Deadlier Than the Pen (6 page)

*Chapter Six*
Diana had believed the weather forecast posted at the top of the Equitable Building and printed in every newspaper in the city, a prediction of springlike conditions on Monday. She had dressed accordingly in the pre-dawn hour, and by the time she had realized her mistake, it was too late to go back inside to change clothes. Shivering, she climbed into the Hansom she'd arranged for, determined to be at Grand Central Station as she'd planned in order to keep the promise she'd made to herself before she'd walked out of the 13th Street Theater two nights earlier.
She was not looking forward to the confrontation ahead, and the unsettled weather mirrored her feelings. During the night, a torrential rain had soaked Manhattan, causing the gutters to overflow. In the wee hours of the morning, the temperature had abruptly dropped, coating streets and sidewalks alike with a layer of ice and turning the downpour to sleet. The first hailstones struck the roof of Diana's cab soon after she set out. The precipitation had changed, yet again, to snow by the time she arrived at her destination. A gust of wind nearly strong enough to lift her off her feet struck her the moment she exited the hack. To add insult to injury, the driver demanded twice his usual fare.
"On account of the storm," he explained. "It's a corker."
Grudgingly, she gave up more money than she could afford and hurried into the many-turreted brick building. She'd hoped to stop and buy a cup of hot coffee to fortify herself, since she'd left Mrs. Curran's boarding house before her landlady arose to prepare breakfast, but with the delay in getting here, it was nearly time for the early train to Hartford to depart. Squaring her shoulders, Diana made her way through the train shed at a fast clip.
Dealing honestly with Damon Bathory had been the right thing to do, she thought as she crossed the huge building. And so was begging the forgiveness of Lavinia Ross. Diana had braved the storm because she was determined to speak with the actress before Lavinia left on tour. Todd's Touring Thespians would be away from Manhattan for the next several months.
Embarrassment and guilt had plagued Diana in the week since Foxe made his unauthorized additions to her column. On Saturday night, forced to see again the very play she'd savaged, she'd realized she could not let Nathan Todd's company go off without trying to make amends. She could not undo what had appeared in print, but she could at least explain how it had happened.
She found Nathan Todd, a heavy-set, red-faced gentleman in his mid-forties, supervising the loading of props, costumes, and set pieces. In a booming voice that echoed in the open spaces above, he shouted orders to the baggage handlers. "Confound it! Be careful of that flat!"
He subsided into unintelligible grumbles, then fell silent when he caught sight of Diana.
She burst into speech, stumbling through her explanation.
"Any publicity is good publicity," Toddy declared when she'd finished stammering out her apology.
"I am surprised you'll even speak civilly to me. I expected you to cut me dead."
Todd heaved a sigh so deep that the edges of his luxuriant mustache quivered. "What's done is done. I can hardly complain when the story's true. It wasn't any secret that Lavinia replaced Jerusha in my bed." He signed again, then managed a smile. "The gossip did nothing but help us at the box office. Your column brought them in droves."
"To gawk and speculate, Toddy."
He chuckled. "They think I'm a fine fellow, thanks to you. How can I be angry about that?" He puffed out his chest, which had the unfortunate effect of exaggerating a developing paunch.
"Dare I hope the others will be as understanding?"
Toddy's snort spoke volumes.
Jerusha Fildale, solid, reliable Jerusha, who'd taken Diana under her wing when Evan first married her, was not the sort to hold a grudge. Lavinia Ross was another story entirely.
As if conjured up by Diana's thoughts, the young actress swept into Grand Central Station. She seemed to think the railroad platform, lit from above by both hanging lamps and skylights, was just another stage, a four-story-high set designed specifically to show off her dramatic entrance.
Diana could not help admiring the performance. And the costume Lavinia had chosen for it. She wore a fur-trimmed mauve traveling outfit in the latest style. A female passenger about to board the Chicago Limited caught sight of the fashionable attire and sighed with envy, no doubt imagining herself in Lavinia's place, traveling the country, seeing the world.
