The carriage arrived promptly with Joseph Lynch himself in the driver’s box. He tipped his hat, keeping his gaze studiously directed at Inez’s face. She gave him points for not glancing even once at her trousered legs and for treating her with all the deference that might be due to one of San Francisco’s elite. After he’d helped de Bruijn down the stairs and into the cab, Inez paid the driver what she adjudged to be a handsome fee for his efforts. She instructed him to accompany de Bruijn to his rooms, notify the hotel staff that his passenger was suffering from a concussion, and explain a physician would be by in the morning. “May I have another of your cards for the gentleman?” she asked.
Joseph Lynch produced one, and she leaned into the carriage, pulled de Bruijn’s jacket open, and tucked the card in his waistcoat pocket. “Don’t lose this, Mr. de Bruijn.”
Once the carriage was off and clattering down Kearney, Inez returned upstairs. Antonia was already in her nightclothes and in bed. Inez fetched a clean case for the pillow and debated how to proceed.
While listening to Antonia’s story, Inez had been alarmed on many fronts. That Antonia had undertaken a nighttime journey into a dangerous part of town, never mind that she was not alone. That she had somehow managed to convince Mick, who seemed the upright sort, to go with her was a blessing but also a concern. That she had somehow managed to insinuate herself wholeheartedly into the investigation of Jamie Monroe’s murder. Such investigations, Inez knew from her own experience, could recoil violently onto those whose only crime was searching out the truth.
Inez finally settled on the topic most easily dealt with: the fact that, despite all of her precautions the previous evening, her ward had still managed to eavesdrop. Covering Antonia’s hand with her own, Inez began, “You and Mick probably saved Mr. de Bruijn’s life. A good deed and no small thing. However…”
Even in the dark, she saw Antonia stiffen at the word.
“You obviously listened in on the discussion between me, Mr. de Bruijn, and Mrs. Sweet. I checked the doors before we began. No one was there. Tell me how you did it.”
Antonia chewed her lip, then turned her head away with a sigh that sounded like it came from the depths of her soul. “I was on the stairs in the alley, the ones that go up to the storage room.” She twisted under the covers to face Inez, tucking her free hand under the pillow. “I still had the hairpins I’d used to open the trunk for you. So, I unlocked the room, and went out the back door. I went down the stairs just far enough so’s I could hear everyone through the window. I saw you open the door, but I stayed very still and you didn’t see me.”
Inez was impressed with Antonia’s tenacity but opted for a slight frown of disapproval. “I am disappointed that you went against my express order not to eavesdrop. You put yourself and your friend Mick in a very dangerous position. However, I understand. You were worried and wanted to help. So, I am willing to let this pass, given the circumstances.”
“I’m sorry.”
And she indeed looked contrite, with her eyes wide and shining, and her lower lip trembling. Inez had to settle for that and hope Antonia wasn’t pulling the wool over her eyes. For if she is lying to me about this, in whole or part, what else is she not telling me?
The next morning, Inez tried to keep a semblance of normalcy to their routine. Antonia complained about the staleness of the bread and asked when Carmella might be by with more zeppole or cornetti alla marmellata. “I don’t know, but I shall pay her a visit if she does not come by today or tomorrow and let her know we miss her presence and pastries,” Inez assured her.
As Antonia prepared to leave, Inez stayed the door with a firm hand. “What will you do as soon as school is out?”
Antonia’s face was hidden by the bonnet and its brim, but her response was clear enough, if a little sullen. “I’ll come home.”
“Good.” Inez opened the door to the outside world.
Antonia lingered, “I was thinking,” she said, “maybe I could see Mr. Brown on my way home and make sure he’s all right.”
Inez put a hand on her shoulder. “I am visiting him this morning and will share your concerns.” She gave Antonia a little push, encouraging her on her way.
Antonia took a step, then two, then stopped. “He didn’t have to give me Maman’s locket. She gave it to him. Not me.” Without waiting for an answer, she trudged away.
Inez leaned against the doorjamb and watched the girl disappear down the street, book bag swinging from its strap.
Was I so contrary at her age?
She didn’t really have to pose the question to herself. She had been all that and more. If not for her own iron will and contrariness, she would not have escaped the stifling, pre-determined future prepared for her by her parents. She would have certainly ended up a proper New York matron, married to someone of her father’s choosing and languishing in Newport or Saratoga Springs during the summer season. Instead, here she was, for better or for worse, with no one to blame for her fate but herself.
And Inez would have had it no other way.
She went to the store with the idea of glancing at any paperwork, invoices, bills, that might have accumulated. Too, if John Hee was there and she could catch a few minutes alone with him, she thought she would quiz him about the previous night’s events. Instead, she found Nico, once again uncharacteristically early, in deep conversation with Welles as they poured over some sheet music. Or rather, Nico was holding forth while Welles nodded and said, “Yes.
