No Comfort for the Lost (20 page)

“I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken to come here and tell me what you’ve learned.”

“You’re damned impossible, you know?” She stepped closer, bringing the scent of tuberose to him. “I’m not here because I want money, Nick. You asked me to find out what’s going on. Well, I did, because I thought we were at least still friends.”

“Don’t get mad, Mina.” He returned the coins to his pocket.

“Too late for that.” She looked disgusted. Whether it was with him or herself wasn’t clear. “Don’t worry, Nick. I won’t be back to bother you.”

With an irate swish of her silk skirts, she swept out of the room and down the stairs. The bang of the front door rattled the house.

• • •

C
elia rested her fingers on the door handle of her cousin’s bedchamber. For the moment, Barbara was sleeping quietly, her breathing even. But after what they had endured so far, how could Celia guarantee that there would not be more trouble?
When sorrows come, they come not single spies but in battalions.

Celia shut the door and carried the kerosene lamp back to her own room, setting it upon her walnut dressing table. She crossed to the window and pressed a hand to the cool glass. Outside, the houses cast in shadows across the street were as indistinct as the answers Celia kept chasing. Why could she not discover who had killed Li Sha? How much more evidence would she or Mr. Greaves require in order to find the murderer and stop the hateful messages, the attacks?

Celia lowered her hand, made cold by the window glass. She was about to close the curtains when a movement outside caught her attention. Someone was coming down the street in the direction of their house, moving from shadow to shadow. The person crossed the road to avoid the light from the lone streetlamp, then crossed back over again.

Grabbing the kerosene lamp, Celia hurried down the stairs and out to the vestibule. She had reached to unlock the front door when she paused. The stairs to the porch had creaked. The watcher was out there, and she had no defense.

“Ma’am?” Addie, her brown hair springing out around her nightcap, leaned over the upstairs banister. “What is the matter?”

“The watcher. He is outside.”

“Och!” Addie dashed down the staircase, her slippers flapping against the treads. “Let me get my knife.”

“Addie!”

“We’ve no other protection, now, do we?” She ran through Celia’s examination room and into the kitchen.

Trembling, Celia leaned toward the door. What could she or Addie do? Was the watcher going to try to break into the house? She heard a soft thump against the front door followed again by the creak of the stairs.

Addie returned, carrying a cleaver. “This’ll stop him.”

Celia peered through the door glass; all was darkness. “I think he may have gone.”

“Move aside, ma’am. I’ll check.” Addie unlocked the door and eased it open. She looked down and screamed.

“What? What is it?” Celia asked, peering over her housekeeper’s shoulder.

What had once been a rat, its insides gutted, lay on the threshold. Celia kicked it, leaving a smear of blood on the porch. The dead rat bounced off the railing and landed in their front yard.

“Ma’am. Ma’am!” Addie was panting with alarm.

“Take slow, deep breaths, Addie. Before you faint.” Celia crept across the porch, the damp air making her shiver. Across the way, a sleepy neighbor peeked around his curtains. Celia descended a few steps.

“Ma’am, be careful!” called Addie, the cleaver held high.

“There is no one out here, Addie.”
Besides me, being foolish.

A lantern appeared in the Cascarinos’ upper window, and Mrs. Cascarino drew up the sash, the pulleys squealing. “Signora Davies! What is wrong?” she called down.

Celia looked up at Mrs. Cascarino. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a flame snuff out in Barbara’s room. Addie’s scream must have awakened her, too.

“Addie thought she saw something, but she was mistaken, Mrs. Cascarino,” Celia said. “I am sorry to have disturbed you. Good night.”

Mrs. Cascarino nodded, yawned into her fist, and closed the window.

Celia retreated to the porch, where Addie scowled from the doorway, the cleaver in her hand reflecting the lantern light. “He’s leaving us a gutted rat now? Weel, I dinna care what that detective says about you needing to stay in town for Mr. Davies’ trial. You’re nae safe here. None of us are.”

“I shall send a message to Mr. Greaves tomorrow and ask what he thinks we should do.”

“Leave is what we should do,” said Addie.

Before Celia rejoined her inside the house, she turned to look along the road again—and saw a hunched figure in a long coat sneaking around a distant corner. He was followed by the shape of a boy, his form merging into the blackness.

