Fatal as a Fallen Woman (20 page)

"This is not the same." Exasperation edged into her voice. "How many times do I have to tell you that I've already told Matt about you. The engagement is a fiction, Ben. You know it. I know it. And he knows it."

"But everyone else thinks it is real. Even the gentlemen who gather in hotel bars at midnight to exchange the latest news of the day. You made a dashing couple at the St. James last night. And from the description, you wore the dark green silk." He had particularly fond memories of that dinner gown. "I don't like this, Diana, not one thing about it."

"The engagement will stand only a few more days. I promise."

Ben saw the way her jaw was set, took note of the determined gleam in her eyes, and accepted that he would not be able to dissuade her from her "plan." He resigned himself to letting her go her own way. He'd keep a watchful eye on her, though. He was not about to let her come to any harm.

"I'll say one thing, Diana. Being married to you is never going to be dull."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It was intended as a compliment."

Her blue eyes narrowed. "It didn't sound like one."

"It's the closest I can come at the moment." At a loss what else to do, he resorted to hauling her back into her arms.

To Ben's relief, Diana cooperated fully from the moment his lips settled on hers. Neither one of tried to speak again until they emerged, breathless, from a long, passionate kiss. By then, the jacket of his dark gray cheviot suit was off, his vest was unbuttoned, and his hand-embroidered silk braces were hopelessly twisted. Her clothing was in similar disarray.

"Do you have any 'plan' for the next hour or so?" he asked in a husky voice.

She smiled sweetly up at him. "Nothing that can't wait."

Chapter Ten

After wiling away an entire morning with Ben, Diana was more anxious than ever to make progress in finding her father's killer. As soon as she returned to Matt's house, she went into the back yard. As she'd hoped, Miranda's maid was once again outdoors, this time taking advantage of a stretch of good weather to launder and bleach silk hose.

Diana chose her location carefully, then leaned across the wall. "I am surprised she doesn't just send those out to be washed," she called.

Startled, the servant gave a squeak, then looked uncertain. She glanced towards the house but, seeing no sign of Miranda, sent Diana a tentative smile. "Costs money, missus. And she'd rather have black hands than yellow touching her personal stuff."

"Have you been with Mrs. Torrence long?" Diana asked as the young woman went back to sousing the silk up and down in a small tub.

"Two weeks," the maid said. "Seems longer. Haven't been out except to go to church on Sunday. She won't even let me take the evening off to go to Wednesday prayer service."

Diana's hopes plummeted at this confirmation of Matt's information. A different girl, a redhead, had been employed by Miranda at the time of William Torrence's murder. "Who was here before you?" she asked. "Come to think of it, in a house this size, shouldn't there be two or three girls?"

There had been in her mother's day, she recalled. Two men and three girls had been needed to look after the needs of Mr. and Mrs. William Torrence and daughter.

"Don't know who was here or what happened to 'em." She wrung out each piece of hosiery before dropping everything into a second tub for rinsing. "Shouldn't be talkin' to you, missus. Can't afford to lose this job."

"Just a moment more of your time. Please." Diana abandoned her half-hearted efforts to trick information out of the maid. She preferred a direct approach in any case. "I need your help to find my father's killer. And from inside the house, no one can see me standing here."

The latter statement earned Diana a doubt-filled look.

 "I lived there once. I know."

"I'm sorry your father got killed, missus, but Mrs. Torrence, she's a devil to work for. She won't like me talkin' to you."

"If she's such a devil, then you'd be better off in someone else's employ. It's my understanding that cooks and girls for private families are in great demand all over the state. I'll find you another job if she fires you. You have my word on it. What's your name?"

"Martha."

"Well, Martha, you can rest assured you won't have any difficulty getting another place. I might even hire you myself. Mr. Hastings thinks I need a lady's maid and at the moment all I have is a companion. And a chaperone."

She felt her lips twitch at the absurdity of that situation, then got herself under control. There was nothing remotely funny about murder.

"Now, Martha," she continued. "I know Mr. Hastings's man Gilbert has already bothered you about this, and talked to the others in the household, too, but it is terribly important that I learn as much as I can about my father's widow."

