Words Spoken True (10 page)

“In the newspaper business, an editor prints the news. That’s what his readers want to read whether they know it or not. If you don’t show them what’s happening, there’s not much use in putting out a paper at all.” Blake’s voice changed then, until he sounded almost sad as he went on. “You can be sure I have no desire to print stories about how these poor girls lost their lives at the hand of some monster, but it happened. What happens is the news.”

“Tell me, Mr. Garrett, and believe me, I’m not trying to steal your story, but do you think the river slasher will strike again? It’s been over two months.” Adriane looked up at him.

“I don’t know any more than you’ve read in the
Herald.
” A frown creased his forehead. “I don’t think anyone does. Certainly not the police.”

“It must be awful for those girls down there to wonder if every stranger they meet might be the one.” Adriane stared back down at the plank walkway.

“What makes you think it’s a stranger?”

Adriane’s eyes flew up to his. “I don’t know. Except it would be worse to think it was someone you knew.”

“Much worse. But a stranger would be caught or move on to another town. And this man has already killed three times.”

“And you think he’ll do it again, don’t you?”

“I do,” Blake said.

Adriane couldn’t keep a shudder from running through her. Her father kept saying that no proper young lady had anything to worry about, but it could be some young girl somewhere did. “I sincerely hope they catch him soon,” she said.

“I didn’t mean to distress you with all this talk of the murders, Miss Darcy.” He was looking at her with concern.

“No, no, I brought it up. And it’s sometimes refreshing to talk to someone who’s not always fearful of disturbing one’s tender sensibilities.” Adriane stopped in front of Grace’s small house. “And now I must thank you for seeing me safely here. It was really most kind of you.”

“My pleasure, Miss Darcy.” Blake smiled.

Before he could turn to leave, Grace’s door flew open and the little woman came running down the walk to embrace Adriane. Grace Compton was only five feet tall with her shoes on and so slim that the angles of her bones showed through her skin, but she did everything with enthusiasm, as though the energy of a woman twice her size was coiled tightly inside her and she had to let it out every way possible.

“Dear Adriane, I thought you’d never get here.” Grace held Adriane at arm’s length for a moment, looked her up and down, and then pulled her close for another even tighter hug.

Adriane laughed and hugged back as happy tears ran down her face. For the moment, she forgot to worry about what she’d tell Grace about Stanley. Now she was just too glad to see her friend again after so many weeks.

Two hugs later, Grace at last noticed Blake Garrett still standing beside them, watching their display with amusement as he waited to be properly introduced. She looked him up and down before she said, “One thing for certain, this is not Stanley Jimson.”

G
race, please! There’s no need to shock Mr. Garrett with your disdain of the social niceties.” Adriane sent a pointed look at Grace, even though she knew that would do nothing to stop her friend. Grace enjoyed throwing all the established rules of proper behavior out the window and absolutely relished any social upheaval that might cause.

Indeed Grace didn’t even glance over at Adriane as she kept eyeing Blake. “Don’t worry, dear. I don’t believe Mr. Garrett is the type to be so easily shocked.”

Blake laughed easily. “That’s certainly true, madam, and since Miss Darcy appears to be somewhat flustered by your admirable frankness, please allow me to introduce myself. Blake Garrett, editor of the
Herald
.”

Grace’s eyes sharpened on him. “Yes, I remember reading about John Chesnut taking you on at his paper before I left for Boston.” She held out her hand with an amused smile. “Grace Compton, teacher, abolitionist, dedicated campaigner for the rights of the downtrodden, especially women, and last and certainly least, occasional hatmaker.”

Blake barely hesitated before he clasped Grace’s slender hand in a manly handshake. “A pleasure, Miss Compton.”

Grace laughed delightedly as if he’d just passed a test of some sort, and Adriane, watching them, began to believe that if she walked away up the street, neither of them would notice. Blake gave every appearance of being enchanted by Grace, and Grace in return seemed totally captivated by his frank smile.

Adriane was a bit disappointed but hardly surprised. After all, Grace was a woman, even if she did have some unconventional ideas about a woman’s proper role in society. And just the thought of the light exploding out of Blake’s eyes when he smiled at her was enough to make Adriane’s own heart do a funny spin.

She brought her thoughts quickly under control. She needed to remember that this man, no matter how charming and handsome, was attempting to destroy the
Tribune
. Smiles and talk of rescues did not alter that fact.

