Blind Trust (30 page)

She was lucky. Damned lucky, Darcy thought, cursing mentally for the first time in her life.

Across the river was Manhattan. She was safe, but only for the moment. Darcy took another slug of whiskey and wiped her mouth. Right now, a moment was enough.

S
EAMUS
, T
ERRY, AND
Billy Doyle fell dead asleep sometime Tues' day morning. They considerately untied Tavish's bonds somewhere after the second bottle of whiskey; he supposed some unspoken signal between them had decided this. They were horror struck at the story of a man sterilizing his wife, and though they didn't quite believe it, they roared at the story of the rescue and demanded a detailed but gentlemanly description of Darcy.

He left at nine o'clock to the rhythmic snorts of their breathing. Outside, he couldn't believe the snow. For a block he struggled against the wind, feeling awed by the thirty-foot drifts against the windows on the opposite side of the street. But his awe changed to concern by Tenth Avenue. He began to wonder if he'd be able to make it to Columbine's. His ribs ached and his face ached and the weather was frigid. Tavish decided to make it home like an Irishman—from bar to bar.

They were open this early, some crowded with folks who had spent the night. But it was a friendly atmosphere, and some places still had free sandwiches left from yesterday. He was careful not to drink too much—he didn't want to get drunk—but he'd order a small whiskey in each tavern, sip it, and warm himself before struggling on. Lucky for him the boys hadn't gotten the dollar he kept in an inside pocket in his trousers. It came in handy for cases such as this.

It took him five hours to get to Columbine's. The last stretch down Twenty-third Street was the hardest. He staggered through the front door and promptly fell at her feet. He stared at the buttons on her shoes and wondered curiously why he was unable to rise.

Columbine yelled for Bell with a voice that shook with fright but still had power. They managed between them to get him to bed. He told her what happened, his eyes closed so he wouldn't have to see her face. Then Columbine put on her warmest cloak and struggled down the icy sidewalk to Dr. Meredith Dana two doors down.

He saw the faces of the women blur and recede around his bedside. He tried to talk but failed. He heard it pronounced by Dr. Dana that he would in fact live.

He slept until Wednesday afternoon. When he woke, Columbine was by his bedside. She was asleep, sitting in a chair, a book open in her lap.

Hearing him stir, she opened her eyes. “You're awake.”

“What time is it?”

“It's Wednesday afternoon.”

“It can't be. I have to—”

“Don't you dare get out of that bed. The city is still paralyzed, so you can't do anything, Tavish. You gave me quite a scare, so you must listen to me now. You looked like bloody hell when you walked in the door.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Such language.”

“It fits,” she grumbled, and he saw that she was pale, and there were dark purplish smudges under her eyes. This wasn't like Columbine, this quiet woman sitting so composed by his bedside. He'd expect her to be blasting him out of bed, spitting fire at his stupidity for letting a band of Eleventh Avenue toughs get the better of him.

“I'm sorry I worried you so,” he said.

“How are you feeling now? Your ribs are cracked, Meredith said, but they'll heal. Does your head hurt?”

“A bit. I'm fine. Just a wee bit ravenous is all.”

She began to rise. “I'll tell Bell—”

He stopped her. “Wait for a spell. Let me wake up properly. Sit and talk to me a moment. How are you, Columbine? Have I been such a trial to you? You don't look well.”

“I'm just fine, Tavish, don't be silly.” She smiled at him, but her lips were trembling. “I've just been a bit worried.”

“No, it is something more than that. Tell me.”

Columbine sighed. Her hands twisted in her lap. “Oh, I'm embarrassed to tell you. It's Ned Van Cormandt—it's over. Cora dropped Ambrose Hartley into Maud Valentine's lap and decided she was in love with her husband again. I have a notion this sudden transformation occurred because of the rumors that Claude Statton threw his wife out because of you. Perhaps it suddenly dawned on Cora that Ned could get fed up with her one day. No matter. She cast her line and started reeling him back in. Ned told me it was over on Sunday evening.” Columbine looked away. A pulse was jumping in her throat. “I rather thought I was in love with him, Tavish.”

“I didn't know.”

