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AS THEY CROSSED OVER the water into Wisconsin, Mary took in the panoramic view of the docks and towering grain elevators on St. Louis Bay. She and Christena were riding in the observation car of the Duluth South Shore and Atlantic 7:50 to Ashland, Marquette, and points east, and had just come onto the Soo Line bridge across the bay.
Mary always enjoyed the beginning of a journey—however brief or long the trip. It held so much potential. New things to be seen and experienced. People to meet. Food to be eaten and savored. But this particular journey might well prove to be the most exciting ever for the neophyte detective. Not only did it promise a much-anticipated reunion with Edmond Roy and a busy stay on Mackinac Island with Christena, but also her first actual paying job as a detective. Mary could hardly believe her good luck.
It was Tuesday, June 10, about a week since she and her aunt had visited Merton Olcott in his office. They would spend tonight and tomorrow night in Ishpeming, west of Marquette, where Edmond was now working. She was anxious to see his bank mural and meet his little band of artistic friends, whom he had so entertainingly described in his letters. On Thursday, she and Christena were to spend the day in Dillmont, overnighting there, so that Mary might make her inquiries. Then Friday, they would arrive at the glorious Grand Hotel on Mackinac.
The shops and factories and little houses of Superior, Wisconsin, rolled past them, under a light drizzle of rain. Holding umbrellas above their heads, people on the streets rushed along to drier places.
“Now you haven’t told me much about your Mr. Roy,” Christena finally said, turning to regard her. “Or should I call him your protégé?”
Mary rolled her eyes at that word. She had, in fact, written her aunt about her involvement in the case that had Edmond Roy at its center as chief suspect. And she had told Christena about his artistic talent and her hopes to help him obtain the success he richly deserved.
What Christena didn’t know about was the emotional roller-coaster ride that her niece had experienced in the year since she had met Edmond. Mary had studied painting with the man, then saved him from unjust imprisonment. She had assumed her affection for him was reciprocal. But he had vanished from her life for months, only to reappear unexpectedly at her door last December. By then, Mary was in such a state, she didn’t know which way was up.
But she wasn’t about to share all that with her aunt. “We’ve exchanged a few letters since I last saw him in December,” she said off-handedly. Her mind went back to the train station and the kiss. She would never forget the sensation of Edmond pulling her tightly to him. The warmth and sweetness of his lips. The sudden pounding of her heart at the emotions set loose. She hoped that the pleasure of the memory did not show on her face.
“So when I got the idea for this trip, and inviting you along,” she continued, “I naturally thought that Ishpeming is right on the DSSA line. Why not stop and say hello to my friend Edmond? Truth be told, I’m very eager to see his new project. After all, if I’m going to help promote his career, I must stay current on his work.”
“You really do fancy yourself a patroness of the arts, don’t you?” Christena nodded approvingly. “Well, why not? You have the means. A person in your position can do a lot of good, helping worthy artists and scholars. After all, where would we be without the pope who hired Michelangelo and the noblemen who supported Beethoven?”
Christena shifted her gaze to view the landscape rushing by outside. “Johnny seems to think you’re besotted with the man.” Then she looked back with a tiny, teasing smile on her face.
Mary frowned. “Yes, well, Father may know everything there is to know about buying and selling commodities, but he does not know anything about the modern woman.” She crossed her arms in a huff. “He can’t imagine a woman being content not to marry. He can’t imagine a woman enjoying the companionship of a man who will never be her husband.” She peered at her aunt in frustration. “You of all people should understand. Have you ever regretted your choice to stay unmarried?”
Christena shrugged. “One always wonders about the path not taken, Mary. I had a proposal or two that I turned down. But I can’t say that I would have been any happier as a missus, rather than a miss.”
The train trundled on through the pines and maples and birches at a slow pace, stopping for five or ten minutes at towns along the way—Ashland, Ironwood, Nestoria. People and goods came onto the carriages and off. Eventually, the train emerged out of the drizzle into a summer day of blue sky and puffy white clouds.
The two vacationers visited the dining car for a lunch of sandwiches and coffee. Between bites, Christena queried Mary about Jeanette Harrison. Jeanette, Mary’s cousin in St. Louis, had stopped writing last year, not even sending a Christmas card. Mary explained that as the winter wore on and no word came from St. Louis, she had wanted to go south to find Jeanette. But her father forbade her. Instead, he promised to hire a detective to track down the woman. To date, Jeanette had not been located.
For Mary, her cousin’s fate had been a nagging concern these last months. She prayed that nothing awful had happened. But she understood that nothing good could have caused Jeanette to vanish so thoroughly.
Back in their seats, Mary read the new mystery by Conan Doyle—the pages ripped from her issues of the Strand magazine, mailed all the way from England. She did not for a moment believe the hound loose upon the moor was a supernatural creature. But the story was gripping, nonetheless.
Christena concentrated her efforts on a novel by Constance Fenimore Woolson that was set, in part, on Mackinac Island. She intended to make a list of places mentioned in the book, and then visit them.
By now, the train had rolled into the biggest town they had seen since Ironwood, and their interim destination—Ishpeming. Edmond would be waiting for them at the depot.
