Crimson Snow (22 page)

“But once Colonel George knows, he will tell the police.”

“Yes, and what will they do? You've already told them a lie—or less than the truth, anyway, when you didn't tell them it was Barnes you saw.”

“I was afraid!”

“Understandable, but it isn't going to make them very anxious to arrest Barnes.”

“Colonel George—”

“Colonel George is an important man, and they'll listen to him, but unless Barnes actually got into the safe and took something, there won't be much they can do. And he probably didn't get in. That safe is the best they make, not a baby's toy to be broken into by a tuppenny-ha'penny thief. No, Barnes will likely stay out of jail and out of this house, and he'll be a danger to you. That's why you have to go someplace for a while.”

“Not to my family. Mama would have a bed for me, with Elsa here, but it would be the first place Mr. Barnes would look. And there is no room at Sven's.”

“Hmm.” John scratched his chin. “Tell you what. How about that uncle of Paddy's? He's rich as Croesus, and from what I hear, he pretty much thinks you're queen of the world.”

“That is a very good idea!” said Hilda. “I do not know why I did not think of it. Yes, I think they will give me a place to stay until it is safe to come back here. I will go at once!” She gave John a dazzling smile.

“Am I a clever fellow?” said John smugly. “Going to give me a nice kiss, then?” He reached for Hilda, but she ducked under his arm and disappeared down the stairs.

She wasn't dressed for a call on her wealthy soon-to-be relations, but she was afraid to take the time to change. She did take a quick tour of the basement, but Elsa had gone on to other duties. That was a pity. Hilda had hoped to tell her sister not to worry, but there was no time. She slipped into her cloak and muddy rubbers, clapped her old hat on her head, and tiptoed out the back door.

The city is somewhat disgusted with the status of the case.

—South Bend
Tribune
   
February 24, 1904

 

 

 

22

D
ANIEL MALLOY'S HOUSE was not far away. Hilda hurried through the deepening gloom. The clear skies of the day had given way to thick, sullen clouds. It looked very much as if it might rain, which would take away the snow but would turn the streets into rivers and the river into a raging flood. In fact, a fine mist hung in the air even now, damp and unpleasant.

She very much hoped she would find Mrs. Malloy at home. Mr. Malloy was not likely to be there, not during a working day, and the butler didn't much care for Hilda. It seemed to her, reflecting a little as she rushed to safety, that there had been many butlers in her life, and only one who had even tolerated her. She thought about Mr. Williams with something approaching affection. If only he hadn't become ill! The annoyances she had endured every day under his rule were as nothing compared to the danger she faced from Barnes, the thief. For thief he was in Hilda's mind, whether or not he had actually managed to steal anything.

The butler answered the door of the Malloy mansion. He surveyed her with an absolutely blank expression, and Hilda knew he was tallying up her sartorial sins.

“Mr. Riggs,” she said with a smile and her most appealing manner, “I am in a dilemma and need, please, to speak to Mrs. Malloy, if she is at home. You remember me, perhaps? Hilda Johansson?”

She knew perfectly well that he remembered her, and that he also knew she was about to become a member of the family. That was undoubtedly why his expression was frozen, instead of openly disapproving.

“Yes, Miss Johansson. I will tell Mrs. Malloy that you are here.” His glance fell to her muddy rubbers.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling again. “If you do not mind, I will wait here in the hall. And is there perhaps a cloth I might use to clean my shoes after I take off my rubbers? It is very muddy on the streets.”

That earned her a silent bow, but he fetched a rag from a closet and gave it to her before he went to his mistress. Her manners, his demeanor indicated, had improved, but she was still a servant and he was not about to clean her footwear.

Hilda sat on a chair and took a deep breath. There were still many troubles ahead, but this house, solid and comfortable, was a refuge. She very much hoped Mrs. Malloy would allow her to stay. She had nothing with her but the clothes on her back, plain and grimy as they were. Would she, in fact, be welcome in a lady's fine house?

She had time to work up a fine case of nerves before Mrs. Malloy came into the hall, black silk skirts rustling, and held out both hands.

“My dear! It is so good to see you. I had not looked for this pleasure until Sunday. Now, come into the parlor and warm yourself. This hall is freezing.”

