To Write a Wrong

by Jen Turano

  “I don’t think readers would be very interested in a place like El Dorado,” Mildred said. “Everyone knows the lost city of gold is merely a fairy tale, and you’re not known to write fairy tales, dear.”

  Something about the way Mildred was avoiding his eyes had Herman reaching out to take hold of her hand. “Why am I getting the distinct impression there’s another reason behind your reluctance to see me write about El Dorado?”

  Mildred winced. “Was it that obvious?”

  “I’m afraid so, just as I’m afraid, now that I think about it, that your reluctance might have something to do with my parents.”

  She gave his hand a squeeze. “Evan and Sarah discussed trying to discover El Dorado at one point and were incredibly excited about the possibilities. However, they were unable to locate proof of the lost city of gold because of their untimely deaths.”

  “And it would bother you to have me write about a quest my parents were never able to pursue?”

  “Will it disappoint you if it would?”

  Herman pulled his grandmother close, gave her a hug, and smiled. “It’s only a book, Grandmother, just as El Dorado was only a thought. I’ll choose another setting for my book.” He caught Sheldon’s eye. “I’m going to need you to delve back into Mother’s journals because we’re going to need a new setting, unless you’ve already run across another location I can use.”

  “I did find a most informative book about the West Indies the other day,” Sheldon said, his eyes turning distant. “You could always have your hero uncover a diary in a secret passageway, one that, hmm . . . maybe gives clues about a past murder, and clues that lead the hero to the West Indies.”

  “Oh, I like the sound of that,” Daphne said, but instead of expanding on the idea, she suddenly peered at something across the river. Without saying a word, she hurried to where she’d left her bag on the ground and began rummaging through it. In the blink of an eye, she was pulling out a pair of opera glasses, training them across the water.

  “We need to get on the river, and the sooner the better,” Daphne said, catching Herman’s eye. “I just caught a glimpse of the most beautiful, ah, heron, and I need to get a closer look at it. I’m sure it’s exactly the bird I need to finish my latest poem.”

  “You’re going to include a heron in a poem about a pirate?” Sheldon asked.

  “If I can make it work, certainly,” Daphne said before she shoved the opera glasses back into her bag and sent a subtle jerk of her head toward the river.

  Knowing there was little chance Daphne had actually spotted a heron, while also knowing that, if what she’d seen had something to do with his case, she’d hardly be able to explain anything to him until they got on the water, Herman took a second to tell Mildred he’d meet her back at the house, then moved to the bow of the boat, dragging it into the water.

  He spent a good few minutes explaining to Daphne how the oar she was going to use worked, an explanation he was convinced she’d not actually listened to, since she’d grabbed hold of her oar the second he’d stopped his explanation and began applying herself vigorously to pulling it back and forth at a furious rate, which only resulted in them moving about in circles. Ten minutes later, they were finally making their way from shore.

  Conversation was nonexistent while he steered them out into the current, Daphne emitting some rather telling grunts as she tried to keep her oar in synch with his.

  “I thought you always took your rowboat out by yourself,” she said, releasing another grunt as water splashed over him, a direct result of her overly vigorous handling of her oar.

  “I do.”

  “How do you manage the oars, then, since they’re positioned for two people?”

  “I don’t have them positioned as they are now when I go out on my own.”

  “So why, pray tell, did you have to position them for two people today? We could have been across the river by now if I weren’t responsible for one of the oars.”

  “Cooper asked me to include you in the rowing. He believes any progress you’ve made increasing your physical stamina has suffered since you’re no longer participating in his thrice-weekly regime.”

  “I’ll be having a word with Cooper at my earliest convenience.”

  Herman glanced over his shoulder and grinned when he caught sight of Cooper rowing another boat about fifty feet away from them. That Cooper was probably vastly amused at the difficulty Daphne was experiencing was not in question, especially when the Pinkerton man sent Herman a flash of a smile before he returned to his rowing, his oars cleaving through the water with what seemed to be little effort on Cooper’s part.

  Herman turned back to Daphne, who was no longer rowing because she’d pulled out her opera glasses and was scanning what seemed to be an incredibly distant shore—one that shouldn’t be so distant given the time they’d already spent on the water.

  “Care to finally tell me what we’re really about to chase down? I know it’s not a heron.”

  “I caught sight of a lady striding into the forest. I think it’s Finetta.”

  “Grandmother said Finetta is still in her bedchamber.”

  “She must have snuck out,” Daphne said, lowering her opera glasses. “I don’t see her anymore, but we’ll pick up the chase after we get the boat to shore.”

  “We’ll get to shore faster if you row with me instead of against me. Would it help if I say ‘row’ every time you’re supposed to pull back on the oar?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  To Herman’s surprise, after he began chanting “row,” the boat began to skim over the river, getting them closer and closer to shore until Daphne suddenly stopped rowing, which sent the boat veering to the right.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “We appear to be taking on a bit of water.”

  A gurgling sound had Herman spinning around, and given the water that was now gushing up from what seemed to be numerous holes in the bottom of the boat, they were taking on more than a bit of water.

