No Mortal Reason (8 page)

“Going to be another Saratoga Springs.”

Since she could not imagine such a thing, or think of any sensible comment to make, Diana was relieved to have Ben arrive at that moment. In short order, Mr. and Mrs. Saugus had gone and Mrs. Ellington had brought Ben and Diana their meal. It was, as Diana had expected, a simple supper consisting of two chops, a baked potato, and a “slip on”—hot mince pie.

“What do you know about Norman T. Saugus?” Diana asked Ben.

“Not much. I gather he’s a speculator investing in your uncle’s hotel.”

Diana repeated what Saugus had said, then added, “I’ve never been to Saratoga Springs, but isn’t it, er, much
bigger
than this?”

“
Much
bigger. Your uncle might succeed in making the Hotel Grant into a successful resort along the lines of some in the Adirondacks and the White Mountains. He could enlarge it to perhaps twice its present size. But to hope for more seems extraordinarily foolish. Saratoga Springs took decades to grow into what it is today, and that was with the support of the entire community. Hotel builders came in from outside. A number of them. Such a project couldn’t possibly be financed by one man, no matter how wealthy.”

“I don’t believe Mr. Saugus is a rich entrepreneur. And I didn’t much care for him.”

“What do you make of his wife?”

“She doesn’t like him much, either.” Diana sighed and picked up her fork. “I wonder if I might have become the same sort of sycophant if Evan had lived?”

“Never.”

His certainty pleased Diana even as the sharp tone made her wince. She hadn’t meant to mention Evan’s name. She knew how much Ben hated to be reminded that she’d been married before. That they both knew Evan had been a liar and a cheat did not make matters any easier.

In a way, she’d rubbed salt in a wound by making Ben wait for her answer to his marriage proposal. He was nothing like Evan, as she’d repeatedly assured him, but she’d taken her time about saying yes because she had wanted to make sure she did not make the same mistake twice. Impulsiveness was her one failing, and that first time she’d leapt into marriage without regard for the consequences.

Mrs. Ellington appeared at Diana’s elbow with a pot of fresh coffee. “Thank you for your help with the coroner,” she said to Ben.

“I only told him what I observed,” he said modestly.

“Was she there?” Diana asked when Mrs. Ellington left them alone once more.

“Only for a moment.” He took a sip of the coffee. “I wonder how she knew that I spoke up in your Uncle Howd’s defense.”

“I can guess. It isn’t difficult to eavesdrop if one knows the proper places to conceal one’s self, and a housekeeper is in the perfect position to learn where those are. What else might she have overheard?”

Diana listened intently to Ben’s account of the interview with the coroner and the inquest that had followed immediately after. “It didn’t take long for the jurors, biased or not, to reach a verdict. Once they decided that the manner of death was unknown, there was nothing more for them to do.”

“But her death was caused by a blow to the head. You
do
know that?”

“Yes, but not whether that blow was the result of accident, murder, manslaughter, excusable homicide, or justifiable homicide. Since it seems unlikely, after all this time, that anyone will be able to determine which it was, the matter will likely be dropped.”

“That seems rather cavalier.”

“Would you prefer your uncle to be arrested? Howard Grant is the only obvious suspect, because of the locket.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes while she pondered what he’d said. When she looked at Ben again, she was surprised to find a frown on his handsome face. “Did something else happen?” she asked.

“You know me too well,” he complained. “While we were still in the family parlor, Mr. Buckley asked me why I came to the Hotel Grant. I decided to try the truth. I said that you were acquainted with a Mrs. Torrence and that she told you about the hotel. Your Uncle Myron knew at once who I meant. He hasn’t forgiven her, Diana. He was all but foaming at the mouth when he said her name.”

A deep sense of disappointment settled over her. “I hoped he’d be willing to let bygones be bygones.”

“It was clear to me, from Myron Grant’s reaction, that he isn’t about to be reasonable. I don’t think he’ll look kindly on anyone who is related to her.” Ben reached across the table to enfold her hand in his. “I’d like you to consider leaving tomorrow, without telling them who you really are.”

