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Next attack break hearts.
“This is beginning to annoy me,” said Marion Morgan.
She was feeling prison crazy, locked up in the Knickerbocker. Helen Mills was fine company, but she missed her job, the outdoors, the city streets, and, most of all, Isaac, who was working round the clock at Storm King. He had his detectives covering every base, but no matter how he tried, he could not find Antonio Branco.
“What do you want to do about them?” asked Helen.
“I wonder if Grady Forrer can help Isaac find how Branco gets in and out of Raven’s Eyrie.”
The women marched to the back of the Van Dorn offices, into the shabby rooms that housed Grady Forrer’s Research section. Scholars looked up from heaped desks. Researchers poked heads from crammed library stacks. Interviewers whispered, “I’ll call you back,” and hastily cradled their telephones.
“Welcome, ladies,” boomed Forrer, adding, sotto voce, over his shoulder, “Back to work, gents. I’ll take care of this.”
“Thank you, Grady,” said Marion Morgan. “But, in fact, we’re going to need everyone who has a few free moments to lend a hand.”
“What do you need?”
“The architects’ plans for Raven’s Eyrie.”
Twelve hours later, a deflated Grady Forrer apologized.
“The problem is the estate has been under almost continuous reconstruction for nearly a hundred years, starting shortly after Robert Fulton invented the steamboat and the first Culp destroyed his rivals in river commerce. The builders of J.B.’s New York mansion would have filed plans with various city departments, but apparently that was not the practice in the wilds of the Hudson Valley, at least in the face of bred-in-the-bone Culp hatred of government interference.”
Six hours later, when Grady had collapsed face-first on a cot and most of his young assistants had stumbled home, Marion suddenly whispered, “I’ll be darned.”
“What?” asked Helen.
Marion looked up from a folder of ancient yellowed newspapers. “Grandfather Culp had an affair with a Quaker woman from Poughkeepsie.”
“They printed that in the newspaper?”
“Well, they don’t come out and say it, but it’s pretty clear reading between the lines . . .” She checked the date on the top of the page. “This didn’t come out until after the Civil War. Raven’s Eyrie was a ‘station’ on the Underground Railroad.”
“The Culp’s were Abolitionists? That doesn’t sound like the Culp we know and love.”
“Her name was Julia Reidhead. She was a member of the American Anti-Slavery Society. But according to this, the Hudson Valley was not Abolitionist. They still kept slaves into the early nineteenth century. Only a few Quaker strongholds were against slavery.”
“Grandpa Culp must have been a brave man to be a station master.”
“It doesn’t quite say that. According to this, Julia Reidhead talked him into building a secret entrance through the wall so they could help runaway slaves on their way to Canada. Sounds to me like he did it for love.”
“Was she J. B. Culp’s grandmother?” Helen asked.
“No. She ended up marrying a missionary. They served in India.”
Helen read the story over Marion’s shoulder. “I hadn’t realized the wall was that old.”
“First thing they built. It seems the Culps have never liked other people.”
Antonio Branco walked into J. B. Culp’s trophy room and calmly announced, “The Italian Squad just arrested my assassin.”
“What? Can you bail him out?”
“The Carabinieri confirmed he’s an anarchist. He will stay locked up until your government deports him.”
“How could they confirm it so fast?”