As she drew close to the other woman, Diana saw that the actress's face had been carefully painted and was artfully arranged into a smile. The effect was only slightly marred by the fact that wet snow had pocked her veil, adhering it in patches to her skin.
When she recognized Diana, Lavinia's mouth pursed with displeasure. "What are you doing here?" she demanded in her breathy, little-girl voice. The look in her eyes was one of intense dislike.
The hiss of steam and the loud clanging of bells momentarily drowned out Diana's answer. One train pulled out. Another was coming in. Conductors shouted, adding to the din.
In order to be heard, Diana stepped closer. With only inches between them, she could see that the dye in Lavinia's veil had begun to run. Mottled streaks of mauve decorated the actress's scowling face.
"I came to apologize," Diana said in a rush. "I know I cannot make up to you the harm that has been done to your reputation, but I want you to know that I never meant that story to appear in print."
"Who told you about me in the first place?"
That was the one question Diana did not want to answer. "Your relationship with Toddy was hardly a secret," she equivocated, thankful that the time for Lavinia to board the train was fast approaching.
Right on cue, Nathan Todd called for the members of his company to gather for departure. Diana watched as the first to respond, Charles Underly, did a classic double-take at the sight of her. Scowling, he gripped the top of his walking stick more tightly. No doubt he thought she had a nerve showing up here after all she'd said about his performance in print.
To Underly, at least, Diana did not feel she owed any explanation or apology. She'd given her honest evaluation of his acting ability -- his portrayal of Ferdinand had been "bombastic and unbelievable." And to confirm her assessment, Underly had gotten even worse reviews from other New York newspapers.
"Cow," Lavinia muttered, drawing Diana's attention back to her.
The epithet had been directed at Jerusha Fildale, whose entrance caused a stir sufficient to put Lavinia's in the shade. The long-time star of Toddy's company, Jerusha knew how to command attention. This morning she did so by sporting a hat which seemed to be a recreation of an eagle's nest, complete with bird. Diana wondered how she had kept it from being drenched or blown away in the gale outside.
Intent upon upstaging her rival, Lavinia turned her back on Diana and sashayed across the platform. Every male eye in the vicinity followed her bouncing bustle. Her tight-waisted corset tipped her forward at a highly suggestive angle.
That, Diana thought, was something she would not mention in her column, although she would put in a notice about Toddy's tour. Careless comments about the morals of one actress slandered them all and most, as Diana well knew, were as upright as any women obliged to work for a living.
Better than some.
As Diana scanned the crowd, she had to smile. People's reactions were so predictable. Only three females unconnected to the theatrical company waited to board the train to Hartford. One looked fascinated, the second repulsed, and the third envious. The faces of the men revealed an equal diversity of expression -- here salacious speculation, there desire, and there --
There, Diana realized with a sense of shock, was Damon Bathory with a pile of baggage beside him. She felt as if she'd been drenched by the icy water pooled on the glass ceiling above.
He was leaving, sneaking out of town when he had promised --
Too infuriated to think straight, she seethed in silent rage until a whistle sounded to warn everyone on the platform that the train was about to depart. Propelled into action by the sound, and by the call of the conductor, Diana hurried forward.
The engine pulled only five cars and a caboose on this run, four for passengers and one for baggage. Bathory entered a first-class car.
It did not matter to Diana that she was unprepared for a journey. Grimly determined that, this time, she would discover the whole truth about Damon Bathory, she boarded the train.
At this early hour, there were not a great many travelers. The members of Todd's Touring Thespians -- seven men and three women -- had a coach-class car to themselves. Diana had known most of them for years, and they knew her, both as Evan Spaulding's widow and as the woman who wrote "Today's Tidbits." Hamilton Fields, Ralph Leighton, Jeremy Fargo, and Amos Singleterry had been with Nathan Todd's company back when Evan was alive, as had Jerusha Fildale and Patsy Jenkins, a plump and cheerful older woman who played character parts. The new additions were Underly, Lavinia, and a young man named Billy Sims. Patsy sent a cheerful smile Diana's way. Underly and Lavinia greeted her appearance with hostile stares.
