Grace and Disgrace (8 page)

“You told Father Kearney what Donnelly said. And he got the letter and the codebook.”

“I may have hated Aiden Kearney for shattering my life with my Robert, which is what the trial did. But not as much as I hated Robert for casting me into the asylum.” She finished her gin with a straight shot. “Yes, I shared Robert Donnelly’s deepest, darkest secrets to his most hated enemy. And Aiden Kearney did just what I hoped he would—he snooped around, he found evidence, and he went to his lawyers and appealed his trial. It probably would have worked for him, and for me, if he didn’t suddenly
die
.”

She set the empty glass softly upon the table. “I suppose I didn’t really answer your question.”

“That will suffice,” Tuohay replied.

The doctor slipped his timepiece from his pocket. “We should be going, Mary. I worry about Inspector Frost lurking about. No need for an additional encounter.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, gentlemen.” The doctor stood abruptly, followed by Tuohay and Eldredge. Mary stood last, clasping her coat tight about her. Her eyes lingered on Tuohay. “You will perform your duty to Aiden Kearney?”

“I came a long way to make things right, Miss Hart,” Tuohay replied, “and I daresay I will not return to Belfast until it is done.”

“Thank you.”

“Thanks should not be forthcoming until there is a reason to give it.”

Mary smiled softly. “All the same.”

The doctor and Mary departed, the latter’s gaze lingering on Tuohay from over her shoulder as she exited the parlor.

Tuohay and Eldredge resumed their seats, Eldredge whistling softly. “Gads, Jack. How will you get the truth out of Father Donnelly about the diamond? It sounds like he can tell you directly where it is!”

“Easy, old boy,” said Tuohay. “As always, one step at a time. What do you make of the accounting books?”

“The books?” Eldredge shrugged with disinterest. “Looks like I have a lot of numbers to run through, if it’s really necessary. I assume I am checking for fabrication?”

“It is imperative,” said Tuohay. “Hard facts are what we need. Your statistics can be used?”

“Absolutely,” said Eldredge, brightening. “I’ll employ a new device learned through a friend of mine, Simon Newcomb. It will indicate any purposeful modifications.”

“Sounds thrilling.” Eliza set her paper down and joined them at their table, settling softly in a chair after some rustling with her dress. “Good thing
you’re
the math genius.”

“Nice try, Eliza,” said Eldredge. “I have seen your aptitude with numbers up close, and it is nothing to sneeze at.”

Eliza shrugged. “So I’m multi-talented. What of it?”

Tuohay stared thoughtfully at the door to the parlor. “Mary mentioned that there were three concubines that took the stand against Aiden Kearney. Herself and Kathryn Dwyer, and Susan Lovelace. I need information on Miss Lovelace, including how she died.”

“On it,” said Eliza. “And I’ll get more detail on Kathryn Dwyer’s killing as well.”

“What about the letter?” said Eldredge, turning to Eliza. “What did you mean by
Sympathy
? We were speaking of it before the doctor and Mary returned.”

“Right.” Eliza pulled her lace gloves off and set them in her lap. “I used the sympathy method in one of my first plays,
L'invité secret
.” Eliza’s French accent sounded remarkably accurate. “Sympathique. Corrélation. Affinité.”

Eldredge strained his memory. “I remember the play…a mystery set in a grand hotel near mineral springs. But I saw it years ago.”

“Let me clarify, then,” Tuohay offered. “Before a scientific explanation was brought forth, the term
sympathy
was used by the French chemist Nicolas Lemery to define the observable affinity between red-lead and vinegar, and quicklime and arsenic sulfide. Basic and acidic compositions, as it were.”

“Encre sympathique,” Eliza added, continuing with the proper inflection.

“Encre. Wait a moment….” Eldredge’s voice trailed off. “Do you mean—”

Eliza smiled. “Invisible ink.”

“In the code book?” Eldredge sounded doubtful. “But where? And with what medium?”

“I cannot answer
everything
for you, Johnny,” Eliza replied. “Perhaps the presence of the pressed handkerchief means the book is to be pressed, allowing the medium to seep through the paper. It would work with arsenic sulfide, like in my play. Very little medium is needed, if I remember. The message, or messages, will appear on whichever pages they were scripted. I could sit on the book and test the theory. Or you could.”

“Ha, indeed.” Eldredge shook his head. “Did you ever actually perform any of these experiments, or just write about them?”

“What’s the difference?”

Eldredge turned to Tuohay. “The book is evidence, I assume. Can we test Eliza’s theory?”

“By having her sit on it?”

Eldredge shook his head. “No, no! I know several techniques—proper techniques—regarding invisible ink.”

