Chapter 25

C HAPTER 25

Let me tell you what I think of bicycling. I think it has done more to

emancipate women than anything else in the world.

—Susan B. Anthony

Try as she might, Marigold could not dismiss the haunting image of the Hanged Man from her mind. Nor forget the strange sort of desperation Sophronia had conveyed—as if she were actually worried about Marigold's well-being. As if she really didn't want Marigold to end up like them girls .

And then there were the flowers—day after day, the little jam jar next to her bed was replenished with fresh rosemary and wildflowers. Their conversation in the garden—though it had yielded no useful information about the wrong done Marigold's mother—had revealed Sophronia's affinity for the language of flowers. Rosemary was for remembrance, her cousin had said—and she was quite purposefully leaving sprigs for Marigold in her room. But what—or who—was Marigold supposed to remember? And what were the other flora—today it was a delicate, heart-shaped fern—supposed to mean?

Was it more fortune-telling from Sophronia, reading her tarot and embers? I saw it in the flames with my own ruined eyes. The curse will work its way.

Superstitious nonsense! The sooner Marigold was done with Great Misery, the better. And she would be done as soon as she got the Hatchet siblings free from the repressive hold of their lunatic—

Outside the open window, her eye was caught by the astonishing sight of a neat little naptha launch sailing across her view, it's gay, striped awning dancing in the breeze as the eye-catching vessel came about some small distance off the point. And on that launch was a fashionably dressed woman, peering at the island though a telescopic glass—Isabella.

Naturally. First Cab and now Isabella—it was a wonderful thing to have friends one could rely upon.

Marigold waved elatedly and then gestured for the boat to proceed around the island to the west while she hastily retrieved her bicycle and made for North Cove, where the shallow vessel could safely put in on the sand.

"Isabella, you darling!" she called as she wheeled her bike down the beach. "What are you doing here?"

Isabella answered with a wave. "I've come to rescue you from the primitive. And not a moment too soon, from what I could see! Is the House of Usher open?"

Marigold laughed. "Absolutely not. You could have just written."

"You didn't think I was going to let a gown from the House of Dana be fitted by some two-bit country seamstress, did you? And for a party given by Julia Stuyvesant Endicott of the New York Stuyvesants and Salem Endicotts? I had to come myself, of course, and make sure about all the particulars you left out of your wire. Has she deigned to send you an invitation?"

"No." Marigold was both relieved and reassured that Isabella grasped the important particulars so readily. "But now that you are here, I'm sure we can overcome that hurdle. It is absolutely smashing to see you."

"And you as well, darling. Boston felt so dreadfully dull without your particular sort of panache. But you look a treat, despite"—she waved at their rural surroundings—"all the primitive. Dare I ask?"

Marigold gave her friend the gift of being right. "Primitive does, indeed, denote a lack of plumbing."

"Vindication," Isabella cried with a laugh. "The place looked ready to collapse down around your head. But no matter, you're safe now that I've come to take you away. Although why Cab didn't do that the moment he found you, I'll never understand."

"Because he knows I value my independence," Marigold answered. "And because I can't come away at present, although I will happily come aboard and let you serve me lunch so we can decide what's to be done about Mrs. Julia Stuyvesant Endicott."

Isabella's smile was delightfully conspiratorial. "But I've already arranged the answer. Emily Brinley Ryerson—you'll remember Bunny—platinum-white hair, suffragette, piles of money for women's causes? Such a dear. Well, Bunny and I were finished together at Miss Porter's, and she and Bump Ryerson have got a lovely summer place just up the coastline from the George Endicotts, and she sent a note round to Julia that I was up to stay and we're all to be part of Bunny and Bump's party joining the festivities at Rock Ledge."

"All?"

"Anyone, and I quote, we feel inclined to include."

"Brilliant!" Marigold clapped her hands in relief. "Isabella, you are the most absolute lamb."

"Of course I am, darling," Isabella conceded, "but only for you. You mustn't tell anyone else."

"Never cross my lips," Marigold swore. "So does this launch of yours have a bar?"

"Fully stocked, darling. The champagne is on ice."

"Naturally!" It was a divine thing to have rich friends.

