A Veil Removed Read online

  Praise for the Henrietta and Inspector Howard series

  A Girl Like You

  “Michelle Cox masterfully recreates 1930s Chicago, bringing to life its diverse neighborhoods and eclectic residents, as well as its seedy side. Henrietta and Inspector Howard are the best pair of sleuths I’ve come across in ages—Cox makes us care not just about the case, but about her characters. A fantastic start to what is sure to be a long-running series.”

  —Tasha Alexander, New York Times best-selling author of The Adventuress

  “Fans of spunky, historical heroines will love Henrietta Von Harmon.”

  —Booklist starred review

  “Flavored with 1930s slang and fashion, this first volume in what one hopes will be a long series is absorbing. Henrietta and Clive are a sexy, endearing, and downright fun pair of sleuths. Readers will not see the final twist coming.”

  —Library Journal starred review

  A Ring of Truth

  “An engaging and effective romp rich with historical details.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “There’s a lot to love about the bloodhound couple at the center of this cozy mystery.”

  —Foreword Reviews

  “Set in the 1930s, this romantic mystery combines the teetering elegance of Downton Abbey and the staid traditions of Pride and Prejudice with a bit of spunk and determination that suggest Jacqueline Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs.”

  —Booklist

  “The second book of this mystery series is laced with fiery romance so delicious every reader will struggle to put it down. If you devoured Pride and Prejudice, this love story will get your heart beating just as fast.”

  —Redbook, “20 Books By Women You Must Read This Spring”

  “Henrietta and Inspector Howard make a charming odd couple in A Ring of Truth, mixing mystery and romance in a fizzy 1930s cocktail.”

  —Hallie Ephron, New York Times best-selling author of Night Night, Sleep Tight

  A Promise Given

  “Cox’s eye for historical detail remains sharp. . . . A pleasant, escapist diversion.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “Series fans will cheer the beginning of Clive and Henrietta’s private investigation business in an entry with welcome echoes of Pride and Prejudice.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Enjoyable, escapist read with some truths to savor.”

  —Historical Novel Society

  “Fans of Henrietta and Inspector Howard will delight in Michelle Cox’s latest novel. Romantic and atmospheric, A Promise Given offers an intriguing glimpse in 1930’s Chicago, by weaving in authentic period details and exploring the social tensions of the day. The unlikely pairing of the Howards—two characters from very different worlds—provides a tender love story.”

  —Susanna Calkins, award-winning author of the Lucy Campion Historical Mysteries

  A Veil Removed

  Copyright © 2019 Michelle Cox

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.

  Published 2019

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-63152-503-2 pbk

  ISBN: 978-1-63152-504-9 ebk

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018964807

  For information, address:

  She Writes Press

  1569 Solano Ave #546

  Berkeley, CA 94707

  She Writes Press is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.

  All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  To Amy Wheeler

  Those innocent days of exploring first the halls of Mundelein College, then Chicago, and then the world beyond with you are some of the happiest of my life. Thank you for those, and for being my friend, always.

  And posthumously to:

  Sr. Joan Frances Crowley, BVM, 1919-2009

  Thank you for your own part in broadening my understanding of the world beyond by pointing me in the direction of the past and for showing me that ultimately, love wins. Your zest for life was contagious.

  Chapter 1

  Elsie lay on the bed engulfed in darkness. The misery she felt threatened to overwhelm her. Harrison was gone. She supposed she should feel grateful—even happy—that things had turned out as they had, but she just couldn’t. Instead she felt ashamed and wretched. She turned over on her side, toward the window, not that it mattered. The thick velvet curtains covering the windows of her Palmer Square bedroom, drawn as they were now, let in little light. It must be nearly morning, though, Elsie surmised, and she felt sure that she hadn’t slept at all.

  What would she tell Henrietta? she groaned inwardly. She and Clive were due to arrive home late that afternoon. They had docked in New York the day before and were taking the train to Chicago today; at least, that was what she had been told. Elsie knew she probably wouldn’t see Henrietta for several days, as her sister would undoubtedly be caught up in the arrangements for Mr. Howard’s funeral, which had been postponed, she had heard, until Clive and Henrietta could get back from their arrested honeymoon. Poor Clive, she thought. She knew what it was like to lose a father. And how terrible for both of them to have had to abandon their lovely trip! Elsie winced at the thought that her own deviousness, her own sinful behavior, would surely add to their current woes.

  At first, she had been hopeful that perhaps her letter, in which she had revealed that she was eloping with Lieutenant Harrison Barnes-Smith, might not have reached Henrietta before she and Clive had had to rush home at the news of Alcott’s death. She had eventually realized, though, with a sickening sort of dread, that even if her letter had arrived too late for Henrietta to have read it, both she and Clive (how mortifying!) would surely hear the news from Julia at some point, anyway. Elsie had begged Julia to swear that she wouldn’t tell Ma what had—or had almost—happened, to which Julia had thankfully agreed, but not without warning Elsie that she could not, in truth, promise anything more.

