A New York Haunting: Pt. 09

(Note to admin: story contains bold and italics ------------- please remove this line)

Author's note:

Due to the mystery/suspense plot, the individual parts of this tale are unlikely to make sense as stand-alone reads. Please see note at the beginning of Part 1 for more information.

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Chapter 34. TOWN TOPICS

The waiting began.

Although he knew well that the strictures of Ondine's life prevented her from easily replying or arranging a meeting, Anders could not help repeatedly checking the hall table and inquiring of Mrs. Sullivan about messages for him. But no message arrived.

Too impatient to simply wait for her reply, he used the weekend to delve further into his suspect list. His first gambit was at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. In preparation, he pinned to the inside of his lapel the brass Harsen prize medal he had won last year for best clinical report --- pray God no one looked at it too closely! He rehearsed his story on the way there, arriving as planned between lunch and dinner.

Stepping into the opulent Astoria lobby, Anders scanned the occupants. Fulton Fordyce lived upstairs --- if his friend saw him and called out a greeting, the ploy would be ruined.

The coast was clear. With a deep breath, he approached the marble front desk, attempting a confident swagger.

"Can I help you, sir?" the young man behind the counter said.

"Yes, sir. I'm a detective with the Pinkerton agency." With an air of discretion, he opened his suit jacket and flashed the brass medal. "I'm investigating a missing person case and was hoping to converse with the head waiter." Was it a crime to impersonate a private detective?

The clerk blinked a few times, evidently uncertain what to do, then he said, "Of course, sir. I'll take you back there."

With a brief explanation to his fellow clerk, the young man stepped out from behind the counter and led Anders from the lobby into a corridor. After a turn around a corner, a door transported them from the lavish hallway into a simple one clearly intended for staff. They passed through an enormous, savory-smelling kitchen bustling with activity, then proceeded into another corridor.

The clerk stopped at the open door to a small office wherein sat a man at a desk. "Mr. Albright, this gentleman is a Pinkerton detective who would like to speak to you."

A man of about forty with neatly trimmed ginger sideburns, Mr. Albright looked up from what appeared to be a diagram of tables in a room. His face bore an expression of curiosity as he set aside his pencil and stood.

Anders again flashed the medal and extended his hand. "Spencer Lawton."

"Charles Albright."

They shook hands. The clerk left them.

"Thank you for speaking with me, sir. You are the head waiter?"

"I am. What is this regarding?" Albright nodded at a chair across the desk.

Anders seated himself. "I'm conducting a missing person investigation. A young man who has not been seen by his parents for over a year. His last known whereabouts date to September 1899. After that, we have a lead that he might have worked here as a waiter."

"I wasn't employed here then. I don't know if I'll be able to offer much help."

"Would the hotel have a list of the waitstaff in September and October of that year?"

Mr. Albright pursed his lips for a moment, then his face brightened. "The payroll office would have a ledger with the names. Let's go there."

Keeping to the staff areas, Mr. Albright led him through another series of hallways. As they walked, the man asked, "You said he's been missing a year? Why has the family waited so long to investigate?"

Anders replied smoothly, "They had been working with the police initially, then frustrated with the lack of progress, attempted to investigate the matter themselves. They only recently applied to our agency."

They entered a large office containing a half-dozen desks where sat male clerks and female secretaries. Above the clacking of several typewriters, Mr. Albright introduced him to a Mr. McPherson and explained his quest. The clerk nodded and crossed to a bookcase from which he extracted a tall ledger. He pointed to a chair by the window. "You can sit here. September and October 1899, you wanted?"

Mr. McPherson handed him the book, pointing out the pages for the months in question, and explaining that the names were grouped by position. "From this line to the bottom of the page are the waiters."

Anders thanked him. For the next twenty minutes, he pored over the columns of names, writing them in his notebook. There were forty of them under the heading of waiter. Forty! In the adjacent columns were a series of numbers, no doubt corresponding to their wages. There was no indication of where in the hotel the waiters had worked on any given night. And none of the names meant anything to him --- but he hadn't had high hopes in that regard. At last, he conceded to himself this was a wild goose chase.

