Time of Fog and Fire: A Molly Murphy Mystery (Molly Murphy Mysteries) (33 page)

“There you are. Your husband agrees,” Sid said. “What a splendid time we shall have.”

“We should invite my mother to come to stay and help with the work until you are fully recovered,” Daniel said. “You are still clearly weak, aren’t you? And dizzy, and headaches?”

“I’m fine, Daniel,” I said quickly, thinking that having my mother-in-law in my house would cause more headaches than I was currently experiencing. In truth I didn’t yet feel like my old self—definitely a little frail, but that was hardly surprising after all I had been through.

“And you, Captain Sullivan,” Gus interjected. “We haven’t yet heard your part of the story.”

“My part?” I saw Daniel give a wary look in my direction.

“Why you were called to California in the first place and whether you really did summon Molly with that extraordinary letter.”

Daniel shook his head, smiling. “I’m afraid I was on a mission that must remain secret, but I did indeed want Molly to join me, and very much regretted my rashness later. I would not have put her through such grief and torment for anything in the world.”

“Then we are not to be privy to this enigma?” Gus asked.

“I regret no,” Daniel said. He glanced at me again. Clearly I was not to divulge that Daniel had been pushed over a cliff and had to hide, disguised as an elderly professor. I would never be able to tell my friends of my utter anguish and despair for those two awful days I believed my husband to be dead. Nobody would ever know what that felt like. But then I realized that this was a good thing. Bridie sat on the rug at my feet, keeping Liam amused. I would not want her to hear that she had almost lost both of her guardians. She already worried enough about her missing father and brother. Let her at least feel secure here.

“But was the business successfully concluded? Was all put right in the end?” Sid asked.

“Let’s just say that the earthquake put an end to my investigation and I doubt now that it will ever be satisfactorily concluded,” Daniel said. He stood up. “We should be getting home,” he said. “We have so much to do.”

“You’ll dine with us tonight?” Gus said. “You won’t want to be rushing out to buy supplies and I have a fine chicken roasting in the oven.”

“You’re very kind, but I think…” Daniel began.

“We’d love to,” I cut in. “You just said you don’t want me running around too much and it’s late in the day to go out to buy food.”

“I’ll go for you,” Bridie said. “I’ve been running errands for the ladies. I’m turning into a good shopper, aren’t I, Miss Walcott?”

“You certainly are, Bridie. And I must tell you, Molly, what a joy she has been to us. I’ve introduced her to
Jane Eyre
and Dickens and I started to teach her to paint.…”

Bridie gave me a shy smile.

“It sounds as if you won’t want to come home to our boring house,” I said, smiling back.

“Oh, yes,” Bridie said. “I do want to come home.”

Thirty-four

I can’t tell you how wonderful it was to wake up in my own bed with the sun shining on the dear, familiar wallpaper and the sound of Liam babbling happily to himself in his crib in the back bedroom. Daniel lay still sleeping. I looked down at him, lying serene and peaceful, and my heart surged with love for him. As I brushed a dark curl from his forehead I thought how nearly I had lost him. I doubted I would ever fully get over it. Feeling my light touch Daniel opened his eyes and smiled at me.

“You look so beautiful,” he said.

“So do you.” I had to laugh.

“Kiss me,” he said, and for a while we were too busy to talk.

Bridie had shopped for basic foodstuffs the afternoon before so I was able to make us scrambled eggs and coffee. I don’t think either of those items had ever tasted better. When we had breakfasted Daniel announced his intention to go straight off to the telegraph office to wire Mr. Wilkie.

“I’ll wait awhile to let the police department know I have returned,” he said. “No sense in rushing things.”

“Are you hoping that Mr. Wilkie might offer you a full-time job?” I asked, with a tinge of anxiety in my voice.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. “And, Molly, I’d like you to see a doctor today. You had a nasty blow to the head and I want to make sure you’re healing well.”

“I’m feeling much better now,” I said. “A little dizzy occasionally but that’s to be expected.”

“And take it easy for these first few days.” He wagged a finger at me.

