Shrouded In Thought (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 2) (24 page)

“I want to know if a certain... ahem... gentleman of my acquaintance was here on the night of April twenty third.”

“We aren’t in the habit of revealing the comings and goings of our guests, sir,” the proprietress answered lightly.

Freddie’s tone grew urgent. “You must understand. It isn’t idle curiosity. If I knew he was here, it might keep him out of some serious trouble. I’m not even sure you would remember who was in the place three months ago.”

“Oh, I have a very good memory, Mr. Simpson. And what I forget, my little ledgers help me remember.”

“Your ledgers?” Freddie didn’t comprehend.

Minna Evermore gestured to a bookcase that stood against the wall to the left of her desk. From floor to ceiling it contained bound green ledger books, each one labeled on the spine with a series of dates.

“I find it useful to keep track of all my guests just in case I ever have a falling out with city hall or the police force, though heaven knows I pay them enough to mind their own business. Still, one can’t be too careful.” She looked at Freddie with a calculating gleam in her eye. “What are you willing to offer in exchange for the information you need?”

Freddie thought fast. “I’m prepared to offer complete silence in exchange.”

The woman behind the desk stared at him coldly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Freddie tried to sound inoffensive. “Well, it’s just that if too much public attention were brought to bear on the activities of this house, it might be injurious to your standing in the community, not to mention your profits. I’m sure that withholding that kind of information must be worth something.”

Minna Evermore regarded him in silence.

“Did I happen to mention that I’m a reporter?” Freddie tried to make himself the portrait of fresh-faced innocence.

“I see.” The proprietress looked grim. “For which newspaper, if I might be so bold as to inquire?”

“The Gazette.”

“Of course. You would work for the only newspaper in town whose publisher isn’t a member of my clientele.”

“Yes, I believe Mr. McGill is also a temperance advocate and a member of the Civic Federation. Last I heard, the Federation really didn’t approve much of what was going on in the levee.” Freddie maintained a bright tone. “I was considering doing a piece on the brochures you printed up to advertise this fine house. Some people might get stirred up over an article like that. They might even start agitating to close your operation down. Don’t you think they might, Miss Evermore?”

With a set jaw, Minna Evermore rose from her desk and walked toward the bookcase. “I believe you said April twenty third, Mr. Simpson?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. The evening of April twenty third, some time around 9 o’clock or after.” Freddie sprang out of his chair. He eagerly peered over the lady’s shoulder as she rested the ledger book on the side of her desk and thumbed through the pages to the appropriate date.

“What is the name of the gentleman?”

“Roland. Roland Allworthy, though for all I know he might have used an alias.”

Minna Evermore’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Young gentlemen who wish to be anonymous in this place rarely remain so for long. I know your young friend well and he doesn’t use an alias.”

She scanned the page with her index finger and stopped midway down. “Yes, here it is. He arrived at about nine-thirty with some other young gentlemen of his acquaintance. Stayed in one of the gaming rooms until well after two before retiring with
Charlotte
for the night.” The proprietress raised her head for a moment and stared off into space. “Yes, I actually do remember that evening. We were running a poker tournament, very high stakes, and that’s why I remember. I was in the room, and Roland was one of the players, though how he managed to scrape together the money I have no idea. There were at least twenty other people besides me who would have seen him lose his shirt that night.”

She slammed the book shut decisively and returned it to the bookcase. “Yes, Mr. Simpson, he was here. The game started at ten o’clock, and he was here some time before it began. He stayed all night. Never left until morning.” She glanced at the young man with a pained expression. “Does that answer your question or do you wish to extort any other information while you’re here?”

“No, ma’am.” Freddie attempted to appear humble. “That answers it, and thank you very much for being so helpful.”

Minna Evermore held out her hand. “I’ll be bidding you farewell then.”

Freddie took her hand solemnly. “Miss Evermore, I must say it’s been a pleasure.”

The proprietress smiled morosely as she rang for the butler to show Freddie out. “No, Mr. Simpson, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s a business. It’s always been a business. Good day.”

Chapter 22—Your Latest Admirer

While Freddie was busy extracting information from Miss Evermore, Evangeline was on her way to question Nora’s roommate, Miss Sophie Simms. She had taken the precaution of telephoning Sophie at the boardinghouse where she lived right after she got home from Freddie’s flat. Evangeline wanted to find out if the girl still possessed the cards which had been sent with each of the bouquets Nora received. Her elation at hearing Sophie’s affirmative response was somewhat dampened by the fact that it was too late that evening to go to Sophie’s rooms to claim the cards. The girl was working all the following day, and by the time she would arrive home, the florist shop would be closed.

Evangeline’s suggestion that Sophie take the day off was met by a gasp of disbelief. The girl worked at Campion’s,
Chicago
’s premier department store. Marshall Campion had a reputation for running his store like a military training camp, and employees who wished to take an afternoon off for a reason that did not involve the death of a family member would not be employees for long. Therefore, Evangeline had agreed to meet Sophie at the store and pick the cards up there.

