No Comfort for the Lost (7 page)

“We could talk to Madame Philippe,” Addie offered. “She’s an astrologer. She could tell us who did it.”

“An astrologer, Addie?” Had they already arrived at the point where an astrologer was their best hope for a solution? “You don’t believe in such things, do you?”

“Weel, my mother always claimed the auld woman who lived at the edge of the village had the second sight,” said Addie. “Besides, Miss Lange sets great store by what the woman tells her. She’s mentioned Madame Philippe to me more than once when I’ve gone to the shop for you. I think it canna hurt to visit the woman.”

“Miss Lange uses her?” Celia asked. Here was an interesting turn. She wondered if Tessie had ever spoken to Madame Philippe about Li Sha. It could be worth a visit to find out. “Perhaps we should go, Addie.”

“Then I’ll make an appointment, ma’am,” said Addie, smiling.

Her boots removed, Celia tucked her feet into the soft leather mules lying nearby and stood, smoothing her skirt with her hands. She slid open the door and entered the parlor, where Barbara and Elizabeth Palmer blinked at each other over cooling cups of tea.

“Cousin Celia, there you are!” Barbara said, relief causing her voice to rise. “I told Mrs. Palmer you wouldn’t be much longer.”

“Good afternoon, Celia,” said Elizabeth, who was dressed as perfectly as ever. She wore a gown of dove gray silk appliquéd with ebony velvet, which fell in folds and ruffles that enhanced her fine figure. A beautiful woman with enviable cheekbones, she was several years older than Celia but did not look it.

Celia returned Elizabeth’s smile. The Palmers attended political events and magnificent galas during New Year’s festivities and had a ten-dollar private box at Maguire’s Opera House, unlike Dora and her friend, who were satisfied with the twenty-five-cent gallery seats. Elizabeth Palmer socialized with the grand and great of the city—an impressive elevation from her rumored humble beginnings—but there was an uneasiness in her manner, a fretfulness, as though she feared her world might crumble.

And Celia felt sorry for her.

“I apologize that I wasn’t here when you arrived, Elizabeth,” she said.

“Your cousin has been as charming as ever, even under these . . . difficult circumstances.”

Barbara stared down at her lap.

“Might I refresh your tea?” Celia asked Elizabeth.

“No need,” the woman answered, waving her hand toward the full cup on the marble-top rosewood table between the chairs. Celia took the chair opposite her, self-conscious over the condition of her own dress, with its repaired tears and a stain along the hem that Addie hadn’t been able to completely remove. At one time, Celia had worn gowns as fine as Elizabeth’s. Those days, however, were in the distant past.

“I was just telling your cousin how much we miss her visits.” Elizabeth turned her radiant smile on Barbara. “Emmeline asks for you especially, Barbara. But her asthma has been so bad lately that we’ve had no visitors. She’s been ill for several days now, longer than usual. Those doctors are just useless.”

The Palmers’ fourteen-year-old daughter had always been fragile, with frequent bouts of severe asthma. Celia had offered to examine the girl, but her offers had received cool dismissals. Among the prosperous of San Francisco, male physicians were much preferred over the care of a woman who ran a free clinic.

“I gather Emmeline’s illness is what kept you from the society meeting on Monday evening,” said Celia. “I was wondering, because Barbara and I always see you there.”

“That’s how ill Emmeline has been. She hasn’t been out of the house in weeks.”

“Some fresh air might help in this case,” suggested Celia.

“I don’t dare take her out,” said Elizabeth.

Every other child Elizabeth Palmer had borne had died in infancy, and consequently her only daughter was cosseted and fussed over. More than was good for her, in Celia’s opinion. “And it’s a good thing I didn’t take her to the meeting on Monday. Mrs. Douglass told me that the ladies weren’t very welcoming to you, Celia.”

“Barbara and I felt compelled to leave, actually.”

“Well, I have good news that should take your mind off their unkindness,” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Palmer has recommended we help with Li Sha’s funeral expenses. Whatever the cost.”

“Are you certain? Your husband has been more than generous to us already.” In addition to supporting the clinic, he paid for the piano lessons Barbara received from Emmeline’s music tutor, lessons Celia could never have afforded with the stipend Uncle Walford had left her.

“How kind!” Barbara’s eyes shone. “Isn’t Mr. Palmer just the best of men, Cousin Celia?”

