Blackmailed, page 8
“Miss Littleman?” Phillip asked.
“It’s Mrs. Littleman, Mr. Brown,” she said, her cold eyes staring at him, making a flutter of ghostly fingers run down his back. “We know who you are. We know who all the misguided do-gooders are.”
The men around her smiled as they looked at her with what could only be called adoration. These men were not just hired muscle. They were in her thrall and more dangerous by far than a man working solely for his bread.
“What can I do for you, Brown?” she said after a few long silent moments.
“There was a murder in the alley behind Lombard Street ten days ago. Wondering if you know anything about it.”
“Why would I tell you if I did?” she said and flicked a lace handkerchief under her nose. “Stoke the fire a bit, Thomas.”
Phillip thought the room was plenty hot. Sweat beaded on his forehead, although he could not decide if it was because of the danger the place represented or the temperature. “It wasn’t hard to find out who Mr. Colfax sold to on a regular basis. If I can find out, then so can the Pinkertons.”
“The Pinkertons? Guns for hire?”
“That’s right. It so happens that Colfax’s uncle is well acquainted with the owner, Allan Pinkerton. He’s been asked to look into his nephew’s murder.”
“Colfax was a lying, cheating swindler, but it wasn’t me that called for his murder.”
“No? Do you think the Pinkertons will believe what you tell them? Maybe you’d best lay low for a bit.”
Mrs. Littleman stared into the jumping flames, her fingernails worrying the corner of the papers in front of her. “I take your warning. Now, why don’t you get to the part where you ask me to return the favor of your visit?”
Phillip smiled. “I’m hoping you can see your way clear to leaving Dolly Irving alone. She had little part in Colfax’s game.”
Her thick black eyebrows rose. “I had nothing to do with the woman’s troubles.”
“No?” he asked. “Someone broke into her shop and her rooms, tied her to a chair, and tore her place of business up.”
She shook her head. “You are looking in the wrong direction, Brown.”
Phillip took an accounting of the players in this dangerous fiasco. Was there someone missing? Had he overlooked an obvious connection? “Then who?”
“Mr. Colfax not only received property that did not belong to him, sometimes he actively removed it from the owner.”
“Colfax stole it himself?”
She stared at him. “Recently too.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Littleman. I know where to look now.”
Phillip began to back out of the room when she stopped him.
“Please tell Mr. Morehead that I sincerely hope his man will recover from his injuries. Baltimore can be a dangerous city.”
Phillip nodded and turned to follow his uncle, his eyes over his shoulder to see if any of her guards had followed down the dim hallway. They walked through the tavern, out the door, took off at a trot toward home. He had much to think about.
* * *
“Have you heard any more about Dolly Irving? The poor woman must be frightened out of her wits,” Virginia asked Colleen as they laid out her clothes for her board meeting with the Benevolent Society for Orphans.
“I was getting fitted when Miss Brown asked her about her daughter. The girl lives with her brother and his wife and their children, and that’s why she was letting that man, the one who was killed, hide things in her shop. She made some extra money and could send it to her brother because he’d been wounded in the war and lost a leg.”
“Oh dear!” Virginia said. “That’s terrible. If you hear of some way I could help without embarrassing Mrs. Irving, let me know.”
“She’s careful not to talk about the situation as she was never married and fears her customers would desert her if they knew she had a child out of wedlock.”
“Women suffer, don’t they, Colleen? I am so very lucky. I try and never forget that.”
Colleen folded a silk scarf and laid it back on the dresser. “There was one thing said when they were talking that made me think of you.”
Virginia looked up. “What was that?”
“She said her brother had a chance at a bookkeeping job, but the walk on a crutch would exhaust him. He was going to do it, though. Mrs. Irving wanted to buy him a pony and cart to get him back and forth.”
“We could certainly do that, couldn’t we, Colleen? You’d best have another dress made, and we’ll find out her brother’s direction. We’ll have Mr. Turnbull take care of it,” she said and removed her dressing gown, ready to don her armor to do battle at The Benevolent Society board meeting.
“Good afternoon, everyone!” Virginia said as she entered the conference room at the Benevolent Society for Orphans. Several heads turned to her as she poured herself a cup of coffee at the table holding urns of coffee and tea and trays of cookies. She found a seat at the long table in the middle of the room.
Estelle Homan stared at her from where she stood at the head of the table, her place as chairwoman. “Miss Wiest. I sent you a letter . . .”
“And I received it, Mrs. Homan. I’m certain it’s a mistake. We can clear it up now.”
“There’s no mistaking your behavior, which does not fall into the category of ladylike actions that are required to serve on this board.”
“Rescuing a child who’d been kidnapped?”
“Spending the night in a brothel! A house of ill repute! A whorehouse!”
Randall Artman held up a hand. “No further descriptions are necessary, Estelle.”
“Since I was held against my will, I’m not sure you can lay the blame at my door,” Virginia said.
