A Lack of Temperance Read online

  “But Lucy, dear, Sir Arthur knows Hattie and is an excellent judge of character. He wouldn’t have recommended her to Edwina if she was ‘that kind of girl.’ There must be some kind of mistake.”

  “There has been a mistake,” I said. “I never entered the bar. I would never do that. I simply went there to speak to the owner, George Shulman.”

  “And,” Miss Lucy said, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

  “I spoke to him for less than five minutes, saw that it was getting dark, and left.”

  “Well then, everything is all right, dear. Isn’t it, Lucy?” Miss Lizzie giggled, her eyes darting back and forth between me and Miss Lucy.

  “I suppose. What did the barman say?” Miss Lucy said, her anger submitting to her curiosity.

  “That he hadn’t seen Mrs. Trevelyan since Sunday night. He was quite upset that I would even ask.”

  “Yes, I suppose he would. He’s a devil, that one,” Miss Lucy said. “We haven’t heard yet about yesterday’s vote, but if it fails, he’s the one to blame. Well, was it worth it?”

  I touched my tender ribs and considered the question. I’d been attacked, but I had also gleaned a valuable impression of George Shulman, of which Mrs. Trevelyan must be told. And I’d met Walter Grice again.

  “Yes, I think maybe it was.”

  “Well, I hope so, Davish. If you rode down the middle of the road like Lady Godiva, you couldn’t have gotten yourself into a worse predicament. You’re lucky the doctor was considerate enough not to leave you there. Despite his respectability, people will still talk, you know.”

  “You do take chances, dear,” Miss Lizzie said. “A woman at night, alone.”

  “Whatever were you thinking?” Miss Lucy chided. “It was dark. You should’ve been more careful and watched where you were going. Maybe you wouldn’t have tripped.”

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t have been out after dark. But I didn’t do it on purpose, Miss Lucy. Someone deliberately pushed me down the stairs.”

  “Oh, dear.” Miss Lizzie patted my hand again. “I had no idea. We had no idea, did we, Lucy? We all thought you tripped. Who could’ve done such a thing?”

  “I don’t know. It was too dark; I couldn’t see who it was. He grabbed me by the shoulders and jerked me around. I tried to break free, then he pushed me and I lost my balance.”

  “Oh, dear. Oh, dear,” Miss Lizzie said, her hand at her throat. “You could’ve been killed. Why would anyone want to harm you?”

  “I think it has something to do with Mrs. Trevelyan,” I said.

  “Edwina? Why would you think that?” Miss Lucy asked.

  “Because someone wants me to stop asking questions.”

  I told them what my assailant said. I described the confrontation with George Shulman a few minutes before the attack. As he requested, I left out that Dr. Grice had introduced us.

  “It could’ve been George Shulman; it could’ve been someone else from the bar who overheard us,” I said. “I don’t know.”

  “George Shulman is a violent man. You should go to the police, dear.”

  “The police weren’t too cooperative yesterday, Miss Lizzie,” I said. “I don’t think today will be any different.”

  “But your fall? An assault on a respectable young woman. . .”

  “Won’t change a thing, Lizzie,” her sister said. “You know as well as I do the police are not sympathetic to the coalition or its cause. Besides, what do you know about George Shulman?”

  “But there must be something we can do, Lucy, dear.”

  “No, Lizzie, now let’s go. Davish needs her sleep. I’ve seen mothers of newborn triplets look more rested.”

  “And Mrs. Trevelyan?” I asked.

  “Still inexplicably absent, I’m afraid,” Miss Lizzie said.

  The sisters rose simultaneously, and admonishing me again to rest, closed the door behind them. I obliged and drifted into a dreamless sleep until the door burst open, striking the wall. With the door’s crash reverberating in my aching head, Mary Flannagan stormed into the room.

  “It’s the police, miss. If you’re up to it, you might want to get over there. Those lousy coppers are at it again.”

  I fumbled with my sheets, struggled into my robe, and stumbled out of bed, pausing long enough for my nausea to settle down. I followed Mary as fast as my bandaged knee would allow. The police were searching Mrs. Trevelyan’s room. Three men rummaged through drawers, the wardrobe, the bed linen and mattress as Miss Lizzie watched from the doorway. Upon seeing me, she shooed away the maid and tried to persuade me to go back to bed. I recognized the tall, black-haired man in charge. He was wiping dust from the sword fern’s leaves.

