The Time Travelers, Volume 2 (21 page)

Camilla trembled with the desire to have all that money, but suppressed her shiver as unmanly.

“Well, Matthews?” demanded Duffie.

“I shall undertake the task, humiliating though it will be to act like a woman. You will call me Cameron as a man, and Camilla as a woman. You will give me an
advance against my salary so that I may purchase female garments. Is this Camilla Matthews to be rich? Or some poor shopwoman? Is she to read and write? Should she talk with an accent? Describe her to me.”

The detective was impressed. “You are going to be excellent, Mr. Matthews,” he said. “Or should I say, Miss Matthews? You and I will make a great team.”

And so it began.

The loneliest, strangest life Camilla could imagine. There could be no friends or family. There could not even be the Church. Tell a priest the sins she was daily committing? The sinful people she followed and watched? The sinful people from whom she accepted pay?

She lived in a boardinghouse, never going home, lest her family grasp the shameful, scandalous decision she had made. Were Jerzy and Stefan ever to understand the life their sister was leading, they would refuse her money, quit school again and go back to the mills. So Camilla mailed the money to her mother.

The boardinghouse was for men only, of course. Boardinghouses did not mix the sexes. She shared a bathroom with the other five boarders. This was an extraordinary difficulty. But she managed in part because the other five cared nothing for cleanliness.

At night, safe under rough sheets, Cameron-Camilla Matthews could be Camilla Mateusz again. She would smother her pain against the pillow, yearning to be back in school, studying history, increasing her math skills and translating her Latin.

But she was the man of the family now. When a man had a family to support, he must forget himself and his plans.

And so the months dragged on. Once, dressed as Cameron Matthews, she strolled past the grammar school to feast her eyes on Irena and Magdalena, Antony and Marya. The girls wore new dresses! Their cheeks were pink with good health. Antony had his own baseball bat.

Sitting on the stoop of a tenement, pretending to fix her bootlaces, Camilla saw Jerzy dash out of the adjacent high school, joyfully taking the steps two at a time, running across the paved playground to greet the little ones. She heard him laugh.

And so she went on with her masquerade. But she did not laugh.

At least she could let her hair grow out. When she had to be Cameron Matthews, she wore a cap, pinning her hair safely beneath it. But when she was Camilla, she could brush her hair and admire how yellow it was, buy a ribbon and try on hats.

She visited Duffie only at dusk, when the man was exhausted, ready to go to his own boardinghouse for dinner, wishing to spend as little time with her as possible. She had already ascertained that his eyesight was poor and his spectacles unhelpful. He saw only the tall gawky frame of Cameron Matthews, and unless she made a large blunder, Duffie would never realize the secret of her gender.

“Today, Mr. Matthews,” said Duffie, “I have for you
an extraordinary assignment. You will have heard of the great gentleman, Hiram Stratton, Sr.—the railroad millionaire.”

Camilla was almost sick with an evil hope. Perhaps Stratton’s current wife was trying to divorce him. Perhaps Camilla was to have a chance to ruin the man. “I believe Hiram Stratton also owned a factory in the city at one time,” said Camilla.

“Yes, it burned down. We’re not involved with that. We’re after the son. Hiram Stratton, Jr.”

Camilla had not known there was a son. How dare Hiram Stratton, Sr., enjoy a son, while Michael Mateusz would never see his sons grow up?

“The son ran away,” said Mr. Duffie. “It’s a very sad story. He had to be punished for a serious dereliction of duty to his father. He was kept in a private asylum so that he might come to his senses. However, the boy fled from his captivity. Not only did he attack a doctor, but he kidnapped two fellow patients! He did it not for ransom, but for disguise, so that he might look like a family man. I cannot imagine how he pulled it off.”

Disguise was overrated. If Camilla could trick the world, so could a sneaky sly son of a Stratton.

“How the great man dreams of a joyful reunion with his long-lost son,” said Duffie.

Great man, indeed. Why was it that any man of wealth was great, no matter how he acquired his money or what he did with it? Camilla wanted to know.

“I was honored when the great man chose me to find the boy. I have been working on this, Mr. Matthews, and
at last, have an avenue to follow. Stratton junior took his two victims to Spain, where he abandoned them. I am sending you to Spain to interview the female and obtain Junior’s current address.”

