“What was the tragedy that befell the Stanfields?” I asked.
“Make that tragedies, plural. First came the trauma of the war. Then the disappearance of their daughter, followed by the loss of Edward, ending their bloodline and the dynasty. Like many mothers, Hanna loved her son very deeply. He was her whole world. In the span of just a few short months, the glory of the Stanfield name was scattered to the wind. Rumors flew about town that the Stanfields had been the victims of a massive theft, and some even made the sordid accusation they had committed insurance fraud after the fact. There were whispers about Edward’s ‘accident’ not being quite so accidental, considering it occurred mere weeks before his own wedding. Finally, the Stanfield gallery canceled an auction at the last minute, leading some to suspect the catalog had been a sham—a veritable faux pas in the art world. Quite a host of rumors flying about for such a small town. The Stanfields led a lavish lifestyle in the heart of high society, and suddenly no one wanted anything to do with them. Their coffers were soon empty. I’m convinced that Hanna Stanfield chose death in the face of solitude and disgrace. In the blink of an eye, she lost everything—family and fortune. Robert was first to go after a fatal heart attack, and there were even some who believed he had been poisoned. A foul lie, masking an even fouler truth—he dropped dead in the arms of his mistress!”
“Why no mention of any of this in the press?”
“As I said, Baltimore is like a small town. While Mrs. Stanfield wasn’t loved by all, she certainly had no shortage of friends in the highest of places. I suppose our local journalists and editors had the grace and dignity not to heap more on the back of a family down on its luck, especially one whose matriarch had spoiled the press so thoroughly in her heyday.”
“And just what was it they decided to keep quiet about?” I asked.
“All of this happened more than thirty years ago! Just what is your interest in the fate of the Stanfields?”
“It’s a long story.” I sighed. “You said that history is set into stone through deduction, cross-referencing of facts and events, so I’m just trying to cross-check the story in my own way.”
Morrison crossed over to the window and gazed out onto the street. The professor seemed miles away, lost in the not-so-distant past that seemed close enough to touch.
“I crossed paths with the Stanfields from time to time at social gatherings. An academic with any career ambition must venture out and mingle with high society from time to time. But I had never met with them in private, not until I was struck with the idea of publishing a book on the lives of the founding figures of Baltimore, a project I never actually finished. Robert was the only descendant of Frederick Stanfield. I reached out to him and received an invitation to visit. Robert was a quiet man who valued his privacy, but was also very generous. He gave me quite the warm welcome, inviting me into his study and treating me to a glass of incredible Scotch—a bottle of 1926 Macallan, a whisky so rare, there were scarcely ten bottles of it left in the entire world, even back then. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; the taste was unforgettable.
“We spoke at length, and I eventually gave in to my curiosity and asked a few questions about Robert’s past, starting with his wartime experience. Robert had shipped off to fight in France before the landings, an exceedingly rare occurrence. Most American soldiers serving in Europe in early ’44 were stationed in England. I knew that he and Hanna had met during that tumultuous period, and I secretly dreamt of recounting their story as part of my book. My vision was to demonstrate a continuity between the past glory of the Stanfield family and Robert’s own exploits.
“When at last I raised questions about how he and Hanna had met, the lady herself happened to enter the study, and Robert immediately cut the conversation short. Now, getting faithful accounts and asking pointed questions are part of my job, as is grilling my subjects for answers, just as you two are doing now. But I haven’t a clue as to the motives behind the couple’s secrecy. What I can tell you is that Hanna had a very strong influence over the rest of the family. It took mere moments observing the two of them in that study to see the extent of her authority. Hanna was the empress ruling over all. She called the shots. She even showed me to the door herself that day, both figuratively and literally. Firm yet courteous, she gave a message that was loud and clear: I was not welcome to return. I don’t know what else I can tell you. All else is gossip, a tawdry domain which I’m loath to enter.”