The Man Who Was Poe Page 7

  “May I offer my congratulations, sir,” the salesman intoned with a bow.

  * * *

  Edmund kept running between his room and the café. One moment he was sure Mr. Dupin had deserted him, the next, that Mr. Dupin was late only because he’d discovered word of Sis and had gone to fetch her. Then, not knowing what to think, he spent the time inventing new calamities.

  Another hour passed before Edmund saw Dupin. He was coming down Wickenden Street, not in a hurry, merely strolling, gazing now this way, now that.

  Edmund, close to tears, rushed up to him.

  Dupin stopped, studied the boy, frowned and said, “What is the matter now?”

  Edmund stared at him in disbelief. “You said you’d wait for me at the café.”

  “Do you think I have nothing better to do with my time than sit about in such places?”

  “But …”

  “Edmund,” Dupin announced, “I could use a drink.” He started for the café.

  Edmund stood his ground.

  Dupin looked back over his shoulder. “I have received news of your sister,” he said and continued on.

  Edmund’s resolution dropped away. He raced to catch up.

  DUPIN TOOK THE table where they had sat that morning, then ordered whiskey for himself.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked Edmund.

  Unable to think of anything but what Mr. Dupin might tell him, the boy shook his head.

  Dupin dismissed the waiter. To Edmund he said, “Stop making yourself look so miserable.”

  Suddenly, the thought came to Edmund that Mr. Dupin had learned something terrible but was only waiting before announcing it. He shrank back in his seat.

  Paying no mind to the boy, Dupin drank for a while, then abruptly asked, “What have you been doing with yourself?”

  Edmund looked at him with surprise, “You gave me a message to deliver to Mrs. Whitman,” he answered.

  “Did I?”

  It was impossible for Edmund to reply.

  “Did I?” Dupin repeated.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dupin leaned over the table and said softly, “Did you see her?”

  “Mr. Dupin, you told me to.”

  “Was she very beautiful?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And did you give her the message as I instructed, only to her and when she was alone?”

  Edmund nodded.

  “How did she look when she received it?”

  “Mr. Dupin, you said you had found …”

  Dupin held up a hand to cut him short. “Never mind. I can imagine it.” He closed his eyes.

  “Mrs. Whitman asked me to give you a message.”

  Dupin looked up eagerly. “Which was?”

  “That you were to come, not at four o’clock, but at three-thirty. To the cemetery on Church Street, behind the house, so you can meet privately. No one goes there, she said.”

  “Good!” Dupin exclaimed and drank again.

  “Mr. Dupin, you told me that you’ve found something about my sister. Is that true?”

  Dupin looked up from his drink. “Who?”

  “My sister,” Edmund whispered.

  “Ah, yes. Your sister. Yes, I found out something.”

  Edmund sat bolt upright. “What?” he got out.

  “I know why she was stolen.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not prepared to divulge that —”

  “But … !”

  “— so you need not ask me anymore.”

  “Mr. Dupin. … !”

  “Nothing!”

  Deeply frustrated, Edmund watched Dupin, trying to understand him. He remembered the questions Mrs. Whitman had asked about the man. He thought of the least offensive one, screwed up his courage, and said, “Mr. Dupin?”

  “What?”

  “Where is your home?”

  Dupin glowered. “Why do you ask?”

  “Mrs. Whitman was surprised you were here.”

  “She needn’t have been.”

  “Are you here … on business?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Can I ask … what … business?”

  “No.”

  Stymied, Edmund cast about for another approach. But before he could think of what to try next, Dupin abruptly reached across the table, touched his arm, and said, “Mrs. Whitman is a remarkable woman, isn’t she?”

  Edmund didn’t know how to answer.

  “Helen,” Dupin boldly proclaimed, placing fingers to his heart, “I love now — now for the first and only time.” Once more he leaned over the table and in a voice full of solicitude, said, “Do you think I should marry her?”

  It was the second time that day an adult had asked Edmund’s advice. “I don’t know, sir,” he stammered.

