Fallen Women (23 page)

Varina smiled and stood, saying she had things to do. Jonas would take them to the meeting. Beret finished her breakfast and picked up her coffee cup, opening the door to a small side porch and going outside. The air, colder than it had appeared from the breakfast room, was fresh and clean, and Beret lifted her head to feel the breeze. She leaned against the cold granite of the porch railing as she sipped from the cup and studied the mansions on the street, wondering if the women who presided over them were as concerned as her aunt about Denver’s poor or if their only thoughts were of teas and balls and parties. She heard a screeching sound and recognized the call of a peacock, then remembered her uncle telling her that a silver millionaire in the neighborhood had imported peacocks to roam his lawn. One of them must have gone for a stroll, because in a moment, Beret saw the creature walk stiff-legged down the street, his blue head turning from side to side in quick jerks, his bright feathers dragging in the dirt. Beret smiled at the pretentiousness of peacocks roaming the dirt yards of the newly built mansions, whose occupants, her uncle had told her, were only a day away from beans and fatback. A few months before, if they’d seen such a bird, she thought, they would have killed it and skinned it for the supper table.

As if to underscore Denver’s questionable sophistication, a carriage the color of the sky drove past, its matching interior gleaming in the sunlight. The driver and coachman were dressed in similar livery, not the subdued uniforms of New York’s wealthy, but garish costumes that reminded Beret of Mr. Barnum’s museum in New York. She shook her head at the tastelessness of it, and then she laughed, as she realized she liked it. There was something childlike and gay about the nouveau riche culture of Denver, which had existed for less than a generation. In time, the newly rich would copy the style and mannerisms of her aunt, but for now, their lack of sophistication seemed appropriate for a town that was only half built.

The loud uniforms reminded her of the spring that Lillie had been allowed to order her own dress for an Easter party, the first time she had been trusted with such a decision. Lillie had said it would be a surprise, and indeed it was. To Beret’s dismay, the dress, cut much too low in front for a girl of fourteen, was yellow and purple. It was more appropriate for a ball than for a religious occasion, Beret had said when Lillie flounced into the room wearing the creation. But Lillie begged to wear it, and Beret gave in, as she always did. After all, Lillie was of an age to begin choosing her own clothes. Beret was aware that the mothers of Lillie’s friends were shocked, pointing to Lillie with their fans and whispering to each other, but she couldn’t deny that Lillie looked fetching in what they referred to after that as the “Easter egg dress.” And Teddy had clapped his hands at the sight and declared Lillie was as delightful as a candy rabbit.

*   *   *

The meeting was not at the church. Only when they arrived at a mansion on Sherman Street just a few blocks from the Stanton house did Beret realize the women on the committee did not expect to sort through and distribute the clothing themselves but instead would oversee the drive—mostly by inviting each other to tea.

Varina introduced Beret around, and the women scrupulously did not mention Lillie but said only that they did not know Varina had such a lovely niece, and wasn’t Beret charming? They chatted and gossiped behind their hands, and Beret began to wonder if her aunt had brought her to the meeting just so that the women would not discuss Lillie.

“Your aunt is a little peculiar,” Ellen Fisk confided to Beret. “Other churches gather clothing to send to Africa and the Orient, but dear Varina wants us to distribute it in Denver. I know we have our poor, but it’s their own fault. If those men would just agree to work, why, their problems would be solved.”

“What about the women?” Beret asked. “I daresay some must have been deserted by their husbands and left to feed a brood of little ones. Many women are illiterate and are unfit for employment. What can they do?”

“Well, they should have chosen better husbands to begin with, shouldn’t they?” Ellen Fisk said with a little smile.

Beret didn’t reply.

“At least they could keep themselves clean,” Mrs. Fisk said. “There’s no excuse for filth. I wonder about giving them our clothing, since it will be in tatters before the year is out.”

