Words Spoken True (6 page)

“So there are. As a matter of fact, I attended one once for several months. Most of them are very good at teaching a young lady to be charming.”

“A most necessary skill,” Blake said.

She knew he was baiting her, but she played along anyway. He would not get the better of her with words. “Without a doubt, sir. Perhaps even essential to a woman in these days.”

“And if you were, God forbid, not of the fairer sex, but one of the gentlemen with a choice of professions, which profession would you choose? To edit a paper as your father does?”

“That might be an interesting possibility, but I do believe, since we are merely dreaming, that first I’ll spend a few years as a riverboat captain. Perhaps I could make a record-breaking run to New Orleans.”

He laughed. “I’m afraid, my dear Miss Darcy, that not all riverboat captains are gentlemen.”

She smiled slightly and looked straight into his dark blue eyes. “Neither are all editors.”

The laughter was suddenly gone, but in its place was a considering look as Adriane knew he was seeing beyond her pretty face now. It was not a bad look, and she didn’t shy away from it but met it fully in spite of the fact she still feared he might recognize her as the Irish boy he’d grabbed that morning. It was a look she’d never seen in Stan’s eyes or one she was ever likely to see. Again the panic reared inside her, and she looked away from Blake Garrett for fear his quick eyes would catch some glimpse of her worry.

“Your father has taught you well, Miss Darcy,” Blake said at last.

“Not all would agree with that assessment. Sometimes not even my father.” Adriane wished the words back at once, but words spoken could not be edited and changed. So instead she hurried on. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I do believe Stan needs my help with Mrs. Wigginham.”

“I’m sure he does. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover young Stanley needs someone’s help with everything,” Blake said. “You have my sympathy.”

“I beg your pardon,” Adriane said coldly.

He did not take back his words. “You heard what I said.”

“Stanley is a wonderful young man from a very influential family.” Adriane was careful to sound as if she meant each word and then wished she hadn’t bothered to defend Stanley. What difference did it make what this man, Blake Garrett, thought?

“With a great deal of money, I hear. Congratulations, Miss Darcy. Your future should be quite comfortably secure.” His dark blue eyes burned into hers.

Adriane knew she should look away, but she couldn’t. She did manage to keep smiling even as the word “secure” echoed emptily in her mind. She felt anything but secure as the flood pushed against her, threatening to rip her away from all she’d ever held dear.

“So it seems,” she murmured.
Dear Father in heaven,
she thought,
how will I survive this?
No answer came to her silent prayer as the man’s eyes kept probing her as though he could see beyond her words.

“Yes.” His smile disappeared as he pushed his next words at her. “Just think of it. In forty years you may very well be the next Mrs. Wigginham, playing your parlor games with the people who come to pay you homage for being so rich. What causes do you think you might espouse, Miss Darcy?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

His words and look infuriated her, but she refused to give him the pleasure of seeing he’d been successful at upsetting her. Instead she smiled coolly up at him. “It’s been an interesting experience meeting you, Mr. Garrett. I’m sure our paths will cross again in the months to come.”

“I certainly hope so.” His smile returned, wide and unforced. “I enjoy a good duel of words whether I win or lose.”

Adriane laughed sweetly. “Why, Mr. Garrett, I have no idea what you could mean. If there is any dueling of words, I’m sure I must leave that up to you and my father.” Quickly before he had a chance to respond in any way, she turned away from him and began making her way across the room to Mrs. Wigginham and Stan.

Because she didn’t want to seem to be fleeing the man, she stopped to chat with this or that group of ladies. She asked several of them about the efforts to acquire more books for the library, and they all answered with care just in case their words should appear in the
Tribune
.

No one mentioned her engagement to Stanley Jimson. After all, that was supposed to be a secret until evening. But the old women beamed at her as if she’d succeeded, at last, in doing something right, and the younger ones hid their giggles behind their fans while their eyes darted from Adriane to Stan and back.

By the time she joined Stan and Mrs. Wigginham, Adriane’s face hurt from so much smiling, but she dared not stop. Mrs. Wigginham sent Stan after some fresh tea and waited until he was out of earshot before she said, “I trust you found Mr. Garrett amusing.” She was regarding Adriane closely.