  “Please tell me you can swim,” he said.

  Before Daphne could respond to what was a very important question, the boat began sinking at a rapid rate—so rapid, in fact, that he barely had time to grab hold of Daphne’s arm before they were in the water and being pulled downstream by a very strong current.

  CHAPTER

  Thirteen

  “I’m going to have to rethink my stance on bustles, because who would have thought that the monstrosity Phillip insisted I wear with this lovely walking gown would actually serve as a flotation device?” Daphne asked as Herman towed her closer to shore, keeping one of his strong arms wrapped securely around her torso while using his other arm to cleave through the choppy water.

  A rather waterlogged snort was Herman’s first response to that. “While I admit I’m also surprised your bustle seems to have captured a large air bubble, what say we leave further talk of bustles in general until we reach shore?”

  “But then I might focus on our concerning situation. I don’t believe it’ll help you if I descend into a swoon, which will turn me into a dead weight.”

  “Then by all means, tell me whatever else you want to about bustles.”

  Daphne peered through lenses that were dripping with water, trying to see if the trace of amusement she’d heard in Herman’s voice was causing him to smile, because it was quite the man who could smile while lugging a woman through a river that was swollen because of recent spring storms.

  When all she could make out was a blurry blob that was probably Herman’s face, she abandoned her scrutiny and settled for blinking water out of her eyes instead. “You have to admit the bustles I’ve been wearing have been far more versatile than anyone could have expected them to be. Why, the general consensus about bustles is that they merely allow a lady a pleasantly shaped backside. However, my bustles have now saved me after a nasty fall and cuts from broken china, blocked an arrow that could have killed me, and have now spared me from a horri
ble drowning.”

  “We’re not to shore yet. There’s still a chance we’ll drown.”

  “You seem to have us well in hand, Herman, so I don’t believe that’s true. But would you care for me to try to swim a little on my own?”

  “I saw firsthand the extent of your arm strength when you tried to climb that rope. And even if I didn’t question your ability to swim very far, I have no intention of letting go of you.”

  “Aren’t you getting tired?”

  “Not tired enough to where you need to start swimming.”

  Even though she was presently in the Hudson River and being swept along on a current that Herman was valiantly fighting through, Daphne felt a most unexpected sense of security.

  Yes, they were in a dangerous situation, but she had every confidence that Herman would see her safely to shore because he was exactly what one expected of a man who possessed a chivalrous nature. He would do whatever it took to see after her well-being, no matter the cost to himself.

  “You’re almost there, Herman,” Daphne heard Cooper yell. “I’m coming in to help you.”

  “That would be—” Herman began, the rest of his words lost when they hit a patch of white water and the bubble that had been helping Daphne keep afloat disappeared as her gown seemed to soak up every bit of the Hudson it could. She felt the current begin to tug her under, but then Herman’s arm tightened around her as he pulled her back to the surface. A moment later, another set of hands took hold of her, and a few seconds after that, she felt welcome rocks beneath her feet as Herman, with Cooper’s assistance, tugged her into shallow water.

  Stumbling through water that seemed determined to drag her back into the depths of the river, Daphne drew in a breath of much-needed air right as Herman swept her into his arms, striding with her through the swirling water until he reached the riverbank. He didn’t stop when he reached the shore and instead carried her up the bank and set her on her feet beneath a large willow tree.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She couldn’t help but smile. “I’m alive, so yes, I’m fine. You?”

  He returned the smile. “Alive as well, so very fine indeed, although . . .” His smile faded. “You must be freezing.”

  “She can wear my coat,” Cooper said, shrugging out of his coat and holding it out to Daphne.

  She took a step forward, then faltered, the weight of her wet gown, not to mention all the unmentionables she was wearing, making it difficult to maintain her balance. “I’m afraid I might be too water-heavy to move.”

  “I can carry you,” Herman didn’t hesitate to offer.

  She arched a brow. “Through the forest and after Finetta, if she’s the one I saw from across the river?”

  “I think we should return home. You’re soaking wet. There’s a bridge not far from here, one Finetta must have taken because it’s relatively close to my house.”

  “I’m sure there are many inquiry agents who suffer soakings every now and again while working a case. I’m certainly not returning to the house simply because I’m drenched.” She began wringing water from her skirt, then abandoned that less-than-helpful solution when she realized it would take her all day to get the water out. “I’m going to need both of you to turn around.”

  “Why would you need us to do that?” Cooper asked.

  “Because I need to remove my bustle and other, ah, articles of clothing before we can get on our way.”

  “What?” Cooper and Herman asked together.

  “I’m fairly certain you heard me the first time, so if you’d be so kind as to turn around, I’d appreciate it.”

  Cooper spun around, whereas Herman didn’t move, cocking his head to the side.

  “How do you intend to remove your bustle on your own? You can hardly move. I’m relatively certain bustles are difficult to get off in the best of circumstances, and this is hardly the best of circumstances.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  “Or I can assist you.”

  Heat immediately settled on her face. “You’ve apparently forgotten that I’m not actually a sophisticated woman of the world, Herman. Someone like Madame Calve wouldn’t bat a lash at your offer, whereas I, Miss Daphne Beekman, a confirmed spinster if you’ve forgotten, am not exactly comfortable with the idea.”