Tuohay nodded in agreement. “The method Eliza is talking about, mixing quicklime ink and arsenic sulfide, can be quite dangerous. There is a side reaction that creates a toxic gas—”

“I already tried it,” Eliza said.

The two men looked at her in astonishment

“Don’t worry, nothing terrible happened. But nothing good, either.” She produced the book and slid it to Eldredge. “Must need a different method.”

“Thankfully so,” said Tuohay.

“It is not like the book would have burst into flames,” Eliza said reproachfully.

“As a matter of fact, the chemicals you were referring to
are
actually combustible—” Tuohay caught Eliza’s glare and cut himself short.

“Are we through?” Eliza asked.

“Yes.”

“And the plans for tomorrow?”

“I will be interviewing Father Donnelly tomorrow in Plymouth,” said Tuohay. “Leaving quite early.”

“I am sorry I cannot join you for that,” said Eliza, “I have tea with the production manager at the Boston Athenaeum. But I will be available shortly thereafter.”

Tuohay nodded. “Excellent.” He turned to Eldredge. “And you?”

“Heading to mum’s in less than an hour, in fact,” said Eldredge. “Dinner and such. But I will be back tomorrow morning at first light to join you for the trip to Plymouth.”

Eliza leaned forward, her eyes on Tuohay. “And for the remainder of tonight? I may be heading out with some friends.” She paused. “Well, actors. But they can be entertaining. You are welcome to join us.”

“As enthralling as that sounds, I will have to pass.” He took the codex from Eldredge and thumped it with a fist. “I must visit the dispensary, and then convert my hotel room into an operating workshop. I would like to give this a go, if I may.”

Eliza smiled. “Just make sure to decode the message before you burn down the building, alright?”

“I have to concur,” Eldredge added.

“Of course.” Tuohay turned his gaze back to the book. “Mary mentioned that a
puzzle
would lead to the diamond… And I would not want to permanently char the one item possibly holding the clues.”

The pale candlelight flickered in the sudden breeze, stirring the shadows of Tuohay’s hotel bedchamber. The moan of the wind tugged Tuohay from his dreamlike state until he finally woke, the darkness meeting his blurry vision.  He leaned up and spit red into a china bowl on the floor, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief from the nightstand.

With a grunt he reached across his chest to the awaiting flask, his fingers shying away from the low-burning candle beside him. The metal of the flask felt unusually cold to the touch, but the liquor was strong with the welcome scent of Highland whiskey. Wetting his lips, he became aware of something unnatural in his surroundings. His eyes dug into the thick shadows.

The room remained silent, the inky blackness impenetrable. Inanimate objects breathed in the darkness beyond the candlelight, shivering and creaking in the language of the night. Decanters, cups, and bowls created a crumbling keep in the shadows of a nearby table, surrounded by a mass of invaders—a pair of alcohol burners, a pile of matches, thimbles of liquids, heaps of granular oddities, and other laboratory equipment.

Tuohay focused beyond these on a slight movement near the drapes.

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

A dark form slid to the drapes, the clicking of boots upon the wood floor breaking the silence. A brief glint of moonlight followed the uninvited guest out the open window, exposing a splash of olive. Tuohay swung off the bed in pursuit.

“Stop!”

He landed on his lame leg and stumbled into the bureau. Grabbing his cane from atop the bureau he strode to the window and peered out. A deserted courtyard was within leaping distance and beyond that an iron gate separating the hotel grounds from the desolate road. Farther still were the south harbor and its multitude of warehouses.

Tuohay’s breath caught in his throat as he limped to the table. The code book was there, closed. “I left it open,” he whispered, his memory a jumble. “But the sickness came on so quick, I cannot be sure.”

Tuohay grabbed his coat and pulled out his watch. It was nearly four in the morning.

Tuohay fell back on the bed and pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. He was in a cold sweat. His stomach twisted and a burning sensation rose into his throat. Grabbing the china bowl he vomited into it. He wiped his mouth, pushed the bowl away and closed his eyes. Dizziness swept over him as he fell into the bed again.

“It will pass,” he said. “Come now, Jack. Easy.” He lay with his arms over his face and his eyes closed, the world spinning beneath him.

He jolted up suddenly and wiped the cold sweat from his face. “Eliza.” Sliding from the bed, he pulled on his trousers and shirt and grabbed his short frock coat. Taking his hat as he reached the door, he strode out painfully, his lame leg out of sync with the thud of the cane. The hotel was quiet at this time of night, the dim electric light of the lobby acting as his beacon from the hall. The bellman looked up from behind the desk and straightened his red cap into a presentable position.

“May I help you, sir?” he inquired, his thick Italian accent underscoring a slickly curled moustache and weathered bronze skin.

