The Carousel Painter (43 page)

I nodded and swallowed hard. Clearly Josef hadn’t told Mr. Tobarth I’d be leaving work early today and that I wouldn’t be at the factory tomorrow, either. It would be another hour before I left for the train station, and I immediately decided I would wait to inform him. If he became angry over the turn of events, he could discuss it with Josef once I was off to Cincinnati.

Although I tried my best to remain focused, I accomplished little over the next hour. Thankfully, Mr. Tobarth was busy working on the far side of his horse, where he couldn’t see how little I had managed to complete. At fifteen minutes before my departure time, I began to clean my brushes and clear my work area. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for Mr. Tobarth to take note of what I was doing.

He stepped around the back of his horse and tapped my shoulder. “What do you think you’re doin’, Carrie?” With the tip of his paintbrush, he pointed toward the clock. “It’s not time to go home. You forget how to tell time?”

Instead of looking up, I continued to clean my brushes. “I have an appointment and need to leave early. Josef has given me permission.”

His eyebrows dipped low on his forehead. “He didn’t say nothin’ to me about you takin’ off early. We’ve got lots of work that needs to get done. You gonna be here early tomorrow to make up the time?”

I had hoped to slip out without explanation, but Mr. Tobarth wasn’t going to let that happen. “You should speak to Josef. He knows my schedule.”

“I’m your supervisor. I should know your schedule, too. If we don’t get the work done, I’m responsible.” Generally soft-spoken and kind, Mr. Tobarth was clearly annoyed with my unexpected plans to leave early, and his voice assumed a sharp edge.

“I’m terribly sorry, but this is a matter of great importance. I’m not able to discuss it with you, but I can explain when I return to work on Monday. And I’ll work late all next week if you need me.”

“It’ll be too late to do me any good on Monday. I just hope Josef plans to get back here and help. Since he’s the one givin’ you permission, I figure he oughta be willin’ to help out.”

I removed my apron and carried it across the room. Today wasn’t a day that Mr. Tobarth would appreciate my ability to fling the canvas covering onto a hook. I picked up my straw hat and strode toward the door leading to the front of the building. “I’ll tell Josef you’re in need of help back here.”

Mr. Tobarth didn’t respond. Not even so much as a wave. If all went according to plan and I returned by Saturday evening, I could come to the factory and work on Sunday afternoon. Josef was in his office when I arrived at the front of the factory. I could see a carriage waiting outside. Likely it was the detective waiting to take me to the boardinghouse to retrieve my traveling case before heading for the train station.

Josef walked me to the front door. “I still do not like this idea. Promise me you will not let them put you in danger.”

“I promise,” I whispered. He leaned forward and brushed my cheek with a kiss. “Josef! One of the men might see you.”

He shrugged. “I do not care what they see. Besides, once we get the papers changed, you will be owner of this company.”

“
We
will be owners of this company. Equal partners,” she said. “And we’re going to make it the grandest carousel factory in the world.”

“But you must come back safe from Cincinnati so we can do that, ja?”

“Yes.” I glanced toward the street. “I better hurry or we’ll miss the train.”

Josef grinned. “Would not bother me if you missed the train.”

“I know,” I said, hurrying out the door.

Fortunately Mrs. Wilson wasn’t at home when I stopped for my baggage. Though she was aware of my plans to be gone until the following evening, I knew she had mistakenly assumed I would be visiting the Galloways, and I’d done nothing to dispel her conjecture.

Conversation between the detective and me remained minimal during our ride to the station. I waited at a distance while he purchased our tickets. He suggested we remain in the same coach, but he would sit a few rows behind me. To avoid any possible embarrassment should we be seen or recognized, he’d said.

I agreed but couldn’t help but tease him. “Afraid someone might tell your wife he saw you with a young woman?”

He didn’t appear amused. “I was thinking of protecting
your
reputation rather than my own. My wife understands I might be seen in the company of a woman from time to time, Miss Brouwer.”

So much for my attempt at levity. I boarded the train and selected a seat in the middle of the car. I didn’t speak to the detective until we arrived in Cincinnati several hours later. Our rooms were on separate floors of the hotel, and arrangements were made to have a late supper and our breakfast delivered to our rooms. The detective was unwilling to take any chance that I might be seen.

The following morning my heart pounded as we entered Mr. Charleston’s shop through a rear entry. Beads of perspiration dotted the detective’s forehead, and he yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped his face. Detective Lawton’s obvious anxiety did nothing to settle my nerves. “When are they expected?” the detective whispered to Mr. Charleston.

“Nine o’clock. The note I received said my offer had been accepted.”

The detective sighed. “I’m thankful for that!”

A bell jingled in the other room, and Detective Lawton clicked the catch on his pocket watch. “Nine o’clock. Right on time. Leave the door ajar,” he said, careful to keep his voice low.

I sat on an old wooden chair and scanned the storeroom that Mr. Charleston used for his excess inventory. We were surrounded by a plethora of artwork. Some framed, some not. Some lovely, some quite ugly. I would have enjoyed going through the stacked canvases but dared not make a noise. From my position across the room, I was scrutinizing a beautiful still life when Mr. Charleston returned. His face contorted in either fear or anger while he hissed a message to the detective. Clearly he was worried, but I couldn’t hear what he said.

I didn’t have to wait long. The detective waved me forward. “I’m afraid we will need to put our plan into motion. I’m going out front and arrest the woman. You’ll need to change clothes with her. I’ll bring her back here shortly.”

