Zeke sat in one of the chairs tucked into the corner of his room. His hair, damp from a recent bath, hung in tendrils around his face. The afternoon sunbeams bathed him in gold, and as always, my heart quickened at the sight of him. He had propped his injured leg on an upholstered ottoman that I recognized from the sitting room downstairs. A book lay open on his lap, but his eyes were closed.
‘Can I come in?’ I called out as I rapped on his door.
‘Please.’ He placed the worn, leather-bound tome on the table between us. I sat, fidgeted with my skirt, unsure where to start. ‘What’s the matter? You look rather forlorn this morning.’
‘I need your professional opinion on something.’ I explained what happened to Minna, the delivery of the dead flowers, and the invitation to the wedding from so long ago. I didn’t leave anything out. Zeke didn’t move, didn’t even blink until I finished speaking. ‘Someone is playing a sick joke on her,’ I said. ‘I want to help her.’
‘Why? What has she to do with you? You’ve just met her.’
‘Because I’ve been in her position, as you well know.’ I sighed. ‘Please don’t look at me like that. I saw someone following her last night. I came to visit you, but you were asleep, so I just sat for a while.’ A slow smile curled at the corner of Zeke’s mouth. I ignored it. ‘Minna and Dr Geisler were in the courtyard having a very intense conversation. Minna left through the gate, and Dr Geisler stood for a minute watching her before he went back into the house. After he had gone in, the courtyard was dark. I saw someone smoking in the alley, just outside the gate. When Minna left, they followed her.’
‘Man or a woman?’
‘I couldn’t tell. They stayed in the shadows,’ I said.
‘Lots of people walk down that alley. It could have been one of the neighbours.’
‘But—’
‘We will keep that in mind as we proceed logically. Leaving the possible follower aside for the moment, if you want to investigate like a professional, you’re going to have to explore this situation from all the various angles.’ He winced as he tried to move his leg. ‘Adjust the ottoman, please. Just move it closer to me.’ I did as he asked. ‘Thank you. You mentioned you and Bethany discovered Minna in the foyer, already in possession of the questionable box of flowers and the card, correct?’
I nodded.
‘Since you didn’t hear the doorbell ring, do you think it’s possible she sent them to herself?’
That scenario hadn’t crossed my mind, but as I replayed the events in my head, I realized that Minna could indeed have sent the flowers herself, or even walked downstairs with them already in her hand, until I remembered Chloe.
‘No. She couldn’t have walked downstairs with them already in her hand. Chloe would have seen her. If Minna had the flowers delivered herself, she had to have someone do the actual delivery. I just don’t believe Minna would do that.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘She’s not that cunning,’ I said.
‘People do all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons. We know very little about this woman, so you need to keep your mind open.’
Zeke reached for my hand. ‘Let’s forget about Minna for the moment. Why do you look like you don’t sleep?’
‘Right after the verdict was read, I started to hear weeping. At first I thought someone around me was crying, God knows there’s enough sorrow to go around lately. But it didn’t go away. It comes and goes, and I’ve grown used to it. Now I’m convinced that I am hearing Alysse, Dr Geisler’s sister. I wonder if she knew that I would come here and attached herself to me. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I take the morphine drops that Dr Upton gave me, and they help a little.’
There. I had said what I came to say. I knew what would happen next: Zeke would sit up straighter, and the softness would leave his face, to be replaced with the logical Zeke, the problem-solving Zeke, the Zeke who would not want to be involved with someone like me. I geared myself for the hurt.
Instead, he rolled my hand over, so my palm faced upward, revealing my scar in all its glory. He kissed it.
‘Why don’t you try to communicate with her? Find out what she wants. Dr Geisler can help you. He doesn’t think you’re unstable or suffering from hallucinations. He’s been an advocate for you, Sarah, even before he met you.’
‘You’ve discussed me with him?’
‘Not you, particularly, but a hypothetical situation similar to yours. I’m sorry, but I needed to know how you were. I know Dr Upton has his opinions. I never agreed with them, but I’m not a medical man, and I’m not very objective where you’re concerned. Dr Geisler’s reasoning makes sense somehow. Maybe it’s because I don’t believe the alternative. If I suffered from hallucinations, wouldn’t you want to know why? What would you have done in my position?’