"Gilbert? He the one with the mutton chops?"

"That's right." Matt's manservant was inordinately proud of his whiskers.

Martha soused and squeezed, then spread the last pair of hose on the grass for the sun to whiten and dry. "Nobody's been asking questions, missus."

Diana swallowed her surprise and pressed doggedly on. "It wouldn't have seemed like an interrogation. No doubt he was more subtle than I am." And perhaps that was why Gilbert had failed to learn anything. "You can help me, Martha, if you will. Even if you weren't here when my father died, you must know something of Mrs. Torrence's habits. I will be blunt. Does she have a lover?"                  

Martha lifted the first tub and dumped the water into the nearest flower bed. "What goes on behind closed doors I can't say, but she's sure enough had gentlemen callers." The note of disapproval in her voice was so strong it almost qualified as moral outrage. Martha the devout church member was plainly in conflict with Martha the loyal servant. She and Dorcas would get along splendidly. 

"What gentlemen?" Diana asked. "And do you remember when they called and how long they stayed?"

Picking up the second tub, Martha walked toward the brick wall, ostensibly to toss the contents onto a border of rosebushes. She stopped in front of Diana and met her eyes. "Your Mr. Hastings for one."

"He
is
her closest neighbor."

"
Real
close," Martha said. "He lets himself in the back way whenever he wants. You ask me, he'd been doin' that for some time before I came here."

Taken aback by Martha's certainty, Diana was momentarily at a loss for words. Miranda and . . . Matt?

Before she could reconcile herself to the idea of the two of them as lovers, Martha offered a second candidate. "Then there's the other one," she said. "Mr. Kent."

That suggestion wasn't much more palatable. Poor Jane!

"He works for the Torrence Mining Company," she reminded Martha. "His visits might be just business."

"Maybe so, but the other morning he was here at the crack of dawn, right off the train, and he went straight up to Mrs. Torrence's bedroom and shut the door." She gave a disapproving shake of her head.

"The day after I came to call?" Diana guessed.

"Musta been."

"Has he returned since?" She hesitated. "Has Mr. Hastings?"

"Both of 'em. Mr. Kent, he was back the next day. Saturday, that would be. And the next. Sunday. And Mr. Hastings, he came once, that I know about, the day after that."

"Monday?"

Martha nodded and dumped the last of the water.

And on Tuesday, Matt had proposed his "engagement of convenience." Diana rubbed her hands over her arms, suddenly chilled. She was very much afraid there was a connection between one event and the other.

"Thank you, Martha," she murmured. "You've been very helpful. If Mrs. Torrence causes you any difficulty, go to the Windsor Hotel and ask for Mr. Northcote. He'll see that you're taken care of."

Martha started to turn away, then glanced back over her shoulder at Diana. "Missus? That Gilbert? Wasn't just he was careful what he asked. He didn't come asking questions at all. He ain't been on this side of the wall since I come here."

Diana watched until Martha disappeared into the house. She tried to tell herself that Gilbert had done his investigating elsewhere, perhaps finding Miranda's bodyguard in some local saloon and questioning him there. But the more she thought about what Martha had told her, the more certain she became that Matt had lied to her.

Neither he nor his man had asked any questions of Miranda's servants since the murder. More damning still, he was apparently a regular visitor in the Torrence mansion, in spite of his rift with Diana's father. Or because of it? He had been having an affair with Miranda.

She studied the house, wondering if she should call on her stepmother. If Matt was counting on jealousy to bring the widow to his door, he'd obviously miscalculated, but perhaps there was more to it than that. What if Miranda and Matt had plotted together to kill William Torrence?

Diana frowned. That wouldn't explain Alan Kent.

Diana hated to believe Kent would abandon a good-hearted girl like Jane for a murdering hussy, but she knew it was entirely possible he had. Miranda was a wealthy widow now, a condition that many men found most attractive. She remembered, too, that he and Jane had been quarreling when Diana interrupted them that first morning. And only yesterday, Jane had told her that Alan Kent wouldn't be happy if she, Jane, turned up in Torrence.