  Elsie had been surprised that fateful afternoon, as she was hurriedly packing for her evening escape with Harrison, which she had assumed was to be her wedding night, when Karl had knocked and said that she had a visitor. Elsie was horrified to think that it might be Harrison, that he had arrived early (she still had so much to do!), but Karl had informed her that no, it was not the lieutenant, but rather, a young lady, a Mrs. Julia Cunningham.

  Julia?

  Elsie panicked. What would Julia be calling on her for? Perhaps it had something terrible to do with Henrietta or Clive, and Julia had been sent to tell her! She hurried past Karl, who was still standing dozily in the hallway just outside her bedroom door. Elsie entered the parlor and embraced Julia quickly, her face betraying her anxiety, and subsequently breathed a heavy sigh of relief when Julia responded in the negative to her distressed inquiries regarding Clive and Henrietta’s well-being.

  Once assured that they were truly not in any danger, Elsie tried to collect herself and proceed with the visit as propriety might demand, awkwardly offering Julia a chair and perhaps some tea? Julia had declined any refreshment but had accepted Elsie’s invitation to sit
down. As she did so, Elsie’s mind uneasily began to guess at what other reason Julia might have to condescend to visit her—and unannounced at that. Worriedly, she supposed that it couldn’t be anything good.

  Julia, as it happened, did not leave Elsie guessing for long. She entreated Elsie to recall the conversation she had had with her and Henrietta in the bride’s room at Sacred Heart on Henrietta’s wedding day, as the three of them had held hands and declared their love for one another, just before Henrietta had walked down the aisle.

  “That makes us like sisters, does it not?” Julia asked, sitting beside her on the settee. Elsie very enthusiastically agreed, to which Julia then proceeded to ask, quite delicately, if there was anything Elsie might like to tell her—anything at all.

  Elsie, growing nervous now, demurred, but Julia pressed. She had received a letter from Henrietta just the other day, she said, in which Henrietta had expressed concern about a certain lieutenant . . .

  Elsie blushed profusely at the mention of Harrison but did not answer.

  Julia went on to say that she felt it her duty to inform Elsie that, as charming as Lieutenant Barnes-Smith might appear, she was very sorry to tell her that he possessed quite a bad reputation. Lowering her voice, then, she asked if Elsie had not heard the story of poor Alice Stewart?

  Elsie bravely met Julia’s eyes at the mention of the unfortunate Alice Stewart, saying that she had indeed heard of her and that she had, as a matter of fact, asked Harri—the lieutenant—about her and that he had told her that it was a common misunderstanding, that he was not to blame in that very disagreeable situation. He had told her everything, Elsie said, not without a little bit of triumph in her voice.

  Julia reached out and took her hand. “Did he?” she asked quietly. “Did he mention how he secretly engaged himself to her and got her with child?” She said this last bit barely above a whisper.

  Elsie’s throat tightened.

  “But when Alice’s father refused to settle any money on her as long she took up with the likes of him,” Julia went on, “the ‘honorable’ lieutenant released himself—and her—from any betrothal promises.”

  Elsie could not help letting out a little murmur at this point, as she had, quite unconsciously, been holding her breath.

  “Alice was sent to live with relatives for the duration of her confinement,” Julia continued, “and the lieutenant walked free—denying everything.”

  “Didn’t . . . didn’t her family do something? Force him to marry her, perhaps?” Elsie asked, a slight crack in her voice.

  “No, they wanted to be well rid of him, calculating that the mild scandal would be worth it. Alice had to give the child up, of course, and then her mother took her to Europe for the season to escape all of the bad rumors. I’m afraid her reputation is in tatters now, though. Her only hope is to marry a foreigner,” she sighed.

  “You’re . . . you’re sure?” Elsie asked, shocked that Harrison had not only lied, or had left out a very large portion of the story, at any rate, but that he also had a child somewhere out there. Hastily, she wiped away a tear from the corner of her eye.

  “Very sure, dearest,” Julia said quietly.

  Elsie burst into tears, then, her body racked with sobs as she gave in to her despair. She knew it was unladylike in the extreme, but she couldn’t help it, nor did she really care. Julia didn’t seem to mind the breach in etiquette, either, and quickly moved closer to her and put her arms around her. Elsie confessed the whole sordid tale, then, how she had very nearly succumbed to the same devious plan as had been tried on the unwitting Alice Stewart, but had left out the very important detail of how he had already seduced her, how she had given her virginity to this wretch. In truth, however, she had not given him anything—he had taken her virginity, their dalliance that night having been closer to something forced more than anything else. But poor Elsie could not, even now, admit that to herself, much less utter the words to one such as Julia; she was ashamed enough already. Elsie thought that she might tell Henrietta when she returned, but then again, maybe not.

  Julia listened calmly to all of Elsie’s sad story, and when it was done, she entreated Elsie to come and stay with her for a few days. Elsie declined at first, but when Julia pointed out that she was in no fit state to face Harrison when he appeared—apparently, in just a few hours—Elsie reluctantly acquiesced and left a note for him, which Julia made sure to discreetly read first, with Karl. Mrs. Von Harmon would not know or care if Elsie went to stay with the Cunninghams: she believed her to be going to stay with her Aunt Agatha and Uncle John, anyway, as was her usual arrangement on Wednesdays, and which had been the proposed cover for her escape with Harrison.