“Daniel, I have been taking it easy on a train for five days now,” I said. “I’m feeling fine. Honestly, I am.”

“All the same, I’d like you to show that head wound to a doctor. Please do it today.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but left the house. Bridie went off to school and I had a pile of laundry to face. Only a small pile, I noted. The few items I had managed to rescue. Not my fine evening frock or Liam’s sailor suit. It seemed that as soon as we took one step forward, it was then followed by two steps back. But at this moment, with all of us alive and well, I could not complain about the loss of a few possessions. I thought about those who had lost everything and were now camping in tents in chilly Golden Gate Park, wondering how they could possibly get on with their lives. I thought about Mr. Dennison, the man who had plunged to his death beside Daniel, and wondered if he had a wife and family, waiting to hear from him. And my thoughts went to Mrs. Endicott. I would have to steel myself to go and see her and tell her a lie. And Mr. Paxton—did he make it safely home to New York? I knew that Caruso and the stars of the opera had managed to escape on a ferry before the fire engulfed the whole of downtown San Francisco and would then presumably have taken a train back to New York. I only hoped he was with them. He had been very kind to me.

So after my morning chores I took Liam and we boarded the trolley going up Broadway. I remembered more or less where the Metropolitan Opera House stood. It had been pointed out to me once, in a most unlikely part of the city—on Broadway close to Macy’s department store. And I had been surprised that the building was so ordinary. It was a square yellow brick edifice without adornment and would have passed for insurance offices had there not been a discreet marquee on Broadway, advertising the next performance. Liam enjoyed his trolley ride, pointing out things that attracted him—automobiles mainly. Clearly he was going to grow up like his father—fascinated by them.

As I watched his chubby face alight with joy I found it hard to believe how we had nearly lost him. How I had nearly lost my whole family. Our return to normality seemed like a miracle. I had almost gone past the opera house before I recognized it and had to walk back from the next stop. Then I paused outside, looking up at it. It was a building of many floors, many windows, but the only entrance I could see was into the theater itself, and clearly Mr. Paxton didn’t work there. Nevertheless I went in through the glass doors. The box office was open and someone was in the process of buying tickets. I tiptoed past and stepped into the theater foyer. Then from beyond golden curtains I heard a wonderful sound—a sublime voice raised in song. I crossed the foyer, opened the curtain across the doorway, and stepped into a darkened auditorium. Oh, my. I had never seen anything this grand in my life before. The only lights were on the stage but even that small amount of light lit up tier after tier, balcony above balcony of gilded opulence. And in the ceiling an enormous chandelier. On the stage a male and female singer were now rehearsing, dressed in ordinary street garb. I could have stood and listened all day. I had no idea opera was so wonderful and could see now why the whole world adored Mr. Caruso.

But Liam didn’t share my sentiments and wriggled in my arms. I retreated before he let out a wail only to encounter a stern woman in black.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “The theater is closed to the public.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I came to see Mr. Paxton and I couldn’t seem to find the right way in to his office. And the singing was so glorious I had to just take a peek.”

Her expression softened. “
Aida,
” she said. “Opens next week.”

“And Mr. Paxton?”

“Will be up in administration. Go around the corner to Thirty-ninth Street and you’ll find the entrance there.”

I thanked her and left reluctantly, those glorious notes floating after me. Maybe my trip to California would make an opera fan of me! I was directed to Mr. Paxton’s office and was delighted to find him sitting at his desk, safe and sound. His expression showed that he was equally delighted to see me.

“My dear Mrs. Sullivan.” He rose from his seat and came around to me. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. I have to confess that I worried about you all the way home on the train. To have lost your husband and then to have had to endure that awful quake. And yet look at you—as fresh and healthy as if it had never happened.”

“I was lucky, Mr. Paxton,” I said. “We survived the quake and found my husband alive.”

“Alive, after all?”

“Yes. It was a case of mistaken identity. A body found at the bottom of the cliffs was falsely identified as that of my husband.” I did not elucidate any further.

“What a relief for you.”

I nodded. “When I saw that awful destruction and what other poor souls had to endure I feel truly blessed. And you—you were able to escape with the rest of the company before the fire struck?”

