“We have an excursion today, in the interests of our investigation,” he commented.
“Where shall we go?”
“We are here already.”
Duponte walked through the gates and up the front pathway to the Snodgrass house. “Go ahead,” Duponte said when I came to a halt.
“Monsieur, the Snodgrasses are not home this hour. And, you must know, Bonjour may see us here!”
“I fully rely on it,” he replied.
He took the silver-plated knocker in hand, which promptly brought to us the downstairs girl. Duponte glanced around and saw with satisfaction that Bonjour was peering from the staircase high above, as likely she did with any guest calling for Dr. Snodgrass.
“Our business, miss,” said Duponte, “lies with Dr. Snodgrass. I am”—here he paused, with a slight nod up to the landing of the stairs—“the Duke Duponte.”
“Duke! Well, the doctor is not at home, sir.” She passed a slow gaze over my outer garments, which prompted me to remove my hat and coat.
“I should think not, for he is a man of extensive business. But he has left word, I believe, with your upstairs girl that we are to wait for him in his study at this hour,” said Duponte.
“Likely! How queer!” exclaimed the girl, whose jealousy for Bonjour seemed to rise like a visible object before our eyes.
“If the young woman is present, miss, perhaps she shall be able to confirm the particulars of our invitation.”
“Likely!” the downstairs girl repeated. “Does this have truth, in fact?” she called up to Bonjour. “The doctor said nothing to me.”
Bonjour smiled, and then said, “The doctor tells you nothing of what occurs upstairs, of course, miss. And his study is upstairs.”
Bonjour approached us and curtsied a greeting. I was quite startled to find her compliant in Duponte’s scheme, but as that first moment of surprise passed I came to understand. If Bonjour exposed Duponte’s scheme as a false one, we could quite as easily demonstrate Bonjour’s own falsehoods in securing her position. It was an automatic and unspoken bargain.
“Dr. Snodgrass asked that you follow me,” she said.
“Into the study, I believe he suggested,” Duponte replied, accompanying her up the stairs and gesturing for me to come.
Bonjour seated us in the study with a smile and offered to close the door behind us for our comfort. “You gentlemen will be most happy to know that the respected doctor will not be long before his return,” she said. “He returns early today. I shall be certain to bring him straightaway when he comes home.”
“We would expect nothing less, dear miss,” said Duponte.
When we were alone, I turned to Duponte. “What shall we be able to learn from Snodgrass? Shall he not object strenuously to our pretending to have an appointment? And, monsieur, have you not said a hundred times we haven’t any call to speak with witnesses?”
“Do you think that is why we’ve come? To see Snodgrass?”
I chafed a bit and made a point of not answering.
Duponte sighed. “We are not here to see Dr. Snodgrass; we shall be able to read what we wish to know among the doctor’s papers. This is no doubt why the Baron has sent Bonjour here, and why she cleverly ensured she would become the upstairs servant, to have a free hand in his study without observation. She seemed rather amused with our presence, and quite loose with the more established servant, which suggests she is nearly finished with her purpose here. Nor does she believe we have enough time to discover anything of importance among all these papers.”
“She’s correct then!” I said, noticing that Snodgrass’s study was awash in papers, in piles and stacks upon and around and inside the drawers of his office desk.
“Rethink your conclusions. Mademoiselle Bonjour has spent several weeks here now, and though she is a practiced thief, she would have no desire to risk that Dr. Snodgrass would notice the removal of any papers, which would foreclose any further search she might have wished to make. Thus she would have secretly copied in her own hand any items of interest and returned the originals to their place here for us to discover.”
“But how shall we be able to discover in a matter of minutes what has taken her weeks to compile?”
“Precisely because she has discovered them first. Any document or paper that has attracted a high degree of interest will have commanded her to remove it from its place, perhaps more than once. Certainly one would not casually notice this difference, but once knowing to look for it, we should have no trouble selecting and copying these particular documents.”
