Anything But Civil (16 page)

“It’s a long story,” I said.

“Well, I hope to hear it soon,” Walter said, then excused himself to Mrs. Monday, as he hadn’t unpacked before coming to see me. He was staying at the DeSoto House Hotel.

“Hattie,” Walter said, in earnest as we reached the front door, “may I ask a favor?”

“Of course,” I said, mindful that he had left his mother for the holidays and ridden eighteen hours on the train to see after my well-being. I trembled at his voice, imagining what he would say, what he would ask of me. I trembled too knowing I would grant him almost anything. “What is it? What can I do?”

“It’s obvious your dance card will fill up quickly,” Walter said. “Will you promise to save a dance for me tonight?”

“Walter Grice, you may have every dance you’d like,” I said, beaming and forgetting all about my bruised ribs.

I
t was like a dream. I was dressed in my evening gown (twice in one week!) and in Walter’s arms, dancing, surrounded by hundreds of tiny points of light. The scent of cinnamon and pine wafted through the air. I couldn’t have imagined it being more perfect. When Lieutenant Triggs asked for a dance, I was delighted but cautious. When Sir Arthur asked for a dance, I was both flustered and flattered. But in Walter’s arms, I floated and hadn’t a care in the world. Even the pain was bearable. Knowing I was in no shape to dance, I’d broken down and sought the doctor’s medical advice, admitting to Walter that my ribs hurt. With few questions and surprisingly little teasing, Walter listened to my explanation, then gave me something from his bag. It had been worth it. I’d never been happier.

Then I saw him, Horace Mott. He glanced around looking for someone and was grinning from ear to ear. He caught my eye and bowed slightly. A shiver went down my back. What was he doing here? Why did he seem to appear at every social event? Of course he was probably here for the same reason we all were. It was Christmastime and this was an event for all of Galena.

But not everyone in Galena was in attendance.

I wish he’d stayed away like Oscar Killian and Enoch Jamison had,
I thought, and immediately felt a pang of guilt wishing strangers ill at Christmas.
But bad things seem to occur in his wake.

I missed a step and without Walter’s strong arms would have tripped myself.

“What is it, Hattie?” Walter said, following my gaze across the room.

“Do you see that man in the old dusty black suit?”

“The one with the awkward smile, looking down over his spectacles?”

“That’s him. He’s the one that I overheard arguing with Captain Starrett.”

“The one the police suspect to have stolen the general’s stocks and bonds?” Walter said. “If so, he has some nerve coming here.” I nodded.

“A gun was taken too,” I said. The music ended and Walter immediately led me to the other side of the room.

“Wait here, I’ll get some punch.”

As I waited for Walter, Mott approached Captain Starrett. Henry scowled and pulled the man away from his family, into the cloakroom. They were gone only a few minutes. When they reemerged, Mott immediately headed toward the door and disappeared outside. I breathed a sigh of relief. Captain Starrett swaggered back into the main hall, slapping several men on the back as he passed. He was beaming. When he reached his family, he surprised Adella by lifting her off her feet and swinging her around in the air. Adella laughed like a little girl. What could Mott have possibly done or said that would produce such an extreme turnaround in Henry Starrett’s behavior? He had been brooding since the moment he’d arrived. I heard him have a sharp word with John Baines over his advances toward Mrs. Baines, and I’d heard him bark at Ned when the boy wanted to join the children’s play. I’d assumed that Henry was still not feeling well. But when I had inquired after his health, Adella Reynard had assured me her father was feeling much better. She was right; he was swinging his grandchildren around like whirligigs in the air and laughing so boisterously I could hear him across the room, despite the band playing “Sellenger’s Round.”

“What’s going on over there?” Walter asked as he handed me a glass of punch.

“Captain Henry Starrett’s mood has improved. Good news, maybe?” I said. I told Walter what he had missed. “If you’d like to meet him, this may be a good time.” We approached Sir Arthur, talking to Lieutenant Triggs and his wife, and asked him if he’d mind introducing Walter to the Starretts and Reynards. Sir Arthur was kind enough to oblige.

“Dr. Grice, eh?” Henry Starrett said, the smell of whiskey on his breath. “Where were you when someone tried to poison me?” He waved his pointed finger at Walter, laughing. No one else was amused.

“Father!” Adella said. “We still don’t know if it was intentional.”