“The local booth, please. And quickly.” Tuohay handed the man two nickels.

“Yes, of course. A candle, yes?”

“A candle? No, no. Just the key please.”

“Here you are.”

Tuohay took the key from the hand of the bellman and strode to a small recess in the east end of the lobby. Above the entrance an elegantly decorated sign read: ‘Boston Telephone Service—Local Only’. Unlocking the glass-paneled door, Tuohay entered and sat down on a bench against the far wall. Residing on a small table to his left were a paper tablet, pen, and a silver candlestick-telephone. It was Swedish make. Pulling the highly polished receiver off the switchook, he held the cold metal to his ear and listened to the silence on the other end.

“Yes?”

“Hello, operator? I would like to be connected to Eliza Wilding of Number Four Province Court in Boston. It is quite urgent.”

“One moment sir.” The operator’s voice gave way to a static-filled hiss. The hiss lasted a moment and diminished, returning again a moment later. The phone line hissed several times before the voice of the operator returned.

“There seems to be no answer, sir.”

“Let it go a little longer,” said Tuohay. He shook his head as Eliza’s line continued to hiss. “Come on, Eliza.” After a few more moments without an answer, Tuohay placed the receiver back onto the switchook and returned to the hotel desk with the phone key in hand. “I need to get to Province Court right away.”

The bellman mused for a moment. “The hotel automobile. Work for you, yes?”

“When can it be ready?”

“Right away. The fare at this hour is one dollar.”

Tuohay gave the bellman a dollar and watched impatiently as the Italian called in a driver from the hotel phone. After a moment he turned back to Tuohay. “You will be picked up out front.”

A cold drizzle blew against Tuohay’s face as he stepped outside. Gathering his coat, he walked to the road and watched as a pearl gray fog rolled sluggishly towards him from the east. The finer tendrils of mist soared above his head, their gray fingers transparent under the nearby electric light. Suddenly a muffled roar broke the night’s silence, and a yellow globe materialized from the darkness. The mist parted as the globe quickly approached, revealing itself as a dew-covered lantern latched to the front of a vibrating automobile. The garbled hum of the auto’s metallic heart echoed in the night as the driver pulled up beside Tuohay.

It was a toboggan on wheels. Chocolate brown in color, the self-propelled carriage had four wheels, a skeletal metal frame, and a long seat for two. The driver, hunched on the right side of the vehicle, held the thin metal shifter firmly in place as his left hand grasped the rudder-like steering shaft. The engine rumbled from within an enclosed steel box situated directly behind the seat, and as Tuohay climbed up he could feel the mechanics vibrating beneath him. The driver, a surprisingly young man by the looks of him, was dressed in a short gray sports coat and a checkered baker boy cap. He nodded to Tuohay and wiped the rain from his glasses.

“Ever ride in a cah before, mack?” the youth asked, smiling roguishly.

“Kindly call me ‘sir’.”

“Please to meet yah, sir. I’m Ronald.”

Tuohay squinted through the rain. “How old are you, Ronald?”

“Turn twelve tomorr’a, sir. How ‘bout you?”

“Never mind, boy.” Tuohay studied the youth. “Are you certain that you are capable of handling this thing?”

“Been do’n it for a full month now. Think I got her down pretty well.”

“Splendid.”

“It sure is, sir. Cuh’ve Dash Olds. Only four hundred of ‘em on the road. You’re a lucky fella to hop a ride in one.”

“Is that so?” Tuohay pulled on his gloves. “Shall we?”

“You’re in charge.” The boy clamped the safety off with his right hand and thrust the gear shift forward. The auto jerked to the fore and nearly sent Tuohay tumbling off the seat. Grabbing the steering rod to save himself, Tuohay inadvertently yanked the control from the youth and the Olds twisted sharply onto the sidewalk. With lightning fast reflexes the boy grabbed the steering rod back and yanked it the opposite direction. The auto swerved to the left and bounced back onto the road with a thud. Righting their course, the young driver howled with laughter.

“Close ‘un, sir! But we’re on track now.” The boy wrenched the steering rod to his chest, and the Olds squealed left into the fog bank. Tuohay cried out, expecting to see a brick wall materialize before them, but they passed through its gate, just barely visible in the concealing haze.

“How can you see anything in this fog?” Tuohay shouted above the rattle of the motor.

“Don’t need to. I know this route by ha’t.”

Tuohay watched in sickened amazement as they slashed their way through the impenetrable pea soup, the light of the lantern dissolving into a gray nothingness mere inches ahead of the auto. “This is absurd.”

“Oy?”

“Nothing. Concentrate on the road.”

“Hold on, sir. ‘Er’s a rough patch com’n up.”