Grace was inviting him to stay and lunch with them. “Nothing fancy, you understand. Just tea and bread and cheese. I do fear I haven’t made any hats for some time now.”

Blake looked at Adriane, who was ready with a polite smile that slid easily onto her face after all the practice the last few weeks. “And what do you say, Miss Darcy?” he asked. “I wouldn’t want to impose on your visit.”

“It’s hardly for me to say,” Adriane said crisply. “It is Grace’s house and her tea and bread. However, I must warn you she only wants to feel you out about publishing some news of her work in the North. She’s been away from Louisville for several months so can hardly know how carefully you tiptoe around any and all controversial issues for fear of stepping on the wrong toes.”

His smile was gone in an instant as anger tightened the lines on his face. “Do you really believe that, Miss Darcy?”

Grace stood to their side, now the one completely forgotten.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe, Mr. Garrett. All that matters is what I read in your paper, and I do read your paper. I fear you care more about entertaining your readers than enlightening them.”

The lines of anger grew deeper. “A good editor waits to be sure he has the facts before he enters into the fray.”

“Such a careful editor might well miss the fray altogether.” Adriane stared at him boldly.

“So he might,” Blake said softly. Some of the anger drained from his eyes to be replaced by rock-hard determination. “But you can be assured, Miss Darcy, that when I do take a stand, it will be because of what I believe to be right and not because I have been told what to believe or do by someone else.”

All the fight drained out of Adriane, and she was sorry she’d initiated the whole confrontation. He was right. She didn’t know what she believed anymore. Perhaps she never had. She lowered her eyes to the ground. “I do apologize, Mr. Garrett. I don’t know whatever came over me to criticize you in such a way. I must beg your forgiveness.”

Beside them, Grace took the matter into her capable hands. “Of course he forgives you, Adriane. Don’t you, Mr. Garrett?” She didn’t wait for him to answer as she rushed on. “And I fear I must withdraw my invitation to lunch, because Adriane is right in trying to discourage you from staying. It would not, I suppose, be proper, and a lady in her current position does have to maintain appearances, unlike myself who worries not a whit about what the other ladies might say if I entertain a gentleman in my parlor. That is, if I had a parlor to entertain a gentleman in. But you do understand, don’t you, Mr. Garrett?”

“I’m trying to,” Blake said.

Adriane slowly raised her eyes to look at him again. Even though he still frowned, he no longer looked angry, simply puzzled. “Perhaps Grace would be good enough to invite you to lunch on another day,” she said.

“Anytime, Mr. Garrett,” Grace concurred quickly. “We could talk about the possibility of you publishing a small news report or perhaps a letter to the editor in regard to my causes. Even Adriane’s father is foolhardy enough to do that on occasion.”

Blake looked at Adriane. “If indeed it is Mr. Darcy who picks the letters for the
Tribune
. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to discover Miss Darcy was the foolhardy one.”

“Not at all,” Adriane said, even though he’d hit on the truth. She was the one who slipped Grace’s letters into the paper whenever the opportunity arose, but she saw no reason to reveal that fact to Blake Garrett. “Father favors a bit of controversy on his editorial pages.”

“Controversy can be an editor’s best friend.” Blake’s smile returned. “Now if you good ladies will excuse me, I’ve kept you from your tea much too long already. I’m sure we’ll all meet again, and perhaps next time it will be proper for us to lunch together.”

“One can only hope,” Grace said as she allowed Blake to take her hand in his again.

Adriane did not offer her hand, but he stepped close in front of her and took it anyway. Before she could pull it away, he brushed the top of her fingers with his lips. A streak of fire flashed from her hand straight to her heart.

“Please be careful on your way home, Miss Darcy. I must confess that I rather look forward to these duels of words we seem to have whenever we meet,” he said before he turned and briskly set off back down the walk the way they had come, giving lie to his words that he had been going the same way as Adriane.

Grace watched until he was out of sight. “Well,” she said as she put her arm around Adriane’s waist to turn her toward the door. “I do believe we have a great deal to talk about, you and I, but first we’ll eat before we both faint from hunger.”

“Good.” Adriane turned her full attention to her friend. “I am famished. Not only for your tea but also word of the gains you’ve made in the North.”

She followed Grace through the front room where bright-colored ribbons and flowers spilled off Grace’s worktable. Unadorned hats were piled in one chair, while the only other chair was stacked high with books the small bookcase against the wall was too full to hold. The kitchen held another table with two mismatched chairs that looked as if they might have been salvaged from a rubbish pile. The table was strewn with papers and pamphlets. Grace pushed them to one side to make room for their teacups.

