The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [59]
Miss Howard frowned. “No. That’s not it…”
” But she also conducts a private class,” Pinkie went on. “Twice a week, in New York. That is what made me think of her.”
“Where is the class held?” the Doctor asked.
“At the home of Mrs. Cady Stanton.”
“Of course!” Miss Howard said, brightening. “Mrs. Cady Stanton and I are old friends. I’ve heard her speak of Miss Beaux—and in very admiring terms.”
“As well she should,” Pinkie judged. “There is a quality in this woman’s work—well, Laszlo, I can’t do better than to say that she sees through to the very essence of the personality. She has been well appreciated in Europe, and will be here, in time. Remarkable portraits, really—particularly those of women and children. Yes, the more I think of it, Cecilia Beaux is the person for you.”
“And I can reach her through Mrs. Cady Stanton,” Miss Howard said, looking at the Doctor. “First thing in the morning.”
“Well, then”—the Doctor lifted his beer again—“our problem is solved. I knew we were right to come to you, Albert—you are a living compendium.” Pinkie flushed and smiled, then grew more serious as the Doctor said, “Now, Albert—about ‘The Race Track’—is it sold?”
The two men fell to discussing the fate of the picture and drinking more beer. Pinkie hadn’t yet sold his unsettling work, but he insisted to the Doctor that he wouldn’t even consider doing so for a long time, as it was far from finished. (It wouldn’t be finished, by the way, until 1913.) It was the same story he told about all his canvases, and the Doctor displayed the same frustration what most collectors did on trying to bring Pinkie into the cold world of practicalities. Finally Dr. Kreizler dropped the subject and they all fell to talking of art in general, leaving me to wander into the studio again and have a little more of the delicious stew. As I ate, I looked up at the “Little Maid of Acadie” for a while longer, realizing for the first time that, in the vague sort of way what was our host’s style, it was the image of Kat.
We stayed at Pinkie’s for another hour or so, everyone having a very pleasant time amidst those piles of relics, trash, and waste. A funny kind of life, that—the old boy lived just for his pictures, and was quite happy to have that much. Give him a little good, humble food, a room to work in, and the ability to take his long walks, and he was fine. Simple, you might say; to which I’d answer, yeah—so simple that only one in a million can manage it.
CHAPTER 11
The next morning Miss Howard called on the telephone to say that she’d contacted Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, the famous old crusader who’d been pushing women’s rights for half a century. Miss Howard, it seemed, had known and admired Mrs. Cady Stanton (who always insisted on using her maiden name in addition to her husband’s) ever since childhood; and as Mrs. Cady Stanton had blue-blood relatives in the Hudson Valley, not far from where the Howard family estate was, Miss Howard had been able to make her acquaintance early on through mutual friends. Miss Howard had warned the Doctor that there were bound to be complications with Mrs. Cady Stanton being the agent of our meeting Miss Cecilia Beaux, as the sharp old bird was well aware of Miss Howard’s personal and professional connections. She’d know full well, for instance, that Miss Howard didn’t have any recently deceased relative, if Miss Howard even tried to float that lie. This left our friend with the job of trying to make her hiring of a portrait painter look thoroughly innocent. But Mrs. Cady Stanton also knew that Miss Howard was a private detective, and she instantly became fascinated by what she was sure was some kind of intrigue—so much so that she flat-out asked to be present for the sketching session what Miss Howard scheduled for Thursday evening at Number 808 Broadway. Left without a graceful way to tell Mrs. Cady Stanton to mind her own business, Miss Howard was forced to agree. So it looked as if we were going to have an additional guest for the occasion.