“Yes, he is,” said Celia, looking away from the rapt expression on her cousin’s face.

Elizabeth waved an elegant hand, pleased by the compliments. “It’s nothing, Barbara.”

Celia recalled the more elaborate caskets at Atkins Massey’s Coffin Warerooms, the trappings they could now afford. Not that Li Sha would have expected trappings or desired an elaborate casket.

“Please extend my thanks to your husband,” said Celia.

“I shall.” Elizabeth smiled and took a sip of her tea. “I’m sure I don’t have to say how shocked we are about Li Sha’s death. To think we’ve met somebody who has been murdered. And I’d had such hopes life would turn out well for that girl. She was a protégée of yours, wasn’t she?”

“More than a protégée. A friend.”

Elizabeth Palmer’s eyes, a pale brown the exact shade of café au lait, peered into Celia’s. “Do the police have any idea who might be responsible?”

Celia tensed. Nicholas Greaves would not like her to discuss the case, even though the news of Tom’s arrest would soon be in every paper in town. “Why do you ask me?”

“You identified the girl’s remains, didn’t you? I presume that means you’re in close contact with the police.”

Celia wondered where Elizabeth had learned she’d been to the coroner’s. It had not been mentioned in the papers. “The police are pursuing several leads, I believe.”

“Anybody we know?” Elizabeth always endeavored to be the first to have heard the best gossip.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” said Celia, noticing that Barbara had turned pale.

“Of course.” Elizabeth looked disappointed.

“However, I have learned that Li Sha planned to leave San Francisco. She intended to meet with someone in particular in order to get the money to do so,” she said. It was more than she should have said. “Do you have any idea whom Li Sha might have turned to? Did she ask you or your husband, by any chance?”

“She didn’t approach me,” Elizabeth said. “And Joseph was down in Santa Clara County looking at some farm property and did not return until midday Tuesday.”

“So he
was
gone,” said Barbara.

“I hate to say this, Celia, given that he’s your brother-in-law, but don’t you suppose it’s possible Li Sha told Tom Davies of these plans to leave him? And then—I know this is dreadful—but then he killed her in a rage?” Elizabeth lifted a hand to her throat and curled her fingers around the cameo locket pinned to her collar.

It appeared everyone knew of Tom’s temper.
Convince me it is not my fault, Mr. Greaves.

“He would not kill her,” said Celia, firmly. “I am certain of that.”

“Of course not. I shouldn’t have said that,” Elizabeth soothed. “Maybe then it’s somebody from the Anti-Coolie Association.”

“That was my initial thought, too,” said Celia. “But her plan to meet with someone that evening has made me reconsider that idea.”

“Li Sha likely never made it to her rendezvous with this benefactor, Celia,” said Elizabeth, offering a possibility Celia had not considered. “Mrs. Douglass is right to be worried about those awful people. The anti-Chinese groups threaten the peace. Threaten those of us who’ve simply tried to help the Chinese women. The society needs to focus on the reformable white women of San Francisco and leave the women of Chinatown to fend for themselves, I’m afraid. Maybe the Six Companies will finally take an interest in them and tend to their own.”

Celia doubted that would ever happen. The Chinese benevolent societies—there were six, hence their common name—existed to take care of their members, and the prostitutes were not members. The Six Companies seemed to care nearly as little about the women as the average citizen did.

“I will not stop helping the Chinese women where I can,” said Celia.

“You should take my advice and steer clear of Chinatown, Celia. You place yourself and your cousin at risk.”

“She’s right, Cousin Celia,” said Barbara.

“We will be cautious, of course,” Celia responded. “But I’m confident we will be fine.”

Elizabeth studied Celia as if she had never met a person who was so hopelessly naïve. “Li Sha probably thought she’d be fine, too.”

• • •

“
H
e didn’t exactly go peacefully, sir,” said Taylor, returning from the street to Tom Davies’ room. “In fact, he kicked the constable who was loading him into the wagon to take him to the station.”

The front door to the boardinghouse must have been open, because Nick could hear Davies shouting down on the street, a string of Irish swearwords.

“Idiot,” said Nick. Davies’ yowling faded.

“Have you found anything else?” asked Taylor. He scratched his neck beneath his ear and looked around at Davies’ room. “What with Davies’ landlady saying she heard all the shouting and cursing last week, that he’d threatened that Chinese girl, that she’d ‘regret it’ . . . that’s enough, though, right?”

