of it.”
Jeff looked his father up and down. “You’re awful particular where the young lady’s concerned.”
“Course I am.” He met his son’s gaze steadily. “Now that Miss Climson’s going off with Tyler, she’s my best bet for a daughter-in-law. When do you mean to start courting her?”
“One trouble at a time, Dad, please.”
“He’s right,” Edith said. “Miss Albans should be courted, if only because she must be feeling very low right now. I should be, if Mr. Maginn came back into my life.”
“Who the heck is Mr. Maginn?” Jeff demanded, his hands clenching into fists.
“My old landlord. The one who wouldn’t let me keep a dog.”
“How old was he?”
“I meant, my former landlord.”
“So he wasn’t old. What did he want?”
“My rent, mostly,” Edith said. She gazed out at the flicking ears of the horse. “Sometimes other things,” she added. “I never gave in, but I was so tired of his insisting that sometimes I thought it would be easier to give him what he wanted. I can understand Dulcie, pretty well, you know. And Miss Albans too. They’re like my . . . sisters in a way.”
She looked up at Jeff, her eyes perfectly serious. “You mustn’t ever mention to Vera that you know anything about her past. Let it be buried and quietly forgotten.”
“Do you think I would remind her of it? Honestly, Edith, what do you think I am?”
They would have gone on arguing, if Sam hadn’t drawn up before the preacher’s white house, the riotous garden brilliant in the sunshine. “Look,” he said. “I’ve been listening to everything you’ve been saying, and I agree with Edith.” He held up his hand to silence Jeff’s exclamation.
“Let her talk to the girl, woman to woman. Maybe Dulcie’s got some explanation. If she doesn’t, if she’s just bad, then we let it go. It’s not really our place to meddle, is it?”
“Yes, damn it! The Armstrongs have been your friends, mother’s friends, for thirty years or more. Mother was there when Dulcie was born, for God’s sake.”
“Yes, she was. And Millie cried on your mother’s shoulder when she couldn’t have any babies for all those years. Hell, we even went with ‘em to pick up Gary from the orphanage, so you might say I have a long time interest in this family. But Dulcie’s a grown girl, son. She’s got a right to make her own decisions. And we’re not princes. It’s not up to us what she does or doesn’t do with her life.”
“Dad . . .”
“Look, the way I see it, the Armstrongs are going to be miserable if what we think is true. But don’t force me to be part of the cause. We’ve been friends too long.”
As the two Dane men escorted her onto the porch of the Armstrongs’ home, Edith felt like a criminal between two guards. Their faces were equally stern, branding them with family resemblance. She hadn’t realized that fair brows could look so stormy or that brown eyes could be so cold.
“We’ll be right out here,” Sam said.
Jeff put his foot down with a thump. “No way is she going in there alone, Dad. God knows what Dulcie will do.”
“I’m not in any danger,” Edith said gently. “I feel she won’t do any violence, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“You feel . . .”
“I was right about Mr. Sullivan, Jeff. And about Mrs. Green and Mr. Huneker.” She had been inarguably right, though whether her intuition had completely failed was something the next few minutes would show. Edith could only hope some trace remained; if not, she was indulging in wishful thinking that could get her into trouble. Just in case, she stopped resisting Jeff’s efforts to accompany her.