We went to work immediately. I took one side of the desk. Guided by Duponte, I searched for bent and misaligned corners, smudged ink, slight tears and folds, creases, and other indicators of recent handling among the various assortments and collections of documents and newspaper articles on all subjects, some with dates as much as twenty-five years old. Together we located many mentions of Poe that apparently had been examined by Bonjour in her time in this house, including a wealth of articles on the death of Poe that, if not quite as comprehensive as my own collection, was not unimpressive. Exhilarated and appalled, I found some rather more unique documents, three letters—the handwriting on which I recognized right away—from Edgar Poe to Dr. Snodgrass, dating from several years earlier.
In the first, Poe offered Snodgrass, then editing a magazine called The Notion, the rights to publish the second of the Dupin tales. “Of course I could not afford to make you an absolute present of it,” wrote Poe firmly, “but if you are willing to take it, I will say $40.” Yet Snodgrass turned him down, and Poe was declined by Graham’s, too, before publishing “The Mystery of Marie Rogêt” elsewhere.
In the second letter from Poe, the writer asked Dr. Snodgrass to place a favorable notice of Poe’s work in a magazine then being edited by Neilson Poe, hoping that the latter would oblige him as his cousin. The attempt seems to have failed, and Poe wrote back in disgust. “I felt that N. Poe would not insert the article,” he said. “In your private ear, I believe him to be the bitterest enemy I have in the world.”
I rushed to share this. “Neilson Poe, monsieur! Edgar Poe calls him his bitterest enemy…. Didn’t I guess at his position in all this!”
Our time being too short to discuss each item, Duponte directed me to quickly copy into my memorandum book all items about Poe that seemed important to me and, for that matter, he said after thinking it over, items that seemed unimportant to me as well. I duly noted the date of Poe’s letter about Neilson: October 7, 1839—exactly ten years to the day before Poe’s death!
“He is the more despicable in this,” wrote Poe of Neilson, “since he makes loud professions of friendship.” And did Neilson not profess the same fables, when I met him? We were not only cousins, but friends, Mr. Clark. Neilson Poe, with his heart beating for his own literary fame, his hand holding a wife who was sister and near copy to Edgar’s—had he wanted the life of the very man he so outwardly denigrated?
This was not all I found in letters from Poe to Snodgrass about his Baltimore relatives. Poe had declared Henry Herring (the first Poe relation to arrive at Ryan’s) “a man of unprincipled character.”
Duponte paused in the midst of opening every possible drawer in the room.
“Survey the streets from the other side of the house, Monsieur Clark. Watch out for Dr. Snodgrass’s carriage. When he arrives, we must leave immediately, and ensure the Irish chambermaid says nothing of our visit.”
I studied Duponte’s face for any hint at how we would accomplish the second objective. I walked to a chamber at the front of the house. Looking from the window, I found that a carriage was passing nearby, but after it seemed to check its speed briefly, the horses continued down High Street. Turning back toward the study, I found myself facing Bonjour, leaning upon the hearth so that her black dress and apron radiated with the flame of the fire.
“All right, mister? Anything that I can help you with while you wait for Master Snodgrass?” she asked,
in imitation of the downstairs chambermaid’s voice, and loud enough that she might hear. In a quieter tone, she commented, “You see now that your friend is only a vulture on my master’s investigation.”
“I am quite well here, miss, thank you, only looking out at these dreadful rain clouds,” I said in my loud voice, and then quietly: “Auguste Duponte imitates no man. He shall resolve this in a manner deserving of Monsieur Poe. He can help you, too, if you wish, more than that thief, mademoiselle, your so-called husband and master.”
Bonjour, forgetting the necessities of her charade, slammed the door closed. “I think not! Duponte is a thief of true measure, Monsieur Clark—he steals people’s thoughts, their faults. The Baron is a great man because he is himself in all things. The most freedom I can have is by being with him.”
“You believe that by ensuring the Baron’s victory here you will have repaid the debt you owe him for releasing you from prison, and will be free from this marriage he has compelled.”