‘Dr Geisler came to Jack Bennett’s trial every single day. He sat in the front row of the gallery, clinging to every word I said. He knows it all now, what happened last October, the burn on my hand that everyone thinks I inflicted upon myself.’ I looked at the scar on my palm, the telltale reminder of the events at Bennett House, events that led me to discover my true identity. ‘He wants to hypnotize me.’
‘Let him. What have you got to lose? It won’t hurt you.’
‘Are you speaking from experience?’
‘I am. I spent four weeks in the hospital right after my little mishap. They gave me morphine. It didn’t take long for me to become addicted. Dr Geisler hypnotized me several times. Although I still take something to sleep – you might remember my nightmares – I no longer need the drugs for my pain. Don’t get me wrong, the pain is still there, I’m just able to manage it, live with it. I don’t crave morphine. Dr Geisler saved my life.
‘If you are a medium, wouldn’t you want to know? Dr Geisler can help you, Sarah. Wouldn’t you like to not be afraid of your dreams? Wouldn’t you like to live in peace with this ability you have? If Alysse’s ghost is coming to you, let’s find out why. I love you, Sarah. I’ll be with you every step of the way.’
Zeke opened his good arm to me. I went to him. Our lips brushed.
‘Do you love her?’ Mr Collins stood in the doorway. His arms hung straight at his sides, his head tilted sideways, like an eager dog waiting for someone to play fetch.
‘I do,’ Zeke said. ‘Would you like to come in?’
‘Have you seen the Angel of Death, Miss Sarah? It’s a revelation.’ With those words he turned and shuffled away.
‘I often think that Mr Collins knows more than we realize,’ Zeke said.
‘He makes me uncomfortable.’
‘He is a bit fixated on you, and he’s become quite lively since your arrival.’
I stood up, walked over to Zeke’s bedroom window, and gazed down into the courtyard below. Minna and Dr Geisler stood by the fountain, deep in earnest discussion. Minna had tied a scarf around her head. Her long hair fell in loose waves down her back like a gypsy’s would. She puffed on a cigarette and waved the ebony holder around like a fairy wand as she talked. Dr Geisler stood before her with his hands in his pockets. He rocked back and forth on his heels, his attention focused on her.
They were so intent on each other, so comfortable with their nearness, I wondered once again if they had ever been in love, or if their relationship had just been cemented by time and galvanized by years of sharing the burden of Gregory’s suicide.
Something big and grey fell in front of the window, and crashed to the ground. Startled, I jumped back.
Zeke struggled to get up. ‘What was that?’
I moved to the window and pressed my head against the cold glass. The head of one of the gargoyles, with its hideous eyes and gaping mouth, looked up at me, mocking. Its body lay shattered inches from Minna’s feet. She looked at the shards of cement, then lifted her startled gaze to survey the roof before she collapsed into Dr Geisler’s waiting arms.
* * *
We hurried downstairs as fast as we could. I admit to being more than a little impatient, but I didn’t want to plough ahead and leave Zeke limping behind me. Together we went out the French doors and found Dr Geisler and Minna sitting on one of the benches that had been arranged around the fountain.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
‘No, I’m not.’ Minna’s hand shook as she tried to light a cigarette. Dr Geisler took the silver lighter from her and held it steady. ‘It’s Gregory. You know it is, Matthew.’
Dr Geisler put his arm around Minna. She leaned in to him.
Bethany hurried out the kitchen door. ‘What’s happened? We heard a crash.’
Mrs McDougal stood behind her, drying a pot with a linen towel, surveying the situation with raised eyebrows.
‘The gargoyle fell,’ I said. ‘It just missed them.’
‘Mrs McDougal, call the police. Tell them there’s been an accident, and they should dispatch someone immediately,’ Bethany said.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Mrs McDougal said.
‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Fresh tears seeped onto Minna’s cheeks. ‘Whoever sent those flowers is in this house. I should never have come here.’
