“Indeed. The intersection of Anthony, Orange, and Cross Streets once formed a little triangle called Paradise Square, down near Chinatown. And it was wicked. It was the foul heart of Five Points.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with Five Points,” Henry said.
“It was the most wretched slum on earth at one time! A place of thieves and cutthroats, bandits, and women of ill repute. Opium dens and people crowded into stinking, rat-infested rooms to sleep on top of one another. Oh, it was filth and degradation the likes of which civilized people cannot imagine. The mission could only do so much.” Miss Lillian tutted, shaking her head.
“The Methodist Mission and the House of Industry,” Miss Addie said and put her milky teacup on the floor for the cats. “It provided care and work for the less fortunate. Lil and I volunteered there for a brief spell, helping to rescue fallen women.”
Anthony Orange Cross was a forgotten intersection, not a killer. Paradise Square had been a slum. What did any of it have to do with the veiled woman? Henry wasn’t entirely sure that she was a ghost. Perhaps she was just a feature of their nightly walks, no more substantial than the fireworks or the children playing with stick and hoop? A message in a bottle delivered long after the writer is gone.
“Do you recall a murder that might’ve happened while you were with the mission?” Henry asked, a last-gasp attempt. “In Paradise Square, perhaps?”
“Young man, there were murders nightly,” Miss Lillian said. “You’d need to be more specific.”
“I don’t have a name, unfortunately. It’s a woman I’ve seen in my dreams,” he said, looking hopefully to Miss Adelaide, who stared into her cup. “She wears an old-fashioned dress and a veil.” Henry was losing steam and hope. “She might’ve had a little music box that plays an old tune. ‘Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me…’” he sang.
“Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee.…” Miss Addie sang in a whispery rasp. Her head snapped up. “The one who cries. I’ve heard her in my dreams, too.”
“Now, Addie, you mustn’t become agitated. You remember what the doctor said, don’t you?” Miss Lillian scolded. “Mr. DuBois, my sister has a weak heart. You mustn’t upset her.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Henry said. He didn’t want to exhaust Miss Adelaide, but he needed more information. “I only wondered if the woman in my dreams has a name?”
“The music box! That’s it. Yes. Yes, I remember. She came to us at the mission. Only for a few days. Don’t you recall, Lillian?”
“No. And I don’t wish to. Now, Addie—” Miss Lillian started, but Adelaide would not be stopped.
“I’d been trying to remember. It was there, but I couldn’t quite…” Miss Addie made a motion as if she were trying to grab something and bring it close. “She didn’t speak much English.”
“We had a lot of immigrants—they were easily preyed upon,” Miss Lillian said.
“She loved music so. Singing as if she were on the stage. Such a sweet voice,” Miss Addie said. “Yes, music. And that was how that terrible man reeled her back in.”
“What man?” Henry pressed, hoping Miss Lillian wouldn’t throw him out for it.
“That Irishman who ran the brothel,” Miss Lillian snapped. “I remember it now. He came for her one morning, talking sweetly. He gave her a little music box as a gift. He promised her a husband if she’d agree to go back.” Miss Lillian sighed. “That was that. She went away with him. I saw her only once after that. She was sick with opium and riddled with pox all along her pretty face. Syphilis,” Miss Lillian hissed. “It had rotted her nose right off, so she wore the veil to hide it. She still had the music box.”
“That’s it! It’s her,” Miss Addie said, agitated. “Oh, we are not safe.”
“Now, Addie, it was a long time ago,” Miss Lillian soothed. “That time is past.”
“The past is never past. You know that, Lillian,” Miss Addie whispered.
“We are safe. Everything put away in the box,” Miss Lillian said calmly, and Henry didn’t know what she meant.
“What happened to her?” he asked.
“I haven’t any idea.” Miss Lillian sighed and brought an orange tabby up onto her lap, scratching him lovingly behind the ears. “But I imagine it was a bad end.”
“She’s connected to him,” Miss Addie muttered. “They all are. I know it.”
“Now, Addie…”
“Connected to whom, ma’am?” Henry asked.
Addie looked at Henry with wide eyes. “The man in the hat. The King of Crows.”
“Addie, you’re entirely too riled. I’m afraid we must say good-bye to you, Mr. DuBois.”
Miss Lillian rose, signaling the end of the visit. Henry thanked the Proctor sisters for their time and the tea. Miss Addie reached for his china cup, frowning at the contents. “I don’t like the pattern of those leaves, Mr. DuBois. Some terrible day of truth is at hand. For you or someone you love. Careful,” she whispered. “Careful.”