The Museum of Extraordinary Things(97)

I saw a fellow bring a carriage round. He was a liveryman I’d heard his employers call Marcus. I walked over casually and paid attention to the horse.

“Keep away then,” the fellow said to me. “This horse is worth more than you are.”

The wondrous specimen was an Andalusian, sent from Spain, one of the finest carriage horses in New York. He was so spirited Marcus said he had to be ridden at a full gallop along the bridle path in Central Park on Sundays to ensure he burned off steam and therefore would be less likely to spook and run off with the carriage.

“Is Miss Block at home?” I asked.

At first he refused to answer, but I wouldn’t let it go, and finally, most likely to be rid of me, he said, “We’ve been told not to bring up her name.”

“Who gave you those instructions?”

Marcus shrugged. “We are to act as if she was never a member of the family.”

It was a curious pronouncement, but I could not bring him to say any more. I decided to wait until the maids went out, hoping to have better luck with them. I’d watched the town house often enough to know they went out walking each day, and I recognized them right away. Sarah and Agnes had Juliet’s poodles with them. The dogs saw me and strained to get to me, leaping up as if I were a long-lost friend.

“I never knew Jasper to be so friendly,” Agnes said of the larger poodle’s reaction to me. “He’s a snobby thing.”

“I’m a friend of Miss Block’s,” I said, which was not so far from the truth. “I’m here to visit her.” The maids exchanged a look. “I take it she’s not at home?”

“We have to walk the dogs,” Sarah said, wanting to get away. She grabbed Agnes by the sleeve, steering her toward the park.

I followed along. I was still the same stubborn fellow I’d been from the start, unwilling to give in. “Will she be home later?” I focused on Agnes, the maid who seemed more willing to engage.

She shook her head sadly. “They were going to send her to a hospital in Massachusetts. I myself told her of the plan because I’d overheard them discussing her with the doctor. She was always kind to me, and I thought it evil that they were planning behind her back. I saw the jacket they planned to tie her into if she fought their demands—it was a horrible thing made of leather and canvas. When I saw what they intended, I knew I couldn’t keep quiet.”

“Let’s walk on,” the other maid said, troubled by the turn in the conversation. “Talk is cheap and it makes you seem so.”

But Agnes clearly wished to tell the story of her mistress, and she went on. “It was all for Miss Juliet’s political work and the demonstrations. She’d been arrested again. When I told her what they meant to do, she said they’d never lock her up. She ran away, God bless her.”

“That’s enough,” her companion told her. “It’s nobody’s business, and it’ll be our jobs if they know you’ve talked about her. Don’t say any more!”

“Oh, hush up yourself,” Agnes said. “They don’t give a damn about us, and Miss Juliet always did.”

Sarah was chalk white. I realized that she was truly frightened, for she looked over her shoulder, anxious that they might be spied by a member of the Block family. “I won’t be party to this,” she declared. She turned and left us there in the park.

“Don’t worry about her. Sarah won’t say anything,” Agnes assured me. “She’s afraid of her own shadow.”

We sat on a bench. It was a warm night and the park was crowded. The people here were different from the throngs downtown. We were far enough uptown for the social classes to be separated. And yet, against the wishes of the creators of this great green place that was meant to remain pristine, it was changing. The meadows had been turned into playing fields by groups of young men from downtown who traveled here to play stickball on hot nights.

As Agnes and I sat together, the dogs were very quiet, though clearly happy to see me. They sat at my feet as if they were my own.

“Would you think of taking them?” Agnes asked. “No one gives a damn about them either, and, forgive me for saying so, Miss Block hated them.”

The dogs gazed at me beseechingly. They looked like fools in their clipped haircuts. I wanted nothing less than these silly beasts.

“They’re Jasper and Antoinette,” Agnes went on. “Poor things. They’re ignored in the house, and I suspect that in time they’ll be ill treated. If you have anything like a heart, you’ll take them.”

To placate her I said that at some point I might consider it; perhaps I would take them away once my own life was more settled. I most likely did not mean this, but I had reason to strike a bargain, for I needed something in return: to see Harry. I asked Agnes if she would let me into the town house, and to my surprise she agreed most readily.

“For Miss Juliet’s sake,” she told me. “Since you were her friend and she was mine.”

Agnes was a young, cheerful girl from Ireland, and she resented the way the household help were treated; the saving grace of working for the family had been Miss Block, who regarded the maid as she might have a younger sister. We walked back together and went round the rear of the building. It was paved with cobblestones, and there was a large metal case for the milkman to deposit cream and cheese in the mornings. Agnes unlocked the door that allowed me into the house. She would wait for me on the corner of Sixty-third Street with the poodles until my business was done so she would not be thought to be associated with me in any way. I went through the empty kitchen—larger by ten times than the room my father and I had lived in—and found my way along the corridors, tiled with dark marble that was veined with pink and gold. There was a small sitting room, decorated for ladies, in tones of green and rose.