his. It was a nice thing to think about, but she knew, as a rule, that if you wanted to get away with a lie, or a circumspection, the way to do it was to tell no lie you didn’t absolutely have to, even if not to do it was making you want to burst. It would have been so easy to agree with him, yes, I know that street, isn’t it nice our paths are crossing?
“Surely on your visits you go walking, especially in the spring when things are at their best. The houses on Lilac Street aren’t quite so close to the road as most others, and people have gardens, in a competitive way. The flowers are quite spectacular. I’m sure you would have noticed them.”
“If I came to Boston to look at flowers, I would not come to Boston. They’re quite spectacular at home.”
“I remember at the bank, they had a joke about the name of your town, and called it Heathtown.”
“It’s not completely a joke,” said Charlotte.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know you were near when I was injured.”
“You weren’t conscious, and it was a long time ago, so I can’t hold it against you. They said you’d broken a great many of your bones.”
“Did you worry?”
“I did, Dickie. Did they send you home?” His family, she remembered, lived somewhere in the west, near the Berkshires, working someone else’s farm, someone else’s orchards; they had sent him to the Blackstone Valley in order to receive his paychecks, which were mailed to them and which he never saw. He was to wait until the age of eighteen before he could keep any part of his earnings, she now remembered.
“I was sent to a hospital here and, afterward, to a sanatorium at Dorchester Heights. Bones heal, you know, eventually. Would it be out of the question for you to mention the names of the ladies who went out this morning?”
“It would, Dickie.”
“Because you feel you should be loyal?”
“Because I don’t know the names of guests here, any more than I know the streets.”
“I don’t remember you being shabby with your memory.”
“Oh, I always was. You only ever saw me around horses.”
“And in church.”
“I was shabby in church. I seem to remember people saying, and I don’t want to offend you, that you might have caused that thing at the tannery to fall on you, you know. I just suddenly remembered that.”
“It was a stretching machine for hides. Deerskin, cows,” he said. “In the Middle Ages, it was the kind of thing they tortured people on. It was attached to a wall with iron bolts.”
“Miss Georgeson said you were a nice, decent boy and people were awful to whisper about you.”
“Miss Georgeson only saw me in church. The tannery paid my parents a hundred dollars for the loss of my wages,” he said. “And in my profession, believe me, I know exactly how awful people can be.”
She liked the way he said “can be” instead of “are.” Like there were exceptions to being awful.
“Are you an inspector of vice, if there’s such a thing?”
“Not actually. My usual stuff is something different than stuff based on rumors.”
“Murders, Dickie? Things like that?”
“All sorts of things. I’m still a junior.”
“So they sent you here because you live in the neighborhood, is that it?” Well, Harry had said he walked here. It didn’t have to be from a police station. Did he think, at the first opportunity, she’d head straight toward the Capitol and find his street, and he’d be there in a window himself, waving at her, his babies in his arms?
“What about Myrtle Street?” he said.
“What of it?”
“Do you know it?”
“Is that the one with the green door at the end with the knocker in the shape of a lion’s head, and a lamp to keep it visible?” She had passed it last night, and Everett Gerson had said, “That is the biggest door knocker I ever saw.”
“That’s on Joy Street.”
“Is Myrtle the very long one, like three or four others put together?” They’d been on it, looking for the Beechmont,
“Surely on your visits you go walking, especially in the spring when things are at their best. The houses on Lilac Street aren’t quite so close to the road as most others, and people have gardens, in a competitive way. The flowers are quite spectacular. I’m sure you would have noticed them.”
“If I came to Boston to look at flowers, I would not come to Boston. They’re quite spectacular at home.”
“I remember at the bank, they had a joke about the name of your town, and called it Heathtown.”
“It’s not completely a joke,” said Charlotte.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know you were near when I was injured.”
“You weren’t conscious, and it was a long time ago, so I can’t hold it against you. They said you’d broken a great many of your bones.”
“Did you worry?”
“I did, Dickie. Did they send you home?” His family, she remembered, lived somewhere in the west, near the Berkshires, working someone else’s farm, someone else’s orchards; they had sent him to the Blackstone Valley in order to receive his paychecks, which were mailed to them and which he never saw. He was to wait until the age of eighteen before he could keep any part of his earnings, she now remembered.
“I was sent to a hospital here and, afterward, to a sanatorium at Dorchester Heights. Bones heal, you know, eventually. Would it be out of the question for you to mention the names of the ladies who went out this morning?”
“It would, Dickie.”
“Because you feel you should be loyal?”
“Because I don’t know the names of guests here, any more than I know the streets.”
“I don’t remember you being shabby with your memory.”
“Oh, I always was. You only ever saw me around horses.”
“And in church.”
“I was shabby in church. I seem to remember people saying, and I don’t want to offend you, that you might have caused that thing at the tannery to fall on you, you know. I just suddenly remembered that.”
“It was a stretching machine for hides. Deerskin, cows,” he said. “In the Middle Ages, it was the kind of thing they tortured people on. It was attached to a wall with iron bolts.”
“Miss Georgeson said you were a nice, decent boy and people were awful to whisper about you.”
“Miss Georgeson only saw me in church. The tannery paid my parents a hundred dollars for the loss of my wages,” he said. “And in my profession, believe me, I know exactly how awful people can be.”
She liked the way he said “can be” instead of “are.” Like there were exceptions to being awful.
“Are you an inspector of vice, if there’s such a thing?”
“Not actually. My usual stuff is something different than stuff based on rumors.”
“Murders, Dickie? Things like that?”
“All sorts of things. I’m still a junior.”
“So they sent you here because you live in the neighborhood, is that it?” Well, Harry had said he walked here. It didn’t have to be from a police station. Did he think, at the first opportunity, she’d head straight toward the Capitol and find his street, and he’d be there in a window himself, waving at her, his babies in his arms?
“What about Myrtle Street?” he said.
“What of it?”
“Do you know it?”
“Is that the one with the green door at the end with the knocker in the shape of a lion’s head, and a lamp to keep it visible?” She had passed it last night, and Everett Gerson had said, “That is the biggest door knocker I ever saw.”
“That’s on Joy Street.”
“Is Myrtle the very long one, like three or four others put together?” They’d been on it, looking for the Beechmont,
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