Chapter 10
Phillip waited until he was certain Virginia was back from Station Ten and seeing Timothy before he knocked on the back door. Cook opened the door and handed him a roll, hot from the oven, slathered with raspberry preserves.
“Made the jam myself just yesterday. Nothing better in the summer,” she said.
Phillip moaned. “Oh my Lord. That is good. I don’t suppose you could spare another?”
“Already sent a tray up with plenty. The miss said you’d be along shortly.”
Phillip smiled at the cook. “You must have men lined up out the door to marry you if these rolls are any indication of your offerings.”
“Get along with you and your smooth talk,” she said, blushing rosily.
He made his way through the servants’ area, familiar now with the layout of the house, until he was on the main floor. Mr. Oliver turned from the front door.
“Ah, Mr. Brown. She’s expecting you.” He opened the door to the parlor.
“Thank you,” Phillip said and made his way to Virginia’s side. He waited until he heard the door close and took her hands in his, drawing her near. He reached down and kissed her cheek and then her lips.
She looked up at him, her eyes soft, and smiled. “That is the greeting I prefer.”
“Me too,” he replied and helped her into her seat. He sat beside her and reached for her hand. “Tell me.”
“We must hurry with this investigation, Phillip. Timothy looks terrible. I was able to save two turnovers for him. He gobbled one down and then just dropped the other onto the bed behind him. He said, ‘What do you want?’ I was so shocked at his demeanor and looks I barely knew what to say.”
Phillip sat back in his seat, still holding Virginia’s hand. He wondered what he would do or feel after several weeks in a cell with little information about his future or his innocence. He could not blame Timothy for feeling defeated.
“I did tell him what I knew of your investigation and that you’d been working constantly to get to the bottom of this and how much progress you’d made.
We only had a few minutes of true privacy, as this time an officer stood outside his cell.
The only chance to ask him about the abbreviations was when another officer came and asked the one guarding him a question.
I told him his captain and other officers like Hendricks believe in him and that you won’t stop until you’ve proven his innocence.
But he told me to tell you to stop looking into it, that it was too dangerous.
That he no longer cared what happened to him.
I think he’s worried about your sister.”
“Sarah? Why is he worried about Sarah?”
“I think Timothy is worried for her safety.”
“But why? People must know I guard her with my life.”
“Because people know you’re looking into this and know you’d do anything to keep her safe, which makes you vulnerable, and also because I think Timothy cares about her.”
Phillip searched her face. “Why do you think that?”
“Have you ever watched the two of them together? I think he loves her, maybe he always has.”
“Enough to do anything to keep her safe?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
Phillip stared at her, thinking about himself, thinking that he’d die before he let anyone harm Virginia Wiest. “What else? What do those abbreviations stand for?”
“They stand for some criminal organizations, one of which we are both familiar with.”
“Irene Littleman?”
Virginia nodded. “Yes. The same woman who helped you catch Clement, the former Benevolent Society administrator. Our board has had to answer questions from many donors about how he was doing what he was, directly under our noses.”
“And also nearly killed two Pinkerton agents.”
“The ‘RE’ is Thomas Bruner and the ‘AN’ is Anthony Katana.”
“Not a complicated code,” Phillip said. “Just the last two letters reversed.”
“He said it was less of a code and more of an abbreviation. He didn’t anticipate his notebook falling into anyone else’s hands. And he wished he’d never told you where it was. He said you should burn it.”
“I’m not burning it, and I’m not giving up either. That notebook is why Josephine Button’s room, and Timothy’s, were searched. I’m certain that is what they were looking for. Whoever it is wanted to know what he knew.”
“It looks as if Mrs. Littleman is not a suspect in this, although she was at first. Perhaps I should go see if she knows anything.” Virginia glanced at him.
“You absolutely . . .” Phillip began sharply and then stopped himself. He took a few deep breaths. “Please, Virginia. Please do not. These are dangerous people, and we don’t always know what their games or plans are.”
She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. “I won’t, Phillip. I promise. But you should. She seems to know everything that is going on.”
Phillip forgot about Irene Littleman, about Timothy Sweitzinger, about the cannery, about Sarah, about Uncle Patrick and his upcoming wedding.
He couldn’t think of anything other than pulling Virginia Wiest into his arms and kissing her in a way that left neither of them in any doubt that they were meant for each other, exclusively. And forever.