“Then why was I the sickest of everyone? I noticed this harebrained secretary didn’t get sick. Unlike you and me, eh, Fred.” Captain Starrett laughed and slapped Frederick Reynard on the back.

Both Sir Arthur and Walter took a step forward while Frederick Reynard brushed the shoulder of his jacket where his father-in-law had touched it.

“Henry, a man died,” Frederick said, trying to keep the contempt out of his voice.

“Yeah, but Holbrook was an old man. It was probably his time anyway.” A collective gasp rose from all those around Starrett.

“Have some respect, sir,” Sir Arthur said.

“So what about it?” Henry said, lightly punching Walter in the shoulder. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I wasn’t here, sir,” Walter said, trying to be gracious but looking like he was about to take a swing at the man, “because I was in St. Louis at the time. And as to Miss Davish, I am her personal physician and dear friend and I am insulted, sir. I can assure you that she is neither harebrained nor immune to toxins. Like half of your dinner party, she too suffered from the poison, sir.” Sir Arthur was nodding seriously.

“Father didn’t mean to insult you or Miss Davish, Doctor. And we all truly regret Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook’s passing. Father’s merely being playful on this festive occasion. Aren’t you, Father?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll be nice. It’s Christmas after all. If we’re naughty, Santa Claus won’t bring us any presents.” He winked at Ned and Gertie, who giggled and clapped their hands in anticipation. He laughed again and it eerily sounded again like “ho, ho, ho.” This was one Santa Claus I didn’t want coming down my chimney.

“Didn’t you have something you wanted to ask Captain Starrett, Miss Davish?” Walter said, trying to change the subject. I had shown Walter the photograph of Henry Starrett on the steamboat
Lavinia
. Walter had suggested I bring it in case the opportunity arose to ask Henry about it.

“What is it? Something about my father for that book of yours? The stories I could tell you about the old man.” The captain laughed. “They could straighten your short hairs!”

“Father!” Henry Starrett laughed again and patted Adella’s cheek. She grinned, pleased to be the focus of his affection, but I saw it as a condescension.

“No, I was hoping you could tell me more about this.” I retrieved the tintype from my handbag and handed it to Henry Starrett. His grin disappeared as he studied the picture.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, his brow knitted in concentration.

“From Mr. Myers, one of the photographer’s assistants in town. He didn’t know much about it, as it was part of a collection his employer bought from a former photographer. He wondered if you could tell him more about it.”

“I have no idea.”

“That is you, isn’t it, Captain?” I asked.

“Ah, yes, that Adonis is me, but I couldn’t tell you the first thing about it.” He looked at it again. “Nope, never seen this before and I have no idea who took it or why.”

“But it was during the war?” I asked.

“Well, that’s obvious but . . . oh, well.” He shrugged. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I need another drink.” He tossed the tintype in my direction and walked away. Several people, including me, scrambled to pick up the picture before it was trampled. Lieutenant Triggs was the first to reach it.

“I wonder what he was doing?” the lieutenant said, studying it for a moment. He handed the photo back to me. “Where do you think it was taken?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I was hoping to find out,” I said.

Sir Arthur finally took it and studied it with the eye of an experienced historian. “If it was during the war, we should be able to find out easily enough, assuming we know what regiment he was in.” He handed the tintype back to me, frowning. He fiddled with his sagging boutonniere, trying to unpin it. “Damn thing!” Sir Arthur said under his breath when the pin pricked his finger. He pulled the boutonniere off and tossed it in the wastebasket.

“Sorry, Fred,” he said, “nice thought, but the thing keeps flopping over.” Frederick shrugged. “But as I said before, Hattie, Captain Starrett is not of interest to me.” It was the closest Sir Arthur came to reprimanding me for disregarding his wishes.

“Nor to anyone, I suspect,” Frederick, looking at the photo over my shoulder, said so softly I could barely hear him.

 

“You should be more careful, Henry,” the woman’s voice was full of concern. The man laughed heartily and I knew immediately it was Captain Henry Starrett. He was obviously still in a jolly mood.

Turner Hall was packed with townspeople of every sort, and the mingling of overheated bodies, heavily applied perfume, and aromas from the ten-foot buffet table of food had gotten to be too much. I’d left Walter in the company of Sir Arthur and John Baines and stepped outside for a moment of fresh air. Priscilla Triggs, who had been smiling from the moment the children started their play, joined me. With the cause for her melancholy revealed, the tension I usually felt in her presence had evaporated. For the first time, I was pleased to have her company. The air was crisp but cold. I hadn’t planned to linger long. As I turned to go back inside, I heard a woman’s voice in the dark. I didn’t see anyone in front of the building and assumed she must be in the recess around the corner.

