Maybe I was. If they hadn’t formally ended their relationship, if they’d had an “understanding” as Elliot put it, that they were free to pursue others, then I was just another in a long line of men. Except I was the only one stupid enough to have imagined Griffin’s declarations of love meant he’d confine himself to my bed alone.
He’d seemed eager when he returned from Vermont. Had he slept with some stranger while there, while I remained at home, dutiful and trusting as his dead partner’s wife?
Assuming she was as unschooled in these matters as I had apparently been. I viciously hoped at least some of Glenn’s children hadn’t been his after all.
Thankfully, there was no sign of Griffin in the hotel dining room. Instead, Christine sat reading the newspaper and eating hashed potatoes and sausage. “Good morning,” she said.
I ordered sausage, eggs, and toast, along with a steaming cup of coffee. “It’s one of those things, anyway.”
“Griffin was in a foul mood as well,” she remarked. “Bolted his food, barely snapped two words at me, and left.”
The waiter served my food and coffee. I stared down at the full plate. Would I even be able to stomach a bite? “Do you recall our conversation on the train? I withdraw my earlier objections. Perhaps we should marry.”
Christine let out a sigh. “Very well, Whyborne. You know how I feel about moping, so out with it. What have you quarreled about?”
I pushed the eggs around my plate without enthusiasm. At the moment, I couldn’t imagine ever being hungry again. “Those I thought to find sympathetic, instead make me feel even more alien. I cannot conform to society’s expectations, and yet, it seems, I cannot conform to the expectations of ‘men like us,’ either. I am called naïve, and coddled, and…and other things.”
“Hmm. Well, you’re no more coddled than any man, and rather less than some.”
I gave her a dark look. “Are you complimenting or insulting me?”
“And as for naïve,” she went on, ignoring the question, “I’d rather call you an idealist. Too much classical literature has given you high-minded notions.”
“Even Heracles married Deianira.”
“Well, you can be sure if we were to wed, I’d never do away with you using a poisoned shirt,” she reassured me. “It would be pistols at dawn or nothing.”
“Considering I can’t hit a target at arm’s length, I had best accede to your wishes in all things,” I replied. “But don’t you see? If I am an idealist, what of you? Society wishes you to mind the home and bear children, even after all you have done. Nor does legend supply many examples on which to model your life. At least you and I have that in common. No one else will ever understand us more than we do each other. Why should we not make our peace with the world and wed?”
I felt her regard for a long moment, but I kept my eyes fixed on my plate. It would not be so bad, if she accepted. Perhaps I would even learn to enjoy travel to distant countries.
She patted my upper arm gruffly. “You’re a good friend, perhaps the only one I can claim. But I would never let you make such a sacrifice.”
“It was your idea in the first place!” I exclaimed, vexed into looking at her.
“Upon which I didn’t act,” she reminded me. “Buck up, old fellow. If we cannot find models in our past, we must try to build a future where they can exist, and devil take anyone who tries to tell us we can’t. If we grow old and gray together as companions, well, by the time we’re eighty, we won’t give a fig for society’s rules or anyone else’s. Then we shall take house together and rail at children who dare to trespass on our lawn.”
It dragged a reluctant smile out of me. “We shall be the terror of the neighborhood.”
“Indeed. But in the meantime, don’t give up on your own happiness quite so easily. Whatever Griffin has done, give him a chance to apologize before you break things off completely.”
“You seem rather sure the fault is Griffin’s.”
“Griffin is a fine chap, but you’ve been my friend far longer. Therefore, it is my part to take your side in any quarrel.”
I couldn’t help it; I laughed at her logic.
My mirth was cut off abruptly when the sound of a woman’s scream shattered the morning quiet.
~ * ~
Christine and I both reacted instinctively. My longer legs carried me out of the dining room slightly faster, but I was caught in a scrum as other guests and staff rushed to the site as well. At least my height allowed me to glimpse what transpired.
Two figures stood in the center of the lobby. One was Bertie Hicks, dressed for her day’s work at the hotel. The other was her husband, Rider.
