The Black Cats

The Search Begins

AT FIRST LIGHT, I awoke at the foot of Sissy’s bed. Between my apprehension and hers, I got very little sleep. My bedmate must’ve nodded off during the night, however, for she slumbered beside me now. I looked across the room at old Muddy. I’d beaten her to the dawn. With my thoughts still on Midnight, I slunk downstairs, unbeknownst to anyone. Eddy snored from the parlor, right where the women had left him last night. Before the family could wake, I unlatched the front door, loosening it with a jump and jab, and fled into the neighborhood.

Water shimmered on the empty cobblestone streets, reflecting the rosy hues of sunrise. The storm had blown over. I noted a few broken tree limbs and flipped umbrellas as I headed north, but otherwise the Spring Garden area appeared normal—save for the carnage at the Arnold house. I began to run and did not stop until I reached the cobblers’ stone walkway. Setting aside thoughts of my own safety, I leapt through the hole I’d made in the window last night and alighted to the kitchen floor. The room stood empty. “Midnight!” I called.

No answer.

“Midnight! Are you here?”

Silence.

I searched the tiny single-story for any sign of the Arnolds, Midnight…even Mr. Fitzgerald. When that failed, I looked in the cellar. Not one person. Not one cat. Not one drop of blood.

***

Mr. Fitzgerald stopped sweeping to watch me enter the courtyard in front of his shop. “Hello, Catterina,” he said. “You’re out early this morning.” I sat nearest the cobbler shop and studied the man next door. At least I had found one of the humans in question. Had he killed Midnight and the Arnolds last night? Or had Abner and Tabitha taken Midnight for a stroll in the Spring Garden market, as Eddy and Sissy had done with me? Since the latter scenario was unlikely, the former scenario, however unfortunate, took root. Nevertheless, I clung to hope. In order to conduct a search for my friend, I needed some measure of it to function.

I examined the area in front of the shoemaker workshop, looking and sniffing for any sign of my pal. The shop’s dark interior, observed through the plate glass window, confounded me. Tabitha Arnold always closed shop on “the Lord’s day,” or at least that’s what Muddy called it. Yet that day had not come. I knew because the eldest member of our house hadn’t laid out her town dress or her black book last night in preparation.

A man brushed by me as I turned to leave. I recognized the stocky gentleman at once—Mr. Pettigrew. He jiggled the handle to the Arnolds’ shop and scowled. After uttering a few terse words I shall not repeat, he surveyed the courtyard and located Mr. Fitzgerald. “You there!” he bellowed. “Do you know when the shoemaker will arrive? I’ve got a bone to pick with him. Rain seeped in my shoes last night and ruined my stockings.”

“I imagine the store will be closed today,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “The Arnolds are suffering from…maladies. I called on them last night, and they were doing poorly. Come back tomorrow.” He brushed the collected debris into the street and entered his shop.

“Maladies,” Mr. Pettigrew said under his breath. He looked me. “Stay away from here, pussycat. Mr. Arnold doesn’t like your kind.” With a tip of his hat, he left the way he came, the soles of his shoe flapping on the sidewalk.

Though I could not imagine Mr. Fitzgerald cleaving anyone, least of all Midnight, I entered his shop just in case. It presented no new evidence, so I left for Mr. Beal’s house to speak to George and Margaret, cutting through the alley. The Quaker Cats, too, had set out early, and I caught them near the razed Arnold home. The lot had been cleared shortly after the fire. In recent days, bricklayers had built a maze upon the blank earth. I’d watched them at their work, a dull affair second only to Muddy’s scrubbing of the walkway.

“We were coming to find you,” George said. “The Coon Cats are still with Mr. Eakins and won’t be leaving today. Maybe not even tomorrow. Any word on Midnight?”

“No, haven’t seen him. And worse, the Arnold house is empty.”

“Empty?” Margaret said with a sniffle. “Where could they have gone?”

“I intend to find out,” I said. “But I need your help.”

“We are always here to help,” George said. He lowered his head. “Except for last night. Margaret and I are sorry, Cattarina.”

“Truly sorry,” Margaret said. “But Mr. Beale locked all the windows and doors—even the shutters—with the coming storm. We couldn’t leave. And with my cold, it would’ve been too dangerous.” She sneezed, illustrating her point.

“If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.” I sighed. “It was my plan.”

“And now Midnight’s dead,” Margaret said forlornly.

“No, we mustn’t think like that,” I said. “Grief will slow our efforts.”

“Don’t worry, Cattarina. We’ll turn over all of Philadelphia if we have to,” George said. “Midnight will surface.”

