Death on Telegraph Hill Page 9

  “Please lower your voice, Mr. Dunn,” she urged the child’s father. “You’re upsetting the baby.”

  “Upsetting him!” he bellowed even louder. “What about me? Lucy is gone, leaving me to raise a child on my own. How am I supposed to take care of him? That was going to be Lucy’s job. I didn’t want him in the first place. How in hell am I supposed to do my work when there’ll be no more money coming in?”

  “Mr. Dunn, please, these ladies…,” Isabel said, her voice trailing off as she nodded pointedly at Mama, Celia, and me. “I’m truly sorry that I must leave, but I have students who will be arriving shortly, and I must prepare for their lessons. Mrs. Montgomery promised to care for little Billy until I return this evening. If you like, I can take him home with me for the night so that you can get some rest. I’ll bring him back in the morning.”

  “Don’t bother, you can keep him at your house if you like,” he told her curtly. “I have an important story to write, and all he does is cry. In fact, keep him for good if you want. Don’t know what in hell I’m supposed to do with the brat. If it weren’t for him, Lucy would still be here, taking care of things like she always did.”

  This was too much for Mama. “Mr. Dunn,” she admonished, her face red with anger and ill-disguised contempt. “I understand that you have sustained a terrible shock, and have obviously not yet come to terms with your loss. It is only to be expected.” She turned to the tiny figure once again quiet in his cradle. “But you have been blessed with a beautiful, healthy baby boy. Surely you must put his well-being before any other considerations. You are all that poor motherless little boy has left.”

  Dunn looked at my mother as if she were a strange creature from another planet. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” he demanded, his voice once again disturbing his sleeping son. “You were not invited here, but since you are, I’ll thank you to keep your infernal opinions to yourself.”

  Celia gave a little gasp at this, while my face blazed hot with fury. “How dare you speak to a lady in that disgraceful manner, Mr. Dunn? My mother, sister-in-law, and I came bearing clothes for your new baby, and food for your dinner. In light of your unforgivable behavior, I regret that we included anything for you in those baskets. You certainly don’t deserve it.”

  The awful man glared at me in rage. “Listen to me, you bit—”

  “No, you listen to me!” I said, cutting off the vile word before it could escape his mouth. “I had your measure the first time I set eyes upon you. And you have done nothing since then to prove me wrong. You are a sorry excuse for a man, and an even sorrier excuse for a father. God help your unfortunate son!”

  I would not have been surprised if the terrible man had come at me intending physical violence. Instead, he simply muttered an oath, turned on his heels, and slammed through the door into the back room.

  By now, little Billy was wailing pitifully in his cradle. Isabel bent and picked him up, swaddling him in his blankets and bouncing him gently in her arms.

  Mama sighed and reached out for the baby, placing him expertly in her own arms. “You must leave, Miss Freiberg. You have your students to consider. We will remain here with the baby until—Mrs. Montgomery, is it?—arrives.”

  Isabel looked torn. “Are you sure, Mrs. Woolson? I hate to leave you with Mr. Dunn. He’s been in a terrible state since his wife died. It’s true that he’s not a patient man by nature, but I can’t believe he means half of what he’s been saying since Lucy passed away. It’s true that she did everything for him. I honestly don’t know how he’s going to cope without her.”

  “Perhaps he’ll be forced to do an honest day’s work for a change,” I said, still angry at the miserable varmint—one of Eddie’s favorite vilifications, but most fitting, I thought, to describe this pitiful excuse for a human being. “I feel the need for some fresh air. If it’s all right with you, Mama, I’ll walk with Miss Freiberg to her home.”

  Although it was a relief to be out of Dunn’s house, I did have another motive for wanting to accompany Isabel. I intended to interview as many inhabitants of Telegraph Hill today as possible. I was about to bring up the events of that evening at Remy’s house when Miss Freiberg saved me the effort by inquiring how my brother was recovering from his ordeal.

  “He was seriously injured,” I replied. “But he’s much improved. In fact, he was able to return home from the hospital two days ago.”