Bonjour threw her head back in amusement. “Well! You are firing into the wrong flock. I’d suggest you not judge me by mathematical analysis. You are becoming too much like your companion.”
“Monsieur Clark!” Duponte called hoarsely from the study.
I shifted my weight anxiously from one foot to the other.
Bonjour moved closer and studied me. “You do not have a wife, Monsieur Clark?”
My thoughts darkened. “I will,” I replied without confidence. “And I will treat her well and ensure our mutual happiness.”
“Monsieur, the French girl possesses no freedom. In America a girl is free and honored for her independence until she is married. In France, the tables are turned. She is only free once she marries—and then with a freedom never to be imagined. A wife can even have as many lovers as her husband.”
“Mademoiselle!”
“Sometimes, a man in Paris is far more jealous of his mistress than his wife, and a woman more true to her lover than her husband.”
“But why remain a thief for him, mademoiselle?”
“In Paris you must get what you want from others by hook or crook, or others will get what they want from you first.” She paused. “Your master is calling, monsieur.”
I started for the door. Bonjour lingered a moment before stepping aside with a mocking curtsy. As I re-entered the study, Duponte said, “Monsieur, here is the note that perhaps tells us more than anything else, the one you heard read in part at the harbor. Write every word and every comma in your memorandum book. And quickly: I believe I hear the wheels of another carriage coming up the path. Write then: ‘Dear Sir, There is a gentleman, rather the worse for wear, at Ryan’s…’”
Upon the completion of our transcriptions, Bonjour led us downstairs rapidly.
“There is a back entrance?” I whispered.
“Dr. Snodgrass is just in the carriage house.” We all turned around. It was the downstairs girl, who had appeared among us suddenly. “The Duke shan’t leave now?”
“I’m afraid my schedule has become conflicted,” said Duponte. “I shall have to see Dr. Snodgrass another time.”
“I shall be certain to tell him you were here, then,” she replied dryly, “and sitting in his study alone among his private things for nearly half of an hour.”
Duponte and I froze at this warning, and I glanced over questioningly at Bonjour, who would no doubt be implicated as well.
Bonjour stared at her fellow domestic almost dreamily. When I turned back to Duponte, I saw he had entered into a private conversation with the Irish girl, whispering somberly to her. At the end of his comments, she nodded slightly, a faint crimson blush splashed on her cheeks.
“The other door, then?” I asked, noticing that she and Duponte seemed to have reached some accord.
“This way,” said the maid, motioning to us. We crossed through the rear hall even as we could hear the boots of Dr. Snodgrass on the steps to the street door. As we climbed down to the pathway, Duponte turned back and touched his hat to the two ladies in farewell. “Bonjour,” he said.
“Monsieur, how did you persuade the doctor’s chambermaid to cooperate so Bonjour would not be caught?” I asked as we walked up the street.
“First, you are on the wrong scent. It was not for Bonjour’s sake, as you assume. Second, I explained to the chambermaid that, in all honesty, we were not in fact leaving for another appointment.”
“Indeed? You told her the truth then,” I said with surprise.
“I explained that her interest, or infatuation, with you was highly inappropriate, and I wished to leave discreetly and quietly before her employer returned and might notice it first-hand.”
“Infatuation with me?” I repeated. “Wherever did such an idea come from, monsieur? Had she said something I did not hear?”
“No, but she certainly contemplated it upon my mention and, thinking something must have shown to that effect in her expression, she thought it must indeed be true. She will remain quiet about our visit, I assure you.”
“Monsieur Duponte! I cannot begin to understand this tactic!”
“You are the model of the handsome young man,” he replied, then added, “at least by Baltimore standards. That you are hardly aware of it only allows it to enter more decidedly in the eyes of a young female. Certainly the chambermaid noted this upon our entrance; indeed, her eyes flitted, as it were, immediately. Even if she did not consider it directly—until I mentioned it.”
“Monsieur, still—”
“No more talk of this, Monsieur Clark. We must continue our work in relation to Dr. Snodgrass.”