On his way back to the lobby, he peered into three grand ballrooms in succession --- all presently unoccupied. One of these was presumably where the reception had been --- where the crime had taken place. The hushed, softly glittering marble and gilt trimmed walls offered up no clues.

His next undertaking began when he reached the lobby. Noticing the city directory on the front desk counter, an idea struck him. He turned through the listings until he found the following:

Van der Veen, Hugo, driver

A Lexington Avenue address was listed.

Thence did Anders proceed to discover an elegant brownstone mansion --- no doubt the residence of Hugo's employer. Did he still work for the man Ondine had described as a lawyer of ruthless repute? Slowly walking along the sidewalk, he made a covert survey of the property, but apart from a man raking leaves, he saw nothing of note.

Exploring further, he eventually found an alley by which the rear of the properties along the block were accessed. Here he ambled with his hands in his pockets, eventually loitering behind the house of interest without finding a good hiding place for a discreet observation post.

Squatting and pretending to tie his shoe, his attention was captured by a motion next to the carriage house where an unharnessed brougham stood idle. A uniformed man emerged from a side door and climbed up onto the driver's seat of the carriage --- a red-haired man in his early thirties! Was this the mysterious Hugo Van der Veen? Anders' heart beat faster as he watched the man rummage in the seat box, apparently searching for something.

A moment later, the fellow descended, and as he did so, his eyes landed upon Anders --- still crouched over his shoelace. Even at that distance, there was something about the hard stare that made Anders shiver inwardly. Was this man a murderer?

Unnerved by the steady gaze, he rose to his feet, gave a polite nod, and continued walking. Christ! What had he been thinking?! He had come here without a plan. Had he thought he would simply approach the suspect and ask, "Did you poison your brother?"

Retreating, he made his way back across town to the boardinghouse. To his frustration, no message had come from Ondine.

He was scheduled to pose at the Art Students League that evening, but as agitated as he was, he initially regretted having agreed to the session. Then recalling the depleted state of his finances after the visit to the medium, as well as the possibility of encountering Ondine at the class, Anders proceeded there in a more agreeable frame of mind --- further improved after a quick, precautionary frig.

Alas, when he arrived at the art class, there was no sign of the dark-haired beauty he longed to see --- neither as herself nor Simon Sellers. Such was his state of preoccupation while he posed, he did not accomplish much reading of the textbook he had brought.

Contemplating the day's investigatory efforts, a humorous memory arose of the very first conversation he had had with Ondine in the park --- when she had advised him not to abandon his medical ambitions for a career as a Pinkerton detective. How funny it would be to relay to her his ruse today at the Waldorf-Astoria! It had at least passed muster, even if it hadn't yielded any leads.

Anders forced himself to consider the hard question: what was the objective of his inexperienced efforts at detective work?

Ondine and he had identified the unpunished wrong doubtless responsible for Peter's restless spirit. What degree of restitution was necessary to terminate the haunting? Presumably, simply identifying the wrong would not suffice. Would the ghost be appeased if the murderer were arrested? Convicted? Received a life sentence?

In the hands of the police and courts, how long would an investigation and trial last? How many months of continued unwelcome visits would Ondine have to endure? And what if the guilty party escaped conviction through the vagaries of a fallible human justice system?

Would Old Testament justice be necessary to break the spell? Would the murderer have to die?

*****

Sunday dawned. When breakfast was finished and a message had still not come from Ondine, Anders set out on his bicycle. In the November cold, there were far fewer wheelers in Central Park than usual, and having the paths almost to himself, he rode vigorously over the next two hours, fast growing oblivious to the chill. His alert eyes roved over the leaf strewn landscape, seeking in vain the alluring girl who had beguiled his heart.

Twice did he lurk at the park entrance across from the Cornelissen mansion --- the second time recalling the post-church parade of millionaires along Fifth Avenue. Last month, he had glimpsed Ondine walking with her family in that ironic ritual. As the haughty New Yorkers in pairs and groups began to stroll past in their fur-trimmed finery, there was no mistaking that the promenade was underway --- but, despite observing for almost an hour, no sign was there of Ondine, nor the Cornelissen family for that matter.