Once they had all the details settled amicably between them, Marigold left Isabella lounging comfortably on her deck after dropping Marigold off at the town dock, from whence she set off on her bicycle for her appointment with Amelia Morgan and the nascent Ladies' Cycling Club.

Amelia was waiting for Marigold in front of her rooming house on Grove Street with a small group of nervously hopeful young women. "I've invited a few select friends interested in the cycling," Amelia explained. "Everyone, this is Miss Marigold Manners."

"I am very happy to meet you all." Marigold felt completely in her element with a group of athletically inclined young women. "And please, call me Marigold. Why don't we use the lane behind Amelia's house, which will give us some privacy for our trials. What I recommend is that each of you begin by walking the machine, to get used to its weight and feel as it rolls along beside you."

They were a friendly, accommodating bunch, taking turns walking her bicycle up and down the narrow lane, calling out encouragement and individually introducing themselves to Marigold.

"I'm Sadie MacDonald and this is my sister Ellie, and we can't thank you enough."

"When Amelia told us at choir practice, why, we jumped at the chance to meet you."

"We saw you buying candy at the druggist the other day. So stylish," Ellie breathed.

"I'm Annie Farnsworth." The tallest of the four thrust out her hand. "I've been reading about bicycles in the Ladies' Home Journal at the library, and I've just been dying for a chance to ride one."

"Oh, don't say dying , Annie," Ellie whispered. "Remember Minnie."

Marigold jumped at her chance to investigate. "Was she a friend of yours, the late Miss Mallory? I read about her unfortunate death in the newspaper. I am so sorry for your loss."

"We weren't the best of friends," Sadie hedged. "But Pride's Crossing is a small place. We all went to school together. Everyone knows everyone."

"Naturally," Marigold agreed with all sympathy.

"So small we all have to make sure we're not using the same fabric to make our dresses for the Endicotts' big party next Saturday night," Annie joked to relieve the somber mood.

"Oh, yes!" Marigold let the conversation lead where it would. "I am lucky enough to have a friend from Boston who has promised me some fabric." No need to brag about Isabella's creations when all she meant to do was assure her new friends she wouldn't be copying their dresses.

"I'm so glad you've been invited too." Amelia Morgan's relief also admitted her surprise. "I mean, it's lovely that just about all the young people in town have been, even us year-rounders."

"How nice," Marigold agreed, curious as to when the invitations to non–society people had been sent. "We felt ourselves very fortunate to be invited—my young cousins, Daisy and Seviah Hatchet, and I," Marigold clarified, to the open delight of several of the young ladies.

"Seviah Hatchet's coming?"

"My cousin will be my escort." Marigold spoke carefully, curious as to their attitude about the young man. "How do you know him?"

"Well, the Hatchets didn't go to school," Annie explained. "Nobody'd heard of them much until that Ellery Hatchet started his preaching. But Minnie met Seviah and said that despite him being a Hatchet, he was a real gentleman when they walked out a time or two."

While Marigold was no longer sure her cousin's assignations with the departed Minnie had been more intimate than a mere "walking out," she was glad of the information—if only to confirm what Seviah himself had said of his relationship with Minnie. Not that Marigold had thought he had lied, just that he was withholding … something. "Despite him being a Hatchet?"

"Well, you see …" Annie looked at the others before continuing. "The Hatchets do have a certain … reputation as being—"

"Extremely private," was Amelia's tactful take.

"—different and standoffish," Annie finished.

"But Minnie said that was wrong," Sadie said. "She said Sev Hatchet was as sweet as pie and that he kept himself to himself. And that's certainly been true when we've seen him about town."

"Such a belvidere," Annie sighed, before clarifying, "So very handsome," in case Marigold didn't understand her slang. "Minnie met him at the nickelodeons, because she was the sort who didn't hold back introducing herself to people."

"To men?" Marigold asked.

"To them especially," answered Annie, a little wistfully. "She wasn't intimidated by anyone, leastwise by the type of fellows who think a girl owes them the world just for buying her a five-cent malt down at the soda fountain."

