City of Liars and Thieves (15 page)

“Elma and Levi were to be married that night,” I said slowly, aware of the implications.

The crowd buzzed.

“How was her mood?” the same woman shouted.

“She was cheerful, as she always was—
is
,” I said, willing myself to look the same, but my throat was dry and my entire being ached. I was masquerading, acting confident for my audience when I wanted to melt like snow in the midday sun. I couldn't help but wonder if Elma had also been pretending. Had she told me that she and Levi were to be married because she knew that was what I wanted to hear? Had she only feigned contentment? Was it possible that she had planned her own demise?

I wanted Levi out of our home.

“I can't stand to look at him,” I told Elias, late at night.

“Don't be willful,” he said.

“He mopes around the house. He doesn't eat, and I can hear him pacing, always. I hear him now.”

Elias looked unconscionably sad, though I could not say whom his sorrow was for. “I don't hear anything,” he said, settling back into bed.

“Back and forth, day and night. Heel toe, heel toe.” The steps were slow and rhythmic, crushingly loud. “He does it on purpose, so I can't think.” The claim sounded absurd even to me.

“Control thyself. For her sake.”

I was accustomed to Elias's reproaches
—they barely made an impression anymore. Now I blamed myself. Elma was my ward, and I had failed her. I was sure she was in pain. If her anguish was half as great as mine, she was in agony.

“Levi knows more than he's admitting,” I said.

Elias frowned. “It won't help to alienate him.”

“Levi could be the king of France for all I care.” Elias gave me a sideways glance, and I remembered that Louis XVI and his queen, Marie Antoinette, had lost their heads nearly seven years earlier. “The point is,” I continued, “it makes no difference who he is or who his brother knows. He is guilty. He walks around the house as if he's in mourning. He lingers at the search parties. He is hiding something, I swear it.”

Elias rubbed his chin. “Making blind accusations will not help. It may actually harm her.”

“That is cruel, Elias. How could I possibly harm her more than whatever has kept her from home for nine days?”

Elias nodded, seeming to regret his words. “Caty,” he said more tenderly, “I share thy concern, but I don't know what to do.”

I had never known Elias to be without a plan, and his hopelessness left me shattered for the millionth time that day. “She left here with Levi that night. I know she did.”

“Did thou see them leave?”

I howled in frustration.

I still hear the stairs creak and the intimate whispers. The front door opens, footsteps cross the threshold, and the door slams shut. Too late, I hold a candle and look out onto the deserted street.

A new century arrived, but my thoughts were mired in the past. Elma had been missing for ten days.

A second letter arrived from Cornwall. I recognized Mother's severe script and set it on the mantel, unopened. I was washing the floor, scowling at the unwanted missive, when it occurred to me that the letter might contain word of Elma. I tore it open and my eyes scrambled down the page, but there were only more questions and the news that my aunt had taken to her bed. I considered going to meeting to pray for Aunt Mary's recovery but did not want to go out in public or search within myself. I had reached the depth of my grief but had only stirred the surface of my anger.

I was trying to coax some food into Patience when Will came and sat by my side.

“I've been thinking a lot about Miss Sands.” His Adam's apple bobbed as he choked out words.

“That's kind, Will. We all have.” I raised a spoonful of barley to Patience's mouth, sure that Levi had asked Will to come speak with me.

“I made her sad once. It was the day she came to New York, and I feel really bad about it. Especially now.”

Patience swatted the spoon and stuck her fingers in her cereal, but I turned to the boy. I remembered him standing on the dock beside Elma, and I saw her pinch the bridge of her nose to fight back tears.

“Why was she unhappy?” I asked, hoping Will's story would not match Levi's and I could finally find a chink in Levi's armor.

Will shrugged. “She thought my master would come here with her. But he couldn't, not right away.”

“Why not?”

“He had some things to square away with his brother first. Ezra didn't want him here.”

“Will—” My breath caught. I was the only person who had heard Elma say that she planned to marry Levi that stormy night. If Will could offer proof, perhaps someone would listen. “Were they planning to marry?”

Will fidgeted in his seat. “Once, I pretended to be sleeping when my master undressed. He came with the candle to see if I was sleeping or not. Supposing I was, he went upstairs in his shirt and—” Color splotched Will's blemished cheeks. “He didn't come back until morning.”

Disappointment coursed through me. This wasn't proof of Elma and Levi's engagement; it was simply more evidence of Elma's loose morals.

“When was this?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

“Last fall, when you were away.”

Patience knocked down the cereal bowl, splattering cold barley across the floor. Neither Will nor I moved to clean it up.