***

George and Margaret agreed to search the streets while I returned to the Arnolds’ residence to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Since I’d botched things last night, I decided to once again enlist human help. Sissy’s keen eye rivaled my own, and Eddy’s mind worked in ways beyond comprehension. At this point, I would even take Muddy if I could push her from the kitchen. Across the street from Poe House, I caught Eddy and Sissy leaving a cab. From their costume, they had come from a grand affair. Eddy wore his brocade waistcoat he saved for readings, and Sissy had donned her new river dress. Arm in arm, the couple lingered on the sidewalk, in no particular hurry to go home. I watched them for longer than I should have, considering Midnight’s predicament. Perhaps sentimentality had gotten the best of me, but I had never seen Eddy so happy, so far from the melancholies of last autumn. I wanted him to stay that way forever. My one regret? That I had not been the one to bring about the change.

The carriage driver snapped the whip and urged the horse down the street. Then a pony cart driven by a freckle-faced girl whizzed past. What traffic! When the road cleared, I joined the pair mid-conversation. “Was the meeting to your liking?” Sissy asked Eddy. She’d curled her hair. Two black locks hung in spirals on either side of her ears. A closed fan dangled from her wrist.

“The Sons of Temperance is a fine organization,” Eddy said. “I should’ve attended a meeting sooner, but I was waiting for the right moment.”

“And it came.”

He patted her hand. “I am sorry, Virginia.”

She gazed at him. “Today we start anew, Edgar.”

It did this cat good to see her companion so full of merriment. But I had a task and could not be deterred. I waited for them to begin walking then introduced myself to their cadence. This step could not be skipped when attempting a feat of this complexity. It was one thing to bring a human from parlor to kitchen; it was quite another to guide them through the neighborhood.

“Good day, Catters,” Eddy said. “I trust you slept well.”

“Oh, she didn’t sleep well at all,” Sissy said, looking me over. “Poor thing wouldn’t stay put last night. Must’ve been the storm.”

I ziggety-zagged in front of them, orchestrating their strides without raising suspicion. They paid me no mind and continued chatting as they passed Poe House.

“It’s odd that Tabitha Arnold wasn’t at the meeting,” she said. “She even urged me to go. Told me she’d meet me there.”

“I didn’t mind,” he said. “It gave me more time with my beloved.”

I pushed them north past the intersection of Green Street.

“An afternoon stroll is an exquisite idea,” Sissy said. She opened her fan and waved herself.

“I thought it was your idea,” Eddy said.

“As long as it was someone’s idea.” She laughed and hugged her husband’s arm tighter.

We navigated wicker buggies filled with tots and toddlers wielding horehound sticks. The tiny humans delighted Sissy, for she smiled and pointed at each one, remarking on their cherub cheeks and angelic smiles. I stayed the course, thinking solely of Midnight, and detoured them west toward the Arnolds’ home.

She closed her fan. “Do you ever want children?”

“What has gotten into you, Virginia?”

“On days like this, when you are…” She cast her eyes downward. “…healthy, I think what a wonderful father you would make.”

“We’ve been through this before,” Eddy said. “It would be too taxing for you.”

She bit her lip then said, “Are you sad?”

“I am always sad, my wife. But you and you alone make me better. You are my queen in this kingdom by the sea.” He gave her a wink.

“That’s a lovely sentiment, Edgar. You must think about putting it to verse.” She laid her head on his shoulder and continued in silence.

Ziggety-zag, ziggety-zag, all the way to the cobblers’ home. Exhausting work, but I’d done it. I deposited them in front of Abner Arnold’s house and turned up the walkway. They did not follow. Running out of both patience and time, I yowled. And good.

“I think she means for us to join her,” Sissy said. She pulled Eddy to the door. “Who could live here, I wonder? Do we know anyone on Logan Street? What a gay adventure!”

“I am game for an escapade.” He rapped the door with his knuckles. His enthusiasm vanished when Abner Arnold answered the door.

Frightened, I dashed behind the folds of Sissy’s skirt. We would never gain access to the home, now that the cobbler was home. Midnight could be inside, in need of my help, and I could not give it. I peeked around the volume of silk and watched the exchange.

“What do you want?” Mr. Arnold said. His shirt had come untucked and hung about his waist like a short dressing gown. Even from behind Sissy’s skirt, I caught the scent of rum. He scratched the peeling scabs on his chin and neck.

Sissy regained her composure first. “We are looking for your wife, Tabitha,” she said. “Is she here?”

