Crimson Snow (23 page)

Hilda listened, her cheeks going alternately red and white.

“So, Hilda, now you know. I was once determined to stop this marriage. I am now equally determined to do all I can to make it a success. It won't be easy, child. You've just said yourself, you have a great deal of adjusting to do. You'll leave Tippecanoe Place a servant and walk into your own house a well-to-do young bride. Your life will change completely, and you won't like all of it. But at least money won't be a worry to you, and I'll try to help you through the rest.”

“And there will be Patrick,” said Hilda, very quietly.

“What's that, dear? I don't hear as well as I used to.”

“I said, there will be Patrick to help me, also. He is the bridge between my old life and my new one. He has moved in your world for many years, as well as in his own and in mine. It will be strange sometimes, but I am not afraid. I will have him.”

“By the saints, girl, you'll do!” Mrs. Malloy slapped the arm of her chair. “We'll have a little something to celebrate your engagement. Just ring for Riggs, will you?”

And Hilda, for the first time in her life, pulled a bell rope and thought again about America, where a servant, one to be summoned at her master's will, was now the summoner.

Riggs brought sherry at his mistress's order. He set the tray, with a decanter and two glasses, on the table by Mrs. Malloy's chair. He tried hard to keep his face under control, but he failed.

“Mr. Riggs does not like me,” said Hilda after he had left the room.

“Riggs, dear. He isn't your superior. And he will get used to you. Riggs doesn't like change, but you're a member of the family now. Take no notice of him, if you can manage that. If you can't, then let fly with that temper of yours. He respects authority. Now, will you take a glass of wine with me?”

That lawlessness has existed in South
Bend for a long time…that bawdy houses
are seldom molested…is of
common knowledge.

—South Bend
Tribune
   
February 10, 1904

 

 

23

H
ILDA HAD NEVER tasted wine in her life, save for the tiny sip in church on Communion Sundays. She eyed the decanter dubiously. “I do not know, Mrs.—Aunt Molly. I think maybe I should not. It is not allowed at Tippecanoe Place, and our family has never had money to spend on drink. Also, our church does not approve of drinking.”

“Well, I don't want you to violate your conscience, but if you're marrying into an Irish family, girl, you need to learn to drink—in moderation, of course.”

Hilda thought about that. “I do not know that I mind,” she said slowly. “If we drink it in church, and the
Herre Gud
told us to, it cannot be wicked. I will try a little.”

“Splendid. Just a bit at first, as you say, and sip it slowly.”

The wine was sweet and heady. Hilda downed her meager half glass in a few sips, feeling deliciously wicked. “I like it,” she said in surprise. “It is not so different from what we have in church.”

“Well, as to that, I can't say, since only the priest drinks the wine in our church. But this is lovely stuff, in moderation, as I say. Drink too much and you'll be wishing yourself dead in the morning.”

“The Irish do—I am sorry, Aunt Molly, but it is said that the Irish do drink too much.”

“Sure, and they do, some of them. It's a tragic habit. See you never get into it yourself. But I'm pleased to say that Patrick is a temperate man. You'll never need to worry about him, no more than I ever have about Mr. Malloy.”

She said nothing about her son, Clancy. Hilda knew that drink was one of Clancy's many problems, but Clancy was never likely to come home from New York, so he would never become a problem for Hilda.

“Aunt Molly, I know much about the proper way to do things in a gentleman's house. I have been helping to do them for many years. But Tippecanoe Place is teetotal, so I do not know anything about serving drink. Is it always served in these tiny glasses?”

“Gracious, no, child! Those are for sherry. Other kinds of wine are served in glasses something like these, with stems, but larger, because the wine is not so strong. Beer is served in mugs, and whiskey—”

“Oh, I would never drink whiskey!”

“Of course you won't, because you are a lady, and ladies drink only wine. But your servants need to know how to serve whiskey to the gentlemen, and you must teach them.”

Mrs. Malloy was well launched on the beginning of Hilda's social education when Mr. Malloy came home. An array of glasses was set out on the tea table, and Hilda was studying them intently.

“Is it an orgy we're having, then, Mrs. Malloy?” he said as he walked into the room. “Good day to you, Miss Johansson.”