  “Oh, that is excellent news! Stephen—” She gave a little flush of embarrassment. “I mean, Mr. Parke and I have been very worried.”

  “I understand that you and Mr. Parke are close friends,” I said, purposefully vague about where I might have acquired such knowledge.

  She gave me a curious look, but after a small hesitation she answered, “Yes, we have discovered several interests in common, and have formed a fond friendship over the past year.” She looked at me with frank eyes. “Why do you ask, Miss Woolson?”

  “No particular reason. I noticed you speaking to him before you and your father departed Mr. Remy’s house the night Mr. Wilde spoke.”

  Her eyes fixed on me for another long moment, then she sighed. “I am too weary for games, Miss Woolson. The truth is that Stephen and I are in love. Unfortunately, my father heartily disapproves of the match. We are Jews, and Stephen is a gentile. Moreover, Papa has already chosen the man I am to marry.” She smiled wryly. “Mr. Enoch Josephs is a gentleman from our synagogue, a most honorable man, I’m sure, but a widower nearly twenty years my senior. While it’s true that I admire him, I cannot pretend to love a man when it is a lie.”

  “What will you do?” I asked her, truly interested in the answer. Stephen Parke had been a friend of my brother’s for several years, and I did not want to see him hurt. And although I had known Isabel for only a short time, I was already coming to think highly of her. I should not care to see her hurt, either.

  “I don’t know,” she answered softly. “My engagement is to be announced next week. Papa has already spoken to the man he has selected, and has assured me that Mr. Josephs is most agreeable to the match.”

  There was nothing I could think of to say. Isabel’s was an all-too-familiar story, one that I abhorred. I was exceedingly thankful that my own parents were more modern in their thinking. Mama would have loved nothing better than to see me married and settled down with children—heaven knows she had done her best to introduce me to a number of “suitable” gentlemen—but if she had ever entertained ideas of forcing me into a loveless marriage, she had long given up on the notion. As I say, I was fortunate. Other young women were not so blessed.

  “I am extremely sorry for your predicament,” I told her, meaning every word.

  “Thank you, Miss Woolson, I appreciate your concern.” As if eager to change the subject, she asked, “Are the police any closer to locating the person who fired on your brother?”

  “I’m afraid not. They’ve been unable to find a witness who might have seen something that night.”

  “Yes, they questioned me, as well as my father. But we noticed nothing unusual when we departed Mr. Remy’s cottage. I believe we were among the first guests to leave, and we live only a short distance down the hill, so we were probably already home when your brother was shot.”

  It was my turn to sigh. “I gather your father saw nothing either?”

  “I’m afraid not. But as I say, we were home in a matter of minutes. I truly believe that your brother was injured by accident. The residents on Telegraph Hill are far too ready to shoot their guns at squirrels or pesky possums and skunks. Several of us have begged them to be more careful, but of course no one heeds our concerns.”

  Just then, we spied Stephen Parke making his way up the hill. Seeing us, he removed his cap and smiled broadly.

  “Miss Woolson, Miss Freiberg. How nice to see you both.” He gave Isabel a particularly happy grin. “Miss Woolson, how is Samuel? I could hardly believe it when I heard he’d been shot. Some fool firing his gun without paying attenti
on to where it was aimed. I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to visit him in the hospital. I did try once, but some pitiless nurse declared he already had too many visitors and refused to allow me in.”

  “I’m afraid we weren’t very popular with the matron,” I answered, struck by the fact that he, too, seemed to consider the shooting an accident. “But as I was telling Miss Freiberg, Samuel was released from the hospital over the weekend, and is doing much better.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it,” he said, looking genuinely relieved. “Would it be all right if I stopped by your house to see him, then?”

  “By all means. I’m sure he would be delighted to have your company. Now that he’s on the mend, I think he’s finding his convalescence exceedingly boring.”

  “Uh-oh,” he said, looking down the hill. “There’s your father, Isabel. I had better part with you here.” He donned his cap and made hurried good-byes. “It was nice to see you again, Miss Woolson. Please tell your brother that I’ll be by to see him soon.” And with that he was gone, walking up the hill with long strides.

