They glared at each other for a long moment. Swiney looked away first and very deliberately spat on the ground, before striding off in the direction of the mine.
Elliot watched him go. “I want a man on him at all times,” he said, and one of the Pinkerton guards immediately left the group to follow Swiney.
It seemed the excitement had ended for the moment. We started in the direction of the hotel. As we walked, Christine said, “What now?”
“We need proof,” Griffin said. “Something more damning than a line of sutures on a scalp, something Elliot can hold in his hands and believe. And if Rider Hicks was correct, and the yayhos mean to attack the night of the new moon, we need it soon.”
“Orme,” I blurted. “Mrs. Hicks said he’d changed. Perhaps we could find something in his office, or in his house?” What I had no idea, but surely it was worth a try.
“His office would be simpler to gain entry to at night, but I doubt he would leave anything too suspicious there. His house, however…but how to get inside?”
Christine snapped her fingers. “I’ve an idea. Give me a few hours.”
What her idea was, she didn’t say. We returned to the hotel, and I went straight to my room and collapsed into bed.
When I awoke several hours later, much refreshed, I dressed and made my way downstairs, where I found Christine sitting on the veranda, sipping lemonade. “There you are,” she said. “Is Griffin still asleep?”
“I imagine so. I didn’t knock on his door, not wishing to wake him.”
A porter came out onto the veranda, and we fell silent. “A letter for you, ma’am,” he said, passing an envelope to Christine.
“Ah, excellent!” Christine exclaimed. “Tip the man, won’t you, Whyborne?”
I fumbled in my pockets while Christine opened the letter. Once the man left with his earnings, she said, “Perfect. While you napped, I took the opportunity to send a letter to Mrs. Orme, expressing my delight in the town and hinting I hoped for permission to call.”
“Brilliant!” Could gaining admittance to the house truly be this simple? “Did she grant it?”
“Even better—she has invited you and me to dinner.” With a smile of satisfaction, she folded up the letter and tucked it away. “Go see your best suit is brushed and ready, and I shall pen our reply. Tonight we dine at the operator’s house.”
~ * ~
Mrs. Orme sent the carriage around for us, letting Christine and I ride to the operator’s house in some comfort. We had dressed carefully, and Griffin even assisted with oiling my hair, so it didn’t stand up quite as badly as usual.
The house sat high on one of the slopes, overlooking the town and upwind from the coke ovens. Three stories tall, it bore graceful porches and ornate trim in the Queen Anne style, painted in cheerful colors. I couldn’t help but compare it to the cheaply built miners’ shacks in the town below, with their grimly utilitarian design. Or, when the maid let us inside, the opulent interior with the sparsely furnished houses of the Kincaids and the Webbs.
No sooner had the maid taken our coats and hats, than a matron who must have been Mrs. Orme appeared, followed by two younger women.
“I’m very glad you wrote, Dr. Putnam,” she said to Christine. Although her dress was neat and hair perfect, I noticed lines of strain around her eyes and mouth. “I’d heard of your fiancé’s arrival, of course, but I had no idea there was a woman in the party.”
“Er, no!” I exclaimed. “That is, Dr. Putnam and I are colleagues. Not…not anything else.”
“Really?” Mrs. Orme said, her smile taking on a predatory edge. “Please, let me introduce my daughters, Philomena and Amelia.”
Christine used her skirts to cover the delivery of a swift kick to my ankle.
“Excuse my husband’s absence,” Mrs. Orme went on. A high, nervous note came into her voice, although her smile remained fixed. “I sent word to him we were to have guests, but—”
“I’m here, wife.”
The cold voice sent a shiver through my blood. The two girls shrank behind their mother slightly, and Mrs. Orme straightened, as if through some protective instinct. “Y-Yes, husband. I was just greeting our guests.”
His reptile eyes slid over us, and I knew he was not pleased. How would he communicate his displeasure to his wife later, after we left?
“I believe dinner is ready,” Mrs. Orme said. “If you’ll come this way.”
