by Matt Braun
“Why shore,” Hickok said dryly. “You always was the diplomat of the bunch. Just don’t let the cat out of the bag.”
“I’ll drop around to Gramercy Park tomorrow mornin’. We’ll keep the kids here till things come clear.”
“You’ve no time to lose,” Buntline observed. “We open in Philadelphia day after tomorrow.”
“Philadelphia?” Cody said, astounded. “What happened to New York?”
“Bill, it’s a new show,” Buntline said defensively. “We’ll play Philadelphia for a week and work out the kinks. I want it perfect when we open here in New York.”
“Well, you’re the boss when it comes to the show business. Guess we’re headed to Philadelphia.”
Buntline was indeed the maestro. His real name was Edward Zane Judson, but he had adopted the nom de plume Ned Buntline. A character himself, he’d had six wives and once fought a duel over a dalliance with another man’s wife. Some years ago he had been jailed for instigating a theater riot against an English actor who was in competition with Edwin Forrest, America’s greatest Shakespearean. He was renowned for his dime novels, and now he’d made his name as a playwright. The Buffalo Bill Combination was his entrée into the theater.
“Forgot to ask,” Cody said. “What’s the name of the new show?”
Buntline swelled with pride. “The Scouts of the Plains!”
“Yeah, that’s us,” Cody said, glancing around at Hickok and Omohundro. “What’s the story?”
“You might say it is The Three Musketeers taking battle to the warlike tribes.”
Cody looked blank. “Who’s the three musketeers?”
“Who—” Buntline laughed deep in his belly. “Only the grandest novel ever written by Alexander Dumas. One of the immortals!”
“Never heard of him,” Cody said. “Funny name for a feller that writes dime novels.”
“No, no, he was a Frenchman. Dead now scarcely two years. A genius!”
“I’ll take your word for it, Ned.”
Hickok crossed the room. He took a firebrand from the fireplace and lit a cheroot. His gaze fixed on Cody.
“Maybe we ought to talk about Philadelphia.”
“What about it?”
Hickok exhaled smoke. “Day after tomorrow’s pretty damn quick. Don’t give us much time to get things settled with Kate and Gus.”
“Time enough,” Cody said. “I’ll get the lowdown from their folks in the mornin’. We’ll go from there.”
“What if the lowdown ain’t all we need to know? What then?”
“C’mon now, don’t go borrowin’ trouble. Wait and see what I ferret out.”
“Just so’s we’re clear on things,” Hickok said. “Them kids are our first order of business. Not Philadelphia.”
“Hold on!” Buntline protested. “We’re booked into a theater. We must be there!”
Hickok pointed the cheroot at him. “I’m not talkin’ to you. This here’s between me and Cody.”
Buntline deflated back onto the divan. Texas Jack Omohundro, who knew a warning when he heard one, stared off into space. Cody raised his hands in mock surrender.
“The kids first,” he said. “That satisfy you?”
Hickok puffed a wad of smoke. “Just wanted to hear you say it.”
Buntline wondered how many men they had killed over the children. Then, on second thought, he decided he didn’t want to know. His one imperative was to get them to Philadelphia.
The Scouts of the Plains must go on.
CHAPTER 14
CODY LEFT the hotel at eight o’clock the next morning. The doorman whistled up a hansom cab and gave the driver the address. The cab trundled south on Broadway into the theater district, where traffic was in a state of bedlam even at the early hour. Farther downtown, the driver turned east onto Twentieth Street.
The sky was overcast, dull pewter clouds obscuring the sun. Cody sat back in the seat, staring out at brownstones that were the current architectural vogue. His thoughts raced over the surface of the last few weeks like a dragonfly skimming the still waters of a pond. He found himself incapable of penetrating the mystery of the children’s abduction, and the attempts on their lives. He wondered what revelation might be provided by their parents. Or then again, perhaps none at all.
A short while later the cab rolled into Gramercy Park. Once a marshland, the area had been reclaimed by real-estate developer Samuel Ruggles in 1831. The original square was inspired by London’s St. John’s Park, and required the removal of a million wagonloads of earth. Ruggles built his own mansion there in 1839, and shrewdly deeded the square to buyers of the other sixty-five plots. The neighborhood quickly became the enclave of New York aristocrats.
