Part 9 (1/2)
That annoyingly sardonic brow lifted. ”Do you think I also arranged for the blizzard?”
She flushed but did not look away. ”I would not put it past you! Sorcerers can conjure up all sorts of evil things.”
”Trust me, Diana. I did my best to escape New York without being followed.”
”You lied to me.”
”Yes.”
”About everything?”
His eyes darkened. ”No. Not about everything.”
Her breath caught. In confusion, Diana dropped her gaze to hands she held tightly clasped in her lap.
Jerusha coughed, then extended a hand past Diana. ”Mister Bathory, I presume?” She all but purred the question.
”Miss Fildale. A pleasure.” He bowed over her hand and kissed it, bringing his chiseled profile into Diana's line of vision.
”Oh, la! You give me all sorts of new thoughts on how to stay warm.”
”Better than alcohol, I trust. Imbibing heavily tends to make people careless and that invites frostbite. It is not a pretty sight, nor is the resulting loss of fingers or toes.”
”Charming,” Diana muttered. She could guess the sort of tale Damon Bathory might create from this experience. Frozen corpses reanimated in the manner of Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley's Frankenstein monster. Horribly disfigured creatures who -- ”Don't scowl so,” Jerusha hissed, giving Diana a thump on the upper arm. ”Your face will get stuck that way.”
Bathory had turned his attention to the other occupants of the coach. Diana glanced over her shoulder at them, then wished she had not. Avid curiosity came back at her in palpable waves. They'd overheard her exchange with Bathory and drawn their own conclusions.
Seeing the salacious speculation in Lavinia's eyes, Diana wished she could crawl under the seat and hide. She settled for visualizing Horatio Foxe's face when she presented him with the sensational story he'd demanded.
Behind her, Bathory's mellifluous voice outlined their situation. ”The most practical course is for everyone to gather in one place,” he concluded, ”and since the parlor car is the most comfortable, I suggest you all move there.”
”How astonis.h.i.+ng,” Jerusha murmured. ”We're being invited to join the posh set.”
”Kind of you, m'boy.” Nathan Todd spoke for all the members of his troupe and none of them needed to be asked twice. Gathering their possessions, they exited the coach en ma.s.se.
They were greeted on the other side by a formidable matron. Diana recognized her as the pa.s.senger who'd looked so repulsed by the sight of Jerusha and Lavinia promenading on the platform at Grand Central Station.
”I am Mrs. Wainflete,” she informed them.
”Pleased to meet you, ma'am!” Toddy grabbed her hand and shook it, causing her considerable consternation. ”We're grateful indeed for your hospitality. And to prove it, we'll pay our pa.s.sage by entertaining you. You have at your disposal, madam, one of the finest theatrical companies in the world. We'll perform a play from our repertoire. Any one you select. What would cost you three dollars for an orchestra seat, you shall have today for free.”
Mrs. Wainflete seemed somewhat mollified, although it soon became clear she'd not favored inviting them in. Like the others who'd bought first-cla.s.s tickets, she'd paid twenty-five dollars to ensure that she wouldn't be obliged to mingle with the riff-raff.
Jerusha pushed Diana in the direction of a buffet outfitted to serve coffee, tea, and light refreshments and pressed a sandwich into her hand. ”Eat.”
Mrs. Wainflete returned to her pedestal armchair, a recliner covered in red plush and furnished with white cloth arm- and headrest-covers, a foot cus.h.i.+on, and an individual heating coil connected to the small stove that sat in one corner.
The man who identified himself as Mrs. Wainflete's husband, reed thin with wispy hair and a mustache to match, stayed as far away from his formidable wife as he could get, staring out of one of the parlor car's large windows.
”Can't see a blasted thing,” he complained, peering into the storm, ”and I vow this handrail's turned to ice.” Wincing, he lifted his bare fingers from the silver-plated surface.
”You'd best close the curtains,” Bathory advised. ”We should keep in whatever heat we can.”
It did not surprise Diana when Wainflete obeyed. Damon Bathory had that effect on people.
”Surely the stove will keep us warm.” Mrs. Wainflete's voice was sour as vinegar.
”We have no way of knowing how long we'll be stuck here.”
”A few hours -- ”
”More likely a few days.”
”Surely you exaggerate, sir.” Mrs. Wainflete appeared to take the possibility of being stranded for any length of time as a personal affront.
”I hope I do,” Bathory said. ”The trainmen, be they porters or brakemen or conductors, are trying to dig us out. If they are unsuccessful in their attempts, they will need every able-bodied man to take a turn at the shovels, and even that may not be enough.”
Diana concentrated on sipping a cup of tea, but she was instantly aware of it when Bathory left the parlor car to collect more pa.s.sengers from another coach.
Jerusha snickered.
”Why do you laugh?”
”Because you relax as soon as he's gone. You bristle like two cats in each other's presence,” she observed, still audibly amused. ”And he is as fascinated with you as you are with him.”
”That's hardly likely,” Diana muttered. Besides, Bathory had a dark, secretive, dangerous side. Diana would not be fooled into forgetting that again, nor tricked into trusting him.
”He is a very pretty fellow, Diana Spaulding.” Jerusha leaned closer. ”If you want my advice, you should keep right on following him until he lets you catch him.”
”The snowdrifts blocking the tracks appear to be a good twenty feet high,” the conductor announced. ”We will not be moving again for some time.” The blue of his uniform was almost obscured by rime ice.
Fifty-two heads swiveled his way. Over Mrs. Wainflete's protests that there were not enough chairs in the parlor car for everyone, Bathory had insisted on a.s.sembling all the train's pa.s.sengers in one place. There were only nineteen recliners, but the rest of the pa.s.sengers did not seem to mind the thought of sitting, or even sleeping, on the floor. The parlor-car floor was covered by a thick carpet.
”Are there any plows on this side of the drifts?” Bathory asked the conductor.
”Keeps on snowing, we'll need a mighty big plow. One weighted with twenty-five tons of pig iron and as many as a dozen engines to push it. Not something we get much call for in southern Connecticut.”
”What about bucking snow with the cowcatcher?”
Plainly, Bathory had traveled by train in the winter before. So had Todd's Touring Thespians, and Diana with them.
”We'd have to do more shoveling first. Need to back up the track about a mile to do it right, then pull the throttle wide open, and kerchug! Right into the wall of snow.” The conductor's smile was grim. ”I'll grant you that the impact can drive an engine two or three car lengths into a drift, but then the crew has to go out and clear the snow before we can do it again.”
It sounded a long, dangerous process to Diana.
”How many men in your crew?” Bathory asked.
Mrs. Wainflete looked outraged. ”Surely you don't mean to invite the help into first cla.s.s?”
”It makes sense to pool all our resources, especially food and heat. Bodies pressed together keep each other warm.”