The Detective's Dilemma (12 page)

Mrs. Winthrop winced. She clutched her bag to her bosom and looked around. “Harriet?” she called.

“Yes, ma’am.” The maid, who appeared somewhere between twenty and thirty years old, came to them at once, looking wild with curiosity. Dressed in an impeccable black-and-white uniform, her hair in a neat bundle at the back of her head, Harriet looked more stylish than her mistress.

Walker gave the maid his best smile, and she ducked her head but smiled back without trepidation. Mrs. Winthrop, bless the woman, obviously hadn’t shared the reason for her errand with Harriet.

Walker turned to Danny. “I need you to take another message, an easy one. Another whole nickel. Go across the street to that hat shop and tell the lady you met earlier to come back to the bookstore.”

Danny took off at once, slamming the door so hard, the bell jangled, and Gordon shouted something unintelligible from his armchair.

Mrs. Winthrop pushed the bag into his hands again. “Look, I don’t want this,” he said.

“No, really. Please.” She looked on the edge of tears again.

He was going to have to explain, and the fewer witnesses the better.

“Harriet,” Walker said. “Everything is fine, really. We’re waiting for another lady to join us. So if you wouldn’t mind waiting over by the history section?” He indicated a wall of books across the small shop.

She looked at her employer, who gave a tiny nod. The maid slowly trailed off, her disappointment clear.

Mrs. Winthrop began to wring her hands in earnest. He’d never seen anyone do that, and he resisted the urge to reach over and grab her hands and pat them to calm the poor woman. “Ma’am, I’ll be able to explain everything in a minute. Your grandson is safe, and so is your daughter-in-law.”

They waited in silence for what seemed forever, and just as he began to wonder if something had gone wrong, the door burst open again.

There she stood, Julianna. Not Mrs. Winthrop to him, not anymore. No new hat, he noticed and decided to buy her one.

He hadn’t experienced such a vivid stirring for quite some time—not like this startling, almost physical lurch of pleasure at seeing her. The few seconds he gawped at her seemed too important. Her mouth with the full lower lip and short upper one, parted a little, her eyes wide and, as usual, a worried pucker between her brows. Her cheeks seemed more pink because she’d rushed across the street, and they made her eyes brighter. He commanded himself to memorize the tilt of her head, the puzzled but hopeful light in her face, the way she clutched her ridiculous bags, the silk one and the one with food.

The word
love
blazed through him, and that was too much. He almost laughed at the absurdity.
Not now, if you please.

“Mrs. Winthrop,” Julianna said.

With a cry, Mrs. Winthrop threw herself into Julianna’s arms. She began to weep, her shoulders shaking.

Julianna patted her back tentatively and gave Walker an alarmed look. The maid had reappeared. “Mrs. James,” the maid said. “How d’ye do?”

“I’m fine. Mother Winthrop?” She gave her mother-in-law a squeeze. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes.” The older lady pulled away, her face still crumpled with emotion. Harriet handed her a neatly folded handkerchief, and she patted her eyes and cheeks. “I am so delighted to see you.”

She blinked her heavy-lidded eyes and looked around the shop as if coming awake. “What is going on, my dear? Why are you with this man, Walker? Where is Peter?”

Chapter Six

Julianna hadn’t realized that she had missed Mrs. Winthrop. Alas, the few moments of pleasure at seeing her mother-in-law came to an end at the mention of Peter. Julianna straightened her back, ready for the coming fight. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you where Peter is. Detective Walker was following your directions this morning and came to my house—but I convinced him to leave me and Peter alone. He is helping me.”

Mrs. Winthrop’s thin mouth went thinner. “All we hoped for was to see our darling grandson. I don’t see why you would deprive us of that pleasure.”

Could the woman be so blind? Julianna would have to make it all very clear. She breathed in and then out, slowly, before answering. “I will not allow my son near your husband unless I am there as well. And I’m convinced that you and Mr. Winthrop will attempt to take Peter away from me.”

Mrs. Winthrop opened her mouth, but then, after a few seconds, closed it again. “My husband is... John only wants what’s best for Peter,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Truly, the way you live… I have no wish to hurt you, but you have no financial security, and your relationship with your parents’ ex-servant… I should not like to speak of it. But what’s best for Peter is what we must think of.”

A haze of red hit the edges of Julianna’s vision. Rage. She thrust her hand into her pocket and pulled out the book. She flipped through some pages and read James’s words to his mother. “‘Mother says it is what is best for me. Always when I try to speak to her. What is best. What is best is for her to listen. She does not.’” She held up the book. “See? His handwriting.”

“James.” Mrs. Winthrop went pale gray.

Good. Julianna felt a savage pleasure at seeing that discomfort. She slapped the book closed and put it in her pocket. “Shall I tell you what James told me? What he tried to tell you? Those marks on his body were not caused by a skin ailment. They were made by a cigar. And he tried to tell you that.”

Mrs. Winthrop didn’t speak. Walker rocked back and forth and cleared his throat. Julianna threw him a pleading look. He raised his brows and didn’t speak. Warm gratitude filled her. He stood by to help—and seemed to understand her silent signals.

