Part 21 (1/2)
”You promise you won't let on to Miss Jenny it was me that told you?”
”I swear it.”
Clarissa finished her coffee, plainly troubled by the prospect of incurring her employer's wrath. At last, however, she lowered the cup and gave Diana a conspiratorial wink. ”He was at the doctor's office. Upstairs over the surgery. All through the middle part of January.”
”You're certain?”
”Course I'm certain. Sometimes he has these spells where he can't abide other people at all. That Mrs. Northcote, Mr. Aaron's mother, she's not the easiest person to live with.”
Although Diana took Clarissa's point, she couldn't help wondering how the woman had learned of Aaron's whereabouts. ”If he didn't want company -- ”
”I do the housekeeping at Dr. Northcote's office, so I have a key. I went around there, on the eighth of January it was. I remember, because it was Madam Yvonne's birthday on the seventh. She's one of Miss Jenny's compet.i.tors and she always throws herself a big party, just to pull customers away from us. Anyway, there was Mr. Aaron, holed up in the little room under the eaves.”
”Painting?”
”Not that I saw. Just hiding out. Anyway, he made me promise him that I wouldn't tell anyone where he was, and I've kept that promise. Until now.”
If Aaron had been in Bangor on the eighth, there was no way he could have reached San Francis...o...b.. the ninth.
Clarissa's face wore an indulgent smile. ”Once I knew he was there, I made sure he ate right. He didn't like me fussing, but I just ignored his complaints. Men need looking after, you know. They just hate like the d.i.c.kens to admit it.”
When Diana left Miss Jenny's she had only a short distance to walk to reach Ben's office. Ernest was waiting for her there. ”Dr. Northcote's been called out again,” he told her. ”Said I was to take you home.”
”The man is entirely too dedicated to his patients,” Diana muttered.
Ernest took offense. ”Lot of 'em waited till he come back for doctoring. Didn't trust the young whippersnapper he asked to cover his practice for him.”
Without giving her time to reply, Ernest went to hitch the horse to the buggy. Left alone, Diana studied the neat, orderly room in which those patients waited for Ben to see them. It was impeccably clean, speaking well of Clarissa's abilities as a housekeeper.
Belatedly, she remembered the small packet Clarissa had sold her, and a suspicion of what it held sent heat rus.h.i.+ng into her face. First checking to make sure no one would walk in while she examined it, she tore the paper and looked inside. As she'd guessed, it contained a sponge and a slip of paper with instructions for using it to prevent pregnancy. Hastily rewrapping the contents, she stuffed the packet back into her bag.
Diana intended to go straight to her own room when she returned to the house, but as soon as she entered, she heard voices in the front parlor. Both were familiar. With a sinking heart, she went to join Maggie and her guest.
”Why look, Mrs. Northcote!” Nathan Todd exclaimed when Diana appeared at the door. ”It is that famous New York reviewer, the one who so dislikes your stories.”
Toddy knew Maggie had written them? Astonished, Diana struggled to make sense of this new development. When they'd been stranded on the train, Ben had been posing as Damon Bathory. How could Toddy have discovered his real name, let alone unmask Maggie as the true author of Damon Bathory's terrifying tales?
”How long have you known?” she demanded.
His burst of good-natured laughter surprised her. ”Half an hour,” he said. He glanced at his pocket watch and grinned. ”Give or take a few minutes.”
”The better question is how he knew.” Maggie occupied the rococo sofa, Cedric ensconced on her lap. ”It seems the word is out. Your friend arrived on the morning train and heard all about me at the depot.”
On leaden feet, Diana came the rest of the way into the room. ”What, precisely, did you hear?”
”Two men talking about the ident.i.ty of Damon Bathory. Their source seemed to be Mrs. Northcote herself.”
”Some of my friends appear to lack a certain discretion,” Maggie said with an apologetic smile, but she didn't seem unduly concerned that the cat was out of the bag.
Silently, Diana swore. She'd have to send her story about Maggie to New York this afternoon and pray some other newspaper had not already got wind of the news. It would be touch and go whether Maggie had time to warn her publisher before the item was picked up by the Boston papers.
”How did you know I was here?” Diana asked Toddy.
”Oh, I told him about you,” Maggie admitted. ”Why not? It was obvious he knew you and equally clear he's a fine fellow. After all, he came here to offer me a splendid business opportunity.”
”Business?” With every bit of new information she gained, Diana grew more confused. She sank wearily into a chair and waited for the next revelation.
”Congratulate me, Diana,” Toddy said. ”I am to dramatize the works of Damon Bathory.”
”I should congratulate Mrs. Northcote.” Diana turned her head to address Ben's mother. ”You are fortunate Mr. Todd bothered to ask permission, Maggie. It's all too common a theatrical practice to take plot, characters, even dialogue, directly from a novel without troubling to get the permission of the novelist.”
”I had no idea.” Maggie's sharp eyes, as they pinioned Toddy, said differently. All at once, Diana saw this development as Maggie must. Ben's mother had been worried that her upcoming meeting with her publisher would not go well. Here, presented on a silver platter, was an alternate means of reaching an audience.
”It's all the fuss over that unauthorized dramatization of H. Rider Haggard's She,” Toddy complained. ”It has turned into a major plagiarism case in the courts. Smart money says unscrupulous playwrights are due for a reckoning. They're going to be brought to account for their sins.” He shrugged. ”I thought it wise to avoid litigation.”
Maggie nodded sagely. ”I knew you were trustworthy. I have a sense about people.” She stroked Cedric lovingly. ”Cats have the same ability. Those they like are invariably worthy of their affection. I was a cat myself in another life.” She paused to let that statement garner its proper reaction, then spoke to Diana. ”I am sure you two have things to say to each other. Do not go upsetting this lovely man, my dear. I envision a brilliant future on the stage for my characters.”
With Cedric draped over one shoulder, she exited the parlor. Toddy rose politely and stood staring after her, mustaches quivering as he tried to quell his laughter, but all trace of amus.e.m.e.nt vanished when he s.h.i.+fted his attention to Diana.
”Well, my dear, I have a bone to pick with you.” He stalked towards her, a determined gleam in his eyes.
For one disconcerting moment, Diana imagined that she was back in that alley in New York. She laughed nervously when Toddy, seeing her reaction, backed off, giving her a puzzled look. ”Why are you cowering? You never cower.”
Stiffening her spine, she sat up straight. It had not been Nathan Todd who attacked her. He was too heavy-set. Charles Underly? Perhaps. Or Billy Sims. But not Toddy. Besides, he had no motive. She had never criticized his acting in print.
”What bone do you have to pick?” She was pleased to discover her voice was steady.
”It's about what you wrote in last Wednesday's column.”
”What are you talking about? I haven't written a word for 'Today's Tidbits' since I left New York.”
”Someone has.”
”Horatio Foxe.” She should have known.
”Your editor?”
”Yes. The same one who added gossip to my column once before.”
”Confound it, Diana. We thought you'd returned to New York after the storm. Do you mean to tell me you've been here all along?”
”I've been working on a story about Damon Bathory.”
”But ... but everyone thinks you've continued to write your reviews.” He grimaced. ”Well, that explains one thing. Last Wednesday's column was a selection of comments from previous pieces ... the worst of the worst, including your comments about the quality of the acting in The d.u.c.h.ess of Calabria.”
”I'm sorry, Toddy. I'd have stopped him if I'd known.”