“I am wet, Mrs. Malloy, and my skirts are muddy. I did not want to soil your furniture.”

“Pooh! Furniture will clean. I don't want you catching your death of cold, child. And you must call me Aunt Molly. Now come along.”

So, wet and bedraggled as she was, she followed the tiny woman into her exquisite parlor, where a fire roared and the draperies were tightly closed against the gloom and the weather.

Mrs. Malloy pulled a bell rope before she sat down, and when Riggs responded, she said, “Tea, please, Riggs. And would you ask Mrs. Hall for some of those delightful little cakes we had yesterday, if there are any left, and a few sandwiches, please.”

Riggs bowed and departed, and Mrs. Malloy, seated on a thronelike chair with a needlepoint stool at her feet, said, “Now, child, tell me what your trouble is and how I may help you.”

“I am ashamed to ask, Mrs.—Aunt Molly, but you have been very kind to me and my family, and I cannot think of any other place to go.”

“Is it money you need? You're more than welcome—”

“No, no, please. I am sorry to interrupt, but I would not ask you for money. I know I look—well, I am not properly dressed, but that is because I have been out walking nearly all day, and I had no time to change my clothes. I do not have troubles about money. What I need is a place to stay for—I do not know how long. A few days, perhaps a little longer. You see, I do not dare to go back to Tippecanoe Place.”

“And why might that be?” asked Mrs. Malloy in some astonishment.

“There is someone there who wishes to do me harm, and I do not know how bad it might be.”

“Tell me all about it,” said Mrs. Malloy crisply.

So Hilda launched into her tale, stopping abruptly when Riggs brought in the tea. When he had left, Mrs. Malloy got up and checked to make sure the door was firmly latched, and then sat down again. “Now, Hilda—for you won't mind me being as informal as I've asked you to be—you must be half-starved. Drink your tea and get some of that food into you, and then tell me the rest.”

Hilda did as she was bidden. With all the details, it took her through three cups of tea and nearly all of the food in front of her.

“Well, child, you do get into some predicaments, don't you? You bought yourself a load of trouble when you went for the police!”

“Yes, but what else could I do? There was no man in the house at the time, not even Anton. And I could not use the telephone, and I could not just let him steal whatever he wanted!”

“Actually that might have been best. Then he would not have been put on the alert, and you could have told Colonel Studebaker when he came home. But that's hindsight, and hindsight is always perfect. The question is what to do now. Because if the man did get into the safe, he'll probably have had the sense by now to put back anything he took. That leaves Colonel Studebaker in a dilemma, too.”

“I know.” Hilda was disconsolate. “He will not know whether to believe me or the butler.”

“Oh, I expect he'll believe you. You've worked there for years, after all, and he knows you're trustworthy. But he's a just man, and he may not want to dismiss a servant on the basis of an unproven story.”

“If he does dismiss him, I think I am in danger. Mr. Barnes knows I saw him. He will know it is I who told Colonel Studebaker, and he might…” Hilda didn't want to think about what Barnes might do. “But even if Mr. Barnes is allowed to stay on, he will be angry with me because I spoiled his robbery attempt.”

“Well, it's an unpleasant situation, but you're quite safe here, my dear. When Mr. Malloy comes home, we'll put our heads together and see if we can figure out something you can do for the long term. You don't want to be a prisoner in this house for the rest of your life.”

Hilda looked around her and smiled a little. “It is a very fine prison, but no, I do not want to be a burden to you.”

“Now that's enough of that kind of talk! And how would you be a burden? You're to stay here as long as you like, but the trouble is, you won't be able to go out alone. And you'll not like that, I'm thinking.”

“No, I have much to do, and I must be free to go out.”

“Yes, well, we'll work on that later, with Mr. Malloy. Now, child, we need to get you out of those wet, filthy clothes and into a hot bath. And then you'll come down and we'll talk of other things.”

She rang a bell and when the butler answered said, “Riggs, please have Agnes show Miss Johansson to the rose bedroom. She will be staying with us for a few days. And tell Mrs. Hall the cakes and sandwiches were delicious.”

“Yes, madam. Thank you, madam.” Disapproval written in every line of his face, every movement, he went away to do his mistress's bidding.

