Chapter 6 #2
Phillip hurried along the dirt alley, Frank skipping at his side, stopping to pick up a rock or a stick, kicking at whatever else was in his path.
They crossed the next street, and Frank pulled on Phillip’s sleeve and pointed to a fence, maybe eight feet high or so, tilting away from the alley.
There were a few slats missing in the fence, and Phillip leaned close at one of the gaps to look inside.
There was litter, something rotting, from the smell that hit his nose, broken furniture, and maybe the mattress from the house on the corner, its cover an odd rust color that could be blood, with a rat chewing on the corner.
Frank pointed up to a lower branch of a gnarly, misshapen tree, with a few clinging leaves, to a cloth bag, its drawstring caught there.
Frank hurried to the corner of the fence, to a gap that he easily ducked through, and threw a rock at the rat. Phillip pulled another board away and squeezed and wiggled until he was inside the fence. The bag was out of his reach but not out of Frank’s once he was seated on Phillip’s shoulders.
“Got it,” the boy said and handed it to him.
Phillip took the bag and crouched to let Frank hop off. “Let’s get out of here. It stinks.”
They went out of the fenced area the way they’d come in, and Frank led Phillip to some hedges on his block that had grown together but had died in the middle, creating a small shelter.
Frank crouched and went in, and Phillip crawled through and sat down.
It felt eerily reminiscent of the kind of place he and Timothy would have found and hid from Uncle Patrick or even Sarah when they were ten or twelve years old.
Phillip opened the drawstring bag and looked inside. He pulled out a shirt, a vest, a pair of long pants, and boots that he immediately recognized as Timothy’s. He examined every inch of the shirt, looking for any clue, and started on the pants. There was no paper money in the pockets.
“What’s this?” Frank asked and held out one of Timothy’s boots for Phillip to see. He had pulled out the socks that had been shoved in one of the boots, and Phillip reached inside for a scrap of paper.
He unfolded it carefully. Wash/East 9. He needed to speak to Timothy. He shoved all the remaining items in the bag, put the paper in the center of his notebook, and crawled out to the alley, Frank following. He dug another coin out of his pocket.
“Here. This is the first solid clue I’ve had. Thank you,” he said to Frank as he squeezed his shoulder.
“Thanks!” the boy said and then looked around. “I got to hide this and the penny before Pa sees it.”
“You do that. You remember the address I gave your Pa? If you find anything else or are in trouble, get yourself to Wolfe Street,” he said and jogged away, hoping to catch a trolley to get to Station Ten.
It was not much past nine in the evening when Mr. Oliver found Virginia at the small desk in her office. She had already donned her nightgown and heavy robe and only intended to reply to a few messages before taking herself to bed. “Mr. Oliver? Is anything amiss? Is everything locked up tight?”
“There’s a person in the kitchen asking to speak to you. He says his name is Brown and that you would see him.”
Virginia smiled. “I will see him. Please show him up and see if there’s anything in the kitchen that might suit for this time of evening. There is wine I can pour if he’d like.”
It was only a few minutes later that Phillip Brown stood in the doorway to her office, gazing at her in that intense way of his, making her feel as if she was at the very center of something, whatever that something was. She stood and reached out her hands.
“Mr. Brown,” she said as he took her hands and squeezed. She nodded at Mr. Oliver. “We’ll be in the sitting room.”
Virginia led the way and seated herself near the fireplace that had already been banked for the night. Phillip was still standing, holding his flat cap in his hand.
“I’m sorry to be here so late,” he whispered and pointed his hat at her. “With you ready to retire.”
“Mr. Oliver will be here with some cheese and bread in a moment. I have wine here, or if you would prefer whiskey, Mr. Oliver can get it for you. Please sit down,” she said and smiled up at him.
He edged over to the sofa opposite of her. “I’ve been in some not clean places in these clothes today. Do you have something to lay on the sofa before I sit down?”
“There’s no need, but maybe you would be more comfortable.” She stood and went to one of the cupboards on either side of the fireplace and opened the door. “Here we are. Mr. Oliver keeps a length of toweling for if it’s raining and the foyer gets wet with boots and whatnot. Let me spread this out.”
Phillip was seated just as Mr. Oliver came in with a tray and a crystal carafe. “Here we are, miss. I brought some whiskey for the gentleman. Will there be anything else?”
“No. Thank you, Mr. Oliver. You’re welcome to find your bed. I’ll lock the door after Mr. Brown leaves.”
“Yes, miss. Good night.”
She turned to Phillip as the door closed. “You must come to the front door when you visit from now on.” She grinned. “There’s no need for you to hide yourself in the kitchen and come through the back door. This is my own house, and I may have any guests I please.”
“You’re here all alone?” he asked.
She poured him an inch or so of whiskey and put a cheese-and-roast beef sandwich on a plate. “Hardly. Colleen is here. Mr. Oliver is here. Cook and one of the maids goes home, but there are two other maids in rooms on the top floor. And Mr. Turnbull has an apartment above the stables.”
He took the plate and glass from her, gobbling up the sandwich and reaching for another. He glanced at her as he did. “I’m sorry, but I can’t recall when I ate last other than eggs and toast early this morning.”
“Eat as much as you want. In fact, we can go to the kitchen if you’re still hungry.”
“I’m fine,” he said and sipped the whiskey, closing his eyes with a sigh as he did. “I’ve come to ask you a favor.”
“Of course. What do you need?”
“I need to talk to Timothy, and Station Ten won’t let me in to see him.”
“Then his fiancée will have to visit him.”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”
“What do I need to ask him? Do you have a list?”
Phillip handed her a small scrap of paper. “I found his clothes. This note was inside his boot.”
“Wash/East 9,” Virginia recited. “What does it mean?”
“The house where he was found is at the corner of Washington and Eastern Streets. Timothy told me he was at Red’s Tavern before everything started going fuzzy. This note most likely got him to the scene of the crime. I need to know if he can remember who gave it to him.”
“Is that all?”
“No. I’ve written down a few other things as well,” he said and reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small notebook, and tore out a few pages.
Virginia read them and nodded. “I’ll go first thing in the morning. I’ll do my best. Where will I find you afterward?”
“Will Turnbull be taking you?” She nodded. “Tell him to drive to the next block south from the station. I’ll get in your carriage and wait for you there,” he said and stood.
Virginia walked with him to the foyer. He leaned down, hesitantly, she thought, and kissed her cheek. She smiled up at him and raised her brows.
“Don’t want to be too forward, you in your nightclothes,” he said, although she noticed he never took his eyes from the bowed ribbon at the neck of her robe.