Diana hastily slid in next to Jerusha Fildale on one of the bench-style seats and turned beseeching eyes towards the woman who had once been so much more than a mere friend.
In the past, Jerusha had always taken Diana's part, even once against Evan. If, in their days at school, Horatio Foxe's sister had assumed the role of the sibling Diana had longed for when she was growing up, then after her marriage it had been Jerusha who had fallen into the role of slightly older but much more worldly-wise relation.
"I'm sorry," Diana whispered. "Forgive me?"
Jerusha glowered. She frowned. Then she sneezed. She still had the heavy cold that had marred her performance in the title role of _The Duchess of Calabria_.
"You should take better care of yourself," Diana chided her. "Why did you go on if you were sick?"
Jerusha beetled her brows. "The alternative was to let Lavinia butcher the part." She fished a delicate, lace-trimmed handkerchief out of her bosom, blew her nose with a resounding honk, and glared at Diana through bloodshot eyes.
"Oh."
"Yes -- oh. But there's no need for you to apologize. I knew what you did for a living when I told you about Toddy and Lavinia."
Impulsively, she hugged Diana, engulfing her in a wave of lavender scent tinged with the less pleasant smell of horehound drops. She was sucking on one to ease her cough and sore throat.
Her generosity only made Diana feel worse. Jerusha had confided in her as a friend, sharing the painful details of Nathan Todd's betrayal of her affections. He'd abandoned a long-time relationship with Jerusha for a fling with the younger woman, a no-talent hussy whose only previous experience on the stage had been as a magician's assistant.
"I know Toddy says any publicity is good publicity, but I never meant so much to be printed."
Jerusha shrugged. "I am resigned to my situation now, and your column did do some good. After it appeared, every one of our performances sold out."
"Yes, so Toddy said."
Suddenly, Jerusha grinned. "And Lavinia was fit to be tied. Did my poor old heart good to see her so angry."
"Does she know you're the one who talked to me?" Diana asked.
"If she didn't before, she does now." Jerusha swiveled around, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
Diana glanced back. The subject of their discussion sat two rows behind them, next to Toddy, who looked a trifle puzzled by Diana's presence.
"Ticket, miss?" The conductor stood beside her, his hand out.
Diana burrowed in her bag for money and came up short. To get enough to pay for a ticket all the way to Hartford, she had to dip into the emergency billfold secured by her garter. As she paid the conductor, she tried not to think of how very little money she had left. If Damon Bathory changed trains in Stamford or New Haven, she would not be able to afford to pursue him.
"You hadn't planned to make this trip," Jerusha observed.
"No," Diana agreed as the red-faced conductor moved on.
A few rapid calculations sent her spirits plummeting. She'd need to send a telegram to Horatio Foxe at the first stop to ask for more funds and for authorization to send news dispatches over the wires leased from Western Union by the Associated Press.
"Cash in the ticket before we leave the station," Jerusha urged her. "There's no point in coming with us. Even if you pursue Lavinia all the way to the next stand, she won't accept your apology."
"That's not why I'm here."
Diana pictured Damon Bathory in her mind, trying to convince herself she was doing the right thing. Confusion threatened to overwhelm her. What was it about the man? The previous day, completely under his spell, she'd lost all perspective. That was the answer, she supposed. He was a sorcerer. And what else? This time, she meant to find out. She'd not allow herself to be charmed by him again!
Jerusha tugged at her sleeve. "What are you up to, Diana Spaulding?"
A low whistle sounded as the train shuddered into motion.
"There _is_ someone I followed onto the train," Diana confided as they left the station, "but not Lavinia."
It was too late to change her mind. The train plunged into a tunnel that would keep them underground until they emerged, far to the north, at 125th Street.

"Who?" Jerusha's hoarse voice broke on the question. She was about to lose it again.
"Someone I don't want to see me. By blending in with all of you, I can pass unnoticed." Why would anyone look at a plain brown wren when the eye was drawn to brightly colored parrots?
"Who?" Jerusha repeated, this time in a whisper.