“No, and you can thank Mr. Fitzgerald for that,” he said. “She ran off with him last night. Can’t trust the Irish, can you?” He swayed, leaning against the doorframe for support. “If he tells you any different, he’s a liar the size of Pennsylvania.” He rubbed his stomach and winced.

“Your wife left you?” Eddy asked.

Mr. Arnold pushed the door open with his foot. “You see her inside? You see her at the shop?” He scowled. “Didn’t think so.”

“Did she give a reason?” Eddy asked. I could not see his face, but his voice held genuine concern.

“Women don’t need a reason, do they?” Mr. Arnold said, casting an eye at Sissy. “Don’t drink, Abner, it’s not good for you,” he said in a high timbre. “Don’t go to Jolley’s tonight, Abner, you’ll put us in the poor house.” He spat on the ground and lowered his pitch to normal. “Bah! Good riddance to her, and good riddance to you.” With that, he slammed the door in our face.

Eddy didn’t move. He looked at his shoes. Mr. Arnold had given him something to think about, though I knew not what.

Sissy took his hand. “Husband? Are you well?”

He lifted his gaze and searched her face, his eyes glassy and wet. “I am very well today, thank you, Mrs. Poe.”

***

Sissy waited until we’d reached North Seventh before speaking of the cobblers. “Husband, something is wrong. I do not trust Mr. Arnold’s story. Why would Mrs. Arnold run away with Mr. Fitzgerald? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I’ll say. I never pegged ol’ Fitz as a lover.” His mood had brightened since our chat with the cat killer.

“Eddy!” she said. “That is not what I mean! And lower your voice. I don’t want anyone hearing you say that word in public.”

“What? Fitz?” Eddy said.

“Oh, how you tease.” Sissy slapped him on the arm with her fan.

I trailed several lengths behind them, disheartened by countless failures. If I didn’t find Midnight soon, I’d have start looking for his grave. What had I done? When I thought of George and Margaret, I trotted ahead, in line with my companion. Maybe the Quaker Cats had discovered Midnight this morning, alive and well.

“I think Tabitha Arnold could be in real trouble,” Sissy said. “Mr. Arnold gave me a queer feeling. He had an untamed look about him, like a hungry tiger.”

“A hungry tiger! What wild imaginings!” Eddy chuckled. “May I remind you, Mrs. Poe, that you wrongly suspected Mr. Fitzgerald of killing Pluto. Not everyone can rationalize like my Detective Dupin.” He steered them around a window-shopping couple before resuming their path on the sidewalk. I stepped onto the cobblestones to accommodate the detour. “Mind the street, Catters,” he said to me. “Mr. Arnold may drive his carriage down the street and kill the lot of us.” He waved his hand. “In one pass.”

“Make fun if you will,” Sissy said. Her earlocks bobbed as she spoke. “But Tabitha told me she’d be at the temperance meeting this morning. She would never close shop on a Saturday. And by the by, Mr. Fitzgerald’s not out of the stew pot yet. He and Tabitha have been arguing over that tree for months. What if he did something to her—”

“My dear! I have heard enough! We will speak to Mr. Fitzgerald and get the story from him.”

It didn’t take long to reach the shops of Franklin Street. We discovered Mr. Fitzgerald sitting in the shade of the sassafras tree, his back to the trunk, sipping a cool drink. I wasn’t sure we’d find Midnight here, but my ideas had run their course. After pleasantries about the weather—did they not understand the urgency?—Eddy and Sissy recounted much of what they said on the walk. It did not match word for word but contained many of the same themes, including Tabitha Arnold. This gave me courage, for if we found her, we’d probably find my pal.

“Abner Arnold is a right fibber,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “It’s true. I paid them a visit last night. But I left alone, coming back to the store to tidy up. There’s been a run on buckets since the fire at their house, and I can’t keep the display in order.” He took another sip from the glass. I admired the bony apple bobbing along his neck.

“How lucrative,” Eddy said.

Sissy elbowed her husband. “Did Mrs. Arnold seem well, Mr. Fitzgerald?”

“Not at all. In fact, I think she and Mr. Arnold had been arguing. A real knock-about if you ask me. I’d bet anything the old man had just come from the grog shop.” He winked at me. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Cattarina? You’re a lady.”

I turned to show off my tail.

“Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald. You’ve been most helpful,” Sissy said. She pulled her husband in front of the cobbler shop, and I joined them. “You see!” she whispered. “Mrs. Arnold is in trouble.”

Eddy frowned. “I think we should call Constable Harkness.”

I swiveled my ears, catching the name. Though I did not hold much stock in Constable Harkness’s rationation skills, he did serve on the side of justice. A shame he hadn’t been summoned for Snip’s killing. This could have all been avoided.