A Proper Pursuit (40 page)

“Aunt Matt, will you talk to my father? Will you help me convince him to let me stay?”

“I would be happy to, but I’m sorry to say that he’s not likely to listen to me. He thinks I’m a bad influence on you.”

“No, you’ve been a wonderful influence, Aunt Matt. I’ve learned so much from you.” I waited until we’d disembarked from the first car and boarded the second before saying, “I’ve had two marriage proposals this week. One from Nelson Kent and one from Herman Beckett.”

“You don’t sound very pleased.”

“I’m not in love with either of them. But Father wants me to get married, and I’m afraid that if I don’t choose one of them he’ll decide for me.”

Aunt Matt’s fists seemed to clench a little tighter. “Someday fathers won’t have that kind of power over their daughters.”

“I wish ‘someday’ would come soon… . Can I tell you a secret, Aunt Matt? The truth is that I came to Chicago to find my mother. Father told me she was ill all these years, and when I finally learned that she wasn’t, I decided to find her and ask her if I could live with her. I’ve been trying to learn more about my parents and their past, and one of the clues I discovered is this address.” I pulled the paper from my pocket and showed it to her. “Do you know where Bishop Street is? Would you be willing to take me there?”

“If it’s where I think it is, it’s out of the question. That’s not a very nice part of town, Violet.” She handed the paper back to me and said, “What makes you think your mother is at this address?”

“I don’t know whether she is or not, but someone told me that my father used to go there. It’s connected with Uncle Philip, somehow. And Aunt Birdie said that Philip knew my mother.”

“You’ve lost me, Violet.”

“I didn’t even know I had an Uncle Philip until Aunt Birdie showed me his picture a few days ago. Why doesn’t anyone ever talk about him?”

“It’s Florence’s place to tell you about Philip, not mine.”

“But I want to know—” “I won’t talk about him, Violet. But I will tell you that Birdie imagines things. Philip has nothing to do with finding your mother.”

I groaned in frustration. “Don’t you understand? If I don’t solve this mystery I’ll have to choose a husband.”

“I honestly don’t believe that your father would force you to marry against your will. You don’t have to marry at all, you know.”

“I know. But I want to find out what it’s like to fall in love, and to be kissed. No one has ever kissed me, Aunt Matt, and it looks so … so wonderful.” I drew a breath for courage and decided to take a chance. “Aunt Birdie also told me that you were engaged once. Do you mind if I ask why you broke it off?”

Aunt Matt was quiet for so long that I was afraid I had offended her—or else hurt her feelings. According to Birdie, Aunt Matt had loved her beau deeply.

“I didn’t marry Robert,” she finally said, “because he didn’t love me.” She was speaking very quietly for once. “When he asked me to marry him, he had ulterior motives.”

I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. After we’d boarded the last streetcar, I decided to probe again.

“Aunt Birdie said that your beau turned out to be a thief.” I hadn’t thought about Silas McClure all morning, but he suddenly sprang to life in my mind with his bright, candelabra grin.

“A thief?” Matt repeated. “I’m not sure what she meant.”

“Well, what did happen to him?”

“My sister Agnes threw an engagement party for us,” she said with a sigh. “Everything was going well until Robert and a friend went outside to smoke cigars. They were gone for quite a while, so I went outside to find him. That’s when I accidentally overheard him talking.” Aunt Matt was usually so stern and abrupt, but now her voice grew soft with emotion.

“I heard him saying unkind things about … about my physical appearance. He and his friend were laughing at me because … because I had been foolish enough to fall in love with him. He told his friend that he didn’t love me. He had been lying to me when he’d said that he did. I don’t think he even liked me. His friend asked Robert why he’d proposed to me, and he said it was because my father was going to die soon, and I would inherit the house and all of Father’s estate. By law, a woman’s inheritance transferred to her husband the moment they were married.”

I didn’t know what to say. No wonder Aunt Matt distrusted men. “Aunt Birdie was right when she called him a thief,” I finally murmured.

“Yes. I suppose she was.” Her voice quavered with emotion— even after all these years.

I was no longer sure that I wanted to fall in love if it hurt this much. Aunt Birdie was still devastated after losing Gilbert. My father had become emotional when he’d talked about my mother. And now I’d learned that Aunt Matt still felt the pain of rejection after all these years. Romance novels never warned about this side of love—the not-so- happily-ever-after part.

“Now, Violet,” she said, clearing her throat. “I don’t want to sound critical, but is what Robert Tucker planned to do so different from what Agnes did, marrying Henry Paine for money and social privilege?Would it be so very different from your choosing a husband you didn’t love for no other reason than because he’s wealthy?”

Ouch!

“But … but there are a lot of women like me who have no way of supporting ourselves. We have to marry a man who can support us.”

“He doesn’t have to be wealthy, does he? Any decent, honest, hard-working man can support you. The point I’m trying to make is that everyone—man or woman—should marry because they are in love, not for what they stand to gain. And I hope that you’ll do the same.”

“Do you believe in love?” I asked after we stepped off the streetcar near home.

“Yes, of course,” she said sternly. “The problem is, most of us are selfish. And so we often choose a mate for selfish reasons. That’s my advice as far as your two proposals are concerned. Don’t marry either man for selfish reasons. And make sure they aren’t marrying you for selfish reasons either.”

I now had one week. And two marriage proposals.

I had to find my mother.

Chapter

27

T
hat evening the house felt so warm and stuffy, even with all of the windows open, that I could scarcely breathe. Part of it might have been panic. My life seemed headed on a course that I couldn’t control.

My bedroom was especially hot, so I went outside after supper and sat on the front steps, hoping to find a cool breeze—and a plan. I needed to make sense of the various clues I had been given and find a way to solve all the mysteries I’d unearthed. Maybe they would lead to my mother.

