Deadly by Julie Chibbaro Page B

back to our office, and I could think of nothing to say. He did not offer an explanation; he did not even look at me. My mind rapidly tried to make up excuses for him, but none seemed right. What he had done was simply beyond my comprehension! Suddenly he seemed unpredictable to me, even questionable. A stranger. He had acted alone in the time I’d been gone—while making no notes in our common folio.
    I feel I don’t know what happened in our office while I was away. I wonder if Mr. Soper has done this sort of thing before and has not kept record of it—to protect himself? To hide?
    How can I work in an office with a man who does such things? How can I trust that he will not lead me astray in some way?
    I wish I could speak to Marm about this, but the act has so shamed me, I could not possibly do so. She would surely be upset.
    She might even want me to leave the job.

December 31, 1906
    O n this last night of the year, as I wait for Marm to return so we can attend the festivities, I feel as if a whole different girl is trying to emerge from me. Like I’m about to visit one of those cocoon tea parties, cloaked in dull gray. Inside, I will reveal a silver and pink gown, and win the prize as the most beautiful butterfly.
    At work this evening, I watched Mr. Soper prepare for the planned meeting with Mary Mallon at her home. The lines on his face seemed deeply engraved, his darting eyes would not meet mine. We had not spoken about the incident with the rummy. I knew I could go with him, that Marm would not be waiting for me, but I expected he didn’t want me to accompany him to Mary’s home. As I watched him dress in wool overcoat and leather gloves, I thought of the rummy’s wicked face, and Mary Mallon with her knife raised, and itstruck me: These are frightening people—foreign, dangerous even. If Mr. Soper went alone, something might happen to him, and no one would know about it. I felt my responsibility then. I stood; I didn’t want to see him hurt, despite my reservations about him.
    When I threw my cape over my shoulders and gathered my folio, he put up his hand to stop me.
    â€œI will speak to Mary alone,” he said.
    â€œPlease, Mr. Soper, I believe I can be useful.”
    â€œNot tonight, Prudence, I must go myself.”
    â€œI’ll wait outside then, in case there’s an emergency,” I said.
    He paused.
    â€œShe seems to be such an unpredictable woman, sir.”
    I worried he’d continue the case without me, but I was convinced my presence might help him to stay a proper course. I wanted to make sure Mary would agree to come peacefully this time. I didn’t like the misgivings I held toward my chief, but I wanted things to go well, for us to get some long-awaited answers.
    He put on his bowler without further discussion, and I followed him out the door.
    We made our way to the dark address the rummy had given us. Neither his name nor Mary’s were on the downstairsdoor of this ratty place, an uneven-floored tenement, worse than anything on our street, four stories of dirty tiles, print-smeared walls, halls barely lit. We went upstairs and pounded on 4D, as the rummy said, but only a dog answered with yip and howl. Mr. Soper banged and rapped, raising up a ruckus of furious barking, and finally the neighbor’s door cracked open and a voice snarled, “Hang it up! They ain’t home, they gone till Monday!” and the door snapped shut.
    We both stared at it. I couldn’t help but wonder at the inch of relief I felt.
    â€œIt’s a circus!” Mr. Soper exclaimed. “This is the worst kind of human circus. I cannot believe, I simply cannot believe our luck with this woman!”
    On the trolley downtown, he ground his fist into his bowler and muttered about making unsuccessful contracts with questionable people.
    I could feel his anger like hot rays emanating from him. He bent the rim of his hat between his gloved hands. I