Crimson Snow (12 page)

Hilda pointed to the carpetbag Elsa had set on the floor. “She brought a plain black dress, and she can use my caps and aprons for now. She will be no trouble,” Hilda said again. “I am sorry about Mr. Williams. Elsa and I will say a prayer for him before we go to sleep tonight. Come, Elsa, I will take you to Mrs. George. You must remember to call her Mrs. Studebaker. Then I will show you our room, and then teach you what you must do in the morning.”

Mrs. George was in the drawing room, reading a book of sermons, the only reading thought appropriate for a Sunday. She set it aside to look Elsa over, and sighed. “Hilda, I hope you understand that we need you back at work as soon as possible. Now that we are entertaining again, we can't do without proper service. Are you sure your sister can cope?”

Elsa, though intimidated by the house and so great a lady, was getting tired of being referred to as if she weren't there. “I will work hard, madam,” she said with some spirit. “I am careful and quick. With Hilda to teach me, and to help sometimes, I will give satisfaction.”

Mrs. George looked amused. “You're like your sister, I see. Very well, you'll do. Tomorrow we'll see about uniforms for you. Thank you, Hilda.”

Dismissed, the two girls went off to explore Elsa's new home.

Patrick came for a visit after supper. Hilda was too busy to sit down with him, but she allowed him to trail along as she took Elsa from room to room, explaining her duties.

“This is the drawing room. It is very hard to keep clean because of the soot. You must use a wet cloth here; a dry one makes smears. There is a closet on each floor where cleaning supplies are kept; I will show you.”

“So you're in the thick of this thing, are you? And Erik is going to help you?” said Patrick. He frowned. “I'm not sure I approve of any of this. It isn't right, puttin' a girl in harm's way like this. I'd like to give that Mr. Barrett a piece of my mind!”

“I will be careful. And Elsa, make sure you brush down the draperies every day, and the walls once a week. The draperies need a hard brush, the walls a soft one, so you do not scratch the wallpaper. Then the chandeliers—you do not clean them, the dailies do that, but you must know how. There is a new paste that is much better than the old way, but you must be sure that the girls do not leave any in the cracks.”

“Hilda, are you listenin' to me? This man you're lookin' for, he kills young women! Are you thinkin' of that?”

“Patrick, I am busy! And yes, I think of the danger. Do you not understand that I have been
told
to do this?”

“You could've said no,” said Patrick. “Why do you kowtow to these people? You don't have to, not anymore. When we're married—”

“But we are not married yet, and Colonel George is my employer still! And I feel sorry for Mr. Barrett. And I must do this, so why do you argue?”

“Because I care what happens to you,” said Patrick softly, and Hilda's anger evaporated.

“I will be careful, Patrick. I promise. I will not do stupid things. I go only to talk to people, to learn what I can. Then I tell Mr. Barrett everything and I come back to my usual duties.”

“You've said that sort of thing before,” said Patrick gloomily.

“And I have always been all right in the end!” said Hilda, annoyed again.

The two glared at each other, and Elsa giggled. “The way you two fight, anyone would think you were married already.”

“We do not fight,” said Hilda with dignity. “We argue.” Then she smiled at Patrick, her dimple showing, and he grinned back. “And we like it.”

The officers and detectives have not yet talked with
[the victim's friend] because her physician
says…any excitement might be injurious to her.

—South Bend
Tribune
   
February 3, 1904

 

 

11

H
ILDA DIDN'T SLEEP WELL that night. Her bed was narrow and she was used to the luxury of having it to herself. Elsa wasn't a large person, but she wiggled a lot in her sleep. Sometime after four o'clock Hilda gave it up. She would have to rise in a little over an hour anyway. She might just as well get up and dress and spend some time planning her day. She crept down the back stairs in the pitch darkness and felt her way to the kitchen.

When she had stirred up the banked fire in the kitchen range and made herself a pot of coffee, she sat at the kitchen table and did some serious thinking.

Her first obligation today was to get Elsa properly started in her job. It was important, for everyone's sake, that Elsa do well. Someday…no, Hilda wouldn't let herself think about that. Not now. There were too many things to be done.