“It's Hilda to us now, Mr. Malloy. She's part of the family. Hilda, ring and ask Riggs to take the glasses away and bring Mr. Malloy some tea.”

Perhaps it was the sherry, though she had drunk it more than an hour before. Perhaps it was Mrs. Malloy's instruction. At any rate, when the butler came into the room, Hilda smiled at him pleasantly. “Please take these things away and bring a pot of tea for Mr. Malloy, Riggs. Thank you.”

He did as he was told, and Hilda breathed a sigh of relief. One hurdle crossed.

“Now, Mr. Malloy, Hilda has come to us with a very serious problem. We aren't sure what we had best do, and we need your advice. Tell him, Hilda.”

So she related the whole story once more. “I was maybe a fool to do what I did, sir, but I could think of nothing else.”

“Couldn't tackle the fellow, not without help. Might better have let it wait until later, but what's done is done. The fellow's on the alert now. You're staying here with us, of course?”

“Yes, sir. Aunt—that is, Mrs. Malloy—”

“I've told her she's to call us Aunt and Uncle, Mr. Malloy. And of course she's staying here until it's safe for her to return.”

“Hmph. Don't see any need for her to go back there at all, unless Mrs. Studebaker is shorthanded. How's that butler of yours doing, Hilda? Williams, I mean, not the sly fellow.”

“He is better. The doctors think he will recover, but it will take time. And if Colonel Studebaker lets Mr.—lets Barnes go, the household will be in trouble. I think I must go back to work when it is safe, but I do not know when that might be.”

“Don't like the idea of my niece slaving in somebody else's house. I'll tell you what. After dinner I'll go over there myself and see what's what. The fellow ought to be in jail.”

“Oh, if you do that, sir, would you please have someone tell my sister where I am? She will be very worried. I told her I was coming back and she will not know what to think.”

“Right you are. Now, Mrs. Malloy, what's for dinner? I could eat a horse.”

“Roast beef will have to do, I'm afraid, Mr. Malloy.”

Hilda watched them as they ate their meal, watched the looks they exchanged, listened to their gentle joking.
Why, they are still in love, after all those years of marriage, and all their trouble with their children,
she thought, and her heart warmed at the sight.
Maybe Patrick and I, years from now…
But the thought was too private even to think in company.

Immediately after they finished the meal, Mr. Malloy ordered the carriage. Hilda sat with Mrs. Malloy in the parlor and talked, but her mind was not on the conversation. She started every time she heard hoofbeats, and when at last the front door opened, she sprang to her feet, waiting anxiously while Mr. Malloy shed his outer garments in the hall.

“Well, Hilda, I saw your sister and set her mind at rest. She's a bit confused, but not worried. For the rest, it's not the best news, I'm afraid,” he said, when he came into the parlor. “The fellow's gone. Didn't wait to be sacked, didn't pack his clothes or anything, just took French leave. And took some documents with him, it seems.”

“Documents?” said Hilda with a frown. “I thought he was looking for money. I do not know what Colonel Studebaker keeps in the safe, but I thought there would be lots of money.”

“Some. Not a great deal, according to what he told me. Most of his money's in the bank, of course. He keeps a little cash in the house, not more than a few hundred, and he says it all seems to be there.”

A few hundred! Dear heaven, to Hilda that was a fortune. It had taken her and her family years to save four hundred dollars to bring the rest of the family here from Sweden, and when the money was stolen from them it was a major catastrophe. Now here was her new uncle talking as if hundreds of dollars was pocket change. Truly it was a new world she was about to enter.

Mr. Malloy had gone on talking. “Mostly he keeps important documents in there. Business ledgers, legal papers, his will, deed to the house, that sort of thing. Said his father kept almost all the Studebaker company records in that safe, and he, the colonel, hasn't cleaned them all out yet. But there were some other papers there, important ones, and they're all gone.”

“But what were they?” Hilda had to know.

Mr. Malloy cleared his throat. “Something he was looking into, he and some other men in town. An investigation, I suppose you'd call it. He'd put all his notes in the safe and now he's lost them. Mrs. Malloy, I'd like a drink. Dry work, going through papers.”

