Blind Trust, page 22
She wasn’t sure of the time; the day had been so dark that the coming of night was imperceptible. The wind seemed more ferocious than it had been that morning. She kept to Fifth Avenue to avoid the tangled wires on the side streets. In places the snow was up to her thighs. Darcy began to sob. She would never be able to make it to Lemuel’s house. She would never make it out of this unending landscape of ghostly shapes covered with frozen snow.
She had almost passed her only salvation before she recognized it: Hinkle’s brownstone mansion. Darcy stopped. Pushing her way through the snow, she grasped the wrought-iron gate and looked up at the house. He would help her. But would she put him in danger by coming here for shelter? Surely he was in enough trouble with the blackmail threat. Claude was dead, yes, but his death had proved that there was another man for Hinkle to fear. Perhaps more than he knew.
As she hesitated, she saw the front door open. Julia Hinkle stood clutching a shawl, her hand shielding her eyes. “Is that you, Father?” she shouted. “I can’t see—who’s there?”
Darcy stepped forward. “It’s Mrs. Statton, Miss Hinkle.” But the wind took her words away. Julia peered out into the storm. Darcy was in the light from the hall now, but Julia didn’t seem to recognize her. Floundering in the snow, Darcy struggled to move up the steps. Julia pulled her out of the last drift with a soft but strong hand.
“Mrs. Statton! Why, you look a sight! I didn’t recognize you. Come in, come in.”
She did indeed look a sight, Darcy discovered when she took off her wraps in the hall and saw her face in the mirror. Her hair was encrusted with ice and snow—even her eyebrows were frosted. Her face was bright red from the wind, and her eyes were streaming tears. She could not feel her ears at all.
“Not a word, not a sound,” Julia said. “Come upstairs and I’ll have my maid attend to you. You need a warm bath and dry clothes, a hot drink … Follow me, please, Mrs. Statton.”
Julia’s maid was French, of course, but totally unlike Solange. She clucked and cooed and treated Darcy like a naughty child. It was just what she needed. Darcy slowly began to warm as she drank an entire pot of hot tea and Annamarie sponged her off with warm water. When Darcy’s ears began to hurt terribly, Annamarie moaned along with her in sympathy. She wrapped her up in shawls and blankets. Then, when the pain had subsided, Darcy was slipped into a hot, scented tub. She was dried lovingly with heated towels. Annamarie bundled her into a nightdress and a ruby cashmere robe with white satin trim. She added a cashmere shawl in soft rose for her shoulders.
Finally, Darcy sat gratefully in a gold armchair by the guest room fire. In a few moments there was a knock on the door and Julia came in. She had changed into a lilac robe like Darcy’s ruby-colored one, and Darcy was touched by her effort to make her feel at ease.
Julia smiled and went to sit in the matching armchair across from Darcy. “Well, I finally recognize you now. You look so much better.”
“Thanks to you. I don’t know what possessed me to think I could walk home from my uncle’s. It was terribly foolish, I know.”
“It sounds very much like something I would do. I get an idea in my head, and nothing can shake me. But I daresay fifty-mile-an-hour winds would shake me a bit,” Julia said, laughing. “I had the good sense to stay inside, even though I was to have tea with Willie today. Oh, your husband will be worried. Should I send someone—”
Darcy broke in quickly, perhaps too quickly, for Julia’s hazel eyes widened a bit in surprise. “No! No, I would not want to be responsible for sending someone out in this storm. It is too fierce, Miss Hinkle. Tomorrow will do. I would be surprised if Mr. Statton was there, anyway. He most likely stayed downtown in a hotel.”
“I hope that is what Father has done. I’m dreadfully worried. He left this morning very early for Wall Street.”
“I’m sure he is enjoying his dinner in comfort at the Astor House at this moment,” Darcy said reassuringly.
Julia smiled. “I’m sure you are right. Now, I ordered trays for both of us. We can eat here in front of the fire. I thought it would be nicer than going downstairs. Is that all right?”