Phillip went early the next morning to the docks where Irene Littleman had her hidey-hole at the Water Tavern.
The area was quiet, other than a few men stumbling along after a night of drinking and carousing.
He stopped and dropped a few coins on the ragged shawl of an old woman clutching a paper sack and a small dog.
He thought about the new Mrs. Weist, sleeping in the cold weather in maybe that exact spot with two children before Virginia rescued her, and wished he could help others.
He leaned against a store front across the street and down a few buildings from the tavern, waiting and watching.
The door opened and a huge man exited, looking up and down the street until he spotted Phillip.
He lumbered across to where Phillip leaned after calling out a hello to a man limping along on a crutch.
“Brown,” he said when he came to a stop some ten feet away.
“I’m thinking you’re Thomas from what Miss Wiest described to me.”
“McDonald to you, Brown. What are you doing here? Scuttling around like a crook.”
“Came to speak to Mrs. Littleman.”
“Huh. Awful cheeky of you, thinking she has time for you.”
“I’m full of cheek, McDonald. Is she in?”
The big man pivoted, heading to the Water Tavern.
Phillip followed. He opened the door and let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room before stepping fully inside.
From first glance, there was just McDonald leaning against a post near a long table.
Mrs. Littleman was seated at the table, garbed in black, a heavy shawl over her shoulders, even in the warm summer weather, several stacks of paper in front of her.
He glanced around and saw no one else in the room.
“It’s just you and me and Thomas, Brown. But I wouldn’t encourage you to try anything. He’s still smarting from when you got those two Pinkertons out.”
“But aren’t you glad I did before they died and you had federal boys coming down on your head and your enterprise?
” Littleman’s face showed not a hint of whether she cared what had happened or for what he’d said or otherwise.
Phillip thought she would be formidable in a card game.
“I don’t mean any harm, Mrs. Littleman. I need information. ”
“Information? I suppose you want to know the scuttlebutt about your police friend, Sweitzinger.” McDonald snorted when she stretched out the word police.
“I do. Can you tell me anything?”
“What do I get in return?”
Phillip hesitated. “I don’t really have anything of value to give you.”
“Don’t sound like a fair trade to me,” McDonald said.
“He’s been a friend of mine since we were boys. He’s saved my hide on more than one occasion. He didn’t kill that woman.”
“And you think I care about that?” she scoffed. “Information has value. You should remember that the next time you’re looking for it.”
“Well,” he said. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Littleman. McDonald.”
Phillip turned to the door and reached for the knob.
“There is one thing you could help me with,” Littleman said.
Phillip turned quickly. “What is that?”
Littleman picked up a pale pink envelope and pulled the paper from inside it. “I received this late last night from Miss Wiest.”
“From Miss Wiest?”
She nodded, turned the paper over in her hands, and glanced up at him. “Yes. From Miss Wiest.”
Phillip could feel his face redden, his heart pounding in his ears, and his anger ratcheting up with each moment. “What did she have to say?”
McDonald huffed a laugh. “That woman’s got you all wrapped up!”
“I’m ready for my breakfast and coffee, Thomas. Would you mind running down to the bakery?”
He glanced from Littleman to Phillip. “You think you’ll be okay, Missus?”
“I’m sure. Thank you, Thomas.”
McDonald bumped him with a hard shoulder on the way to the door. “There’ll be consequences, don’t you know, if a hair is out of place on her head.”
“Sit down, Mr. Brown,” Littleman said as soon as the door closed behind McDonald.
Phillip sat opposite her and laid his hat on the bench beside him. “What did Miss Wiest say to you?”
“Well, first she asked me for a rather large sum of money, a donation, for a charity she’s starting to help women in the dock area.
Give them a place to sleep without fearing for their lives.
” Littleman raised her brows and laughed without humor.
“What a difference a place like that would have made for me and my sisters when Ma died.”
“How old were you?”
“Ten. Ten years old. Sylvia and Nonnie never made it that far, though. Too cold at night and no money for medicine.” She shook her head. “No use fussing about the past. It is beyond our reach.”
“It is.”
Littleman tapped the paper with a finger. “She wants me to attend a meeting with some highfalutin Bible men and other rich women. Talk to them about what is needed for women living on the street.”