“Don’t laugh. We’re lucky John thinks you were delirious and doesn’t suspect anything.”

“I was delirious, Rachel.” Rachel? Rachel Baines? “Your beauty always did drive me mad. My lips could melt into these hands.”

What would John Baines think of this secret rendezvous? Was there something to his suspicions? I didn’t want to know more and reached for the door. Priscilla grabbed ahold of my arm and raised her finger to silence my objection. She pointed toward the voices and pulled me along as she moved closer. What should I do? Offend one of Sir Arthur’s guests by neglecting her by leaving or offend the other by staying and eavesdropping on her? I chose to appease Priscilla Triggs and stayed where I was, hugging my arms around myself to keep warm.

“These hands have liver spots and wrinkles now,” Rachel said.

“But they still belong to an angel,” Henry said, his voice soft and tender. I thought I heard the distinct sound of a kiss.

“Oh, Henry, you always were a charmer and a good liar.” But Mrs. Baines had said that she and Captain Starrett had never met before. Had she been lying? All was quiet for a moment or two and then I heard Mrs. Baines sigh softly. “You were always a good lover too,” she said.

I blushed, mortified that I was still eavesdropping on a pair of illicit lovers. Yet I could no longer blame Priscilla for my inexcusable behavior. My ears and nose burned from the cold and my feet were getting numb. But I didn’t move away. I had to hear the whole conversation.

“I mean it, Rachel. You’re as beautiful as the day I met you almost thirty years ago.”

“Then why did you leave me?”

“It’s complicated.”

“No, Henry. It’s not. You either loved me or you didn’t.”

“I’ve always loved you.”

“But you forgot me.”

“Never. We lost touch, but I never forgot you. How could I?” Rachel giggled. I didn’t want to imagine what Henry had done to elicit that response.

“I thought you were dead,” Rachel Baines said.

“Me? No, you should’ve known I was tougher than that.”

“I couldn’t believe it when I heard your name.”

“I couldn’t believe it when you walked in my door.”

“But then why not acknowledge me?” Rachel’s tone was suddenly sharp.

“What would your husband think? Would I now be able to do this?” A slight moan escaped Rachel Baines’s lips. Priscilla put her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“I think you don’t want your precious daughter knowing her father is a liar and a cheat.”

“Why do you say it like that?” Henry said. “Adella’s a good girl.”

I glanced toward the door as the aforementioned woman stepped outside. She saw me and Mrs. Triggs, smiled, and took a few steps toward us. She was opening her mouth to say hello when Rachel Baines spoke.

“Because I figured it out, Henry. Adella was a baby when we met, wasn’t she? You were married, weren’t you? Why didn’t you tell me that you were married?” Her voice rose in anger.

“Because I never loved Sarah. I loved you.” Adella looked at me with wide eyes, her mouth still open in a frozen gasp, and then fled back into the building. I hesitated, not knowing whether to follow Adella or not. I wish I had sooner. The next moment was filled with the sound of Henry distinctly kissing Rachel passionately.

“You’re a rake, Henry Starrett,” I heard Rachel Baines say playfully as I reached toward the doors. “And you’re going to pay for it someday.”

 

Adella was running across the room to her husband and children when I followed her back inside. I wanted to apologize for what Adella overheard, irrationally feeling responsible. But when I approached her, she quickly turned her back to me, kneeling down to say something to her daughter, Gertrude. The two of them walked toward the dance floor, hand in hand. As Adella passed, my attempt to say something was thwarted by the shame and embarrassment that flooded across the woman’s face as she looked me in the eye. She quickly looked away, her cheeks flush. I wouldn’t want to talk about it either, if I were her, so respecting her privacy I started to walk away.

“Miss Davish,” someone yelled, “wait!” It was Frederick Reynard. He whispered something to his son, Ned, who raced away to join his mother and sister on the dance floor.

“You won’t say anything, will you?” Frederick said.

“Of course not, Mr. Reynard. What Captain Starrett said is between him and his daughter. It’s not my place to be involved in it anyway.” He knitted his brow and looked at me with confusion in his eyes.

“What are you talking about?”