“I concede that traveling as a group is best,” Lydia said, “but our home has been unattended for days. Billy has probably explored it and made plans for my return. We can’t assume it safe just because an officer is there. Billy would have planned for that.”
Papa’s jaw ticked, and Abraham and Detective Lawson appeared to be considering the problem as well. She needed to give them a little push. Then maybe they’d at least agree that her going to Nora’s was best.
“Perhaps if we were only concerned about Billy, we could be prepared. But what of Cincinnati? We’ve had picketers, a brick thrown through our window, and numerous mailed threats.”
Papa’s brows shot downward. “How do you know about those?”
“It doesn’t take an author to imagine that they’ve been pouring in. But you have to admit, those threats give us more than just Billy to worry about. Nora’s house is the most reasonable place for me to go. There is nothing that would point either Cincinnati or Billy to her address. Marcus and Mr. Clemens have no knowledge of Nora.”
Detective Lawson stood. “She has a point, but a group traveling from here to Miss Davis’s will draw attention.”
She wanted to whoop at her victory but forced herself to stand as somber and staid as a spinster. By the slight curve to Abraham’s mouth as he regarded her, she wasn’t performing her act very well.
“Miss Plane will remain here to assist her grandfather,” Detective Lawson continued, “and Miss Gibson is to return home. Dr. Pelton, you’ll escort Lydia and Miss Davis to the Davis house. Once an officer arrives, I suggest you join your wife and other daughter at your residence. You’ll want to be available to protect them should the need arise.”
“And leave two women unchaperoned with an officer?” Papa objected. “Not only is it unseemly, it’s also not safe enough.”
“Our reputations will be just fine, Papa,” Lydia said. “Besides, Nora’s a crack shot, and we’ll have that house so booby-trapped that tomb robbers wouldn’t dare set foot inside. Just look at what happened to poor Mrs. Hawking.”
Lydia wasn’t sure what Papa’s stern mouth with bright eyes meant. Was he proud of their booby trap but upset that Mrs. Hawking had fallen prey to it? If that impressed him, he should see what else she and the Guardians had concocted over the years. Most were set as experiments for her stories, but they’d tested and refined each one. Truly, she and Nora would be safer than Queen Victoria’s crown jewels.
Abraham stepped forward. “I’ll have my friend, Officer Lucian Atwood, bring his wife along with him to guard the women tonight. They’ll be completely safe and have a chaperone to protect their reputations.”
If they didn’t have an audience, Lydia would throw her arms around Abraham’s neck and kiss him. Papa trusted Abraham, and Abraham’s bringing in a friend meant Papa might agree. It was brilliant. With the addition of Theresa and Flossie—for they undoubtedly would ignore Detective Lawson’s instructions to stay home—the house would be so full, Billy wouldn’t have a chance of sneaking up on them.
But even with Abraham’s assurances, Papa refused. “We must stay together. It’s the only way to keep everyone safe.”
Lydia touched his sleeve. “I know you want to protect Momma, Madelyn, and me, but my presence at home is more of a danger to them than my hiding separately at Nora’s. I know I’ve lost your trust, but you can depend upon Abr—Detective Hall.”
At her near slip, Papa arched a brow. There was no way he’d let that mistake pass without an interrogation. Poor Abraham wasn’t even going to have a fair chance at asking Papa for permission to court her before she’d have to admit their interest in one another.
“Even if you don’t trust this young pup”—Detective Lawson elbowed Abraham’s side—“you can trust me and my word. Your daughter is right. For the sake of the rest of your family’s safety, you should return home once Officer Atwood arrives. I promise we’ll keep her safe.”
Finally, Papa acquiesced.
“Good.” Detective Lawson turned to Lydia. “Would you please write down Miss Davis’s address?”
“Yes, sir.” She did a terrible salute before scurrying out of the parlor and down the hall to Colonel Plane’s office.
Blank paper sat on his desk, but no pen. She rummaged through a drawer, and something sharp pricked her finger.
“Ouch!”
A red bubble immediately formed at the tip and began to grow. Of course she would find the sole splinter in the whole thing. She stuck the offending pointer in her mouth and carefully finished her search for a fountain pen. With as meticulous as Colonel Plane was, she could at least count on his having the reservoir filled. After dropping into his desk chair, Lydia used her elbow to hold the paper still while she continued to suck her finger. Just like in the days when she became bored with schoolwork, she gripped the pen with her left hand and scrawled the information Detective Lawson needed across the page.
“I thought you were right-handed.” Abraham stood at the door.
She pulled her finger free, checked that it had stopped bleeding, and then covertly wiped it dry on her skirt. “I am, but I can write just as well with my left if the situation calls for it.” She scribbled the same information below the original with her right hand, then showed it to him.
He scrutinized the writing, and then his attention shot to her. “It doesn’t even look like the same person wrote it.” Instead of showing surprise or pride, his eyes crinkled like he was puzzling out a problem.
Abraham retrieved the note from Billy out of his pocket and set the two sheets side by side. Leaning over them, he traced the lines of each and ended with a tap.
“Look. Your left-handed writing has similarities to Poe’s.”
He pointed out how both had letters that slanted to the left and were smudged from their hands passing over still-wet ink. Her handwriting was clearly the most practiced, as her letters varied little in formation, while Poe still seemed to be determining the best way to form some of his. Thee’s anda’s especially varied from use to use—much like her early days of learning to write left-handed.
Billy was brilliant. She’d give him that. “He’s disguising his writing.”