  Julia herself had helped Elsie pack a small portmanteau and had taken her back to Glencoe with her. Once she had settled Elsie in one of the guest rooms to sleep off the exhaustion from the emotion of the afternoon, which had included some additional rather violent sobs, Julia had quickly telephoned her father to employ his help in the matter.

  Upon receiving Julia’s worried call, Alcott had been very sorry and, indeed, quite incensed to hear of poor Elsie’s woes and had promptly attempted to put a call in to the reprobate’s uncle, Major Barnes-Smith, who had not only been Clive’s commanding officer in the war but who had also been Clive’s best man at his wedding, which is how Alcott had come to know him better.

  After several precious hours of trying to reach the major at his home, Alcott attempted to instead telephone him at Fort Sheridan and was promptly put through to one Colonel Perkins, who crisply informed him that Major Barnes-Smith had been summoned to Washington, DC, several weeks ago now to report for duty, but that was really all he could divulge. It didn’t take too long for Alcott to add up what had probably been going on in the major’s empty house while he was away, and he felt a fresh burst of anger toward Harrison Barnes-Smith for more than likely using the major’s home as a den to lure the innocent Elsie. Why, she was little more than a child!

  Alcott then explained to Colonel Perkins that he very desperately needed to speak to the major regarding a matter that was somewhat delicate in nature. Could the colonel possibly get a message through, asking the major to telephone him at Highbury as soon as possible? Colonel Perkins grudgingly took down Alcott’s information before he rang off and said he would do what he could, but no guarantees.

  Alcott sat back in his chair in his study then and poured himself a brandy as he considered what to do next. He supposed he should ascertain whether Elsie had been interfered with—but he would leave that to Julia. Dwelling on such a subject for any length of time made him decidedly uneasy. He contemplated confronting the lieutenant himself and possibly trying to detain him, but what good would that do? he mused. No, he would leave it up to the major; after all, Harrison was his nephew. Alcott predicted that once the major was finished with him, the lieutenant would very soon find himself stationed somewhere remote, held by a very short rope. He would tell Clive, of course, when he came home. He contemplated writing to him, but why bother him with such a thing on his honeymoon? No, he would handle it on his own.

  He should probably tell Exley, though, he sighed, as he took a longish drink of his brandy. That was sure to go badly, but Alcott knew that if it were he in Exley’s position, he would want to know, if only to perhaps keep a closer eye on what Elsie got herself into. John and Agatha had told him and Antonia that the girl was coming to stay with them regularly, with the intent of exposing her to society, as per Exley’s instruction, but obviously the lieutenant had wriggled his way through that particular line of defense. Alcott wondered whatever had happened to that neighborhood boy Elsie had turned up with at the engagement party. They had seemed well suited—not that his opinion ever counted in such matters. Knowing the Exleys as he did, however, Alcott presumed that the boy had probably been long since chased away by now.

  No, he sighed, he supposed he would have to drive over and see Oldrich in the morning. Not that he had time, really; not with thi
s other business pressing so hard as of late. Alcott stood up, unsettled, and gazed at the papers lying on his desk, his eyes unfocused. At the bottom, he knew all too well, carefully tucked under the blotter, was yet another letter from Susan, this one more pressing, more demanding. Alcott moved from behind the desk and began to pace.

  What was he to do? It had gotten worse since Clive’s wedding, oddly, and was almost out of hand now. He cursed himself for not having confided the whole miserable business to Clive earlier. Enough was enough, as it were. If he allowed it to go on any longer, he risked putting Highbury itself in jeopardy—but more than that, he didn’t want Clive to inherit the problems he himself had forged. After all, Clive would have enough to worry about when he took the helm.

  Alcott walked to the fireplace and braced himself against the mantel, his arms outstretched as he stared into the flames. He should never have gotten himself involved with these—what would he call them?—ruffians! He had always refused to call them by their more common name—the Mob—though as time had gone on that was what he felt sure they were a part of.

  Shortly after his marriage to Antonia, her father, the powerful Theodore Hewitt, had unveiled his plan that Alcott and Antonia should move to the Midwest and capitalize on the emerging automobile industry in Chicago and Detroit. Both had been loath to do so, but Mr. Hewitt had assured them that he would have a mansion built for them to rival any in New York, and Alcott, it was known, had always had a penchant for luxury racing cars. Not that that would be the thrust of his business, Mr. Hewitt had explained to him over countless glasses of cognac and cigars, but he could always dabble on the side, he had wryly suggested. Alcott had at first tried to protest this proposal, saying that he had read Greek at Cambridge and had no idea regarding business affairs, even in the slightest. Hewitt had told him not to worry, that he would surround him with business aficionados and that he need act only as a figurehead of sorts. Make sure everyone was on the up-and-up, as it were, someone to make sure Hewitt wasn’t being cheated at the end of the day.