“Yes, indeed. I’ve looked forward to meeting him.” She didn’t let her smile waver as she looked at the woman. “How kind of you to arrange an introduction.”

“I fear I may have delayed my kindness too long,” Mrs. Wigginham said.

“Delayed too long in what way, madam?” Adriane asked, totally puzzled by the old lady’s remark.

Mrs. Wigginham didn’t seem to hear Adriane’s question as she stared across the room toward Blake Garrett. He was surrounded now by young ladies who were perhaps hoping one of his flashing smiles might be directed their way. After a moment, Mrs. Wigginham said, “He is a charming man, don’t you agree? My young friends practically faint from pleasure if I pair him with them at my parties. If I were only thirty years younger myself.”

“I fear he didn’t pull out too many of his charms for me.” Adriane looked back at Blake Garrett for the first time since she’d left his side. He seemed to sense instantly when she looked his way, and their eyes met. Again there was that strange flash of feeling between them even though Adriane immediately turned her own eyes back to Mrs. Wigginham. Mrs. Wigginham’s delighted smile had faded. In fact she looked a little sad.

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Wigginham? Perhaps I should help you to a chair.”

“No, no, my dear. I was just regretting my lost youth. I do hope you won’t regret yours.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Adriane said.

“I think you do, child.” Mrs. Wigginham’s eyes bored into her. “You must know how very fond I am of you. For a truth, you remind me a great deal of myself when I was younger. Things have not changed so much, you know.”

Suddenly Mrs. Wigginham tiptoed up to touch Adriane’s cheek with her dry lips. “Do try to be happy, dear Adriane.”

Stan returned with their tea in time to hear the old lady’s last words. “You need not worry about that, Mrs. Wigginham,” he said. “I plan to devote my life to making Adriane extremely happy.”

“I’m sure you will, Stanley.” Mrs. Wigginham’s polite smile looked a bit strained when she turned to take her tea from Stanley. Without the first sip, she set the cup down on a table beside them. Her smile vanished as she put her hand on Adriane’s arm and gave it a slight shake as though to make sure Adriane listened to her next words. “But never forget. True happiness must come from within. It is the one gift only we can give ourselves.”

W
hen Stan walked Adriane to her door after the Library Aide Society meeting, he told her how much he looked forward to the evening’s events and how he knew she would look her most beautiful. She hadn’t mentioned anything about Lucilla having a dress prepared for her, but he already knew.

She wanted to ask him once again to delay the announcement, but she did not allow the words to pass her lips. She’d already made her request in the carriage on the way home from Mrs. Wigginham’s.

With her nicest smile pasted on her face, she’d allowed him to hold her hand as she explained in her sweetest voice, “It’s just that I feel we both need time to get used to the idea, Stan.”

“I’ve been used to the idea for months,” he said.

“But I have not. I’ve hardly considered marriage at all.”

“I find that hard to believe, my dearest Adriane. Young ladies rarely ever consider anything else.” He laughed before he lifted her hand up to touch his lips to her fingers.

Adriane resisted the urge to jerk her hand free as she searched for the right words to make her point. “I fear you will find I am not your typical young lady.”

“No, you certainly are not. I think even Blake Garrett agreed with that.”

“What do you mean?” Adriane asked carefully. She didn’t really want to talk about Blake Garrett.

“I saw the way he looked at you. It was not a bit proper, and I can’t imagine what Mrs. Wigginham was thinking when she insisted on dragging me away to leave you alone with him.” Stan’s smile disappeared as his eyes narrowed and he tightened his hold on her hand. “I shall have to insist that you not speak with him again.”

His demanding tone irritated her, but she bit back an angry reply. She needed to carefully pick her fights today. So instead of telling him she’d talk with whomever she pleased, she said, “You need not worry about that. I doubt Mr. Garrett and I will have many opportunities to speak with one another since he and Father are practically sworn enemies. Besides, I found the man rude and insensitive.”

“He’s that all right.” Stan frowned slightly. “The man has no regard for the sensibilities of his readers, else he wouldn’t print those shocking murder stories in his paper as if those poor unfortunate girls were ladies.”