  When we reached Solomon Freiberg, he was standing outside a small, neat cottage, watching Stephen’s departing back. “That man again,” he said unhappily. “I thought I forbade you to see him anymore.”

  “I can hardly ignore Mr. Parke when I pass him on the path,” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “He’s a good man, Papa, despite your prejudice.”

  “I am not prejudiced, Isabel,” he protested. “He is just not the man for you. There are too many differences between you, and not just religion. The man makes his living as a writer, if you can actually call the few dollars he brings in now and again a living.”

  Isabel looked at me uneasily. “Papa, please. I’m sure we’re making Miss Woolson uncomfortable discussing family matters in her presence. You remember Miss Woolson, don’t you, Papa? She and her brother Samuel attended Oscar Wilde’s lecture at Mr. Remy’s house.”

  The man looked at me but did not, in fact, seem to remember. He took off his eyeglasses and polished them with a handkerchief, but even after he replaced them on his nose, he still did not appear to recognize my face. But then Samuel and I had been seated behind him and his daughter at Remy’s house, so perhaps this was not surprising.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Woolson,” he said in a rather high voice. “Please forgive my absentmindedness. I fear I am becoming a bit forgetful in my old age.”

  “Has Mary Kelley arrived for her lesson?” Isabel asked.

  “Not yet,” her father replied. “But it was getting late and I wondered where you were. How is the baby?” I noticed that he didn’t inquire after the infant’s father.

  Isabel’s face softened. “He’s beautiful, Papa. But he needs a mother. Poor Lucy, she would have been so good to that child.”

  “Yes, she would have been,” Mr. Freiberg agreed, shaking his head sadly. “Instead he is left with a useless father, and an uncertain future. That man has no one but himself to blame for his wife’s death. The shameful way he treated her.”

  Once again, Isabel seemed embarrassed by her father’s forthrightness. “We will have to wait and see, Papa. He hasn’t had time to accept his loss.” She smiled at me. “Please excuse me, Miss Woolson, but I must prepare for my students.”

  “Of course, Miss Freiberg, please do,” I said, and watched as the young woman disappeared into the cottage.

  “It is your brother who was wounded,” the man said, as if suddenly remembering my connection to the gunshot victim. “Such a terrible accident. There are too many guns in this city, far too many for my peace of mind.”

  “You think Samuel was shot by mistake, Mr. Freiberg?”

  He appeared surprised that I would question his statement. “But my dear young woman, why else would such an awful thing happen? Who would want to deliberately injure your brother?”

  “That’s what the police would like to know, and of course my family.”

  “Naturally, naturally,” he said, bobbing his narrow face up and down in agreement. “Please tell me, how is your unfortunate brother doing?”

  Once again, I explained that my brother had returned home from the hospital and was improving by the day. “You didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary when you left Mr. Remy’s house that evening?”

  He shook his head. “That is what the police asked. So many questions they asked. I told them it was a dark night. How could I have seen anyone? Impossible, impossible.”

  “I believe the moon was out by then, Mr. Freiberg.”

  “Mmmm, yes, yes, that may be so,” he said after giving the matter a moment’s thought. He glanced down the hill, as if eager to be off. “You will please excuse me, Miss Woolson, I am meeting a friend at the synagogue. I pray your poor brother will make a speedy recovery.”

  Without further explanation, he gave me a stiff little bow and began hurrying down the hill. He had gone only a few yards when he met Tull O’Hara, Mortimer Remy’s typesetter, who was coming the other way. Mr. Freiberg nodded to him, but the other man’s head was down and I wasn’t sure he had even seen him.

  I was glad to see O’Hara approaching, as I hoped to speak to him as well. Squinting through round spectacles, he regarded me with a gruff expression, then deliberately increased his pace up the hill.

  I was not to be put off by such a rude manner. “Mr. O’Hara,” I called out, hurrying to catch up with him. “Mr. O’Hara, please wait, I would like to talk to you.”

  Not bothering to hide his irritation at this simple request, the man reluctantly stopped, his expression unwelcoming. Although I had seen him at Remy’s cottage, I noticed for the first time that his bulbous nose was very red and crisscrossed with tiny purple veins, as if he were a heavy drinker.

