The Museum of Extraordinary Things(98)

I continued on to the main hallway, which was shaped like a teardrop, and stood beneath the Tiffany chandelier, steadying myself. Agnes had informed me that the elder Mr. Block was ill and rarely left his bed. Mrs. Block had gone out to a party. Mr. Harry Block would likely be found in the study, for he’d slipped into a state of melancholy ever since his sister had run away. That was where I found him, practicing his chess game with an imaginary partner. I came into the study and closed the sliding walnut doors behind me. Block raised his eyes, and there was a flicker of fear. Perhaps he thought he was about to be robbed, as he had been all those years ago.

“Did Frank Herbert play chess with you?” I asked. “Because he’ll be unavailable to do so for the next twenty years.”

My enemy recognized me and nodded, as if we were old friends.

“Herbert was too much of an imbecile to understand the intricacies of chess. It was Juliet who played a good match.”

I sat down in one of the green velvet chairs. “And yet you were willing to send her off to a hospital for her political views.”

Block glared at me, confused as to how I would gain access to such information. “I would never have brought any harm to my sister if that’s what you’re insinuating. She was placing herself in danger by her choice of companions and activities. She would have soon found herself in jail. I wished to protect her.”

“Now she’s run away from your protection. For her sake I hope she’s found some freedom in doing so.”

“What business is my family to you?”

I was not the man to explain to him how deeply all of the workers had been influenced by the families that had employed them. Nearly every aspect of our daily lives had been affected by people who never knew our names. I picked up one of the chess pieces. It was the queen. “I never had time for games,” I said. “Never learned chess. I was working from the moment I was able.”

“You played the thief quite well.”

“And it seems you played the murderer.”

Block flushed with anger. “That had nothing to do with me. I didn’t tell Herbert to kill her. I never would have. I simply said to scare her off. He didn’t know when enough was enough and took it upon himself.”

“I think the Workmen’s Circle will take it upon themselves to watch you carefully. If you have business dealings that are questionable, if you cover up practices that place workers in danger, it’s likely they’ll know. I think you’ll find yourself spending a good deal of time in court from now on. Good thing you’re an attorney.”

I reached into my waistcoat pocket for the watch. I had not realized the weight of it until that moment. My future had nothing to do with the time it told, nor did it define who I’d been in the past. I placed it on the game table.

“Do you think you returning my own property to me makes you an honest man?” Block asked.

“I think it makes me a man. I’m not sure you can say the same.”

Before I left my old enemy, I took a last look at the watch I had carried for so long. It had never seemed like mine. Whether I was honest or not, I was free from its burden. I went out of the town house and met Agnes on the corner. We walked together speaking of Juliet, who was at that very moment on her way to California. We took the dogs into the park. Mr. Block kept them locked up in the kitchen; because he’d bought them for Juliet he despised them now. I let them off their leashes for once. As it turned out, broken or not, it appeared I had a heart.





MAY 1911

THE STABLE was empty, although several of the liveryman’s pigeons managed to find their way in through gaps in the wooden siding to take shelter for the night. Eddie had taken to spending time in this gloomy place with both Mitts and North, breathing in the scent of hay, remembering how he had come here as a boy and slept beside the horses. After one tiff, when Mitts approached the wolf in an overly friendly fashion, the two got on well enough, if ignoring one another meant there was an uneasy peace. Eddie’s hand was still wrapped, but the pain had eased. He supposed the bones were mending. His heart, however, was not in a similar condition, precisely the problem with having such an organ, for it caused pangs of desire and regret, reminding an individual that he was indeed human, prone to human sorrows and desires.

Eddie had reverted to his old insomniac’s habits, avoiding sleep for as long as possible, existing on a diet of coffee and gin. When he did close his eyes, whether dozing in a chair or resting his head against the stable wall, Coralie came to him in his dreams. She was in the river, in his bed, out of reach and leaving him in a fevered and dejected state. He’d memorized several lines from the note she’d written him. I do not love you and cannot pretend to. I am promised to a man in France, a family friend, and it is to him I now go. Please do not follow me. Forget me if you can.

He wished to do exactly that, but had discovered it wasn’t possible. He’d taken to drinking with serious intent, not for pleasure but for sheer inebriation. He missed the presence of the liveryman, and now held a deeper understanding of why a person might turn to opium, as he, himself, had embraced gin, for it was gin alone that allowed him a deep, black brand of sleep. Eddie tried not to dwell on the fact that he would soon be homeless. In a matter of days, the stable would be rented out to a tenant who had put in an offer to let the entire building. The new renter was an ironmonger who wished to set up a furnace in the alleyway and use Moses Levy’s studio for storage. Eddie was to vacate by the first of June. It was already the end of May, and deciding where to go next loomed as an impossible task, for it was difficult enough to find loft space possessing good light, all the more challenging given his financial situation and the presence of two large canines, one of which was indistinguishable in form and temperament from a wolf. When Eddie was drinking heavily enough, he had half a mind to move onto Beck’s property and build himself a shack. There he would take the hermit’s place, equally embittered and alone, avoiding humankind, but close to the river, comforted by that proximity. Then he thought better of the notion, for what the old man had predicted would surely come true before very long. The woods would disappear, replaced by concrete and bricks. There would be no room for wild creatures, just as there’d be no room for men who wished to escape the concerns of city life.