She made less than an auspicious start on her mission. Having been tied up with Mast House business all morning and into the afternoon, Evangeline had to rush to reach Sophie before the day was entirely gone. When she left her townhouse, she dispensed with the idea of hailing a cab. The congestion of the traffic on the city’s busiest street made it quicker to walk to the downtown business district. Making haste in
Chicago
’s
Loop
at any time of day was a known absurdity. The noise, coal dust, foot traffic, delivery wagons, trolleys, paper boys, and shoppers should have warned Evangeline of the folly of it. She persisted anyway and made painfully slow progress, dodging as many obstacles as she could. She fancied that even the ubiquitous street sweepers in white uniforms and helmets seemed to be conspiring to delay her.

At the corner of State and
Lake
, she crossed to the east side of the street, narrowly dodging a streetcar that was bearing down on her. Evangeline tried to keep her temper by reminding herself it was only an additional block to the imposing edifice that was the Marshall Campion Department Store.

Campion’s took up six stories of a full square city block. Everyone who was anyone shopped at Campion’s as did many nobodies who wanted to be somebody. Ever since the World’s Fair, Campion’s had become a landmark that had to be seen by foreign visitors before they could consider their tour of the city complete. Unfortunately, many of these visitors had decided to congregate in front of Campion’s display windows to gawk at the merchandise, so that Evangeline had to squeeze through the admiring throng to reach the entrance.

Once inside, she breathed a sigh of relief, but her trials were not yet over. She now had to navigate endless aisles of ladies’ hats and jewelry looking for the glove counter where Sophie had said she worked. After several twists and turns, Evangeline was finally confronted with a curved glass case displaying row after row of handwear in every conceivable style, color and fabric. Freddie had made particular mention of Miss Simms’ coiffure so Evangeline had no difficulty identifying the young woman with red hair piled up in what looked like a slightly asymmetrical beehive.

“Are you Sophie Simms?” She had very little doubt as she approached.

“Yes, I am. How may I help madame?”

Evangeline smiled to herself at the stilted form of address. “My name is Evangeline LeClair. We spoke over the telephone yesterday.”

“Oh my, yes!” Sophie’s hand flew to her mouth as if she’d been accused of doing something illegal. She looked surreptitiously around to see if she were being observed by a floorwalker or her supervisor. Seeing the coast was clear, she motioned to Evangeline to step to the corner, where the counter divided.

“I have them right here.” She slipped a hand into her skirt pocket and removed a stack of small notes. They were the size of calling cards, and Evangeline guessed there must have been about twenty of them.

“That’s quite a collection. May I look them over?”

Sophie bit her lip and glanced around again. “Yes, if you like. Just don’t spread them out on the counter, or somebody might wonder what I’m doing.”

Evangeline stared in curiosity at the girl. “Are you really being watched that closely?”

Sophie nodded solemnly, her beehive hairdo bobbing in assent. “All the time.”

Evangeline glanced casually around at a few of the other counters to see who might be watching. No one appeared to be paying any attention to them. It struck her that all the female clerks were dressed alike. She looked back to Sophie and scrutinized her more closely. “It’s funny. In all the years I’ve shopped here, I never realized that you all seem to be wearing some kind of uniform.”

“Well, it’s not a uniform exactly.” Sophie corrected her. “Just a white blouse and black skirt. We get to choose the fabric ourselves.”

“But not the style, apparently.”

“No, we’re all told that we have to present a neat and consistent appearance to the public. The store issues the clothes to us—”

Evangeline cut in archly. “And takes the cost of your apparel out of your paycheck, I expect.”

“Yes, that’s right. How did you know?” Sophie seemed genuinely startled at the observation.

Evangeline shrugged. “It just seemed the sort of thing Campion’s would do.” She cast a swift glance at the girl’s hair. “I’m surprised they didn’t make you dye your hair brown so it wouldn’t clash with the woodwork.”

Sophie’s eyes showed a trace of alarm. “Oh, but you misunderstand! This is a fine place to work! A fine place! Mr. Campion always tells us so, and he’s a very great man, so surely he must know. I’m fortunate to have this job at all when so many other poor girls are working in factories.” Sophie hesitated. “That’s why I... I...”

“Yes, my dear. I understand the need to be discreet. I won’t stay but a moment.” Evangeline began to sort through the note cards. After she had flipped through half the stack, she commented, “They all read the same. ‘From your greatest admirer.’”

“Except for this one.” Sophie reached for the bottom card in Evangeline’s hand.

“’Happy birthday from your greatest admirer!’” Evangeline squinted under the garish overhead lights to get a better look at something that had caught her attention. She looked back to the previous card and then compared it to the one Sophie had singled out. Finally, she saw it. “The handwriting appears to be different.”

“Does it? I never noticed.” Sophie took back the final card and the one sent before it.

“You see.” Evangeline pointed to the lettering. “This one was dated a week earlier than the final card. The words ‘from your greatest admirer’ ought to look the same if they were written by the same hand. Do you know who wrote these cards? Was it the florist or the man who sent the bouquets?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know.” Sophie shook her head solemnly. “It was all I could do to get Nora to let me see them at all. She never told me who they were from.”