It had been six months since Mary had last laid eyes on him. Funny, she thought, how she had met him in Minneapolis, reconnected with him in Duluth, and now would have a reunion with him in Ishpeming. It wasn’t exactly Paris, Venice, and Rome, but it would have to do.
Would he still have that heavy beard, she wondered. And does he still use that same pomade with the faint floral aroma? And would looking into those deep brown eyes make her feel warm and breathless once again?
She smiled at her silly ruminations. Heavens, she sounded like some infatuated schoolgirl. But she was very much looking forward to spending a couple of days with the man. And she devoted a few extra minutes to tidying up her wavy chestnut hair and pinning on her straw hat before the lavatory mirror.
The train slowed and lurched to a halt. Mary and Christena packed their reading materials away, gathered up their coats and umbrellas, and descended onto the platform. Mary anxiously looked this way and that, but saw nothing of Edmond.
By and by the porter brought them their two valises—their trunks having been sent on to the Grand Hotel. But still no Edmond Roy materialized. The train pulled away eastward, on to Marquette. Finally, with the porter carrying the bags, Mary and Christena headed out through the station’s now-empty waiting room and onto the street. Just as Christena was about to send the porter for a cab, a man’s shout echoed from across the muddy road.
“Miss MacDougall! Mary!”
And there he came, dashing along at full speed—just barely dodging a baker’s wagon—and skidding to a stop right in front of Mary and Christena.
“I am so sorry,” Edmond panted. “Horse threw a shoe. So, so sorry. Keeping you waiting that long.”
Mary felt her heart race and her cheeks flush. Their farewell at the station in Duluth last December had been quite emotional, sealed with that lingering and exquisite kiss. But she was determined to not be demonstrative in front of her aunt. Edmond, though, seemed to have no such compunction. Having caught his breath, he grinned broadly and gave her an exuberant hug, then a quick kiss on the cheek. He still had his beard and it tickled Mary’s face.
“Well, you needn’t suffer too much guilt, Mr. Roy,” said Christena. “We were ourselves a bit late. A spot of bother with a coupling rod back in Nestoria.”
Edmond turned his attention to Christena and beamed at her. “And you must be Aunt Christena.” He looked as though he was ready to administer another bear hug, but thought better of it. He offered his hand and shook hers exuberantly.
“I’m so looking forward to hearing about your travels,” he said. “Mary writes that you’re contemplating a trip to Yosemite.”
Christena smiled and gently extracted her hand from his grip. “Yes, indeed. And I’m hoping to persuade my niece to come along. But right now, Mr. Roy, I must say that a little nap sounds heavenly.”
Edmond looked suddenly abashed. “Of course, forgive me. You both must be exhausted. I’ve booked you rooms at the hotel for two nights. It’s just a few blocks away. Let me trot over there, and I’ll fetch their wagon and bellman.”
Thirty minutes later, still flushed and giddy, Mary sat cozily ensconced in her hotel room—spartan, but clean and comfortable. Next door, Christena was enjoying a lie-down. They had two hours to rest before going with Edmond to a friend’s house for a welcome dinner party. At last, Mary would have a chance to meet his new circle of chums, of whom he’d written so much.
She didn’t know what to expect at the gathering. The host, Edmond had explained, was a furniture-maker—coincidentally, her second furniture-maker in about a week. She had never even met one before Mr. Olcott. Other artist friends of Edmond would be there, as well. Mary was flattered that he wanted to show her off to them. She had to admit, though, that she was a bit nervous about making a good impression.
But what impression was it she wanted to make?
Did she want to merely be Edmond’s young lady friend and nothing more? Did she want to make it clear that she was an independent woman and had no intention of becoming the appendage of a man, even one so appealing as Edmond? Did she want his friends to hear about her two adventures in detecting? Did she want anything said about being the daughter of a millionaire?
In the end, she figured all she could do was just try to sound halfway intelligent and be herself, without being too pushy. She did tend to espouse strong opinions, but usually among those she knew best and trusted most.
Mary had intended to tell Edmond about her new case at the first opportunity, but was now having second thoughts. In his letters, he had seemed somewhat relieved that no new matters had come her way. And he had made subtle noises that perhaps she could find different avenues to satisfy her sense of adventure. He had been quite circumspect about it, commenting that he was hardly one to tell anyone what to do, but that “the people who love you might worry.” There was both good news and bad news packed into that sentiment.
Upon reflection, she decided it would be best to not tell him about the matter of the late Mrs. Olcott until the investigation was concluded. That way, she could weave it into an entertaining tale, not unlike Conan Doyle had done for his readers.
Out the window, Mary could see a bustling, thriving little town, which was supported by nearby iron mines. On the ride from the station, she had counted a number of shops, cafes, and offices. There was money here. She wondered if her father had any business interests in the area. It wouldn’t surprise her if he did.
Mary felt a bit of regret about having sent her trunk along to Mackinac. Her evening dresses were in it. All she had for the brief stay in Ishpeming were her traveling clothes. She suspected, though, that they would do adequately for this evening’s gathering of artists and working folks. It would probably be better, in fact, to not overdress.
Not wanting to get caught napping by Edmond when he arrived, Mary pulled the final pages of The Hound of the Baskervilles out of her purse, sat by the window, and started to read.
But her mind was far less on the newest adventure of Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson than on the evening she would be spending with Edmond Roy and his friends.
