Page 5 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)
C HAPTER 5
I F L YDIA EVER NEEDED TO describe the sensation of being smothered by a pillow, she could do so now. The stupid thing was plastered to her face thanks to the stinky goop Papa had slathered on her hives. She peeled the material from her face and gaped at the slant of evening light through the bedroom window. The tonic Papa gave her must have sedated her for a good eight hours. Maybe more. She squinted at the clock on the side table, but her muddled brain couldn’t shake the medicine-induced fog.
She swung into a sitting position, and for a moment the world swam.
“It’s about time you woke up.” Her younger sister, Madelyn, twisted in her desk chair. “Dinner should be ready soon, and I have no intention of taking another meal here. It isn’t fair that I be punished just because you stole a goat from the circus.”
“I think it’s the perfect punishment for always being such a tattler. If you weren’t so good at it, maybe Papa wouldn’t assign you as my warden.”
“Better me than Colonel Plane. You slept through his explosion of temper when he arrived to claim Theresa. I’d say she won’t be easily escaping her wardens anytime soon.”
“Are you implying that I’ll be able to escape you easily?”
Madelyn rolled her eyes and returned to whatever she worked on at her desk.
Not that Lydia planned on escaping through the window like Theresa would. Heights terrified her. No, she would honor Papa and endure her punishment quietly.
Despite the seriousness of her crime, Papa’s disappointment in her hadn’t been as bad as she’d expected. Yes, he’d called her and Theresa foolish and reprimanded her for not being a leader in the friendship and putting a stop to the escapade. But his fear for her well-being far exceeded his concern for his reputation as a coroner or the repercussions of her crime. Even though he said it was only right that she and Theresa faced them—and Lydia agreed—he planned to hire a good lawyer who could obtain a favorable plea deal without the case going to trial. They would get past this, and he was certain she would learn from her mistake and make better choices in the future.
She hadn’t the heart to tell him there were other potential disasters awaiting her. Maybe if she delayed, this whole Dupin-murder-suspect thing would go away without her ever telling him about her pseudonym. The police were too smart to pursue only one suspect who could have nothing more than a tenuous connection to the crime.
The bedroom door opened, and Momma stalked inside. “Good, you’re up. I cannot believe what your father told me at breakfast. You are a Pelton, young lady. How could you jeopardize our family’s reputation for something so foolish as stealing a goat?” She folded her arms and scowled. “You are going to attend every church service and event from now until the end of the year without one excuse. No writing deadlines. No illness. Nothing. You will prove to our congregation that you are a repentant young woman and model Christian.”
She should have known that Momma would react more fiercely to her arrest than Papa. Momma couldn’t really enforce Lydia’s church attendance, but she well knew how to wield the honor-thy-father-and-mother verse to her advantage. Not that Lydia minded services, and as long as she worked at a steady pace, she’d meet next month’s deadline with no trouble.
“Yes, Momma. I promise to do better by you from here on out.”
“Maybe when it comes to criminal behavior, but I know you too well, my dear. Your dramatics belong on a stage.” Momma’s sternness softened, and she flaked off a piece of dried goop from Lydia’s face. “You’re lucky it was only hives.” She shook her head. “Get ready for dinner. Your father should be home shortly.”
Madelyn beat her to the bathroom and smirked. “You look like the bride Frankenstein’s monster demanded.”
“Let me go in. You can use the basin in your room to wash up. I need the bath.”
“Fine. I guess you should enjoy your last chance for hot water. I hear they don’t have that in prison.” She stepped aside, thoroughly pleased with herself. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to box up your things neatly before moving into your room.”
“You really don’t care, do you?”
“Oh please. It’s your first offense and you’re a woman. You’ll probably just have to pay a fine or something. I’d have better luck getting your room if I played matchmaker and married you off.”
Lydia slammed the door on Madelyn’s smug face. Sisters.
