The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [148]
“Is that smart?” Lucius asked. “If we leave, she may think we’ve given her the field—and God knows what’ll happen then.”
“We shall not leave before the two of you confront her, Detective Sergeant,” the Doctor replied. “And now you can include our awareness of this incident in your statement. We can only hope that such awareness will make her act with even greater caution. Because if we stay here, we will remain stymied. The past is our way in—we must follow it.”
Marcus spoke again, very carefully: “And the other matter, Doctor? How do you feel about leaving with your own affairs—unresolved?”
The Doctor shrugged. “As you both have said, Marcus, there is little I can do before the hearing. If there had been any secrets to unearth, I know that you would have found them. Whether I stay or go is of little consequence.” Watching him, I saw something that seemed almost like bitterness enter his face. “And I confess,” he continued, again softly, “that I have never been so weary of this city. Or its citizens …” He shook the moment off and turned to face us. “Getting away may be the best thing, all the way round.”
“No question about that,” Mr. Moore said cheerfully. “Especially given the destination. Saratoga’s absolute heaven at this time of year. And when you add the—diversions…”
Everyone else in the room smiled and groaned, and Miss Howard picked up a book to fling at Mr. Moore. “Yes, we all know why you want to go, John—but you’ll have precious little time for your usual pursuits.”
“I’m just talking about our off-hours!” Mr. Moore protested, shielding himself. “We can’t work day and night, you know! And let’s face it, Saratoga—”
“Saratoga is a vulgar, disgusting sty,” Miss Howard finished for him, “where fat, wealthy men gamble, lie to their wives, and make panderers and prostitutes rich.” The harshness of the words made it clear that she sincerely meant what she said.
“Oh, you sound like your friend Nellie Bly,” Mr. Moore replied with a wave of his cigarette. “Besides, I’m not married—or fat.”
“Give yourself time,” Miss Howard returned. “And as for Nellie, everything she wrote about that wretched place in the World was true, and it took great courage to say it.”
“Yes,” Mr. Moore countered. “Almost as much courage as it took to marry that seventy-five-year-old millionaire of hers.”
Miss Howard’s eyes went thin, and she poised herself to strike. “Mr. Seaman is not seventy-five.”
“No. He’s seventy.” Marcus had said the words absent-mindedly; but a glance from Miss Howard was all it took to make him regret it. “Well, I’m sorry, Sara, but he is—”
“My God, it’s a miracle the human species still exists,” Miss Howard seethed, “with apes like you carrying it forward!”
“Children, children!” The Doctor clapped his hands. “We have far more pressing matters to deal with. It’s now Monday evening. How soon can we all be ready to depart?”
“Tomorrow,” Mr. Moore answered quickly, obviously dying to get up to the great American resort town of Saratoga Springs, where, as Miss Howard had said, gambling, whoring, and philandering had long ago pushed taking the waters out of the way to become the chief pastimes.
“Marcus and I’ll need a bit longer,” Lucius threw in. “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble selling Captain O’Brien on the idea that we’re going along to watch your movements, Doctor, but it may take a couple of days to tie everything up—and, of course, there’s that little visit to Bethune Street to make.”
“Very well,” the Doctor answered. “Shall we say Thursday morning?” There was general agreement to this idea, and the Doctor grabbed for his copy of the Times. “We can take one of the paddle steamers as far as Troy, and from there the train to Ballston Spa. Moore, as for going on to Saratoga, you’ll have to arrange that yourself.”
Mr. Moore grinned wide. “That won’t be any trouble—they’ve put in an electric trolley from Ballston