Fallen Women Page 11

  “I don’t dare even to hope for that. I’m asking for your forgiveness.”

  Humility was a virtue Beret did not know her husband possessed, and for a second, she was moved, tempted. Did he mean what he’d said, or was he only being clever? She must be wary. “Forgive you for murdering my sister?”

  “No. I told you I didn’t kill her. I want you to forgive me for destroying what was between us, not for taking Lillie’s innocence, but for taking yours.”

  Beret shuddered. “I was not so innocent. I knew the way of the world. I just did not believe my husband was no better than the brutes I encountered through the mission. You are worse than they, because they don’t know any better. But you, Teddy, you were raised as a man of conscience, a gentleman. You are the guiltier one.”

  “I won’t deny it.” He paused as Beret began to shake. “You are cold. I will take you to your uncle’s house. You are staying with him, of course. We can talk there.”

  “Never! They despise you.” She cut him off. She would not allow him anywhere near the Stanton house.

  “I still love you,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I loved you once, you know, and I never stopped.”

  “Not even when you loved Lillie?” Her voice was thick with scorn. She would not let him know how his words tormented her. She had loved him, too, and maybe beneath the hurt and anger, she still did. Would she ever love anyone else as she had Teddy?

  He was silent for a moment, rubbing his hand over the gold knob on his walking stick, the one she had given him that first Christmas. Had he loved her then? Beret stared at her former husband, observing for the first time that he had changed. His face, once puffy from good living, was leaner, harder. He had lost weight, but his clothes fit well. Had Lillie paid for them? He was still a handsome man, perhaps even better looking than he had been, less boyish, more mature.

  “I lusted for her. I did not love her as I did you,” Teddy said.

  Beret felt tears form in her eyes, and she rubbed them, complaining about the dirt the wind blew up. No one, not Teddy nor any other man had ever lusted after her. “You are obscene,” she said hoarsely. Then she could not stop herself from asking, “How long, Teddy? How long did it go on?” The question had tortured her ever since she had caught them together. It had not been their first time. She knew that. Thinking back, she had realized there were secret smiles between them, touches that were not accidental, excuses that had put them together without her. The thought that the affair might have gone on for years ate at her soul.

  Teddy swallowed. “Not long. A few weeks.”

  She stared at him, then abruptly she turned and started off, not slowing when Teddy called her name. She did not turn around, did not know how long he stood in front of the Arcade looking after her, only knew at some point that he was not behind her.

  * * *

  The anger and distress drove Beret on, and she hurried along the streets. Her heart had begun to heal, a little at any rate, and then she had had to encounter Teddy. She remembered his touch, her hand on his arm, his hand on her cheek. Theirs had been an affectionate marriage, and she wondered if any man would ever touch her the way Teddy had. Those years had been precious, filled with gaiety and caring. She had loved him so much, and surely he had loved her a little. He’d been good to her, kind and courtly. Would she ever allow another man to get that close, knowing as she did now that Teddy had been after her money? She would always wonder if any man who showed an interest cared only about her fortune.

  She slowed her steps and took note of where she was. She had left the business district with its crowds of people and conveyances and had come upon a residential area of early Denver mansions, homes that already were being deserted by Denver’s upper class for the fashionable Capitol Hill district. Her aunt and uncle had once lived in this neighborhood, until they moved into their Grant Avenue mansion. The homes here were simpler, less pretentious, befitting a first generation just coming into money, just starting to experiment with lavish possessions. The houses were tall, stately, with long Italian windows and iron cresting on their roofs, iron fences outlining the lots, here and there a mansard roof. Families still lived in the houses, but there were discreet ROOMS TO LET placards in some of the windows. On closer inspection, Beret could see signs of neglect—bare wood where the paint had been scoured off by the weather, roofs that needed patching, broken fences, gardens let go.

