A White Room (9 page)

Five

March 1901

J
ohn, Mr. Marcellus Rippring, and Dr. Walter Bradbridge reclined in the parlor, which was dimly lit by lamps and glowing remnants of a fire. Thick cigar smoke billowed above their heads, but John puffed a cigarette. They were celebrating some success story that had brought the three of them together. They toasted one another and occasionally roared with laughter.

This was the first time I’d met anyone John worked with. Dr. Walter Bradbridge was son of Dr. Benedict Bradbridge, one of the most important clients Mr. Coddington’s office represented. John had informed me that Mrs. Margaret Bradbridge, wife to the senior physician and mother to the younger, determined a lady’s place in Labellum, so it was of great importance that I make a good impression on any Bradbridge I might meet. Walter Bradbridge looked young for a physician. He had a gentle disposition and a round face with puffy red cheeks. I observed him as I entered the parlor to bring them refreshments. He reclined in a high-backed chair and chatted cheerfully.

I knew I shouldn’t listen to their conversation, but I had an overwhelming desire to know what all the excitement was about. How I longed to hear something interesting after spending so much time alone. How I longed to be spoken to. I took my time as I brought them coffee, filled their whiskies and brandies, and served desserts.

“You were impressive today.” John raised his glass to the young doctor.

“Thank you,” Walter said. “You as well. I’m glad you came and not Mr. Coddington.”

“You didn’t panic. Others have not had the strength.”

Walter chuckled. “I suppose it helped that my father had repeated over and over and over that the day I stumbled upon this to contact the authorities and my lawyer without question.”

I placed a tray on the side table. It was filled with liquors, coffee, peppermint cakes, and a crystal bowl of candied plums. I’d purchased the cakes for my own callers, but it seemed that John’s parents didn’t know as many people in Labellum as I had anticipated so I didn’t have a day of introduction. Further, Mr. Coddington and his wife didn’t seem to care to send letters of introduction. I felt quite ill toward John’s employer, who had yet to introduce himself and who worked John as if he were some sort of load-bearing animal.

John continued. “We knew it would happen sooner or later.”

Marcellus lurched forward, snatched a candied plum and popped it into his mouth. He slouched to the side, and his knobby shoulders looked lopsided. Marcellus worked as a detective for the Labellum Police Department. It seemed odd for such a small department to have its own detective when the rest of its staff consisted of only a sheriff, a deputy, and one or two patrolmen, all of whom worked out of the local jailhouse. As he chewed noisily, his open mouth exposed plum and saliva. He was tall and slender, and all the angles of his body seemed sharp. I half-expected his elbows to slice through the chair.

The most bizarre thing about Marcellus, however, was his wife, Mrs. Ida Rippring, who was as high-society as they come. John’s mother had told me she could have as much control over Labellum’s society as she wanted. So why had she chosen to marry Marcellus? We were invited to dine with the Ripprings that weekend. Perhaps I would discover their secrets.

Marcellus swallowed the mushy remnants of the candied plum. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Walter.”

“What do you mean?” John tipped his glass toward the young doctor. “Walter, I think you showed some real backbone today.” John laughed and took another sip of brandy.

I placed the bowl of sugar cubes on the table and motioned to Marcellus to see if he wanted more whiskey.

He grunted and extended his glass, keeping his attention on the men. “When that girl started screaming and screeching, you turned white!”

I pulled back at the mention of screaming, and whiskey dripped down his knuckles and onto the rug. John’s laugh trailed off uncomfortably. Marcellus transferred the glass to his other hand and shook the right, sprinkling liquor about the room and onto me. A drop landed on my cheek, just under my eye. I scrambled to fetch a cloth from the tray. I peeked at John, fearing he would be upset, but he wasn’t looking at me. Walter’s body had stiffened, and he stared at Marcellus.

I dabbed Marcellus’ hands with the cloth. “My apologies.”

He didn’t respond.

Finally, Walter adjusted in his seat. “Empathy is a necessary skill in the field of medicine. I can’t shut it off.”

“Says who?” Marcellus asked as I moved from his hand to the floor. “Your father doesn’t practice that way.”

Another pause.

“I assure you it’s an important quality in my profession, no matter how my father practices.”

“Not in mine.” Marcellus snickered.

John cleared his throat and repositioned himself. “It must have been difficult, but you did the right thing.”

Walter glared at Marcellus for a moment longer and then faced my husband. “Honestly, John, I’m not sure if this is something to celebrate. I understand the legal issues and want to see these people removed from society, but I personally feel it’s unacceptable to hold physicians accountable for doing their jobs. Physicians shouldn’t be charged for aiding a patient as long as they report it. We take an oath to preserve life.”

“Your oath doesn’t cover criminals,” Marcellus said and coughed a wet cough.

“Actually, it does.”

John smothered his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Mr. Coddington knows that, but it is the law. When doctors are held accountable for reporting, arrests increase significantly.”

“I’m not all that sure if I would do it again,” Walter mumbled.

Marcellus gulped his liquor. “Ha!”

John shifted his eyes to Marcellus and then to Walter. “I’ll mention it to Mr. Coddington, but you know he doesn’t think highly of my opinion.”

I picked up the tray.

“How
did
you find yourself in such a situation in the first place, Walter?” Marcellus asked.

I meandered toward the door.

“She sent her driver.”

“Did he just blurt it out?”

I stopped to reposition a goblin-like statuette, stalling.

“What else would he have done?”

I started toward the door again.

“I can’t believe how sloppy these people are when things go wrong,” Marcellus scoffed.

“If your daughter was bleeding and screaming, I’m sure you’d be a bit sloppy yourself.”

I stopped with my back to the group of men. They paused, too, until John cleared his throat. I walked out and flattened myself against the wall outside, listening.