She freed her fingers and used both hands to rub her temples. “I admit that the thought of revealing my true identity does not seem very appealing right now. No one’s likely to kill any fatted calves on my behalf.” She’d always thought the story of the prodigal son should be taken with a grain of salt. “On the other hand, how can I live with myself if I skulk away at the first sign of trouble? We’ve only just arrived, Ben.”

“But surely there’s no need to stay longer?”

“Perhaps not.” If he was right about Uncle Myron’s attitude, there’d be no point in ever telling him who she was. Elmira Torrence’s daughter would not be welcome here under any circumstances. She sighed. “I’m too tired to think any more about this tonight.”

At once he was solicitous. “You’ve had a long day, all that travel topped off by an excess of drama. What you need is a good night’s rest.”

What she needed, Diana thought, was to be wrapped in Ben’s arms and cuddled. At the mere thought, she felt warmth climb into her cheeks. If they spent the night together, she would not be worrying over what to do. She knew from experience that he could banish all such irrelevant thoughts from her mind.

Ben appeared to be brooding as they walked along the upstairs hallway toward their suite. Was he thinking the same thing she was? That they should have found a preacher before they left Denver.

Once inside the parlor, he seemed about to say something, then tilted his head, listening. “Do you hear that?” he whispered.

From directly below them came the sound of raised voices. A man and a woman were quarreling in loud and passionate tones.

“Saugus and his wife?” Diana guessed.

“There are no other guests in the hotel,” Ben reminded her.

Diana could catch only a few words, but those she overheard were enough to give her pause. She heard “that girl” and “scoundrel” and “crimes” from Belle Saugus and, in her husband’s deeper tones, “whore,” then “stage,” and finally, “murderer.”

Chapter Four

As if to make up for the deficiencies of supper the night before, breakfast was on a scale with what the fully-operational Hotel Grant would provide when renovations were complete. As soon as Ben entered the private dining room, Mrs. Ellington left a table by the window, where she’d been going over what appeared to be an account book, and asked him if he would like hot cereal, fried lake fish, steak, a cutlet or chop, an omelet, cold roast beef, or cold ham.

“Steak,” Ben said.

“Choices for a side dish are French fried potatoes, any of six kinds of bread, or griddle cakes with syrup.”

“Surprise me,” Ben told her.

The beverage selection was also wide ranging, everything from coffee, chocolate, and herbal teas to a variety of breakfast wines. Ben was in no doubt there. “Coffee. And keep refilling it.”

It was not until he’d polished off two cups and most of the steak and potatoes that he realized Mrs. Ellington was hovering. “The food is excellent,” he told her, and gave her the smile Diana assured him could melt the hardest female heart.

Tressa Ellington blushed like a schoolgirl. “Is there something else I can get for you, doctor?”

“You could sit down and have a cup of coffee yourself,” he suggested.

Her eyes widened at the suggestion, but after a glance around the empty dining room, she shrugged. “No reason not to, I guess. And one good one to agree. Thank you, Dr. Northcote.”

“Meaning you hope to convince me to endorse the medicinal waters of the spring?”

“I was thinking rather of the healthful menu we offer.”

“It
is
excellent food,” Ben acknowledged.

About the spring he said nothing. There was an added advantage to his plan to take Diana away from Lenape Springs. With a little luck, they would be gone by late afternoon . . . before he was obliged to sample so much as a single glass of Myron Grant’s vile, sulphur-laced water.

Mrs. Ellington sipped at her coffee. She seemed about to ask a question when something she saw through the window behind him made her stiffen.

Ben turned to look. Sebastian Ellington stood on one of the gravel-paved paths that criss-crossed the lawn, arms waving as he exchanged words with the black-clad, bearded preacher Ben had seen the previous day. “I perceive that the good reverend does not approve of hotels and boarding houses.”

“Jonas Riker is nothing but a hypocrite!”

When Ben’s arched brow encouraged her to explain, Mrs. Ellington took another sip of coffee, then wrapped both hands around the cup, as if she sought to absorb its warmth.

