Willow Locke - Anarchist Detective

Joseph

Zilpah and Shek walked hand in hand through the dull evening to the corner of 51st street and Madison Avenue towards the Belmont Mansion. Shek drew her breath at the sight of the collonaded limestone facade.
"Is it a palace, Zil?" she gasped.
"Yes, in a way."
They climbed the short flight of marble steps and stood in the portico. Zilpah stared at the doorbell, her extended index finger trembling. The enormous door was inset with an ornate stained glass window. There were little black birds with triangular wings rendered in iridescent glass among the blossoms of a cherry tree; the electric light inside the house made the pattern glow.
"It's so beautiful Zil." Shek bounced on her toes, reaching up to touch the glass.
The evening was drawing on, the streetlights were already lit. Something was wrong. Hannah should have been there before her. Zilpah turned to look over her shoulder, searching up and down Madison Avenue; searching for the quick, light stride, the auburn hair, the sweet smile she knew so well. Where was she?
"What's wrong?" asked Shek, clinging to her leg.
"Hannah was supposed to meet us—" Hannah was the one person she thought she could count on. They had had a pact. They were supposed to be in this together. Zilpah knew that Hannah had already been working for Alva for quite some time. It was Hannah who encouraged her. She had thought her meeting with Alva in the park that day had been purely a chance encounter, but it was Hannah who had arranged it. She wouldn't even be standing here, about to ring Alva Belmont's doorbell, if not for Hannah. They were supposed to come together, but Hannah had missed work and they hadn't talked. Zilpah had hoped that they would meet on the Avenue. She just couldn't picture Hannah sick. Was it some kind of ruse to dodge the Pinkertons?
Hannah was probably already inside. She must have thought it would be more discreet if they arrived separately. Shek could see her worry and she was getting anxious, looking around and biting the side of her thumb. She shouldn't have brought her, but she couldn't leave her at home. She thought how conspicuous they must look hovering on the doorstep—two tenement rats paying a visit to Lady Alva Belmont.
She rang the doorbell and an ominous precognition swept over her. Once she crossed the marble threshold of Belmont Mansion, there would be no going back. Her life—and Shek's—would change irrevocably. Of course, she desperately wanted her life to change, but whenever she tried to picture what the future would be like, a dark miasma of terror obscured her vision. She could only see her mother's face leering at her from over the rim of her oaken bucket.
The door opened and a young man wearing a dark brown tuxedo, black silk gloves and a yellow bow-tie beckoned them inside.
"Come in Zilpah," he said. "And who is this?"
He smiled, squatting down to look Shek in the eye.
"My name is Shekhinah," she flashed her gap-toothed smile, corn between her teeth.
"That's a pretty name,"
"It means queen."
"My name's Joseph," he held out a silk-gloved hand "Nice to meet you."
"Oh, sir, my hands are too dirty, I wouldn't want to ruin your fine clothes."
"It's all right," he said, shaking her hand. He took her broom and propped it in a corner next to an ornately carved jade umbrella stand.
Joseph had dark hair, flashing green eyes, and skin like burnished copper. He turned back into the foyer and gestured for them to follow. He eased the gigantic front door closed.
Zilpah looked around at the palatial corridor lined with corinthian columns. The interlocking domes of the corridor's ceiling were covered in frescoes. A flock of black birds flew into a golden sky, rolling clouds aflame with color from the setting sun. A winged grecian goddess stood with outstretched arms, the wind moving her golden hair and diaphanous jade gown, one of the birds alighting on her finger. Everywhere the brushstrokes were asserted, not hidden. It was as if the paint was light and shadow made substance, in motion over the surface of the forms, sometimes concealing them and sometimes illuminating them.
"It's Nike," said Joseph, following her gaze, "The goddess of victory. Alva's husband loved Greek art. John Sargent painted the frescoes, but Oliver never saw them finished."
"I've never seen anything like it-" said Zilpah,still looking up "It gives me vertigo."
Shek had let go of her hand and was gazing up at the ceiling in wonder, spinning around slowly in the foyer, trying to take in the whole fresco.
"Where's Hannah?" said the boy, "We were expecting you to come together."
"I-I don't know," Zilpah hesitated, "I thought she would be here. She wasn't at work today—"
"Alva won't be happy," he said, then, turning to Shek—"Would you like to see some wonderful toys?"
"Oh yes!" Shek smiled shyly, she clearly had a fondness for Joseph already.
Zilpah glared at him suspiciously, but he stared right back with his strange green eyes and held her gaze. He took her hand.
"Don't worry," he said "you're safe here."
He gestured to one of the passing housemaids, who rushed over.
"Emily, will you take her to Harold's old room and play with her for a while? See if you can get some of those lemon cakes from the kitchen."
Emily led Shek by the hand towards the kitchen. She skipped delightedly down the corridor, dragging the housemaid this way and that to examine the wondrous artwork.