‘Nonsense. We’re glad you’re here, Minna. Matthew and I are going to help you. Now let’s go upstairs. I can sit with you for a while, so you won’t have to be alone.’ Bethany put an arm around Minna, who clung to her like a frightened child as they left the courtyard.
‘I’ll call the police,’ Dr Geisler said. He turned to Zeke and gave him a sheepish smile. ‘So much for your peaceful respite.’
‘Would you like me to be with you when you speak to them?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind. Do you think you could manage the stairs up to the roof? I’d like to take a look up there and see if anything else has been tampered with.’
‘I’ll manage.’
Zeke followed Dr Geisler to the kitchen door. Before they stepped into the house, I called out, ‘Dr Geisler, do you mind if I take a few hours off this afternoon? I’ve caught up on typewriting and want to visit a friend. I’ll be back in time to help Mrs McDougal in the kitchen.’
Zeke cocked his head to one side, like a curious spaniel. I hadn’t told him about my plan to visit Cynthia’s aunt.
‘Of course, Sarah, anything you need. Oh, by the way, Mrs McDougal sang your praises after breakfast this morning. You’ve impressed her, which is no small feat.’ Dr Geisler waved at me and stepped into the house, with Zeke following behind.
* * *
Cynthia’s taxi pulled up to the kerb at three-thirty on the dot. Mrs McDougal expected me back at five to help with dinner preparations, which gave us an hour and a half with Great-Aunt Lillian. Plenty of time. I pulled my coat on, locked the door to my room, and made my way down the stairs. Chloe had gone home for the day. Upstairs someone laughed, but it soon faded away and the house settled into silence.
No sooner had I shut the taxi door, than the driver took off so fast that I fell back into the seat. I hung on and girded myself for the inevitable accident.
‘You can relax, Sarah,’ Cynthia said. ‘Grisham likes the thrill of driving fast, but he will deliver us to Great-Aunt Lillian’s safely, I promise.’
The taxi sped down Jackson towards Van Ness at breakneck speed. I hung on, not quite prepared for such a wild ride. We flew past stacks of old tyres and scrap metal stacked on the sidewalks, ready to be collected and reused, past uniformed soldiers walking along the streets, their steps jaunty. When we stopped at Lombard, a lone soldier, still in uniform, but missing an arm, waited on the sidewalk. Our eyes met, but I turned my gaze away, uncomfortable and embarrassed.
‘Heartbreaking,’ Cynthia said. ‘I’m afraid it’s just going to get worse. This is for you.’ She handed me a box wrapped in gold paper with a simple red ribbon. ‘I wanted to give it to you after the trial, but you disappeared. I didn’t want to bother you, figured you wanted some time alone.’ She nodded at the box. ‘Open it.’
I lifted the lid. Wrapped in tissue were ten pairs of silk stockings. Luxury. ‘Lovely. Thank you.’ I ran my finger over the silk. ‘I thought I’d never wear silk again.’
‘You might not. I wouldn’t be surprised if silk stockings became a thing of the past. The war is going to change the world in ways you and I can’t fathom.’
‘It’s good to see you, Cynthia. And you’re right, I did need to be alone after the trial. I can’t go anywhere without being recognized. For every person who tells me how strong I was, there are four people who hate me for what I did to Jack Bennett and don’t mind expressing their opinions about it.’
‘Jack Bennett got away with murdering his mother-in-law and trying to murder you.’
‘And Jessica, don’t forget,’ I said.
‘Oh, yes, and pushing his wife down the stairs.’
‘And let’s not forget the plagiarism. I couldn’t believe that nothing came of the plagiarism,’ I said. ‘He and Jessica did not collaborate on that book. I know that as sure as I know the sun will rise.’
‘I am amazed that Jack was able to sit in the witness box and convince the jury that all of these accusations were the romantic fantasies of an unhinged young woman.’ Cynthia leaned back against the seat and fiddled with the latch on her purse. ‘Did you know Jack’s gone?’
‘Where?’
‘He’s met another woman, Vanessa Fitzroy. He’s living in a home on her family’s estate in upstate New York.’
‘Who is she?’ I asked.
‘A writer. Unpublished, but she’s young, beautiful, and very rich.’