In short order, I found myself seated at the dinner table, with Philomena on one side and Amelia on the other. “So, Dr. Whyborne,” said Amelia, as the servants laid out our meal, “have you saved many lives?”
Heat suffused my cheeks. “I, er, no. I’m not a medical doctor.”
“Dr. Whyborne studies languages,” Mrs. Orme said.
“Really?” Philomena leaned in from the other side. I tucked my elbows as close as possible to my ribs to avoid touching her. “Oh, do say something in a different tongue!”
I cast about for something—anything—to save me. Christine rolled her eyes, which was not at all helpful. Desperate, I blurted out the first thing which came to mind.
“How romantic!” Amelia gushed. Considering I had just called her grandfather a donkey in Hindi, I merely nodded like an idiot and hoped no one asked for a translation.
Mrs. Orme inadvertently saved me by turning her attention to Christine. “I am in awe of your accomplishments, Dr. Putnam! How brave you must have been to go on such an expedition as the one which uncovered the tomb of the pharaoh!”
“I did not ‘go on’ the expedition,” Christine said briskly, sawing on the mutton in front of her. “I led it.”
Mrs. Orme looked taken aback for a moment, before hurriedly smoothing her expression. “I see. But surely, having had such success, you must hope to secure a husband and achieve the very height of womanly ambition?”
Christine snorted. “Are you daft? Why on earth would I want to do that?”
I risked casting a glance at the ladies seated next to me. Both of them stared at Christine, a mix of curiosity and horror on their faces. As for Mr. Orme, he showed no expression whatsoever, as if he didn’t realize there was anything odd about the conversation.
Was Christine not even bothering to mince her words in hopes of exposing him somehow? Or…
Her foot connected rather sharply with my shin beneath the table. Startled, I jumped.
“Oh! Are you well, Dr. Whyborne?” Mrs. Orme asked, transferring her attention to me.
“I, er…” Christine gave me a pointed look I was at a loss to interpret. “I…”
“Has your illness from earlier returned?” she asked, practically glaring now.
“Oh! I mean, yes.”
One of the servants materialized at my side. “This way, sir.”
My face burning, I followed him out of the dining room, silently cursing Christine. The house was opulent enough to have indoor plumbing, and the servant left me at the water closet on the second floor.
I went inside and waited for his steps to disappear. Once certain he had left, I slipped silently out and leaned back against the door. Clearly, Christine meant me to search the house while she distracted its occupants. Now, if only I knew what to look for.
I started down the hall as stealthily as I could. The board beneath my foot immediately let out a loud creak.
Damn it. I was no good at this. If only Mrs. Orme had the decency to invite Griffin along as well.
Several doors lined the second-floor hall. I opened the first, and discovered a bedroom which no doubt belonged to the lady of the house. I shut the door hastily.
The next bedroom I glanced into seemed meant for the daughters. Two doors remained: one would surely belong to Orme’s bedroom, but I was less certain of the other. I opened the first I came to, and found myself confronted by a masculine study, complete with books, a worn leather chair, and a desk. Might I find something here?
I moved across the floor as quietly as I could. Perhaps there was some odd corres
pondence, or a diary. Because clearly Orme would commit whatever villainy he was involved in to paper, where I could find it, yes?
If only Griffin were here.
I couldn’t linger. If I was away from the table much longer, a servant would surely be sent to see if I needed the doctor. And when they realized the water closet was now empty, they would come looking for me.
Almost ready to declare defeat, I swept my gaze one last time over the study. There, on the desk: a daybook.
I hastened across the room and cautiously turned back the cover. Orme’s name was written inside. The book seemed filled with quick accounts and one or two sentence summaries of the day.
I flipped through until I came to the latest entries. There were no more daily summaries, only notes about the household accounts…and in a different hand.
Was someone else writing them? Or had Orme’s handwriting undergone a mysterious transformation?
A creak just outside the door. The house settling, or…?