  A SOLICITOR sign hung over the doorway of one of the houses, and a man emerged, staring at Beret as if wondering what she was doing there. Other homes, too, had been turned into office buildings and boardinghouses. Then she recognized the house her aunt and uncle had lived in before they built the Grant Avenue mansion. It was dowdy and needed paint. The stable behind it was now a blacksmith shop. Beret found the change unsettling. She remembered, as a girl, visiting her aunt and uncle and loving their sleek house with its gazebo set in a carefully tended garden, a groom taking her about in a pony cart.

  Jonas might have replaced that groom. Beret thought then about the strange man her aunt had hired. Perhaps Mick was right that something was not quite right about him. He was an odd creature, small, bent, with strange eyes that didn’t seem to focus. There was something disconcerting about the way he moved around the grounds, silent, peering into windows. Was he really protecting the Stantons—and her—or was it something else, a perverted curiosity, perhaps? At least he stayed outside, or did he? She remembered waking in the night and finding the blanket over her. She’d supposed her aunt or uncle had covered her, but now she realized if they’d discovered her asleep in the library, they’d have awakened her and sent her to bed. Did Jonas have the run of the house? She dismissed the idea. A servant had put the blanket over her, the butler or perhaps one of the maids. The girl would have been too timid to wake Beret. That was it, of course, but Beret still didn’t like the idea of Jonas creeping about.

  Then she was ashamed of herself. How many of the poor people she’d encountered at the mission, people who had been arrested and jailed, had later gone to work in the homes of her friends, with Beret insisting they were harmless? She herself had hired some of those with the most heinous records. Her housekeeper, Maggie, for instance, had killed her brute of a husband with a butcher knife after she caught him raping their daughter, a girl of five. Maggie had been found guilty, but Beret had promised the judge she would be responsible for her if he let her off with a warning. Beret had argued that giving Maggie a job instead of sending her to prison would turn her into a useful woman—and keep the child, Sabra, from the streets. Maggie had proven an exemplary worker, and Sabra was a charming little girl who was now in grammar school. Lillie had loved the child, Beret thought now, and Teddy had, too. He had not once complained because Beret had brought a convicted murderer and her daughter into their household.

  So what right did she have to fear Jonas, who as far as she knew had never been convicted of anything? It was Lillie’s murder that had made her suspicious of everyone. Beret put the man out of her mind.

  The light outside was dim now. Beret unfastened the tiny watch hanging from her coat and checked the time. It was after five. She did not mind the dark coming on—she was rarely fearful—but her aunt would be worried, and Beret did not want to cause her distress, so she picked up her pace. The decaying neighborhood gave way to terraces, more fashionable than the old houses, more economical, too, because they did not require so many servants. Beret wondered if she ought to leave her parents’ house for a smaller place, a flat that would accommodate her and Maggie and Sabra, a cook, perhaps a manservant, for it would be a good idea to have a man in the house. She’d been reluctant to part with the home in which she’d spent most of her life. She’d wanted to keep it for Lillie, but Lillie wouldn’t be returning. And now Beret thought it was foolish for her to maintain such a large household.

  She watched a man open the front door of one of the apartments and saw a child rush past a woman and cry, “Daddy!” Beret hurried on, thinking she
would never again be part of a family. She would never hear a child’s cries of greeting, never see a husband come through the door. Her divorce didn’t preclude her marrying again, but she would never be sure about any man who courted her. She had married one fortune hunter. She would not marry another.

  As she started up the hill, she became aware that a carriage had been moving alongside her, keeping pace with her. Now she recognized it as her aunt’s and looked up to see Jonas. “You’ve been following me,” Beret said.

  “Mrs. Stanton sent me to fetch you, miss. She worry you out in the dark.” He stepped down from his seat and opened the carriage door for Beret.

  “You followed me earlier today, long before it got dark.”

  Jonas said nothing.

  “Didn’t you?”

  “The Stantons don’t want nothing to happen to you.”

  “I think I am quite safe when I am with Detective Sergeant McCauley.”

  “You shouldn’t be out in these dark times. It’s not fittin’.”

  Beret started to get into the carriage, but stopped. “Jonas, has my aunt sent you to spy on me?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Then why were you creeping along Larimer Street, peering into windows to see what I was doing?”