She shifted her gaze from him to a display of books on a table and, yes, look! He actually stepped over to the display, a distance of perhaps twenty feet from her and Mrs. Winthrop. She risked giving him a fast grateful smile.

Mrs. Winthrop glanced in his direction and then spoke in her usual querulous manner. “The doctor said it was a disease that killed him. An irritation.”

Julianna bit the inside of her cheek to stop a shriek of impatience escaping. “I imagine the doctor was paid by your husband to say just that. Exactly the same way the coroner took money to hide the true cause of your son’s death.”

Mrs. Winthrop moaned. She put her dainty gloved hands over her ears, jostling the too-large black hat on her head. Julianna didn’t want to feel a moment of pity for the woman, but when she reached to take the older lady’s hand, she didn’t yank it down from covering her ear. She only gave it a squeeze.

“You must listen. It is too late for James, but I will not allow you to hurt my child too.”

“I would never hurt Peter. Never!”

“Perhaps not you,” Julianna said. “But I have heard and I have read what Mr. Winthrop did to James, and no child of mine will go near the man. Not without me there as well.”

“It was for James’s own good,” the older woman bleated. “He had… He didn’t… He…” She looked at Walker and all around the store.

“I know precisely what you are implying and so does Mr. Walker.”

“No. How could you tell that detective? James’s problem
stopped
. He met you, and it wasn’t true any longer.” Mrs. Winthrop began to cry again, and Julianna had trouble discerning the words. She groped her way toward Julianna, who wondered if her mother-in-law was attacking her, until the other woman gripped her and, in a low voice, said, “I shall always be grateful to you for destroying those unnatural predilections.”

Julianna said, “If marrying me provided a cure, then all the horrible things your husband did to him were only useless torture.”

“But little Peter won’t have the same sort of problem that James…” Mrs. Winthrop glanced at Walker again.

In a voice deliberately loud enough to reach Mr. Walker’s ears, Julianna said, “I find it sad that you feel more embarrassment for James’s affection for men than for the fact that your husband had tortured your son.”

Mrs. Winthrop seemed to shrink in on herself. “It was only to help James—”

“Lit cigars? On a little boy’s skin? Beatings?” She would have continued the list, but Mrs. Winthrop seemed to shrink before her eyes. “It helped no one,” Julianna finished.

“No,” Mrs. Winthrop said. “No.”

“No? I assure you those things happened. And I have James’s word on it. And if you think I’m lying or exaggerating, I have it here, in his own handwriting.” She tapped her pocket.

“No. I mean. No. You are right. It didn’t help anyone.” Mrs. Winthrop’s hands moved continuously. She twisted them together and touched her face, then joined them together for more twisting. “No one.” She began to cry. Again. The tears streamed down her face, she made a faint hiccupping sound, and her shoulders shook. Her hands went still at last.

Julianna waited and watched. Should she comfort the woman? Ask the always efficient Harriet for help?

At last, Mrs. Winthrop managed to whisper, “Might I have some water?”

Walker must have heard her, for he said, “I’ll get some.” He strode away from the table where he’d been pretending to examine books.

Julianna listened to the murmur of voices as he conferred with Mr. Gordon, but couldn’t make out the words.

“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Winthrop sobbed again. Julianna took pity on her mother-in-law and pulled her into an embrace. Mrs. Winthrop clung to her as if she would fall off a cliff should she let go.

Harriet appeared at the end of the aisle. “Is Mrs. Winthrop ill?”

“No, no. She’ll be fine soon.” Julianna patted Mrs. Winthrop’s back and found herself making the same sort of comforting sounds that she did with Peter when he hurt himself.

Mr. Walker reappeared with a chipped teacup of water. “Gordon gave us permission to use his private apartment. The stairs to it are at the back of the shop.”

Julianna managed to unwrap Mrs. Winthrop from her body. When the trembling woman drank some water, her teeth clattered against the cup. Julianna took her arm to lead her up the stairs.

Mr. Walker followed, pausing to encourage Harriet to come along as well.

The apartment at the top of the stairs looked very much like the store below, except messier—the floor and carpet were covered with stacks of books.

The room smelled of tobacco, old food, and unwashed shop owner. Harriet took one look around and made a disapproving tsking sound. “Might I straighten up a bit?” she asked.

“Help yourself,” Mr. Walker said. “Don’t touch the books, though.”

“I wish I had my work apron,” Harriet muttered as she went off to the kitchen. The distant clatter of cutlery and the clink of dishes soon reached them.

Julianna led Mrs. Winthrop to an ugly overstuffed chair, the twin to the one Gordon used downstairs. More silent tears trickled down Mrs. Winthrop’s cheeks. Julianna had never seen her mother-in-law in such a state, not even at James’s funeral.

The lady crumpled into the chair, not bothering to adjust her hat that slid forward over her eyes.

Julianna reached to the back of the hat and gently removed the hatpin. She took the hat and pin and put them on a stack of heavy books near the chair. “There,” she said, hoping to sound bright yet firm. “That’s better.”

Mrs. Winthrop stared into space. Her eyes and nose shone red, but she seemed to have stopped crying—for the moment.

