Chapter Twenty
Charles DeKay strode into the Montagne Hotel, just down the street from the inn Nellie and Ingram used for their trysts. Though life was breaking his way and he had more than his usual swagger, he was wistful. His wedding was in less than two weeks, and he would not be having many more of these afternoon visits. Oh, he would still have some—marriage did not necessarily consign one to a monastic existence—but he would need to be discreet. He was about to become more prominent and would have much more to lose. Ah, the price one paid for moving up in the world.
He stopped at the front desk where the clerk, a go-getter in his forties wearing a light green tweed suit, greeted him warmly.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“Good afternoon, Simmons. My appointment is waiting for me?”
“Yes, sir. One I suspect will please you immensely.”
The two men smiled at their own private double-entendre as Simmons let Charles know he’d chosen well among the street women for that afternoon.
“And you provided proper refreshments?”
“Enough to last for a good while, sir. Depending on the appetite, of course.”
Charles paid Simmons for the room and a little extra as usual for his trouble, then headed to his customary meeting place. He hoped this one would be especially good; today would most likely be his last dalliance before the wedding. Simmons had decent taste—a little more genteel than he preferred, but the girls always seemed to sense what he wanted and loosened up right away. A prostitute had to be pliable in more ways than one, he always said. Otherwise they wouldn’t last.
As he approached Room 17 at the end of the corridor, his pulse quickened and his step lightened. This was his favorite part of the rendezvous: the anticipation and the mystery. He had no idea what awaited him on the other side of the door, just that he wanted it to be wonderful and take his breath away.
He tapped on the door.
“Are you decent?” he asked in an authoritative voice.
“You’ll be the judge of that.”
A witty one. And a flirt. He smiled and opened the door. But the smile soon froze.
Standing there alone in the room, fully clothed, was Nellie Bly. “Good afternoon.”
Charles glowered. For one of the rare times in his life, he was speechless.
“You look disappointed.”
“What are you doing here?” He was not amused.
“I needed to speak with you.”
“I have nothing to say to you—”
“Oh, I think you do. Or else your fiancée will have a great deal to say to you. You have made quite a name for yourself among the prostitutes in this neighborhood. They don’t like that you may be taking your business elsewhere.”
She watched DeKay try to regain the advantage. She could practically read his mind. The two of them were alone, after all. Simmons would cover if there was a disturbance. The man was practically on his payroll. DeKay closed the door.
But Nellie tapped twice on the wall. From the room next door came two taps.
“And someone is next to this room as well. I really do need you to answer some questions.”
He was trapped. But he retained that confident air. He would dance nimbly around her questions, just as he had the previous time. He had been doing it all his life.
“What is it you want to know?”
“Why you poisoned Emma Lazarus.”
“I didn’t poison her.”
“Please. No more lies. I know she didn’t kill herself. We have proof of that.”
“If you are convinced it wasn’t a suicide, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and publish your story.”
“I will keep your name out of the story if you tell me why Hilton was so intent that Emma die right away. Why couldn’t he wait a few more months?”
“I don’t know. He just approached me and asked me to do it. Told me to do it, I should say.”
“And so you did. You poisoned her.”
“No.”
Nellie scoffed.
“Right. I forgot. She poisoned herself. You may be oblique with me, Mr. DeKay, but I suspect that option will be unavailable to you with Miss Coffey. Her family will insist on direct answers.”
There was no point in evasion. The woman was determined. But he still did not have to tell her everything. It was his nature to withhold information.
“Barker had prescribed arsenic for her right after she returned from England. He thought it would help her with the cancer, but it only made her more ill, so he stopped. Neither he nor I gave her arsenic again.”
“Someone did.”
“Yes. Without our knowledge. The symptoms persisted, and she became weaker and weaker. He analyzed her blood, and there was much more arsenic than he had given her. Barker was afraid someone would blame him for the death.”
“That’s why he destroyed the blood samples when we saw him at the opera?”
He nodded. “The protocol at the hospital required him to keep flasks of her blood. He wasn’t worried about it until you began asking questions. At that point he feared a scandal.”
“How did the additional poison get into her system?
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t.” He stumbled over the word “honestly,” as if it was unfamiliar to him. Nellie didn’t know whether to believe him.
“But you were happy to take credit for it with Judge Hilton.”
“Yes.”
He made no attempt to defend or excuse himself. There was no need. This was how the world worked in New York.
“Why did Hilton want Emma dead?”
“I don’t know.”
They both knew he was lying.
“You want the prostitutes to visit your fiancée? And her family?”
“I swear. I don’t know.”
She had worried he would protect Hilton no matter what, even at the cost of his marriage. She knew she wouldn’t be getting any more from him. She sighed, grabbed her coat, and headed for the door.
“I don’t suppose you would care for some wine,” said DeKay. “It seems a pity to let all this go to waste.”
“Perhaps you can serve it at your wedding.” She walked out.