“Regretfully there haven’t been all that many gains.” Grace sounded discouraged as she poured their tea and set bread and cheese on the table. “While a handful more papers in the North are taking up the cause of the Negro, very few feel there is any merit in the fight for the rights of women.”

“So it didn’t go well.” As Adriane sipped her tea, she noted the new lines on her friend’s face and the tired droop of her shoulders. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh, it’s not all bad.” Grace straightened a little and squared her shoulders. “I heard Lucretia Mott speak. Not so many years ago a woman speaking out in public would have been totally ostracized, perhaps even arrested. Then there’s Elizabeth Cady Stanton in New York. I think I wrote you about her. Anyway, she’s taken up the cause and does a beautiful job of eloquently outlining our aims and purposes in words. She even dares to put forward the desire to gain women the vote, although some of the workers fear such a radical objective might very well make all of us a laughingstock.”

“Unfortunately it’s obvious from what most newspapers print that there are plenty who already think that about those who fight for women’s rights.” Adriane ran her finger around the rim of her cup. It was only chipped in a couple of places.

“I know. Those at the helm of the papers, at the helm of most everything, are men who seem to be of the belief that all their readers must also be men.” Grace sighed and stared down at her cup. “I sometimes despair of men ever admitting we women have minds capable of more than child rearing and needlework.”

Adriane reached across the table to pat her hand. “Write something about your work the last few months, and the
Tribune
will publish it.”

“I have something already written.” Grace looked up at her. “It concerns the battle being waged in New York to allow women in that state to maintain ownership of their property and to have the rights to their own earnings after marriage. There’s a strong petition before the legislature, and I think in spite of all the talk against the proposal, it will pass. Maybe not this year but soon.”

“See, there is progress being made,” Adriane said.

“You always were able to cheer me up, Adriane.” Grace visibly brightened as she nibbled on her bread and cheese. “And maybe I’ll send something to the
Herald
as well. I promised my abolitionist friends a reading in Louisville.”

Adriane’s smile stiffened as Grace’s eyes sharpened on her. “I’d really prefer not to talk about Blake Garrett or the
Herald
, Grace. He’s causing a lot of turmoil at the
Tribune
.”

“I don’t think it’s only at the
Tribune
that he’s causing turmoil.” Grace peered at Adriane over the rim of her cup.

Adriane concentrated on cutting a small piece of cheese before she said, “I told you I didn’t want to talk about Mr. Garrett. He may smile and act charming, but he cannot be trusted.”

“Are you sure about that, Adriane?”

“Of course I am. He’s trying to steal all our readers.” A bit of fire jumped into Adriane’s eyes as she stared at Grace.

Grace merely smiled. “Surely the
Tribune
doesn’t fear a little competition. I’ve always thought your father rather relished it.”

Adriane looked down to position her cheese exactly so on her bread while carefully considering her next words. “Yes, well, sometimes things change.”

Grace set her cup down and reached across the table to put her hand over Adriane’s. “Come, come, Adriane. You have no need to be so careful with your words to me. Out with it. What’s going on with the
Tribune
?”

Adriane looked up with a sigh. “It’s just that Father’s changed so much since he became engaged to Lucilla. Or maybe it’s this Know Nothing political party he’s taken up with. He hardly writes of anything else these days.”

“And Mr. Garrett, as I understand it, has been skipping the political speeches and entreaties and instead has been writing about events and happenings the ordinary man wants to read and not just what the poor soul thinks he ought to read.” She pulled back her hand and picked up her cup again.

“I fear that is so.” Adriane broke off a tiny bit of the cheese, but didn’t put it in her mouth. “Our sales have dropped the last two months in a row. I’m sure Mr. Garrett is gaining each reader we lose. His coverage of those dreadful murders has people entranced as if they were reading one of Mr. Dickens’s continuing sagas.”

“I see.” Grace set down her empty teacup and studied Adriane for a moment. “And how do you feel about him, not as an editor, but as a person?”

“I really couldn’t say. I’ve only talked to him twice,” Adriane answered casually as she looked down at her plate. She stuck the bite of cheese in her mouth in hopes that her chewing would keep back the color threatening to rise in her cheeks.

“And dueled with him both times if I understood him correctly.” Grace sounded amused. “You always did have a sharp tongue. Your father used to say it was due to me that you learned to use it so well.”