  “Chief Jackson, has something happened?” I asked.

  The policeman turned and his face flushed.

  “Please excuse her attire, Officer,” Miss Lizzie said. “Miss Davish has been recovering next door due to a terrible fall last night. As you can see, she’s been quite rattled and doesn’t quite know what’s she’s doing.” I’d forgotten I was standing there in my dressing gown and robe. “You’ll be able to talk with her after she’s had more rest.”

  “Well, ma’am, miss, there isn’t much to talk about.”

  “There most certainly is something to talk about,” Miss Lizzie admonished. “Officer, this young woman was viciously assaulted. Someone pushed her down the Tibbs Alley stairwell.”

  “Ma’am, if you’ve got a complaint to file, do it at the precinct. We’ve got important work to do here.”

  “But, Officer, Miss Davish could’ve been killed. Isn’t that important enough for you?”

  “Ma’am, this town was built into the side of mountains and has thousands of stairs. People fall down them every day. Invalids and women should know better than to be walking around this town alone at night. Now, as I said, I’ve got work to do.” He turned his back on us.

  “You’re officially investigating Mrs. Trevelyan’s disappearance, aren’t you?” I said.

  Chief Jackson glanced back at me.

  “Miss Davish, is it?” I nodded. “Miss Davish, Mrs. Trevelyan is wanted for assault and destruction of property. So, yes, we’re trying to determine the suspect’s whereabouts.”

  “Sir?” One of the other officers held up a silver-plated hand mirror. It had been shattered. “Found it under the dresser.”

  “Good job, Norris. Now look for glass.” The officer dropped to his knees and searched the carpet. “Good day, ladies.” The chief dismissed us with a wave of his hand.

  “But why are you searching her room now?” I watched as the policeman on the floor gathered up tiny pieces of glass. “Yesterday you said . . .”

  “Yesterday I didn’t have, ah, certain facts. Now,” he said, escorting us to the door, “if y’all don’t mind.”

  Behind him one of the other officers flipped a suitcase upside down on the bed. It was empty. Another dumped hatboxes on the floor, with no regard to their contents’ delicate embellishments. Broken flowers, feathers, and bits of straw were scattered across the carpet.

  “You should be more careful with those,” I said.

  “Keep at it, Thompson,” Chief Jackson said, pushing us through the doorway.

  “But Miss Davish was attacked,” Miss Lizzie said. “If I had known how uncooperative you’d be—”

  “Like I said, ma’am, file a complaint. As you can see, I’m busy right now. I don’t have time to indulge the whim of every woman who demands my attention.”

  “Sir, I found some more. But this didn’t come from the mirror.” The officer on the floor held up a large piece of clear, thick glass.

  “You can be assured, I will most definitely be filing a complaint,” Miss Lizzie said.

  “Fine. Now good day to you, ladies. Let’s have a look at that, Norris,” Chief Jackson said, herding us out of the room and closing the door. “Burke, is that all the luggage?”

  CHAPTER 9

  “That’s not all.” Miss Lizzie and I tu
rned to see Mary waiting down the hallway.

  “What’s not all, dear?” Miss Lizzie asked.

  “Remember that trunk I told you about, miss? The one I packed Miss Edwina’s old dresses in for charity?” I nodded. “Well, I was surprised it had already been shipped. The trunk was only half-full.”

  “What does that have to do with anything, dear?” Miss Lizzie said.

  Mary looked at Miss Lizzie, then at me and then back to Miss Lizzie. “You’re right, ma’am. Never mind.” I put my hand on the maid’s arm as she turned to leave.

  “Mary, what about the trunk?”

  “Oh, nothing, except I asked Owen about it. He’s in charge of this floor, so he would know.”

  “And?” I said.

  “He said the trunk had been returned to the storage room. So what’s in her room isn’t all of the lady’s luggage, that’s all. Her old clothes are in a trunk in the storage room.” I was familiar with the storage room, packed to the hilt with empty trunks, crates, and boxes. I had started my search for Mrs. Trevelyan Monday morning in the basement.