Spain! thought Camilla. Spain of bullfighters and flamenco dancers? Spain of a thousand castles? “Tell me about the kidnap victims,” she said.

“Shocking,” replied Duffie. “One was a young man with so small a brain he never learned how to talk; the other, a woman with a hideously deformed body. Naturally their parents put them away. We do not have the female’s full name, since her family, of course, did not want the shame of admitting her existence. She wasn’t identified by a last name even in the asylum records. But her first name is Katie. You will find her involved with some sort of hospital. St. Rafael. She seems to be a nurse now, rather than a patient.”

Insane asylums were often kind enough to take in defectives, and perhaps the creature really had learned nursing skills. Camilla’s heart broke for such a girl. What pain must she have met at the hands of Hiram Stratton, Jr.?

“But how will Mr. Stratton prevent a trial of young Stratton for the kidnappings?” asked Camilla. “Surely the parents of the two innocent victims will require justice.”

“It is my understanding,” said Duffie, “that the parents find it amusing. After all, they need no longer pay for care. No, do not concern yourself with them. As for a trial, naturally Mr. Stratton has paid everybody off. Such
a low-class scandal must not be made public. No, we wish to accomplish the joyful reunion of father and son.”

I cannot bring joy to a Stratton! thought Camilla.

Mr. Duffie pared his nails. He did this when he was lying. “For this task,” he said casually, “you will be Camilla Matthews. You will offer comfort, real or false, whatever works. Promise the girl anything in order to get young Stratton’s location. Mr. Stratton is providing a large expense account and you will spend whatever is necessary. You will cable me, of course, with every development.”

Camilla was no saint, to walk away from assignments that paid well. And it might be that in Spain, she could arrange things to her own satisfaction: Destroy the father and ruin the son.

Camilla’s heart raced in the ugly hot emotion of revenge. Oh, to have more power than Hiram Stratton! To shove in his face what he had shoved in hers! “I will go to Spain. I will need a large advance.” She named an outrageous figure.

Duffie sputtered and refused.

She unfolded, her six feet casting a threatening shadow over his desk. “I could inform Mr. Stratton that you are already cutting corners.”

They glared at each other and Duffie broke first. “Matthews, you are exactly right for this job. You shall have what you ask.”

How wonderful were the long voyage and the days of female company. How she cherished being once more part of the conversations and laughter and kindness of
women. What a delight to discuss hair and fashion, children and church.

And yet … being a woman again was not altogether satisfactory.

Camilla could no longer read a newspaper. She could no longer hold an opinion, nor be interested in sports and politics. As a man, she had commanded respect. As a woman, she was simply a creature too tall to be a dance partner.

Throughout the voyage, she studied Spanish, memorizing useful sentences, but once she arrived, as soon as she mentioned the name of the hospital—St. Rafael—every Spaniard melted away, saying nothing.

When, after several days, Camilla stumbled on St. Rafael, she knew why Mr. Stratton could get nobody else to interview Katie and why he did not go himself. She knew why Duffie had lied, pretending he was not aware of Katie’s situation.

It was a leper hospital.

Dreaded since the beginning of time, lepers were shunned for good reason. Before leprosy killed the patient, it first killed the nose and lips and fingers and feet, which rotted and fell off. The image of Katie nauseated Camilla: deformed to start with—now a leper. She could not help imagining herself a leper. To interview Katie, not only must Camilla expose herself to this evil disease, she must lie to the nuns who ran St. Rafael.

For many hours, the twin desires for money and revenge were not enough to make her approach the lepers. At last, however, Camilla summoned her courage. “I am
here,” she said to the nun who kept the gate, “in hope of visiting your nurse Katie. I have been sent by Devonny Stratton, who seeks news of her dear brother, Strat.” Camilla knew nothing of Devonny Stratton, except that the debutante had recently married a titled Englishman and was therefore also out of the country and her father’s clutches. “Devonny prays that in spite of the suffering inflicted upon her, Katie will assist in this endeavor.”

The nun said nothing.