"A man. I was to meet him later today for an interview. Instead, I discovered him here, boarding this train. I mean to find out where he's bound." He was not going to Buffalo. That much was certain. This train was headed in the wrong direction.
She'd been a gullible fool last evening, letting herself believe everything he said. Take her to the circus? Hah! No doubt he'd only pretended to enjoy her company, letting her think he was beginning to care for her as a woman in order to lull her into forgetting to be cautious. She'd been as completely taken in as one of those addlepated young ladies who'd flocked to his readings.
If she hadn't seen him today, by accident, she'd have had a long wait in that hotel lobby. Had he even left her a note? Somehow, she doubted it. He'd lied to her, cast out seductive lures, all so he could sneak out of town like a thief in the night.
Jerusha reached out to touch the colorful bruise on Diana's jaw. The light coating of face powder she'd used to cover it had been washed away by the storm. "Did he do this to you?"
"No."
She started to say he was not that kind of man, then fell silent. Any man was capable of physical violence when angry and she'd seen flashes of temper from Damon Bathory. He'd frightened her more than once.
He'd also touched her with a tenderness that had made her ache.
Once he'd admitted to knowing she was following him, she should have realized that the rest of his story would not survive close scrutiny. Why, he'd had plenty of time to come up with all sorts of nefarious schemes to get rid of her! He might even have hired that thug who attacked her.
"He's hurt you in other ways," Jerusha said. "You care for him and he doesn't return your feelings."
When Diana tried to deny it, Jerusha just looked smug.
"I can tell by the look on your face. You never were any good at hiding your emotions."
The realization that her friend might be right jolted Diana. Was more than her pride involved? Had her heart fallen victim, as well?
In a very short time, her feelings had become impossibly tangled. Not since Evan's whirlwind courtship had she experienced so many rapid changes of emotion.
"What am I doing here?" she whispered in sudden panic.
"Well," Jerusha said with a smile, "you claim you're after a story for that newspaper of yours."
"Yes. Yes, of course I am." Squaring her shoulders, Diana tried desperately to reorder her priorities.
The very fact that Bathory had run away from her meant that he had something to hide. She might have a personal reason for wanting to find out the truth about him, but she was also sure that she could turn what she learned into the scandalous story Foxe had demanded.
Thinking more clearly now than she had at any time since she'd impulsively boarded the train, Diana considered how much it would be prudent to reveal to her traveling companion. If Bathory's ultimate destination was not Hartford, or if he did get off the train sooner, then she might need to rely upon Jerusha's generosity for the wherewithal to continue her quest.
Diana turned to study the woman beside her. Jerusha had removed the outlandish hat to reveal brassy blonde hair and, as if to contradict that effect, tiny mother-of-pearl earbobs. She dressed, as all the company did, to attract attention and draw in the paying public, but in spite of the bright clothing and heavy cosmetics she wore, she looked tired and ill. There was no opportunity to stop and rest on tour. She must go on, sick or not, until she either recovered or collapsed on stage in the middle of a performance.
"You should sleep," Diana told her.
"I'd rather hear about your man."
"He's not _my_ man."
"It would take my mind off my misery," she wheedled.
After only a token protest, Diana gave in. By the time she'd finished her account, an edited version of events of the last few days that left out both Horatio Foxe's theory about the murdered women and any mention of the attack on herself, the train had crossed the Harlem Bridge and left Manhattan behind.
"Damon Bathory." Jerusha sounded impressed.
Diana rested her head against the back of the mohair-covered seat. "If I don't get this story, I could lose my job."
"He made quite an impression in San Francisco," Jerusha said. "We were there at the same time he was, you know."
San Francisco? A queasy feeling came over Diana. The second murder had taken place in San Francisco.
If Bathory had lied, if he had been behind the attack on her, could that mean he might have murdered those women, too?
Did she dare trust her sense that he was not the sort of man to hurt a woman? Her instincts had not been all that reliable when she'd married Evan.
She remembered what she'd told Horatio Foxe, that by the logic he'd used, a member of any theatrical company on tour at the same time as Bathory might have committed those murders. Slowly, she turned to survey the other occupants of the railroad car.