  “Thank you, dear,” Miss Lizzie said.

  “Maybe you should tell the police,” I said. Mary’s eyes widened and, without another word, she fled down the hall and out of sight.

  “What a strange girl,” Miss Lizzie said. “What difference does it make where a trunk is?”

  “Miss Lizzie, I saw that trunk the afternoon I arrived. It was gone the following day.”

  “I fail to see the significance, dear. Edwina must’ve had it removed.”

  “Exactly, which means she must have spoken to someone besides the maid that day. We know so little about where she went or why. Anyone she spoke to may be able to tell us more. We just have to figure out who it was.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean,” Miss Lizzie conceded.

  “And why would she store a charity trunk half-full? That seems odd to me.”

  “She probably got tired of it being underfoot,” Miss Lizzie said, “or the maid only thought it was half-full. The girl doesn’t seem to be the swiftest of creatures.”

  Miss Lizzie could be right. Something else could be packed in it. I’d seen Mrs. Piers retrieve something from the wardrobe at the same time I’d seen the trunk. She’d been quick to hide them, but I’m certain they were the hatchets used at the saloon smashing. But I’d searched the room and the police were there searching again. The hatchets hadn’t been returned to the wardrobe after Sunday night’s raid. Could the coalition’s arsenal now be hidden in the trunk? I should go and have a look.

  “Miss Davish, you’re worrying me.”

  Miss Lizzie stood next to me, her brow knitted in concern. We were still in the middle of the hallway outside Mrs. Trevelyan’s room.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Lizzie. Were you saying something?”

  “Yes, dear, you need to go back to your room and rest. If you think it’s important, I’ll tell the police about the trunk the maid mentioned.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea.” I let the kind old lady guide me back to bed. A pang of guilt struck me, as I had no intention to stay in my room to rest. I was going to look in the trunk before the police rummaged through it.

  “Lucy and I’ll get you for tea if you’re up to it.”

  Miss Lizzie had barely closed the door when I was up and dressing. Despite the bandages on my hands and shoulder, I managed to don a plain brown and white wool dress and a pair of slippers. I opened my door, peeked both ways for old ladies or policemen and, seeing neither, strode to the elevator. I had ridden in one before. It would be faster than my sore legs could navigate the two flights of stairs and no one would see me. I remember the thrill and amazement I’d felt that first time. I’d taken the speeding elevator car to the twelfth floor of the Manhattan Building in Chicago to deliver some papers to the law office of Burlingame, Carpenter, Carpenter & Rouse. Mrs. Adelaide Washburn had been my employer then.

  The elevator doors opened. A young man in a uniform and cap stood inside. I’d forgotten about the elevator operator.

  “Which floor, miss?” A bit flustered, I couldn’t think of a good excuse for going to the basement.

  “The ground floor, please.”

  We rode the short distance in silence. I can’t imagine what he thought when I poked my head out of the elevator before disembarking. Few people were about. A gentleman in one of the rocking chairs held a newspaper in front of his face. It was replete with headlines about the election: CLEVELAND ELECTED—A SPLENDID VICTORY, PROPOSITION 203 VOTED DOWN AGAIN, SHULMAN BEATS FAIRCHILD FOR CITY COUNCIL. Edna, the temperance lady with the poodle, and a white-haired companion occupied a settee near the window. While Charlie the dog’s eyes followed my movements, the women, involved in their discussion, never noticed me. The voices down the hall told me everyone else was at lunch.

  I limped down the short flight of stairs. I closed the heavy basement door behind me, shutting out the faint murmur of the women’s voices. I was surrounded by silence. The air was chilly and I could see my breath. A long, unadorned hallway stretched in front of me. Several simple Edison lamps hung from the ceiling far above. A strong scent of soap indicated the hotel’s laundry was near. I wrapped my arms around me and started down the hall. My slippered feet scraped against the cement floor.