When Hilda had finished her luxurious bath she slipped into the robe that Agnes had hung on a hook in the bathroom. It was of heavy silk in a beautiful floral print, and was made in a loose, flowing style that Hilda was later to hear called a kimono. Now she knew only that she had never worn a garment that was at once so beautiful and so comfortable. It was also at least six inches too short for her. Mrs. Malloy was a very small woman.

Some clothes had been laid out for her on the bed. Hilda examined them, wondering whose they were. Not Mrs. Malloy's, for they were big enough for Hilda. Nor could they be Agnes's. They were simple, a blue skirt trimmed only with braid, and a white waist with tucks and a single row of lace, but the skirt was perfectly cut from a soft lightweight wool, and the waist was of fine silk. Hilda looked at herself in the mirror as she brushed her hair and did up her coronet braids. She would, she decided, have to find a more fashionable hair style soon. The neat golden braids, traditional to her Swedish heritage, looked fine with a maid's uniform, but with the modish clothes of a well-to-do lady she needed a more American look.

She had not put on a corset that morning and she feared the clothes would be tight around the waist, but they fit quite well. Once she had put them on, she felt she looked very nice, hairdo notwithstanding. She went down to meet Mrs. Malloy—no, Aunt Molly, she had to remember—well pleased with herself.

The lady was waiting for her in the front parlor. “Charming, my dear. They fit well enough?”

“Very well, thank you, Mrs.—Aunt Molly. But they are not yours, and I wondered—”

“They belong to one of my nieces. She and her parents, my sister and her husband, live in Ohio, but she visited here last summer and left some things behind. They're not suitable for winter, really, and she's coming back in June, so I kept them here for her. Are you sure you find them warm enough?”

“Yes, thank you.”

An awkward little silence fell, broken when both women started to speak at once.

“Aunt Molly, you—”

“Hilda, my dear—”

They broke off. Hilda said, “I am sorry. Please go ahead.”

“No, I interrupted you.”

“It is just that I want to tell you—want to thank you for all you are doing for me—for us. You take me in and are kind to me, you give me clothing to wear and treat me like one of the family, you give me tea as if I were a lady. Patrick says Mr. Malloy will give us a house for a wedding present. A house! Never have I imagined owing a house of my own, and now…”

She paused and then went on, slowly. “It is hard for me to—to adjust to this. I am a maid, but you treat me like a daughter. Patrick is your nephew, but he is now almost like your son. I— I do not know quite how to act, how to behave. The rules I have known are changing. If I say something stupid or do something wrong, I hope you will forgive me. You have been so kind.”

Mrs. Malloy looked down for a moment and then smiled gently. “That is a little of what I wanted to talk to you about. I was going to say, a moment ago, that I want you to know something. Patrick may have already told you, but if not, I must. When I first realized that you two cared for each other, two years ago during that dreadful trouble for Mr. Malloy, I was deeply distressed.”

Hilda's face lost all its animation. “But I thought you liked me!”

“I do, Hilda. I am very fond of you indeed, and I was even then. I liked you for yourself, and of course this family owes you a debt we can never repay. You saved Mr. Malloy's life and we will never forget that. No, my objections had nothing to do with you personally, but I saw many problems ahead for you and Patrick. You are of different nationalities, different classes, and most troubling of all, different religions. I knew that your family would not approve of your marriage to Patrick, and that most of Patrick's family would not approve of his marriage to you. I spoke to Patrick about it.”

“He did not tell me!”

“No, I can see that he did not. Even at the time I didn't think he would. Though I was as persuasive as I knew how to be, he didn't listen to more than one word in ten. It was during the time that you were missing, and he was nearly demented with worry.

“Since then I have observed you, my dear. You may think me a prying old woman, but Patrick is very dear to me and Mr. Malloy, and it was clear that he was becoming more and more dear to you. So I watched and I listened, and I liked what I learned. You are brave and determined. You will need both qualities to survive the prejudice you will encounter as Patrick's wife. You have considerable intelligence and a fierce loyalty. You are stubborn, of course, and sometimes foolhardy, but age will likely cure the latter, and surely life with Patrick will moderate the former.”