  A cry escaped Jonas’s lips. “I don’t want nothing to happen to you, either, like Miss Lillie.”

  Beret felt sorry for the boy then. “I am not the inmate of a brothel. Nobody is going to hurt me. My sister was killed by a man who wanted her dead. Or maybe a woman.” She wondered why she had said that. “It could be a woman,” she mused out loud. “I will have to discuss that with Detective Sergeant McCauley.” Then she stepped into the carriage, and as Jonas closed the door, Beret added, “There is nothing you could have done to prevent my sister’s murder.”

  “Maybe there was.”

  Chapter 9

  “You mustn’t mind Jonas, Beret,” Varina said at breakfast several days later. Beret and Varina had spent time making social calls on the wives of the judge’s political backers, a duty the younger woman found irksome. But she was a guest and must do her aunt’s bidding. Besides, she loved her uncle and hoped to see him become a senator. He would do a fine job. Varina had not appeared at dinner the night before because she was feeling ill. Now she sat in her morning gown at the breakfast table in the solarium. The room was festooned with ferns and other plants, and in the morning sun, it seemed like spring. Beret liked that about Denver: one day could be blustery and cold, the next filled with sunshine.

  The judge, too, had been away the previous evening, and Beret had dined alone. She had seen Jonas snooping about the house and decided to tell her aunt and uncle. “I have caught him following Detective McCauley and me, too. He makes me uneasy,” she’d said. Now she tried to be lighthearted. “Did you send him to protect me, Aunt Varina? It’s not necessary. You know I deal with criminals every day. I can take care of myself.”

  “Of course you can.” Varina exchanged a look with her husband. “Jonas just seems to be obsessed with the safety of this family. It doesn’t do any harm to be careful.”

  “He’s the most loyal young man I’ve ever met. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for your aunt,” the judge added. “I admit he is a bit odd, but he means no harm. I have had him checked out, and I see no reason not to trust him. If anything, he goes overboard in his possessiveness, and that’s not a bad thing if it keeps your aunt safe.” He smiled at his wife and patted her hand. She gave him a hint of a smile in return and withdrew her hand to pick up her fork. “You are not unlike your aunt, Beret, in taking in unfortunates. As I recall, your housekeeper has an unsavory history.”

  Beret couldn’t deny that. “Jonas said he might have prevented Lillie’s death,” she told them.

  Her aunt and uncle exchanged a glance. Then Varina sighed. “Yes, he seems to feel if he had been more vigilant, he could have protected her. He broods on it, I think. But how could he have saved Lillie?”

  “You’ve seen Edward?” the judge asked, changing the subject.

  Beret had not wanted to discuss her interview with her former husband for fear of upsetting the couple, but now that the judge seemed to know what had gone on, she saw no reason to deny it. “Yes, at some horrible little gambling den. He insists he was in a poker game in Leadville when Lillie was murdered.”

  “Was he?”

  “We’ll see. Detective Sergeant McCauley is looking into it.”

  “I hope seeing him didn’t upset you too much,” the judge said, and Beret wondered just how much he knew about what had gone on between Teddy and Lillie. Had Mick reported to him?

  “It was troubling,” she admitted.

  “I never liked him. He was not worthy of you—or Lillie, either. I didn’t want you to marry him, but I understood you were lonely,” Varina said, and Beret realized there was very little her aunt and uncle didn’t know. “We mustn’t talk about him.”

  “Yes, you are right,” Beret agreed, grateful not to have to dwell on her former husband. She had done too much of that already. She had not slept well for thinking about him, not just his betrayal but the happy times they had spent together. Those memories had upset her even more.

  They were silent then, eating. Beret reached into a silver bowl for a muffin and buttered it, taking a bite. She had not eaten much in the days since she’d learned about Lillie’s death and discovered she was hungry. Her uncle watched her eat, then said, “Nobody makes muffins like your aunt does. I believe this is her recipe. Cook’s results are poorer.” He turned to his wife. “Do you remember you made them for Sunday breakfasts when we were young?”

