"I did not mean to take you from your story." He patted her hand. "Please continue."
I stood and stretched. Caroline's lap had grown too bony for comfort, so I crossed to the end of the bed and secured a new spot until they'd finished their conversation. Hunting requires a great deal of patience, and I had plenty.
"After my parents died," she said, "I went to live with my Uncle Gideon. He and my father were close, very close, so my uncle treated me as his own flesh and blood. Life was tolerable, if not acceptable, for several years until my illness. Rapid heartbeat, general weakness, thinning hair. For the longest time, doctors didn't know what was wrong with me. And then my eyes began to…" She sat forward. "Mr. Poe, are you constitutionally prepared?"
"For things of a physical nature, I am not. But for this, none are more suited than I."
She lay back again. "It started with pressure behind my eyes, propelling them forward as if drawn by magnet. This predicament wasn't so much painful as alarming. But we Ferrises are hardy stock, and I persevered without complaint. A year later, however, they'd begun to bulge from their sockets with such protuberance that leaving the house was no longer possible unless I wore a mourning veil. And what is a mourning veil without the rest of the costume? From then on, I became a black ghost, drifting the streets of Philadelphia, wailing for a life lost—my own."
"Dear, God," Eddie said.
"Just going to market for bread and cheese became a hardship, and every night, I needed help binding my eyelids closed with a strip of muslin so I could sleep. As you can imagine, Uncle Gideon became my constant caretaker, leaving only for business trips to Virginia. It was during one of these jaunts that I caught an infection in both eyes, turning them as red and runny as ox hearts. Yet I was too proud to ask for help. How could I, looking as I did? He returned three weeks later to find me crawling around the kitchen on all fours, weeping and scratching at the bottom cupboards for a tin of crackers. Why, I had almost starved! By the time Uncle checked me into Wills, my eyes were beyond hope, and Dr. Burton had no choice but to remove them. So you see, vanity stole my sight." She delivered a stillborn smile. "They diagnosed me with Grave's Disease the same week. That was nine months ago."
"I have never heard of such an illness," Eddie said.
"There are infinite ways to die, Mr. Poe," she said, "and we are still learning them. You, of all people, should know that." She sighed and crossed her ankles under the blankets. "I sit before you now, an invalid at the age of twenty-five. Uncle Gideon wants to take care of me, but cannot, the poor dear. He talks of enrolling me in Perkins School for the Blind so that I can care for myself one day. But sadly, that day is not today." She clasped her hands across her stomach, signaling the end of her tale.
Sensing an immanent departure, I rose and arched my back, working out the knots in my spine. I prayed Mr. Uppity's home would be our next stop. If the serendipitous meeting with Caroline didn't persuade Eddie, our cause lacked hope.
"That was quite a tragedy, Miss Ferris. Worthy of pen and paper," Eddie said. He uncrossed his legs, creaking the chair. "Where is your uncle now?"
"He visited just last night and brought me my second eye. It does not fit as well as the first, but I cannot complain." She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oceania. I shall tell Uncle about it when he visits before dinner. He promised he would."
Eddie rose and put on his coat. "I can see that you are tired, so if you'll excuse me."
She felt for his hand one last time, shook it, then let it drop feebly in her lap.
"Come, Catters," he whispered to me. "It is time we left." On the way out of the hospital, he stopped by the front desk to speak to the narrow-shouldered woman again. "I was touched by Miss Ferris's story. May I have the address of her benefactor? I would like to speak to him about a donation."
"Benefactor?" she said. "Miss Ferris is a charity case. Her uncle could no more pay for lunch than hospital care, as least not from what Dr. Burton says. Said the man sold his piano to pay for her eyes, but I have my doubts."
"Oh?" he said. "How do you think he got them?"
"Won the money in a card game. My fella lives in Rittenhouse, and he knows Mr. Ferris as a gambler. Everyone does."
"I see." Eddie rubbed his chin. "Still, I'd like to pay him a visit. Do you have his address?"
She opened a small wooden box on her desk, flipped through several cards inside, and said, "Walnut Street, near Rittenhouse Square. That's all he wrote."
"You have been a great help," Eddie said. He turned to leave, snapping his fingers to bring me along.
"Oh, and Mr. Poe?" she called after us. "Visitors are welcome. But next time, leave your hell cat at home."
Answers and Questions
"We found the murderer, Catters," Eddie said to me. He'd hired another public carriage after leaving the hospital, and we rode in it now, heading north toward Fairmount—the opposite direction of Mr. Uppity's home. "If it hadn't been for you and your naughty streak, I might have left without meeting Miss Ferris and learning her ghoulish secret. I can't help but feel for Gideon Ferris, though. Who knows what lengths I would go to if Sissy were in that bed instead of Caroline. Even so, murder is murder."
We hit a loose cobblestone, bouncing us to the roof of the coach. I had grown weary of "full chisel." The driver slowed the horse and mumbled an apology we scarcely heard through the glass.
"Once we tell Constable Harkness about the affair," Eddie continued, "it will be over. I never dreamed to catch a murderer. Sissy will be thrilled, and Muddy will be… Well, Muddy will be asking if there's money in it."
I meowed. Yes, catch a murderer. But Mr. Uppity did not live to the north. He lived to the south, a direction from which we were heading away. Had the visit with Caroline been for naught? I sat near him and formed a strong mental picture of Rittenhouse Square, hoping my friend would take it into his own mind. Telepathy between cats is common, but I had never tried it with a human, and certainly not with Eddie. Due to our similar interests and tastes, we operated in tandem so often that alternative communication hadn't been necessary.
Eddie laid his hand on my back. "I hope the constable pays Mr. Ferris a visit before he flees, for surely he will when Miss Ferris tells him of my visit. I was overly curious about her eyes, and that detail will not escape a businessman like him." He pressed his mouth into a grim line and stared out the window. "Think of it, Catters, that black-hearted fellow may be leaving Philadelphia—right now—as we journey to Constable Harkness's house." A half block later, he rapped on the glass. "Driver, turn around and take us to Rittenhouse Square, Walnut Street."
I rubbed my head along his arm, cheered by the discussion of Rittenhouse and the swerve of the carriage. My gambit had worked! When we reached the park, the driver stopped at the end of the block, nowhere near the correct address. Very well. Eddie had taken me this far; I would take him the rest of the way. As he exchanged money with the driver, I hopped to the sidewalk and dashed down the street until I arrived at Mr. Uppity's home. In the bright afternoon sun, the structure looked even more ramshackle than it had before. Paint peeled from the shutters like dead snakeskin and cracks disgraced the walkway. When Eddie approached, I climbed the front steps to the porch and waited.
"Catters!" he shouted. "You must stop running from me. My heart cannot take it." He leaned on the brick fence that closed the yard and studied the house. When he'd caught his breath, he joined me at the door and read the tarnished brass plate beneath the bell box. "Mr. Gideon Ferris." The astonishment on his face amused me beyond description. "I don't believe it. I simply do not believe it," he said. "How did you know?"