Camilla remembered her instructions. Promise anything, whether you plan to do it or not. “Miss Stratton wishes to bring Katie home to America, and provide her with the means to live comfortably. Or should she prefer to stay here, to make a major donation to this very hospital.”

Nobody was going to give Katie a penny and as for taking her out of the leper hospital, allowing the dreaded infection into society—absurd. Not for any number of dollars.

The nun inclined her head, and rustled away to deliver the message. There was a long wait, during which Camilla’s courage dwindled. She fiddled with the lacy white cotton gloves that were part of her everyday clothing. Could mere gloves protect her from leprosy?

The nun returned. Katie would welcome Miss Matthews in her room.

Camilla was aghast. Go
inside
?

“Be not afraid,” said the nun gently, in English, as if accustomed to fearful American girls. “It takes years of exposure to acquire leprosy. An hour will not put you at
risk. You will find Katie a delight, and glad to speak with a friend of Devonny Stratton. Follow me.”

Not at risk? Camilla thought. Of course I’m at risk! From time immemorial, people have known better than to get within rock-throwing distance of a leper.

She reminded herself of the money she would be paid. I’ll stay only a minute, she promised herself. When I leave, I’ll buy borax and scrub myself for hours.

Katie was heavily garbed in white, even more veiled than the nun. Only her eyes and hands were exposed. Katie offered a hand to be shaken. Camilla had no choice, but she would burn the glove later.

“I am not diseased, Miss Matthews,” said Katie gently. “I wear this veil so you will not see my deformities. My mother and father gave me to an asylum for storage, just as lepers are stored here. A decent and good person saved me from that asylum. Here indeed I try to be an equally good and decent person to others.”

“That’s why I’ve come,” said Camilla. “Devonny is so very very worried about her beloved brother. She has had no news. She fears for his fate, now that he has become a kidnapper.”

Katie laughed behind the veil. “I was not kidnapped. I was saved from a life of torment in a house of cruelty. In decency and in honor Strat left behind that which he loved and brought me here.”

Women! thought Camilla. How we fall for anything a man says. “Would you tell me what young Mr. Stratton did that could be called honorable? Because I must admit to you that others disagree.”

When Katie turned and went to sit on a small stool, a table set for tea was revealed: two cups, sugar and lemons. Drink tea poured by the hand of a leper? Camilla gagged.

“Strat and I crossed the ocean together, pretending to be brother and sister,” explained Katie. “When we arrived penniless in Spain, we stayed at a convent and pretended to be on a pilgrimage. I was awestruck by the work of the nuns and I embraced their holy lives. Strat chose adventure and sailed on.”

That was one way to look at it. Another was that Junior, having dragged her across the ocean, now dropped her off to die among the lepers.

“And the second person young Mr. Stratton so generously brought along?” said Camilla.

“Poor Douglass was born with very little brain,” said Katie. “His parents, like mine, stored him in the asylum. Strat brought both of us to safety. I have Douglass with me here. He is happy. All is well, Miss Matthews.”

All is well? Such sainthood made Camilla want to race out into the streets and do something wicked.

“And young Mr. Stratton?” she said carefully. “Is
he
safe? Is
he
happy? His dear sister misses him painfully and hopes for communication.”

From a tin box on a rickety wooden table by her narrow bed, Katie removed a packet of letters. She cradled them in her two hands like a bouquet, drinking in their scent.

Camilla tried to see the return address on the envelopes.

“Strat is a true gentleman,” said Katie softly. “A fine athlete and a splendid conversationalist. Generous of heart.”

Claptrap. The Stratton fellow would be his father’s son, gross and sweating. Wax on his mustache and gaudy rings denting his thick fingers. But then, how could poor Katie judge a man? All the men of her acquaintance had been born deformed, become criminal or decayed from disease.

Camilla made a decision. She drank her tea. “How refreshing,” she lied. “Is young Mr. Stratton yet in Spain? Does he visit you?”

Katie shook her head. “I had fine jewels, which a friend of Strat’s gave me when we were fleeing. We sold them, and with the proceeds, Strat was able to buy passage to Egypt.”

But not
your
passage, thought Camilla. “Egypt!” she cried, as if it were wonderful, and not the end of the earth. When young Stratton abandoned somebody, he really completed the job.