DOVE

12

SUCH A CONVERSATION COULD NOT be done so openly, even in the back of the forge. With little effort, Hetty convinced her friend to walk the few blocks to the boardinghouse, where they could finish their conversation. The moment they went inside, however, Hetty realized she made the decision a bit too hastily.

Darlene, who had said nothing other than whisper a soothing word to her daughter, grew wildly animated at the sight of the cradle.

Darlene peered into it, and even the baby appeared to assess the piece of furniture for its quality and use.

“That’s not ours,” Hetty said, when an utterly delighted Darlene turned back around. She placed the package of fabric on the table. “It’s just a job Benjy picked up.”

“I should have known,” Darlene replied as she walked around it. “It’s too poorly made to be his work. Although it does look rather nice in here.”

“It takes up too much space,” Hetty grunted as she reached for her scissors. With a simple snip, she cut open the brown paper to free the fabric. It spilled out along the table like a river of moonlight.

“You can always make room, especially if you gave this away.” Darlene pointed to the tiny plant on the shelf.

Moonleaf was the only scrap of herbal lore Hetty still remembered from her mother. A plant whose leaves eased the pains of monthly bleeding and kept a baby from growing. The only protection her mother could give. It didn’t protect from unwanted attentions, but it did prevent a baby being born from violence and pain.

“Give it away?” Hetty remarked. “To who?”

“To Eunice Loring.” Darlene lightly bounced her daughter on her hip. “Eunice told me she wanted some to ease her monthly pains, but I think she wanted it for its other properties.”

“Why tell me about this? Penelope has access to far more herbs than I do.”

“Apparently the wares at the store are already allotted to customers. The other shops in town don’t carry the herb at all, even in limited qualities. It’s the most effective means, which makes it the most expensive. I don’t have anything she could use,” Darlene continued. “My trouble was I never could manage to get pregnant. But I knew you had some. I’m not suggesting you give her the whole thing, just asking if you could spare her some. She’s been rather listless lately. I think she had a miscarriage.”

“And doesn’t want to risk another pregnancy.” Hetty took the herb mostly out of habit, but had no pressing need for it. “I can spare some. Maybe even seeds for her to grow her own later.”

“I’m glad to hear that. She has this silly idea you don’t like her.”

“Not her directly,” Hetty said as she pounced on the chance to bring the conversation back to why she brought Darlene here in the first place. “Marianne rubbed their friendship in my face.”

Darlene drooped at the mention of Marianne’s name, and a worried frown replaced her brief touch of glee.

“Why don’t you put Lorene in the crib?” Hetty suggested. “She looks ready for a nap. It’ll be a good way to test if the charms Benjy put in actually work.”

“You don’t trust it does?”

“I trust he made a good attempt at copying my spells.”

The baby went into the cradle and made gurgling noises as some of the sigils carved into it lit up.

Relieved of her precious burden, Darlene settled into a chair. She held herself still as the reason for her coming suddenly flowed back into her.

It was a nervousness Hetty recognized, which was why she busied herself with the fabric. The illusion of occupation would make this feel more like a conversation.

“When did you see Marianne?” Hetty asked.

“This morning. I went alone. She was glad to see me. Marianne apologized for the other night, but we didn’t talk much. Just about the arrangements for the funeral, and things people had contributed. Then someone knocked on the door. I thought it was Charlie’s mother, who was due to arrive at any moment. But there was this man instead. Marianne tried to shoo him away. It took some time for her to succeed. I asked her about him, and she told me she had never seen the man before. I was ready to forget it when she added the man might be someone that Charlie had known through business. The way she said it was very odd.”

“Charlie had fingers in a number of things.” Leaving the fabric aside, Hetty went to fetch her dress form.

Since their room was small, instead of standing in the corner, it stood upright in her tub sharing the space with blankets, winter coats, and a few other things that couldn’t quite fit elsewhere. Gripping her arms around the headless wire figure, Hetty lifted it out. “Did Marianne say which business?”

“Gambling.”

The dress form hit the floor hard enough that it might have added a new scar to the wood.

Marianne had lied to her!

Hetty had believed her without question because the woman had just lost her husband and would be too distraught to make up lies. How could have Hetty forgotten Charlie didn’t earn his money by himself? Marianne was right there next to him with pointed advice and suggestions.

“I thought you should know,” Darlene went on, “so you could follow up on the gambling. You are investigating Charlie’s death, aren’t you?”

“He died in an accident.” The fib came quickly. “It has nothing to do with us.”

