Fatal as a Fallen Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

to snatch the Gladstone bag that contained a change of clothing and other essentials for long-distance travel, she kicked him, hard, with one booted foot. He danced away with a howl of outrage.
    His colorful curses went unnoticed in the cacophony that surrounded the handsome stone train station. Runners from dozens of rival hotels competed to attract potential customers to their establishments. Ringing bells and beating gongs, they yelled out their pitches and hurled abuse at the competition. Those who had already corralled their marks, herded those hapless patrons outside, where a line of brightly painted hotel wagons waited. Larger hotels, like Charpiots, the St. James, the Windsor, and the American, owned their own conveyances, their names emblazoned on the sides. Smaller establishments sent rented wagons with removable signs attached. Hacks were at a premium, given the number of newcomers arriving in Denver on any given day.
    The porter who had collected the rest of Diana's baggage cleared his throat. "If you'll tell me where it is you want to go, ma'am, I'll find you a reputable driver."
    Diana produced a gracious if tired smile. One of the things she'd thought about during the endless journey west had been where she would stay in Denver. Her parents' house, she assumed, now belonged to her mother.
    Difficult as it was for her to accept the fact of a divorce, she had no doubt that her mother had been the one to sue for it. She'd not have stood for unfaithfulness in a husband. If he'd committed adultery, as Diana supposed he must have, she'd have divorced him, though reluctantly. In such cases the wronged wife was the one who kept possession of the family home. In some rare instances, she even managed to retain her social standing. There was certainly a precedent for that here in Denver. Even on tour with a theatrical troupe halfway across the country, Diana had heard news of Senator Tabor's scandalous divorce and remarriage.
    "Broadway," she told the porter. The Torrence mansion was only a few doors away from the house Augusta Tabor had kept after divorcing her cheating spouse for carrying on with a woman with the unlikely name of "Baby" Doe.
    The porter led Diana past the remaining touters and a line of surreys, wagons, and gleaming black six-passenger hackneys to a gig hitched to a sturdy, broad-backed bay mare. Accustomed to the Hansoms and Gurneys that plied their trade on New York City streets, Diana hesitated.
    "Irish Harry at your service, ma'am," the driver said. He didn't sound at all Irish, though he did look a bit like a leprechaun.
    A woman traveling alone had to be careful who she trusted. Diana eyed Harry. He grinned at her around a toothpick and squinted to see how much she tipped the porter.
    "Where to?" he asked when she was settled in the gig along with her luggage.
    Diana gave him the address. His brows lifted and a speculative look came into his eyes. "The Torrence house? I suppose you've heard about the murder."
    "I suppose everyone has," she retorted, and resisted an urge to ask what her driver knew about Elmira Torrence's current status. She did not want to hear bad news from a complete stranger. She'd find out soon enough. Even if her mother was under arrest, there would be servants in residence.
    Diana expected Dorcas was still the Torrence cook. She'd been too much of a "treasure" for Diana's mother to let her go under any circumstances. And perhaps old Morris would be there, too. He'd done odd jobs for the family for as long as Diana could remember, even before her father struck it rich. She was sure she could persuade Dorcas or Morris to let her stay at the house. She wasn't so certain what her mother's reaction would be.
    "I'll have you there in a jiffy," Irish Harry said. He clucked to the horse and they were off, splashing a hapless pedestrian as the gig's wheels went through a puddle. "Sprinkling tankers leave those," he commented. "City uses water to keep the dust down." The paving was the