asked.
“No, no, kind lady,” Lester Sibley said, smiling crookedly. “No, on the trip over from New York my travel trunk, containing all of my literature, was stolen from my room. As it was nowhere to be found when we arrived, I can only assume someone sent it overboard. Like I said, ‘they’ will stop at nothing to keep me from spreading the word. Did I say something funny?”
I had involuntarily laughed out loud in my relief and embarrassment. Here I had been imagining the worst, a trunk hiding a dead body, whereas the only thing Mr. Mayhew and the Pinkerton detective were guilty of was ridding the world of more labor propaganda pamphlets. Although I still didn’t approve of Mr. Mayhew stooping to theft in the night, I felt foolish for assigning to him such evil doings. But how did I explain my reaction to the poor man’s misfortune? I looked about me quickly. People were dancing, laughing, drinking from bottles and flasks, tapping their toes, and clapping their hands to the rapid beat of the music. The accordion player had a monkey on his shoulder clapping tiny cymbals together. The animal even wore a little fez.
“No, no, I apologize, Mr. Sibley. I merely caught a glimpse of the monkey. He’s quite amusing.”
“Yes, of course,” Sibley said, not appearing to understand at all. “Back to what I was saying, Miss Davish. Our movement seeks to—” The last thing I wanted was for him to return to the previous conversation.
“It’s been interesting talking to you, Mr. Sibley, but if you’ll excuse me, I haven’t been down the steps yet.” I took several steps away, hoping he wouldn’t follow me.
“Of course,” he said, realizing I wasn’t going to be swayed to his cause tonight. I gratefully headed toward the cliff-side staircase as he headed to a group of people congregated around the accordion player.
Relieved to be free of the labor man’s attention, I grabbed the railing at the top of the stairs and walked several steps down. And then I froze. I’d made the mistake of looking down through the empty space between the steps. Beneath my feet, at least twenty feet below, was nothing but slimy, black rock and swirling water.
I don’t think I can go down there, I thought, my palms sweating as I imagined myself losing my balance and slipping into the turbulent waves below.
I dropped to a sitting position, my heart racing, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off the water. I began to inch my way backward up to the top. But then, as I nearly reached the top, the waves slipped away from the rocks for a moment, revealing several red algae plants, their fronds gently flowing with the current. As the waves crashed again, I heard giggling above me. I glanced up at two young girls, probably maids, waiting at the top of the steps. In my seated position, my skirts were blocking their way. And they were giggling at me.
Rightfully so, I thought, suddenly feeling ridiculous. I’d been down staircases before. Why was this one so different? I stood up, let the girls pass, and watched as they held on to their straw bonnets while carelessly skipping down the steps. I peered down again to watch the algae beckoning me from below. If young girls could do it, so could I, I thought. Besides, I had to have that plant. I secured my hat against the breeze, took a deep breath, and grabbed the rail once again.
“Let her go!”
I spun my head around at the second shout of the night. Instantly the music stopped and the only sounds were those of the waves crashing below and the clattering cymbals of the monkey, who didn’t know to stop. I followed the stares of the hushed crowd toward the cause of the commotion. I should’ve known. It was Lester Sibley! His hat had fallen off and he held Britta in his arms. She was squirming in his embrace, trying to release herself, but the labor man was reluctant to let her go.
“Can’t you see she was dancing with me, footman?” Sibley said as James hovered nearby.
“She wants to
“No, no, kind lady,” Lester Sibley said, smiling crookedly. “No, on the trip over from New York my travel trunk, containing all of my literature, was stolen from my room. As it was nowhere to be found when we arrived, I can only assume someone sent it overboard. Like I said, ‘they’ will stop at nothing to keep me from spreading the word. Did I say something funny?”
I had involuntarily laughed out loud in my relief and embarrassment. Here I had been imagining the worst, a trunk hiding a dead body, whereas the only thing Mr. Mayhew and the Pinkerton detective were guilty of was ridding the world of more labor propaganda pamphlets. Although I still didn’t approve of Mr. Mayhew stooping to theft in the night, I felt foolish for assigning to him such evil doings. But how did I explain my reaction to the poor man’s misfortune? I looked about me quickly. People were dancing, laughing, drinking from bottles and flasks, tapping their toes, and clapping their hands to the rapid beat of the music. The accordion player had a monkey on his shoulder clapping tiny cymbals together. The animal even wore a little fez.
“No, no, I apologize, Mr. Sibley. I merely caught a glimpse of the monkey. He’s quite amusing.”
“Yes, of course,” Sibley said, not appearing to understand at all. “Back to what I was saying, Miss Davish. Our movement seeks to—” The last thing I wanted was for him to return to the previous conversation.
“It’s been interesting talking to you, Mr. Sibley, but if you’ll excuse me, I haven’t been down the steps yet.” I took several steps away, hoping he wouldn’t follow me.
“Of course,” he said, realizing I wasn’t going to be swayed to his cause tonight. I gratefully headed toward the cliff-side staircase as he headed to a group of people congregated around the accordion player.
Relieved to be free of the labor man’s attention, I grabbed the railing at the top of the stairs and walked several steps down. And then I froze. I’d made the mistake of looking down through the empty space between the steps. Beneath my feet, at least twenty feet below, was nothing but slimy, black rock and swirling water.
I don’t think I can go down there, I thought, my palms sweating as I imagined myself losing my balance and slipping into the turbulent waves below.
I dropped to a sitting position, my heart racing, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off the water. I began to inch my way backward up to the top. But then, as I nearly reached the top, the waves slipped away from the rocks for a moment, revealing several red algae plants, their fronds gently flowing with the current. As the waves crashed again, I heard giggling above me. I glanced up at two young girls, probably maids, waiting at the top of the steps. In my seated position, my skirts were blocking their way. And they were giggling at me.
Rightfully so, I thought, suddenly feeling ridiculous. I’d been down staircases before. Why was this one so different? I stood up, let the girls pass, and watched as they held on to their straw bonnets while carelessly skipping down the steps. I peered down again to watch the algae beckoning me from below. If young girls could do it, so could I, I thought. Besides, I had to have that plant. I secured my hat against the breeze, took a deep breath, and grabbed the rail once again.
“Let her go!”
I spun my head around at the second shout of the night. Instantly the music stopped and the only sounds were those of the waves crashing below and the clattering cymbals of the monkey, who didn’t know to stop. I followed the stares of the hushed crowd toward the cause of the commotion. I should’ve known. It was Lester Sibley! His hat had fallen off and he held Britta in his arms. She was squirming in his embrace, trying to release herself, but the labor man was reluctant to let her go.
“Can’t you see she was dancing with me, footman?” Sibley said as James hovered nearby.
“She wants to
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