Gramercy Park itself was enclosed by a tall wrought-iron fence with ornate filigree. The manicured landscape was filled with sundials and cozy benches, and the surrounding residents were given gold keys to the entrance gates. The mansions, expressing the taste of their owners, were an eclectic mix of Greek Revival, Italianate, and Victorian Gothic. The elite who resided there included William Steinway, of piano fame, railroad baron Samuel Tilden, and industrialist Peter Cooper. The park, even in the dead of winter, smelled of old money.
The cab stopped at 24 Gramercy Park. Cody paid the driver and climbed a short flight of steps to the mansion. He rapped the brass door-knocker and tugged the lapels of his buckskin jacket. A butler attired in black opened the door with a neutral smile. He examined Cody’s outfit at a glance.
“Yes, sir,” he said formally. “May I help you?”
“I’m William Cody. I’d like to see Henry Stanley.”
“Who?”
“Henry Morton Stanley. I was told he lives at 24 Gramercy Park.”
The butler appeared flustered. Then, stepping aside, he motioned Cody inside. “Would you wait here, sir?”
Cody removed his hat. His gaze swept the foyer and the broad, carpeted staircase. The butler walked to a set of sliding doors and disappeared inside. He returned a moment later.
“This way please, sir.”
Cody entered a lushly appointed sitting room. A strikingly handsome man was seated before the fire-place in a leather wingback chair. He was in his early thirties, with dark hair and quick gray eyes. He dropped the Wall Street Journal on a nearby table.
“Mr. Cody?” he said tentatively. “How may I assist you? I’m Leland Stanley.”
“Your man must’ve misunderstood. I’m lookin’ for Henry Stanley.”
“May I ask the purpose of your visit?”
“You might say it’s personal,” Cody replied. “Maybe you could tell him I’m here.”
“Actually, no,” Stanley said soberly. “I’m afraid my brother passed away some three weeks ago.”
“I’m powerful sorry to hear that. How’d he die?”
“Well, in point of fact, he was murdered. He and my sister-in-law, murdered in their beds. What is your interest in my brother, Mr. Cody?”
Cody abruptly put it together. Three weeks ago dovetailed with the time Katherine and Augustus had been placed on the Orphan Train. His expression betrayed nothing.
“You’ll pardon my askin’, Mr. Stanley. Was your brother killed the night Katherine and Augustus got abducted?”
“Why, yes—” Stanley stopped, his eyes suddenly guarded. “What do you know about Katherine and Augustus?”
“I know they’re alive and well. They got put on the Orphan Train to Nebraska.”
“Nebraska?”
“That’s where they ended up.”
“They’re alive?” Stanley sounded as if he were choking on a fish bone. “You’ve seen them?”
“Saw ’em with my own eyes.”
“Where are they now?”
Cody was a clever liar when the situation demanded. Some visceral instinct warned him that the truth would better await another time. He spread his hands in all innocence.
“They’re with a friend of mine. He’s on his way here now, bringing them by train. His name’s Wild Bill Hicko
k.”
“Hickok?” Stanley stared at him. “By any chance are you that Cody? Buffalo Bill Cody?”
“Some call me that,” Cody acknowledged. “Do the children have any relatives besides yourself, Mr. Stanley?”
“Their grandmother.”
“That would be your mother?”
Stanley nodded. “She’s still distraught over Henry’s death. She hasn’t been out of her bed since the night he died. I’m afraid grief has made her quite ill.”
“Any other relatives?”
“Not on our side of the family. Amanda, Henry’s wife, has family in Connecticut. Why do you ask?”
Cody shrugged. “Just wondered who’d look after ’em now that their folks are gone.”
“I will,” Stanley said. “I am their uncle.”
“Any idea why they were abducted?”
“Until today I didn’t know what to think. The police are at their wits’ end.”