“The night Miss Sands—” Will's voice cracked. “The night Miss Sands…disa
ppeared, my master slept well, but since then he's been restless, and last night near day he called out in his sleep.”

I sat up so quickly that Patience began to cry. “What did he say?”

Will's gaze shifted from the baby to me. “He said, ‘Oh! Poor Elma!' ”

It was proof of nothing, yet it augmented all my suspicions.

The stairs creaked. I was sure Levi would storm into the room and confront Will, but it was Richard Croucher. For a fat man, he walked with a light stride.

“Talking about Weeks?” he said.

Patience clung to my bosom, and Will looked almost as miserable. He seemed even younger than his years, and his position was difficult: He had a loyal disposition and a villain of a master. He turned to Croucher as if he might deny the accusation but seemed reluctant to lie in front of me. “I was speaking with Mrs. Ring,” he said.

“About Weeks's peculiar behavior? Or was it about Miss Sands—or maybe the pair of them?”

Will shook his head, but he was protesting Croucher's meddling, not his words. “It's private.”

Croucher raised a brow; the hairs were long and wiry, his eyes watery. “The sheriff's come. It's not private—” He began to cough, swallowed, and began again. “It's hardly a private affair.”

“Will was speaking with me in confidence,” I said, attempting an imperious tone.

Blood rose to Croucher's neck and ears. “And yet I couldn't 'elp but overhear, but my recollection is somewhat different. In fact, the night Miss Sands disappeared, and the next night, and every succeeding night, I've heard Weeks awake from eleven o'clock till four in the morning. A continual noise.”

I might have asked Croucher what he was doing awake until four in the morning or why his story did not match Will's, but those things were secondary to my true concern.

“What kind of noise?” I asked, but the sound was already thrumming in my ears, endless pacing throughout the day and night.

“Moving chairs, throwing down fireplace tongs, crumpling papers—I thought he was drawing plans for his brother's next spectacular public works, but since then I've accounted for it in a different way.” Croucher cleared his throat. “The man is riddled with guilt. That, and fear.”

“He is hiding something,” I agreed.

Taking my assent as an invitation, Croucher sat down at the table, leaning close enough for me to smell his sour breath. “He's done away with her.”

Suddenly, Will's adolescent bumbling was replaced with a grown man's rage. He jumped to his feet, toppling his chair. “You're no friend of my master's!”

“Just a moment, Will,” I said, standing to place a restraining hand on his shoulder. I needed to hear what Croucher had to say. In the silence, I could hear the beating of my pulse, accusations I longed to express, my simmering rage.

“Since the day she disappeared, I've been going around, asking questions. You weren't the only one to see them leave together that night, Mrs. Ring.”

Richard Croucher was the unlikeliest of allies, but I was relieved someone shared my conviction. “Who else?”

“Your neighbor, Lorena Forrest. She did.”

I do not remember arriving at Lorena Forrest's house, just being there. Perhaps there was the usual exchange of pleasantries, though I doubt it.

“Lorena, did thou see Elma the night she disappeared?” I asked as we stood in her open doorway.

Lorena looked past me to the crowded street, and I wondered why she had not come to see me during these interminable ten days. Like the customers who no longer frequented our store, our friends had started to avoid us.

“I saw something,” she said. “A sleigh.”

A strange sort of satisfaction washed over me. Far from happiness, it was more like affirmation that I was not entirely mad.

“When was it? What time?”

Lorena stepped back as if alarmed by the questions. Or perhaps it was my tone. “It was quarter past eight. I know the time because I had just returned from meeting. Of course, it was a stormy night, but I make it a point to attend.”

Ignoring her reproach, I plowed on. “That's exactly the right time. Did Elma get into the sleigh? Was she with Levi?”

“I did not see her get in. There were not many folks about, but one woman had slipped on some ice and I was helping her to her feet when a sleigh went racing past us at full gallop. It nearly knocked us both back down.”

“And Elma?” It was impossible to hide my impatience. “Was Elma in the sleigh?”

“There were two men and a woman riding in it.”

“Two men?” The information made no sense. “Was one of them Levi? Was it Elma?”

“Oh, Caty, I wish I could say. It was dark. Moonlight plays tricks on tired eyes.”

“What color was the horse?”

“Who can tell the color of a horse at night?”

“Was it dark bay? Levi's brother owns a dark bay.”

“As does half the city.” She took my hand as if to apologize. “It's why I haven't gone to the sheriff. Everything happened so quickly, I'm not certain what I saw.”

“But Levi always uses his brother's sleigh, and so few were out that night.”