After a quick bath and a change into fresh clothes, Lydia hurried downstairs. She’d grab the newspaper from the porch, then join her family at the table.
But when she unrolled the newspaper, bold letters stretching the width of the page screamed at her.
F OUR M URDERS , E. A. D UPIN S USPECTED
Nausea swept over her, and she sagged against the doorframe.
Four murders? And Dupin was the suspect for every one? But how could they possibly suspect someone who didn’t exist?
She stepped inside the foyer and devoured every word of the article.
All four victims were from cases that had inspired her Detective Billy Poe novels. More than inspired. She’d researched and studied each victim’s case with a fervor that allowed her to create stories that were unmistakably fictionalized versions of their crimes. She’d even dragged Theresa, Nora, and Flossie with her to the various locations of the crimes just so she could get the tiniest details correct.
Now her stories were being brought to life—or rather, death—by someone professing to be her Detective Billy Poe. That someone, the paper claimed, was E. A. Dupin. Who else would be so passionate as to have each man’s real-life death mimic their fictional one? But the newspaper missed one very important fact. Never once had the criminals died at the hands of Detective Billy Poe. He was always grieved by their deaths and attributed them to God’s hand of justice. Her stomach churned as she reread the full-page article.
After having quietly staged two of his victim’s deaths exactly as they died in the books inspired by their crimes, Detective Billy Poe has laid claim to these and two other murders. By leaving signed messages with quotes from the murder victims’ corresponding books on their bodies, Poe warns that no criminal who unjustly walks free is safe from judgment and execution.
But how is it that a fictional man can kill? The answer lies in the very real person who hides behind the pseudonym. Yes, E. A. Dupin’s name is as fictional as his characters. Should the name Poe fail to hide his deeds, Dupin can rely upon his carefully constructed alias to protect him. According to an unnamed source, even the police don’t know who Dupin is.
The police have attempted to keep this information from you, going so far as to pressure journalists to remain quiet while the police investigate. But with a fourth murder now having been committed without any progress, the Cincinnati Commercial believes it is your right to know that Dupin is a menace to society.
In an effort to succeed where the police have failed, the families and the Cincinnati Commercial are offering a $100 reward for Dupin’s identity and location. Submit any information you have to the Cincinnati Commercial , care of Eugene Clemens. If your information leads to the author’s identity and arrest, then the reward will be yours.
Beware, E. A. Dupin. The people of Cincinnati are on the hunt.
Drawing her breath was impossible. It didn’t make sense. Did no one realize Dupin couldn’t be the murderer? Obviously not, because Cincinnati had declared a manhunt. For her.
A knock at the door startled her.
Were they here for her already? Her best friends would never betray her, but had her publisher discovered her identity and turned her over? It was ridiculous to jump to that conclusion, but she couldn’t stop the shake in her hand as she opened the door.
Officer Hall stood waiting.
Lydia clutched the doorframe, suddenly weak in the legs.
The law had come for her.
“Are you unwell?” He stepped closer, though he seemed uncertain as to how to assist.
She straightened. “I’m well enough.”
“Are you certain?”
“Quite.” If this was it, she would go with dignity. “Are you here for me?”
“Yes and no. Is your father home?”
That wasn’t the answer she’d expected. Did he wish to notify Papa before taking her in?
She feigned a smile. “Not at present, but he should be soon. Would you like to come inside and wait for him?”
“I suppose I have no choice.”
She showed him to the parlor and laid the paper on the table. Though she offered him coffee, he declined. The plush seat, however, he accepted.
For a moment his eyes dipped closed, and the evidence of exhaustion appeared in the dark circles beneath his eyes and slump of his body.
Some of her anxiousness eased in light of his obvious need. The poor man. She should drape a quilt over him. No doubt he’d be out within seconds.
Officer Hall must have had similar thoughts of sleep, because he jumped to his feet and moved to where he had nothing to lean against.
“May I relay a message to my father so you can return to your duties?”
Or bed.
