fart like a cymbal shot and relieving him of the need to pass comment. She settled back, unperturbed.
Reckoning that he had a perfect opportunity and nothing to lose, Sayers said, “Can I ask you a question that would offend most women?”
“Ask away,” she said. “I’ll lay a hundred dollars that you can’t offend me. If you’ll furnish me the hundred.”
“I can’t do that,” he said, “but let me ask you this. There’s a certain kind of man who takes a certain kind of pleasure.”
“Nances?”
“Not nances. I’m talking about the kind of man who looks to physical punishment as a source of gratification. Can you tell me where in this city might such men be found?”
“You want a beating? I can do that for you.”
“It’s not for me. It’s complicated to explain.”
“I’ll bet it is,” she said. And then she drew in a big breath and sighed and settled and gave the matter some serious thought.
“You want to find men with an appetite for that kind of thing,” she said, “you need to look for the places where the rich ones gather. Get a bunch of ’em together and they turn into little boys. And those little rich boys… the only woman’s touch they ever knew was being spanked by their nannies. That’s their idea of paradise now they’re grown men.”
“What kind of places are we talking about?”
“The sporting clubs. Except there’s more to their sport than horses and guns. That was easy. Give me a dollar and ask me something else.”
“Okay,” he said, and gave her two. “Say a woman has a child growing inside her. Someone presses her into ending that child’s life before it begins. I imagine that would affect her. How long do you think it would take for her mind to achieve any kind of peace?”
She frowned. It was as if he’d suddenly broken into a foreign language, but she hadn’t realized it and was struggling to construe the words in terms that she understood.
Sayers began, “What I mean is…” but she cut right across him.
“I heard what you said.” With a sudden lurch forward, she rocked onto her feet. He stood up along with her. “I heard what you said and the hell with you!”
She took a swing at his face and he didn’t really have to avoid it, because she missed him by a mile and lost her balance; he caught her arm to stop her from falling and she shook him off, violently. She grabbed the crates to steady herself instead, and then made a big effort and heaved the topmost one toward him. He skipped back as it crashed down onto the stones at his feet, the plank lid bursting off and broken glass flying everywhere.
She was screaming now, and sobbing at the same time, damning him over and over in language he’d never heard coming out of a woman before. People at the end of the alley were stopping to watch. The lower crates were open and she started pulling out empty bottles and lobbing them in his direction. Her face was a painted mask, fury and tragedy in a single design.
“Forgive me,” Sayers said uselessly, and her answer was a flying bottle propelled by more abuse. He flinched and fended it off, taking another step back for safety. She was like a wild thing. He’d obviously started this, but he had no idea of how it might be stopped. If there was any way of stopping it at all.
Someone was pulling him away. It was the waiter from the saloon behind them. The door was open and people were looking out. He shoved Sayers’ traveling bag into his hand and then hustled him back up the alley.
Sayers said, “I only asked her a question.”
The waiter said, “I hope you got your answer.”
Sayers glanced back over his shoulder.
“I think I probably did,” he said.
THIRTY-SIX
The manager laid down her letter of recommendation and said, “Anyone held in such regard by Mister Patenotre is guaranteed a welcome at this hotel.”
“I should think he’ll be happy to hear it,” Louise said. “I have two servants.”
“Got a nice room for them in our annex. I assume they can share?”
“I would guess so. They’ve been married for longer than I can say.”
“That’s fine, then,” the manager said. “For how long will you be staying with us?”
“It’s hard to be sure. I have it in mind to find somewhere more permanent, but…you know how it is.”
He got up from behind his desk and walked around it. His office was paneled and splendid and as badly lit as a chapel in a funeral home. She rose and took his offered hand and they shook on the deal like a couple of men.
He handed back her letter and said, “Please regard us as your home in Richmond for as long as you need one. We usually announce arrivals with a few lines in the
“In this case, I’d rather you didn’t,” Louise said. “It’s not always the wisest thing for a woman who travels alone.”
“I understand you perfectly. Can I help you in any other way?”
“Somewhere to lock up my trinkets would be nice.”
“I’ll arrange a deposit box. Stop by the desk the next time you’re passing, and you can pick up the key.”
She declined the assistance of a bell-hopper and made her own way up to the second-floor room, to where the Silent Man and his wife had already gone ahead with her bags. On show in the lobby was a plan for the hotel’s expansion, intended for sometime in the near future. Instead of the modest low-rise building of the present day, the architect’s drawing showed four great towers of seven and twelve floors, a footbridge linking two blocks across Eighth Street, and a Murphy’s flag flying proudly on each roof.
So despite what the manager had said, it would not do to become too attached to the place. Like everything and everywhere else, all here was in flux, a fast-moving river that carried all before it toward a new tomorrow. She’d grown up in a world where values were constant, and could be relied upon not to change. Now it was as if nothing could be relied on at all.
The Mute Woman was alone in the suite. Louise’s trunk was open and some of her dresses were already hanging in the closet. She went over to her trunk, intending to set out her few familiar objects on the dressing table in the way that she always preferred. But the Mute Woman closed the lid and stood there with her hand on it, holding it closed.
She pointed toward the floor above.
“Patenotre’s rooms?”
A nod.
Louise left her, and ascended one floor. In the corridor she found the Silent Man, waiting. He’d already picked the lock on Patenotre’s suite for her.
“The usual warning?” she said.
She let herself into the suite and closed the door behind her. As always she felt the steady pressure of their expectations, and the faint humiliation of their disapproval. From the beginning, they’d treated her the way that experienced sergeants might treat a raw young officer, their deference tinged with contempt. No, correct that; they’d held off until her failure to slaughter the child they’d procured for her. After that, the honeymoon was over. But by then, it was too late to change. The journey was well under way.
She knew that she was not their most cooperative student. She knew where this journey would lead. And if the outlook seemed bleak…well, what had she asked for?
She looked around. The sitting room had been tidied. It had that too-straight, untouched look. She went over to the writing table and tried the drawers, which she found unlocked. In them she found personal papers, unpaid bills, and some letters of no interest. There were a few items torn from newspapers and magazines, most of them making some reference to Patenotre’s home county in Louisiana. She found a few loose coins, but no real cash or anything of value.
She didn’t trouble to leave things as she’d found them. In fact, she went to the couch and punched a couple of the cushions, just to make them look sat-upon. At that point there came two taps on the wall, spaced a second
