The Secret Life of Anna Blanc (26 page)

It was Sunday. Anna had planned a morning walk with Edgar on the empty sea cliffs after mass. She chose the spot because there were no people, and plenty of cypress trees to hide behind, just in case. She had plied the Widow Crisp with a goodly amount of Theo's liquor the night before, and had presented her with a bottle at breakfast. Combined with the communion wine, if Anna were lucky it would be enough to knock the Widow out. Anna would cover her with eucalyptus leaves and lead Edgar off to a soft, private piece of earth where they could spoon.

But Edgar had called and said he had to work. All that Anna had to look forward to was a portrait sitting later in the day. She didn't mind having her portrait painted, and Clara was coming to help her dress, as Anna's personal assistant was ill, but posing was nowhere near as nice as spooning. It was a chance to immortalize her beauty in a Frederick Worth original gown that she had augmented with a cluster of artificial birds. Even Anna Blanc wouldn't live forever. Her body would slowly change from spring blossom to withered rose to a rotting and worm-eaten corpse. Anna tried to picture the latter state and decided that the best she could do to ameliorate the situation was to be buried in something from Vionnet at the House of Doucet.

The wedding date had been set for the following June. Edgar wanted to marry sooner, but Anna had begged to put off the date, ostensibly so she could order her gown from Paris. In truth, she wanted more time to solve the murders and perhaps even capture the Boyle Heights Rape Fiend. This forestalling was nonsensical. It frustrated her main goal in life—to marry and get out of the house posthaste. Any number of things could happen between August and June to spoil her plans—most
notably that Edgar would find out she was working at the station. But she couldn't quit police work now. Not when she was so close.

Anna decided to reread
Wuthering Heights
to find out how Cathy so completely bewitched Heathcliff that he forgave her the rather large faux pas of marrying another man and, subsequently, dying. If Anna could foster such a love in Edgar, it would surely survive one minor deception, a few necessary kisses, and a job at the police station. Anna thought again about luring Edgar into a dark and lonely place and securing a love that transcended death, but she wasn't sure it would be enough. Edgar was no fool. She would have to practice.

When Clara arrived to help Anna prepare for her portrait, Anna's heart gave a little leap. She'd been neglecting Clara since she had been hired at the station, and she hadn't realized just how much she missed her. She led Clara by the hand into her bedroom and they sat on the canopy bed.

Clara smiled. “Dearest, you've been a complete stranger since the day of your engagement. What's Edgar doing with you?” She giggled like she had said something naughty.

“Nothing,” Anna said, guiltily. Clara squinted at Anna, her mouth still smiling, but Anna knew there was something serious beneath the giggles. She just didn't know what. She hoped Clara's feelings weren't hurt. Anna needed to come up with some better excuses for her absences, not just the Orphans' Asylum and romantic outings that never happened. Perhaps she could feign appendicitis.

Clara pressed her lips together. “I have bad news. Auntie is dying. I have to go to Summerland tomorrow.”

Anna put a palm to her chest and gasped. What a stroke of luck. She hoped the aunt would be dying all month. Then she felt guilty thinking this and tried to be sad. She was acquainted with the lady, a medium of some renown, and had visited her with Clara at the spiritualist colony in Summerland. The aunt was unfashionably old, and she annoyed Anna by delivering unsolicited messages from Anna's own dead mother, all of which started with “never” or “don't.” Her beach house brimmed with restless spirits that made Clara squeak with fright.
Anna found ghosts deliciously creepy, and under ordinary circumstances she would have gone to protect Clara and fend them off, but she had to be at the station.

Anna bit her lip and searched for a comforting word. “Um…I suppose she'll be in touch.”

Clara brightened. “I hadn't considered that.”

Anna swept over to a full-length mirror. Clara, smiling again, helped her slip into the scratchy gown and began to fasten the buttons in the back. Anna sucked in her stomach, but the buttons still strained at the waist.

Clara tugged. “Hmm.” The lilt in her voice contained a warning. “It's going to rip if I do them up.”

Anna looked at Clara with wide eyes. “Jupiter.”

Clara let go of the buttons and ran her hands through Anna's hair. She lifted a Tournure frame from the toilet table, set it carefully on Anna's head, and began twisting her hair around it. “You could wear a tighter corset, but you'd have to carry smelling salts. Can Edgar put his hands around your waist?”

Anna's hands wandered to the smallest part of her midsection. “I don't know. He's never tried. Officer Singer almost did…” Anna stopped and put her fist to her mouth. She hadn't meant to tell Clara about Officer Singer.

Clara fumbled the Tournure frame. It fell, yanking Anna's hair, and dangled, trapped in a tangled lock.

Maybe Anna's slip had been a good thing. Her posture was beginning to suffer from the weight of all her burdens—the untyped files, the murders, the shoe, the Boyle Heights Rape Fiend, Eve's fall, and especially Officer Singer, his knowledge of her dark secret, and the risk he posed to her sanity. Maybe it was time to heave the oppressive weight off her shoulders and onto Clara's.

Anna looked at Clara in the mirror. “I have something to confide.”

Clara winced. “Oh Anna, I hope it's not a big sin.”

Anna's words tiptoed from her mouth. “It's not a sin, exactly. It's more of an indiscretion. I'm working at the police station.”

Clara's lips parted, but nothing came out, so Anna kept going. “I gave the Widow Crisp my ruby necklace and an emerald ring in exchange for time on my own. I've been working several weeks now as a police matron under the name of Anna Holmes.”

