Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) (31 page)

“Certainly. Just as you wish.” Evangeline began to organize the expedition. She turned to Delphine, who was still in the room. “Is Serafina’s maid still here?”

“Fannie? Oui, she has been helping chez nous. She is upstairs, I think.”

“Please tell her to pack Miss Serafina’s clothes at once.”

“Bien sur, cherie.” Delphine departed, choosing to step over Freddie’s outstretched leg as if he didn’t exist.

Thinking aloud, Evangeline continued making plans. “Oh, and I suppose Fannie will have to go round to the Allworthy villa and collect whatever was left there. We’ll need the carriage for that. Freddie?”

“What!” the young man snapped peevishly, still glaring at Delphine’s departing back.

“Could you please go find the gardener and arrange for him to hitch up the horses. You’ll have to do the honors of driving, I’m afraid, since Jack is in town today. He can bring the barouche back here tomorrow.”

Shaking himself out of his dark mood now that he had some employment, Freddie nodded and went to arrange transportation for the small party.

Evangeline and Serafina were alone in the parlor, with the exception of Beau, who decided to stay as long as he had two doting subjects who were willing to lavish attention on him.

“Well, it’s over at last,” Evangeline observed.

“Yes,” Serafina said quietly. “Almost.”

“It’s as good as over. Martin is long gone by now.”

The medium contradicted her in a soft voice. “No, he is not.”

“You know where he is?” Evangeline sat forward excitedly.

Serafina shook her head. “No, I still cannot see many things clearly as I used to. All I feel is that he is near. Somewhere very close. And he is afraid.”

“He ought to be! He’s being hunted by the police.”

Serafina knit her brows in concentration as a new thought struck her. “Not only that. I feel something else. It is like he is grieving for something.”

“For the inheritance he’s going to lose, I suppose.”

“No, it is not a feeling like that. It is more like...” She paused, trying to focus on the emotion. “Like... I think the word is regret. For something he should have done that he did not do.”

“I suppose he regrets that he got caught red-handed when he shouldn’t have been.”

The medium’s eyes were serious. “There is a heaviness in his heart for another person.”

“Euphemia?” Evangeline was incredulous.

“I cannot be sure, but I do not think so. I feel it is another person for whom he is sad.”

“It’s hard to imagine he feels any regret for murdering Nora, but I suppose only time will tell. You’re really convinced he’s still somewhere in the area?”

“Of that much, I am sure. As I am also sure he feels two things very strongly—fear and regret.” Serafina finished her cup of tea and bent down to stroke the cat who had curled up at her feet.

At that moment Freddie poked his head into the parlor. “Ladies, your chariot awaits.”

Chapter 29—Dearest Nemesis

Evangeline sighed as she sank into her favorite chair by the window. “It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it.”

“Certainly has.” Freddie yawned in agreement, settling himself on the drawing room couch.

The two had just returned to Evangeline’s brownstone in
Chicago
after depositing Serafina comfortably in a room at the Templar House Hotel.

“Well, we did it. She’s been freed at last,” the young man observed. “Though I still think it’s odd that she didn’t want to stay at your house in Shore Cliff for a few days to rest.”

Evangeline smiled regretfully. “If I were her, I wouldn’t have wanted to stay there either. Too many unpleasant associations with death. No, on the whole, I think she made a wise decision to check into a hotel. What she needs now is peace and quiet to restore her spirit without too many people bothering her. As she would say, to bring her guides back. I’ll send a message to Theophilus asking him to look in on her to make sure she’s all right. I also intend to drop by to see her over the course of the next few days.”

“It was a lucky break for us that Martin couldn’t tell his poisons apart. If the packet had contained potassium cyanide instead of the other kind, we’d have had a rough go trying to get Serafina released, even with Allworthy being hunted for another crime.”

Evangeline sounded contemplative. “Yes, I’ve been pondering that little mix-up for a while. I don’t think Martin was responsible for the mistake.”

“Then who was?”

“Bayne.”