“Hetty.” Darlene’s hands were flat against her knees, and when Darlene looked up there was nothing quavering or trembling in her expression. Her eyes were sharp and attentive as they had been in the days when she was an agent of the Vigilance Society, tasked with moving people in plain sight of bounty hunters. “Everyone knows what you and Benjy do. Why, even George said that Charlie’s death is so much of a shock that you couldn’t not investigate. Benjy has gone poking about on less.”

He had, in fact, with her right at his side doing her fair share of poking.

“That’s all very true,” Hetty said, “but I thought the past was past.”

As expected, Darlene didn’t challenge the reminder. She pursed her lips, though, clearly wishing she could press further.

Hetty held up the fabric against the dress form.

“I didn’t realize you have a commission to work on,” Darlene said in an attempt to shift the conversation.

“Not a commission,” Hetty said. “It’s for Maybelle. Her daughter needs a new wedding dress. I’m not even sure where to start,” Hetty added with an exaggerated sigh. “I have more fabric than I need, but not enough for two dresses.”

“Do you have an idea of what you want?”

Hetty considered the polite request. While she could make the excess of fabric work, she wanted to keep Darlene here a bit longer.

Darlene knew something more about Marianne, and not necessarily from this morning. Charlie’s death had not been a random thing—it had been the final play in a game already in progress. Hetty had an idea of what that game might have been, but she had been on the outside of the Richardsons’ social circle since the start of the year. The same could not be said of Darlene.

Darlene had to know something helpful, and Hetty was going to keep her talking until she found it.

“I don’t have a single idea,” Hetty lied. She shuffled the items along the table, pushing aside papers until she pulled out a battered bound book. In between half-written notes and maps in and around the city were Hetty’s own sketches of dresses and Benjy’s rough designs for machines. She turned to a blank page and held out a pencil to her friend. “Can you draw something for me?”

“When have you ever needed to ask that?”

Darlene put pencil to paper, and Hetty kept up her questions as she continued with her own work. As she cut fabric and pinned pieces together, she kept up a steady flow of conversation. She learned the Waltons were owners of a candy store and that the husband was a member of the same secret society of masons as Charlie. Darlene and George hadn’t been at that dinner. But Darlene was very upset that Marianne’s children had been enrolled at a different school instead of theirs. She didn’t admit it, of course, but she returned to the subject more times than it merited.

“Where they ended up going is very good, but she made it seem like they would come to us. She promised!”

“You know how Marianne is with promises.”

“But she promised me and—” There was a sharp snap behind her. Darlene let out a small cry as her sketchbook tumbled from her lap, and she held up a hand with the broken end of a pencil jammed in her palm.

“I’m so sorry,” Darlene sputtered as blood began to pool. “The pencil just snapped and I . . .”

“Don’t touch it! Don’t move it at all. I have something that will help.”

Hetty opened the door to the wardrobe and withdrew a box from the top drawer. Penelope had gifted Hetty with a collection of healing salves. A collection they put to great use. Still, when she reached for a jar, she was surprised to see that it was mostly empty.

Returning to her friend, Hetty summoned a chipped bowl to her side, and a pitcher.

Darlene had removed the pencil from her hand, and she sat there with a trembling lip as Hetty carefully cleaned the wound. A little healing salve covered the cut, and a bit of torn fabric became a makeshift bandage.

“You’ll be fine in a moment,” Hetty said. “Penelope made this, after all.”

“I wouldn’t have expected anything less.” Darlene turned her hand over. “She makes them special for you, given all the trouble you find yourself in.”

“Not that much trouble.”

“Oh, it’s plenty enough.” Darlene said this without her usual cheer. It could be the pain radiating from her hand, but if the healing salve was working, something else drew away the mirth from her features.

Was there something else Darlene hadn’t told her?

Hetty went to the dress, resuming her work. As she mulled over how to frame her next question, the door opened.

“Good, you’re here! You won’t believe what I found out.” Benjy strode in pausing only when he saw Darlene perched on a chair.

“Hello, Darlene,” he said cheerfully, and he eyed the dress form Hetty worked at, “and Catherine Anne.”

“Catherine Anne?” Darlene giggled.

“It’s what he calls the dress form,” Hetty said around the pins in her mouth. “He thinks it’s funny since the dresses are always for fancy white ladies. But you’re wrong this time,” she informed her husband. “This is for Penelope’s cousin.”

“Which you’re doing out of the goodness of your heart,” he teased. Benjy stood on the other side of the dress form, his hands resting on the wire shoulders. “I went to see Oliver,” he began.