‘Oh, perfect. He’s probably conned her into writing for him,’ I said.
‘My thoughts exactly. Before too long something else will become front-page news and the saga of Sarah Bennett will fade away, replaced by another scandal. But never mind that. Tell me how you’ve been.’
I gave Cynthia the abridged story of my new job. I didn’t mention Zeke. I glossed over everything and hoped she wouldn’t ask questions. ‘So tell me about your aunt,’ I said.
‘Great-aunt. And I should tell you up front that she’s a unique woman. She can be embarrassingly blunt at times and does not hesitate to give her opinion – whether or not you solicit it. She was a debutante, but married a man twenty years her senior against her parents’ wishes. He died and left her pots of money. She gave most of it away, keeping just enough to secure her future, and got a job writing the society column. Aunt Lillian is known for her keen insight, not to mention she knows everyone’s secrets.’ She had been looking out the window as she spoke, and now she turned to face me.
‘You’re looking well, Sarah.’ She surveyed me in that way of hers that missed nothing. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in love. You haven’t heard from Zeke have you?’
I didn’t speak. I didn’t have to.
‘You’ve seen him. Where is he?’ She stared at my face. I wondered, not for the first time, if she read minds. ‘Is he staying at the place where you work? Sarah Jane Bennett, you tell me what is going on right this instant.’
I laughed. ‘I’ll tell you everything if you give me a chance to get a word in.’
I told Cynthia about Zeke and his injuries, omitting how he got them. I told her about Minna and her worries that her dead fiancé had come to seek revenge. I left nothing out, including the incident with the fallen gargoyle, and my feeling that the near miss had been more than an accident.
Cynthia didn’t speak. She listened to everything I said. If asked, she could repeat it back to me, verbatim.
‘It seems as though she is unbalanced, but I don’t believe it. Something’s not right, and I want to find out what it is. I want to help her. I’m hoping your aunt can give me insight into Minna’s background.’
‘That’s a little close to home, isn’t it? I don’t mean to bring up the past, but that woman’s story mirrors yours in some profound ways. What does your gut say? Do you think she’s crazy?’
‘No,’ I said, without hesitation. ‘I think someone is trying to hurt her. I intend to find out who and why.’
‘You know I’ll help you if I can, but I want to know about Zeke. What in the world is he doing at the Geisler Institute? Are you still in love with him?’
‘He was injured in a car accident. He spent four weeks in the hospital and is there for a rest cure. I doubt he will ever walk again without a cane.’
‘He’s there to be near you, and he feels guilty for leaving you. Good. He should feel guilty.’
‘Really, Cynthia—’
‘No, that trial took a horrible toll on you, and I am mad at him for leaving you to face that by yourself. If Zeke had been there to corroborate your story, things would have been much easier for you, and Jack Bennett would be behind bars where he belongs.’
‘He had to go. I understand that,’ I said, realizing the truth of my words as I said them.
‘There’s something I didn’t tell you, something that I did before your father’s trial.’ Cynthia gave me a sheepish smile. ‘Your story captivated me from the very beginning. My instinct said you were an honest, reliable young woman who had got in way over her head. It didn’t take me long to discover Zeke’s involvement. When the DA didn’t call him as a witness, my interest was piqued. I did some digging about Zeke. I wanted to be sure where his allegiance lay.’
‘What did you find?’ Zeke had told me very little about his childhood or his family.
‘He grew up in Millport, a small lumber town three hours north. He is the middle son of a wealthy family. His grandfather was a banker. His father owns and operates a textile mill. His people came to America in 1848 after some upheaval in Germany – fleeing the tyrannical monarchy or something like that. His grandfather also owned several newspapers. Apparently, the grandfather’s political leanings got him in trouble and he had to flee, so he came to America and ended up in California.