Freddie nodded in agreement. “I suppose that would make sense.”

Evangeline rubbed her head wearily as she thought through the probable chain of events. “We could verify this with Mr. Sparrow, but I suspect that Bayne went back to Hyperion the night after Euphemia died. He was acting on Martin’s instructions. It was most likely he who took the poison out of the supply room and planted it in Serafina’s chamber. It would have been far too risky for Martin to attempt that since he knew he was already a suspect in his wife’s murder. Luckily, Bayne must have taken such a lackadaisical interest in the workings of the factory that he wouldn’t have known what was kept in the storeroom and consequently got the packages confused. It’s unlikely that Martin would have made that same mistake.”

Freddie laughed derisively. “So Bayne ended up getting even with Martin for murdering him after all. His error made it easier to discredit Martin’s accusation. Too bad he never lived to see his revenge.”

“If he hadn’t been killed, Serafina would still be the principal suspect in Euphemia’s murder.”

The young man’s smile broadened. “That’s two good turns he did us without even realizing his contribution. And, with Serafina free, that’s one problem solved and one to go.” He lightly made a show of dusting off his hands.

Evangeline frowned. “The knottier problem, to be sure.”

“Have the police come up with anything about Martin yet?”

“Not so far. I checked with Sergeant O’Rourke yesterday when I dropped off the miniature portrait of Nora for him to keep as evidence. They haven’t been able to turn up any trace of Allworthy since Bayne was killed.”

“Not too surprising, considering the situation.”

At that moment, Jack quietly opened the drawing room doors. “Will you or Mr. Freddie be wanting anything to eat, Miss Engie?”

Evangeline looked questioningly toward her companion. He shook his head in the negative. “Just a cup of tea for me, Jack. That’s all.”

The caretaker nodded and went off to the kitchen to tell the cook.

Evangeline resumed the conversation. “Well, at least the
Chicago
police seem fairly convinced that Martin is responsible for the deaths of Nora, Euphemia and Bayne. It didn’t require much argument on my part to bring them around to that conclusion.”

“What do you suppose the family will do about Euphemia’s funeral now?” Freddie rested his head against the back of the sofa.

“Martin’s disappearance has made things rather awkward. The wake was supposed to be held over the weekend, but no one’s stepped forward to take charge of the situation.”

“That raises another interesting question. Who gets everything now that Martin is unlikely to surface to claim his inheritance?”

“I don’t know for sure, but it’s very likely to be Bessie.”

“Cousin Bessie?” Freddie cried in disbelief. “The one with the ugly—”

Evangeline interrupted irritably. “Oh, Freddie, don’t say it! May I point out that since Cousin Bessie is a widow, her less-than-lovely offspring is very likely to inherit a great fortune, making her instantly attractive to any number of men whose object in matrimony is the acquisition of a mint instead of a mate.”

“Maybe so,” the young man grumbled, ”but it’s hard to believe that anybody could be that hard up for cash!”

“Frederick Simpson! You are a beast!” Evangeline would have continued to upbraid her friend, but she was interrupted by the return of one of the maids bearing a tea tray.

The girl set it down on the table by her mistress.

“Thank you, Daisy. Would you call Jack in to start a fire? It’s gotten surprisingly chilly in here for midsummer.”

The maid was about to go in search of the caretaker when Freddie, as a gesture of repentance for his callousness, interposed. “I’ll take care of it.” He stood up and walked over to the grate.

“Thank you, Daisy. That’s all. You may go.” Evangeline dismissed the maid who let herself silently out of the drawing room.

As he began the task of stacking logs in the cold fireplace, Freddie spoke over his shoulder. “Well, somebody’s going to have to make a decision soon about when to bury Euphemia. I hate to be blunt, but it’s not the sort of thing that can be put off much longer, especially at this time of year.”

“I agree.” Evangeline lifted her teacup to her lips. “I’ll telephone Bessie in the morning to find out if a date has been set.” She frowned as a new thought struck her. “This is extremely unsatisfying.”