What the devil?
“Mr. Hicks!” I called, pushing my way through the press. “Excuse me; let me through, please.”
“Out of the way!” Christine bellowed, startling guests and staff alike into giving way.
As soon as I was out of the press, I grew painfully conscious of the eyes of the crowd on me. Blast it, perhaps I should have waited…
But one person didn’t look in my direction. Mrs. Hicks’s screams had fallen silent, but now she clutched her face, staring at her husband while tears streamed down her cheeks. Clearly, something was very, very wrong here.
“Mr. Hicks,” I repeated, approaching him warily. “I thought you didn’t intend to return.”
“Mr. Hicks came to his senses,” said a cold, serpent voice, which sent a chill over my skin. Mr. Orme stood in the shadows near the door, but stepped forward as he spoke. “He visited me after you left last night, asking for amnesty.”
“I was wrong,” Hicks said. And oh God, his voice, placid and cool, nothing at all like the frightened, worried man I’d spoken to in the woods.
He sounded like Orme now. Like the Kincaid brothers. No wonder his wife screamed.
“I grew frightened over childish superstitions,” he went on, a fixed smile on his caramel face. “I realized how foolish my fears were, and how much trouble I’d caused. I asked Mr. Orme to forgive me, which he kindly did. Now I’m free to return and put an end to the rumors I stirred up.”
Every hair on my head tried to stand up. “And the night in the woods?” I asked. “I was there! I saw Webb. What have you to say?”
“It was dark. We were mistaken.” Hicks turned his gaze away from me. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to take my wife home.”
Mrs. Hicks’s paralysis broke. “No!” she shrieked. “Stay back! It ain’t him, Dr. Whyborne! It ain’t Rider!”
“Here now!” I exclaimed, when Hicks grabbed her by the wrist.
“Dr. Whyborne.” Orme appeared between us, even though I’d not noticed him move. “You have no right to interfere in the business of a man and his wife.”
“Curse it, can’t you see she’s terrified!” Christine shouted. “He has no right—”
“As her husband, he has every right,” Orme broke in smoothly. “Dr. Putnam, you are hysterical. As for you, Dr. Whyborne, must I call the Pinkertons and have them confine you to your hotel room? Will that cure you of this habit of poking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”
Clearly, he referred to last night. Did he know I’d stolen his little book? He must, by now. I hadn’t even had a chance to mention it to Griffin or that damned Elliot, before it had been driven out of my mind.
I stood, frozen and helpless, while her husband dragged Mrs. Hicks out the door. My hands clenched into fists—I had to do something! Summon the wind, or the fire, anything.
But what would it change? Mrs. Hicks couldn’t flee, not with an infant dependent on her. And as Orme pointed out, I would be on the wrong side of the law if I did anything to protect her.
Not to mention his threat, which lay in my stomach as if I’d swallowed a lead weight. Orme knew I’d found something last night. Like Rider, before the yayhos had worked their evil on him, a sentence of jail might equate a sentence of death. It wouldn’t be as easy to lock me away as it would’ve been a half-breed Ind
ian, but it was far from impossible.
“You’re damned cowards, the lot of you,” Christine said contemptuously, raking her gaze over the audience. “Come along, Whyborne. Let’s take our leave.”
“Watch your step,” Orme called after us.
Chapter 17
“What now?” I asked, once we were away from the crowd. Christine made determinedly for her room, and I followed, stopping in the hall when she opened the door.
“You are going to Mr. Manning and try to convince him to protect Mrs. Hicks,” Christine said as she went inside. A few moments later, she returned, tucking a small revolver into her purse.
“What do you intend?” I asked in alarm. “If you shoot Rider—”
“I don’t mean to gun the man down, but if the situation becomes serious, I wish to have something with which to defend myself. But as it is, if he strikes me, Mr. Manning will have no choice but to put him in jail.”
I was less certain, but, truthfully, I saw no other plan. “I’ll try to convince Elliot to join me at their house as quickly as I can. And if I can’t, I’ll come alone. Just, please, be careful!”
