Chapter Eight

Perched there on the edge of the most gaudy sofa I had ever seen, I held my cup of lukewarm tea in both hands, and tried to keep them from shaking.

“On behalf of the Police Wives Benevolence Society, we wanted to convey our sympathy, and our belief that the man who committed this heinous crime will be brought to justice.”

Mrs. Drebber responded with a belch that she in no way tried to hide, and a waft of bourbon hit me squarely in the face.

“My one consolation. They found the dirty coon quick, and he’ll hang.”

I held my face steady, to hide my disgust at her vulgar comment. 

“Yes. Well.” I looked around the room for something to comment on, something to keep this awful conversation moving. I clapped eyes on a photograph sitting on a side table. “Please convey my condolences to your children.  You have sons?” I said, gesturing to the photo of two men, still with the roundness of boyhood upon them, wearing Confederate gray.

“Had.” Mrs.Drebber said, lifting her cup of “tea” to her lips again. “One died in the war. The other is as good as dead.  Living at the bottom of a bottle in a Carolina swamp.Can’t say as I blame him.  Better than seeing what you all are doing to the country. Better it should have burned.”

This was a mistake. She was obviously in no state to provide any useful information. I swallowed down my tea, and looked to make an exit. Scarlett could do her own dirty work.

‘Well, Mrs. Drebber, I don’t want to intrude on your hospitality any longer. I just wanted to come and, on behalf of the Society, to offer my sincerest condolences, and to let you konw that if there’s anything we can do to help you in this time of sorrow, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Mrs. Drebber looked at me with hard eyes as she drained her tea cup, and, giving up the subterfuge entirely, pulled a flask from between the cushions of the garish, overstuffed club chair in which she sat, and drank from it directly.

“That’s some pretty Yankee bullshit.” she said, with a ghoulish excuse for a smile.

“I beg your pardon?”

Mrs. Drebber leaned forward, her bloodshot eyes blazing, “Come here to look down your nose. You think I don’t hear what they said about me? Benevolence Society. Ha. Social piranhas, you are. You invite us to the parties, but you don’t think we’re worth it. You use Pierce and Butler for what they do...did.  Now, Pierce isn’t even buried yet, and you’ve come here, to kick me out, to get me out of this house before someone takes too much notice…”

I stared at her, dumbfounded. While she fortified herself with another long pull from her flask, I dared to say, “Mrs. Drebber -- Lucretia -- I have no idea…”

I trailed off, as the door opened, and a maid bustled in and started clearing away the tea service.

“Thank you,” I said to the maid, “I think Mrs Drebber might be in need of some coff…”

Again, I lost my words. Peering at me from under the maid’s bonnet was none other than Scarlett Holmes, who, with a sideways glance and miniscule nod, encouraged me to keep Mrs. Drebber talking.

“Maggie!” Mrs. Drebber snapped. “Fetch me a new bottle from the pantry.”

“Right away, Ma’am.” Scarlett replied in a higher pitched voice that wasn’t hers, and with a bob of a curtsy quickly scuttled back into the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder at me as she went, prompting me wide eyes to keep Mrs. Drebber talking. With a deep breath and fresh resolve, I picked up the strands of the conversation as best I could.

“I have no idea what the plan is for your removal from this house.  That’s not for me to decide.”

“Never respect us, damn Yankees.  I told Pierce, but he wouldn’t listen. Can’t trust these people, I said to him.”

At that moment, Maggie Holmes returned from the kitchen carrying a full bottle of bourbon.  Lucretia snatched the bottle out of her hand, without even looking at her, and waved her back toward the kitchen.  As she backed away, Scarlett pantomimed wiping her forehead with a handkerchief, and I nodded in acknowledgement.  I pulled the handkerchief from my purse, and held it to my brow, careful that the stained symbol was clearly visible to Mrs. Drebber.

The reaction was instant, and volatile. Mrs. Drebber pulled herself up from the chair, and rocked back and forth on her heels, unsteady from anger and drink.

“You evil cat! I won’t be shamed for my husband’s honest work. I’m going back home South, to find my boy and be back with real people.  You can all rot.  And tell the Professor that the organization can find another man to do his dirty work.”

I shot up off the ugly, uncomfortable couch. “I will do that. I’m sorry to have intruded. I’ll be going.” Without standing on ceremony, I bolted for the front door to escape.

Just as I reached the sidewalk, a cab pulled up.  From the carriage window, I could see Holmes’s face, shrouded once again in her widow’s lace. She flung open the door as the cab slowed.

“Get in, quickly, before that woman has collected herself enough to get to the window.”

I did, and we set off at a quick trot down the street.  I dared a glance out the back window, and could just see Lucretia peer out the curtains, and glance up and down her street.

I sat back, sinking into the cushions of the cab seat with relief, and watched as Scarlett shed the last bits of her maid’s outfit, stretching her black gloves over her dextrous fingers.

“I thought Scarlett Holmes never goes Uptown?” I asked, pointedly, if somewhat amused.

Scarlett flashed a wide, Cheshire grin.

“And indeed she does not.  That was Maggie Collins, Mrs. Drebber’s parlor maid.”

“Is there a real Maggie Collins?”

“Of course.  I gave her a nickel, and she had the sudden urge to take a walk.”

“Cunning” I said, with real admiration. “I should have known you were too curious of a creature to completely delegate this task.”

Scarlett settled back into the cushions of the cab, her face amused and excited. “And what have you deduced about our poor Widow Drebber?”

“Well,” I began.  “She was drunk.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Well spotted. And?”

“She is rather…”I said, disgust plain on my face.

“Quite” Scarlett agreed, and we both smiled at our mutual, unspoken understanding on the quality of Mrs. Lucretia Drebber.

“She had quite a reaction to the handkerchief,” I continued.  Scarlett nodded.

“And she attached it to Pierce Drebber’s profession. Pieces fall into place.”

“Which pieces?  What place?”

“In good time, my dear doctor.  For now, what else did we learn?”

I thought for a moment, and then replied with excitement, “She did let slip the name “Butler.”

Scarlett nodded like a teacher proud of her prized pupil. “Precisely.  That was a key revelation.  For now we’ll put the rest aside, and focus on that name, for Nathan’s sake.”

Holmes rapped on the roof of the cab, and called out. “Baker Street, please Driver.””

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“Research!” Scarlett exclaimed.  “And then, the most difficult task of all.”