“No, we’ll have a story to run tomorrow.” Adriane looked down at the Herald’s headlines with a sigh. “Even though by tomorrow it’ll be old news. But keep your ears open, Duff. You might hear something new we can use.”
“I’ll be listening for sure, Miss Adriane, but Garrett will be bound to hear it first. He always does.” Duff shrugged his shoulders a little.
“You said one of your sisters knew her.”
“Aye.”
“Was this poor girl Irish same as the other two?” Adriane touched the girl’s name on the page.
“Aye. Some are saying that’s why nobody’s in much of a dither about it all.”
“That’s not true,” Adriane said, even though she knew it was. Before Blake Garrett had come to town and begun printing the most sensational stories he could dig up, this girl’s murder probably wouldn’t have even made it into the papers, much less been a headline story. After all, not only was she an Irish immigrant, she worked in a tavern.
“Maybe not, but if you ask me, the watch ain’t got a clue as to who’s doing it all and ain’t looking too hard to find out.” Anger tightened Duff’s young face. “I talked to a sister of the first girl what was killed a couple months back, and she says they’ve yet to see the first policeman around their way. She was scared. Me own sisters are scared.”
“Who can blame them?” Adriane quickly skimmed the article about the murder. The girl had been stabbed the same as the others. Adriane’s eyes settled on a quote from the girl’s brother, saying how his sister had never hurt anyone and had always done whatever she could to help her family out. Adriane felt tears prickling her eyes. Garrett knew how to pull at the heartstrings of his readers.
Duff pointed toward the paper. “You want to keep it? He has a piece inside about how there be no guarantees the slasher’s next victim might not be some lady who lives out on Walnut or Broadway instead of just a poor girl down on the riverfront.”
“Really? That should cause some discussions in the parlor rooms today.” Adriane peered down at the paper and then began quickly folding it up. “But you’d better get this out of here before Mr. Darcy sees it.”
“Before Mr. Darcy sees what?” Adriane’s father spoke up behind them.
Adriane spun around keeping the paper behind her. “Oh, Father, I didn’t hear you come downstairs.”
“So I gather.” He peered at her over the top of his spectacles. “What is it you’re hiding behind your skirts?”
“Nothing important. Just a copy of the Herald Duff happened across on the way over this morning.” Adriane brought the paper out from behind her back reluctantly.
Her father’s face turned grimmer at the sight of it. “And what does our Mr. Garrett think the news is this morning?”
“Another girl got killed last night, Mr. Darcy,” Duff said.
“Let me see.” Her father held out his hand.
Adriane handed the paper to her father and tried to think of a way to avert the storm that was sure to come. She pointed Duff toward his pile of papers. “You’d better get the news out on the street, Duff.”
Duff took one look at Wade Darcy’s face, grabbed his papers, and disappeared out the door.
Wade stared after him a moment. “I don’t know why I ever let you talk me into giving that Irish pup a job. If the party men find out, I’m apt as not to lose half my readers.”
“He’s a hard worker,” Adriane said.
“And a wizard with this newfangled equipment,” Beck put in as he came over to join them.
“He’s a boy. Still wet behind the ears,” Wade said.
“But a wizard nonetheless,” Beck insisted. “I ain’t never figured out all these new contraptions, but he can stand and watch one run a few minutes and figure out which screw or whatever needs tightening.”
“I know. We need him. If only he didn’t look so Irish.” Wade blew out his breath and shook his head before he dropped his eyes back to the paper he was holding.
“You say Chesnut’s man has done beat us to the headlines again,” Beck said.
“He’ll sell his papers today,” Wade said without looking up. “People nowadays don’t want to read the real news. They want to be shocked and scandalized.”
Beck peeked over at the Herald’s headlines. “I reckon as how that should do it then. You got to admit it’s more of a grabber than the mayor’s order to keep hogs off the streets.”
“What do you know about what’s news?” Wade glared at Beck.
“Not a thing, boss. Not a thing.” Beck didn’t seem a bit put off by Wade’s bad humor. “I just set whatever you or Addie here tells me to. And there’ll be plenty of people out there that will want to know what you’ve got to say about the elections coming up. Your editorials could sell a paper even if nothing else happened anywhere in the world.”
“Maybe so, Beck. Maybe so, but something’s always happening. We just need to start finding out what before the Herald does.”
“We will, boss.”
“That’s right, Father,” Adriane put in. “You’re always on top of whatever’s happening in the political arena.”
“That’s true.” Wade Darcy’s frown eased back. “And that’s the real news. Did we get anything in from Colonel Storey for tomorrow’s issue?”
Adriane turned back to her desk and picked up a letter. “As a matter of fact, we did. As usual, he doesn’t completely agree with your views.”
“That’s fine. A little controversy is good for circulation.” He folded the Herald and smacked it in his palm.
“You want me to get rid of that?” Adriane asked.
“No. I want to read over Garrett’s editorials. It’s always best to keep abreast of what the enemy is up to.”
“Have you met him, Father?” Adriane couldn’t help but be curious about this man who was making such an impact on the town’s newspaper business even though he’d only arrived in Louisville a few months ago. It was common knowledge he’d worked for a big daily up in New York City. Another reason for Adriane’s curiosity. Why would he leave a New York paper for one here in Louisville? So far she hadn’t heard the first bit of reliable information about that.
