Chapter Twenty-Seven
Over Nellie’s objections, Ingram had opted to forego his research for the afternoon and ride the train with her out to Montauk. He had grown increasingly worried about her safety. After the near-rape in Brooklyn and her other mysterious near-accidents on the streets, he had retained a detective agency to provide full-time protection, and a guard accompanied the two of them and Mary Jane on the trip. Nellie had protested all the security as unnecessary, but Ingram wouldn’t hear of it. He was determined to be cautious.
Ingram said almost nothing the entire ride, and it was not simply that the sea air aggravated his respiratory problems. The night before, they had broached the subject of marriage once again, and the discussion again left them both in tears. He wanted to build a life with her, but they both knew she would never be happy living with him in Europe. She had too much drive, too much ambition. Some newspapers assigned reporters to work in foreign countries, but they were almost always in London or Paris. Ingram’s work would take him to Vienna and Leipzig and Moscow. That was where the advances in psychology were taking place. The only way they could become husband and wife was if he gave up his interest in psychology and practiced medicine as a conventional doctor.
He offered to take that path, but he could not hide his dismay at the prospect. It was not that conventional medicine bored him. He was a natural healer, and as a scientist everything about the human body fascinated him. But he was convinced that so much of the physical pain and mental anguish humans encountered in life was due to forces beyond their control, as if they were afflicted with an emotional virus. He wanted to understand these viruses and find ways to treat and even cure them. There was so much work to be done in that area, and his research at Bellevue and with private patients had made him one of the three or four most forward-thinking physicians in the world in that regard. He could not give all of that up, any more than Nellie could give up her reporting. Try as they might, they could not see a way out.
He glanced over at her and saw her staring at the sand dunes getting swept about by the bitter cold January wind. She smiled at him and resumed looking out the window. It tormented them both to be so near and yet have no future together. If she was right about this harbor, Nellie thought to herself, her story would be finished soon, and she would move on to other things. There would be no need to protect her any longer. He would to go Germany, and she would remain here in New York.
“I think Mrs. Foote is right about Charles DeKay,” he blurted out unexpectedly. “I don’t think he poisoned Miss Lazarus.”
It was a bold statement for him. Usually he confined his responses as a scientist, or a sounding board.
“Why do you say that?”
“DeKay is very comfortable with women. Women have always saved him. His mother, his sister, Emma. He is grateful to them. And he needs them. I don’t think he could bring himself to harm a woman.”
“That is speaking as a scientist?”
“As a psychologist, yes. That is what my training tells me. I take it from your skepticism you are now even less likely to join me abroad after this case?”
“Don’t joke about that, Ingram. Please.”
He nodded and resumed his silence. But personal feelings aside, she was impressed. She had reached the same conclusion after speaking to DeKay, Helena, and Mary Foote. His science had led him to the same result, and he had spent no more than five minutes with Charles DeKay. She wasn’t skeptical of his new field, she was admiring. But she dare not tell him that or they would be embroiled in a difficult discussion all over again.
They arrived at Montauk, on the tip of Long Island that looked out to the Atlantic Ocean and Long Island Sound. To the east was a gray ocean with pounding waves as far as the eye could see. To the northwest they could see Block Island and, in the distance, Newport. Bundled up against the cold, they made their way through the small whaling town to a large clapboard house located among some fishing boats and a few luxury yachts moored for the winter and bearing the sign MONTAUK YACHT CLUB. By the dock a crusty man with deep, weather-beaten lines in his face sat in a mildewed shack with an open window despite the freezing temperature. Ingram and Nellie stepped forward as Mary Jane and the guard lingered behind.
“Mr. Blake?” said Ingram.
“That’s me.”
“I’m Dr. Ingram. And this is my wife. I sent you a telegram.”
“Yes. Good afternoon, doctor. Mrs. Ingram.”
She had to smile. It did have a nice ring to it. “Good afternoon, Captain Blake.”
Blake’s chest puffed out at being addressed as Captain.
“I would like to inquire about joining the yacht club,” said Ingram.
“Are you familiar with the area, doctor?”
“Somewhat. I work in Manhattan and recently profited from some fortunate investments. I decided the best use of my profits was to take advantage of your marvelous setting.”
“A wise decision, doctor. May I ask the size of your yacht?”
“I have my eye on a sixty-foot schooner.”
“A hundred and twenty feet,” piped up Nellie.
“A hundred and twenty feet,” conceded Ingram, the good husband going along.
Blake frowned. “How deep is the hull?”
“Twelve feet. Maybe fifteen.”
“I’m sorry, doctor. The deepest we can accommodate is ten feet.”
“We will be glad to pay extra,” said Nellie.
“It’s not a matter of payment, ma’am. Our harbor cannot take in anything larger than ten feet.”
“Are you sure of that?” said Nellie. “We so want to dock our boat here.”
“I am sure, Mrs. Ingram. I would like nothing more than to make you and your husband a member of our club. But the laws of nature are governing us, not the laws of men.”
“What about these plans to make Montauk Harbor the new landing point from Europe?” asked Nellie. “I’ve been reading about that in the paper.”
“As long as the ships go no deeper than ten feet, they should have no problem.”