Clara let loose a shrill giggle that hung awkwardly in the air. She busied her hands, mechanically pulling the frame free and liberating a wad of hair while Anna gritted her teeth. Clara rolled the wad between her fingers and pitched it into the wastebasket. She cleared her throat. “Who is Officer Singer?”

“He's the police chief's son. You must have seen him at the ball.” Anna raised her eyebrows. “He looks like the Arrow Collar Man.”

“Sweetness, I met him and he didn't look at all like the Arrow Collar Man. I wouldn't even call him handsome.”

Anna wrinkled her brow. “You can't have seen him up close.”

Clara's eyebrow darted up. “Obviously you have.”

“As a matter of fact, he's helping me catch a rape fiend. Or, I'm helping him. We do secret operations at night, posing as lovers in the park. Not alone, of course. A different officer waits in the bushes ready to spring and, when the rapist attacks, the three of us are poised to capture him. But more importantly, I'm also hunting a murderer.”

Clara spoke each word carefully, as if she couldn't believe their meaning. “He put his hands around your waist?”

“Well, one time. He was kissing me, which is more than Edgar ever does. But don't worry, I was properly outraged.” She pinched her lip between her teeth. “Although I did kiss him once because a suspect was watching us. He only kissed me back to be polite. And it doesn't count. You'll see when I explain it. It was a life or death situation. At least I thought so at the time.” Anna smiled, dreamy-eyed. “He said I'm a good detective.”

Clara remained silent so long that Anna began to fidget. She watched Clara's tight smile in the mirror. Finally Clara spoke. “Someone saw you kissing Officer Singer?”

“No. Someone saw
Matron Holmes
kissing Officer Singer. It's different. No one knows it was me.” Anna frowned. “I'm more concerned
that Officer Singer will tell. He's angry with me about the kiss. But maybe he won't. I'm very important to the force.” She sighed. “You really should see him up close. He has luscious peepers.”

Clara's closed her eyes and shook her head. “If Edgar found out about any of this, you would lose him.”

“Not if he loves me the way Heathcliff loved Cathy.”

“I don't think you really want to marry Edgar.”

Anna's voice rose. “I do. But there's a rape fiend on the loose. And a murderer! What would you do?”

“I'd quit my job and stop kissing the police chief's son! You're spoiling your reputation!”

“It isn't my reputation I'm spoiling! It's Matron Holmes's reputation!”

Clara took a deep breath. “Sweetness, you've completely lost your bearing.” Her sunny, perennial smile had disappeared behind a cloud. “If you don't…control yourself, I don't know what I'll do.”

Anna spun around to face her. “What do you mean you don't know what you'll do?”

“You can't just go traipsing around at night, kissing police officers, no matter how good you think your reasons are. You have to stop.”

“That's easy for you to say, because you wouldn't want to do those things. But I do! And if I don't catch the killer, no one else will. Innocent harlots are going to die!”

“Rape fiends? Murderers? Harlots? You know what I think, Anna? I think your father was right to take away your allowance and shackle you to a chaperone. In fact, I think he should have hired more of them, because one is clearly not enough!”

Anna narrowed her eyes. “Take that back!”

“No. You're ruining yourself, dragging your precious innocence through the muck. And you'll take me down with you.” Clara leaned against the wall. She looked faint. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “You and I have been connected our whole lives. Whatever you do reflects on me. Did you think about that?” Clara fingered the ties on her bolero gown, and her voice went low. “I don't know if I can see you anymore.
Not unless you stop this scandalous behavior. You need to quit playing police officer and police…lover, or I'll have to make a clean and very public break.”

Tears glistened on Clara's cheeks. Anna stared at her. “You can't mean that. If you loved me enough, it wouldn't matter. And you love me enough. I know you do.”

“Dearest, I love you. But I can't be party to your wild behavior. Edgar Wright is the best thing that ever happened to you. He's decent and kind and you are playing him for a fool!”

Anna's mouth quivered. “I'm not! And I resent your saying so.”

“Goodbye, Anna.” Clara sniffed. “Call on me when you come to your senses, unless you've destroyed yourself by then.”

With that, Clara let the Tournure frame tumble to the ground and hurried to the door. Anna could hear her sobs echo as she walked down the stairs and through the marble hall.

Half an hour later, Anna sat in her gown trimmed with artificial birds, unbuttoned in the middle so that it didn't rip. The corners of her mouth tipped down. Her hair was bunched up in a common bun—the best the parlor maid could manage. She held very still as the portrait artist arranged her. He was French, with intense eyes and wore blousy paint-speckled sleeves. He silently swirled the skirts of her gown into luminous drapes and folds, touching the birds, moving their wire and feathered wings this way or that. He picked up her feet and placed them so the tips of her satin slippers peeked from under the hem. Her posed hand dropped to her side. She was feeling very alone and didn't give a hoot whether her hands were gracefully gesturing in the air or showing the world her middle finger.

He made a disgruntled sound and moved her hand back into position. He stood apart to look at her. “I can't paint a scowling bride. Relax your face.”

Two lines cut between Anna's brows. “I can't; I'm unhappy.”

Even as her world was expanding, it was shriveling up. Life just wasn't worth living without Clara. But she loved her work at the station and she had to stop the killer or she'd spend eternity in purgatory. The crease on her forehead deepened. She resembled her father.

The painter slapped his hands back and forth in a washing gesture. “Fine. Take back your money. I won't paint a scowling bride. It's an affront to love.”