"Was this the same company Toddy took to San Francisco?" she asked Jerusha.
Her friend looked surprised by the question. "Why, yes. Billy Sims and Charles Underly joined up shortly before we began that tour."
Diana regarded each man in turn. Sims played opposite Lavinia in the comedies. He doubled as a stagehand when Toddy needed him to. In her review, Diana had described his acting as wooden. For all his good looks -- carrot-colored hair, vivid green eyes, and a winning smile -- he did not convey much personality from the stage.
He caught her looking at him and gave her a cocky grin. Diana answered with a weak smile, noticing two things that suddenly made her uneasy. Those green eyes of his were oddly flecked with gold, giving them an unsettling brightness. And he had a scratch on the side of his face, as if someone had clawed at him in an attempt to escape his clutches.
Sims could have nicked himself shaving, her more rational side said. After all, she could not remember marking her attacker in that alley. Surely, her imagination was running away with her. And yet, for size and shape, it could have been Billy Sims who'd accosted her. And he wore a plain wool coat, just as her assailant had.
Disconcerted, she broke eye contact with him, shifting her attention to Charles Underly. With his head bent, she could not see his features, but she remembered that he relied upon contortions and exaggeration rather than more subtle expressions when he trod the boards.
His hands were folded over the top of a silver-headed walking stick. She'd never seen him off stage without it, although he did not appear to need it to get around. Diana assumed that carrying it was an affectation, but it did seem to rule him out as the man in the alley.
As if Underly felt her gaze, he raised his head and looked directly at her. Diana braced herself, expecting to see dislike, derision, or disdain in his bloodshot eyes. She had, after all, panned his performance in _The Duchess of Calabria_. Instead, she got a blast of simmering hatred that seemed to go far deeper than simple pique over a bad review. If looks could kill, she thought, she'd be in her death throes by now.
When Jerusha started to cough, Diana was glad for the distraction. She patted her friend's back while Jerusha fumbled in her bag for a small bottle of Hale's Honey of Horehound and Tar, a patent medicine that claimed to stop any cough, even one caused by consumption.
"Where was the company last November?" Diana asked when Jerusha had put the bottle away and cleared her throat. There was one easy way to put her foolish fears to rest.
"In New York. Don't you remember? We'd disbanded for a bit to reorganize. The last ingenue, Louisa Carver, had just left to get married. That's why Toddy had to hold ... auditions. He went all the way to Philadelphia in search of actors who'd suit."
"Philadelphia!" Diana's voice rose higher than she'd intended. She did not dare look around to see if anyone had heard, but she was careful to whisper her next question. "When?"
Jerusha gave her an odd look. "Early in the month. I don't remember the exact date. Came back with all three of them. Underly. Sims. And Lavinia."
"Could it have been the 9th?"
"It could have been. Whatever is the matter with you, Diana? You've gone pale as a cheesecloth scrim."
"Nothing." And it was true, she told herself. Nothing but an excess of imagination.
She' d been overexposed to tales of terror of late. No wonder she was jumping at shadows. To think that the same man had killed both those women was preposterous, let alone that anyone she knew had tried to harm her. Besides, if Bathory hadn't had time to change "costume," neither had Underly or Sims. Or Toddy.
Of the four men on this train who had been in both cities where young women had been murdered, and in New York when she was attacked, only one posed any threat to her. But not because he could turn out to be a cold-blooded killer. Damon Bathory might have other dark secrets, but she could not convince herself he was capable of murder.
Would he be very angry, she wondered, when he found out she was still after her story? After him?
It didn't matter. As long as she was careful not to be alone with him, she would be perfectly safe from his wrath ... and from all other strong emotions, as well.
As Diana listened to Jerusha chatter about plans for the current tour, she was glad that, for the moment, Damon Bathory had no notion she was on this train. She must have herself firmly under control before she met him again. These foolish, contradictory feelings she was enduring now would never do.
If she had any sense, she thought, she'd hope he did elude her. Then she could go back to New York and tell Horatio Foxe the truth -- she'd gone after the scandal but had failed to find any.