Marigold had had no idea the druggist was such a den of iniquity—she would have to visit more often. "I agree with the late Miss Mallory." She was surer than ever that she would have genuinely liked Minnie. "As I recently told my cousin, we women owe our suitors civility and respect only. We never owe anyone our very selves."

"No," Annie agreed solemnly, before returning directly to her point. "So you'll introduce us to Seviah Hatchet at the dance, won't you?"

"Naturally." After Marigold made sure Seviah would be on his best, non-Lothario-like behavior.

"And Mr. Jonathan Cox too?" Sadie asked in a rush. "We saw you talking to him outside the druggist, and Amelia mentioned something about your being old friends?"

"I do indeed know Cab Cox, and we are longtime friends," Marigold confirmed with a smile. "And I will also be sure to introduce him to you all that evening. He's a wonderfully accomplished dancer."

"Oh, yes, please," sighed Sadie. "I knew I was going to like you the moment I set eyes on you, riding down Main Street. I said, ‘Now, that gal's got dash!' Didn't I, Ellie?"

"You did," her sister laughed, before she added, "I won't tell you what she said when she clapped eyes on Mr. Cox."

Marigold smiled despite the strange pang that arose within her. "He is indeed a man well worth admiring." Never let it be said that she wasn't fully prepared to sing Cab's praises.

"Have you set your cap for him?" was Annie's pointed question.

"I have not," Marigold told them with a clear conscience. "Though I warn you, I know many a young lady who has set her cap for Cab Cox, only to have those hopes dashed. Dance with him, by all means—but take care not to fall in love."

"As if you can help falling in love," Sadie laughed.

"I know it's all the fashion to fall ‘helplessly in love,' " countered Marigold, "but I myself think it dangerous to cede one's ability to decide for oneself if a man is worthy of one's loyalty and fidelity—dangerous, not romantic. Look at poor Minnie, who, I've been told, threw herself into the sea because she was disappointed in love." She leveled her brows at them. "I don't think there's anything romantic about being dead."

"Certainly not," Amelia Morgan agreed.

But Annie crossed her arms over her chest and said, "Just because a cat has its kittens in the oven doesn't make them biscuits."

This was a New England aphorism Marigold had never heard. "What do you mean?"

"She means," Amelia answered carefully, "that we've learned not to believe everything printed in the newspapers, especially the local ones, run by gentlemen who are"—she lowered her voice, though they were quite alone in the lane—"more interested in keeping the status quo than in printing the truth."

"Oh!" Marigold couldn't help the gasp that slipped from her mouth. "I knew I was going to like you all—you've got gumption and you're logical. I didn't believe any of that romantic disappointment taradiddle myself. From what I've learned of Minnie's redoubtable character, it hardly seems likely." She could feel her archaeological need to solve the puzzle rise within. "So what do you think really happened?"

"Well," Annie answered in an urgent whisper, "we don't rightly know, but I'll never believe she pitched herself into the sea. More likely some bounder did her in. Minnie did walk out with a lot of different men."

Another round of glances were shared between the girls before Marigold probed, "And are there a fair number of bounders in Pride's Crossing?" At their silence, she prompted, "Ought I be worried about such cads at the dance?"

"Perhaps we should make you and your cousin a little list for your reticules," Amelia suggested. "So you can make a discreet check before you accept any invitations to dance."

"How brilliant of you," Marigold praised. "Thank you, Amelia. We would be very much obliged."

"Put down Jimmy Akers," Sadie offered. "And Billy Westbrow. And that awful old pill Wiley Jacobs. Even with all his money, he still can't find a decent woman between here and Boston willing to marry him!"

"Rest assured, I'll put them all down," Amelia agreed.

"Excellent," Marigold enthused.

Now this was progress indeed. Such a list of men would be the logical first place to search for the man who might or might not have put a bun in Minnie Mallory's oven but who very likely had done her in. And perhaps those other girls as well.

It was turning out to be truly frightening how often the sight of an independent young woman like Minnie Mallory brought out more than mere littleness in a man. Too often it brought out violence—hadn't she learned that herself out on Great Misery Island?

More than ever, Marigold was determined to find them all out. And stop them, no matter who they were.

See if she wasn't.