“It all started last spring, just over a year ago, when some preachers got together and held a camp meeting near the schoolhouse in Liberty Falls. Everybody went. Well, what else is there to do for entertainment? You never saw such shouting and carrying on! Maybelle Potter, she fell right down in the middle of the aisle, overcome by the Spirit, and lay like a dead woman for a good ten minutes. Then, just when everyone figured she’d gone to her reward, up she jumped and began to testify what the Lord had done for her and hollering ‘Glory! Glory! Glory!’ until she went hoarse.” Mrs. Ellington gulped more coffee, apparently parched herself, then went on in a cynical voice. “By the time it was over, there were two miraculous cures and a whole passel of folks had seen the error of their ways.”

“Including Mrs. Lyseth?”

“Oh, she’d already seen the light. The prize that day was Lida Rose Leeves. She was particular affected by one of the preachers.” She inclined her head toward the window. “They say when he gets going the tears pour down his cheeks and drip right onto the floor. Lots of passion, if you know what I mean. Anyway, Jonas Riker up and married Lida Rose, and that made him the owner of the Lenape Springs Villa.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t close the place down.”

“Might as well have.” She gave another snort and swallowed the remaining coffee in one gulp. “Temperance house! What’s the world coming to when you can’t get wine with a meal at a hotel?”

“Is Riker the preacher at the church here in Lenape Springs?”

“Not much choice about that. He’s the one who built it. It was ready in time to hold quarterly meeting in last December. Free Methodist, they call it, but he goes well beyond any Free Methodists I’ve ever heard tell of.”

Ben was not much of a churchgoer. Sunday was a busy day for a  physician and he generally used that excuse to avoid services. But even a man with as little interest in religion as Ben Northcote knew something of the controversy that had split apart the Methodist community. Methodist Episcopal churches, especially in larger cities, charged parishioners for their pews. What had started as a splinter group, the so-called Nazarites, preached that salvation was free and so were the pews.

Yes, Riker was a Nazarite, Ben thought. That hat he was wearing was called a “helmet of salvation,” the style of coat a “robe of righteousness.”

“He’s planning another camp meeting,” Mrs. Ellington said. “I heard all about it from Celia, who had it from Lida Rose. He thinks folks will come in from all over the state, even if they have to walk the whole five miles from the depot in Liberty to the Lenape Springs Villa.” She shook her head. “Folks will stay in Riker’s hotel as well as in tents, and they mean to put up one large tent with seats for the services and another for meals. I hear they’ll be charging $3.50 for meals for the week.” This seemed to amuse her, though whether it was because the price was too high or too low, Ben could not tell.

He considered what he knew of camp meetings and revivals. As he understood it, they could last a weekend or a week. The folks who came to hear the preaching camped out in big tents—separate accommodations for men and women, of course. Those who attended were encouraged to “testify,” to repent in public for any sins they might have committed and to recount those sins in considerable detail. There was usually a lot of shouting and singing too, and sometimes speaking in tongues.

And sometimes the preachers running the show were confidence men only after what they could get in the collection plate.

“Can I bring you anything else?” Mrs. Ellington asked, seeing that Ben had finished his meal.

“Thank you, no. I believe I will take a walk into Lenape Springs.”

“Looks like rain,” Mrs. Ellington warned, indicating the overcast sky.

“I won’t melt,” Ben assured her, but he was grateful that Sebastian Ellington and the preacher had disappeared from view. He hadn’t minded Mrs. Ellington’s company but he had no desire to engage in further conversation. Nor did he wish to be delayed in completing his errands.

His first stop was the post office. It was the smallest building in town, tucked in next to the general store. There was barely room to turn around once Ben was inside the tiny foyer. All the space was on the other side of the counter, where the postmaster was busily sorting letters.

He accepted Ben’s contribution and read the address with interest. “Maine, eh? That where you’re from?”

Ben agreed that it was. He had written one of his less informative letters home, since he didn’t know for certain what to give his mother and brother as a date for his return.

“Is there a telegraph office nearby?” Ben’s brother, Aaron, was still recovering from serious injuries received some seven weeks earlier. It had been several days since Ben had been in touch with the doctor tending him in Ben’s absence.

“Nearest one is in Liberty,” the postmaster told him.

“What if a telegram comes there for me?”

“That they send a boy to deliver. Hired a new lad this spring from over to Liberty Falls. Call him Scorcher. Fastest thing on two wheels. With that bicycle of his he can make the three-and-a-half mile trip from Liberty to his pa’s farm in Liberty Falls in eleven minutes flat.”