“It sounds marvelous. Exactly what I would like. You’ve been so kind, Miss Hinkle. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You’ve saved me a solitary night of desperate anxiety,” Julia said, “so not another word on that score. Here we are, tête-à-tête for the whole evening. Thrown together by this terrible storm. I’m sure we’ll tell our grandchildren about this night.”
“I’m sure we will,” Darcy said faintly, looking away, anywhere but Julia Hinkle’s frank intelligent gaze.
Julia eyed her for a moment. “Perhaps you should tell me the true reason you were out in the storm, Mrs. Statton. We have a long night ahead of us, and I assure you I am quite a good listener.”
For some reason, Darcy thought of Columbine. The two women looked nothing alike, but Julia somehow reminded Darcy of her friend. She felt the same attraction, and the same trust, with Julia Hinkle. Darcy would need help tomorrow. Julia could give her that help. She had spent so many years being too proud to ask, to confide. Where had it gotten her?
She took a sip of tea. “I’m afraid I might have brought more trouble onto your house,” she confessed.
When they rose at dawn, Julia and Darcy were cheered to see the weak appearance of the sun. “The storm is over, thank the Lord,” Julia said, turning away from Darcy’s window.
“And I should be leaving,” Darcy said dubiously, still staring outside. The sun might have been out, but the snow looked as impossibly deep as ever. And she had the feeling the storm was not over, not yet.
“Wait until afternoon,” Julia urged. “The walks will be cleared by then, perhaps. And the horsecars might be running, and the Els.”
“But Fifth will be cleared late this morning, I’d wager,” Darcy said. “I might be able to find a hack.” She pressed Julia’s hand. “I can’t stay any longer, you know that.” She had told Julia about finding Claude’s body, though she hadn’t told her the rest. Julia had no idea how her father had been involved, let alone her stepmother. And Darcy had asked several questions about Anne Hinkle. At last, she had a place to head for—Denver, Colorado. Julia hadn’t told anyone—not even her father—but she’d had a message from her stepmother from there. Just a telegram telling her not to worry, that she would be in Denver for a time.
So Darcy now had a way to clear her name, and Edward’s, and even Artemis Hinkle’s. She would bring Anne Hinkle back with her to New York, and they would threaten exposure of Dargent, whoever he was, in exchange for silence. They could do it, she felt sure of it.
She had only one obstacle in her way: Tavish. He had sworn to avenge his friend’s death. But if Dargent went to prison, all of their secrets would be revealed at the trial. Tavish had to understand that stripping Dargent of his power would have to be punishment enough. How could they hurt so many to put him behind bars? Perhaps it was womanly logic, but it made sense to Darcy. At least it had last night.
She had an uneasy feeling that Tavish would not agree at all. So she would have to move behind his back.
Julia sighed. “At least let me get a good breakfast into you. And I’ll have Annamarie pack my warmest things. Are you still determined to leave the city?”
“Yes. I must. Until my friends here are able to help me.”
“Tell me, Darcy, how do you think you will go? The ferries could be watched.”
Darcy slowly walked back to the armchair and sank down in it. “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you think that’s true, even in this weather? How could the police pass the information along downtown, Julia? All the telegraph and telephone lines must be down, surely, all over the city. I’ve seen them all on the streets.”
“That’s true. But they could go from precinct to precinct …” Seeing Darcy’s stricken face, Julia added quickly, “Perhaps it will be safe. But keep a careful eye out, Darcy. Claude Statton is an important personage. You would be a great prize to the New York City Police Department.”
Darcy felt the color drain from her face. “I suppose so,” she said.
“Oh, my dear. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I’m sure the storm has disorganized everything. Come to breakfast.”
Julia took her arm and led her downstairs, where Darcy was served potatoes and eggs and corned beef and coffee. After breakfast Julia gave her a thick wool dress, black, good for traveling, and added a black coat with a lambswool collar. Darcy would be warmly dressed, but she would not look too rich, too noticeable. She would blend in with the rest of the women in their black traveling dresses. Julia also gave her a small grip with toilet articles, another warm dress, an extra pair of boots, a nightgown, and fresh underthings.
They went downstairs together, arm in arm.