  “I won’t look.”

  “How would you be able to accomplish that?”

  Herman shrugged. “I can assemble and disassemble a pistol in pitch darkness. I’m sure your bustle will be far easier to manage than that, so I won’t need to look. Turn around.”

  She swiped what felt like a piece of seaweed from her face. “Why would you need to know how to take apart a pistol?”

  “Research for my book Death Comes to Baxter Hall. The hero needed to assemble a pistol when he was hiding in a cave. I figured I should learn how to do that so my scene would be believable. I also thought that while I was at it, I might as well see if I could learn how to disassemble a pistol without light as well.”

  “That’s some dedication to your craft.”

  “I’m sure you’re just as dedicated with your poetry.”

  The urge hit her yet again to disclose the truth of her writing to him, brought about, no doubt, because the man had surely just saved her life, which made it seem less than principled for her to continually withhold the truth from him.

  Pushing aside the urge because she had, after all, signed a nondisclosure agreement, Daphne turned around, realizing she had no choice but to accept Herman’s assistance since there was little likelihood she’d be able to get out of the bustle on her own.

  “What do you think Finetta’s doing, if that was who you saw earlier?” Herman asked as Daphne felt his hand settle on her hip, his touch causing the heat that had already settled in her cheeks to intensify.

  She cleared her throat. “Since she’s supposed to be languishing in bed, her nerves still questionable, I imagine she’s up to no good.”

  “Or she could have decided that fresh air might steady her nerves.”

  “There’s plenty of fresh air to be had on your back veranda. That she chose to cross the Hudson and disappear into a grove of trees seems remarkably suspicious.”

  “I suppose it does at that,” Herman said right before Daphne felt her bustle fall to the ground,

  Herman tugged her skirt into place a second before he stepped away from her. Turning, she found him with his eyes shut and a smile on his face.

  “I told you I wouldn’t need to look.”

  “And I’m quite impressed.” She took a step forward, but the excessive amount of fabric now dragging on the ground due to the lack of her bustle made walking all but impossible. “I’m not sure this is much better. Keep your eyes shut and, Cooper, don’t turn around yet.”

  Three minutes later, devoid of her petticoats, pantaloons, and stockings, Daphne slipped the strap of the bag she’d had the presence of mind to throw over her head before the boat sank from her shoulder and opened it, pulling out a wicked-looking knife she’d gotten for a steal at a local market.

  “What are you doing?” Herman asked.

  Glancing to him, she found his eyes still closed. “I’m going to cut away part of my walking gown. There’s no way I’ll be able to make it far with what amounts to a mountain of soggy fabric dragging behind me.”

  Herman’s eyes flashed open before he strode to her side, his eyes widening when he caught sight of the blade. He held out his hand. “What say you let me handle the removal of excess fabric for you?” he offered. “Seems like that might alleviate the chance of your losing a finger.”

  “That sounds more than disturbing,” Cooper said. “Can I turn around yet?”

  “Yes, you can turn around,” Daphne said as she handed Herman the knife. “And I wasn’t in danger of losing a finger.”

  Cooper spun around, his gaze settling on the knife before he narrowed his eyes on Daphne. “We haven’t had a single lesson on knives yet, which means that’s the last weapon
you should be carrying around with you. You’re barely proficient with a pistol, and a knife, well, you’re liable to poke your eye out with it, or cut off a finger, like Herman said.”

  “What a lovely image poking my eye out with a knife brings to mind,” Daphne said. “But before you descend into a more detailed lecture about knives, I believe our time would be better spent discussing Herman’s boat and why it sank. Clearly, something troubling is afoot.”

  Cooper stilled. “You believe it was intentional?”

  “Yes, which means someone at the house party really is trying to kill Herman.”

  “How was the boat tampered with?” Cooper pressed.

  Herman looked up from where he’d been cutting through a ruffle. “I think someone drilled holes in it, then packed those holes with sawdust—a trick I used in my latest book.”

  “And doesn’t that lend the situation a curious twist,” Daphne said. “I’d be interested to learn if Finetta has read your latest book.”

  “But even if she has, and even if it was Finetta you saw disappearing into the forest,” Cooper said, “I’m perfectly capable of investigating this on my own, leaving you to repair to the house to change out of your wet clothing.”

  Daphne raised her chin as Herman made his final cut with the knife. “Absolutely not. I don’t need to be pampered, which means I’m not going back to the house.” She shrugged into Cooper’s jacket, then picked up her bag.

  “I’ll carry that for you, and no, I’m not trying to pamper you,” Herman said, taking the bag from her and then offering her his arm, amusement twinkling in his eyes. Together, they headed for the forest with Cooper in the lead, walking into the trees where she’d last seen Finetta disappear what seemed like hours before.

  “There’s a clearing not far from here,” Herman said five minutes later. “It might be the perfect spot to hold a clandestine meeting, if—” Herman stopped walking as Ann suddenly materialized through the trees, walking their way.