  “Why, I do remember,” Beret’s aunt replied. Then she said, “I almost forgot. I had the most delightful note last evening from Caroline Decker, inquiring if we would come to dinner next week. She said she had met you and found you charming, Beret.”

  “Detective Sergeant McCauley introduced us at Charpiot’s Restaurant.”

  “Oh, Mr. McCauley! But at least he knows where to take a lady. I’d have been furious if you’d gone to one of those disreputable restaurants near City Hall.”

  Beret smiled to herself, thinking Jonas had not told her aunt everything.

  “He is such a disappointment to his family, working in a police station the way he does. It’s not proper for a man of his upbringing. He’s a disgrace.”

  “You mean like me, Aunt. Would your friends say that about me if they knew I worked in a mission?”

  To her credit, Varina laughed. “Do forgive me. I am becoming such a snob. After all, we are only first generation ourselves. I took the liberty of replying that we would be pleased to accept the Deckers’ invitation. Do I have your approval, Beret?”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean, we are in mourning for Lillie, but I didn’t think a small dinner engagement with a few friends would be disrespectful. I would like to use mourning to avoid the calls on all those wives, John, but I know it is necessary for your political ambition. And the women know it, too. So they excuse me.”

  Or gossip behind her back, Beret thought.

  They chatted then, Varina speculating on who might be attending the dinner party and providing information on their pedigrees, their peccadilloes, their family connections, then admitting, “Most of them have no family to speak of. They all arrived yesterday. The best ones have learned to read and write.” She turned to her husband, who was hidden behind his newspaper, and raised her voice a little. “Did you hear we are dining with the Deckers on Saturday, John?”

  “Fine people,” he muttered, still holding the paper in front of him.

  “Not so’s you’d notice,” Varina confided to Beret. “Caroline is a well-bred woman, but her father is a disgrace.” She lowered her voice. “A sybarite, and her brother is good for nothing. But they will amuse you.”

  Beret felt almost lighthearted now, warmed by the sun and the food and her aunt’s good humor. The butler came in and replenished their coffee, then
retired, and John put down his newspaper. “I’ve already told Beret about Joey Summers. It’s a pity we can’t go to the Deckers’ without that fool boy being there. Perhaps we can hope he’ll be out somewhere raising hell.”

  “John, such language,” his wife said.

  “I’m sorry, Varina, but where the Summerses are concerned, I forget myself.” He sipped his coffee, then lifted the paper again.

  “I’m glad you met Caroline. She could be a good friend to you, Beret. I have been hoping that when we have got Lillie’s murder behind us, you will stay on here for a while.” And Beret thought that while she might never again have a husband, or children, she had a family, and she was grateful, more than her aunt could imagine.

  The judge set aside his paper then and took out his watch. “It’s time I head down to the courthouse. I’m going to walk today. Arthur Chalmers and I have decided we must get exercise. He’ll be calling any minute.” And indeed, just as Beret’s uncle pushed his chair back from the table, the doorbell rang. “That’ll be Art now.”

  “Tell him to come in and have a cup of coffee with us,” Varina said. “He will be delighted to meet Beret.”

  The judge nodded and did not get up, waiting until the butler came into the room and announced, “A caller, sir.”

  “That’ll be Chalmers.” John leaned around the butler and called, “Come on in and have a cup with us, Art.”

  “It is not Judge Chalmers, sir. The caller is for Miss Beret.”

  Beret and her aunt and uncle looked up quickly, but before William could announce him, Mick McCauley strode into the room. The judge rose. “Michael?” he said, holding out his hand.

  Mick took it, but he looked at Beret. “I’m sorry to intrude like this, but I thought Miss Osmundsen would want to know, and you, too, Judge Stanton.” He realized Varina was in the room and added, “Madam, please forgive me.”

  Varina nodded curtly. “What is it, Michael?”

  Mick studied her for a moment, then seemed to dismiss her and the judge, too, as he turned to Beret. “I am afraid I must tell you that there has been another murder. A prostitute on upper Holladay Street was stabbed to death last night. Eight times. No murder weapon was left behind this time. Her earrings were taken. We know because they were ripped from her ears.”