“Ladies or not, their deaths are distressing, and the police should do all they can to catch the murderer.” At last Adriane managed to ease her hand away from Stan’s. She felt quite confined enough simply being in the carriage with him without having to submit to him holding on to her.

“Of course,” Stan agreed easily as he sat back in the seat and eyed her. “But even if the villain’s not caught, I doubt the fair young ladies of our town have any reason to worry in regard to their own safety. Garrett is merely trying to stir up fear among the population in an unseemly attempt to sell his newspapers.”

“But there’s no way for anyone to know that for sure, is there?” She frowned a little. “I mean, about whether there will be another victim and who that might be.”

“I suppose you’re right. Who could know that except the one responsible for the dreadful crimes?”

The scene she’d seen that morning flashed through Adriane’s mind, and she couldn’t keep from shuddering.

Stan scooted closer to her and slipped his arm around her shoulders. “My dear Adriane, you have nothing at all to be concerned about except looking beautiful for the announcement tonight. From now on, I will always be close by to protect you.”

Adriane had barely stopped another shudder from shaking through her, and she had been completely unable to keep the panic from slipping back out into the open and flapping its wings of worry until it filled her mind.

Ten minutes after Stan left her at the door, Adriane had on her old work dress and was downstairs in the shop proofing the galleys. The story of the latest murder was a calm repeat of the facts in the
Herald
with a quote from the mayor that everything possible was being done to track down the killer. The chief of police promised security would be stepped up all over the city and assured the good people of the community that they were safe.

Her father’s editorial made no mention of the murders. Instead he expounded on the qualifications any voter needed in order to make an intelligent choice in an election. Colonel Storey’s letter attacked the Know Nothing party for its secretive ways and asked what possible reason a political party could have for keeping its aims and purposes unknown to the general public. The letter carried just the slightest hint that something illicit might be going on.

Her father had fired off a response to her Colonel Storey letter, claiming it to be a sacred right of Americans to assemble as they pleased and to promote the good of the country in whatever manner the assemblage deemed best. She read his words with a slight smile.

This editor has attended some of the “secret” meetings our dear Colonel Storey refers to, and I can attest to my readers that the members of the Know Nothings, more correctly called the American Party, are simply working to preserve the special God-given freedoms to which all true Americans are entitled. Note that this editor speaks of true Americans. That means those men who were born here on our sacred soil and have fought and bled for the freedoms we hold so dear. I have to wonder how the good Colonel came by his military title. From his words it doesn’t seem as though he knows the value of serving his country.

Her father had responded to her Colonel Storey letter just as she’d expected. In fact she could probably have written the words for him. Sometimes she did. She knew how he would think. She knew how her imaginary Colonel Storey would think. What she sometimes didn’t know was how she herself thought.

The words in front of her eyes faded away as she remembered again the party that night. She couldn’t allow this to go any further. With a deep breath for courage, she stood up to go face her father. She could not marry Stanley Jimson. At least not so soon. Perhaps she might be able to learn to care for Stanley in a way that might lead to marriage, but she needed time to develop such feelings. Surely her father would understand.

Her father was holed up in his small office off the pressroom with the door closed. That meant he was working on a story, but Adriane knocked anyway.

“Come back in half an hour,” her father shouted.

Risking his anger, Adriane cracked open the door and said, “I need to talk to you now, Father.”

His voice changed, lightened. “Adriane, of course. Come in.”

She pushed the door the rest of the way open and carefully sidestepped the stacks of old papers, books, and flyers to stand in the narrow bit of free space in front of her father’s desk. Makeshift shelves full of more books and papers lined the wall behind his desk. Boxes of old type and who knew what else gathered dust behind the door. There was one ladder-back chair intended for visitors, but it too was piled high with papers. Her father had tossed the rumpled copy of the
Herald
on top of the pile, and just seeing it sent a strange little jolt through Adriane.

She couldn’t think about Blake Garrett. Not now. She needed to come up with the right arguments to convince her father she wasn’t ready for marriage. To Stanley Jimson or anyone. She stared at her father as she tried to organize her thoughts.

