The assistant retreated a step, beaten back by the strong scent of cloves. In the process he pulled the door further open.
Inez set a foot over the threshold, repeating, “We will not take much of your time.” She tried to mix the determination in her tone with notes of gratitude and reassurance. “And we are ever so grateful.”
He retreated further. “Please come in, then, Mrs. and Miss…?”
Inez had not considered whether it would be wise or not to give their real names. She mumbled “Stanfort.” If it caused problems later, she would claim she had been perfectly clear.
“Stanfort,” he repeated. “Please, come in.” He directed them into a pocket-sized parlor to the left of the door. Inez spotted a much larger, more formal room on the right, before he said, “A few minutes, please. Please make yourselves comfortable,” and closed the door.
Inez sat. Carmella lifted her veil over her hat and commenced pacing.
“It cannot be Jamie,” she said, twisting the handkerchief in both hands. “I thought about this, all last night. Otto is always jumping to conclusions. And Otto said himself, the longshoreman did not know for certain. And how well would a longshoreman know Jamie, anyway, if they only met at a few union meetings?”
“That does seem possible. Please, Carmella, come sit.” Inez moved a few needlepoint pillows aside on the sofa.
Carmella continued her restless back and forth. “I am certain it is not him. We will see, then we will go home. And Jamie will show up today or tomorrow. The scolding I will give him! I will tell him what happened, and he and I will laugh, and he will reproach Otto for causing us so much worry.”
The door opened. The assistant, now be-jacketed, beckoned to them. “Follow me.”
As they walked down the hallway, he said, “I covered the head separately. That way, you need not look at the face. We washed his clothes. They are to one side. We do not have any of the items or money the police found in his pockets.”
“He had money on him?” Not a random robbery, then.
He nodded. “The coroner can give you more details.”
He veered left and opened a door, “Usually, Mr. Hamilton stays present for the identification.”
“We would like a few private moments,” said Carmella. “You needn’t worry about us, truly.”
“I am not certain Mr. Hamilton would approve,” he said plaintively.
Inez herded him out the door. “If you would, just wait outside. If we need you, we will call.”
“We have smelling salts,” he said as she shut the door.
“Thank you, if we need them we shall call you,” said Inez on the other side.
The two women turned to face a simple casket with a figure under a cloth inside. A separate square of material covered the face.
The faint, sweet stench of death wafted toward them. Both women pulled out their clove-scented handkerchiefs.
Inez said, “Let me, Carmella.” Holding her linen to her nose, she moved toward the body. She lifted one side of the cloth exposing a hand, wrinkled as a washerwoman’s. If the body was of the young pianist, the hand provided no clue. She dropped the sheet and moved to the head, pinching her nostrils closed.
Carmella crowded her shoulder as Inez peeled the cloth back and almost choked.
Inez dropped the cloth over the face. Or what had been a face. She turned to Carmella, wide-eyed above her handkerchief. “Carmella, I cannot tell whether that is Jamie or not. I hoped the hands…but no, they are too changed. Perhaps the clothes or personal effects will tell us something.”
Inez moved to the neat stack of clothes on a nearby chair. She picked up a flowered waistcoat on top. “This looks new. I don’t recall seeing it on Jamie before, do you?”
Carmella stared at the covered body, her face twisted with indecision, one black-gloved hand clasping the opposite wrist as if to pin it in place. She looked at Inez and the waistcoat. “I’ve not seen it before.”
She released her wrist and reached into the casket, saying, “Mrs. Stannert, please, I hope you do not think less of me. But I must know, and this is the only way I can be sure.”
She proceeded to draw the material down from the neck, exposing collarbones, then sternum.
Inez gasped, shocked. “Carmella! What are you doing?” She had always assumed Nico’s sister was a proper young woman who, despite an occasional defiant kick against convention, followed the sensibilities and mores of her class. Now, that appeared to not entirely be the case.
A birthmark emerged from beneath the cloth. Large, purple, violent against the dead white skin. Inez watched, speechless, as Carmella revealed a firemark extending over the left side of the chest.
Carmella’s voice shook, almost inaudible. “Oh, Jamie.” She twisted the sheet back up and turned to Inez, tears spilling down her cheeks. “It’s him.”
Inez closed her eyes, as if blocking the sight would deny what she now knew was true. Robert. Jamie is Robert Gallagher.
Chapter Fifteen
Back in the carriage, Inez listened with half an ear to Carmella’s heartfelt outpourings while she wrestled with her discovery.
How had she not seen Jamie Monroe and Robert Gallagher were one and the same? Regardless, there was no doubt now. Now, the immediate question was how much, if anything, to tell Carmella about Jamie’s double life.
“He was a good man,” Carmella was saying. “Nico couldn’t see that. When he saw us talking, even in passing at the store, he would frown. And one time Jamie called on me at home. We were just sitting in the parlor, nothing improper—”
Inez thought of Carmella identifying Jamie by the birthmark. If nothing “improper” happened in the parlor, something most certainly did at some phase in their courtship.
“—and Nico came home. He wasn’t supposed to return, not for hours! He was so cold to Jamie and afterwards gave me such a lecture. He said Jamie was ruining