This struck Anders as odd. It had been two days now since he had sent the message to her. Wondering if it had gone astray, he debated crossing the street and seeking out Braddock, but stopped himself. No --- not knowing what her present situation was, he could not risk being caught by her aunt and uncle and thus compromising the enterprise. He would simply need to contain his impatience.

Once returned home, he committed himself to catching up with his neglected studying. For several hours, he managed to remain focused on this endeavor. Come late afternoon, he went downstairs --- ostensibly to fetch a cup of coffee, but his eyes immediately went to the hall table. Damn! No envelopes --- and he knew for certain there were messenger services that operated on Sundays.

He stopped in the water closet before heading to the kitchen. As he stood, cock in hand, his eyes fell upon the stacks of newspapers on the floor.

Ever since he had lived here, Mrs. Sullivan had subscribed to the gossip rag Town Topics --- her chatter with the other lodgers about the stories therein had become a soothing, steady background hum these past three years. The old newspapers were consigned to the water closet. Indeed, Anders had occasionally heard some of the male boarders joke about which politician or millionaire they had wiped their ass on today.

He was seized by an idea. Under hypnosis, Ondine had mentioned the Society pages in Newport had reported her carriage ride with one of her suitors. These newspapers might be filled with clues! Crouching, he began flipping through the pile, scanning the headings for dates.

The doorknob rattled and someone knocked.

"Almost done!" Anders called. The dates on the newspapers were a mix from 1897 to 1900. Two issues were from 1899 --- he grabbed these and vacated the tiny room.

Coffee forgotten, he went directly to the pantry next to the kitchen where Mrs. Sullivan stored the bundles of newspapers tied with twine. The landlady not being present, Anders struggled to understand her system of organization for the old issues. It seemed to be none whatsoever. Kneeling on the floor, he shifted the bundles from pile to pile, untying twine to search through the stacks.

Mrs. Sullivan appeared to have retained certain issues and particular sections of the gossip sheet, according to preferences known only to herself. Many dates were completely missing, and others were represented only by a single page. Scouting for any 1899 date, he intermittently tugged out a newspaper and set it aside.

It was tedious work, but an hour later, he had searched the entire cache, compiling a stack of papers on the floor next to him. He re-bundled the remainder and restored order to the pantry. Scooping up the armful of loot, he retreated to his room.

He had intended to first place all the issues in chronological order, but as he began to arrange them on the bed, his attention was fixed by a screaming headline on the October 12, 1899 issue:

CORNELISSEN - VAN DER VEEN WEDDING TRAGEDY!

Taking it to the desk, he opened the paper to the article. The story was headed by a pair of photographs in oval frames. Despite the stark rendering in black and white newsprint, he did not need to read the caption to recognize Ondine. The photograph appeared to be a formal portrait of her --- she was clad in an evening gown and her dark hair was arranged in an elaborate coiffure. In the customary manner, her face was expressionless --- her eyes already haunted-looking.

The second photograph --- also a portrait --- was captioned Mr. Peter Van der Veen. Anders studied it with keen interest. The subject was a young man in an evening suit. His angular, almost hawk-like face was slightly softened by a well-groomed mustache. Even with the indistinctness of the reprinting, he felt the intensity of the man's prominent eyes.

In dramatic and voluble terms, the story recounted the events of the wedding and reception --- not straying far from Ondine's account, at least in the essentials. There were extensive descriptions of the bride's gown, Mrs. Cornelissen's gown, and the gowns of multiple other distinguished female guests. Gushing details were presented of the decorations at the church and reception as well as of the dinner courses.

Anders skimmed over these sections until he encountered several paragraphs featuring a partial list of the notable families who had been in attendance: Astor, Vanderbilt, Morgan, Roosevelt, Rockefeller, Carnegie, Fish, Gould, Hyde, Hall, Billings, Van Wyck.

Among the names, he noted the Fordyces of Rochester and Dr. Mullenix's wife, Ellen, along with her sister. Dr. Mullenix himself was not named. When they had spoken of the girl last month, Mullenix had not mentioned being at the wedding. His wife must have attended without him.