We hurried out of the hotel; the crowd had dispersed, thankfully. No doubt they thought us both insane, to meddle in what was clearly a personal affair.
I hastened to the Pinkerton offices as quickly as I could. I found the large front room deserted, and the door to Elliot’s office closed, but the murmur of voices filtered through the wood.
I had no time to be polite. I gave a single, swift knock and flung open the door.
Elliot stood in front of the window, rather than seated behind his desk. And there, only a few feet from him, was Griffin.
“My God, man!” Away for only the time it had taken to eat breakfast, and already he had run to Elliot.
Griffin’s eyes widened. “Whyborne, we were just talking,” he said, holding his hands up.
“I don’t give a damn what you were doing, Mr. Flaherty.” It was a lie, but devil take me if I’d let him know just how deeply his betrayal hurt. No doubt he would only call me naïve again. “Mr. Hicks has returned, but he is changed, just like Orme and the Kincaids. His wife knows it and made a scene. She may be in terrible danger. Christine has gone to save her, and you may either assist us or remain here and rot, the both of you!”
I started to turn on my heel, then remembered Orme’s book in my pocket. “And here,” I added, flinging it in the general direction of Elliot’s head. It missed, of course, and hit the floor several feet away. “Proof Orme isn’t himself, either.”
I bolted out of the building. Christine depended on me, and I’d wasted enough time looking for help from those who couldn’t be trusted.
Griffin called out behind me, but I ignored him. The length of my legs came in handy for once, and I outdistanced him and Elliot easily.
At first, anyway. By the time I’d reached the section of town which included the Hicks residence, I was gasping and panting for breath, and they’d both caught up with me.
I caught sight of Christine—thank heavens, she didn’t seem to have gotten into any serious trouble. Instead, she stood outside the house, beside a young black woman I didn’t recognize, who clutched a crying baby.
Christine turned at our approach, her face grim. “Bad news, gentlemen,” she said. “This is Mrs. Hicks’s cousin, who watches her baby while she works. She’s been here all morning, and Mrs. Hicks never returned. Neither did Rider.”
“You’re certain they were coming here?” Elliot asked.
“He had to drag her out of the hotel by the wrists,” Christine snapped, drawing herself up and leveling a glare at Elliot. “Not that anyone tried to help her besides Whyborne and me. Where else do you imagine he would take her? Do you see any screaming women in the streets, Mr. Manning?”
“Perhaps he took her into the woods, where he’s been hiding?” Elliot suggested.
“Mr. Orme had given him amnesty, in exchange for no longer telling tales of yayhos.”
“Yes, but according to Dr. Whyborne, he shot Mr. Webb. He didn’t have amnesty for murder.”
“What?” I spun on Elliot incredulously. “He defended me, perhaps saved my life, and you would have put him in jail?”
“It’s standard procedure,” Elliot replied. “Besides, do you think I could let an Indian get away with shooting a white man with no inquiry at all?”
I felt sickened, suddenly, and tired. The wailing baby in the cousin’s arms had probably lost both parents today. What would it be told once it was older? That its father had dragged its mother away, never to be seen again? Or some merciful lie?
“Even I am not so naïve,” I said, and saw Griffin flinch out of the corner of my eye. At the moment, I could barely bring myself to care. “I’m returning to the hotel, where I will review the train schedules.”
“Whyborne?” Griffin asked.
I turned away without looking at him. “I’m going back to Widdershins.” I aimed the words over my shoulder. “Threshold can burn, for all I care. I’m finished here.”
~ * ~
Although an evening train took away the day’s allotment of coal, I purchased three tickets for the next morning instead. Two of them I handed over to the clerk at the hotel desk, to be placed in the mail slots for Christine and Griffin. With Griffin’s, I included a brief note. If he joined me on the train, I would forgive him. If he didn’t, I would know whom he had chosen.