Horatio Clement was staring at her in his typically oily way, which made her skin crawl. He was the director of the orphanage that the committee funded and was located just below stairs, although she doubted he had much, if anything, to do with the daily work there. He was always turned out in understated but fashionable well-made clothes, his hair and nails neatly trimmed. There was something about his smile, though, that made her feel as though she were sitting in her chair completely naked rather than fully dressed. He always attempted to ingratiate himself with her, clinging to her side when they showed potentials donors around the building and grounds. She would not have been surprised in the least to learn he was the person who had brought up that event at the brothel to the board.
“But you put yourself in a position that no lady would do. We had no choice. You forced our hands, I daresay,” Sylvia Berwick said from her seat directly across from Virginia.
Clement looked at Virginia with sympathy that did not appear genuine. “The rules governing board members were recently adjusted. It is best for our organization to be above reproach. I’m sure you understand.”
“I do understand, Mr. Clement, since I was one of the founding members of this board. But would you indulge me and read to me the amendment to our bylaws? I’m sorry to say I did not pay that close attention when I read the minutes that had come in the mail while I was traveling with my father.”
Clement glanced at Estelle Homan. The woman took a deep breath, as if this were a momentous decision to make. She glanced at Virginia, the perpetual sour look on her face, and turned. “Go ahead, Mr. Clement. Read it so we can continue this meeting with our legitimate board members and get to our important business.”
Clement read the amendment aloud, including the names of the members who had voted in favor of the change. He looked up at Virginia. “It is all very clear in black and white, Miss Wiest.”
“Indulge me just a few more moments, if you please,” she said. “Can you read Article Two, Section One of our bylaws for us?”
Estelle Homan glared at her and slapped her gloved hand on the table. “Absolutely not. I’ve had enough of ridiculous tactics. Leave this room before I am forced to call for a constable.”
Randall Artman cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Article Two, Section One reads: All changes to the bylaws will be passed with at least three-quarters of the board’s entire membership voting in the affirmative.”
Virginia glanced around the room as other board members looked at their papers. “I believe you passed this change to the bylaws with half of the board members voting in the affirmative, not meeting the threshold of three-quarters, therefore the change did not pass according to this board’s own rules. It should be struck from the bylaws.”
The table erupted in mumblings and some pointed questions to Estelle Homan and Clement. Estelle glared at Virginia, her face reddening by the minute. Clement was reviewing the documents in front of him as if looking for some discrepancy in her logic.
“Come on, Estelle,” Artman said. “Miss Wiest is still a board member, and this change to the bylaw must be removed.”
“We have important business to attend to!” someone said.
“An error was made. Move on!”
The meeting continued finally, and it was clear to Virginia who on the board was in her favor and who was not. She stood to leave with the others at the table when the adjournment had been noted and voted upon. Clement met her at the door as she was leaving.
“Well done, Miss Wiest. I was so saddened to think we would not have your wise counsel but am very glad to know that the error has been rectified. Will you be able to attend our next fundraiser? Your presence is so gratifying for our donors.”
Virginia looked down at her hands, trying to think of an appropriate response to such long-winded fiddle-faddle. She looked up with a smile. “I’ll check my schedule, Mr. Clement, although I’ve not received an invitation.”
“Oh . . . oh,” he stumbled. “An oversight to be sure. I’ll have that taken care of immediately.”
Virginia left the board room deeply satisfied.
* * *
It was several long days at the cannery before Phillip was able to have some time off. He took the streetcar early in the morning to the home of Schuyler Colfax, Cornelius’s uncle and friend of Allan Pinkerton. He jumped off one street away and found his way to the alley behind the massive home, where several wagons piled high with boxes and furniture were making their way toward the cross street at a slow pace and a few others were going the opposite direction, pulling empty wagons, no doubt moving Mr. Schuyler Colfax to Washington to take up the vice presidency. Phillip kept his eye on the drivers until he spotted his quarry coming his way. He jumped up onto the driver’s bench beside Jimmy, who jerked away, causing him to loosen the reins. He quickly turned back to get his horse under control.
“Hello, Jimmy,” Phillip said as he pushed his way onto the seat.
“What are you doing here? I’ve been laying low, just doing my job here. What do you want?” he said and glanced over his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t have thought Colfax had the guts to thieve on his own, but I’m hearing that he did.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Huh. He must have been using somebody else as muscle because you know I doubt Colfax was getting his hands dirty. Didn’t get a cut of that, did you, Jimmy?”
“I . . . I didn’t want in on it. He would have given me up to the police in a heartbeat.”
Phillip nodded. “True. So you don’t have any ideas who he stole from?”
“Told you. Didn’t want in on it.”
“Maybe you heard something. Maybe you saw something. Things you’ve put out of your head because you can’t think about Colfax with a bullet in him. In his back, no less.”
Jimmy looked around and then lowered his hat. “There’s a false wall in a closet in Cornelius’s bedroom in his house on Mott Street. I was never able to get there to see if there was anything left. Maybe there’s a clue there to where he stole it from. That’s all I know. Now get off this wagon ’fore I lose my place.”
“Keep your eyes open. The danger isn’t over,” Phillip said and jumped down from the seat.
Phillip volunteered for a late shift the next day when one of the evening supervisors was ill. At ten in the evening, he pulled his office door closed and walked out the front door of the cannery carrying a small satchel he’d brought with him. He’d told Patrick of his plans and insisted his uncle couldn’t join him.
