Twenty-Three

After some inconclusive interviews at the Bedford, I took a train back to Hyde Park. As the scenery flew by the window in a blur of early green leaves, I tried to think of how we could prove that Alonzo Swift had left the hotel and driven back to the studios. No one there admitted seeing him, or anything else of interest. Our last interview at the hotel had been with a bellboy, who insisted that Swift’s lilac saloon had been left in two different places on the street that night. Whitbread doubted the boy’s usefulness as a witness, however, after he admitted he wasn’t completely sure whether he was remembering the previous night or some evening earlier in the week. But I was sure Whitbread would be able to prove that Swift had returned and locked Leeder in the cage. It was horrible to contemplate such an act but, somehow, I could believe Alonzo Swift might have turned the key and walked away, able to sooth what conscience he had with the knowledge that he hadn’t been present at the man’s actual death.

The shooting of Hyde was, of course, a different matter, but perhaps Whitbread would be able to find something to link Alonzo Swift to that murder as well.

Nonetheless, I was anxious about Alden. He seemed to be sunk in a quagmire. He was so involved with these loathsome film people. It was an addiction, like gambling. He was imagining some sort of glory for himself that was only a fickle shade, always out of reach. He was succumbing to it, and Clara needed to know just how close he’d come to falling. At least he had returned home the previous evening. I wanted to insist to Clara that she demand he cut off his connection with the Selig studios and come with us to Woods Hole. Once there, we could make him see how rash it was to think of following Selig to California. He could find another newspaper job or, at worst, remain at home writing fiction. I trusted that Col. Selig would move his operations to California regardless of whether Alden followed him or remained in Chicago. Good riddance to the lot of them. I’d had quite enough of the mad film people.

I tried to compose a logical set of arguments as I walked along to Clara and Alden’s town house. The maid led me to the sitting room on the first floor, where Clara knelt on the floor, pulling books from the shelves and setting them in piles to be packed in a trunk by the doorway. She continued to work vigorously while I described all that had happened that day.

“So, you see, Alden is in the clear since he came home last night. Mr. Leeder was locked in that cage sometime after midnight. But you really must insist that Alden break all ties with that studio,” I said. I was relieved that I didn’t have to tell Clara about my suspicions concerning Kathlyn Williams. I was so happy to be spared that. There was silence. Confused by her reaction, or lack of reaction, I sat down on a little footstool that I pulled up near the pile of books she was examining.

She slapped a volume on the top of the stack and sat back on her heels to look at me. “Emily, Alden came home last night to beg for money. I gave it to him, but I told him to take his things and leave and not come back. He did not stay the night.”

Waves of anger seemed to emanate from her and I leaned back, away from the fury, looking at her with my mouth open. Alden had not stayed at home last night. He’d left again, soon after arriving. Had he gone to the Selig studios, argued with Leeder, and left him in that cage to die? I swallowed. “Clara, what money? What did he need money for?”

She stood up, wiping her hands with a cloth. “I have no idea. I was supposed to trust him. If I couldn’t trust him then how could our marriage last? Those were his words. Trust. I wrote him a check to cash. I have no idea what he planned to do with it, but I’m through asking. If he can take my money, but cannot confide in me…even if he says he’ll repay it…it’s the end. It’s done, Emily. I’m done. That’s all. We’re finished.”

“Oh, Clara, don’t you see what this means? He could have killed Leeder. And Hyde. Or, at least, it will seem that way.”

“What? That he would kill a person for Kathlyn Williams?”

I was shocked when she spoke the name of the actress. I knew then that I’d betrayed Clara by not telling her what I suspected earlier. Feeling a sharp pain in my gut, I realized Kathlyn Williams was a real obstacle that was cracking my brother’s marriage apart. I couldn’t believe this was really happening. Kathlyn Williams had been a sore point, like a loose tooth, something I’d worried but tried to avoid touching. Now the truth had been ripped out and the pain could not be ignored. Clara seemed strangely calm, but I realized she’d probably spent a sleepless night coming to terms with this—life without my brother. If Alden had been there, I felt I could have clawed his eyes out for inflicting such pain on all of us.

“Clara, I never thought he would do this.” I slumped on the footstool while she stood tall above me.

“I know, Emily. None of this is your fault. This falls entirely to Alden…and me.” She collapsed into an armchair and put her head in her hands.

“Oh, Clara, I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head. “Alden’s been distant and irritable. He’s so touchy. Why didn’t he confide in me when he lost his job? Why couldn’t he tell me? I can see, now, that he was working for Selig instead of the Tribune this past month, but why wouldn’t he tell me? He talked about how Selig’s moving to California and how he wants to go…he has some big idea…but I thought he meant he would go for the paper, or for a paper out there. Why wouldn’t he tell me it was to work on the films?” She looked bleakly into the space in front of her. “The children told me about Kathlyn Williams, along with the other film stars they met. They said Alden was writing stories for her. Why did he never tell me that, Emily? Unless it was that he felt guilty.”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t tell her that they were the subject of gossip at the studios. It would hurt her too much.

“I accused him of having a liaison with her,” Clara said, closing her eyes. “He denied it. He claimed I had no respect for him and no trust. He said I thought he was a failure and that if I couldn’t trust him, there was no point in his staying. I told him to go.” She took a breath and blinked away some tears. “I haven’t told the children.” She bit her lip. “I don’t plan to until after we’ve been in Woods Hole for a while.”

Woods Hole. Of course, she’d follow through with our plans and leave him behind. It was the only thing to do. It was sad that the children wouldn’t even notice when Alden didn’t come. He’d been absent so much lately, it would hardly be a surprise. “I won’t say a thing,” I said. “But Stephen?”

“Yes, you’ll have to tell Stephen.” She bent to straighten the pile of books, then stood up again. “I don’t believe Alden shot that man. He wouldn’t do such a thing with forethought. By impulse, perhaps. He could hurt someone by mistake or in self-defense, but not on purpose.”

By mistake. No doubt that would be his excuse. It wasn’t intentional, as the destruction of his family wasn’t intentional. I hated my brother at that moment. What a mess he’d made. And I knew he expected forgiveness and absolution. Well, not from me. Not any time soon.