  “Edmund, I wish you would tell me — in your own words — how Mrs. Whitman received my letter.”

  Edmund’s eyes began to fill with tears.

  Dupin scowled. “Now what?”

  “Please tell me what’s happened to Sis.”

  “No.”

  “I thought you had gone too,” Edmund continued, his voice choked, “that I wouldn’t see you again. You even left your notebook.”

  “And you read it.”

  Edmund shook his head.

  Dupin smiled thinly. “Edmund, you asked me my business. I shall tell you a great truth. Are you listening?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I am a creator of the future.”

  “The future? Whose?”

  “Mine. And yours.”

  “What about Sis?”

  “Hers as well.”

  “Can you tell me … what will happen to her?”

  Dupin looked at the boy curiously. “You read my notes. I am working on that.”

  Edmund blushed but asked finally, “Is she alive?”

  “People say I love death. Do you think so? Well, what difference does it make what you think? It takes us all. You don’t trust me, do you?”

  It was too much. Edmund leaned over the table and pressed his face in his arms.

  Dupin’s eyes flashed with anger. “Edmund, do not take my kindness for granted. I’m very close to bringing this business to a satisfactory conclusion, but one rude word from you and I shall drop it entirely.”

  Edmund tried to stifle his tears.

  Dupin leaned across to him. “Soon,” he said soothingly, “soon we shall have a solution. But it shall be my solution in my time.

  “Now,” he declared, “I need to shave and change. Can you fetch water to your room?”

  “Yes, sir,” Edmund mumbled.

  “Then lead the way.”

  Only as they were walking did Edmund remember what had happened in his room. “Sir,” he said, “when I came back from Mrs. Whitman’s, and you weren’t at the café, I thought you might have gone to the room, so I went there.”

  Dupin shrugged.

  Edmund said, “Someone else had been there.”

  Dupin stopped. “What do you mean?”

  “The room was torn up. Someone had opened Aunty’s trunk.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” Dupin demanded angrily.

  “I forgot.”

  “Forgot!” Dupin cried. “You are the dullest of boys! If I don’t resolve this business it shall be your fault.”

  Edmund felt as if he’d been struck.

  “Now, quickly, lead me there!”

  As they hurried now, Dupin asked, “What was taken?”

  “At first I thought nothing,” Edmund managed to say. “Then I realized a picture was taken.”

  “A picture?”

  “From Aunty’s trunk. It was of my mum and Aunty. Made just before Mum left for America.”

  Dupin stopped again and looked hard at Edmund. Then he said, “Is there anything else you have forgotten to inform me about?”

  Edmund struggled to keep from blurting out his frustration. “No, sir. I don’t think so.”

  Dupin kept
staring. Then he said, “Edmund, you are lying.” And he turned on his heel and began to walk fast again.

  Edmund hurried after him but for the rest of the way neither spoke.

  At the room Dupin took one look at the trunk and said, “It wasn’t forced.”

  Edmund looked at him blankly.

  “The person who opened it had a key,” Dupin explained.

  “Only my aunty had one,” Edmund said.

  “Then the person who came here took it from her. No doubt the person who murdered her.” Dupin stood up.

  Edmund felt his heart contract. “Was she … murdered then?”

  “Of course.”

  “But why?” Edmund cried.

  “Edmund, I am soon due at Mrs. Whitman’s.” Dupin held out the basin. “I require water to wash.”

  With a sudden movement, Edmund struck it aside. It clattered to the floor. Dupin jumped back. For a moment the two stared at one another. Then Dupin turned away. “Please be quick about it.”

  Sullenly, Edmund retrieved the basin and left the room. By the time he returned Dupin had changed his shirt. Now he proceeded to shave.

  Edmund sat on his bed and watched. One moment he wanted to scream out his rage at Mr. Dupin. The next he thought he should get on his knees and beg him to show some mercy. Then he thought the wisest thing of all would be to run away. But in the end all he said was, “Shall I go with you to Mrs. Whitman’s?”

  Dupin stopped brushing his jacket, “Under no circumstances,” he snapped.

