Page 16 of Blackmailed (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #2)

Clement looked at Virginia with sympathy that did not appear genuine. “The rules governing board members were recently adjusted. It is best for our organization to be above reproach. I’m sure you understand.”

“I do understand, Mr. Clement, since I was one of the founding members of this board. But would you indulge me and read to me the amendment to our bylaws? I’m sorry to say I did not pay that close attention when I read the minutes that had come in the mail while I was traveling with my father.”

Clement glanced at Estelle Homan. The woman took a deep breath, as if this were a momentous decision to make.

She glanced at Virginia, the perpetual sour look on her face, and turned.

“Go ahead, Mr. Clement. Read it so we can continue this meeting with our legitimate board members and get to our important business.”

Clement read the amendment aloud, including the names of the members who had voted in favor of the change. He looked up at Virginia. “It is all very clear in black and white, Miss Wiest.”

“Indulge me just a few more moments, if you please,” she said. “Can you read Article Two, Section One of our bylaws for us?”

Estelle Homan glared at her and slapped her gloved hand on the table. “Absolutely not. I’ve had enough of ridiculous tactics. Leave this room before I am forced to call for a constable.”

Randall Artman cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “Article Two, Section One reads: All changes to the bylaws will be passed with at least three-quarters of the board’s entire membership voting in the affirmative.”

Virginia glanced around the room as other board members looked at their papers.

“I believe you passed this change to the bylaws with half of the board members voting in the affirmative, not meeting the threshold of three-quarters, therefore the change did not pass according to this board’s own rules. It should be struck from the bylaws.”

The table erupted in mumblings and some pointed questions to Estelle Homan and Clement. Estelle glared at Virginia, her face reddening by the minute. Clement was reviewing the documents in front of him as if looking for some discrepancy in her logic.

“Come on, Estelle,” Artman said. “Miss Wiest is still a board member, and this change to the bylaw must be removed.”

“We have important business to attend to!” someone said.

“An error was made. Move on!”

The meeting continued finally, and it was clear to Virginia who on the board was in her favor and who was not. She stood to leave with the others at the table when the adjournment had been noted and voted upon. Clement met her at the door as she was leaving.

“Well done, Miss Wiest. I was so saddened to think we would not have your wise counsel but am very glad to know that the error has been rectified. Will you be able to attend our next fundraiser? Your presence is so gratifying for our donors.”

Virginia looked down at her hands, trying to think of an appropriate response to such long-winded fiddle-faddle. She looked up with a smile. “I’ll check my schedule, Mr. Clement, although I’ve not received an invitation.”

“Oh . . . oh,” he stumbled. “An oversight to be sure. I’ll have that taken care of immediately.”

Virginia left the board room deeply satisfied.

It was several long days at the cannery before Phillip was able to have some time off.

He took the streetcar early in the morning to the home of SchuylerColfax, Cornelius’s uncle and friend of Allan Pinkerton.

He jumped off one street away and found his way to the alley behind the massive home, where several wagons piled high with boxes and furniture were making their way toward the cross street at a slow pace and a few others were going the opposite direction, pulling empty wagons, no doubt moving Mr. Schuyler Colfax to Washington to take up the vice presidency.

Phillip kept his eye on the drivers until he spotted his quarry coming his way.

He jumped up onto the driver’s bench beside Jimmy, who jerked away, causing him to loosen the reins.

He quickly turned back to get his horse under control.

“Hello, Jimmy,” Phillip said as he pushed his way onto the seat.

“What are you doing here? I’ve been laying low, just doing my job here. What do you want?” he said and glanced over his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have thought Colfax had the guts to thieve on his own, but I’m hearing that he did.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Huh. He must have been using somebody else as muscle because you know I doubt Colfax was getting his hands dirty. Didn’t get a cut of that, did you, Jimmy?”

“I . . . I didn’t want in on it. He would have given me up to the police in a heartbeat.”

Phillip nodded. “True. So you don’t have any ideas who he stole from?”

“Told you. Didn’t want in on it.”

“Maybe you heard something. Maybe you saw something. Things you’ve put out of your head because you can’t think about Colfax with a bullet in him. In his back, no less.”

Jimmy looked around and then lowered his hat.

“There’s a false wall in a closet in Cornelius’s bedroom in his house on Mott Street.

I was never able to get there to see if there was anything left.

Maybe there’s a clue there to where he stole it from.