I stuffed the book into my coat hastily, turning to face the doorway. An instant later, Orme’s silhouette appeared.
“Dr. Whyborne?” he said, watching me with those cool eyes.
“I-I’m sorry,” I babbled. “I got lost on the way back from the water closet.”
The lie was absurd—this wasn’t Whyborne House or Somerby Estate, with their labyrinths of hallways and rooms. But I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
We stared at one another for a long moment: him utterly emotionless, me shaking in my shoes. Then he stepped back and gestured toward the hall.
“This way,” he said.
I slipped out past him and headed down the stairs. And the whole time, I felt his eyes boring into my back, and knew I had just made a dangerous enemy.
Chapter 16
Christine and I returned to the hotel only an hour later.
I must have been pale when we returned to the table, because no one questioned my indisposition when I weakly declined to linger after dinner. The girls seemed disappointed, and Mrs. Orme…grim.
How much did Philomena and Amelia know or guess? That Mrs. Orme wished to protect them I gathered, but surely she couldn’t have hidden her husband’s strange alteration from them. Did they believe him to be under some sort of strain, or did they watch him in uncomprehending fear?
As the carriage bore us away, I felt as if I abandoned them to some terrible fate.
I told Christine of my findings, whispering them into her ear as we bumped along, for fear the driver might report back. When I finished, she shook her head.
“What the devil is going on here, Whyborne?” she asked. “I thought perhaps Mr. Orme had been mesmerized, or had some sort of brain surgery performed, but it wouldn’t account for his change in handwriting.”
“No. It wouldn’t.” I shivered. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
We rode the rest of the way back in silence. As we had returned far earlier than expected, I went first to the public areas of the hotel, expecting to find Griffin on the veranda, or in the bar, having had a more pleasant dinner here than Christine and I had been subjected to.
I didn't find him in any of those places. Had he retired to his room already? Surely not; the evening was breathlessly hot, and there couldn’t be much air to be had, with only a single window. Unless he wasn’t feeling well, of course.
Concerned, I climbed the stairs to our floor, sweating profusely by the time I reached the top. I left the landing, turned the corner into our hall…and stopped as Griffin’s door swung open.
Elliot stepped out. His hat was in his hand, his hair tousled, his cheeks flushed…from the heat? Or something else?
Griffin’s voice drifted from inside the room, “…nothing like what I have with Whyborne.”
Nothing like what he had with me? What wasn’t? Who wasn’t?
But the answer to my question stood right in front of me, did he not? Dressed in a summer weight suit, handsome and colorful and urbane as I could never hope to be.
Elliot turned back to the room, a smile on his face. “I missed you, Griffin.”
Griffin appeared in the doorway. No suit coat, no vest, no tie, and the top buttons of his shirt undone. “I’m not certain what to say,” he confessed. “I…”
Then he saw me and fell abruptly silent. Alerted by his shift in attention, Elliot turned to me as well.
“Oh!” he said, looking more shocked than an innocent man ought. “I thought you were dining with Mr. Orme tonight.”
My nails bit into my palms. There wasn’t enough air in the hallway, in the hotel, in the hollow, in the world. Of course Elliot had thought I would be gone for the evening. Why else come here, remind Griffin of everything they’d had, and—and—
And of course I hadn’t measured up. No doubt whatever sexual athletics they’d just performed were indeed nothing like what he had with me.
“Whyborne?” Griffin’s voice came from very far away. I didn’t—couldn’t—look at him.
“I’m sorry,” Elliot said. “I assumed he knew.”
“Knew what?” There. I could speak. Normal words, not the ones trembling on the back of my tongue, begging to be unleashed.
“About us.”
“This isn’t a conversation to have in an open hall, where anyone might walk past,” Griffin said in a low voice. “Come inside my room, at least.”
My head spun. I didn’t want to go in there and see rumpled bedclothes, or smell Elliot’s cologne on the sheets.
Elliot regarded me quizzically. “It’s quite all right, Whyborne. I’m not jealous. Griffin and I have always had an understanding. If I were prone to envy, I wouldn’t have introduced him to Glenn, would I?”
