A Changing Light by Edith Maxwell (pdf ebook reader .txt) 📗

vehicle. Still, I’ve seen many inventions come to pass during my fourscore years. Why not a carriage that runs by its own power?”

Mrs. Cate set down a tray holding two full cups and saucers. “Well, I never.” She straightened and folded her arms. “What? Will carriages be driving themselves around like some alien beings come down from the stars? I can’t imagine what could possibly go wrong with that. Mark my words, Mr. Whittier.” She raised an index finger in the air. “Only bad will come of this idea. And worse.” She huffed her way out.

John’s eyes twinkled as he sipped his tea. He murmured, “And there thee has the voice—and thoughts—of the common man and woman.”

“I expect so. Motorcars would be quite a shift for society as a whole. But in all seriousness, Ned also spoke to me of that plan only yesterday. Was he seeking thy counsel on the matter?”

“In truth, I’m not altogether sure of his purpose. I am a kind of town elder, I suppose, and he might have wanted my blessing. I advised him to go forth and create the future. I certainly won’t be around to see it.”

His words stabbed my heart. But, like Orpha, he was of advanced years, and no one lives forever. Still, I knew I would miss John keenly after his soul was released to God. I wrenched my thoughts from death back to motorcars. “Kevin says some sort of design plans went missing from Ned’s uncle’s home. I feel this has to be connected with the murder.”

“Thee thinks this Justice might have made off with them and been murdered for his efforts?”

“Perhaps,” I said slowly. “But why wouldn’t Ned have had the plans in his own possession? Unless maybe they were the elder Bailey’s plans that Ned himself absconded with.”

“In which case Ned should have been the victim, not the Canadian.”

“True.”

“’Tis a pity this branch of Baileys does not share our faith, unlike thy brother-in-law, Frederick, and his family,” John remarked. “They might more easily find their way to a peaceful settlement of their concerns.”

“Yes.” I agreed, but such wishful thinking wouldn’t make it happen. “I also wondered if somehow William Parry is involved. The carriages from his factory have always been of a lesser quality. Perhaps he learned of some innovation and found a way to come into possession of its design.”

“I daresay thee will solve this conundrum before the week is out.” John drained his tea. “I’m afraid all this excitement has tired me, Rose. I’ll have to free thee to continue on thy investigations.”

I stood and took his extended hand, now only slightly warmer from the tea, in both of mine. “I shall see thee again soon. Be well, Friend.”

“God willing, we will meet again.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Rose, dear,” Georgia exclaimed after a maid showed me into the parlor of the fine home on Powow Street. “I’m pleased to see you.”

“Good morning, Georgia,” I said. “I hope thee is well.”

“I am. Please sit.” It was a tastefully appointed room, with plush rugs, rich window decor, and elegant furniture reflecting the family’s comfortable financial position. The enticing smell of bread baking wafted in from the back of the house. “Do you know Mrs. Harrington?” Georgia asked.

Luthera, clad in what must be the stylish black dress Alma had described, sat on an embroidered settee. She bobbed her head at me. I perched on the brocade cushion of an upright chair.

“Yes, Ned Bailey introduced us only two days ago.” I smiled at the Canadian. “Hello, Luthera.”

She blinked at my use of her first name.

“So you’ve met Rose, that is, Mrs. Dodge.” Georgia beamed.

“May I offer my condolences on the sudden loss of thy husband?” I asked Luthera.

“Thank you.” She sniffed and held a black-trimmed handkerchief to her nose, but her eyes were not the red-rimmed ones of a new widow. She was also well-coiffed and her face nicely powdered.

“I expect Rose is already hard on the heels of the scoundrel who took Mr. Harrington’s life.” Georgia’s eyes gleamed. “She’s quite the private investigator.”

Luthera gaped. I groaned inwardly as I held up my hand in a stop gesture. Georgia had several times previously become far too excited about the news of a murder, wanting me to share my detecting progress with her.

“In actuality, Luthera, I am a midwife, not a detective.”

“But you work closely with the police, Rose,” Georgia protested. “I know you do.”

“I have several times in the past, it’s true. But only as someone with whom the detective can discuss his ideas.”

Georgia winked at me, as if we shared a secret.

“Isn’t working with the police dangerous for a lady?” Luthera asked, her pale blue eyes wide. “Do murderers come after you because of what you know?”

“I do my best to stay out of harm’s way.” In fact, I had encountered danger in the past, and my life had been threatened more than once.

“Ladies should be able to do anything men do,” Georgia went on. “Rose and I have worked toward suffrage for women. How is it where you live, Mrs. Harrington? Can ladies vote in Ottawa?”

“Women who own property may vote in municipal elections, and I have exercised my franchise to protect my family’s business, in which I take an active part.” Luthera sniffed with disdain. “But I am not a rabble-rouser and give little thought to the subject of suffrage.”

Georgia raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth.

I thought it was time to change the topic of conversation. “Does thee have children?” I asked Luthera before Georgia could go on about our efforts to secure the vote.

“Mr. Harrington and I were married only last year and had not yet been blessed with offspring. Now I expect I never shall be.” She let out a tragic sigh.

“There, there, Mrs. Harrington,” Georgia said. “You are young and beautiful. After a suitable period of mourning, I know some dashing gentleman will offer you his hand, and you’ll raise a passel of young ones.”

Luthera raised her arm and held the back of her hand