The next moment, Anders' attention was riveted upon a paragraph further down:

The paragons of Social Order appear to have indeed been blessed with foresight in their canny prediction that the couple's short engagement testified to the inauspicious foundation of the ill-fated match. In a most unfortunate omen of the calamity to come, the reception dinner was disturbed by the sudden and violent intrusion of an uninvited guest: none other than the fair Marjorie Montrose, star of many a popular Broadway operetta and comedy --- and favorite among the young gentlemen about town.

According to witnesses, the much-incensed demoiselle attempted to gain entry to the grand ballroom, demanding in highly undignified terms to speak to the groom --- with whom it has long been rumored she claims a particular friendship. Much to the poor innocent bride's embarrassment and the general company's discomposure, the newly-minted husband abandoned his esteemed guests to address the enraged actress --- by report, seizing the defenseless lady by the arm and dragging her across the lobby to the sidewalk outside the venerable hotel. An animated conversation was witnessed, after which Mr. Van der Veen returned to the reception --- his countenance was described as wrathful.

The flamboyantly dressed woman Ondine had described was an actress named Marjorie Montrose! The name seemed familiar, but he could not immediately place it. Although not a reader of gossip rags, he understood well enough the euphemism "particular friendship" --- the lady had evidently been Peter's mistress or lover. This confirmed Anders' theory about the woman.

On his list of suspects, he added the name Marjorie Montrose in parentheses next to the line Jealous lady friend of Peter?

The remainder of the article focused on the dramatic dénouement of the reception. Based on the description of Peter's symptoms, it appeared the newspaper must have obtained its information from someone quite close to the scene --- perhaps a member of the waitstaff. To Anders' disappointment, the story offered no further details as to the circle of men who had been around the groom prior to the cake-cutting.

Closing the newspaper, he set it aside and began hunting through the pile for the preceding issue. The October 5th edition was incomplete, but he paged through it fully, searching for the scattered paragraphs of gossip among advertisements for ladies' tailors, millinery shops, face powders, chocolates, pianos, florists, and cigarettes. The only pertinent reference was a brief discussion of the wedding decor arrangements.

Anders quickly deduced that the Society gossip in Town Topics was to be found under the section headed Saunterings, and when he flipped to said section of the September 28th issue, he was rewarded with a short article titled:

TWO'S COMPANY, THREE'S A CROWD?

Three photographs accompanied the piece: Peter Van der Veen's in the center, Ondine's to his right, and that of another young woman to his left. The name under the third photograph was Marjorie Montrose.

It was then that he recognized the attractive blonde woman. Last year sometime, Fulton had taken him to a musical comedy in which she had appeared. He recalled Fulton joking about her name, commenting that he would like to "mount her rose".

Filtering through the verbosity and sly innuendo, Anders realized the article concerned an unexpected encounter between Ondine and her fiancé a week and a half before the wedding.

According to the story, the two debutantes, Miss Ondine Cornelissen and Miss Lillian Barclay, were riding in an open gig when they passed the showroom of a certain elite carriage manufacturer and witnessed Peter Van der Veen assisting the comely soubrette, Marjorie Montrose, into a brand-new phaeton with gilded spokes and wheel rims. The humble reporter had it on "good authority" that the colorful munitions baron had just purchased the dainty conveyance for his special friend. All the parties in question beheld each other before Miss Cornelissen's carriage abruptly departed.

Good God! How were the newspapers cognizant of all these incidents?! Were there reporters following celebrated people around?

More to the point, he realized Ondine had known --- or at least had good reason to suspect --- that Peter had a mistress. She had known prior to the wedding. Anders recalled --- during the cab ride back from Five Points --- the wounded expression on the girl's face and her guarded demeanor when he had asked about the possibility of other women in Peter's life.

Interestingly, she had not mentioned Marjorie Montrose, neither then, nor under hypnosis. No doubt, the subject was a distressing one, and the omission was forgivable. Apparently, Ondine and Peter had reached some understanding regarding the incident, for the wedding had proceeded as planned.