Fatal as a Fallen Woman Read Online Free Page B
together they'd had other matters to occupy them. Ben hadn't thought to ask about her parents. It came as a shock to him to realize he didn't even know Diana's maiden name.
"Her father disowned her for marrying Evan Spaulding," he said slowly. "She met Spaulding when she was at boarding school."
"Which one? Where?"
"I don't know, but she had a friend there. Rowena. Horatio Foxe's younger sister." That meant Foxe must know Diana's family background. So would Diana's actor friends from Spaulding's old company, but Todd's Touring Thespians were at present playing a series of one- and two-night stands all over the country. Ben had no idea how to contact them.
"What do you know about the husband?"
"He was a second-rate actor and failed entrepreneur who deceived her from the beginning."
Her brows shot up and she fingered the ring. "Indeed? She didn't murder him, did she?"
"No, she didn't murder him."
But Ben didn't know precisely how he had died, only that it had been after he'd left Nathan Todd's troupe of players to start his own company. Diana had told him about their horrendous journey from Denver into the Colorado mountains to . . . where had it been?
He couldn't recall the name of the town and doubted it mattered. Spaulding had died there a few months after their arrival, leaving Diana destitute. In dire need of employment to keep body and soul together, she'd turned to her old school friend and Rowena Foxe's brother had come to the rescue, hiring Diana as a regular contributor to his New York newspaper.
He'd have to contact Foxe, Ben decided. The editor undoubtedly knew where Diana had gone and why. Ben didn't much like the man, and he knew Foxe wanted Diana to stay on at the Independent Intelligencer , but surely he'd respond to an urgent telegram.
"A husband has a right to know."
"What?" Lost in thought, Ben hadn't been listening.
"How could you ask her to marry you when you knew so little about her? And after all the trouble she caused us, too!"
"She didn't know I was going to ask her to marry me until just before she left. She had no reason to confide in me." A short bark of rueful laughter escaped him. "It isn't as if I spent much time talking about the Northcotes." Diana knew as little of his childhood and youth as he did of hers. "She learned more about our family history from reading brasses in the crypt than she heard direct from me. I've got to go."
She caught his arm. "What do you intend to do? You can't follow her. You don't know where she's gone. And you have responsibilities here. Your brother—"
"Don't lecture me about responsibilities! You're the one who persuaded me to abandon my practice for months on end when it suited your needs." Shaking her off, he strode toward the door. "Don't worry, Mother. I'm only going as far as the Western Union office. Horatio Foxe must have some idea where Diana is. It won't take me away from my responsibilities to make a few inquiries."
* * * *
Diana changed trains for the last time at Cheyenne, a hundred and seven miles short of her goal. Her route had taken her from Weehawken to Rochester to Buffalo, then through Cleveland and Toledo to Chicago, at which point she'd had a choice of routes to Denver, one through Omaha and the other through St. Louis and Kansas City. Exhaustion had already set in when Diana made her choice. Another three days of constant worry and little rest had stretched her physical and mental abilities to their limits.
She'd hoped to find a telegram from Horatio Foxe waiting for her at one or more of the stops, but either he'd learned nothing new about her father's murder or the messages had missed her. When she arrived at Denver's Union Depot late in the afternoon of April 19 th , eight days after William Torrence's death, she knew nothing more than she had when she started out.
Rumpled, short of sleep, and riddled with self-doubt, she stepped off the train and was immediately accosted by a touter from the Tremont Hotel. When he tried
"Her father disowned her for marrying Evan Spaulding," he said slowly. "She met Spaulding when she was at boarding school."
"Which one? Where?"
"I don't know, but she had a friend there. Rowena. Horatio Foxe's younger sister." That meant Foxe must know Diana's family background. So would Diana's actor friends from Spaulding's old company, but Todd's Touring Thespians were at present playing a series of one- and two-night stands all over the country. Ben had no idea how to contact them.
"What do you know about the husband?"
"He was a second-rate actor and failed entrepreneur who deceived her from the beginning."
Her brows shot up and she fingered the ring. "Indeed? She didn't murder him, did she?"
"No, she didn't murder him."
But Ben didn't know precisely how he had died, only that it had been after he'd left Nathan Todd's troupe of players to start his own company. Diana had told him about their horrendous journey from Denver into the Colorado mountains to . . . where had it been?
He couldn't recall the name of the town and doubted it mattered. Spaulding had died there a few months after their arrival, leaving Diana destitute. In dire need of employment to keep body and soul together, she'd turned to her old school friend and Rowena Foxe's brother had come to the rescue, hiring Diana as a regular contributor to his New York newspaper.
He'd have to contact Foxe, Ben decided. The editor undoubtedly knew where Diana had gone and why. Ben didn't much like the man, and he knew Foxe wanted Diana to stay on at the Independent Intelligencer , but surely he'd respond to an urgent telegram.
"A husband has a right to know."
"What?" Lost in thought, Ben hadn't been listening.
"How could you ask her to marry you when you knew so little about her? And after all the trouble she caused us, too!"
"She didn't know I was going to ask her to marry me until just before she left. She had no reason to confide in me." A short bark of rueful laughter escaped him. "It isn't as if I spent much time talking about the Northcotes." Diana knew as little of his childhood and youth as he did of hers. "She learned more about our family history from reading brasses in the crypt than she heard direct from me. I've got to go."
She caught his arm. "What do you intend to do? You can't follow her. You don't know where she's gone. And you have responsibilities here. Your brother—"
"Don't lecture me about responsibilities! You're the one who persuaded me to abandon my practice for months on end when it suited your needs." Shaking her off, he strode toward the door. "Don't worry, Mother. I'm only going as far as the Western Union office. Horatio Foxe must have some idea where Diana is. It won't take me away from my responsibilities to make a few inquiries."
* * * *
Diana changed trains for the last time at Cheyenne, a hundred and seven miles short of her goal. Her route had taken her from Weehawken to Rochester to Buffalo, then through Cleveland and Toledo to Chicago, at which point she'd had a choice of routes to Denver, one through Omaha and the other through St. Louis and Kansas City. Exhaustion had already set in when Diana made her choice. Another three days of constant worry and little rest had stretched her physical and mental abilities to their limits.
She'd hoped to find a telegram from Horatio Foxe waiting for her at one or more of the stops, but either he'd learned nothing new about her father's murder or the messages had missed her. When she arrived at Denver's Union Depot late in the afternoon of April 19 th , eight days after William Torrence's death, she knew nothing more than she had when she started out.
Rumpled, short of sleep, and riddled with self-doubt, she stepped off the train and was immediately accosted by a touter from the Tremont Hotel. When he tried
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