Nick sat in the dark, watching the orange glow of coals in his parlor stove grow dim. At his feet, Riley rearranged his position.

“Riley, what is it with women?” He had always stepped wrong with Mina. And Mrs. Davies, who attracted trouble like flypaper snagged insects, was sure to put herself in more danger by attending that anti-coolie meeting tomorrow . . . he listened to the chime of his landlady’s hall case clock and counted twelve . . . that meeting tonight. “Don’t bother to answer, boy, I know.”

Nick took a sip of whiskey and turned to gaze out the window, propped open with a stub of wood, a breeze ruffling the faded curtains. And of course there remained the mystery of who had killed Li Sha. It was Wednesday and he hadn’t solved the crime. There were too many pieces, like in one of those fancy dissected picture puzzles sold in emporiums, and none of them were fitting together.

Tessie Lange, in need of money and then vanishing.

Connor Ahearn, who had plentiful alibis as well as friends in high places.

Eagan, one of those friends, who was also cozy with Douglass and Palmer, two others who’d known the girl, possibly better than they’d admitted.

A German saloonkeeper involved in smuggling, who had been the victim of arson. And who also liked to go to Chinatown.

Hubert Lange, who claimed a strange man had been hanging around his store. The same man, maybe, who liked to pummel detectives with bludgeons and send warning notes to Celia Davies.

And a gang of boys, inspired by somebody’s hate-filled pa, who’d decided to terrorize Barbara Walford. Except that one of them had gotten the bright idea to send a more serious message with a chunk of cobblestone.

The tocsin sounded at city hall. Two bells. North Beach. Another fire, and only a day after the one in Chinatown. It was either a tragic coincidence or no coincidence at all.

Nick set down the whiskey and stood abruptly, startling Riley. The dog lifted his head. “I’m going to check on that fire, boy. Be back in no time.”

Not bothering to light a lantern, Nick collected his gun and holster, pulled on his boots and coat, and left the boardinghouse. He headed west, then started north. At this time of night, the streets were quiet. Every saloon that didn’t want to get in trouble with the law was shut down, its windows dark. Behind him, Nick heard the clatter of wheels on cobblestone. A fire engine rattled up the road, and he hailed it. The driver, outfitted in a fireman’s uniform, looked ready to drive right past him.

Nick darted into the road. “Stop!”

The man reined in the horses just in time to avoid running him over. “What are you doing, you lunatic?”

“I need a ride to the fire.” He flashed his badge and climbed onto the seat next to the driver. “Police business.”

They arrived at the fire’s location along the shore within minutes. Nick hopped down. A small warehouse near the foot of Meiggs’ Wharf was ablaze. A hose wagon was already there, the firemen attaching hoses to the hydrant down the street. Out on the bay, a schooner bobbed alongside the pier, and a handful of boatmen had come on deck to gawk.

Nick noticed a constable across the road from the burning building. He was restraining a crowd, locals in their nightclothes, who were pressing forward for better views.

Nick trotted over and introduced himself.

The constable looked surprised. “That was quick. Didn’t know Rodgers had already managed to get to the police telegraph.”

“Rodgers,”
whoever he was,
thought Nick, “didn’t send for me. I heard the bell and thought I’d see what’s going on. There have been two fires in two days. Not good.”

“Heard about that one last night. Arson, right?”

Nick nodded. “What about this one? Any idea?”

“Looks like an accident to me. There’s plenty of tinder around.” The constable pointed at the stacks of discarded barrels and piles of lumber. “It’s worse inside. The warehouse ain’t been used for months, but the last owner left a whole pile of junk behind. Empty barrels and crates. God knows what used to be in all of them.”

“An accident,” Nick said. Just a tragic coincidence.

“I’d guess the fire was started by the drunk who likes to sleep in there, trying to keep warm. Lucky for him, the lodging house owner next door heard the fellow screeching and pulled him outta the building afore he burned to a crisp.” The constable scratched the scrap of beard on his chin. “Couldn’t save the woman, though.”

“A woman?”

“Yep, there’s a woman in there, too. Burned up pretty bad.” From inside the building a small explosion reverberated. Flames shot higher, and the assembled onlookers gave a collective gasp. “The lodging house owner who saw her body thought she musta been dead afore the fire started, though. ’Cause of the slice across her neck, you see.”