“What if I’m caught or worse? What will happen to Sarah and Eliza and Jenny if you’re there with me? I should be home by daybreak. If I’m not, come looking for me,” he’d said to him before leaving for the cannery that day. “Mott Street. Number 210.”
It took nearly an hour to get to Mott Street even after catching a ride on the back of a hay wagon for several blocks. He ducked under the overhang of a carriage house and pulled out his dark knit hat and gloves. He loaded his gun, checked his knives, and said a little prayer that he could be in and out of Cornelius Colfax’s house quickly. The gas streetlight was directly in front of 210’s door, Phillip saw from his vantage point as he turned to the alleyway behind him.
He proceeded slowly, staying in the shadows, even though the street and alley were quiet, with only the occasional wail from a cat or a horse neighing in the distance. Phillip stood in the shadow of the small stable, now empty of its horse, where he’d first spoken to Jimmy and waited. He needed to feel that he was alone and that Colfax’s house was indeed deserted. Twenty calm minutes later, he pulled a few tools from his satchel, strapped it back over his shoulder, and walked down four steps to the basement door. He dropped down on his haunches and went to work on the lock.
The door creaked open, and Phillip stayed very still, waiting for what, he didn’t know. He stayed crouched as he entered the large room ahead of him. There was just enough moonlight to see he was in the kitchen. He turned and locked the door behind him and then felt his way along a brick wall, until his hand hit cold metal. Thankfully, he was able to stop the brass ladle—he could now see as his eyes adjusted to the darkness—before it clanged against the wall.
He went slowly past small rooms, smelling the remains of boot polish from one and old potatoes from another. He opened a narrow door at the end of the hallway and found the stairwell to the family residence. He climbed the narrow stairs to the top step and stopped at the door. He was in total darkness and could not find a knob or even hinges. Phillip softly tapped as far as he could reach and nearly lost his balance, pushing against the door to right himself, as it slid an inch or two. Ahh. A sliding door. How clever.
Phillip found himself in the main hallway of the town house. Stairs curved straight ahead, and he could see the main entrance, the glow of gaslight shining through the transom, on his left. He would guess this floor had a sitting room, a library, and maybe an office. He walked across thick carpets to the staircase and began his ascent, staying to the edge of the steps. The building was three stories, so the next floor would be the family bedrooms, and the third, the dormered attic rooms, would likely house servants.
He had no idea which room would have been Colfax’s but thought a bachelor would use the largest room, especially if he entertained lady friends here. He opened the first door, the hinges creaking like thunder in the still house, realizing that certainly wasn’t the master room. Phillip went systematically down the hallway until he was at the last door. This was most likely the room he was looking for as anyone would prefer to be facing the small yard and alleyway rather than the noise of the main street. The door opened noiselessly, and he stepped inside.
He surveyed the room slowly in the darkness. A large bed stripped of its mattress stood in the middle of the near wall, with tables on either side. He glanced around and gasped as he saw himself in a standing full-length mirror, his heart pounding its rhythm in his ears. He took a calming breath and focused on the rest of the furniture, typical of a man’s sleeping room. There was a door to the right of the bed, which he opened slowly, finding a dressing room with a large bathing tub and rods for hanging a gentleman’s wardrobe. What had Jimmy said about Colfax’s hiding place? There’s a false wall in a closet in his bedroom . . .
He went slowly around the perimeter of the room, touching the walls, feeling for false fronts or recesses, and found nothing. He stepped back into the bedroom and took a slow look around. A small door in the corner had not been noticeable in the dim light at first glance. He found the knob, opened the door, and saw several empty shelves. He pulled the door closed and got the small portable lamp out of his satchel. He lit it, turned the wick down low, and lifted the lowest shelf off the wooden strips that held it, working his way up until the back wall of the cupboard was in view. It was easy to see then where the lower part of the wall was not connected to the rest, held in place with only a few nails.
Chapter 9
Phillip worked the nails out of the wall with the small collapsible knife he kept in his pocket, laying each in a row beside the stacked shelves. He pulled the plast ered board away from where it still stood in place even without the nails in the corners and lifted his lantern to the now open space between two wooden vertical boards. He reached in, picked up a cloth bag and heard the jingle of metal. He stretched the drawstring and dumped the contents onto his palm. The gems glittered in the lamplight. A necklace with rubies and matching earbobs. He had no idea if the jewels were real, but why would anyone bother hiding paste ones? He dropped them back in the bag and closed it tight.
A small box was next, just a plain wooden one with no visible engravings or markings to indicate any value, although it did look old. He moved the latch and opened the lid. There were several yellowed envelopes, thick with paper, tied together with a faded ribbon. He inched the ribbon away just enough to see the addressee, the edge of the paper fraying as he did. Could that be . . . ? He moved the letters as close to the light of the lamp as he dared. Honorable John Adams, Esq. Good Lord! Could this be an original letter to the second president of the United States? Phillip thought it might be. He carefully replaced the stack of letters and hooked the lid closed once again.
