concerned friends of Stella Gibson.”
After the housemaid passed it through the slot, we waited in silence. The girl stared at Isabella in a way that made her flush, despite her earlier protestations. In response, I offered Isabella a jelly candy from the small tin in my pocket so as to make clear she was with me. Isabella accepted, and the girl looked away.
After what seemed an eternity, but was probably five minutes, the metal door creaked open and we were ushered into a private parlor where, on the table, I noticed a stack of calling cards. MAMIE DURANT, FACILITATOR OF SOCIAL INTRODUCTIONS. It was a tasteful way to describe the services she offered, I had to admit. From an investigation some years ago, I was familiar with her general background. I knew she had done well for herself; she owned the town house outright, and today I could see that its interior was opulently furnished. The furniture was upholstered in a thick red velvet material that complemented the gold draperies, and each side table featured a marble top with gold leaf scrolling. A gleaming black grand piano dominated the left side of the room.
I recognized her as she entered the room, for I had seen her picture in the newspapers as well as our police files, but she was even more striking in person. She was a tall, solid woman with full red lips that were almost—but not quite—the same brilliant red as the hair piled in high curls atop her head. I was certain the color was henna, since I had never seen a woman’s hair naturally achieve such a vivid red-orange hue. She wore a rich purple and gold dressing gown, and I suspected, despite the afternoon hour, that she had only recently awakened for the day. Her husky voice drawled in the honeyed tones of her native South, albeit in an exaggerated fashion that I suspected was cultivated to complement the persona she had created for herself.
“Good morning,” she said. “So sorry to keep y’all waiting for me. I understand you came here to see me today because you’re concerned about Stella Gibson?”
In answering, I made the necessary introductions and explained the situation, admitting that we were searching for Stella as part of a police investigation. I made clear that she and her business were in no way implicated. Rather, it was our hope that Stella might have contacted her or one of the girls in recent days.
Mamie did not appear surprised in the least. I supposed that, through the years, she had often heard this kind of request—through private inquiries, if not formal police investigations. And I suspected that, in framing her answer, she regularly asked herself whether the missing girl in question wanted to be found. Accordingly, I stressed the fact that Stella could be in real danger.
Her reply came after a moment’s reflection, but it seemed candid.
“Oh, yes, Stella Gibson. Now she was a real nice girl; everyone here always said the sweetest things about her,” she said. “But no, can’t say as I’ve seen her around—not since she left us last August.”
“She left on good terms?” I asked.
“She did,” she said. “She was sweet and pretty, though a tad bit too shy to suit most gentlemen, so she didn’t get on as well as she might have. Reminded them too much of the gals back home, if you ask me.” She paused a moment as the door opened, and a different maid brought in a teapot with three cups. “I’m having a cup,” she said, “so you may as well have one, too.” She busied herself serving it until the woman was gone, and then resumed talking. “I thought it was good for her to move on, so when she wanted to, I pointed her in the right direction. I sent her to one of those do-good Christian reform places run by spinster ladies with too much time on their hands. I heard they set her up in a situation north of the city, probably with a self-righteous old lady who got to feel good for having rescued Stella from a sinful life.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
Knowing what I did about Virginia Wingate, I stifled a smile at hearing these imagined traits. Mrs. Wingate was a spinster, to be sure, but I felt she would have more than shared Mamie’s sentiments about self-righteous do-gooders.
“Was Stella particularly friendly with any of the girls here?” Isabella asked. If she was in any way uncomfortable,