“I don’t have any children,” Marcellus said.

“Neither do I, but I assure you, you would do the same,” Walter said.

“Walter, you’re just going to have to grow a stronger backbone.”

“I think I should be going,” Walter said.

I left the hallway. Obviously, Walter had helped Marcellus apprehend someone and John had been called to be present as his lawyer, but screaming, bleeding, refusing treatment? They wouldn’t celebrate such a horror. Good people wouldn’t, but I didn’t know if these people were good people. I didn’t know if John was a good person.

Six

March 1901

M
y nerves twitched. John had made it clear in the past month or so, most recently during the ride over, that it was imperative that I dazzle the people we were to dine with that evening. The invitation suggested a casual dinner, but in the Rippring dining room, I eyed the intricately designed silver and chargers from Italy and wondered if I had underdressed. I imagined the dinnerware’s owners would cringe at our bug bowls and salamander silverware. Ida’s dining room gleamed with gilded crown molding, a large mirror in an intricately etched frame, and a sparkling chandelier.

Meanwhile, the dining room waiting for me at the house sat like a dark cave, a narrow hole full of bugs and bats posing as spoons and tea cups. The hanging gas lamp was no chandelier, and there were no mirrors or large paintings of landscapes, only maroon wallpaper and dark wood wainscoting. I could see it in my head transforming into a real cave with teeth and a long rectangular table for a tongue, hungry.

“Ma’am?” The butler held out a bottle of Port.

“Do you have sherry?”

“Of course.”

I removed my gloves and placed them on my lap.

Margaret and Dr. Walter Bradbridge also made it to dinner, although the senior physician did not.

“Walter, have you entertained any fine ladies as of late?” Ida asked.

“Um—well—I—”

Margaret interrupted to answer for him. “Oh, no, there are very few ladies worth courting here.”

“Yes, very few. Perhaps a trip to the city could help?” Ida handled her crystal goblet with slender fingers.

“What a wonderful suggestion.” Margaret beamed.

Walter’s face tightened. “Thank you, Mother.” He sighed and turned to the hostess. “Ida, I appreciate your interest, but I want to focus on my work.”

She eyed him. “Oh, yes, ambitions. If I might be so bold, I have to disagree with this impulse to start a practice. You have one here. No need to find another. It will be all yours someday. You are a fine physician. Now find a wife.”

Margaret nodded eagerly.

“I wouldn’t call it an impulse, but thank you for the advice.”

“You aren’t keeping anything to yourself now, are you?” Ida asked.

“Nothing of the sort.” He unfolded his napkin with his eyes down.

“Hmm.” Ida sipped her wine.

The servants placed finger bowls in front of us. I gently dipped my hands. Marcellus sloshed perfumed water onto the lace tablecloth.

“Emeline?” Ida turned her focus to me. “What do you think of the committee?”

“I’m joining.” I jumped at the opportunity to please. “Margaret told me you’ve played an important role in making the committee a success.”

She didn’t respond. I feared everyone saw through me.

The servants entered in a procession and clinked bowls of rich cream soup in front of us.

“How did you come to live in Labellum?” I asked.

“We moved here for my husband’s sake.” Ida eyed him, but he didn’t look up. “For his work.”

“Really—”

“I’ll make it easy on you, dear.” Ida gave a tiny grin, revealing two large front teeth. “He does not need to work. When we wed, he insisted he continue. It gives him some sort of satisfaction, I suppose.” Her smug demeanor turned weary.

Marcellus focused on his soup, his stringy hair hanging around his face.

“But why Labellum?” John asked. “I would think you would want to mingle with the highest society—if you don’t mind me saying?” He lifted a spoonful of soup. “New York or Paris or something like that?”

Ida pursed her lips and lifted her chin at her husband, but he didn’t offer an excuse. She hesitated. “Well, he—we wanted for fresh air.”

I wondered what the real reason had been. It obviously had something to do with Marcellus. I wondered if some scandal had forced them into exile. I could sense how uncomfortable she had become, so I changed the subject. “What exactly does the church committee do?”

Ida lifted her glass and the butler quickly moved to pour more Port. “I created an event committee to organize balls and other events for the families of higher standing.”

“That sounds entertaining.”

“But that’s not the committee you will be joining. Only the highest-class women in town are members.”

“Oh.”

“The church committee used to do little useless things around town, so I had Margaret spruce it up and now it funds my event committee.”

“What did they do before?”

“Oh, nonsense activities to keep themselves busy, I suppose—taking food to families with newborns, knitting scarves just to give away.”

John stirred his soup. “Walter, perhaps Ida would enjoy hearing about her husband’s and your accomplishments in Murielle County.”

Marcellus grumbled.

“Thank you, John,” Walter said. “I’m certain the ladies hear enough of that day to day.”

“Nonsense.” Margaret pepped up. “His father was very impressed with his recent catch.” She shifted in her seat to face him. “I’ve never seen him congratulate you in such a manner.”

“How so?” Ida rolled her sleepy gaze toward him.

“I—” Walter tried.

Margaret continued. “I haven’t seen your father that pleased since the day you agreed to join his practice—”

“It wasn’t anything.” Walter waved a hand and tried to hide his dimples. “We merely enjoyed a cigar together.” His cheeks grew a little flush. “Besides, I’m sure our work with Mr. Coddington’s firm is not appropriate for dinner conversation.”

“Indeed,” Ida said.

Margaret leaned forward. “Ida, I think it is our duty to inform Emeline of a certain individual.” She tilted her head.

Ida nodded, sipping her wine.

“Pardon?” I asked.

“There is a despicable woman named Olivia Urswick you must do your best to avoid.”

“Mother!” Walter’s eyes shot open.

John froze with a spoonful of soup at his lips. Marcellus continued eating.