Part 8 (1/2)
”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.
Chapter Seven.
The gent's washroom was already occupied by two men when Ben Northcote entered. He did not recall seeing either of them in the parlor car, but then he'd not been paying much attention to the other first-cla.s.s pa.s.sengers.
He maneuvered around a heavy-set, red-faced fellow of forty or so in order to pump water into the ceramic basin and sluice it over his hands. The other man stood with his back to them, changing his collar in front of one of the two mirrors. When the train lurched suddenly, causing his hand to jerk, one end of the new collar flew up and slapped him in the face.
Ben hid a smile as he dried his hands on the roller towel. He was about to return to his seat, when the man whose laundry added starch with such a heavy hand turned to his rotund companion and spoke a familiar name. ”What's Diana doing here, Toddy?”
Ben stilled. It wasn't such an unusual name, yet ... Interested to hear the answer, he pretended to find a spot of dirt on the back of his right hand. He scrubbed industriously at it while he eavesdropped.
”She's hoping to get Lavinia to accept her apology. That's what Lavinia thinks, anyway.”
”Makes no sense.” The man at the mirror sounded peeved, but Ben could not tell if it was the topic of conversation or his losing battle with the collar which annoyed him. ”She spoke to her on the platform. Why tag along after us onto the train?”
This time his question received only a grunt in reply. The one called Toddy had gone into the smaller, adjoining compartment that held the commode. In reality, it was no more than a box with a mahogany seat that opened to the tracks below. For all the luxury of the appointments in first cla.s.s, a primitive dry hopper was the best they could provide in toilet facilities.
”Is she going all the way to our next stand? I didn't see any luggage?”
Toddy's reply was m.u.f.fled but understandable. ”I doubt she intended to come along, Charles, but Lavinia snubbed her and our Diana has always been persistent. Probably followed her on impulse.”
”Why is she sitting with Jerusha, then?”
”Because I am occupying the seat next to Lavinia.”
There was no longer any doubt in Ben's mind that ”their” Diana was the one he knew. Indeed, now that he put the names Jerusha, Lavinia, Toddy and Charles together, he recognized the two men as actors in The d.u.c.h.ess of Calabria. This portly fellow was Nathan Todd, who managed the company and took most of the leading male roles. Charles was Charles Underly, easily the least talented person in the troupe. Jerusha would be Jerusha Fildale, the leading lady of Todd's Touring Thespians. Lavinia was undoubtedly the notorious ”Miss L. R.,” who'd used her body to ease her path to a featured role in the play. She'd had to, Ben thought, remembering her portrayal of Julia, the Cardinal's mistress. She had little ability as an actress.
Underly, having at last subdued his collar, reached for the public brush and comb tethered by cords to the white marble top of the paneled washstand. He winced as he restored order to the thick mane of his hair. Either he'd encountered a snarl or he was hung over. The bloodshot eyes reflected in the mirror made Ben suspect the latter.
”You know what happened the last time Jerusha and Diana had a little heart-to-heart chat,” Underly muttered as Todd emerged from the cubicle.
The older man heaved a sigh so deep that the edges of his mustache quivered. ”What's done is done. The gossip didn't hurt us at the box office. Still, I could have done without the backbiting backstage.”
”You spoke civilly enough to Diana at the station. In your place, I'd have turned my back on her.” He reached for the silver-headed walking stick he'd left propped against the wall. ”Or wrung her pretty little neck,” he added in a mutter.
”We can hardly complain when the story's true.”
To avoid making the two men suspicious of him, Ben left the washroom, but he lingered just outside. Their voices reached him well enough through the door.
”Next you'll be telling me she didn't mean what she said about my interpretation of the role of Ferdinand.”
”For G.o.d's sake, Charles. You've had worse reviews.”
”She's Evan Spaulding's widow, Toddy. She might have been kinder. To hear Jerusha tell it, your troupe was like family to her once. It's betrayal, that's what, to go to work for that newspaper and dissect the talents of Spaulding's colleagues.”
”That's what reviewers do, Charles.” Todd sounded resigned.
”Then she should have found other work.”
”As what? A seamstress? Maybe you'd rather she walked the streets?”
Ben heard the sound of the latch being lifted and beat a hasty retreat. He might not know what had motivated Diana Spaulding to choose the profession she had, but he was certain he knew the answer to Underly's earlier question. Once again, she was following Damon Bathory.
And once again he would have to find a way to put an end to her pursuit.
”Fools,” Jerusha muttered.
Diana came out of her reverie with a jerk. ”Who?”
”Them.” She indicated Nathan Todd and Charles Underly, who were just returning to the coach.
In the few seconds it had taken the two men to cross from one railroad car to the next, they'd been coated in white. Even Toddy's mustache was caked with wet snow. Underly shook himself like a dog, then glared at Diana as he pa.s.sed her seat.
”Where did they go?” She'd been so lost in her own bleak thoughts that she hadn't noticed them leave.
”First-cla.s.s parlor car. To use the gents' washroom.”
Diana suppressed a laugh.
”Sheer insanity to have braved the elements in such a blow,” Jerusha declared.
”You'd do the same if it weren't storming.”
Diana would herself, especially when enc.u.mbered by a bustle of any size. The first-cla.s.s ladies' washrooms were small -- three-feet-by-six at most, with a smaller, adjoining compartment to hold a commode -- but less luxurious cars did not contain any was.h.i.+ng facilities and the cramped, airless closets provided for the basic necessity were barely large enough to back into with one's skirts already raised.