After Elsa was well launched and Hilda could get away, what then?

The obvious thing was to find friends of Miss Jacobs and listen to what they had to say. Of course, the police would already have done that, but they probably had not talked to the maids who worked in the friends' houses. Servants always knew far more about what went on than their employers ever suspected. So—where to start?

There was the school, of course. Miss Jacobs must have had friends among the teachers. But the school was closed for the week.

Her boarding house, then. And her rooming house. Hilda knew where both of those were. They weren't far away, an easy walk in the summer. In the winter—well, she'd just have to wait until daylight and see how much she'd have to bundle up. She'd go, anyway, and talk to the servants there, and see what she could find out.

Then there was the funeral. That would be attended by lots of people who knew Miss Jacobs, almost certainly including some servants. The newspaper today should say when it would be held. It would be in Elkhart, of course, where the poor woman's family lived. Hilda had never been to Elkhart, but there would be train service. She would have to ask Mr. Barrett for some money to spend on that sort of thing. She did not intend to spend her own good money on trips for his benefit. She was a frugal Swede, even if she was going to be rich someday.

Hilda glanced at the clock. She had nearly a quarter of an hour before she had to wake Elsa at five-thirty. She abandoned herself to the luxury of daydreaming. Pretty clothes. A big house, with room for lots of children…

She poked herself, mentally, finished her coffee, and stood up. Pretty, fashionable clothes required corsets, which Hilda detested. Houses and children required hard work. Probably there were other perils for the rich, as well. Better to do what she had to do today and let all the tomorrows take care of themselves.

She went upstairs to roust Elsa out of bed.

By the time the family sat down to breakfast, Hilda had launched Elsa on her day and was ready to leave the house. The temperature had not moderated, but at least the sun was shining and there was no fresh snow to contend with. She sought out her warmest apparel, wishing Mama had had time to knit that new corset cover. She put on two flannel petticoats, her oldest flannel waist and the wool skirt, and finally a thick sweater her mother had made her for Christmas. It was meant for skating and looked odd over the other garments, but Hilda meant to spend the morning talking to servants. It didn't matter how she looked.

Before Hilda left the house, she peeped in to see how her sister was getting along. Elsa was doing Mrs. Clem's bedroom, talking animatedly to Janecska, but getting the work done. Janecska looked sulky. She probably resented the new girl being put in authority over her. Hilda closed the door gently. Elsa could fend for herself.

Hilda's first stop was at Mama's house, to pick up Erik. She had no idea at this point how Erik might be able to help, but he needed to be kept out of mischief.

“Where are we going?” he asked, as they hurried back toward the center of town.

“To Mrs. Gibbs's boarding house. It was where Miss Jacobs took her meals. I thought the servants there might know who Miss Jacobs's best friends were.”

“Huh! I know that! Everyone at school knows that!”

“Erik! You did not tell me!”

“You never asked,” he said reasonably. “Can't you walk slower? I have a stitch in my side.”

“You ate too much for breakfast, then. And it is too cold to dawdle.” But she slowed her pace a little. “Now tell me about the friends.”

“She had a lot of friends, but her
best
friend, her name is Miss Lewis. She's a teacher, too, only at the high school. But she and Miss Jacobs live in the same rooming house. Lived, I mean.” His voice faded.

Hilda ignored his distress. A brisk approach was better than sympathy. “Yes, very well, and has this Miss Lewis talked to the police, do you know?”

“If she has I don't know about it. She's not here.”

Hilda frowned. “What do you mean, not here?”

“She went away. Some of the kids said she was sick and had to go home to stay with her mother for a while.”

“And where is home? Elkhart?”

“I don't think so. I don't think Miss Lewis is from there. Indianapolis, maybe? Somewhere far away.”

“Very well. You say they were good friends, she and Miss Jacobs.”

“They ate their lunches together most days, the two of them. Mostly Miss Lewis would come to our classroom and they would eat at Miss Jacobs's desk. And they walked home together almost every day, until Miss Lewis went home at Christmas and didn't come back.”

“Does she plan to come back, do you think?”