  After a moment, Edmund said, “Then what should I do?”

  “Anything you wish.”

  “Should I wait here?”

  “I suppose.”

  “When will you get back?”

  “Edmund, it doesn’t matter to me where the devil you are. Just not Mrs. Whitman’s.” He slipped into his coat.

  Edmund pulled the blanket around himself. “I’ll stay here.”

  Dupin approached the door.

  Feeling a rising desperation Edmund cast about for some way to hold him. “Mr. Dupin,” he suddenly said, “there is something I haven’t told you.”

  Dupin opened the door. “Is there?” he said, the sarcasm in his voice making the boy wince.

  “It’s about my father,” Edmund said.

  Dupin froze. “What about him?”

  “I told you he had been lost at sea,” Edmund began slowly, finding it difficult to talk through the tightness he felt in his throat. “That’s what Aunty told us to say. It’s true. But … that was my first father who died. My mother remarried. It was my … stepfather who …”

  Dupin became very pale. He turned at the door. “Stepfather!” he gasped. “Have you a stepfather too?”

  The depth of Dupin’s reaction frightened Edmund. He shrank back. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. “I do.”

  “And you never told me …”

  “Aunty said I mustn’t,” Edmund pleaded, close to tears. “I’m only trying to do what she says. He abandoned Mum. After taking her money. It was right after they married.”

  “His name?”

  Edmund gulped back his tears and said, “I think … I never met him … it was a … Mr. Rachett.”

  “Rachett!” Dupin exclaimed, stepping further back into the room.

  “I can’t remember,” Edmund wailed in agony. “He misled her and abandoned her. I don’t even know what he looks like.”

  Dupin stood over Edmund. “But would he know you?”

  “Mr. Dupin,” Edmund cried miserably, “I don’t know anything!”

  “But I know,” Dupin shouted. “Because he did see you!”

  Shocked, Edmund looked up. “What do you mean? When? Where? How do you know?”

  “This morning you went in search of a coat, did you not? You entered a clothing store and were chased out. When you were there a Mr. Rachett saw you, and fled.”

  “Are you sure?” Edmund stammered.

  “Edmund, will you never learn. I am always sure!” He leaned close to the boy. “The question is this: can you, who were in the same place with him, can you describe him?”

  Edmund thought desperately. “Mr. Dupin, he was standing on a box. He seemed big. And fat. Whiskers, I think …” He shook his head. “That’s all,” he admitted. Then he said, “Did he kill Aunty?”

  “Edmund, are there more details you’ve been keeping from me?”

  Edmund felt his face grow red. But giving way to emotional exhaustion, he nodded. “It’s about … about why my mum was coming to America.”

  “So when I asked you about that this morning and you said you didn’t know, you lied.”

  “Mr. Dupin,” Edmund cried, “Aunty said … I have no one to help me. I need …”

  “Out with it!” Dupin barked.

  Edmund pushed himself into a corner and gulped down his pain. Finally he said, “My mum wanted to find my … this … Mr. Rachett to get back our money and” — his voice sank into a whisper — “divorce him. It’s not done in England. It had to be done here. In America.”

  “Did she find him?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Truly,” Edmund begged. “Please. Aunty said I must never tell. That’s why I didn’t. Please. You must believe me.”

  Dupin stared down at Edmund. “Do you know how much alike you and I are?”

  “What?”

  “So much the same — even to the stepfather. Except …” Dupin added, “except for one thing.” His eyes were full of torment.

  “What is it?” Edmund asked.

  “The death,” Dupin replied somberly, “of Sis.”

  “Don’t say that!” Edmund shouted. “You mustn’t. She’s not dead. She isn’t!”

  Dupin continued to stare at the boy.

  Edmund flung himself down and buried his face on the bed.

  Dupin went to the door. There he paused. “Edmund …” he said softly.

  Edmund could not face the man. He wished desperately for a word of kindness.

  “You said you were familiar with the workers on the docks. Is that true?”

  “Yes …”

  “Anyone who can tell you about current ships?”

  “Captain Elias.”

