“If they can catch one.”
If there was any speck of good in what she said, it was that the hanging was unlikely to be publicized here. If it were in the newspaper, there might be a picture, and someone might remark on the resemblance of the dead man to Mr. Armstrong. It was difficult enough having to talk about him as if he were alive when I knew he wasn’t. I would have to be prepared for new levels of lying, new demands on my acting abilities. I wasn’t sure I could do it. But I looked into Mrs. Greenhow’s eyes and thought, If you did this, I swear, in a week, you’ll be as dead as he is.
I managed to hold myself together for a half hour of polite conversation, and I sent Mrs. Greenhow off with a promise to call on her the next day. When the door closed behind her, I fell apart immediately. Tim had taken most of his clothes and gear with him, but there was a hastily discarded pair of socks in the corner he had peeled off before climbing into bed with me that last night. I had left them there so my eye could fall upon them, and I could remember him and feel like he was not so far away. Only now, I knew just how far away he was and would always be.
Still, I left them. They were something he had touched while alive. No hands, even mine, had touched them thereafter. There was some good in that, even as the tears stung my eyes and I wanted to fall down weeping, pounding my fists against my skirt. Even if I missed him so much I wasn’t sure I could bear it. Even if I cursed myself, moment by moment, for my part in the events that led to his death and listed other names I might curse along with my own.
I searched the room for something else to focus on. My eye fell upon the discarded pile of telegrams that I had not yet opened. Might as well go through them. I could always consign them to the fire if the spirit moved me.
As I went through them, my brow creased, and I took a seat. If they were from Pinkerton, they were his strangest communications ever and not at all like what he usually sent.
I KNOW YOUR SECRET
I looked at the next, dated the following day.
YOU CANNOT HIDE STOP YOU ARE NOT THE WOMAN YOU SAY
Resisting the urge to toss the rest of the pile directly into the fire, I unfolded the next and held it to the light.
MEET ME
There was no name, which surprised me. There was no name on any of them.
The last one said:
I GROW IMPATIENT STOP MEET ME TONIGHT OR BE EXPOSED STOP HOTEL LOBBY 7 O’CLOCK
It was dated that day, and thank goodness. If the ultimatum had come while I was in Richmond, the deadline would have come and gone without me. But now that I was here, I felt I had no choice. I had to find out who this was and what he—or she—wanted from me.
The likelihood was good that it was Pinkerton, using subterfuge to get my attention, since he knew I might not respond to him as an employee to her employer. There was too much unknown about his motives, his guilt. If it were him, though, I could simply walk away. Causing a scene would be as dangerous for him as it was for me, if not more so.
The possibility that the telegrams might have come from my mother also crossed my mind. She might have decided the money wasn’t enough. But why would she approach me anonymously, when she could have instantly gotten my attention with her name? She wasn’t the one hiding her identity. I doubted she had anything to lose.
I would have to find out firsthand.
So I changed into a plaid dress of muted greens and browns, reknotted my hair, splashed rosewater on my neck, and went down to the lobby at the appointed time.
I edged in carefully, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Pinkerton was not there, nor was Mrs. Wells. But if not them, who?
When I saw the man next to the grandfather clock, I had my answer.
Age hadn’t been unkind to him. He looked about the same. Of course, any gray in his hair would be painted over, and he took pains to dress well, whatever his current level of income. He had always been able to lead people astray, unless they knew him.
“Come upstairs,” I said softly, so no one nearby could hear. I was a married woman, at least in this hotel, and I didn’t want to raise suspicions by inviting a man to my rooms, but it was much riskier to have this conversation in plain sight of others. I might not be able to contain myself. And if I knew him, or anything about him, after all these years, I suspected he still lacked a sense of moderation.
When he appeared at my door, I opened it long enough to admit him and then shut and locked it quickly. He made a move to embrace me, which I dodged.
“My dear Kate,” he said. “So wonderful to see you again after so long.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
“Don’t be that way. A father and his child are always connected, whatever happens.”
I saw his eye fall upon the socks in the corner. My anger blazed even more brightly.
“I’ll connect my fist to your face,” I said boldly.
His affable manner dropped away for a moment. “You didn’t learn such behavior from me.”
I struck back. “I learned nothing from you. You dragged me around like luggage. And in the end, you sold me off to a gambler. Any success I have is despite you, not because of you.”
“Your mother did say you’d grown bitter.”
“You’ve talked to her? She said she’d left you.”
“I suggested she say so if she ever met you again,” he said. “I guessed you’d be more receptive if you thought I wasn’t involved.”
My blood ran cold. I gave no sign. I had nothing but my armor, invisible though it was. “You guessed right.”
“But you weren’t cooperative enough, Kate. And so we’re going to need some more…cooperation.”
“Go ahead,” I said. “Tell the world my real name. I’m not deceiving anyone. My name has changed, because my husband has changed. This one, you haven’t met.”
“I’d like to.”