Cody thought it rang false. Stanley should have been rejoicing over the news of the children. Instead, he seemed somehow on edge, oddly nervous. Lots of questions and no smiles.
“I’ll get word to you,” Cody said. “Just as soon as Hickok arrives with the children.”
Stanley’s eyes were alert. “Where are you staying, Mr. Cody?”
“The Victoria Hotel.”
The lie came easily. Something told Cody to beware of revealing too much. On the way out, he assured Stanley he would be in touch no later than tomorrow. The minute Hickok’s train arrived in New York.
He lied all the way to the door.
* * *
Hickok and Omohundro were seated before the fireplace. They were old friends, and Omohundro felt no qualms about asking questions others would avoid. He listened as Hickok related his deadly tenure as marshal of Abilene.
The story abruptly ended. Cody barged into the suite and the look on his face brought them out of their chairs. They knew him too well not to realize that the visit to the Stanley mansion had gone awry. Hickok cocked an eyebrow.
“What was it lit your fuse?”
“Where are the kids?”
“They’re changin’ clothes,” Hickok said. “Giuseppina figured they wasn’t outfitted proper to see their folks. She went out and bought ’em some city duds.”
“Their folks are dead,” Cody said, lowering his voice. “Murdered the very same night the kids were abducted. Killed in their beds.”
“I’ll be go to hell. How’d you find out?”
“Talked with their uncle, feller name of Leland Stanley. He wasn’t exactly overjoyed to hear they’re alive.”
“What’d he say?”
Cody recounted the gist of the conversation. He went on to note that something about Leland Stanley raised a red flag. Nothing specific but nonetheless there.
“Just a gut hunch,” he concluded. “You know the feelin’.”
“Damn right,” Hickok said. “We’re still wearin our topknots ’cause we got good instincts. I’d trust a gut hunch any day.”
“Figured it was best to keep my trap shut. None of it makes any sense.”
“No, it don’t, and that’s a fact. Why’d Richter abduct ’em in the first place?”
“Why not kill ’em the night he killed their folks? No doubt in my mind he’s the one that done it.”
“’Course he was,” Hickok said. “But why’d he try to get ’em adopted? No rhyme nor reason to it.”
Cody looked baffled. “All the more so since he tried to kill ’em once they got un-adopted. Somebody didn’t want them kids back here in New York.”
“You think their uncle’s tied into it?”
“I think there’s something mighty fishy there. Told me their grandma was sick with grievin’ and confined to her bed. But he was plumb disappointed to learn about the kids.”
“Don’t sound natural, does it?”
“What about the kids?” Omohundro interrupted. “Somebody’ll have to tell them about their folks.”
Hickok appeared chary. He shot a glance at Cody. “You got kids of your own. You understand ’em better than me.”
“God,” Cody sighed. “What’ll I say?”
“Guess there ain’t no way around the truth.”
“Ta-dah!”
Giuseppina swept into the middle of the room. Her eyes were bright with merriment and her arms were outflung in a dramatic pose. On cue, Katherine and Augustus appeared simultaneously from the two bedrooms. Katherine wore a taffeta knee-length dress and Augustus was attired in a serge suite and a foulard tie. Their faces beamed with the fun of their new outfits.
“Aren’t they darling!” Giuseppina said happily. “Have you ever seen anything so precious?”
The men stared at them with stoic expressions. The children looked confused, their smiles suddenly downturned. Katherine stepped forward.
“What’s wrong?” she said shyly. “Don’t you like our new clothes?”
“No, it’s not that,” Cody said. “You look fine. Just fine.”
“What is it, then, Buffalo Bill?”
“Well, honey, we have to tell you something … about your folks.”
“Mother and Father?” she asked. “You’ve talked with them?”
Cody swallowed hard. “Katherine. Augustus. I want you to be brave—” He faltered, his voice choked. “Your folks have gone to heaven.”
“Heaven?” Katherine watched him with the look of a wounded fawn. “You mean they—they are…”
“I’m afraid so. God’s took them to the Promised Land. They’re at peace now.”
“Nooo!” Augustus screamed. “Noooo!”