When the woman entered the storage room with Detective Lawton, I gasped. It was like seeing a duplicate of myself. Her reaction mirrored my own. Eyes wide, the woman clutched her throat and stared at me. “
What?
Am I seeing a doppelganger?” she croaked, her words barely audible.

The detective shook his head. “She’s no ghost. She’s as alive as you are.”

I don’t think she believed him, for she proved exceedingly cooperative. Fear shone from her eyes, and she couldn’t do my bidding quickly enough. Thankfully she was wearing a skirt, and her cloak covered her shirtwaist. I offered her my clothing in return, but she refused. Instead, she yanked the muslin cloth from several paintings and covered herself before retreating to a far corner of the room.

I pointed to her hat. “I’ll need that, as well.”

She unpinned the chapeau, and I shoved it firmly atop my head. “Where is Tyson?” I asked.

“In the carriage across the street, but I do not think he will come in.”

Mr. Charleston was correct. The woman had a raspy southern drawl, and I prayed I wouldn’t have to speak in order to lure Tyson into the shop. Mr. Charleston took charge of the woman while the detective edged along the wall toward the front door. “Do your best. I’ll be watching from here. If anything goes amiss, I’ll be at your side before you can call out.”

I doubted that, but I didn’t want to think about the possibility of peril. After inhaling a deep breath, I opened the front door and walked to the corner. I hoped the detective could still see me. The carriage was parked where the woman had told me. The minute I appeared, Tyson leaned forward. I motioned for him to come.

He shook his head. Using my palm and forefinger, I mimicked signing a paper. When he didn’t move from the carriage, I motioned more frantically. Again I pretended to be signing my hand. Surely he understood. Even from a distance I could see he was annoyed. I turned toward the shop and once again waved.

I could only hope he would consider my performance tempting enough to join me. I glanced over my shoulder. He had jumped down from the carriage and was loping across the street at breakneck speed. If I didn’t hurry, he’d catch me before I could get back inside. And I desperately wanted the detective’s protection.

My heart pounded in my ears and drowned out all other noise. Had Tyson called to me, I wouldn’t have heard. Arm outstretched and afraid to look back, I grasped the door handle and shoved my way forward. I’d barely cleared the threshold when a hand clutched my wrist. A shrill howl escaped my throat; the detective lunged forward, and the fingers wrapped around my wrist clawed to maintain a hold. I twisted around and broke free.

Before he said a word, I saw the hesitation in his eyes. Recognition immediately followed. “Carrington!” His eyes darted about the room like an animal seeking escape. “Georgia! Where are you? Why have you betrayed me?”

“She didn’t betray you, Farnsworth. She had no choice but to cooperate.”

“Women! You can’t trust any of them.” Tyson spat the words at me.

I took a step forward. “How
dare
you speak of trust or betrayal! You stole my paintings and have wreaked havoc upon the Galloways. A family who has shown you nothing but kindness and goodwill.”

He glowered at me, his lips curled in anger. “Kindness and goodwill? I think not. Mrs. Galloway was seeking a husband for Augusta—one from a socially prominent and wealthy family. And Augusta was no better. She is so enamored by the idea of marriage, she would fawn over any man offering the slightest attention.” He shifted his weight and leaned forward. “It would have served them right had I married her. And if it weren’t for my friendship with Ronald, I would have taken her for my wife.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Because I haven’t lived up to my father’s standards, he has disowned me. He cut me off—from his money and from the family.” His eyes shone with anger. “Don’t you see, Carrington? Had I married Augusta, both she and her mother would have become the laughingstock of Collinsford. I saved Mrs. Galloway from herself. Stealing her jewelry was a small price to pay when you consider she maintained her place in society.”

“And why did I deserve to have my paintings stolen?”

He shrugged one shoulder and tipped his head. “Because art can’t be appreciated when it’s hidden away.”

Not only was Tyson Farnsworth a thief, he was also a scoundrel of the worst sort. He even lacked the courage to admit his wrongdoing. Instead, he pointed a finger at others. Thankfully, he hadn’t pursued Augusta any further. How sad her life would have been if she had married him.

A short time later, Detective Lawton escorted me to the train station, even though he wouldn’t be accompanying me back home. Tyson and his friend, Georgia, were being detained in Cincinnati, and the detective needed to return to the police station to complete paper work for their transfer to Collinsford. “I’m sorry you must make the journey home alone,” he said.

“No apology is required. I’m pleased to return knowing the crimes have been solved and the true criminals will pay for their misdeeds.”

The detective handed my bag to a porter. “I owe you a debt of thanks. There’s no way to repay you for your assistance.”

“You’ve already repaid me. Have you forgotten? You recovered my paintings,” I said. “It’s Mr. Charleston who ended up with a financial loss.”

The detective nodded. “I’m thankful for the help he gave me. Yet he had a strong suspicion he was dealing in stolen goods. I think he’s learned an expensive lesson. I doubt he’ll make that same decision again.” He tipped his hat. “Have a good trip home.”

It was well after bedtime when I’d finished relating the day’s overwhelming events. Had Mrs. Wilson not interrupted quite so often, my explanation would have been completed at least an hour earlier. But I couldn’t fault her. I’d furnished her with more excitement than she’d experienced in her lifetime—at least that’s what she told the three of us.