Word of the Hicks’ disappearance rapidly spread, and, as I used a borrowed pen and paper to scribble two more notes, I became aware of the whispers. I looked up to find the clerk staring at me, but something about my expression must have put him off, because he hastily turned his attention elsewhere.
Good. I had no patience for impertinent questions at the moment.
I addressed one note to Mrs. Mercer, and the other to Mrs. Hicks’s cousin, whose name I received from one of the hotel maids when she passed by. Both notes urged the women to leave town before nightfall tomorrow, and asked them to do their best to convince anyone else who might believe them to take the morning train, if not the earlier one this evening. I left the notes with the clerk at his desk and went up to my room, where I locked the door behind me.
Threshold Mountain loomed outside my window, casting its long shadow over the hollow. I shuddered to think what lay beneath its seemingly calm surface. How long had the yayhos been here? Centuries, if the Indian legends were to be believed. How did they transport the coal they mined back to wherever they had come from? How much of it did they use? Or were they here for other reasons, quite apart from mining?
It didn’t matter. Tomorrow night, if Rider had been correct, they’d attack.
I’d done my best. I’d given what little evidence I had to Elliot. No doubt Griffin had tried to persuade him as well, perhaps still was, although I didn’t care to speculate on what methods he might be using. Elliot would either come around and use the Pinkertons to organize an evacuation, or he wouldn’t. In which case, anyone who tried to rally the town would find themselves trapped in a jail cell, at the mercy of yayhos or Orme.
I’d done all I could. I’d leave on the train tomorrow, and hopefully others would be with me.
What if Griffin didn’t come?
Then he’d made his choice. He knew the risks. If he didn’t care to leave Elliot, they could…what?
Perish here together?
I pressed my fingers against my eyelids, as if to block out the very thought. I wanted Griffin to be mine again, but even more, I wanted him to be safe. Could I really leave without him?
I wished with all my heart we’d never come to Threshold.
Someone knocked on my door near lunchtime, but I made no response, and eventually they left. I half-expected Christine’s familiar rap, but she was either out, or had given up in disgust as well.
Would we pick up a paper next week, or next month, and find some horror had befallen Threshold? Or would the yayhos simply convert the entire town into their emotionles
s puppets? Could they do such a thing?
It didn’t matter. It was out of my hands. I’d made my best effort. No need to stay here and die with people who hadn’t lifted a hand to save Mrs. Hicks. Or to have other horrors visited on me, like poor Webb.
I lay on my bed, and, at some point, I must have drifted off, because when I next opened my eyes, the sun had nearly dropped below the ridge, and someone knocked on the door.
“Dr. Whyborne?” The voice belonged to one of the porters. “I’ve an urgent message for you, sir.”
What could it possibly be? I opened the door and exchanged a small tip for a folded note. “Will there be a reply?” he asked.
I opened the note. To my shock, it was from Elliot.
“Dr. Whyborne,
I’ve taken a look at the daybook you left with me this morning. I think you’re onto something. Please come to my house at half past 7 o’clock, where we can speak in private.
Yrs Truly,
Elliot Manning”
My first impulse was to crumple up the note and throw it away. Surely Griffin and Elliot could combine their investigative powers well enough; my presence shouldn’t be required.
But such an action would be childish. There were greater things at stake here than my wounded pride. And Elliot’s phrasing, “book you left with me,” as opposed to “book you flung at my head,” was rather more generous than I perhaps deserved.
“Yes,” I told the porter. “One moment, if you will.”
I laid the note on the desk and hurriedly penned a response on the hotel stationary, keeping the wording as bland as possible. Once the porter scurried off, I turned my attention to my wardrobe. Less than an hour remained before my appointment, and I wished to make myself as presentable as possible. I might not be able to compete with the handsome Elliot, but I would do my best not to be utterly humiliated at the comparison.
God. I really was a fool.
~ * ~
The looming mountains had already thrown the hollow into an unnatural twilight by the time I made my way up the slope to Elliot’s house, a small, single-story affair not too far from Orme’s home. It looked to be built with the same eye to quality.
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