“Cornelius and I both think we need someone in Washington to keep an eye on legislation. That’s why I’m opening a Washington bureau.” Luke paused, then turned a hesitant glance to her. “Maybe you could take some photographs of the office. We could publish them in the magazine to announce the new bureau.”
She shouldn’t. Only thirty minutes ago she had vowed that today would be their last meeting, and already she was losing her resolve.
“My father would be annoyed if he found out,” she said. “There isn’t a lot of forgiveness in the Magruder household. When we were growing up, if my brother or I ran amok, my mother warned us about what happened to poor Aunt Stella.”
“And what happened to poor Aunt Stella?”
“She fell in love with the wrong sort of man. It happened before I was born, so I never met her, but she was my father’s sister. After she eloped, her name was stricken from the family Bible and she was disinherited.”
She told Luke what little she knew from family lore, which claimed Stella moved out west with her unsuitable husband. However, Stella’s mother had kept up a secret correspondence with her banished daughter. Marianne only learned of it when she was visiting her grandparents for a week and saw a letter from Stella arrive before her grandmother panicked and hid it away. It had been an ordinary envelope, but it was addressed with purple ink. That purple ink made Marianne’s secret admiration for her daring aunt shoot even higher.
“After my grandmother died, no one kept in touch with Stella. I always wondered what happened to her. I know I shouldn’t, but a part of me admires her. Leaving everything behind couldn’t have been easy, but she was brave. A risk-taker.”
The streetcar rounded the bend into a blighted neighborhood and finally to the grounds of the District of Columbia Jail, built in 1872 and suffering from a bad reputation ever since.
A large, bleak building of red brick sat isolated in a muddy field. During epidemics the field was filled with temporary wooden shanties to house the sick who were too destitute to afford a hospital, but for now it was empty. The entire area seemed like a vast wasteland of despair.
“Here we are,” she said in an artificially bright voice.
“So we are,” Luke said, holding her hand to help her descend from the streetcar. He carried the tripod as they walked through the slushy field still covered with patches of melting snow. There was nothing pleasant about the assignment before her, and despite her earlier bravado, she was glad for his company.
“Why were you so determined to come with me?” she asked him.
“It could be dangerous,” he instantly said.
“All the really dangerous people will be locked up behind bars.”
He looked at her with a hint of amusement. “They might get out. Or say something rude to you. I feel compelled to defend your honor.”
“And yet you poke fun at your older brother for being overprotective,” she answered. “Maybe you take after him.”
He briefly considered the statement. “While it would be a compliment, I’m afraid Gray and I are complete opposites. He’s the good brother, I’m the bad. It’s the roles we were cast in from our first moments on earth.”
She didn’t know anything good about Gray Delacroix and shouldn’t have brought him up. Any discussion of their families was simply too volatile.
Luke held the door for her at the jailhouse entrance. She had no idea what to expect, but the front lobby seemed perfectly normal. There was a sitting area with benches, some potted plants in the corner, and a desk with a male clerk filing some cards. She approached the clerk.
“I’m Marianne Magruder from the Department of the Interior,” she said. “I was told to meet Superintendent Castor to take some photographs.”
“Yes, we’ve been expecting you.” The clerk disappeared into an office.
Superintendent Castor soon emerged, a small, balding man with thick glasses and a dapper suit. He shook her hand with vigor. “For the past ten years we’ve had a growing prisoner population and a shrinking budget. The roof is leaking, and the building is falling into disrepair. I’ve been trying to sound the alarm for years, so maybe some photographs will be more persuasive. This jail is a perfectly horrible place. I would appreciate it if you could document the mold blooms, the leaking roof, and the overcrowded conditions.”
He gestured for her to follow him down a hallway. The first sign she was in a jail was when the superintendent needed to unlock the door leading to a hallway. His keys jangled as he twisted the lock open. She and Luke followed the superintendent, and the door clanged shut behind them.
Echoes of male voices bounced off concrete block walls. The dank air in the hallway smelled of wet metal and unwashed bodies. She covered her nose. She’d been prepared for some ugly sights but foolishly hadn’t braced herself for the smells or noise.
“One moment while I lock the door to the lobby,” Mr. Castor said, turning to secure the door. “This hallway leads to the prisoners on the first floor. The other hall leads to the laundry, the kitchens, and the detention hall, where prisoners are allowed an hour of exercise each day. Follow me, please.”
Marianne followed the small man who moved at a startlingly brisk pace. The concrete hallway was painted pale blue. The superintendent told her it was to imitate the sky, but it still looked bleak and unnatural to her.
“There will be prisoners in here taking a walk,” Mr. Castor told her as he arrived at the door, preparing to unlock it. “You may photograph the prisoners if you wish, but the most important thing to capture is the corrosion running down the east wall. This is where the damage from the leaking roof is the worst.”
She nodded and glanced around for Luke, surprised that he hung several yards back, an unsettled look on his face.
“You go on ahead,” Luke said. “I’ll wait here.”
“Are you okay?” The way he had a hand braced on the wall and was bent over a little made him look sick.
“I’m fine, but I’d rather wait here.”
“I’d prefer you come with us,” the superintendent said. “I can’t have unattended visitors in the building, and I don’t have the staff to escort you.”
Luke nodded and adjusted his coat as he joined them, but he didn’t look happy.
Mr. Castor unlocked the door and waited for them to step inside the cavernous detention hall, where the noise was even worse. Loud and echoey. She jumped a little as the door clanged shut behind her and the bolt shot into place.
These prisoners weren’t behind bars. She was actually locked in with them as they walked in circles around the perimeter of the otherwise empty room. Two guards stood in the corner of the room, and they had both batons and pistols on their belts, so she shouldn’t be frightened. She glanced at Luke for reassurance, but he looked unnerved too.
“You can see the damaged wall I mentioned,” Mr. Castor said, gesturing to the far side of the room. It had a high ceiling, which probably accounted for all the echoey noise. There were no windows on the ground level, but a few near the ceiling let in enough light to take pictures. Barely. The superintendent steered the prisoners to one side of the room so she could have a clear shot of the corrosion.
Everything looked and smelled awful in here. She took shallow breaths while setting up her tripod and screwing the camera into place. She centered the viewfinder on the blooms of white scale and the rust stains trailing down the wall. What a horrible room, and this was where the men came for recreation? Even if she wanted to obey her supervisor’s instructions to make the jail look good, it would be impossible. This place was an abomination.