“I didn't know, either. I pushed him away, I pushed thoughts of him away. But he made me laugh so. I know he seems your typical New York gentleman of good family, years of money and breeding and boredom. But he isn't, not at all. Oh, Lord. So I told myself I couldn't possibly be in love with him, and then he called Sunday evening and said good-bye, and I thought … I thought I might die.”

“Maybe you weren't in love with him at all. I mean, seeing you discovered it just because he was saying good-bye.”

“Maybe so.” Columbine's eyes were tragic.

“I'll kill the bastard.”

“Oh, there's the answer, right there. That will be just fine,” Columbine said with her old spirit. “Bring more problems on my head, thank you very much. Men!”

Tavish laughed, and she laughed, too, reluctantly.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose I'll get over it soon. I'm too old to waste away on account of a lost love. Next time I fall for a man, I'm going to make sure he doesn't have a silly wife.”

“Columbine, not that I'd be giving you advice, now. But what if you found a man without any wife at all?”

Columbine looked at him, aghast. “But then he might ask me to marry him!”

“Heaven forbid! Saints alive, Columbine, you are the most difficult woman—”

“I daresay I am, I can't help it,” Columbine said sorrowfully, and they laughed together again.

There was a knock at the bedroom door, and Bell hurried in without waiting for Tavish to answer. Tavish opened his mouth to tease her, but the look on her face stopped him. A newspaper was clutched in her hand, and her eyes went from Tavish to Columbine and back again.

“What is it, Bell?” Columbine asked composedly.

“It's the
World
,” Bell said faintly. Her enormous dark eyes were worried. “A special afternoon edition on account of the storm …”

“And?”

“And it's about Mrs. Statton, Mrs. Nash.”

“Darcy,” Columbine and Tavish said together, exchanging one quick, anxious glance.

“She's all right,” Bell said quickly, “I mean… oh, dear. Here.” She put the newspaper down on the bed where Tavish and Columbine could see it. Her finger pointed to a prominent headline.

DOUBLE TRAGEDY

Prominent Financier Murdered

Father-in-Law Found Frozen in Drift

Society Wife Disappeared in Storm, Sought for Questioning

They scanned the story quickly. Claude Statton and Edward Snow were dead.

“Sweet Jesus,” Tavish murmured, reading on.

And Darcy was being sought for Claude's murder. Authorities believed she was still on Manhattan Island. All exits from the city were being watched.

“Sweet Jesus!” Tavish roared. “Bell, where the devil are my pants?”

He was dressed and pulling on his boots when Columbine hurried in to tell him that Lemuel Grace was waiting for him in the parlor. “He looks rather dreadful,” Columbine said.

Tavish strode into the room impatiently, shook Lemuel's hand, and said immediately, “Have you heard from Darcy?”

Lemuel's eyebrows went up only a fraction. “I have not heard from my niece,” he said.

There was nobody like a gentleman for pointing out when you were being rude, Tavish thought. Just a slight inflection in the voice would do it; Tavish knew the tone well. But he deserved it. He mentally kicked himself. Lemuel Grace had suffered a loss as well. Tavish bowed. “Allow me to offer my condolences to your family. I am truly sorry about Mr. Snow. I liked him very much. Where was he found?”

“He was found four doors away from my house,” Lemuel said. “He was trying to get there, apparently. There was a rather large bump on his forehead, they believe hje was hit by a flying object of some kind. And his ankle was broken.”

Tavish nodded. He pictured Edward, who loved comfort with such gleeful joy, dying in a snowdrift with a broken bone and a bump on his head. The disturbing image hurt his heart so much, he had to push it away. Darcy should be spared as much of that picture as possible. “And Mr. Statton?”

“He was found with two gunshot wounds to his body.”

“Where?”

“In his office at home.”

“I meant, where on his body?”

“One near the heart,” Lemuel said stiffly. “That was the one that killed him.”

“And the other?”

Lemuel looked annoyed at Tavish's persistence. “Surely there is no need—”

“But there is a need, Mr. Grace. Please tell me.”

Lemuel didn't hesitate. “The thigh,” he said. “Now may we sit down, Mr. Finn?”