“But what do you mean by ‘it was not for Bonjour’s sake’?”
“Bonjour hardly needs our assistance, nor would she hesitate to cross us for her purposes when given the opportunity. You would be especially wise to remember this. It was for the sake of the other girl I did that.”
“How do you mean?”
“If the chambermaid had attempted to allege misconduct against Bonjour, I do not suppose the poor girl would have fared well against mademoiselle. Certainly, it is wise to save lives whenever you can.”
I reflected a moment on my naïve understanding of the situation.
“Where shall we go next, monsieur?”
He gestured to my memorandum book. “To read, of course.”
Meanwhile, a new obstacle awaited us. While we had been occupied, my great-aunt had arrived at Glen Eliza. Her purpose here was no mystery: word had reached her of my return to Baltimore and she came to see why I had not yet been married after my notorious lapse. She had a long fellowship with Hattie Blum’s aunt (a conspiracy of these creatures!) and would have heard the odd bits of half-truth that the other woman had collected about my goings-on.
Nearly two hours passed after we returned home before I learned of her presence. After our endeavors at the Snodgrass home, we had adjourned to the athenaeum to match some of the records we had discovered with articles from the press. We continued on at Glen Eliza in fastidious conversation regarding our various discoveries made there. Because Duponte and I were organizing the intelligence we had gathered at the Snodgrass house, I gave firm orders that we were not to be interrupted. The table in the library had grown thick with newspapers, lists, and notes, and therefore we remained in the massive drawing room, which stretched out over half of the second floor of the house. At length, around twilight, I went to the other side of the house to consult something, but was stopped by Daphne, my best chambermaid.
“You must not go inside, sir,” she said.
“Not go in my library? But why?”
“Ma’am insists she must not be disturbed, sir.”
I obediently released the handle of the door. “Ma’am? What ‘ma’am’?”
“Your aunt. She arrived with her bags at Glen Eliza while you were out, sir. She has been exhausted by her trip, as it was frightfully cold and her baggage nearly lost by the railroad men.”
I was confounded. “I have been sitting i
n the drawing room without knowing this. Why have you not told me?”
“You declared in great hurryment you must not be disturbed even before stepping through the street door, didn’t you, sir!”
“I must greet her properly,” I said, straightening my neck-cloth and smoothing my vest.
“Well, go about it quietly—she needs strict quiet to cure her sick-headache to which she is subject, sir. I’m sure she was quite displeased at the other disturbance.”
“Daphne, the other disturbance?” I then remembered that, not more than an hour earlier, Duponte had retrieved a book he had remembered was in the library. Surely my faithful maid had instituted my great-aunt’s domineering orders against Duponte as well?
“The gentleman would not heed my words! He went right in….” Daphne explained with heated disapproval and a fresh revival of her Duponte misgivings.
I thought about Duponte and Auntie Blum’s encounter some weeks earlier, and imagining my great-aunt’s reaction to any similar conversation made my own head throb. I now thought better of my desire to greet her—especially given the humor any woman of her advanced age was likely in, between the delayed train and Monsieur Duponte. I returned to the drawing room. Great-Aunt’s presence would be no small disruption. Indeed, I could not guess the influence that elder relation would ultimately have over all this.
The next vivid memory I possess of that evening was when I stirred awake. I had fallen into an uncomfortable sleep on one of the drawing room’s long sofas. The papers I had been reviewing had scattered on the carpet below. It was an hour or so past nightfall and Glen Eliza was eerie with silence. Duponte, it seemed, had retired to the third floor to his chambers. A loud bump jolted me to a greater state of consciousness. The wind was blowing through the long curtains, and a feeling of great anxiety flitted inside my stomach.
The corridors on this side of the house were deserted. Remembering my great-aunt, I ascended the winding stairs and crept past the chambers where she would have been placed by the servants, but found the door open and the bedclothes undisturbed. Walking back down directly to the library, I quietly pushed open the doors to the dimly lighted room.