Erik shrugged. “Don't know. Mrs. Schmidt would maybe know, her landlady.”

“We go there next.”

“I have an idea, Hilda,” said Erik after a few more steps.

“And what is that, little—my brother?”

“I don't know anybody at Mrs. Gibbs's house, or Mrs. Schmidt's. But I do know some of the boys who work at the Oliver Hotel. Have you heard about the man who disappeared from there?”

“No! Oh, but yes, Erik. I heard a little. John Bolton started to say something to me, but Mrs. Sullivan called me in. Tell me what you know.”

“Nothin' except there was a man stayin' there for a couple of nights, the night before everything happened and then the night of—the awful night—and then he left without payin' his bill, or so the talk goes. I could go there and find out a lot! Kurt works there, and Andy, and lots of boys I know.”

His voice was full of pleading. Hilda considered. “You will go straight there and only there?”

Erik made a face. “I'm not a baby! Even Mama lets me go where I want when I don't have work to do.”

“I don't mean that. I know you are almost grown. If you have money and want to stop for an ice cream or buy some candy, that is your business. What I mean is, if you find out something, you will not go somewhere else and try to find out more. You will come back to me and consult. You promised yesterday, Erik. This is dangerous, and Mama is trusting me to keep you safe.”

Erik stood up straighter. “I won't break my promise. But what if one of the boys wants to take me and show me something?”

Hilda sighed. “If it is at the boy's house or in the hotel you may go. If it is anywhere else you must come to me first. If I do not see you at Mrs. Gibbs's I will come to you at the hotel when I am finished.”

Erik frowned and kicked at a clump of ice, shattering it into glittering shards. “Anybody'd think I didn't have any gumption.”

“And what is that?”

“Good sense. Horse sense. You order me around, and you don't even speak English as well as I do!”

“I order you around,” said Hilda furiously, “because you do
not
always show good sense. As for my English, I do not use slang, if that is what you mean.” Her English was a point of pride, and it annoyed her that Erik did, in fact, speak more idiomatically than she.

She stopped to take him by the shoulders and glare at him. The glare in his face was so exactly like the one she felt on her own face that her sense of humor took over. She clapped him on the back and started walking again. “I believe that when I marry Patrick and we quarrel, it will be no different from what I have done all my life with you. If ever I knew a stubborn Swede, it is you.”

“You oughta know,” said Erik, but he said it under his breath. His sister could be pushed only so far.

They parted at the door of Mrs. Gibbs's boarding house. Erik went on downtown to the hotel, while Hilda took the path around to the kitchen door and knocked.

A large woman answered the door. She was wearing a white apron and had flour on her hands. “Good morning, ma'am,” said Hilda with a polite nod. “I can see that you are busy, but may I come in and speak with the housemaid for a minute? I work at Tippecanoe Place, and I need to talk to her, for a little time only.”

“Come in, then, and shut the door. You're lettin' in all the cold air. Come in to the kitchen with you.”

Hilda followed meekly. The cook led the way down a dark passage to a small kitchen. Almost all the space was taken up with a huge kitchen range. The coal fire at the heart of the monster made the room stiflingly hot; Hilda unfastened her cloak and loosened her scarf. The cook turned to her breadboard, took a portion of the large lump of dough, and began to shape it into a loaf.

“Now, you'll not be wantin' to take away our Kathleen, will you? You'd be that Swedish maid that's pantin' to marry Daniel Malloy's nephew, wouldn't you? A bit above yourself, my friend Mrs. Sullivan says.”

Hilda bit back a retort and said simply, “Yes, I am Hilda Johansson, and no, we have no need of more maids at Tippecanoe Place. But if I could speak to her? I will not interfere with her work.”

The cook gave her a sharp look. “Give yourself airs, don't you? Well, it's none of my business. Kathleen's doin' the parlor, if she's where she's supposed to be. You'll find it easy enough. I've no time to be showin' the likes of you around.”

Hilda couldn't trust herself to reply. She nodded to the cook's back and got out of the kitchen, stopping in the hall to take a few deep breaths and think of the things she would have liked to say to the cook.