The Revelation of Louisa May (16 page)

A wave of wanting her mother swamped Louisa, but she managed to say, “Thank you.”

“What can I get for you?” Judith asked.

“Tea for myself and for my friend, who will be joining me in a moment.”

“Would you like some cakes or scones?”

“No, thank you.” Her stomach made a rumbling noise, and at first Louisa was mortified, then both girls started to giggle. “I'd love to, but I'm economizing.”

“Of course, Miss Alcott,” Judith said tactfully. She started to turn away.

Louisa placed a hand on Judith's wrist. “By the way, Judith, do you know Miss Whittaker? She's a guest at the hotel.”

“Of course; we all know her. She gives a lot of trouble and never says so much as a thank you afterward,” Judith said. Suddenly, her eyes widened as she realized she might have been indiscreet. “Miss, is she a friend of yours?”

“Not at all. She's just an acquaintance of my father's,” Louisa hurried to reassure her. “So like you, I have to be polite to her. What do you know about her?”

With a conspiratorial smile, Judith answered, “Not much, except that the manager is about to throw her out of the hotel.”

“She hasn't paid her bill?” Louisa guessed.

“No, much worse! She had a gentleman in her room.”

Louisa lifted her eyebrows. “Really?”

Judith shook her head with an air of knowing more about the world than her age would suggest. “The manager keeps an eye on female guests, especially those traveling alone. He tries to mind his own business, but he couldn't ignore the screaming
match in her room late last night. The other guests complained.” She leaned in. “The Middlesex isn't that kind of hotel.”

“Who was she arguing with?” Louisa asked, sliding to the edge of her seat to hear better.

“I don't know his name, but he's not a guest.”

“What did this gentleman look like?” Louisa asked, trying to keep away the worry that it could have been her father. After Mr. Emerson left the night before, Bronson could easily have slipped out to visit Miss Whittaker.

The manager of the restaurant beckoned to Judith. “I have to go,” she said. Before she hurried away, she whispered, “I've heard he's been asking questions everywhere. Tall and fair. Speaks like a Southerner.”

Louisa exhaled in relief. Not Father but Finch.

A few minutes later Judith returned with a steaming pot of tea, two china cups and saucers, and a plate of scones.

“But I didn't order . . .” Louisa began.

Judith winked. “They're my treat. Without your family, mine might have starved.”

Marmee was always saying to cast your bread upon the waters. Apparently it floated back as pastries. Nibbling on one, Louisa thanked her. “By any chance, did you happen to hear what Miss Whittaker and her friend were arguing about?”

“I didn't,” Judith said. Louisa sat back, disappointed. Judith scanned the room to make sure that the manager's attention was elsewhere. “But my friend Sally was helping one
of the guests get to bed in the room next door. She heard bits and pieces.”

Louisa's hand trembled a little as she poured herself a cup of tea. “And what did she hear?”

“I don't hold with gossip, Miss Alcott,” Judith said.

“Of course not,” Louisa said. “But I assure you I have a good reason for asking.”

“Yes,
you
do.”

Louisa tilted her head, wondering why Judith was so emphatic.

Judith hurried on, “Sally told me that they were arguing about money. Miss Whittaker had some sort of scheme that involved Mr. Alcott. And Mr. Emerson, too. The man threatened to tell Mr. Alcott everything if she didn't give him half the money.”

“Did Sally happen to overhear what this scheme was?”

Judith shook her head.

“Well, never mind,” Louisa said. “If you hear anything else, please let me know.” She paused. “Since it's about my family.”

“Of course, Miss Alcott.”

The moment Judith turned away, Fred came hurrying in. “Well?” she asked. “What did Pryor say?”

Fred poured some tea and took a sip, but the liquid was still too hot. Blowing across the top of his cup, he said, “Pryor wasn't there.”

“What do you mean?” Louisa asked. “It's dinnertime. It must be the busiest time of day for him.”

“That's what I thought.” Fred shoved a bit of scone in his mouth. Talking around the pastry, he said, “I spoke with one of the waitresses. She said without him there, they were short-handed. She was annoyed.”

“Why wouldn't he be there?” Louisa wondered.

“There's more,” Fred said. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Finch was there at noon.”

“His appointment in town,” said Louisa. “It was at the tavern?”

Fred nodded. “Finch and Pryor talked privately in Pryor's little office in the back. The waitress heard raised voices but couldn't make out any words. A few minutes after Finch left, Pryor rushed out without even telling his staff where he was going or when he would be back.”

Louisa nibbled on the last bit of scone, her mind working furiously. “Pryor's missing. George isn't where he's supposed to be. I don't like those two events coinciding.”

“They might not be related at all,” Fred pointed out.

“But if they are . . . it doesn't look good for George,” Louisa said worriedly. “Maybe Finch blackmailed Pryor into giving up George's location?”

“You told me that Pryor is”—Fred dropped his voice to barely more than a whisper—“a Conductor. That means he's
trusted. I can't believe the Railroad could make such a mistake in judgment.”

“Did you hear anything about Beth?” Louisa asked.

“No, but don't worry about her. Beth doesn't have anything to do with the Railroad. She's probably visiting a friend.” There was silence while Louisa stirred some sugar into her tea. The Alcotts rarely had fine white sugar like this, and despite her worries she couldn't help but enjoy it thoroughly.