Katherine’s eyes flooded with tears. She threw herself into Hickok’s arms, burying her head against his shoulder. Augustus sobbed with a low, strangling sound, tears spilling over his cheeks. Cody pulled him into a tight hug.
Giuseppina’s features went rubbery with shock. Jack rose from his chair, his expression grave, and put his arm around her shoulders. The children wept and moaned, their pitiful, broken cries filling the room. Hickok gave Katherine his handkerchief, his eyes sorrowful and oddly moist. She looked up at him with sudden terror.
“Grandmama?” she murmured timorously. “Is Grandmama…”
“She’s fine,” Hickok reassured her. “Buffalo Bill says she’s still mourning your folks and not feelin’ all that spry. But she’ll be up and about before you know it.”
“I met your Uncle Leland,” Cody added, alert to her reaction. “He’s taking care of your grandmother and lookin’ after the house. Maybe you’d like to go stay with him?”
“No!” Katherine wailed. “Mother hates Uncle Leland!”
Augustus blinked back tears. “Father doesn’t like him, either. He always calls him the black sheep.”
“Well, don’t you worry,” Hickok said in a soothing tone. “We’ll wait till your grandma’s feelin’ herself again.”
The softly spoken pledge opened a new floodgate of tears. Cody motioned to Giuseppina and she gently collected the children. She led them into one of the bedrooms, cooing at their wretched sobs, and closed the door. A glum silence settled over the room.
“Out of the mouths of babes,” Cody finally said. “Their father didn’t have no use for his own brother. Guess I was right about Uncle Leland.”
Hickok grunted. “There’s just one way to keep them kids safe. We’re gonna take ’em with us to Philadelphia.”
“We’ll only be there a week. What happens when we come back to New York?”
“I reckon we’ll figure something out. We’ve got to.”
Cody thought Buntline wouldn’t like it. But just as quickly he decided to hell with it. The matter was settled.
The children were going to Philadelphia.
* * *
Otto Richter looked like he’d walked into a buzzsaw. His right cheekbone was skinned raw and an ugly, purple bruise darkened his forehead. His greatcoat was ripped at the shoulder, and his left trouser leg hung in shreds. He was caked with fil
th.
The butler showed him into the sitting room. The gaslights were lit for the evening, and Leland Stanley was seated before the fireplace, reading the New York Times. He folded the paper, placing it on a table, and rose from his chair. He watched Richter cross the room with thinly veiled distaste. His features were cold.
“What happened to you?”
“Fell off a train,” Richter said vaguely. “Finally caught another one outside of Chicago. I came straight from the station.”
“I see,” Stanley remarked. “Did your accident have anything to do with Cody and Hickok?”
“How do you know about them?”
“Cody paid me a call this morning. He told me Hickok is on the way to New York with the children.”
“That’s pure bunkum,” Richter said. “They’re both already here and they have the children. I’ve been trailing them from Nebraska.”
Stanley frowned at him. “How did Hickok and Cody become involved?”
Richter briefed him on the last three weeks. Stanley was not wholly without conscience, and he’d always preferred that no harm come to the children. He silently commended Richter for following orders, and waiting until there was no alternative to killing. Yet he was infuriated by Richter’s failure to complete the assignment.
“Why didn’t you telegraph me while all this was going on?”
“I had it under control,” Richter said. “Things went to hell there toward the end.”
“You are a master of understatement, Otto.”
“I’ll handle it, Mr. Stanley. They’re in my territory now.”
“Not for long.” Stanley gestured at the newspaper. “I was just reading an article in the Times. You’re familiar with Cody’s stage show?”
Richter nodded. “I know he’s involved with Ned Buntline.”
“From what I read, Buntline intends to take the show on the road before bringing it to New York. They open in Philadelphia tomorrow night.”
“I assume your orders haven’t changed. You still want me to take care of the children?”
Stanley considered the euphemism for murder. He wished there were another way, for he really didn’t want the blood of children on his hands. But there was simply too much at stake.
“How very unfortunate,” he said quietly. “But the answer to your question is yes. Take care of the children.”