  I passed several closed doors until I came to one marked Storage. A faint pungent odor I hadn’t noticed the last time I was here wafted under the door and mingled with the scent of the laundry. I twisted the knob, and as the door swung open, I scrambled for a handkerchief and pressed it to my nose. Tears welling up in my eyes, I skimmed the room. Inside the door, against the wall, was an enormous steamer trunk padlocked and labeled MRS. CHARLES TREVELYAN, ST. LOUIS, MO. It was the same trunk I’d seen in Mrs. Trevelyan’s room.

  I started to gag. I retreated out of the room and ran headlong into a man, his silk waistcoat crumpling beneath the press of my hand.

  “Dr. Grice!”

  “Quick, Miss Davish, away from the door.” He compelled me to move aside and slammed the door shut.

  “What are you doing here?” Was he following me? I wondered.

  “I could ask the same of you, Miss Davish. You’re supposed to be resting.” He held a newspaper folded under his arm.

  “I know, and I did for some time. I came down to retrieve something from Mrs. Trevelyan’s trunk.”

  “Before the police got here, no doubt.” He chuckled. His joviality was infectious, and I relaxed.

  “Do you recognize that odor, Dr. Grice? I thought it might be rancid butter.”

  “Rancid butter?” He took a moment to inhale the scent, then blanched. “No, it’s more serious than that. Come, Miss Davish, we have to get the police.”

  I held the handkerchief to my face and reached for the doorknob. “I’d like to look in Mrs. Trevelyan’s trunk first.”

  Walter Grice reached out toward the door, placing his hand on mine. It felt warm and for a slight moment, I forgot the impropriety of the gesture.

  “That wouldn’t be wise, Miss Davish.” He removed his hand from the door and put his arm around me. “Miss Davish, you’re shivering. Your face is quite pale.”

  Too feeble to resist his embrace, I had the sense he was holding me up.

  “It is quite cold down here.”

  “Yes, let’s get you to your room. Then I’ll alert the police.”

  The basement door jerked open as if on cue. A policeman observed us from the doorway.

  “What’s this?” he said. “Hey, what are y’all doing down there?”

  “It’s me, Lester, Walter Grice. I’m this lady’s physician. She’s not well and ignored my advice to let someone else fetch a cape from storage. She almost fainted.”

  “Dr. Grice,” Officer Lester Burke said, “I didn’t expect to see you. But I’m not surprised about the lady; Chief says she’s a troublemaker.” Me? A troublemaker?

  “Lester, we’ve got a bigger problem. You’d better get the chief.”

  I�
��m not certain what happened next. The policeman left and Dr. Grice escorted me toward the door. Then I was sitting on the floor, a few steps from the stairwell, with Dr. Grice’s face, for the second time today, hovering over me. His lips moved, his breath smelling of peppermint. It was a moment or two before I understood anything that he said.

  “Try to focus on my finger.” I followed his finger as it moved back and forth in front of my eyes. “I’m going to take your pulse again.” He lifted my wrist, placing two fingers at the base of my hand, and stared at his pocket watch. I didn’t resist this time.

  “You lost blood last night. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal or a full night’s sleep in weeks. You may still be suffering from shock. This is no place for someone in your condition. Your body needs rest. This isn’t all from last night’s fall, either, Miss Davish. Miss Davish, can you hear me?”

  I had closed my eyes but opened them at the sound of my name.

  “You need rest, lots of pure spring water, and a bath treatment or two wouldn’t hurt. And you may not like it, but I need to give you a thorough examination.”

  I groaned at this. It was all the protest I could muster.

  “Good to hear from you again, Miss Davish,” the doctor said with a laugh. “Let me get you some water and a few things from my bag. I’ll be right back.”

  He stood up as the sound of rapidly descending footsteps echoed through the passage. Chief Jackson, accompanied by Officer Burke, promptly appeared.

  “Doc.” Chief Jackson shook the physician’s hand. “Burke says there’s something going on down here?”

  “Yes, Ben, it’s unmistakable. Down there in the storage room, third door on the right.” The doctor knelt beside me. “Stay right here until we get back.”

  Officer Burke flashed me a look of concern while Chief Jackson stared down toward the storage room. Dr. Grice stood and led the policemen down the hall.

  “Oh, no, where’s that smell coming from?” Chief Jackson grumbled. “I’m betting it isn’t from a Limburger cheese factory exploding nearby.” They had reached the storage room door.