‘Zeke’s mother died decades ago, right after the birth of her youngest son. Zeke’s father is a man of leisure, but has a reputation of being a bit of a scoundrel. Apparently, the maids lock their doors at night. The pretty ones never stay long. Zeke’s oldest brother, William, went to Germany with Zeke in late 1938. Zeke came home, but William stayed, charged with the responsibility of securing the family assets so the Nazis wouldn’t get them. He was also to bring some aunts and cousins back to America. The Gestapo arrested him last October. He is now presumed dead. Zeke had a normal childhood, went to Cal, majored in journalism, did a lot of freelance writing, and was on his way to a solid career.’ Cynthia stopped talking, her way of raising suspense.
I remembered the phone call Zeke received with the news of his brother’s abduction by the Gestapo.
‘Your Zeke is now heir to the family fortune, and his father wants him to return home and take a suitable wife.’
‘How in the world did you discover all this?’ And why didn’t you tell me this sooner?
‘I drove to Millport before Jack Bennett’s trial. I found the postmistress and took her out to lunch. I paid her one hundred dollars. She had never seen that much money in her life. After she got over the shock of it, she told me everything I wanted to know and then some. But get this – after Zeke came home from Germany, there’s no record of him doing anything. At all. It’s almost as if he vanished.’
I wished Cynthia would just let the matter drop. Once she got the scent of an intrigue, anything that could morph into a story, she became relentless.
‘Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I’m going to write a story about this. This is me talking to you as a friend. I just don’t want you to get hurt when he goes off again and leaves you by yourself. I’m just telling you to be careful, that’s all.’
I grabbed on to the door handle just as the cab hit a pothole then slid to a stop. We had arrived at one of the new apartment buildings on the eleven-hundred block of Chestnut Street. I was about to slide out of the back seat when Cynthia grabbed my arm.
‘Just tell me this: do you still love him?’
I didn’t answer.
* * *
Aunt Lillian lived in a white stucco building, two storeys tall, fronted with picture windows that overlooked Chestnut Street. We walked up sparkling marble stairs to her small front porch. A woman wearing a floor-length black dress with a white collar opened the door. She looked down her nose at Cynthia and me, studying us both from head to toe.
‘Follow me, please. Miss Lillian will see you now.’ She spoke with great solemnity as she turned her back.
‘Quit staring,’ Cynthia said, elbowing me.
‘She reminds me of Mrs Danvers,’ I said.
‘Mrs Danvers’ led us into a charming front room, with sofas arranged around a low-lying table facing the window. An elaborate arrangement of sandwiches, cakes, and some chocolate concoction had been laid out. Everyone at the Geisler Institute could have feasted at this table and there still would have been leftovers. I wondered how Aunt Lillian had circumvented the imposed rationing and coupon system.
In the corner of the living room, a wooden crate overflowed with ancient rubber hot-water bottles. Some had holes in them, some were missing the lids, some were brand new and still had the price tags on them. Next to the wooden crate, a ceramic umbrella stand held two rifles. Cynthia saw them at the same time I did. She walked over and took out one of the guns, handling it with an expertise that surprised me.
‘Those were Lou’s, as you well know.’ Aunt Lillian swept into the room, clothed in a voluminous flowing housedress. She struck a pose, and the dress arranged itself around her, as if by magic hands. ‘And the hot-water bottles are for the salvage people. Rubber is much needed, but I’m sure you know that.’
‘These guns shouldn’t be stored like this,’ Cynthia said. ‘And the safety isn’t engaged.’ She clicked something, and set the rifle down. ‘What are you up to, Aunt Lillian?’
‘I’m prepared to protect my home, young lady. Never mind that. Come here this instant.’ Cynthia stepped into her aunt’s arms, and the two women hugged. Aunt Lillian towered over Cynthia, despite Cynthia’s high heels. She loosened her embrace and held Cynthia at arm’s length. ‘You’re too skinny and you smell of cigarettes.’ She pulled Cynthia to her bosom. ‘But it is marvellous to see you, darling. I’m so glad you’ve come.’
‘I’m sorry I’ve been remiss about my visits.’
‘Don’t even bother, dear. You’ve a career – of which I am quite proud – and a busy social life, I am sure.’
‘Now, about these,’ Cynthia gestured towards the rifles.
‘They’re for hunting, of course. Wanda and I take her motorcar up to the headlands before sunset and watch for subs. They’re all over the Golden Gate, you know. And I assure you, if we are invaded, I will fight to the death.’