“Godspeed,” Julia said, impulsively drawing her into a hug. “And don’t worry about things here. I never saw you. The servants will be discreet as well. My father,” she said wryly, “has always insisted on that.”
“I shall never be able to repay you for this,” Darcy said. She opened the front door and turned to look at Julia one last time. She looked like a Rubens painting, all pink and lush feminine curves. But she stood in the icy draft from the door, the wind blowing her hair slightly, and she didn’t flinch or shiver from the cold.
“You will always be in my heart,” Darcy said. Then she shut the door on Julia’s quiet smile.
Luck was with her. She found a sleigh. An enterprising young man had borrowed an old one of his uncle’s and was searching for passengers when she hailed him on Forty-ninth Street.
“Joe Heron at your service. Excuse me if I don’t tip my hat, ma’am, but I just might lose it if I did.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to, Mr. Heron.”
“Where will you be going, ma’am? Home?”
“Yes. I’m leaving the city.”
“Leaving the city!” he said, astonished. “There’s no trains going out of Grand Central, ma’am, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I was thinking of the ferries. The one to Jersey City. I’m heading for Pennsylvania Station.”
Joe considered this. “That might be running. I heard the Hudson ferries were running.” She thought he frowned, though it was hard to tell, since his drooping mustache had iced over. “But I don’t think the trains would be running from Pennsylvania Station. No trains running for a hundred miles, maybe. Hard to tell, with all the telegraph lines down. And I wouldn’t want to go on a ferry ride today, no sir. Not in this wind. Where are you headed, ma’am?”
“I’m heading for … Philadelphia.”
“I’d stay put if I were you, ma’am. If you don’t have friends or money for a hotel, I could … maybe my sister could help… she has an extra room.”
Darcy hung onto the sleigh, thinking. She had to get off Manhattan Island, she knew that. Another day of waiting would be too late for her. But if Joe Heron was right, she could be trapped in Jersey City just as well. The days were gone when one could escape the law in Jersey City, as Jim Fisk and Jay Gould had done in the Erie scandal, living in splendor in a hotel room away from Manhattan justice.
“Too bad you don’t live in Brooklyn,” Joe said good-naturedly. “I hear the East River is frozen over, right by the Brooklyn Bridge. A chap I just picked up told me so. He spent the night in the ferry building there. You could walk right across it, pretty as you please.”
Brooklyn. At least she’d be off Manhattan Island. And maybe she could find someone to take her to the Long Island Sound ferries.
“The East River it is, then,” she decided. “I’ll try for the Sound ferry, and then get to the railroad from there.”
“Are you daft?” Joe exploded. Then recollecting himself, he shook his head. “Excuse me, ma’am. I don’t know if you’ll get a ferry across the Sound, and even so, how would you get to a railroad station, and what would you do when you got there? I’ve heard trains are stranded all over … All right, all right—to the East River it is. Thirty dollars, then.”
“Thirty dollars! I don’t want to buy your rig, Mr. Heron!”
“Weeeellll now, perhaps you should catch a horsecar then, ma’am. I’m sure they’ll be one coming along in a day or so.”
The young man was a rogue, no doubt about it. Darcy almost smiled. “Ten dollars,” she said firmly. “Not a penny more.”
“Twenty.”
“Sold. Can you give me a hand up, Mr. Heron?”
Darcy watched the ten dollars—the balance would be due when he dropped her at the ferry building—pass from her gloved hand to his with misgivings. She didn’t have much money, just what she’d taken from Claude’s desk, about fifty dollars. She had adamantly refused Julia’s offer of money. What she had might not last too long. But it had to get her to Denver.
The snow held off on the journey downtown, but the wind was fierce and it felt even more bitterly cold than yesterday. The temperature must have been near zero. The wind picked up the snow on the ground and flung it in their faces, pelting their cheeks like tiny nails. Darcy ducked under the fur robe in the back. She couldn’t believe she was out in this weather again. But Joe Heron was cheerful.
“I’ll get you there, never fear!” he shouted over the roar of the wind and the sharp ringing of the bells on his reins.
