Of Dubious and Questionable Memory (7 page)

Through several courses of rich roe and lobster bisque, I made small talk, compensating for Merinda's disinterest in anything other than Del's disappearance. Finally, George insisted on Boston cream pie for
dessert—the chocolate-covered sponge cake with buttery filling original to the hotel.

At long last, brandy and coffee served, George sparked Merinda's interest by veering back into the territory of the missing Del.

“I also prided myself on my connections,” he said, staring ruefully into his brandy glass. “But like my dear Miri, I came upon dead end after dead end when it came to sweet Del.”

Merinda and I exchanged a glance. We knew he was a liar, but how could we reveal him as one? We weren't supposed to have seen that letter.

Miri excused herself to powder her nose, and Merinda kicked me under the table—a message I took as an order to follow our hostess. I hoped Merinda would behave herself in my absence.

In the grand foyer, Miri avoided the powder room altogether. Instead, she sat outside on a red chair, buried her face in her hands, and cried.

I longed to dash over and put my arm around her trembling shoulders, but I knew it would embarrass her something fierce. I turned in the direction of the powder room.

When I returned to the table I found Merinda apologizing profusely for spilling an entire goblet of red wine over George Winthrop's vest as waiters fluttered about with fizzy water and napkins for the stains.

A silent carriage ride to the Back Bay, and then it was time to retire. Merinda bade me good night and pressed her palm over her breast pocket, signaling she still had Nicholas's letter. I hoped she would find a discreet way to return it to George Winthrop's office.

We had not yet had a chance to settle before a commotion downstairs roused us. We opened our bedroom doors at the same time, exchanging a surprised look. The doorbell was being pressed again and again, vehemently, and its wailing chime was soon replaced by a flustered, loud, and inebriated voice.

Merinda and I crept to the top of the landing and watched George bound from his office, brandy glass in hand, collar open. “What in heaven's name are you doing here, Robert? There's no news, old boy.”

Soon Miri appeared behind us, her hair disheveled. She tied her robe tightly around her midsection and descended the stairs, not sparing us a look. “Please, lower your voices. We have guests. Robert, would you care to come into the sitting room? George, see to a glass of brandy for the poor man.”

Merinda and I sat down and peeked through the balusters of the banister as if we were children waiting for Santa Claus. We could hear everything from our perch, especially the booming voice of Robert.

“How could you! You were supposed to be on my side.”

“I cannot make up the girl's mind for her, Robert. You know it.”

“Look at this!”

Merinda and I exchanged a glance.

“This arrived with no return address seemingly out of nowhere. You say you cannot find her, and yet she's slipping me notes. She says she doesn't forgive me at all. That I have no right to take her freedom, that she is willing to sacrifice her fortune for her happiness.”

“Let me see it!” Miri said frantically, and I could tell by the silence that she must have been victorious in confiscating the letter. Low mumbles and footsteps followed thereafter.

“There is no one in the world more important to me than Del,” Miri hissed. “You just want her money, Robert. That's all you have ever wanted.”

“I want to find her because I care about her. I'm worried about her falling back into that old crowd of hers,” he said regally.

“What old crowd?” Miri said.

“You've always encouraged this, Miri. This behavior. The anarchist meetings and the newspaper editorials! Reading that heathen Goldman. I'm surprised you don't blame yourself.”

“Blame myself?”

“That she's gone.”

“I'd never let any harm come to my sister.”

“No? Well, you're not nearly as concerned as you should be.”

“I hired private investigators!”

“Those two birds from Canada? They couldn't find an egg in a children's Easter hunt.”

Merinda harrumphed. I snickered. It can't help but be noted that we sometimes stumbled upon a conclusion. The way this investigation was turning, we might well do so again!

“They're women. They have intuition for these things and, as I said, the police have no interest in helping. Del wasn't taken by force. There's no sign of her around any of the places we visited that day.”

Robert's curt good night was the cue Merinda and I needed to exchange a glance and scurry back upstairs. Merinda closed her bedroom door and then slipped into my room.

Miri, in tears, walked over the hall carpet. We waited, quiet as mice, to hear her door click shut.

Breakfast the next morning was a cold affair. George consulted the morning paper while sipping his coffee. Miri wrung her hands underneath her napkin. Merinda tucked into the sideboard's offerings with her usual healthy appetite, and I picked shyly at a piece of toast. The atmosphere was so tense I could feel it crawling up my arms and over my neck.

Once George finished and excused himself to his study, Merinda took a fortifying gulp of coffee and narrowed her eyes at Miri. “I would like the whole truth now, please.”

Miri blinked innocently. “I… I have no idea… ”

“Del isn't missing!” Merinda chided. “We're part of an elaborate charade to keep your husband and that ape Robert from finding her.”

Miri straightened her shoulders and tightened her lips, but the more Merinda bore her gaze into her, the faster she faltered. Finally, one tear fell. Then another. Then a whole stream of them. “Please, please! We must keep quiet,” she entreated shakily.

“You bribed the police to keep quiet and pretend nothing was amiss if anyone went sniffing about.”

“Only with chewing tobacco!” Miri whined.

