“Come on, Cooper. Let’s take the stairs. It will be good for you.” Caroline began leading him toward the circular steps. I wanted to go after him, to tell him to be careful, to take the elevator once they reached the next floor so he wouldn’t tire out. But I didn’t. Caroline was there to take care of him, to see that he didn’t overexert himself. He was hers, after all.
Margie’s eyes widened as she looked at Cooper, immediately registering who he was. I shot her a warning look to be quiet. She continued to pant, so I started to lead her over to the foyer bench that served as a waiting area but stopped when I met the disapproving glance of the nurse on desk duty.
“Come with me,” I said, leading her into the elevator.
We exited on the second floor, where two orderlies were arguing with one of the doctors about the heavy bookcase against the wall that made it difficult to move stretchers past it. I’d asked Dr. Greeley about having it moved several times, but it was an old antique and he was afraid it might get damaged if it were moved. I assumed his real reason for saying no was because I’d been the one to bring it up instead of him.
I led Margie to a deserted office with beautiful stained glass doors. Hopefully if Dr. Greeley saw me, he’d think I was having a discussion with the next of kin of a patient.
“So that’s your captain.” She smacked her lips together as if she’d just eaten something delicious.
“He’s not mine. And that was his fiancée.”
Margie snorted. “That ice queen?” Smiling smugly, she said, “In the few short minutes I saw them, I could tell that he looks at you a whole lot differently than he looks at her.”
Ignoring her, I said, “Why are you here—is something wrong? Is it your mother?”
She shook her head and slapped the journal onto my lap. “I just couldn’t wait to show you this. I’ve been working on it since I saw you, but this morning I found something that will blow the dots off your dominoes.”
I started to open the journal, but she slapped her hand down on top of it. “Not so fast. These are my notes that I jotted down while doing my research, and you can take it with you to read later. But I just couldn’t wait and had to tell you it all myself.”
We both looked up as two nurses scurried by outside the door.
“Well?” I said, not having seen Margie this excited since she’d found a pair of shoes on sale at Bergdorf’s that she could actually afford.
“I found your Harry Pratt in the library’s archives,” she blurted out. “Let’s just say that one last name was like poking a hole in a dam.”
“What do you mean?” Little tingles of anticipation marched up my spine, yet I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because this was a little mystery that Cooper and I had discovered, something that only he and I shared.
“Well, it wasn’t because he was a renowned artist, if that’s what you’re wondering. Or if he was, I can’t find anything connecting his name with the art world. His family was exceedingly wealthy—well, at least for a time—so it was most likely just a hobby for him.”
“Oh,” I said, leaning back in my chair, feeling oddly deflated. Harry had been so talented that I found it sad that he’d never realized his potential.
She patted my hand. “Don’t worry—it gets better.” She looked up at the ceiling above us. “This hospital used to be called the Pratt mansion, built in 1891 and home to Mr. and Mrs. Henry August Pratt and their three children—Harry, Gus, and . . .” She held her breath, her cheeks puffed out with air.
“And?” I prompted.
“Prunella.” She wagged her eyebrows. “She was in all of the society pages during her debutante year. Quite the beauty of her day, although I’m sure her fortune would have been enough to attract potential swains.”
“The owner of the dress,” I said.
She nodded. “We’ll get to her and the house in a minute—but first there’s poor Harry. He apparently fell off the face of the earth in 1893. His father hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency to find him, but no trace of him was ever found, living or dead. It was quite the tragedy. It was right after his brother, Gus, was killed in some kind of brawl—it was definitely whitewashed in the newspapers, no doubt due to his family’s prominence, but I could read between the lines enough to figure out it was something wonderfully unsavory.”
“That’s so sad,” I said, preparing to stand so I could get back to work. It was all interesting, but somehow removed from what I’d thought it would be. Poor Harry. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to him, and if he ever thought about the room at the top of the stairs of the Pratt mansion where he’d once created such beauty with only charcoal and paper.
Margie yanked my arm and pulled me back down in my chair. “Not yet, Kate. I haven’t even scratched the surface. I’ll be quick—but you need to be sitting down.”
My right leg began bobbing up and down as it did when I was impatient, and I pressed my hand on my knee to get it to stop. “All right. Shoot.”
She took a deep breath. “As I said, when I looked up the last name Pratt there were tons of articles about the family. But there was one subject that dominated most of the articles, and that was the mansion itself—this hospital that we’re sitting in now. About its architect.” She stared at me as if she were waiting for me to finish her thoughts.