“Perhaps I can find out for myself. Do you know the name of the florist?”

“Why, yes, I guess I should after all those deliveries.” Sophie wrote the information on a slip of paper and handed it to Evangeline.

“May I take these with me, just in case the florist doesn’t remember?”

The shop girl hesitated. “Only if you promise to bring them back, ma’am. Nora was my friend and these were special to her.”

“Of course, I promise.” Evangeline smiled reassuringly. “And I am sorry about your friend.”

Just at that moment a man in a black suit walked up. He did not appear to be a customer. At first he said nothing but merely stared significantly in Sophie’s direction. The girl looked down and began to awkwardly rearrange the contents of a box of sale gloves on the counter in front of her.

“Are you finding everything you need, madame?” he inquired of Evangeline.

“Oh yes, everything I could possibly require.” Evangeline smiled graciously at the floor manager as she slipped the stack of note cards into her pocket and prepared to leave the store. “This young woman has been most helpful.”

***

About an hour later, Evangeline stepped off a streetcar at the corner of Clybourn and
Willow
. It was already quite late, but she thought the local shops might still be open for another half hour. A few doors up from the corner, she noticed a window displaying floral arrangements. Guessing this to be her destination, she entered the premises of Witherspoon Florists, where she was greeted by an elderly gentleman behind the counter. He wore no suit jacket, merely a vest and shirt with black sleeve protectors, which seemed a practical consideration since he was in the process of cutting a bouquet of roses. He had a face like a shriveled apple with a pair of bright eyes staring out from the core.

“Good afternoon, madame, how may I serve you?” He quickly reached for a towel to wipe off his hands.

“Good afternoon. Mr. Witherspoon, I presume?” Barely waiting for an acknowledgment, she forged ahead. “I’d like to order a large floral centerpiece and a few incidental arrangements to be sent to my home. I’m planning a small dinner party for tomorrow evening.”

The florist’s eyes grew brighter at the prospect of a large order. “Of course, madame. Of course.” He stooped under the counter for his order book and began the time-consuming process of asking what the lady’s preferred colors and flowers would be. As he was completing the paperwork, Evangeline skirted closer to the real purpose for her visit.

“You know there are many florist shops closer to my townhouse than this one, but I came here because your shop was recommended to me by an acquaintance of mine. He used your services quite frequently over the past several months.”

Without batting an eye, the florist replied, “Oh yes, that must have been Mr. Allworthy.”

Evangeline was speechless for a moment at how easily her suspicions had been confirmed. Although she had her hand cupped around the notecards in her pocket in the event she might need to prompt the florist’s memory, she released them and let them sink to the bottom of her skirt pocket. She did not have to feign surprise when she commented, “Why, Mr. Witherspoon, that’s exactly right! How could you have known so quickly who I meant?”

The old florist chuckled. “Well, this neighborhood is a bit off the beaten path. I don’t get many customers, and when I get one who’s a regular, I tend to remember.”

“I’ll bet you can’t remember what he looks like.” Evangeline tried to make the question sound innocent. She felt her heart pound with excitement—she was on the brink of discovering which Allworthy was Nora’s greatest admirer.

The old florist drew himself up importantly. “Why, I certainly can, madame. He was a middle-aged gentleman, gray-haired with a goatee.”

Evangeline made her face show pleased amazement instead of the shock she felt at having secretly guessed wrong. “Your memory is quite impressive, sir, I must say! Right again!”

She decided to inch a bit farther. “I don’t suppose you knew the purpose of all those bouquets?”

Mr. Witherspoon shrugged. “I know they went to a lady because of the name and address they were sent to, but I had no idea what the occasion was.”

“You mean you didn’t fill out the cards for my friend?”

Mr. Witherspoon looked horrified at the prospect. “No, I’m sure it was a personal matter. He always insisted on filling them out himself. He’d just write something quick and seal it up in an envelope. Then he’d hand it to me to include with the flowers. I didn’t think it was any of my business to inquire.”

“Quite right, Mr. Witherspoon, quite right.” Evangeline displayed an air of dignified propriety before changing the topic. “I don’t suppose any of my friend’s other acquaintances came to patronize your shop?”

“Not that I can think of, madame. I’ve heard no mention of the Allworthy name since he was here last. Except for the time he sent his son, that is.”

Evangeline was startled for a moment. “His son? Why, what do you mean? He has no son.”

The florist seemed puzzled. He scratched his head, trying to recall the circumstances. “Well, I thought it was his son since he had the same last name and sent flowers to the same address.”

“He did?” Evangeline acted all amazement though she guessed who the order might have come from. “When was this?”

“Oh, about three months back. He only came in one time.”

“Why that’s odd! Do you think you might take a look in your order book and check the exact date and the name of the young gentleman? I might know who it was.” She smiled appealingly. “You see, I’m a close friend of the family.”