“But most of the ships will have hulls that sit twenty feet or so,” she said. “There must be plans to make the harbor deeper.”
“None that I’ve heard. And for good reason.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Because it can’t be done. The floor is bedrock. We can’t even build a bridge here, and believe me, we’ve tried. It would take years to make the harbor twenty feet deep. No, this harbor is staying as it is for some time.”
Nellie glanced at Ingram. She had heard enough. “Well. Thank you for your time,” said Ingram to Blake.
“This is a lovely spot,” said Nellie. “Perhaps we can find something smaller.”
She put her arm through Ingram’s and they walked away, like any other young married couple.
“I hope so, ma’am,” called Blake. “You won’t regret it.”
Nellie squeezed his arm. She was excited. “Well done, Ingram. Extremely well done.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ingram.” The appellation made her smile, but he wished it had been for real.
She didn’t bother to stop and wait to be announced. She just barged right in.
Maybe it was the fact that she was a woman, or maybe it was because she had been there before, but the guards and secretaries outside Gould’s office expected her to stop and ask to see the Great Man, as everyone else did. But Gould could have told them she was not like everyone else.
Neither, of course, was he, so when she sailed straight into his office and strode up to his desk, he seemed as if he had been waiting for her for the past half hour.
“You knew all along, didn’t you?” she demanded.
Gould looked directly at her, understanding in an instant exactly what she knew.
One of the guards grabbed her by the arm. “You have to leave, miss—”
“Not until I’m finished.”
“Sorry, Mr. Gould—” The guard started to pull her away.
“Let me go!” She clenched a fist and threatened to punch him. “Now!”
“It’s all right, Mike. She can stay.”
The guard released her arm. He did not take kindly to being shown up in front of his employer. “Sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Gould. I thought she was more of a lady.”
“Oh, she is a lady, Mike. She’s simply more insistent than the rest of them.” The guard left the room.
“So,” said Gould. “What can I do for you, Miss Bly?”
“Hilton’s plan for a harbor at Montauk. It’s not going to work.”
“No.”
“How long have you known?”
“Since they began buying up the land from the Indians. I hired divers to measure the depth. At low tide, it is four feet a half mile offshore. There is no machinery currently in existence that could create a harbor for a modern ship out of those conditions.”
He leaned back in his chair and waited for her next question.
“How could Hilton and Corbin not realize that the ships won’t be able to dock there?”
“They have been too busy congratulating themselves. You see, they are railroad men, and there is no railroad problem engineers cannot solve. Mountains, deserts, valleys, rivers—engineers have figured out ways around all of them. The same is not true for ships. If anything, the problems have become more challenging as the ships have gotten larger and larger. The weather has been too cold to begin construction. I suspect by March or April Hilton will realize that fortune has not smiled on him.”
“Why did you not say anything? Why let them be the fools?”
“I was looking to sell the Manhattan Elevated. Certain changes are about to occur that will dramatically reduce its value, and I needed an eager buyer.”
“What kinds of changes?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. So will they. There are very few buyers who could afford such a purchase on short notice, and with cash. Essentially only two people: Hilton and Corbin. Fortunately, it only took two.”
“But they would never do business with you,” she said, starting to put it together, “unless they thought they were getting the best of you.”
“Precisely.”
“And that’s where I came in. You brought me in to get under Hilton’s skin, to rile him up so he wouldn’t think straight and would jump at the chance to hurt you.”
Gould nodded.
“So you used me.”
“We used each other. Your publisher sold quite a few newspapers thanks to this story.”
“Not $20 million worth. What else did you lie about? Did you even know Miss Lazarus?”
“In passing. We met at Seligman’s funeral. When I learned of her involvement with the Montauks, I became more interested and learned what I could about her.”
“So when I told you about Maria Pharaoh going to Emma, you already knew all about that, even though you acted like you were hearing it for the first time. You just wanted me to print a story that would let Hilton and Corbin feel so full of themselves, they would make an offer on your railroad.”
“It was you who insisted on writing the story, Miss Bly. I actually recommended against it, if you recall.”
“Knowing that it would only make me want to write it all the more.”
Gould said nothing. He didn’t have to. Nellie knew she was right. She felt completely manipulated, like a child’s puppet.
“When you first brought me to your office, how did you know I would believe you?”
“I didn’t, but I had to try something. I had an asset worth $20 million that was soon going to be worth nothing. Hilton and Corbin were two of only a handful of possible buyers. Hilton has obvious character weaknesses. I needed someone who could prey on his irrationality about defeating me, and from what I could tell, that would come easily to you. Knowing your history, in fact, you would relish it. Now, don’t look so put upon. Before we met, you were about to give up on the case and tell Pulitzer that Miss Lazarus died of natural causes. If not for me, you would not even have a story at this point.”
“Possibly. But thanks to me, you are $20 million wealthier.”
“Yes. And I am most grateful.”
His brazen indifference to truth stunned and disgusted her.
“I’m going to write all this in a story, let people see what a liar and scoundrel you really are.”
“They already know, Miss Bly. It makes no difference to me. Now that Hilton and Corbin’s cash sits safely within my bank, you can write whatever you like.”