Perhaps, Diana thought, she should ask
Jane
what she knew.

But first she needed to find out what Matt was up to. He had left the house early. He'd told Diana he had business to attend to concerning a civil case. He'd said he expected to dine in town with his client. How long he'd be away she could not say, but she imagined that she had time to start her search for incriminating evidence. It was more imperative now than ever that she consider him a suspect. If he had been Miranda's lover, even if he'd now been replaced by Alan Kent, then he'd had as much reason as Miranda herself to get rid of William Torrence.

* * * *

Two hours later, she'd gone through Matt's study and moved on to his bedroom. She'd found nothing significant. She hadn't expected to unearth a love letter inciting him to murder, but she'd hoped for
something
to tell her if he was friend or foe.

"Diana? What are you doing in here?"

She jumped at the sound of Matt's voice and whirled to face him. He lounged in the doorway, watching her through narrowed eyes.

"You need a woman's touch," she informed him. She'd planned for this eventuality and had her excuse ready. "You've let the place go shamefully since your mother died. Dust everywhere! And that marble-top wash-stand is in dire need of cleaning. A rag dipped in turpentine is best, since it will not only clean but disinfect as well. And do you know that there is an envelope in your handkerchief drawer—one your mother must have put there—that contains trimmings of rose geraniums and sweet clover? Sachets must occasionally be freshened."

"I had no idea you were so domestic." Matt sounded amused.

"Every woman is given instruction in making a home. It was part of the curriculum at the young ladies' seminary I was sent to in San Francisco. Do you know, for example, why the head of the bed should always face north?"

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"It is necessary in order to preserve the harmonious circulation of the body's nervo-electric fluids."

"What on earth does that mean?"

"I have no idea." She forced a smile. "But I do know that iron or brass beds are more sanitary than wood and why feather beds, though soft and warm, are unwholesome. They retain the dampness of perspiration, which develops into the germs of disease. Besides, the odor can become very offensive. I was given an excellent piece of advice concerning feather beds—if you have one, put it in the garret, lock the door, and lose the key."

Matt came into the room and closed the door behind him. "I can see that I do need a woman's touch here. Perhaps we should consider making our engagement real."

She hoped he was joking. She feared that he was not. Reminding herself that Matt had been nothing but kind from the first and that her recent suspicions might well be unfounded, Diana made her voice gentle. "If I'd met you again before I knew Ben, we might have made a match of it. But I love him, Matt, and I imagine, knowing Ben, that he will turn up in Denver soon. He has . . . strong feelings for me, and a certain reluctance to leave me on my own."

Matt hesitated, then put one hand on each of her shoulders, his grip just a little too tight for comfort as he forced her to meet his eyes. "I have feelings for you, too, Diana. Strong feelings. Real feelings. I didn't intend to tell you. I thought, perhaps, if you stayed here awhile . . . ." His face flamed and he let the sentence trail off as his hands slid away.

Her heart went out to him. "I think of you as a friend, Matt, but I love Ben."

"No." He caught her forearm as she tried to walk past him. This time his grip was downright painful.

Diana didn't know what to say to him. She'd never suspected Matt contemplated making their engagement anything more than a ruse. Or that he might be jealous of Ben.

Abruptly, he released her. "Never mind how I feel about you. That isn't important. Or, at least, it isn't important now. What is, Diana, is your mother's safety."

The rapid shift of topic had her blinking in surprise.

"I'll be blunt. She will be caught, Diana. I have no doubt of it, and when she is, I have the means to save her from trial and execution. If you want to spare your mother's life, you will send your Mr. Northcote straight back to Maine when he arrives. I am sure you don't want to cause him unnecessary pain. I suggest a quick amputation rather than a lingering death from gangrene. That's a comparison I'm sure he'd appreciate, being a doctor."

The analogy made her shudder. "I can't let Ben think I've been unfaithful to him."

"You'll have to if you want your mother freed. You see, I also have information that could hurt her case."

"What information?"