“It doesn't prove it was him. Then again…” She stood absolutely still, as if struggling with her conscience. “There was something strange.”

“What was it?” I snapped.

“The harness had no bells.”

“No bells?”

“It's peculiar. As if someone were being intentionally quiet.”

“Quiet and cunning,” I said, “which was exactly Levi's plan. He lured her away.”

The color drained from Lorena's face. “Then what?”

“And then—” I was at a loss for words. “And then I don't know,” I admitted, unable to say what I truly believed. By denying that Elma had come to harm, I could hold out hope.

There was a commotion on the street. People's backs were toward me, but there was no mistaking Levi's broad shoulders and fashionable hairstyle. He was shoving Richard Croucher, pushing him forward with open hands, the way one might prod the flank of an obstinate horse. Croucher was nearly twice Levi's width but only as tall as his shoulder. To make up the difference, he was craning his neck, spitting, and shouting directly into Levi's enraged face.

“What do you think of yourself now?” I heard him sneer. His speech, which was perfectly precise, seemed to be directed at the crowd, rather than Levi.

“How dare you spread rumors about me,” Levi shouted.

“What about her?” Croucher asked. “Eh, Adonis? What about your sweetheart?”

Levi looked helplessly at the throng, as if he wanted their support but could not bear their presence.

“What happened to her?” Croucher demanded without a trace of his former accent.

Levi looked so despondent that for an instant I pitied him. But as he stumbled to answer, my sympathy rapidly waned.

“Miss Sands was my…” Levi hesitated. “She was my friend.”

“And where is your friend now?” the woman who had been keeping vigil outside our home shouted. Levi blanched. I fought the urge to run into the street and accost him myself.

Lorena stood by my side, fascinated by the chaos.

“Is this justice?” I asked. Levi was being punished, but Elma's reputation was being dragged down with him.

There was more shoving, and I wondered if the mob might take matters into their own hands. I was more alarmed by my own emotions than by any possible violence. I was not against making Levi suffer.

“I'd say you were good friends indeed,” Croucher leered. “You paid her a good deal of attention alone in her bedroom.”

Levi swung and struck Croucher with a blow to the face. Croucher staggered backward, flinching, and a thin trickle of bright-red blood bubbled from his nose. His lips moved, tasting, and he raised his hand to his face and pulled it away, startled.

At the sight of his own blood, Croucher grew enraged. “Murderer!” he cried, swinging left, then right, into Levi's chest and shoulder.

Levi grabbed Croucher by the scruff of the neck. He was raising his fist to take another punch when he caught my eye.

I met his gaze, surprised that he would seek me out.

Croucher tensed as they both turned toward me.

“Caty,” Levi said. “If you can say anything in my favor, you would do me more good than any friend I have in the world. Please, help me clear my name.”

“What?” It seemed an outrageous request.

“Caty,” Croucher shouted, “don't listen to this maggot.”

“Go to the sheriff,” Levi begged. “Tell him I'm innocent.”

I had never been so incensed. “I wouldn't do it even if I believed thee, and I don't.”

Levi buried his head in his hands and his chest heaved. He may have been weeping. “I'm ruined.”

His remorse fueled my fury. “Has thou no pity for Elma? Or are thou thinking only of thyself?”

“Elma is lost. Go with me and say that nothing passed between Elma and me.”

“If I were to do that, it would be positive lies.”

“No doubt you're right. I'm undone forever, unless Elma appears to clear me.”

“Thou left this house with Elma, and I will continue to say so until she is found.”

Levi's back straightened as he stepped toward me. “What of it if we left together? It doesn't mean anything.”

It was not exactly a confession, but it felt like a victory. “Where is she?” I demanded. “Tell me what happened to Elma!”

“Where's Elma?” shouted the woman with the wild gray hair.

Wide-eyed and frantic, Levi took in the angry crowd. “What are you accusing me of?” he asked.

“A guilty conscience needs no accuser,” Croucher snarled.

Levi's eyes narrowed into slits. “I have friends,” he said, “powerful friends, who will defend me.”

“Find them,” I called as he stormed away. “Thou will need their help.” My head was reeling, but my eyes were dry. I was done with tears.

I was folding wash, a task I usually delegated to Elma, when the muff reappeared. It was presented with trembling, outstretched hands. Led into my home by his father, followed closely by spectators, a young boy offered the putrid muff to me as if it were a sacrifice.

I took it, stroked it, clung to it. Frozen in places, bald in others, it reeked of mold and decay, yet at that moment there was nothing dearer to me in the world.