The old stuffed shirt wouldn't tell him if it had been in the crotch. Tavish sat down. If the wound hadn't been in the thigh—and Tavish would bet it was not—then whoever had killed Claude had probably also killed Jamie. Their deaths were too similarly grisly to be a coincidence. That meant Claude Statton had not killed Jamie Alden. Tavish would bet on it. And Claude was not Dargent after all. Tavish was fresh out of suspects, and there was someone else involved, someone dangerous and on the loose.

“I want you to find Darcy,” Lemuel said. “I'll pay you to find her. I think … I think you're the only man who could.”

Tavish nodded slowly. “Why do the police think she killed her husband?”

“That maid of hers. Solange Foucard. She found Darcy with the body. She said that Darcy was unstable, under a doctor's care, and that Claude was considering whether she needed to be confined. She said that Darcy attacked Claude with a cane.”

“That's a lie!”

Lemuel gave him a keen look. “You know this?”

“Yes,” Tavish said impatiently. “Because I was there. It was I who attacked him with a cane.”

“I see. Well. That's something, anyway. Will you try to find her, Mr. Finn? I am sure she must be frightened, alone … I am terribly worried. I need your help.” Lemuel bowed his head.

Tavish looked at Lemuel Grace's crown of thick yellowish-white hair. The man was frantic; Tavish could sense the panic beyond the measured words, the careful control. He loved Darcy, too.

“Of course I'll help you, of course I'll find her,” he said. “Do you have any thoughts on where you think she is?”

“I think she's still in Manhattan,” Lemuel said. “Probably at a boarding house somewhere. No trains have left the city, and the police have been watching all the ferries. Besides, I don't think she would leave the city. Where would she go?”

“I can't imagine.”

“Do you agree that it would be better for her to face down this absurd charge?” Lemuel rose and began to pace back and forth over Columbine's shabby rug. “It merely looks worse for her now. The
World
has just about come out and said that she's guilty. Of course Claude had had a feud with them, and they were licking their chops at this opportunity to slander his wife. I don't know what to do, where to turn. I'm all she has, you know.”

No, you're not all she has. She has me, and you know it, Lemuel Grace. But I suppose that fact is unacceptable to you.
Tavish thought all this, but he did not blame Lemuel. In his position, he would probably feel the same.

“Does Darcy know that Edward is dead?” he asked.

Lemuel shook his head. “No. She left for Claude's that morning. My wife attempted to dissuade her, she said, but she failed. As always,” Lemuel added fiercely, then recovered. “It is a miracle Darcy made it to Claude's at all Monday morning. Then she left again—she couldn't have gotten far, not in that storm. It can't be too difficult to find her.”

“I sincerely hope it is not, Mr. Grace.” Tavish rose. “If there's nothing else, I think I should begin. Every minute counts.”

Lemuel picked up his hat, stick, and gloves. “Yes. I'll leave you now.” He twisted the hat in his hands. “There's one more thing, Mr. Finn.”

The old fellow looked decidedly ill at ease. He had the look of a gentleman who was about to say something ungentlemanly.

“Yes?” Tavish asked neutrally.

“My niece has been frank with me about her relations with you, Mr. Finn. At least, she has made it clear that you and she have a deep friendship.”

“That is true, Mr. Grace.”

“Forgive me for prying, but I must know. Do you care for my niece?”

Lemuel Grace had found his courage now, for his gray gaze was steady. Tavish didn't flinch. “Very much.”

“I see. Forgive me again, but I must say this—you tell me this, and yet I come to Mrs. Nash's house and find you here. You must admit I have some cause for concern …”

Anger flared up in Tavish but just as swiftly was tamped down. What was the man to think? He didn't know about Tavish's relationship to Columbine. He was merely trying to protect Darcy—of course he would have to bring up the subject.

“Mr. Grace, Mrs. Nash and I have known each other for more than twenty years,” Tavish said evenly. “We were childhood friends, no more than friends as adults. Perhaps you noticed that I'm a bit bruised. I was set upon by some toughs the other day. I barely made it to Mrs. Nash's door. She very kindly took me in during the storm and fetched a doctor for me. I have been loyal to Darcy. I will be loyal to Darcy for the rest of my life.”

Lemuel was silent for a moment, keeping his eyes on Tavish's face. “All right, Mr. Finn. I hope you are sincere, for all of our sakes.”