He smiled. “I was given the task of transporting our stars to safety. I commandeered vehicles and whisked them away without a scratch, I’m glad to say. We were on a ferry to Oakland before there was any hint of fire. We had to wait until the train lines were repaired but we stood there across the Bay and watched the city burn. What a terrible tragedy, wasn’t it?”

“And Caruso?”

“Is already on a ship heading back to Italy. He vows to come to America no more. Let us all hope he will change his mind.”

I left him then, promising to invite him and his wife to dine with us as soon as we were settled. How lucky I was that he was assigned to share my compartment. There really are some good people in the world.

On the trolley back my thoughts turned to the other, less pleasant duty I had to fulfill. Mrs. Endicott. On the train ride home I had wrestled with what I should say to her. Should I let her think that her husband died in the earthquake and fire, or should I tell her the truth—that he had another family and would never be returning? Would I want to know that Daniel was alive and well, but with another woman, rather than mourning his death? Usually I am on the side of truth, but I wanted to spare that frail and delicate lady as much grief as possible. Let her think that her husband had died. Let her at least continue to live comfortably on the proceeds of his businesses. But when we approached Fourteenth Street I found myself hesitating. What could I say? That I knew he was dead? That I had been told he perished? In which case by whom? So I continued on the trolley to my own stop. Mrs. Endicott would have to wait until I had my story straight and I had thought out the kindest way to spare her pain.

When Bridie came home from school I did as Daniel had asked and went to the doctor’s surgery, leaving her to look after Liam. I told him what had happened to me. He tut-tutted and examined the wound on the back of my head, which had now healed nicely.

“You’re a lucky woman,” he said. “That was quite a blow. Are you still experiencing unpleasant symptoms?”

“A little nausea and dizziness,” I confessed. “The occasional headache.”

“To be expected. I want you to take things easily and rest as much as possible.”

“That’s what my husband says.”

“Sensible man. I like to hear of a man who has his wife’s best interests at heart,” he said.

I had to smile at this. I didn’t tell him that my husband had summoned me across the continent into a scene of danger.

“While you’re here, I’d better examine you,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since I delivered your child. What was that—two years ago now?” He listened to my heartbeat, poked and prodded, and then said, “The dizziness and nausea. Is it possible that you are expecting another child?”

I stared at him. “No. I don’t think.…” Then it struck me. I hadn’t exactly had the most regular monthly cycles since having Liam and I hadn’t had an unwelcome visitor since … since before Daniel left for California. I had been too overwrought while I had been in San Francisco to have noticed such trivialities. And I remembered the queasiness on the train.

“Do you think I’m expecting?” I asked.

“Let’s just say I’d like to examine you more thoroughly. Then we’ll know.”

Half an hour later I walked out of there with a big smile on my face. Not only were my husband and son safe but I had been given an added gift!

*   *   *

Daniel was gone all day. I waited impatiently for him to arrive home that evening. When he did I dragged him into the front parlor and had just shared the news with him when there was a knock at our front door. Daniel went to answer it and I heard him say, “Good heavens, sir. You got up here in a hurry.”

“Caught the next train,” said a voice that I recognized and I came out to see Mr. Wilkie standing in our hallway. “I can’t tell you how relieved I was to get the news that you were still alive and had escaped from that hellhole. I was blaming myself for sending you there.”

He came over to me and took my hands. “I must apologize to you, my dear Mrs. Sullivan, for putting your husband in such a precarious situation. Presumably you had no idea he was even in San Francisco, let alone trapped in the middle of an earthquake.”

“Oh, but…” I began when Daniel cut in.

“Actually she did know because I sent her a postcard,” he said firmly and deliberately, giving me a warning look. “So naturally she was extremely worried until I could send her a wire.”

“It seemed like an eternity,” I said. “I was so worried I couldn’t even concentrate on my embroidery.”

I watched Daniel trying to keep a straight face at this.

“You must lead a charmed life, Sullivan,” Mr. Wilkie said as Daniel ushered him through to the back parlor.