  I did not mince words. “Mr. O’Hara, my name is Sarah Woolson and I am the sister of the gentleman who was shot the night of Mr. Wilde’s reading.”

  He stared at me, impertinently looking me over from head to boot. He did not say a word.

  “Mr. O’Hara,” I continued, deciding to ignore this insolent behavior, “did you see anything that night? Someone standing where he shouldn’t be, perhaps? A man with a rifle? Perhaps someone aiming at a possum?”

  He continued to stare mutely at me, as if I were speaking in a foreign language. What a frustrating man!

  “Mr. O’Hara, please. My brother very nearly died that night. Did you see anything?”

  He shook his shaggy head and grunted. “Didn’t see nothin’, lady. Mind my own business, I do, which is somethin’ you might try.”

  I started to retort, but the surly man had already turned and was continuing his walk up the hill, mumbling fiercely beneath his breath about nosy women. I wondered where he was going in such a hurry. Perhaps he just wanted to get away from me.

  “Not very sociable, is he?” I turned to find Emmett Gardiner watching O’Hara’s retreating back. “I don’t know how Mortimer puts up with him. But I understand he’s one of the best typesetters in town.”

  “Mr. Gardiner, it’s good to see you,” I said, delighted as ever to meet the affable man.

  “I thought I saw you and two other ladies entering Dunn’s cottage on my way down the hill. What a terrible tragedy, losing his young wife like that.”

  “Indeed it was. Yes, my mother and sister-in-law and I were paying our respects to Mr. Dunn. Evidently, Miss Freiberg has been helping him care for the new baby. I just came from walking her home.”

  “So, you’re on your way back up the hill?” He smiled when I nodded that I was. “Good. I’ll walk with you, then, if that’s agreeable.”

  “It would be most agreeable, Mr. Gardiner,” I told him. “I’m happy for the company.”

  “Have you seen Mr. Dunn?” he asked, giving me a sidelong look as we walked. “I visited him earlier this morning, and he seemed to be taking poor Lucy’s death very hard, which is understandable, of course. She was a sprightly, hardworking little thing.”

&nb
sp; “I only met her the one time at Mr. Remy’s house the night Oscar Wilde spoke, but that was the impression I received. She looked extremely weary, and pale.”

  “As well she might,” he said almost angrily. “She worked from sunrise to sunset, not only taking care of her own husband and home, but anyone else on the Hill who needed cleaning or laundry done. She did my washing and ironing, and also cleaned my cottage once or twice. She was a marvel, and is going to be sorely missed.”

  We continued in silence for a bit, then he said, “By the way, how is Samuel doing? I went by the hospital to see him yesterday afternoon, but I was told that he’d been discharged. That’s very good news.”

  “Yes, it’s wonderful to have him home.” I looked at him, noticing how his blond hair appeared almost golden in the afternoon sunlight. “Please feel free to visit him there, if you’d like. I’m sure he would be happy to see you.”

  “I still can’t believe that someone actually shot at him. It’s absurd. He’s one of the best-natured chaps I know.”

  “Several people I’ve spoken to believe it was an accident,” I said, watching his face for a reaction. “Perhaps someone shooting at a fox, or a possum.”

  “That’s possible, I suppose,” he replied. “Almost everyone on Telegraph Hill owns a gun. But as far as I know, no one’s ever been accidentally hit before.”

  “I wonder if you happened to see anything strange that night, Mr. Gardiner? After Samuel and I parted with you in front of Mr. Remy’s house?”

  He smiled. “In other words, did I see anyone slinking around behaving suspiciously? No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t. After I left you and Samuel, I walked back to my house, which is one street over from Uncle Mortimer’s. In fact, our properties share a common border in the rear. If someone were following your party down the hill, I wouldn’t have passed them.”

  I sighed. “No one seems to have seen anything.”

  “The police have questioned me, Miss Woolson, as I’m sure they have the others who were at Wilde’s reading. Eventually, they’re bound to catch whoever did this.”