Daylight was fading and the lamplighter was making his way along our street, lighting the gas lamps, when I saw Silas McClure striding toward our house from the streetcar stop. I recognized him by his smooth, boneless stride. When I’d seen him on the train that first day I had described his movements as slippery, but I viewed Silas differently now that he no longer oiled his hair and wore his cheesy suit. His athletic stride was smooth and panther-like, and he carried himself as if every muscle was so well greased he could break into a run at a moment’s notice. No doubt he needed to stay fit in order to make quick getaways.

He saw me as he approached and waved. I sprang to my feet, longing to run to him and ask if he’d found my mother. But I noticed that his grin wasn’t as bright as usual, and I feared bad news.

“Good evening, Violet.” He swept off his hat, revealing clean, wavy hair.

“Good evening, Silas. Do you have news of my mother?”

He exhaled. “I’m sorry to say that I’ve had no luck, so far. I haven’t been able to locate anyone by the name of Angeline Hayes here in the city.”

I slapped my fists against my thighs in frustration. For the first time I began to wonder if she still lived in Chicago. Perhaps she had come to the city only to sign the divorce papers. Silas must have seen my reaction, or perhaps the tears that filled my eyes, because he quickly said, “I’m not giving up, yet, Violet. I have another idea.”

“Would you care to come inside?”

“Actually, it’s such a nice evening I’d rather sit out here, if you don’t mind.”

“All right.” I sat down again, moving over to make room for him on the steps beside me. His face looked freshly shaved, and he smelled as though he had lavished a great deal of aftershave on himself. I wondered if his efforts were for my sake. Might he propose marriage to me too? The steps were not very wide, and I felt his shoulders brush against mine when he sat down.

“How did you know where to look for my mother?”

“I know a lot of people in this city who get around … if you know what I mean.” He gently nudged my ribs for emphasis. “I have my ways. “

“I would love to hear about them. Solving mysteries fascinates me. I used to read
True Crime Stories
and
The Illustrated Police News
.”

“That’s pretty unusual reading material for a proper young lady like yourself. I’m surprised you’d go for that sort of thing.”

“One of my favorite books was Allan Pinkerton’s biography.”

“Is that right?”

I tried to read his expression, but his face was turned away, and I couldn’t see his features in the fading twilight. “Have you heard of Mr. Pinkerton’s detective agency, Silas?”

“Who hasn’t? I’ll wager they’re the best crime-fighters in the country. But back to your mother …”

His reluctance to discuss Mr. Pinkerton seemed highly suspicious and should have served as a warning to me to have nothing more to do with him. No doubt Pinkerton’s men were hot on Silas’ trail at this very moment. They were famous for tracking down notorious criminals. But I needed Silas’ help.

“Yes? What about my mother?”

“Sometimes women take back their maiden names after they’re divorced. I just thought that your mother might have done the same thing. Do you know what her maiden name was?”

“I have it written down. It’s upstairs. Shall I go get it?”

“It might help.”

He stood, offering me his hand to help me up. A jolt passed from his hand to mine as I gripped it, traveling up my arm and giving me the same sensation I’d once had after accidentally striking my funny bone. I raced upstairs, my arm tingling, and dug out my journal from beneath my mattress. Thank goodness I’d had the good sense to copy down my mother’s full name from her signature on the divorce papers along with the now-worthless address. I ripped out a blank page and copied her full name on it then carried the paper down to Silas.

“Her maiden name was Cepak. Angeline Cepak.”

“Good. That might help. But keep in mind …” He hesitated.

“What? Please tell me.”

“She might have remarried. That might be why we haven’t found an Angeline Hayes. And in that case we won’t find an Angeline Cepak either.”

I sat down on the steps again and motioned for Silas to sit beside me. His shoulder seemed to press closer to mine this time, as if the stairs had mysteriously shrunk while I was gone.

“You seem very knowledgeable about this sort of thing, Mr. McClure.” I was fishing for more information, perhaps even a confession. I wanted to know the truth about Silas and his mysterious friends.

“I have friends who know a lot about the goings-on in Chicago.”

Thieves and murderers, no doubt. I suddenly remembered my second goal: to stop father’s wedding.

“Would any of your friends know how to investigate a murder?”

“A murder?”

“I read about an intriguing case in my hometown, where a man fell down the cellar stairs and died. There are some people”—I didn’t mention that it was me—“who suspect that he may have been murdered. Do you have any idea how someone would go about proving that?”

“Wow, you really are into crime-fighting, aren’t you?”

“I find it fascinating, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I like a good mystery now and then.”

“You seem to have friends in the world of crime, so I just wondered if you might know how the police would go about proving that a suspicious death was murder and not an accident.”

“Well, I once read a real good book about solving crimes called
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
.”

“I love that book!”

“You do? Where in the world did you run into it?”

“A friend at school had a copy. It was fascinating.”

“Then maybe you recall that Sherlock Holmes always looked for two things: motive and opportunity. First of all, did the suspected killer have a reason for wanting the victim to die—that’s motive. And second, did he have a way to do it—access to the crime scene or to the weapon that was used. The knife or the poison or the gun, for instance. Or maybe they knew about one of the victim’s weaknesses— he couldn’t swim or he needed a certain medicine—and therefore had opportunity.”

“I know she was at the scene of the crime when it happened.”

“She? Your suspect is a woman?” I nodded. “Then I’ll wager that it’s highly unlikely that she’s a murderer. The vast majority of convicted murderers are men.”

A shiver of horror rocked through me. It couldn’t be my father! I didn’t want to believe it of him.

“After all, how many women’s prisons do you know of?” Silas continued. “Most women are much too delicate and sensitive to do such a grisly thing.”