Something savage rose up inside me, a thing of fire and wind, of fell curses and darkness. The words burned on my tongue, yearning to be spoken.
Elliot wouldn’t be half so handsome if flocks of crows hounded him night and day while whippoorwills screeched in his dreams. Then he would believe in otherworldly forces, wouldn’t he?
“Elliot!” Griffin’s cracked like a whip. “Leave. Now.”
Elliot still looked troubled, as if my reaction was honestly unexpected. But he gave us each a quick nod, before hastening away.
“Whyborne. Come inside. Please.”
I did as he asked. At least the bed was made. Although he might as easily have had Elliot bent over the chair, or the little desk.
“You slept with your partner. Glenn.” I could manage no more.
Griffin sighed. “It wasn’t like that.”
“I asked you! I asked you if you had, and you said he had a wife and children. You committed adultery!”
“Keep your voice down,” he snapped. Green fire flashed in his eyes. “Would you please listen? Glenn and I weren’t lovers, or at least, not regularly. We were friends who occasionally tossed one another off in the long nights out in the wilderness, when we chased down some criminal or other.”
My mind conjured up all sort of visions of them entwined together beneath the western moon. “Now you are splitting hairs,” I grated out.
“Am I?” Griffin folded his arms defensively across his chest. “Believe me when I say I did a great deal more with other men, some of whom, yes, were married. It’s not unusual, you know. Many men like us have a normal family as well.”
A faint wave of nausea rolled my stomach. “No wonder you laughed when I objected to Christine’s talk of marriage. You must think me a fool.”
Griffin sighed. “I think you’re naïve. I never mentioned any of this to you because I knew you’d never understand.”
For a moment, I could only stare at him, outrage stealing my words. “Not understand?” I demanded at last. “How can you say that to me? Of course I understand!”
“No, Whyborne, you don’t.” He bit off the words: hard and angry. “Your father has the wealth to protect you from ruin. Even if you were caught committing indecent acts in public, he’d just pay off the police and send yo
u on a tour of Europe, until everyone had forgotten and moved on to some new scandal.”
“How dare you bring my father into this? And you must be mad if you think he’d ever lift a finger for my sake. If he did any of those things, it would be to preserve the family name, not my reputation.”
“Even if you’re right, the results are the same. And your mother—she greets me and asks me to call her by name. Do you imagine the rest of us, even those who weren’t thrown out of our own houses, have such a luxury? You’ve been protected and coddled, and you don’t even see it!”
Coddled? My jaw ached, teeth clenched with rage. “And somehow this excuses having r-relations with Elliot behind my back? Just as you did with all those other men behind their wives’ backs?”
Griffin’s brows pulled into a tight scowl. “Elliot came by to talk about old times. Nothing more.”
My mouth twisted into a sneer. “And talking required you to remove half your clothing?”
“It’s blasted hot, in case you haven’t noticed! I suppose there were plenty of iced drinks at Orme’s residence, but for us common folk, we must make do as we can.”
“You call me naïve, but it isn’t proper to have been so dressed when he was with you!”
“I’m sorry, but we can’t all be born with a silver spoon in our mouth and a stick up our ass!”
The words might as well have been a slap across the face. “If that’s how you think of me, this conversation is at an end.”
I went to the connecting door and flung it open.
“Damn it, Whyborne!” He followed me, reaching for the doorknob to keep it from swinging shut between us, and I finally found an outlet for the words sizzling on the back of my tongue. With a yelp, Griffin snatched his hand back from the suddenly heated metal.
I slammed the door in his face.
~ * ~
With a splitting headache, I made my way down to breakfast the next morning. I’d slept horribly, replaying the argument with Griffin over and over again. Had I unjustly accused him?
But the way Elliot had spoken, as if he’d meant to just pick up where they’d left off. As if I were the interloper.
Whyborne and Griffin, Books 1-3 Page 40