‘How can you see them?’
‘We have binoculars, how else?’
‘You know that’s nonsense. Have you ever seen an actual sub, Aunt Lillian?’
‘I may have seen one last summer, but a woman can never be too sure. It’s best to be prepared.’
‘I’m sorry I asked,’ Cynthia muttered under her breath.
Aunt Lillian wore a purple turban. A giant brooch, encrusted with what appeared to be real diamonds, adorned the front. She carried herself like a warrior queen, imperious and more than a little superior.
‘The diamonds are real, darling.’ She read my mind.
‘I’m sorry … I really …’ I stammered.
‘She’s not a mind reader, Sarah. Everyone wonders if those diamonds are real. It’s a longstanding family joke,’ said Cynthia.
Great-Aunt Lillian turned her focus to me. She studied my face, making no pretence of her scrutiny. I did my best not to fidget under it.
‘You’re a pretty girl, Miss Bennett. And brave, too. So there’s no misunderstanding between us, at first I thought Jack Bennett a brilliant man who had been given unfair treatment. But as I followed the trial, I came to realize he was nothing more than a greedy murderer. I believed every word of your testimony. A great injustice has been committed, and it’s a shame you were treated so horribly in the process. I’m sorry he got away with it, but I hope seeing your side of the story in print gave you some relief.’
‘Cynthia did me a good turn.’ I smiled. ‘And now we are friends.’
‘You’ve got backbone, my dear. And, just to explain our little family joke about the diamonds in my turban, I do not believe in costume jewellery. Moreover – and you can quote me on this – as I’ve aged, and as my good looks have given way to time, I no longer look in the mirror to be reminded of my lost youth. Instead’ – she waved her hands, displaying the large gemstone rings stacked on her arthritic fingers – ‘I admire my jewels.’ She tipped her head back and laughed. ‘I’m going to call you Sarah, if you don’t mind. You may call me Aunt Lillian.’ She sat down on one of the sofas, and beckoned us to sit across from her. ‘Now sit, sit, my lovelies, and eat. You could both do with some fattening up.’
We sat down as she poured out tea and handed us plates loaded with the bounty of her table. I ate ravenously, once again thankful for Cynthia’s friendship and my own good fortune. There were tiny sandwiches of crisp bread with thin slices of roast beef, red onion, and capers between them. I had no idea how Aunt Lillian came to have any meat at all, never mind a fine cut of roast beef – a coveted commodity in California. I savoured every bite, eating my fill, but at the same time trying not to appear greedy, and listened to Cynthia and her aunt catch up on their lives.
After we had eaten until we couldn’t eat any more, Danvers – the woman’s real name was Bette, but to me she would always be Danvers – refilled our cups and took away the detritus of our feast.
Aunt Lillian surveyed me as I composed myself. ‘Now tell me how I can help you, Sarah Bennett.’
‘I need to know what you can remember about a woman named Minna Summerly and her near marriage to a man named Gregory Geisler in May of 1916. Apparently, she left him at the altar of Grace Cathedral.’
‘After Cynthia called me, I went through my old files and pulled out the photographs.’ She set a thick envelope on the table between us. ‘These are for you. Now tell me, why do you want to know this information?’
‘Minna Summerly is staying at the Geisler Institute, where I work. Someone pretending to be Gregory is trying to frighten her. The poor woman is scared to death. I have been in her position. I need to help her,’ I said. ‘Before she becomes unhinged.’
‘Very well. Her real name is Minna Shrader. She changed it when she ran away – not that I blame her. But let me start from the beginning.’ Aunt Lillian extended her hands and wriggled her ringed fingers. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she continued. ‘Her mother, Alexis Petrov Shrader, was a ballerina. God, she was gorgeous when she danced. She was a principal for a well-renowned Russian ballet troupe. She met her husband, Hendrik Shrader, the financier, when her troupe toured the United States. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.’
I hadn’t, but she didn’t give me time to answer.