Nick exhaled. Word of the threats and the knife they’d found hidden in Davies’ chest of drawers were enough to arrest the man.

“Don’t need nothin’ else,” said Mullahey, righting a cane-seated chair that had been knocked over during their search, before turning his attention to the trunk shoved into the corner, its contents spilled onto the floor.

Nick bent to pick up the Bible at his feet. It was well-thumbed, with notes in the margin. Notes in an inexperienced hand, reminders to learn the meanings of specific words. They might be Li Sha’s notes. He recollected the bruised and cut body lying on that cold marble slab in Massey’s cellar, her dark hair spilling over the edge. If she’d hoped for God’s mercy and protection, it hadn’t come.

Gently, Nick placed the book in the bottom of the trunk and covered it with a patchwork quilt that had also been stored there.

“We can take care of cleaning up, sir,” said Taylor. “No call for you to be doing that.”

“It’s okay,” Nick said, straightening.

What they’d learned meant the noose was tightening around Tom Davies’ neck. It also meant Celia Davies was likely going to feel guilty about Li Sha’s tragic relationship with her brother-in-law for a damned long time.

“That China girl shoulda cleared out earlier, huh,” said Mullahey, dropping a pair of worn boots into the trunk. “Given what a cuss that feller is.”

Nick skirted the folding partition. The rug was rolled back, and the drawers from the chest lay upon the bed, making the hair-stuffed mattress sag. Besides the knife, there hadn’t been much in the drawers—a few items of clothing and an albumen carte de visite portrait of a man, woman, and young boy posed beneath a potted palm, its silver frame tarnished. Taylor had also found a letter from Davies’ mother, dated five years back, asking him to return home to Ireland. Nick gazed out the nearest window. Davies had propped it open for some reason, as if the stink outside could ever freshen the air inside. Tom Davies wouldn’t be going home to his mother anytime soon. He’d been sent to jail and would likely be staying there.

Until he was convicted and hanged for murder, that was.

Nick closed the window, latching it tight, and spared a parting glance for the photograph Taylor had left on the chest of drawers. Another family shattered. Nick could give a lecture on that topic.

“Finish putting everything back in order here,” Nick said to the policemen. He’d stop at Joseph Palmer’s office on Sutter before returning to the station. “We’re done here. On your way to the station, Taylor, visit Dora Schneider’s place and pick up the carpetbag Li Sha left with her. In case there’s something interesting in it. Mullahey, get to work on that liquor-smuggling case Eagan wants you to handle, since he won’t be happy to know I’m making use of two policemen on this case.”

“Sure enough, Mr. Greaves,” said Mullahey. “Eagan’s none too happy any of us are botherin’ with this China girl.”

“Looks like we can wrap up this case pretty quick, though,” said Taylor.

Nick lifted his hat from where he’d left it on the table, right in front of the chair where Celia Davies had sat and comforted her brother-in-law. “I’m not convinced we’ve got the right man, Taylor. And I don’t care if Eagan’s happy or not. He can take my job if he doesn’t like what I’m doing.”

Mullahey hooted with laughter. “Don’t be tellin’ Eagan that, Mr. Greaves, ’cause he might just take you up on the offer!”

• • •

S
tretching, Celia yawned into her hand. She dug a finger through her skirt and beneath the bottom edge of her corset, attempting and failing to reach an itch. “Gad.”

She lowered the wick on the lantern on her desk and stood. The examination room’s small china mantel clock showed the time to be half five. The sun would set in thirty minutes. Just enough time to do some gardening before eating a light meal and going to bed early.

Yawning again, Celia clutched her mother’s shawl tight about her, the soft fabric comforting, and scanned the shelves, making a quick survey of her supplies. She needed more bandages, but that looked to be all for now.

She crossed the room to shut the window blinds, her hand pausing on the cord. She leaned closer to the glass. A man stood outside, down the road a short distance, and he was looking at their house.

“I thought you might want some tea before you head out to the garden, ma’am,” announced Addie, bustling into the examination room.

“Addie, have you noticed a man watching the house?” Celia turned and asked her.

“What?” The tea tray thumped atop the desk, and Addie came to her side. “Where?”

“There.” Celia pointed, but the man was no longer lurking in the shadows across the street. “He’s gone now. But I thought . . .”