“And the lady at the Colonial Inn. Not to mention whomever you called in Canada from that number.”

“Martha was in Toronto on assignment,” Miriam sniffed. “That's how I reached her to find you.”

“And the note Robert received? We heard the commotion last night,” Merinda said by way of explanation.

“I sent it. A note to George too. Both from Del. George got his last night. We had a row about it before you came down this morning.”

“And you left us our crumbs. The Wright Tavern pamphlet in her luggage. Your coming back with
just one last thing
when we were searching through Del's belongings!”

“I am not adept at creating a skillful ruse. I truly wanted to ensure you had everything you needed to piece the puzzle together!”

“But you needed us. The Boston police would've had the time and manpower to seek out everyone in Concord at your husband's bidding. You had to convince that ogre George to let you choose your own method for recovering your sister.”

“I… I needed to give her enough time to have the life I will never have. Just a few days. Then it turned into a week. But I knew you would figure it out. I knew it. Tell me, please, when did you learn the truth?”

“You weren't nearly concerned enough for your beloved sister. I knew that from the start. But then”—Merinda inclined her head in my direction—“I thought of the lengths we go to for someone else's happiness. My friend here, like your sister, has pursued the most illogical of marriages.”

I scowled at Merinda while Miri dabbed her eyes.

“Where's Del?” Merinda blew out a frustrated whoosh of breath. “I want her to finish her part of the tale!”

“She's in Concord,” Miri said in a whisper. “She never left.”

Chapter Six

Sometimes the obvious is right in front of your nose. In “A Scandal in Bohemia,” Irene Adler walks brashly past Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson dressed as a man. She even bids him good night, and though her voice plucks a note of his memory, he is initially none the wiser.

Merinda tugged me in the direction of Orchard House. “There's no other place she would be,” Merinda decided. “No one's in there. And Nicholas Haliburton can see to her every need.” Merinda's voice picked up the pace, and I could tell she was getting wound up with excitement like a spool tight with thread. “We walked all around Concord, but we didn't see what was staring us in the face.”

She rapped on the door of Orchard House a few times. Lightly, thank goodness, taking my advice not to harm all of the work that Nicholas and his friends had been doing.

“I know you're in there,” Merinda yelled, standing back and staring up at one of the second-story windows. “Delphina Barton, I know you're up there!”

The curtains in the upper window rustled slightly. Merinda, patience evaporating, flipped back the top handle of her walking stick to reveal the crowbar underneath and gently wedged the door open, leaving but a few splinters in her wake. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was the last breath I was to enjoy for the first stilted moments as we creaked over the front floorboards. I wondered how many times young Louisa May had tiptoed up the same staircase Merinda was now ascending.

A woman was waiting for us at the top, a slight smile tickling her cheek.

“Delphina Barton, I presume,” said Merinda.

“Delphina Haliburton,” she said with a blush. “And you're Miri's brilliant Canadian detectives!”

I looked over her shoulder and saw a bedroll spread across the carpet in the middle of a room to the left.
Some honeymoon,
I thought. Married a few days and sleeping on her own bedroll. Del and Nicholas must have found the cause worth all manner of small sacrifices.

“This room belonged to Louisa May's parents,” Del said proudly, following my gaze, but not reading the real reason for the intensity in my stare. She must have noticed the surprised look on my face. “Don't worry. I have kept it in pristine condition.”

“I believe this belongs to you,” Merinda said, handing Del the letter George had intercepted. So she
hadn't
returned it to his study.

Del smiled as she read, and then she folded the letter and returned it to its envelope. “George is a brute, and Robert only ever wanted my money, but Nicholas?” Her eyes positively sparkled. “Of course, women never fall for the man they're supposed to.”

“But after you fell in love with Nicholas… ” I prompted.

“Yes, there was still Robert to deal with. He told me he was going to go to my parents, and I knew my father was going to cut me off. But I had my grandmother's necklace. It is my rightful inheritance to do with as I please.” Del lifted her hands to her neck as if feeling its absence. “It's not my father's property at all.”

“So you had Mac take charge.”

She nodded. “I hadn't a plan until I talked to Miri about it, and she had this wonderful idea. She thought if we could create an elaborate enough ruse for Robert and George, I'd have time to elope with Nick and keep Robert from sniffing around. And Mac was able to sell the necklace, keeping us from total destitution.”

“So you made a fool of Jem and me!” Merinda couldn't keep an angry edge from her voice.

I shot Merinda a silencing look and directed a question to Del. “And you moved into Louisa May Alcott's house?”

“Nicholas knew Robert was poking around. And what is more romantic than the two of us playing house here? He came by after work every night, bringing lanterns and a picnic. We were camping
out in the past! He knew about you, of course. We knew you would lure Robert back to the city.”

“How?” Merinda flung her arms exasperatedly. “How could you possibly know that? How did you know that we would do any of this? You thought we were poor enough detectives that we wouldn't figure out where you were?”

“I trusted that you would!” Del cried. “So did Miri! We trusted that when you made the inevitable discovery, you would be empathetic enough to stay on our side. Miri's friend Martha reads about you all the time in that
Hog
newspaper. And she said Jemima married a muckraker far below her social ranking—”