Hopefully he wasn’t working the night shift. If so, he might collapse somewhere or be overtaken by crooks.
He massaged the bridge of his nose before conceding. “I suppose Dr. Pelton can verify it with Superintendent Carson if he doesn’t believe you.”
Verify it? Like she was untrustworthy? How ridic—
Guilt pierced her conscience. Of course Officer Hall wouldn’t consider her trustworthy. He only knew her as a criminal.
Officer Hall continued. “All charges have been dropped and the payment for the goat accepted. Another officer is delivering the goat and informing Miss Plane.”
So it didn’t have anything to do with the Dupin case. The stress of the last few moments sluiced off. “But why? Mr. Beadle was livid. He wouldn’t—”
The truth rose like a welt on her face. Papa’s political ties. She’d just been a beneficiary of the crooked system she fought against. Her hands fisted against her skirts. “Did my father insist that you persuade Mr. Beadle?”
“No, but his friendship with the mayor worked in your favor.”
While the knowledge that Papa remained honorable soothed some of her ire, the fact his friends had no compunction against bending justice to suit their needs did not. “I am sorry to have placed you in such a position. It isn’t right for me to escape consequences just because of who my father is.”
He regarded her as if measuring the truth of her words. “You didn’t seem to mind the deferential treatment last night.”
“If you recall, I repeatedly asked to be placed in a cell.”
“True.” He studied her a moment more, then pulled something from his pocket. “Did you write this?”
The familiar bright orange dime novel cover used by her publisher appeared in his hand.
The blood drained from her face. No, her whole body. She felt behind her for the chair’s arm so she didn’t miss and crash to the floor as she sat.
How could she have been so foolish to assume herself safe? Someone must have suspected her identity and turned her in. She could lie to him, but that would work against her if he already knew the answer. But if he didn’t, there was still a chance to preserve her anonymity.
“I take your response as a yes.”
There went lying.
“Does your father know?”
“He does not.” Maybe there was a chance she could convince Officer Hall to not tell Papa. After all, he had to realize she couldn’t murder anyone. He needn’t tell anyone else her identity.
Officer Hall dropped the book on the table and pivoted away.
She focused on the title to see which book had ruined her.
The Gentleman’s Ward .
Her romance novel? He wanted to know if a book with her name printed on the bottom was written by her? A relieved laugh bubbled out.
“I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised she committed theft.” Though he mumbled as if talking to himself, she caught his words.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
He had the decency to look abashed, but he did not back down. “Dime novels do nothing but glorify evil with their violence, unseemly romances, and bucking of roles for men and women. They are dangerous and pollute the mind.”
She arched back, unable to hide her offense. Was he really one of those people—the ones petitioning for dime novels to be banned and removed from mail delivery? “Have you even read any?”
“I don’t need to. I see the evidence of their corruption on the streets every day.”
“A man’s heart is corrupted by sin, not by literature.”
“That twaddle does not count as literature.”
“Twaddle!” She stood, but reminded herself it was a crime to assault an officer of the law. Education was the best way to deal with ignorance, and Officer Hall was in great need of enlightenment. “Very few of those romance novels have unseemly scenes, and almost all of them uphold the sacredness of matrimony and society’s roles. And books that do not, use their stories as a warning to the consequences of such behaviors. If you’ve never read a dime novel, then you are just spouting off the opinions of another without investigating the truth for yourself. You might as well be a parrot.”
“I’m knowledgeable enough to form my own opinion. My sister has unhealthy expectations for her future husband due to the romances she’s read. No man can live up to those unrealistic ideals.”
“Oh, you mean the ones you haven’t read? How do you know if they’re unrealistic?”
“Men do not have to swim across swollen rivers to save the women they love.”
He must have read at least a little of The Lady’s Terrible Secret to cite that example. “No, they don’t. That is just an event to make the story more exciting. I guarantee, what your sister wants is a man who’s courageous, true, loving, and willing to do what’s necessary for those he loves. Those are not unreachable ideals. I see them every day in my father.”