Wade Darcy’s desk was an island of neatness in the midst of all the other confusion of paper in his office. The last week’s issues of the
Tribune
were stacked neatly on the right-hand corner of his desk as always. Blank paper waited on the left corner. His pens and ink were laid out and ready in front of him just above the dark green blotter. A couple of New York papers, some telegraph messages, and a few letters lay within easy reach as he worked on a story.

Even the page full of handwritten words in front of him was neat with few scratch outs. Adriane had always been awed by how her father was able to get his stories and editorials the way he wanted them the first time, while she had to rework anything she wrote at least twice before she could bear to think of seeing it in print. He told her he’d learned to write it right the first time through practice and because of deadlines, and that someday, with practice and dedication, she might have the same control over her own written words.

Adriane had been writing long enough to doubt that, but she did need to be sure she got these words she was about to speak right the first time. As she looked at her father, smiling up at her from behind his desk, she wished she’d taken time to practice what she needed to say. For a minute she considered racing upstairs to her room to argue her case in front of her mirror or perhaps even try the words out in her journal before she spoke them aloud to her father. She sent up a quick prayer that the words she needed would find their way to her tongue.

“Forgive me for interrupting you, Father,” Adriane started.

“That’s no problem. This story is practically writing itself.” Her father waved at the paper in front of him and then smiled at her. “Have you come to talk about the party tonight? Lucilla’s woman, Nora, showed me your dress. It’s very elegant. You’ll have to be sure to thank Lucilla properly.”

“Of course.”

“Oh yes, and I was supposed to tell you that Lucilla will send one of her maids over to help with your hair. I am to send one of the hands to fetch her.”

“That’s hardly necessary. I’m quite capable of fixing my own hair.” Adriane had a sinking feeling in her stomach. The conversation was not starting out well.

“If you prefer, but you do want to look your best.” He pulled his watch out of his vest pocket and checked the time. “So you may need to be getting ready soon.”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about, Father.”

“Don’t worry if you didn’t get something done. Beck can handle whatever it is.”

“I know he can,” Adriane agreed. “And everything’s running on schedule in any case. The quotes you got from the mayor and chief of police were just what the murder story needed and should reassure the townspeople.” Adriane’s eyes strayed to the
Herald
. She thought about telling her father about meeting Blake Garrett, but bit back the words. She had to concentrate on getting a reprieve from this sentence of marriage.

“That was my aim,” her father said. “The
Tribune
doesn’t print stories just for the sensational value but for the good of our readers. The citizens of our town need to be assured that the authorities have things under control.”

“Do they?” Adriane couldn’t keep from asking.

“You aren’t concerned, are you, Adriane? I mean for your own safety.” Her father took off his reading spectacles and peered up at her face. “Chief Trabue tells me the murders are localized in the immigrant areas of the town and that none of our ladies have any reason to doubt their safety. Besides, you shouldn’t be worrying about anything but your own happiness today. I assume Stanley did speak with you.”

“He spoke with me. It appears someone else has already spoken to the rest of the town. Everybody at Mrs. Wigginham’s gathering was whispering about us.”

“Such good news is hard to keep secret.” A smile spread across her father’s face again.

In the face of his obvious happiness over the whole affair, Adriane hesitated. She had no desire to disappoint him. Ever since she could remember, she’d always tried to please her father whenever she could. After all, he was the one who had rescued her from the dark closets and Henrietta. He was the one who had taught her history and encouraged her reading. He was the one whose love she’d never had to doubt.

And yet there had always been a kind of reserve between them. She couldn’t remember him ever swinging her up in the air when she was a little girl. He never complimented any of her stories in the
Tribune
. Indeed he hardly seemed aware of the work she did on the paper or to keep the household running smoothly. Until Lucilla had come along and perhaps pointed out the value of having an attractive daughter to make a proper marriage, Adriane doubted her father had given the first thought to her appearance.

Now as he sat waiting for her to speak, he fingered his spectacles and let his eyes stray back to the page in front of him. She knew she’d best hurry out her arguments before she lost his attention altogether. “Father, I wonder if it might not be possible to wait awhile on the announcement.”