Beret had learned long before that arguing with such beliefs only created ill will. Besides, she was mindful that her aunt was cultivating Mrs. Fisk, and she knew that taking issue would only offend her. If this wealthy woman picking the frosting off a piece of cake with her fork and shoving it to the side of her plate had ever been poor herself, she had forgotten. And if she didn’t know the causes of poverty, she had no interest in learning them. Beret might tell her that the poor had no running water, that they must carry their water from a public pump blocks away, that they had no rags with which to scrub themselves and no way to make soap. How could she explain the dirt and the vermin, the despair that poverty brought? Arguing would brand her as a missionary or a mugwump and would cause her aunt dismay and maybe thwart her uncle’s ambition. And so Beret said, “I’m sure the recipients of your kindness will be grateful.”

“Let’s hope so.”

A butler made the rounds with a tray of small cakes, a maid behind him with cups filled from an ornate silver coffee server. The reason for the gathering, Beret thought, was not so much to talk about the clothing drive—after all, once they had contributed their castoffs, the women had little to do with the project—but to socialize. So she decided to relax and enjoy the chance to get away for a few hours, to put aside thoughts of murder. Beret might spend her days on mission work, but she also enjoyed social gatherings. She and Teddy and Lillie had been part of a young set that gave many parties and entertainments. And Beret had a large circle of women friends with whom she lunched or had tea. What harm, then, to forget unpleasantness and indulge herself for an hour or two?

She looked around the double parlor of the great house and took in the decorations, which were just this side of garishness. The windows were covered with lace curtains and velvet drapes, held in place by thick gold cords. They were topped by valences that had been gathered and pleated into elaborate folds. The furniture, upholstered in red velvet, was rosewood and uncomfortable, and the tables were covered with bright throws on which rested marble statues, a stereopticon, colored glass bowls, and a collection of curiosities. She watched as a woman, her back to Beret, picked up a vase of clear orange and red glass that was twisted and turned into a torturous shape. She set it down, a look of amusement on her face as she turned to the room, then looked guilty as she saw Beret watching her.

“Mrs. Decker!” Beret said. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“Miss Osmundsen.” Caroline Decker came forward and took Beret’s hands in hers. “I am so glad you can join our little dinner party. I was afraid you might be in mourning—dreadful custom that—and am delighted you have decided to go out in society.” She took Beret’s arm and led her to a window. A mansion was under construction next door, and Beret saw the huge blocks of cut stone that would compose the walls. Through the glass, she heard the sounds of hammers and saws and was distracted for a moment as she watched two men set a heavy beam in place.

“I hope you will find my dinner more enjoyable than these dreadful charity teas,” Caroline whispered, as Beret turned back to her. “In the long run, I suppose we do some good, but if only the effort put into the social events was directed at something of more value.” She smiled. “Here I am going on. My mother would be outraged. And you may be, too.”

“Not at all. In New York, I run a mission for poor women—women who’ve been beaten and raped, forced into…” She looked around the room and lowered her voice. “Prostitution.”

“How interesting. I would like to hear more about it, but I’m afraid Mother is frowning at me and I must go.” She leaned forward and whispered, “I have only a little tolerance for teas and must tell you that I am just plain bored.”

“I hope that on Saturday, we’ll have a chance for a conversation you’ll find more stimulating, Mrs. Decker.”

“Caro, please, and I shall call you Beret. I hope we’ll be great friends.” She added as she pulled away, “You must tell me about your name sometime.”

As the two young women took leave of each other, Varina touched Beret’s arm and whispered, “Mrs. Fisk has asked my advice on a dress she is to wear to a party at the governor’s house. I’m afraid I must go with her. Do you mind if Jonas takes you home alone?”

Beret didn’t mind at all. In fact, there was time for her to call at the police station yet that day, and she would ask Jonas to take her there. Her aunt would not know in time to object. She said her good-byes, then got into the carriage and told Jonas to drive her to City Hall. He refused to start up. “Mrs. Stanton says take you home.”

“Well, I don’t want to go home, do I?” she replied sharply, annoyed that Jonas now seemed to be directing her life. She had done as she pleased ever since her parents’ deaths, and she felt restricted in Denver, her aunt and uncle attempting to influence whether she could be involved in finding her own sister’s killer. The two might have a claim on her actions—after all, she was their guest—but she would not be dictated to by Jonas, as grateful as she was for his earlier assistance.

“Mrs. Stanton won’t like it.”

“Jonas, take me to City Hall or let me out, and I shall walk.”