He seemed caught off guard by her argument and did not immediately respond. Dare she hope her words had made an impact?
“I understand your point, and I concede that I should conduct my own investigation of dime novels before proclaiming such a decided opinion.” The words indicated victory, but the underlying challenge in his tone declared it a premature assumption. “But how do you explain Dupin?” He pointed to the headline of the poorly folded newspaper. “Is he not proof that dime novels are capable of degrading their readers?”
She should have shoved that paper with its sensationalist bombast in the umbrella stand when she answered the door. “I maintain my position. Just because the killer left behind Billy Poe quotes does not mean Dupin or his stories are responsible. Just read his books. You will see that the only thing they did was reveal the atrocities of the criminals whose stories they were based on.”
“And yet four of those men are dead.”
“Do you really consider him a suspect, or are you parroting someone else’s beliefs again?”
His lips pressed into a thin line.
Antagonizing the man would do her no good—they were on the same side, after all. But she needed him to realize that Dupin was not the suspect the police should be chasing.
“Please, Officer Hall. You are an intelligent man. All I am trying to say is, if you want to catch the real murderer, you would do well to study your suspect—Dupin—in any way available to you. Right now, all you have are his books. One can learn a lot about a person by reading their stories. Read Dupin’s. Maybe then you will realize that just because he writes a crime novel doesn’t mean he commits murder.”
“Why are you so adamant in your defense of him?”
A moment of panic sent her mind scrambling for some logical reason. Thankfully she spotted her romance novel still lying on the table.
“Because we are both dime novelists. We are not guilty of misconduct, merely of exposing truths to the world. Dupin reveals corruption, and I reveal the characteristics in a man that a woman should desire.”
“That doesn’t mean his stories didn’t incite someone else to commit murder.”
She shook her head. “A man’s heart is corrupted by—”
“Sin and not literature?” He arched a brow.
“Not literature or twaddle.”
“So you admit it’s twaddle.” A half smile creased his cheek.
She scrunched her mouth to keep from forming one of her own. Even she had to admit that was a good retort.
“It’s good storytelling, Officer Hall. That is all.”
“I suppose I will have to judge that for myself. If you’ll excuse me, it appears I have some storytelling to investigate.” He picked up The Gentleman’s Ward . “If your story is half as challenging as you, then I might be forced to change my opinion—at least on romance.”
“You’ll have to return when you’re finished and inform me if I was successful in such a formidable task.”
“With your permission, I’d like to.”
Had she just fallen into a romance novel? That was entirely too formal and hinted at more than an interest in discussing the morality of dime novels. Her heart raced in a way that was entirely too suspect.
She lifted her chin in an effort to dispel the sudden effect he had on her. “The invitation was genuinely offered. I won’t rescind it just because you accept. I’m not afraid of you.”
“I wonder if you’re afraid of anything.”
“Monkeys. Definitely monkeys.”
He lifted a hand covered in scabs and chuckled. “I concur. Good evening, Miss Pelton. This visit was surprisingly enlightening.”
He let himself out.
Good gracious! Normally she was the one initiating the flirtation. It was surprising to have any man, let alone her Detective Darcy, take the lead. She’d have to work the conversation into a future story, just so she’d have it to treasure long after he’d moved on like the many other potential suitors before him.
“Who was that, dear?” Momma asked at the parlor door.
“Officer Hall. He says Mr. Beadle dropped the charges. Theresa and I are free.” The relief hit her fully then. She need not fear for Papa’s reputation.
“Praise the Lord! Your father will be so relieved, but don’t think you are free of punishment, young lady. It doesn’t change what you did. Now head to the table. I’ll grab your father’s paper and be there in a moment.”
At the mention of the newspaper, Lydia’s stomach dropped. They might celebrate her freedom tonight, but Cincinnati was hunting her.