• • •

“
H
ere is fifty cents, Joaquín.” Celia handed coins to the boy from across the street. “Take this note to Detective Greaves or to Officer Taylor. Can you remember their names?”

His dark eyes blinked at her. “I do not like the police station.”

“Tell the officers you have brought a message from me. Use my name specifically, and they should not bother you,” she said. “Hurry before the rain starts again.”

He still looked dubious, but took the note and scurried up the road. At the corner boardinghouse, one of the tenants was smoking on the second-floor balcony, his feet propped on the railing. In Spanish he shouted at Joaquín to slow down, then laughed, curls of smoke spiraling from his mouth and vanishing into the damp air. Joaquín hurried on, and the neighbor looked in Celia’s direction, his laughter fading. She felt an uncontrollable shiver.
He
could be the watcher; Celia didn’t know everyone on their street, so many strangers coming and going with the rise and fall of their fortunes.

But such thoughts were ridiculous—when had their neighbors ever given them a reason to feel apprehensive?—and she smiled at the man to prove to herself she wasn’t afraid before hastening back inside.

Tucking her mother’s shawl around her neck, the cashmere comfortingly warm, Celia entered the parlor. She stared at the grinning portrait of her uncle.
What would you do, Uncle? I want to stay and show the person behind the threats that we will not be intimidated. But if we stay, what dreadful business will happen next?

The previous night, Barbara’s peaceful sleep had not lasted long. Her dream had been worse when it had come, even though Celia hadn’t told her cousin about the rat. Barbara had cried and cried, forcing Celia to dose her with more laudanum and hold her until exhaustion and the medication took hold. First thing this morning, Celia had gone to each door of her nearest neighbors to inquire if they had seen anyone suspicious last night. All of them had said no.

Addie came into the dining room, a cup of tea in her hand, and noticed Celia standing in the parlor.

“Come and have some tea, ma’am. A nice oolong, brewed the way you like it.” She placed the teacup and saucer on the table and pulled out a chair.

Celia went over and sat. “I hope Mr. Greaves can figure out how we can leave the city without jeopardizing Tom’s defense.” She cradled the teacup in her hands, savoring its warmth and calming aroma. Still, she felt as though her bones were formed of ice.

“The police have to see sense, ma’am. We canna stay here. Not with that . . .” Addie blanched. “Not after last night.”

“Why can I not identify the wretch who is responsible?” asked Celia.

“Weel, ma’am, let’s both think on that. Because two heads are better than one, now, aren’t they?” Addie pulled out another chair and dropped onto it, her eyes shining. Evidently, she enjoyed playing the part of sleuth. “So, let’s see. The notes were nae from anyone we know.”

“As far as I can tell,” Celia answered, taking a sip of tea. It was bitingly strong. “However, that might have been a deception.”

“In which case, we do have to account for all the people we know. Who’s been acting the most peculiar since Miss Li died? Because guilt always shows in the eyes,” she avowed. “They are the windows to the soul, after all. All we need do is look!”

“Oh my goodness, Addie, I believe everyone has been acting peculiar. Everyone except you, that is,” Celia added, lowering the teacup to the saucer. “And our neighbors have not changed their behavior, so far as I have noticed,” she said, despite her reaction to the man smoking on the balcony of the corner boardinghouse. “Do you think any of them have done?”

“No, ma’am. Other than Joaquín’s mother, who’s still fearful angry with us after checking his feet against those boot prints.” Addie tutted.

“Mr. Lange has been more tense than I can ever recollect,” Celia continued. “Although that might simply be his upset over the murder of a gentle young woman whom he knew. And there was Tessie’s suspiciously urgent visit to the Barbary to speak with Connor Ahearn, and now she is missing.”

“And that bodes ill. You ken it does, ma’am.”

“It does indeed,” said Celia. “Elizabeth Palmer has been unusually concerned about my work with the Chinese women, and her daughter has been more sickly than usual. Although again, Li Sha’s death is stunning to us all, and simply because the Palmers had only met her once does not mean they are immune to the shock. And Mr. Palmer . . .” Celia paused and clasped the cooling teacup again. “The other day he commented on Li Sha having sold her belongings, the gifts she had been given by her clients. I thought it odd that he knew that, although I suppose Elizabeth might have mentioned it to him.”