“Of course I’ve met him. If he wasn’t such a young pup, I’d call him out.” Her father twisted the paper as though he might rip it in two.
“Father!” Adriane’s eyes popped open wide. “We’ve been campaigning for an end to duels.”
“Don’t look so shocked, Adriane.” Her father waved the rumpled paper at her. “I didn’t mean it. The only way I’ll shoot him is if he shoots at me first on the street.”
“Oh, Father, go write your editorial. Just gun him down with words.”
“You want to save some space for the murder in tomorrow’s paper?” Beck asked before her father moved away toward his office.
He hesitated as though wanting to say no, but there was only one answer. “I suppose we’ll have to,” he said with a sigh. “Garrett’s headlines will convince even our readers that it’s news. I’ll get a report from Chief Trabue before we go to press.”
“I don’t think the police are doing much about any of it,” Adriane said.
“I wouldn’t wonder, the kind of girls they were. Decent young ladies shouldn’t even be reading about such things.” A new frown furrowed her father’s brow. “Young ladies like you.”
Adriane quickly changed the subject. “We could try to find out if any of the steamboats are trying to make a record run to New Orleans and back. I hear Captain Overstreet on The Belle of Paradise has been tying down his valves.”
Her father’s eyes narrowed on her. “Where did you hear that?”
“I don’t know. Around,” she said vaguely.
Her father’s frown lines deepened as he said, “You hear entirely too much for a lady, Adriane. You must be more circumspect about appearances now that you’re to marry Stanley.”
“I don’t care about appearances, Father,” Adriane said.
“Of course you do, d
ear. All young ladies care about appearances.” Her father’s frown was replaced by an indulgent smile. “By the way, Lucilla is sending her dressmaker over with a special gown for you to wear tonight. She had her woman make it as a surprise for just such an occasion.”
“I have dresses.”
“Not proper ones, according to Lucilla, and I’m sure Lucilla knows best about such things.”
“Yes, Father.” Adriane had little choice but to give in gracefully.
So when Lucilla’s dressmaker, Nora, showed up with the boxed dress, Adriane left the pressroom, scrubbed the ink off her hands, and submitted to the fitting. As Nora fussed over her, admiring her hair and her figure, and praising Mrs. Elmore’s fashion sense that had made her pick the perfect deep blue for the dress, Adriane wished she could be the boy Beck had sent down to the docks to check out the steamboats.
She remembered the exhilarating freedom she’d felt that morning in those borrowed trousers as she’d followed Duff through the streets to the river. In contrast, she felt a helpless captive swathed in the beautiful silky dress she was to wear to the party that night to announce her engagement to Stanley Jimson.
3
After Nora made all her measurements and tucks and settled down in the tiny sitting room to, as the seamstress said around the pins in her mouth, “make the dress even more perfect,” Adriane checked the time.
Stan would be arriving any moment to pick her up for Mrs. Wigginham’s Library Aide Society meeting. Adriane toyed with the idea of going back downstairs to help Beck. When Stan showed up, she could always claim she’d forgotten about the meeting.
Adriane sighed. Stan might believe her. Her father would not. Besides, she’d promised Mrs. Wigginham she’d come, and Mrs. Wigginham was not a person who forgave broken promises. She liked seeing her name in the paper associated with whatever noble cause she was supporting at the time.
Opening the door of her wardrobe, Adriane studied the dresses hanging there. She smiled a bit as she selected a deep cranberry dress with only a touch of cream lace at the high neck for ornamentation. She might have to go, but she didn’t have to look pretty.
After she slipped the dress on and shook the skirt down over her petticoats, she stood in front of the small square mirror on her wall and carelessly caught her hair back with a matching cranberry ribbon. Stan would want a wife who was a decoration on his arm. So perhaps her very plainness today would discourage him from speaking or at least make him hesitate for a few weeks. A few weeks, even a few days might give Adriane time to get used to the idea instead of feeling as if she were being swept toward the altar in a flood of other people’s wishes.
It wasn’t that Adriane had never thought of love and marriage. When she was younger, she had pored over the love stories serialized in the popular magazines that told of ladies captivated by handsome men who loved them devotedly.
Adriane stared at her reflection. Perhaps Stan did love her devotedly. The problem was with her. She supposed she was fond of Stan, but she couldn’t see herself ever being captivated by him. She’d never even allowed him the favor of a kiss. She felt no desire to do so now.
Adriane ran her fingers through her dark hair to tousle it just a bit more and glanced down at the plain lines of the dress with satisfaction. But when she passed through the sitting room on the way to the stairs, Nora looked up at her and exclaimed, “Ma chère, what a perfect color for you. I will inform Mademoiselle Elmore that we must have a length of that very color in a shining satin for an evening gown. We’ll cut it low.” Nora motioned with her needle. “With your dark hair and lovely neck, you will be the most beautiful belle in all of Louisville.”
“This is the plainest dress I have,” Adriane protested.