“You stay out of Miss Lillie’s murder. Something happen to you.”

“Why do you keep telling me that?”

“There’s a madman out there. I heard that detective say there’d be another murder.”

Beret sighed. “As I told you, I am not convinced my sister was killed by a madman.”

“You will be if there’s another’n.”

“I’ve asked you to drive me to City Hall. Will you take me there or disobey?” Beret felt sorry for Jonas, sorry for his wretched life, but she had work to do and would not be controlled by his fear of disobeying her aunt.

“I’m trying to keep you safe, miss.”

“Do you think I’d be safer if I got out and walked?”

“No, ma’am.” Jonas slapped the reins on the horses’ backs, and without another word, he set off. Beret leaned back in the carriage, closing her eyes, wondering if she should tell Mick about the confrontation in Hop Alley. When the carriage stopped and she opened them again, she discovered she was not at City Hall at all but back at the Stanton house. She sighed. Now she would have to wait until morning to see Mick. Jonas had made sure of that.

*   *   *

Beret was relieved to find Mick at his desk in the police station. They had not agreed on a time to meet, or even where they would meet. For all she knew, he would be out the entire day. “You must catch me up. You interviewed the Summers men?” she asked, ignoring the other officers in the room and barely greeting Mick. She sat down on a chair beside the detective’s desk and began removing her gloves.

“Both of them—separately.”

“And?” Beret leaned forward.

“It was much as you’d expect. I talked with Evan Summers first, at his office. I know him well, and he was glad to see me, although he was surprised when I told him I was there in regard to your sister. At first, I talked about his son and told him that I knew Joey had been keen on Lillie. He allowed as much and said his wife had liked her fine—after all, she was Varina Stanton’s niece—but that he never took to her. I asked if he thought Joey could be the father of her child, and he rose up and replied, ‘Certainly not.’” Mick smiled a little at the memory. “Then I asked if he might be.”

Beret forgot her gloves and leaned forward. “And then what?”

“Then he asked me to leave his office—ordered me to leave, I might say.”

“And did you?”

“I took my time. I told him it was known he’d visited Lillie at Miss Hettie’s.”

“Did he admit it?”

“He said he’d never been so insulted in his life, and if I spread around that vile story, those were his words, ‘vile story,’ why, he’d horsewhip me. I said it was nothing personal, that I was only doing my job, and he told me that he knew the mayor and the chief of police and if I valued my job, I’d leave.”

“Will he follow through?”

Mick leaned back in his chair, unconcerned. “Probably. But my father knows the mayor and the chief of police. And I do, too, for that matter.” He mused, “Not that I’d mind getting the sack. Crime in Denver is pretty boring—pickpockets, drunks, fights mostly. We don’t get many homicides, and I have to admit I find this case exciting. I wouldn’t mind joining a police force in a larger city, but my mother is set on my staying in Denver.”

“I must tell you,” Beret said, ignoring Mick’s last remarks, “Mr. Summers’s interest in my sister isn’t just a rumor. As you know, we have Miss Hettie’s maid’s word on it. And I have discovered that he and Lillie had closeted themselves in the parlor of my uncle’s house when both my aunt and uncle were away, and that she was in disarray when she emerged.”

Mick grinned. “You just may make a detective, Miss Osmundsen. How did you find that out?”

“One of the servants.”

“William, no doubt.”

“I promised anonymity.”

“What else did you discover?”

Beret told him about her conversations with William and Jonas.

“So, it seems she was involved with half the men in the smart set. I wonder why she turned out instead of marrying one of them. Maybe she liked … you know.”

Beret said softly, “Sir, you are talking about my sister.”

“Oh.” Mick looked down at his desk and picked up a pen, rolling it back and forth under the palm of his hand. “Forgive me.”

“Did you talk to Joey Summers, too?”

“Yes, at the Fisks’.”

Beret had been looking at Mick’s hands on the desk and glanced up. “I was invited but did not go.”

“I half expected to see you there. Mr. Fisk and my father share investments. Dreary man. I wouldn’t have gone, but my father insisted, and as it turned out, it was a chance to talk to Joey as a friend instead of as a copper.” He put the pen aside and turned in his chair so that he was facing Beret.