Mrs. Malloy rang for the butler and then turned to her husband. “Mr. Malloy, for pity's sake tell us what the papers were, unless Colonel Studebaker bound you to secrecy.”

“No.” He cleared his throat again. “Fact is, not a suitable topic for ladies.”

“But I am not yet a lady, sir. Uncle Dan. And I would like to know.”

“As would I, Mr. Malloy.” The tiny woman pulled herself up to her full height. Her voice was quiet, but her husband capitulated at once.

“Oh, very well. You'll not like it, mind. Might as well all sit down. This'll take a little time.”

They settled. Riggs brought his whiskey and he took a sip from his glass and thought for a moment, then began to speak.

“It's this way. You'll know—that is, Hilda, do you read the papers?”

“Yes. I am not supposed to, but I do, when I can.”

“Then you'll know that the
Tribune
keeps going on and on about how corrupt this town is, how bad the police are, how the mayor ought to do something.”

“Yes,” said Hilda warmly, “and I think it is a terrible thing, those cartoons they put on the front page making fun of Mayor Fogarty and the Irish.”

“It makes me blood boil, and that's a fact,” said Mr. Malloy, “but the only way to fight it is with the truth. So some of us on the County Council have been lookin' into the matter, to see just how much there is to it, and it's sad to say, but we've found a lot of shady business goin' on.”

He sipped a little more of his drink. “Of course, the Republicans have done their lookin' too, and they've come up with more than we Democrats have. Could be they've made up a little bit here and there, but maybe not. They say there's vice everywhere. Illegal liquor sales, gamblin' dens—and houses that are not as respectable as they ought to be.”

Mrs. Malloy looked at Hilda. “You do understand what he's talking about, don't you?”

“Yes, Aunt Molly.” Hilda blushed. “I am a housemaid. I am in the room, often, or in the hall outside, when men talk about such things. They forget that I am there, but I hear, and I know.”

Mr. Malloy looked relieved. “Then I don't have to spell it out. Well, it seems that Colonel Studebaker is one of the Republicans investigating the corruption, and the particular area he's lookin' into is these—er—irregular establishments.”

“You might as well call them bawdy houses, Mr. Malloy,” said his wife gently. “We all know about them, and it would save you trouble.”

“Hmph! Don't know what the world's comin' to when decent women know of such things. However. The point is that Colonel Studebaker had quite a file of information about the bawdy houses in South Bend, including reports from an investigator he'd hired. He wasn't eager to tell me about it. We're on opposite sides of the political fence, of course, but he's an honorable man, and so am I, I hope. So in the end he did tell me. And believe it or not, it was that file that the butler fellow stole.”

“But—” said Hilda and Mrs. Malloy. The older woman continued. “I don't understand, Mr. Malloy. What use would a butler have for such information?”

“That's what we can't figure out. It can't have been just that he wanted to—er—patronize one of the establishments. He could find one easily enough just by asking around, more's the pity. He wouldn't take the risk of stealing. We talked about it, the colonel and I, and the only thing we could think was that Barnes wanted to sell the information somewhere.”

“That does not make sense, sir—Uncle Dan. He might be able to get a little money from someone who did not want the information made public, but he could have got much more money, I think, just by stealing it from the safe. Why try to get it in such a complicated way?”

“There's somethin' here we don't understand,” Mr. Malloy admitted. “We'll have to hope the police catch that feller right away, so we can get some answers.”

“Meanwhile, Mr. Malloy, Hilda is staying right here with us, where she'll be safe.”

“But that is not so good! I am sorry, Aunt Molly. I am grateful to you. But I cannot yoost—
just
sit here and be safe. Tomorrow is Miss Jacobs's funeral, and I must go to Elkhart and talk with her family.”

“The police have been doing that, child, and I'm sure some of them will go to the funeral.”

“Yes, but they have not found the killer yet. And I am sorry to have to say it, Uncle Dan, since you are in the government, but I do not think the police are very good. Some of them are good men, but they are maybe not so smart. And Mr. Barrett has asked me to talk to people. I must go!”