Nora looked at her knowingly. “With one as beautiful as you, the plainer the dress the better. It is only the simply pretty ones who need ruffles. You, ma chère, should always be different.”
That was easy enough, Adriane thought as she hurried down the steps. At least it always had been before. Now it appeared she was going to be forced to conform to society’s norms.
Stan was waiting in the small entrance hallway at the bottom of the stairs. One look at his broad smile, and she knew a plain dress and a careless hairdo would not be enough to slow the force of the flood carrying her toward the altar.
“My dearest Adriane, you look charming as always.” He lifted her hand to his lips, but kept his eyes on her face.
After a moment, she attempted to gently pull her hand away, but he held it more tightly.
“We’ll be late,” she said.
“No one will notice.” He surrendered her hand at last but continued to almost devour her with his eyes.
Adriane had to fight the urge to shrink away from him as she noted the uncommon color in his cheeks and the almost feverish look in his eyes. “Are you feeling well, Stanley?” she asked. “You look flushed.”
He put a hand to his cheek and laughed. “With excitement, my dearest. It is a wonderful day for the two of us. Perhaps we could skip this tiresome tea and spend the time getting better acquainted.”
He reached out to capture her hand again, but she pretended not to notice as she picked up her wrap. “I’m sure that would be delightful, but I did promise Mrs. Wigginham the Tribune would carry some mention of her event, so I do need to at least make an appearance.”
“Of course.” Stan gave in as he held her cloak for her. “We can talk on the way. We have much to discuss, you and I.” His hand lingered on her shoulder for an instant before he opened the door and allowed her to precede him out into the street.
An early morning shower had left puddles in the street, but now the sun was shining. Adriane raised her face to the sky a moment to gather in the sun’s warmth before she allowed Stan to hand her up into the carriage.
Adriane didn’t enjoy riding in closed carriages at any time, but today she felt as if all the air was being shut outside when Stan climbed up beside her and the driver fastened the door. She could feel Stan’s eyes on her as the carriage began to roll. With her brightest smile, she began to chatter about how the spring flowers would soon be blooming, as though nothing at all was unusual or different about the day.
After a moment Stan broke in on her words. “Your father did speak with you last night, did he not?”
“I generally speak with my father every day.” Adriane had no intention of making it easy for Stan.
“Of course,” Stan said. “I spoke with him myself yesterday about a matter of some importance.”
She dropped her eyes to her gloved hands clenched in her lap and reminded herself that the man beside her was only Stanley Jimson. Without looking over at him, she pictured him there beside her. Sitting straight, holding his hat on his lap. Perfectly dressed with blond hair carefully slicked back. His gold watch chain would be hanging just so across his vest. He adjusted it constantly to be sure it stayed in correct alignment. His buttons would be gleaming. She frowned a bit and wondered if he still had his small, neat moustache, but she didn’t peek at him to see for sure.
Stanley Jimson was not a man she needed to fear. She rather doubted anyone would look on the man with fear of any sort. In fact he was so slender and pale, that at times he seemed to almost fade into the background at the socials so that she had difficulty finding him when she wished to leave. It could be she had often failed to take him seriously enough, but she needed to do so now. Not because she feared him, but because she feared the sort of wife he might expect her to be.
She kept her eyes on her hands folded in her lap as she picked her words very carefully. “So my father said. Do you not think it would have been more appropriate to speak to me first?”
Stan laughed. “I wanted it to be a glorious surprise.”
She raised her head and met his eyes directly for the first time since she’d come down the stairs and noted the difference in him. She had thought he would be the same Stan as always, quietly willing to go along with whatever she sai
d, but there was a new confidence in the way he held his mouth. It was not altogether unattractive, simply unfortunate at this moment in time when Adriane needed to be sure that their union, if it were to take place, must be formed in accordance with her desires and wishes.
“I’m not at all sure I’m ready for marriage.” She kept her eyes steadily on his face as she noted he did indeed still have his moustache.
Again there was the smile and that new look in his eyes that was making Adriane uneasy. “Your father appears to believe you are.”
“Yes, but in this matter, it is surely more important what I appear to believe.” Her look did not waver as she refused to think about the scarcity of air to breathe inside the carriage.
The flush of victory drained from his cheeks, and when he spoke again, it was with his normal timidity. “You’re not refusing my offer of marriage, are you, Adriane?”
In spite of the fact it was what she wanted, Adriane couldn’t help but be a bit disappointed at how easily she had been able to deflate Stan’s confidence.
“No, of course not,” she said quickly. “Although it might have been nice if you could have made the offer to me face-to-face.”
“You know I adore you, Adriane, and I’ve tried to ask you to marry me dozens of times, but you would never allow me to say the words.” A familiar whine worked its way into Stan’s voice.
“I am certainly ready to listen now.”
“But my dearest Adriane, I can hardly make a proper proposal in a moving carriage, especially with the way Jack seems to be finding every bump and rut in the road.”
“Very well.” Adriane turned her eyes back to her gloved hands in her lap. “Perhaps on another occasion when the surroundings are more ideal.”
“My father is announcing the engagement tonight.” The whine in Stan’s voice carried an edge of panic now.
Words Spoken True: A Novel Page 3