“What is, old girl?” Freddie sat back on his heels to study the fitful flames beginning to rise. “Your tea?”

“No, not my tea, Freddie. The fact that three people are dead and the murderer still has his liberty.”

The young man stood up, dusted off his jacket and returned to the sofa. “The police might catch him yet.”

“If they don’t, I’ll have to pick up the trail myself, I suppose.”

“And do what? Race cross-country to ferret him out?”

“If necessary.” The lady took another sip of tea.

At that moment, Jack re-entered the room.

“It’s all right, Jack. We don’t need you to build the fire...” The puzzled look on the caretaker’s face stopped Evangeline in mid-sentence.

He stepped into the center of the room and handed her an envelope. “There was a boy just now at the door, Miss Engie. He said a man paid him a dollar to deliver this letter to you.”

Evangeline sat up in her chair, all vestiges of drowsiness gone.

Freddie walked over to see the note. “What is it?” He leaned over her chair in curiosity as she opened the envelope. Checking the signature first, she gasped, and then began to read aloud.

“My Dear Miss LeClair,

I can imagine your surprise as you read this letter. I am bound to be the last person on earth from whom you expected to receive correspondence. Suffice it to say that this note is a sort of insurance policy which I have taken out against my longevity.

A man may trust the enmity of his foes to outlast his friends’ affection. Under the best of circumstances, you and I have maintained a barely civil relationship. I assume that your dislike of me has deepened into a stronger emotion now that you have exposed certain events in my past which, I feel obligated to point out, were none of your business in the first place. Not content to wreck my home and business, you have also utterly destroyed my reputation—that which I valued above all else and which is now beyond redemption. I am convinced that the malice you bear toward me will cause you to pursue me relentlessly until even my life has been ignominiously forfeited to the hangman’s noose. I depend upon the tenacity of your ill-will to accomplish that at last.

For all your pretensions to be viewed as a great intellect, you have made one grave mistake in your reasoning. You have given me too much credit for courage in the follow-through over the course of the past three months.

I expect you to utter a cry of disbelief when I tell you that I am innocent of the crime of murder. But I shall yet make you believe me. ‘They say the tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony!’ Before I am finished, you shall believe me. I will follow through this one time.

Farewell,

Martin Allworthy

“Good Lord!” Evangeline dropped the letter into her lap. Her face had grown ashen.

Freddie snatched up the note, feverishly scanning it for some clue to its deeper meaning. “I can’t make heads or tails of this!” he finally cried in irritation. “What’s he talking about? What’s that gibberish about the ‘tongues of dying men’?”

Evangeline gave her friend a stricken look. Almost mechanically, she replied. “It’s Shakespeare. From Richard the Second.” She completed the quotation: “‘
O, but they say the tongues of dying men, Enforce attention like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain, For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
’”

“It still makes no sense to me! And how can he have the gall to say he never killed anyone? Does he really think he can save his reputation now?”

“I once made the mistake of not believing a man who uttered those very words under similar circumstances. I refuse to make the same mistake twice.”

“What are you saying?” Freddie asked in disbelief.

“That I must take him at his word. I don’t know how it’s possible but I must at least be willing to entertain the idea that he didn’t murder anyone. Until now.” Her expression grew tense. “Jack, how long ago did that boy bring the note to the door?”

The major domo calculated backward. “About fifteen minutes ago, I’d say.”

“And the man who gave him the note?” Her voice took on an urgent tone. “Did he say how long it was between the time he received it and the time he delivered it?”

Jack shrugged. “I think he said the man had just given him the note and walked away. That was right before the boy came knocking on the door.”

Evangeline stood up with a determined look in her eye. “Then we don’t have a moment to lose! Jack, hail us a cab. We don’t have enough time to wait for you to get the carriage ready.”

Turning to Freddie, she commanded, “Get your coat. We may still be able to stop him.”

“Stop him?” The young man had lost her train of thought. “Stop him from doing what?”

Evangeline flew toward the door. “Don’t you understand? He means to kill himself tonight!”