‘At his insistence, she gave up her career, and soon she had Minna.’ The old woman gazed off into the distance. ‘Poor Minna lived in the shadow of her flamboyant mother. Alexis would take the child out of school and bring her along to her society luncheons and charity events, parading her around like a show dog. She forced Minna to dance and didn’t bother to hide her disappointment when she discovered Minna did not share her prodigious talent.
‘I remember Hendrik became furious when he discovered Alexis had allowed Minna to miss school. So what did Alexis do? She hired a private tutor and kept the poor girl home for her lessons. Minna was a lonely child. But she grew into a beautiful young woman.
‘The Geislers weren’t as socially prominent, but they were of noble birth – I want to say the family came from somewhere in Eastern Europe. Again, my memory is not what it used to be – and they had that beautiful home on Jackson Street. Gregory, Matthew, and Minna were great friends. They went everywhere together. I always assumed Minna would marry Matthew. They were closer in age and used to be inseparable. But Minna and Gregory had a passion – there was no denying that. When they were together, the sparks would fly. Minna chose Gregory, and Matthew, the dutiful brother, didn’t even flinch.
‘Minna’s father was a mercenary bastard. He planned to use Minna’s wedding as an opportunity to make connections that would enrich his financial position and wow his friends. That man did love to gloat, that I do remember.
‘The wedding was the social event of the season. Hendrik spared no expense. He hired a florist to fill Grace Cathedral with roses. Frankly, I thought he went a bit too far. That church is gorgeous on its own. After the ceremony, we were all to gather at The Palace Hotel for the party of the year. The Shraders reserved the entire restaurant for the wedding reception – that’s how extravagant the affair was. I attended the rehearsal dinner. I remember Gregory snapped at my photographer over the staging of the wedding photos. When his brother tried to intervene, Gregory gave him a look that scared me. I knew something was up between those two. I remember the day of the wedding as though it were yesterday.
‘Poor Gregory. I remember him standing at the head of the full church, Matthew next to him as he waited for his bride. As the minutes ticked by, the crowd became restless. Still, Gregory waited there, so proud and sure of himself. An hour later, Matthew led him away. After they left, Hendrik came to the front of the church, stood at the pulpit – if you can believe that – and announced that the wedding had been postponed and the guests could proceed to The Palace Hotel for a party.
‘Of course, Hendrik expected his daughter to pay for the shame and humiliation she caused him. He stripped Minna of her trust fund, her jewels, and left her penniless. He disowned her.’ Aunt Lillian sighed. ‘She just disappeared without a trace. Some say her father murdered her. Others say Matthew gave her money to run away. Gregory sent his suicide note to her. That alone would be enough to make a woman run.’
Aunt Lillian stood. She took a cigarette from a box on the mantelpiece and put it in a long mother-of-pearl holder, took a few puffs, and ground the cigarette out.
I opened the envelope she had given me and pulled out a bundle of newspaper clippings, along with a black-and-white eight-by-ten photograph of Minna, dressed in a beautiful fitted dress, with ruching around the waist, adorned with seed pearls.
‘That’s Minna’s engagement picture. I threw that article in so you could get a glimpse into how horrid Hendrik Shrader really was.’
The article showed the picture of a man with shrewd eyes and a square face. He wore a business suit, held a shovel, and stood in front of a building under construction. The article was captioned Hendrik Shrader Refuses Employees’ Request for a Wage Increase. Trouble Brewing?
‘He got his just desserts after that article. His employees walked off the job. Why would they work for him when other places would pay them more money?’
We spoke of more cheerful things for a while. When the clock on the mantel chimed four-thirty, I told Cynthia that I needed to leave.
We thanked Aunt Lillian for the tea and sandwiches. On our way out, she kissed my cheeks. ‘Please come and visit me again, my dear.’
Fifteen minutes later Cynthia and I were back in Grisham’s cab, speeding down Van Ness. The cab flew through traffic, but we pulled up to the Geisler Institute at five on the button.
‘Cynthia, how can I ever thank you?’ I tucked the envelope that Aunt Lillian had given me under my arm and grabbed the shopping bag that held my stockings.
‘Be careful, Sarah. Something tells me things are not what they seem at this place. You’re not Minna Shrader.’
I met her gaze straight on. ‘No, but I could be.’