  “Find this Captain Elias and inquire if there’s a ship called The Lady Liberty. Where she hails from. Date of arrival. Cargo. In particular, the names of her watchmen.”

  Edmund forced himself to sit up. “Can’t you tell me why?”

  “I wish to know if a Mr. Fortnoy lied under oath,” Dupin said.

  “Mr. Fortnoy?”

  “He was there on the dock last night. The white-haired one. Do you recall?”

  Edmund thought hard. Remembering, he nodded.

  “He’s the one I believe murdered your aunt.” So saying, Dupin departed.

  AN EXHAUSTED EDMUND remained on the bed staring after Dupin. One moment he was convinced that everything the man said was true. The next he was just as certain it was all mad, the product of drink. The only thing Edmund knew for sure was that he himself didn’t know what to think. It was impossible to settle on anything!

  With a violent shake of his head he came to a decision: he could no longer bear the agony of confusion. He would put Mr. Dupin to a test. If he went to Mrs. Whitman as he said he was going to do, Edmund would stay with him. But if Mr. Dupin did not go to the graveyard, if he had lied, he would leave him. He would seek help elsewhere. With a new sense of urgency Edmund rushed down the steps and onto the street.

  Though fog and drizzle had turned the day even gloomier, Mr. Dupin was not that hard to spot. The long black coat he wore, his slow, plodding walk, allowed Edmund to follow without himself being seen.

  But a few blocks beyond Wickenden, on Benefit Street, Edmund began to wonder if he was the only one following the man. Someone else was walking between him and Dupin. Whenever Dupin stopped — which he did a number of times — this person stopped as well.

  Edmund, wanting to know who it was, quickened his step. But as he drew closer the same fog whic
h had afforded him protection from discovery made it difficult to see who the stranger was. Then, just when he was near enough to see, the figure vanished.

  Mystified, Edmund recalled his notion of the night before, that a ghost had been hovering near when he came out of his building. But once again he could almost hear his aunty saying, “Edmund! There are no such things as ghosts.” So when he saw nothing more, not even a shadow, he decided he’d only imagined some stranger.

  A little beyond the Unitarian Church, Dupin abruptly halted. As far as Edmund could tell, he appeared to be gazing at the back of some large brick buildings which abutted the hill below. Then he turned and looked at the church, studying the fog-shrouded steeple. Dupin pulled out his watch and after consulting it, took hasty strides back to the church. To Edmund’s dismay, he entered.

  Mr. Dupin had failed the test. He was not going to Mrs. Whitman’s.

  Deeply disappointed, the boy retreated into a doorway across the street. There, eyes on the church entrance, he waited mournfully, hoping against hope that he was wrong about Mr. Dupin. But he began thinking about where else he could go, to whom else he might turn.

  * * *

  It was dim inside the church. By the light of a few candles set in sconces, Dupin scrutinized its vast space looking for steps to the steeple. What he saw were rows of pews and lines of prayer books tucked in front railings. The words First Unitarian Church stamped upon them ran from pew to pew like a glimmering thread of gold.

  Halfway up the empty aisle Dupin paused, sensing that all about him there were people huddled. His heart began beating rapidly. Were these people alive or dead? Unable to find the steeple steps he retreated anxiously. It was then that he discovered, to the left of the entrance, the very steps he wanted. He started up.

  Dupin climbed until he reached the bell room where the dangling ropes hung in rows. The height made him feel giddy. Alarmed, he grasped one of the ropes for support. The feel of it reminded him of something. Thoughtfully, he stroked the rope with his fingertips, then drew the string he’d found in the bank vault from his pocket. He compared it with the bell rope. It was the same substance, hemp.

  Dupin put the string away, and gazed through the steeple window down onto Benefit Street. Though the thin rain and growing darkness obscured his view, he was able to make out the same row of buildings he had studied from below. But what he saw now was a narrow, cobblestone alley, all but hidden, which ran from Benefit halfway down College Hill. There, against a building, it came to an end. That building — he recognized it from the shape of its singular roof — was the Providence Bank.