That’s all I know. Now get off this wagon ’fore I lose my place. ”

“Keep your eyes open. The danger isn’t over,” Phillip said and jumped down from the seat.

Phillip volunteered for a late shift the next day when one of the evening supervisors was ill.

At ten in the evening, he pulled his office door closed and walked out the front door of the cannery carrying a small satchel he’d brought with him.

He’d told Patrick of his plans and insisted his uncle couldn’t join him.

“What if I’m caught or worse? What will happen to Sarah and Eliza and Jenny if you’re there with me? I should be home by daybreak. If I’m not, come looking for me,” he’d said to him before leaving for the cannery that day. “Mott Street. Number 210.”

It took nearly an hour to get to Mott Street even after catching a ride on the back of a hay wagon for several blocks.

He ducked under the overhang of a carriage house and pulled out his dark knit hat and gloves.

He loaded his gun, checked his knives, and said a little prayer that he could be in and out of Cornelius Colfax’s house quickly.

The gas streetlight was directly in front of 210’s door, Phillip saw from his vantage point as he turned to the alleyway behind him.

He proceeded slowly, staying in the shadows, even though the street and alley were quiet, with only the occasional wail from a cat or a horse neighing in the distance.

Phillip stood in the shadow of the small stable, now empty of its horse, where he’d first spoken to Jimmy and waited.

He needed to feel that he was alone and that Colfax’s house was indeed deserted.

Twenty calm minutes later, he pulled a few tools from his satchel, strapped it back over his shoulder, and walked down four steps to the basement door.

He dropped down on his haunches and went to work on the lock.

The door creaked open, and Phillip stayed very still, waiting for what, he didn’t know.

He stayed crouched as he entered the large room ahead of him.

There was just enough moonlight to see he was in the kitchen.

He turned and locked the door behind him and then felt his way along a brick wall, until his hand hit cold metal.

Thankfully, he was able to stop the brass ladle—he could now see as his eyes adjusted to the darkness—before it clanged against the wall.

He went slowly past small rooms, smelling the remains of boot polish from one and old potatoes from another.

He opened a narrow door at the end of the hallway and found the stairwell to the family residence.

He climbed the narrow stairs to the top step and stopped at the door.

He was in total darkness and could not find a knob or even hinges.

Phillip softly tapped as far as he could reach and nearly lost his balance, pushing against the door to right himself, as it slid an inch or two. Ahh. A sliding door. How clever.

Phillip found himself in the main hallway of the town house.

Stairs curved straight ahead, and he could see the main entrance, the glow of gaslight shining through the transom, on his left.

He would guess this floor had a sitting room, a library, and maybe an office.

He walked across thick carpets to the staircase and began his ascent, staying to the edge of the steps.

The building was three stories, so the next floor would be the family bedrooms, and the third, the dormered attic rooms, would likely house servants.

He had no idea which room would have been Colfax’s but thought a bachelor would use the largest room, especially if he entertained lady friends here.

He opened the first door, the hinges creaking like thunder in the still house, realizing that certainly wasn’t the master room.

Phillip went systematically down the hallway until he was at the last door.

This was most likely the room he was looking for as anyone would prefer to be facing the small yard and alleyway rather than the noise of the main street.

The door opened noiselessly, and he stepped inside.

He surveyed the room slowly in the darkness.

A large bed stripped of its mattress stood in the middle of the near wall, with tables on either side.

He glanced around and gasped as he saw himself in a standing full-length mirror, his heart pounding its rhythm in his ears.

He took a calming breath and focused on the rest of the furniture, typical of a man’s sleeping room.

There was a door to the right of the bed, which he opened slowly, finding a dressing room with a large bathing tub and rods for hanging a gentleman’s wardrobe.

What had Jimmy said about Colfax’s hiding place?

There’s a false wall in a closet in his bedroom . . .

He went slowly around the perimeter of the room, touching the walls, feeling for false fronts or recesses, and found nothing.

He stepped back into the bedroom and took a slow look around.

A small door in the corner had not been noticeable in the dim light at first glance.

He found the knob, opened the door, and saw several empty shelves.

He pulled the door closed and got the small portable lamp out of his satchel.

He lit it, turned the wick down low, and lifted the lowest shelf off the wooden strips that held it, working his way up until the back wall of the cupboard was in view.

It was easy to see then where the lower part of the wall was not connected to the rest, held in place with only a few nails.