In a Gilded Cage - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,65

I saw her. And I understand that the stay out west didn’t cure her, either.”

I shook my head. “She died a few years later.”

“Such a terrible wasting disease,” he said. “As a physician one feels so powerless. Essentially we can only let it take its course.” He looked up as his nurse indicated the next patient was waiting. I got to my feet and shook his hand again.

“I’ll let my wife know that you stopped by to visit.”

I wasn’t sure what to do next. It all seemed rather cut-and-dried here. Lydia had married Horace, contracted consumption, and moved away. But the thought did cross my mind that it was rather a risky undertaking to bring a baby into a home with consumption, because she obviously hadn’t been cured by her stay out west.

I debated as I walked down the street and decided that the next thing to do would be to visit the county seat and see if any Boswells might have lived in the area within living memory. If Lydia had never been to Scotland, she was hardly likely to take on the child of relatives she had never met.

I was on my way to the courthouse, thinking gloomily that Boswell was a common enough name, as was Johnson, when it suddenly hit me. I stood stock-still on the sidewalk, oblivious to the pedestrians who had to walk around me. How could I have been so completely blind? When I started to put together the facts, suddenly they all added up. Lydia Lynch, née Johnson—the fun-loving girl who loved to dance and go to parties but was overprotected by her strict parents. The girl who was described by her school principal as a gifted student, always with a book in her hands. And the handsome Italian gardener who had pushed her on a swing and then had so conveniently fallen off a bridge and died. And she had been sent out west in a hurry. And I knew that I probably wouldn’t find any Boswells at the courthouse. As I had suspected all along, the only person who could clear up this matter for me would be Horace Lynch. I didn’t look forward to facing him again, but I had to try out my hunch on him.

I marched straight back to the station and caught the next train home, having bought a copy of the New York Herald to keep me occupied during the long journey. I sat impatiently as the train steamed southward and tried to read. Then suddenly I saw an article that caught my eye:

YOUNG OPERA STAR’S TRAGIC DEATH.

THE NEW YORK MUSIC WORLD IS MOURNING THE LOSS OF ONE OF ITS BRIGHTEST YOUNG HOPES, THE SOPRANO HONORIA MASTERS. MISS MASTERS, SCION OF A SOCIETY FAMILY WHO LEFT THE GLITTERING LIFE OF THE FOUR HUNDRED TO PURSUE AN EXACTING CAREER ON THE OPERA STAGE, DIED YESTERDAY OF A BRIEF, UNEXPLAINED ILLNESS. THE TWENTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD MISS MASTERS MADE HER DEBUT AT THE METROPOLITAN OPERA A YEAR AGO AND WAS SCHEDULED TO SING WITH THE GREAT ITALIAN TENOR ENRICO CARUSO WHEN HE COMES TO AMERICA LATER THIS YEAR.

There was something about the article that bothered me and at first I couldn’t think what it was. Then I realized it was the name Honoria. Not the most common of names, and it had come up in conversation recently. Of course. Dorcas had said that Honoria had been to visit her and Emily had said that she hadn’t been in touch with Honoria since she became famous. It had to be the same person. And she had visited Dorcas and she had died.

Twenty-one

When I got home the first thing I found was a note in my mail slot. It was from Emily.

I must see you at once. Dorcas died suddenly today.

I paused only to wash the grime of the trip from my face, then I went out again, straight to Emily’s drugstore. It was by now half past five. I didn’t know how late she had to work on Saturdays, but most stores had closed by this time. McPherson’s hadn’t. I glanced at the globes in the window and then went inside. Emily was at the counter, her face looking pale and strained.

“Oh, Molly, you came. Thank heavens.” She came around the counter to greet me and grabbed both my hands. “I went to see you yesterday evening but you weren’t home.”

“No, I was up in Massachusetts, working on your family background.”

“And did you find—” She looked up expectantly then shook her