“The Palmers. Hmph,” said Addie. “I canna understand why Miss Barbara likes them so.”

“Because they have been kind to her, and she has few friends.”

“Your uncle, God rest his soul, was always leery of their motives.”

“I appreciate anyone who treats Barbara well,” said Celia, closing the topic of the Palmers and their relationship with Barbara. “I do not know this Mr. Ahearn, who seems the most likely candidate. And the last people on our list are the Douglasses. I have not seen enough of them to comment on their behavior, aside from how surprising it was that they both attended Li Sha’s funeral.”

“’Twas guilt over how they treated Miss Li, and you, too. Dismissing your work with the Chinese girls because of those awful anti-coolie people. Bah.”

The bell for the front door rang. “Who could that be?” asked Celia.

Addie got to her feet. “Should I send them away?”

“See who it is first.”

Addie went to open the door, and Celia heard Elizabeth Palmer’s voice. She stood and greeted her in the entry hall.

“What brings you here, Elizabeth?” Celia asked.

“I saw news of the attack on your cousin in the newspaper this morning.” Today Elizabeth wore a day dress in lilac silk with mother-of-pearl buttons. Instead of her voluminous burnous scarf, she had tossed a white cashmere shawl banded in vermillion over her shoulders and carried a silk umbrella, which she deposited in the brass stand by the door. Celia couldn’t recall a time she had ever seen Elizabeth in a plain gown. “A gang of boys? What next?”

“Come into the parlor. Addie, bring tea for us there.”

Elizabeth accompanied Celia into the parlor and they took seats on the settee. “I have not had an opportunity to read the account,” Celia said. “I hope they didn’t exaggerate the extent of Barbara’s injuries.”

“The account was vague.” Elizabeth knitted her brows. “Is she well?”

“She has a bump on her head and a small cut on her hand. Nothing serious. She is more discomposed than actually wounded.”

“I did warn you, Celia, that you were placing yourself in danger by working with those Chinese women. And this is what happens.” The wave of Elizabeth’s right hand encompassed the parlor, as if the crime had been committed within the walls of the house instead of in a grimy back alley. “See how violent the anti-Chinese people are? You’re fortunate your cousin, so young and fragile like Emmeline, was not seriously hurt.”

Addie entered with the tea tray. She gave Elizabeth a wary sideways glance as she set the tray in front of Celia.

“Thank you, Addie.” Addie departed and Celia poured out the tea.

“What do the police have to say?” asked Elizabeth, accepting a cup.

“They are attempting to find those responsible for assaulting us and bring them to justice.”

“Do they think the attack is related to Li Sha’s murder?”

Elizabeth. Ever collecting and distributing rumors and tidbits. If gossip could be traded on the mercantile exchange, she would be wealthier than she already was.

“I cannot say, Elizabeth. Detective Greaves is working on uncovering any connections, however.”

Footsteps clattered down the staircase and Barbara burst into the parlor. “Mrs. Palmer!” She looked as though she’d just scrambled out of bed, her hair coming unwound from its braid and her wrapper tied loosely over her nightgown.

“Good morning, Barbara.” Elizabeth pursed her lips at Barbara’s undignified entrance.

“Barbara, what is it?” asked Celia.

“I thought I heard . . .” She blushed. “When I heard Mrs. Palmer’s voice, I thought I also heard Mr. Palmer’s.”

And of course you had to come running.
“It is only Elizabeth this morning. She was worried about you, but I have assured her that you are recovering.”

“Yes, I am, Mrs. Palmer. Thank you so much for your concern.”

“Would you like Addie to bring tea up to your room?” Celia asked her.

“No, I’ll just go to the kitchen and have her make me some toast. Good day to you, Mrs. Palmer. I’m sorry for interrupting, Cousin.” She hurried out of the room and shut the pocket doors between the dining room and parlor.

“Poor child. She looks unwell,” said Elizabeth after a brief pause. “But it’s understandable, given the strain of having your brother-in-law accused of killing a girl she knew. I must say, it’s curious how long it’s taking for Tom Davies to go to trial for Li Sha’s death. It must be painful for you all, having to read about the crime nearly every day in the newspapers. I’d imagine you would like the whole messy business finished quickly. I know I would.”