I am so sorry for the crazy delay. I bet you all thought that I abandoned the story. It was just life getting in the way. I have been desperate to go back to writing this for a long time. I hope you enjoy.
Amy watched Pendergast's back as he headed out of the Sitting Room. She forced her legs to unfold, groaning in pain as the bruising and stiffness reminded her of the days events. Doing her very best to not walk like an eighty year old, Amy padded after the other agent as he headed into the bowels of the house.
"Pendergast," she called out, receiving no reply. "Pendergast!" The man kept walking, his eyes focused ahead. Amy managed to catch up. "Will you be sharing any time soon, or am I to read your mind?" The sting of the sharp words was softened by a small smile. Pendergast, looked down at the younger woman and slowed down. They had approached large double doors, and Pendergast pulled one open, letting Amy in. He turned to the wall and turned on the lights. Amy gasped.
The room was easily two stories tall and filled with dark stained shelf upon dark stained shelf of books. Amy stood in the center of the dark burgundy carpet and spun around, taking in the Pendergast library. "Oh my God," she whispered in awe, as the crystal chandeliers and desk lamps cast a warm glow on the entire room.
"Thank you," Pendergast said with undisguised pleasure, taking her reaction as a compliment.. "This library has been the pride of the family for generations." Amy walked among the tables and book stands, her fingers gently tracing intricate carvings and leather bindings of tomes left open. She noticed that there was not a mote of dust anywhere and wondered, not for the first time, how Maurice alone could keep the place so immaculate. She realized that Pendergast was speaking again, "I spent many happy hours in here," he said, almost wistfully, his eyes unfocused as if reliving a memory. "Diogenes and I…, he stopped speaking and shook his head. Amy noticed sadness and something akin to anger, but decided to let it go.
Pendergast took a deep breath, "My mother and, before her my grandmother and great grandmother, engaged in the traditional pass time of the well to do women of high society." When that statement was met by a blank look from Amy, he went on. "They collected news about the family. Any mention in the newspaper, was cut out and put into books." He had walked over and reached for a thin, leather bound book with the year 1915 embossed in gold.
"A scrapbook," Amy asked. "The Pendergast women kept a scrapbook?"
Pendergast mulled that word over, "Perhaps that is the correct term. This was a journal of important family events and a repository of family history.
"In other words, a scrapbook," Amy reiterated.
"As you wish," Pendergast said as he was thumbing through the pages. "What you had said about Vestal Virgins reminded me of a story my grandmother told me about a woman, a distant family relation…a cousin of my Great Grandmother." He had stopped leafing through the book, laid it on the table and motioned for Amy to come and read, pulling out a chair for her and perching on the desk next to her."
Amy gently caressed the thick parchment as she began to read what she quickly realized was an engagement announcement. The article was from the New Orleans Gazette and was dated February 4, 1915. "The parents of Miss Georgiana Louise de Labertoux, aged 19, are very pleased to announce her engagement to Mr. Andrew Philip Marceau, aged 24. The couple was engaged this January 15, at the Grand Cotillion. Mr. Marceau was home on leave from France where he is stationed." Amy drew a breath and looked up at Pendergast.
"He was a soldier?"
Pendergast nodded. "The way my grandmother told it, he was an Army Lieutenant stationed in France, although for security purposes, the newspaper did not say where." Amy continued to read.
"The wedding is to take place at the de Labertoux family chapel on November 18th, after Mr. Marceu completed his patriotic duty. Miss Georgiana's cousin, Miss Amaryllis Pendergast will act as Matron of Honor and Mr. Marceus' brother, Francis, will stand as Best Man. The New Orleans Gazette would like to extend our best wishes to the happy couple."
"So they married and lived happily ever after," Amy said, looking at Pendergast.
Keep reading," the man said and turned the page.
The next article was dated 1916. "Miss Georgiana de Labertoux, along with several other young women who lost husbands or fiancées to the Great War...," Amy looked up, her eyes stricken.
"He died?" She whispered.
Pendergast nodded, "As did many young men from New Orleans...the cream of society."
Amy read on. "The young ladies have turned their grief into a beneficent force for good in New Orleans," the florid tone of the story was mildly annoying, but she found the story compelling. "Having had their hearts irreparably broken, these brave young women, have taken it upon themselves to serve the poor and underprivileged of New Orleans. Wearing the signature white of nurses and Vestal Virgins…," Amy looked up her eyes widening and Pendergast nodded.
"Wearing the signature white of nurses and Vestal Virgins, they bring food and medical care to those that cannot do it for themselves. Having foresworn companionship, they put all efforts into helping those less fortunate. These young angels of mercy make all of New Orleans and the entire state of Louisiana proud."
Amy finished the article and again looked up. "So translating what I read. Those poor young women…girls really, lost their loved ones to World War One and gave up…, Amy looked for a words, "…gave up male companionship in order to help the poor?'
Pendergast nodded. "My grandmother said that since most of the women had not yet married, they were still virgins and they made a promise to remain so while they did their work."
"What happened to them," Amy asked.
"Eventually most of them met young men returning from the War and fell in love. They married and left the work."
"And Georgiana?" For some reason it was very important for her to know.
Pendergast turned the page to another article.
For some reason Amy was afraid to read the final article with the ominous date of November 17, 1918. "The New Orleans Gazette must sadly report the passing of Miss Georgiana Louise de Labertoux. She was found this morning in her room in Miss Grantham's Boarding House. She was 22. It is believed that she died from the flu that has been ravaging the poorer sections of New Orleans since she has spent all her time in the Paupers' Hospital taking care of the sick." Amy took a deep breath and forced herself to finish the article. "Miss Georgiana was the last remaining Virgin of New Orleans, as the others had all left to get married and start families. Since Miss Georgiana's parents had already succumbed to the flu, her funeral will be organized and planned by the New Orleans Ladies' Society and this newspaper is pleased to be able to provide the flowers." The rest of the story provided funeral details and Amy skipped it.
Amy sat at the desk, not realizing that a tear escaped from her eye and ran donw her cheek. "How unspeakably sad," she whispered. "She lost the man she loved and then, after so much good work, she died al alone...," Amy paused for a moment. "I can't imagine anything sadder than dying alone." Having spent so much time on her own, Amy felt a strange kinship with this young woman, but somehow, Amy had never thought about what it would be like to always remain alone. The image painted by the newspaper articles was a stark and poignant reminder of just what her life could be...alone...always alone. Another tear escaped to run down her other cheek. Pendergast was looking at Amy, his eyes hooded and with a strange, almost pained, expression on his face.
"Yes," he said quietly. "It was very tragic. Nobody should die alone." There was something in his voice that caused Amy to look up as he reached out a hand and gently wiped away the tears. Amy froze as she felt the gentle brush of Pendergast's fingers on her cheek. She dared not breathe for fear of breaking the spell that seemed to have fallen. The two stood facing each other for a long moment.
"Forgive me Sir…Miss," Maurice had quietly entered the library. "Dinner is served."
The spell was broken. Amy tried to smile as she used her hands to wipe her face. "Shall we," Pendergast asked as he held the library door open for Amy and then led the way down the hall.
What does all this have to do with the murders? What is going on between Pendergast and Amy? Please let me know what you think? Thank you in advance for sticking with me and for taking the time to read and review.