He got her there, all right. But they got stuck in drifts six times, and it took them an hour and a half. Joe pulled over at Madison Square and went over to the Fifth Avenue Hotel to fill a flask with hot tea for her. Darcy sipped it, noticing that the abandoned horsecar next to her had been taken over by a group of jolly passengers who passed a whiskey bottle up and down the line. They were burning scraps of cardboard in the coal stove in the rear to keep warm. They toasted her silently across the white polar expanse of Fifth Avenue, and she raised her mug to them.
Joe remained impossibly good-natured through it all. Perhaps it was the money he was making. Whatever the reason, he kept her spirits up. Darcy wanted to knight him, but she settled on a small tip when he pulled up in front of the East River ferry terminal at nine-forty with a great cry and a ringing call for a passenger back uptown.
Darcy climbed out of the sleigh, thanked Joe one more time, and pushed her way to the pier. It was crowded with would-be ferry passengers thwarted by the ice, but a holiday mood prevailed. Some intrepid souls were already on the ice, taking a stroll to Brooklyn. They looked like tiny black dots near the Brooklyn side. Dogs cavorted and skidded. Crowds on the Brooklyn Bridge cheered them on.
“Why, it’s frozen over,” Darcy said aloud.
“Not really ma’am,” a man standing next to her replied. “It can’t freeze over completely because of the tides. It’s just a big ice floe you’re seeing, a harbor master. Very dangerous to be crossing, I’d say. Them folks could get swept out to sea if they’re not careful. And I’d hate to see what happens when the tide changes, whenever that will be.”
“I see,” Darcy gulped. She looked down the river and saw that the man was right; she could see now that the ice only appeared to be an even expanse over the river. Actually, it was one giant floe and some smaller ones.
Darcy looked out at the great expanse of ice and her heart sank. She fervently hoped that the rest of her would not follow suit.
She went toward the ladder at the end of the pier. A man in a cap was standing at the head of it, helping someone climb up. “Fifty cents to go down, miss,” he said.
“Don’t let her, man, can’t you see the tide is changing?” a man in a fur overcoat said. He put a hand on her arm, but the man in the cap disengaged it with such a look in his eye that the other man turned away.
“Come on, miss, just fifty cents it is, and you can tell your grandchildren about it. You can just go down, have a look around, come right back up again. Don’t listen to that gentleman there. It’s perfectly safe, other ladies have been up and down all morning.”
Darcy hesitated. She glanced back toward the ferry building—perhaps the ferries would be running later this morning. And then she saw the policeman, standing, bored, by the shuttered ticket window. Waiting to see if it opened.
Quickly, she took fifty cents from her purse and paid the man. He steadied the ladder, and she climbed down carefully, hampered by her skirts. Her foot hit the ice. It felt firm as a rock. She’d be just fine. She’d be in Brooklyn in a matter of minutes, and they’d never find her. All she needed was a bit of courage and nerve.
She felt almost gay, starting across the ice. This was historic. Wasn’t it true the British soldiers had crossed like this during the Revolution? And they’d made it to a man, hadn’t they?
She was a little over halfway across the ice when the tenor of the noise on the bridge changed. The shouts of glee were now high-pitched, insistent, anxious. She looked up and saw what looked like a hundred people on the bridge—surely there couldn’t be so many—all waving their arms and shouting to those still on the ice. They were pointing …
Darcy looked out to sea. The tugboats were beginning to move. So was the ice. She saw a huge floe break away and move toward open sea. A group of men and boys were on it. One fell to his knees, praying. She saw one tall man put his hand on the shoulder of a boy, probably his son.
Now she could hear the cracking noise, and it was horrible. Darcy picked up her skirts with both hands—thinking crazily that this was totally against any rule of etiquette; skirts were to be picked up by one hand only—and moved faster, afraid to run for fear of falling. It was hard to hold her small suitcase against her skirts, but she couldn’t dare leave all her clothes and money behind. As she moved, she felt the ice move.
She thought she had felt fear yesterday, standing over Claude’s dead body. But that was tame compared to this. She tried not to think of the cold water closing over her head. She couldn’t swim, of course, not that she’d be able to. She’d be crushed by the shifting floes of ice first …
