Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 27, 1927
L ouisa
“I know what to do.” I keep my voice low to ensure our conversation remains between us. Having waited two hours for Papa’s soft, rhythmic snores to begin filtering through the apartment, the idea percolating inside my head is desperate to be set free. Sitting at the dining-room table, Clara and I bend our heads together, our focus on protecting Gwen from Mr. Barnes.
“New Year’s Eve is our target.” I stifle a yawn and count the days until December thirty-first on my fingers. Our plan will take each one of those days, along with several sleepless nights, to execute.
“Why New Year’s Eve?” Clara asks in a low whisper.
“We know he is staying at The Hamilton until New Year’s Eve. After that, there is no guarantee where he will be. And who knows who he will try to manipulate once he leaves Vancouver. We can’t rely on anyone else. This is something we need to do ourselves, and it will take some time to put things in motion.” I grab a piece of paper and a pencil from a kitchen drawer and sit down to make a list.
The pencil trembles in my hand. Going forward with this plan may ruin any chance I have of becoming a famous actress. I have no idea how far Mr. Barnes’ influence reaches into the heart of Hollywood. All I know is that too many young women could be harmed by him, and I cannot sit by and let that happen.
Shaking off the awareness of what I stand to lose, I scribble our goal at the top of the sheet.
Ensure Barnes’ true nature is exposed, and protect Gwen from his clutches.
Knowing a situation as precarious as this could unravel in many different directions, I bite my bottom lip and pray the hotel will not be caught up in a scandal that would cost both of us our jobs.
“George mentioned Barnes’ wife.” Clara’s disdain is on full display as her expression twists into a scowl. “It makes my blood boil to know how terribly he has behaved toward you and me, but to think he was married all along.” Her closed fist hits the tabletop with a muted thud. “The gall of such behaviour.”
Tapping the pencil on top of the sheet of paper, I nod in agreement. “I met his wife.”
Clara looks at me with wide eyes.
“I didn’t realize who she was at the time, but she came to tour the hotel and acquire his suite reservation. It only stands out to me because it was the same day Ms. Thompson allowed me to leave early for the first afternoon of rehearsals for Craig’s Wife . Funny how some things come full circle.”
“What do you mean by full circle?”
“When I was in Mr. Barnes’ suite. This afternoon when he invited me to the New Year’s Eve ball.” I let my eyes roll with reckless abandon at the mention of the invite. “I noticed a piece of stationery in plain view at the top corner of the writing desk.”
Clara tilts her head in question.
“The stationery was personalized, from a Mrs. Rose Oxley-Barnes.” My smile feels a touch devious as I think ahead to how we can beat the man at his own game. “Rose Oxley is the daughter of the founder of a major-motion-picture company. She is Hollywood royalty. Her husband, our Mr. Barnes, is merely proof that she did not marry well.”
Clara’s mouth forms a long O, and I nod slowly.
“What was she like?” Clara leans forward, her arms flat against the table’s surface.
“Wealthy. Socialite. Impeccably dressed. I remember she had this stole positioned just so on her shoulder. I’ve always wondered how women walk around with something so bulky hanging precariously from one shoulder. I am certain it would tilt me sideways.” I wiggle my shoulder animatedly at the thought.
Clara slides the paper toward her and takes the pencil from my fingers. “Okay, so your plan is to somehow get Mrs. Barnes to the hotel before New Year’s Eve?”
“Yes, precisely.”
Clara’s practical nature mixes with a bucketful of worry as she grips the pencil, turning her knuckles white. “How are you going to do that? We don’t have her phone number or address, and how likely is it that she will board a train simply because a maid from the hotel where her husband is staying requested her presence?”
“She will come. I am almost certain of it. I don’t imagine the likes of Rose Oxley-Barnes would take such unflattering news of her husband’s activities lying down. I will try to contact her tomorrow. If she arrives in person, we are all set.”
“What if she doesn’t? Or what if you can’t get in touch with her?” My sister’s legitimate concerns give me pause.
“Clara, I think we are going to need a plan B.”