“Whatever shall I do?” Mrs. Winthrop said, and her mouth crumpled again.

“To start with, cease the waterworks,” said Detective Walker, sounding jolly.

Julianna glared at him, but Mrs. Winthrop nodded slowly. “I-I don’t indulge in t-tears very often. It annoys J-John.” She spoke between hiccupping breaths.

“Mr. Winthrop despises emotion of any sort except his own,” Julianna muttered at Walker.

“And then, if you please, tell us who has visited your house in the last couple of weeks,” Walker said, apparently ignoring Julianna. “That information might help.”

“We don’t get many visitors.” Mrs. Winthrop dabbed at her eyes again. She heaved a ragged sigh and stared at the floor.

Her mouth quivered again, and Julianna hurriedly tried to ward off another bout of tears. “If you cooperate with us, Mother Winthrop, I’ll make sure you see Peter very soon. And I hope you might see him as often as you like—that is, if we can clear up this mess. Which we might be able to do with your help.”

Mrs. Winthrop closed her eyes. “Visitors,” she murmured. “Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins. Mrs. Vandooren. Mr. and Mrs. Gregory. Mr. Jacob Dorf, and his son—”

“Gregory? The politician?” Caleb’s voice was sharp.

She opened her eyes. “Yes, a very nice gentleman. His wife might be a bit young, but we do like him.”

“Who was present during Mr. Gregory’s visit?”

“All of the names I mentioned. John had me give a dinner party, and those were the people who attended. Along with Mr. and Mrs. Davies and Miss Winters. Then, two days later, I had an afternoon party with—”

“Hold on.” Walker was scribbling names in his little book. “We’ll talk about the dinner party.” He gave Mrs. Winthrop an encouraging smile. He’d aimed that smile at Julianna several times that day, all interest and intimacy.

Julianna walked to a far shelf and gazed at book titles. He would help her, and her son would be safe. That small dimple in his cheek he flashed at Mrs. Winthrop would no doubt capture her attention, and if he won that lady’s trust, it would only serve to help Peter.

She didn’t need his emotions to be honest, only effective, no matter that the thought made her stomach ache.

Was he putting together a list of people to prove her father-in-law’s corruption or to find his own persecutors?

Both, she told herself.

“I’m not sure what Mr. Davies does.” Her mother-in-law’s voice had grown stronger. “Why do you ask? What has this got to do with Peter?”

“That’s a good question. I’m not sure of the answer yet. I’m exploring different avenues to find out the truth.”

He didn’t say what sort of truth he hunted, the slippery man.

“The truth is… The truth.” Mrs. Winthrop stopped speaking for a minute. Julianna turned around. The lady twisted her handkerchief in her hand, around and around, forming it into a sort of screw of cloth. She dropped it and then pulled off her gloves. She only removed her gloves for meals. “My husband is not a good man,” she said softly.

Well, hallelujah. Julianna turned her back before she rolled her eyes to heaven.

A moment later, Harriet came into the room, carrying a tray holding coffee cups and a pot of coffee.

“I’m impressed,” said Mr. Walker. “I wouldn’t have thought Gordon had matching cups in this place, or clean ones. And where did you find coffee? Or a working stove?”

He sounded so calm, but Julianna was ready to scream. Mrs. Winthrop had been on the edge of saying something. She might even have spilled some of her husband’s secrets by now.

“Harriet is a treasure,” said Mrs. Winthrop faintly, as if by rote.

Julianna held up a hand and refused the cup Harriet offered. “No, thank you. Would you take mine down to the gentleman running the bookshop? And take your time returning, if you please.”

“I have made enough for him,” said Harriet and deftly placed Julianna’s cup on a small table nearby. “If you’ll excuse me, ma’am? As long as Mrs. James is here?” Her bright gaze shifted between Walker and Julianna, gauging whether or not Julianna would be enough of a chaperone.

“Yes, certainly.” Mrs. Winthrop even managed a small wave of the hand, shooing away the maid.

“Don’t leave the premises.” Walker sounded like a policeman.

“No, sir.”

After Harriet left, Walker picked up a wooden chair and settled it near Mrs. Winthrop. He sat and gave her another one of those warm smiles. “Good. Now we’ve got coffee and have gotten rid of any interruptions for a time. You can relax, Mrs. Winthrop. And tell us the truth. No one else shall hear a word of it.”

“Eventually we must—” Julianna began.

He held up a stopping hand, and Julianna fell silent, embarrassed. Of course she shouldn’t issue a warning.

“We need to plan, and you will help us, Mrs. Winthrop.” He sipped some coffee and glanced around as if he had all the time in the world.

She supposed he wanted to drag them back to some semblance of normality.

Perhaps he wanted to create an atmosphere in which Mrs. Winthrop might sit and calmly discuss her marriage. Julianna thought about her own confessions to him, James’s secrets she had told no one else, the way she’d fallen into his arms. Both Mrs. Winthrops trusted the detective. His appealing surface, all earnest and intimate, must serve him well in his work.

At least she had some proof that he’d help her even before they’d…touched. He hadn’t run, and he hadn’t dragged her into the nearest police station.