“Hold on? To what?” Tuohay grabbed the finger-thin iron rail pressing against his left thigh. It was the only thing between him and the road below. The Olds suddenly began shuddering like an earthquake. Tuohay gritted his teeth against the vibration.

“We call this run the salt shak’a!” said the boy, his voice quivering.

“What in heaven’s name are we driving over?” The ground had changed from cobblestone to treaded dirt to patchy grass. One of the wheels snatched a fallen branch that snapped apart in a spray of splinters.

“Short cut, sir,” replied the boy, staring into the fog.

“Indeed,” Tuohay muttered.

Several large stones blinked in and out of the haze as the auto sped past. The fog shrouded the scattered stones ominously, rows of ghostly soldiers lined up in perfect order. Tuohay watched with morbid curiosity as they continued past the strange sight until a realization struck him. “Are those….?”

“Oy. Tombstones. Don’t worry ‘bout them none, sir, I know where they be.”

“We are in a graveyard,” Tuohay stated matter-of-factly, his senses numb to any more surprises.

“There’s a path through it, sir.”

“I would hope so.”

The rattling suddenly ceased, followed by the drawing back of the fog. The auto lurched left again, but this time Tuohay was ready. He held on to the rail firmly with one hand and his top hat with the other as a wide trolley road opened before them.

“Central Street. Nearly there, sir,” the boy said, shifting down a gear as he made a smooth right turn.

Tuohay suddenly remembered the Derringer. It was back in his bedroom where he had left it in his hasty exit. “Kill the motor before we get to Province Court.”

“Sir?”

“I would like to be as discreet as possible.”

“Yes sir.”

Tuohay recognized the area. A quiet gloom had settled over the buildings, but even as late as it was, a scattering of lights glowed from various windows. The street remained empty, however.

The boy slipped the gear shift into neutral and the motor stilled. Gliding silently with just the crunch of dirt under the wheels, they crept up to Province Court like some kind of strange horseless apparition. The boy pulled the brake and the car stopped with a squeak.

“That was quite memorable,” said Tuohay, slipping a nickel into the boy’s hand.

“Shall I wait, sir?”

“Yes.” Tuohay eased himself off the vehicle, using the cane for support. “If I am not back in five minutes, get the authorities and bring them to Number Four Province Court, apartment D.”

The boy appeared troubled. “The authorities? What for?”

“Kindly do as I say,” said Tuohay, pressing four more nickels into the boy’s palm. “If I return or give you the signal, you may go on your way.”

The concerned look remained on the boy’s face as he pocketed the money. “Yes, sir.”

Tuohay departed the auto, the boy’s eyes on his back. Avoiding the electric lamp at the corner of Province Court, Tuohay lingered in the shadows as he regarded the single-block, dead-end alley before him. A hub of entrepreneurship, the secluded back street was besieged with advertisement boards hanging from various heights of the surrounding buildings. Thick bold print called out available services by plumbers, carpenters, painters, grinders, concavers, woodworkers, and iron workers. The brick buildings housing the businesses stood side by side overlooking the thin street, their numerous windows acting as vantage points for eager merchants on the lookout for potential customers. But in the dead of night the ever-watchful businesses were off duty, allowing Tuohay to tread down the street unnoticed.

Stopping at a freshly painted door halfway down the alley, Tuohay tested the doorknob. It turned with a slight catch. A dark carpeted hallway waited. Following it, Tuohay passed two doors before stopping at the one marked 'D'. Pressing his ear to the door, he listened. The building hissed and groaned, the natural creaks of its inner workings indistinguishable from any potential human interference. The door was not locked, and Tuohay was soon inside Eliza's apartment, listening to the silence. He took in his immediate surroundings, the small parlor and adjacent kitchen barely visible through the moonlight of an adjacent window. His eyes fell upon the coat rack beside the door, causing him to pause for a moment. He left the apartment quickly, his cane sinking into the carpet. Stepping outside under the glow of the electric lamp, he waved to the boy in the auto.

“'You ‘right, sir?” the boy called.

Tuohay signaled the affirmative with a tip of his hat and the boy waved back. The roar of the engine was a distant memory as the door to apartment D closed behind Tuohay again. Discovering a chair drowned in papers, he brushed them to the floor and set himself down with a slight groan. The chair was a sight more comfortable than the vibrating auto had been, but was still less than satisfactory. Resting his chin in his hands, Tuohay closed his eyes and waited.

The window was framed in burgundy when Tuohay was stirred awake by a door clattering shut. It was before sunrise. Stretching his leg with a grimace, Tuohay remained seated and ignored the pain as best he could. Soft footsteps became distinct in the hall. The footsteps stopped and the door opened. Eliza, draped in a long fur coat, stepped through yawning.