“And now I have something to tell you, too, ” Louisa said as she sipped her delightfully sweet tea. Then she related everything she'd learned from Miss Whittaker and Judith. “Whatever Finch did drove a wedge between Miss Whittaker and my father. I never thought I would be grateful to the wretched man.”

“So, what do we do now?” Fred waved to Judith for the check. He opened his wallet and took a bill to cover the tea and a little bit to thank Judith. Louisa couldn't help but compare Fred's thin wallet to Finch's thick one. Why was it that the good men always seemed to be poor while the wicked ones prospered?

“I think we need to find Father right away,” Louisa finally decided. “He may know where George and Beth are. And I want to ask him about his dealings with Miss Whittaker. There's something odd there.” With a sharp nod, she pushed her chair back from the table. Before Fred could do likewise, Judith came hurrying up.

“Miss Alcott, I thought you should know. Miss Whittaker just sent a note down to the front desk. She's checking out!”

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning. And she asked about the first train to Boston.”

“She's running,” Louisa said.

“You are sixteen now, quite old enough to be
my confidant, and my experience will be useful
to you by-and-by, perhaps, in your own affairs
of this sort.”

L
ouisa's fears had spread to Fred like a contagion and he kept pace with her as she led the way out of town along the main road.

“Where is this gazebo?” Fred asked.

“It's in that stand of pine trees past the orchards between the Lexington Road and the Cambridge Turnpike,” Louisa said over her shoulder. “Father's been working on it for months.
It's quite beautiful in its way, but strange. I don't think anyone understands it. Much like Father's writing.”

Fred made an impatient sound. “Louisa—you should be more tolerant of your father. He truly is a great mind.”

“You say that because you don't have to suffer for his greatness,” Louisa said with a sniff. “The stories I could tell you of Marmee having to beg for credit, or the sheriff coming by with a writ because we haven't paid our debts. It's the worst feeling in the world to be so poor. And Father won't do anything about it.”

Fred was silent, and Louisa knew he was torn between his admiration for Bronson Alcott and his affection for the family. Nothing further was said until they neared the Emersons' front gate.

Louisa put a finger to her lips. “Shhh,” she whispered. “The last person I want to see right now is Lidian Emerson, so let's be as silent as cats and just sneak by.” They were almost past the house when they heard the sound of Lidian's and Mr. Emerson's second-floor bedroom window being opened. Lidian stuck her head out.

“Louisa!” Lidian called, only just loud enough to be heard. “I need to speak with you.”

Louisa cursed freely under her breath. Fred started to laugh but pretended to cough instead.

“Lidian, may I come back later?” Louisa called. “I have to speak to Father.”

“It's important. Please?” Lidian pleaded.

“All right,” Louisa said with a sigh. “We'll come in by the kitchen.”

“No, I'll meet you at the front door. I don't want the maid to see you,” Lidian hissed. “And just you. I cannot speak freely in front of Fred.” She spared a quick glance down to Fred. “I beg your pardon.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Emerson,” Fred said. Turning to Louisa he said quietly, “I'll just go ahead and find your father. Maybe Beth is with him.”

“I hope so,” Louisa muttered.

Fred squeezed her hand. “Now you have me worried, too. There are too many dangerous currents swirling around us today, and I don't want anyone I care about to drown.”

Her throat tightening at the thought of anything happening to Beth, Louisa said, “Fred . . .”

“I promise, I won't let anything bad happen to Beth or your father. Or you.” He let go of her hand.

Louisa watched him leave, wishing his words could reassure her. Wishing she were anywhere but here, Louisa went to the formal front door. Before she could knock, the door swung open and Lidian pulled her inside, shutting the front door behind them with a furtive air.

“This is silly,” Louisa protested. “I come here all the time. No one would think anything of it.”

Her mouth in a straight grim line, Lidian said nothing as she led Louisa to the room that served both as a formal dining room and Lidian's parlor. The room was as unlike Emerson's
study as it was possible to be. While his study was ceiling-to-floor books and heavy mahogany furniture, this room was painted a soft green and had plush armchairs and small tables convenient for a lady to rest her needlepoint on. It was comfortable, but Louisa preferred Emerson's sanctum.

Indicating that Louisa should take one of the armchairs, Lidian sat down. Louisa let the uncomfortable silence linger until she couldn't bear waiting another minute.

“Lidian, you asked to speak to me. When do you plan to start?” The impertinent words slipped out, Louisa wishing she could take them back. Lidian Emerson had been nothing but kind to Louisa and her family. But Louisa couldn't help but think it was Lidian's own foolishness that was making a difficult situation even worse.

“I wanted to explain . . .” Lidian began. “About Mr. Thoreau . . .” Her face was scarlet and she fingered the ring on her left hand.

“You don't owe me any explanations,” Louisa said, not hiding the weariness in her voice. “I already know more than I like.”

“I don't want you to get the wrong idea. The situation is not what you might think,” Lidian said. She abruptly stood up and began moving around the room. “What am I saying? You're only a child!”

“I'm almost sixteen,” Louisa said. She knew exactly why Lidian was telling her this. Lidian had been living with a secret
and through no fault of her own, Louisa was now privy to it. Lidian was dying to talk about Henry.