“Hold this.” Hetty thrust the end of the fabric into his hand.

“I ended up having to fix the casket,” Benjy soldiered on.

“Maybe it’s a sign you should have been a carpenter.”

“That’s not funny at all.”

“I should be getting home.” Darlene shut the sketchbook. “I’ve stayed far too long. It’ll be dark soon.”

“Would you like me to walk you home?” Hetty asked. “I know we don’t live in the best part of town.”

“I can manage.” Darlene placed the sketchbook on the table. “The past may be past,” she said, meeting Hetty’s eyes, “but you don’t forget certain things.”

She went to the cradle and picked up Lorene. The little girl didn’t make a sound as Darlene settled her in her arms. “Sound asleep!” Darlene declared with a surprising amount of relief. “It looks like the charms worked.”

She left then, her skirts rustling as she bade them goodbye.

“There’s no charms other than protection on it,” Benjy said once the door shut. “I barely started on it.”

“You should finish it,” Hetty said, and when the fabric slipped, she tapped his hand. “Not at this moment. Tell me what you found out. Because carvings on a casket aren’t that interesting.”

“Charlie, it seems, had ingested a number of herbs before he died.”

“So that was what Oliver wanted to tell me.” Hetty pushed back his arm so the fabric went taut.

“I’m surprised he did. It was gruesome.”

“This whole thing is.” Hetty summoned her scissors to her hand once more and placed the tip to her throat. “He found it here?”

“No,” he said, “but close. Stuck between the teeth. He chewed it like it was Winged Whispers. But it’s not Whispers. Oliver says the herb was something else, but didn’t know what. Penelope should have an answer?”

“Yes, but having her ask at her job might get her in trouble, so take it to a different place. They’ll know what it is, and maybe who might have sold it.”

“Brilliant,” he exclaimed.

“Hardly,” she laughed. “You can let go now.”

Hetty made a decisive snip with her scissors. The fabric parted. Catching the end, she wrapped it around the wire shoulder of Catherine Anne.

Holding on to the scrap fabric, she placed it back onto the table next to the sketchbook. Remembering Darlene’s intent work, Hetty opened the book.

Darlene’s drawing captured the folds and play of the fabric quite well. While it was pretty on the page, it was hardly practical once put on a person. But she could make changes as she saw fit. Hetty flipped through the book and the ragged ends of a torn page flopped out in front of her.

Did this happen when it fell?

“What did Darlene have to say?”

“Not much.” Hetty closed the book. “Although she revealed Marianne lied to me when I spoke to her earlier.”

“You spoke to Marianne?”

“She was at Oliver’s home, giving him grief about seeing Charlie. While I was there, she gave me this.”

From her pocket Hetty pulled out Charlie’s watch. It swung around on its short golden chain like a tiny captured sun.

At the sight of the familiar token, Benjy held out his hand.

“This old thing? Spent all the money he had at the time.” He flipped it open and then frowned. “It’s broken.”

“I know. Marianne hoped you might be able to fix it. She said she didn’t need it soon.”

“That is good, because I’ll need some time with this.”

“Truly?”

“Charlie never let me touch it,” Benjy said. “An astrolabe as small and functional as this is rare. It’s lucky only the clock’s broken.”

“Someone wouldn’t agree.”

“It’s funny. I was looking for this the other night. Charlie always had it with him. I thought it might have been stolen.”

“Clearly he put it away for safekeeping. Marianne told me a man was at her doorstep looking for money to settle some debts.”

Hetty expected Benjy to nod along. Instead he swallowed rather hard.

“Did she know who it was?” he asked, but then muttered, looking past Hetty, “No, don’t ask her. It’s best not to get her even more involved. I should have put wards on their home, just to be safe.”

Hetty reached for his arm, his vague words having brought a sudden chill into the air.

She never liked seeing him spooked. Even less so for reasons she barely understood. “Why are such protections needed?”

“I need to speak to someone.” Benjy shook off her hand, leaving her holding empty air. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

Hetty stared at her hand and remembered sitting next to Marianne as she sobbed heavy tears.

I let him go.

“Wait!” Hetty called after Benjy. “I’m coming with you!”

He stopped and turned back to her. “Not dressed like that. I’m going below Seventh Street. You’ll draw too much attention even this early in the evening. I want to slip in and out without notice.”

Hetty glanced at her skirts, mindful that half his words were about propriety and the rest was a riddle. “Well, it’s a good thing I still have my trousers.”