A Gilded Grave (12 page)

E
lspeth was sitting at Deanna’s dressing table when Deanna returned to her room later that night. She jumped up and hid something behind her back.

“Oh, it’s you, miss.” She brought out the book she’d been reading.

“Are you reading ahead in the new Kate Goelet story?”

“No, this is the one Daisy borrowed. The one without the cover.” She held it up. “It’s about that man who killed his wife. You know, the Scottish doctor.”

“The one who poisoned his wife’s medicine, then played the grieving husband? That’s an old one. I’d rather read about detectives.”

Elspeth sighed and put the magazine away.

“So, did you find out anything?” Deanna asked.

“Some, but it’s a little hard to gossip when the butler, the housekeeper, and the cook are all sitting there. After tea I managed to speak to two parlor maids Flora and Greta.” She leaned forward and spoke more softly. “Flora said Mr. Woodruff likes the ladies, and the footmen told her that he takes actresses out on his yacht and parties for days sometimes.”

“That’s an awful thing to say.”

“Even if it’s true?”

Deanna didn’t know what to answer.

“But the strangest thing . . . after Flora left, Greta told me that, the night of the ball, she’d looked out the window and seen Daisy sneaking out the delivery entrance.”

Deanna sat up. “Did she say when?”

“It was before supper, but she wasn’t sure exactly when. But the odd thing is, she said Daisy came back a few minutes later.”

Was that when she’d seen Joe?
Deanna wondered. She hadn’t mentioned what she’d heard to anyone except Gran Gwen, and especially not to Elspeth. “Which means she must have gone out again later. But why?”

Elspeth shrugged. “Maybe she changed her mind, then changed it again?”

“Why?” Deanna began pacing. “Why do you come back to the house after you’ve left?”

“She decided not to go? Or she forgot something and came back for it?”

“What would she have forgotten? Where was she going?”

“Not to meet Orrin,” Elspeth said.

“No, of course not. But we have to look at all possibilities to be thorough.”

“Not Orrin.”

Deanna sighed. “Okay, not Orrin.”
And not Joe
, Deanna said to herself. But Daisy had gone out, then come back in and gone out again. What was so important that she’d tried to leave the house twice? Had she met Joe the first or the second time she left? Was that when Cokey had seen them? And did that mean Joe had no alibi for the time Daisy was killed?

“What, miss?”

“We have to find out why she went out that night and when.” And unfortunately, Deanna knew just who to ask.

B
y Friday it was apparent that Madeline and Lord David had passed muster with the Newport set. Morning callers descended on the household, and the invitations poured in one after another until they filled the card tray. They may have forgotten Daisy, Deanna thought, but they were more than ready to gossip about the murder, and she was relieved when the door shut on the final visitor and the family was finally left alone.

They had just gone in to luncheon when Cassie came running into the breakfast room. “Just look what
Town Topics
wrote about our ball.” Cassie thrust Colonel Mann’s gossip newspaper at her mother.

Everyone turned their attention to Mrs. Woodruff.

“Friday night saw the introduction of Lord David Manchester and his sister, the lovely Lady Madeline . . .” She paused to smile at her guests and continued to read.

The ball had been a success. Colonel Mann praised the
newcomers, though he was less flattering to Mrs. Woodruff’s décor and fashion, and cast all sorts of innuendos about the running of the Woodruff household and her inability to protect her staff.

Mrs. Woodruff was indignant. “That horrid old geezer,” she exclaimed. “And he can put that in his paper.” She cast the paper aside and appeared to forget all about Colonel Mann and his “dirty rag.”

“But, Mama, what if everyone reads it?”

“Oh, pooh. Everyone will. I don’t give a fig for what everybody thinks.”

“What if Mrs. Vanderbilt, Mrs. Oehlrich, and Mrs. Fish get together and decide to snub us?”

“Let them. Mamie Fish is even less tasteful than I am, and as for Tessie Oehlrich, her papa made his money in the same silver mines as mine.” She reached for a piece of toast. “Mr. Woodruff and I are very well placed, right in the middle of Mrs. Astor’s precious four hundred. I’d like to see them try.”

“Who are the four hundred?” Lord David asked. “It sounds like a cavalry regiment: ‘On rode the four hundred.’”

Mrs. Woodruff flicked the air as if she were swatting at a gnat. “It’s absurd. Her social secretary—odious man, may he rest in peace—he just died this year. The idea that only four hundred upper crust families are worthy of entering Mrs. Astor’s Fifth Avenue house ballroom. Absurd. And I’m sure more than that will fit into Mrs. Alice Vanderbilt’s new ballroom at The Breakers.”

Lord David laughed. “Stop, stop. You confuse me. Astors and Vanderbilts and Fishes? You must remember, I spend my days in Barbados. And trust me, my dear lady, we don’t come close to having four hundred society families, even if we had a ballroom that would fit them.”

Mrs. Woodruff laughed heartily, then patted his hand. “We’ll have to do something about that, now, won’t we? Charles, what
are
your plans for Lord David’s entertainment?”

Charles looked up from where he’d been practically forehead to forehead with Madeline. “Pardon me, Mama?”

“I said, do you and Lord David have plans for today?”

“We are supposed to take a tour of Joe Ballard’s workshop, though there’s a polo match that I don’t want to miss.” He turned to Lord David. “He’s a brilliant man, his inventions are supposedly the wave of the future. But he starts talking and it’s like Greek,” Charles laughed. “But while I’m thinking about it, we’ll have to go down to Manhattan, Mama. Sunday night for a couple of days . . . look over the business, that kind of thing.”

Mr. Woodruff, who had hardly spoken at all, motioned for the wine decanter. “I’ll come with you to New York.”

“That isn’t necessary, sir. I’m sure Mr. Randolph can deal with things to your satisfaction.”

“Nonetheless, I’ll accompany you.”

“Now, dear, you must protect your health and not go traipsing around worrying about things that Charles and George Randolph can manage without you.”

Madeline, who was sitting on his left, chimed in. “Oh, you can’t be so cruel and leave us alone to while away the long days without you.” She smiled at him, practically fluttered her eyelashes.

Deanna thought Mr. Woodruff would argue. But he merely smiled back at her, and said, “We wouldn’t want to disappoint our guests,” picked up the glass Neville had just filled, and took a long draught.

It seemed Lady Madeline had snared both Woodruff men
with her charms. Burning with indignation for Adelaide, Deanna stared at her plate. When she looked up, Lord David was watching her.

He smiled. “My sister is an incorrigible flirt.”

“I am not,” Madeline said, and smiled. “I just enjoy the company of handsome men.” She looked from Charles to his father.

“So do I,” Cassie said. “Am I a flirt, Lord David?”

“Absolutely, but none of you can hold a candle to the incomparable La Dame Woodruff.” He lifted his glass to Mrs. Woodruff, who laughed heartily. Though to Deanna, it sounded just a little false.

When lunch was finished, Deanna asked to borrow a carriage, as she had forgotten some things in her hasty packing and needed to return home for them.

“Why don’t you just send your maid?” Maddie asked.

Deanna sighed expressively. “She never remembers everything, poor creature,” she explained with an air of hauteur for which she hoped Elspeth would forgive her.

She went upstairs and caught Elspeth just as she was leaving to visit Orrin.

“I’ve gotten the carriage. I told them I had to fetch some things from home.”

“I could have stopped and gotten what you need on my way back from seeing Orrin,” Elspeth said.

“I know, but this way is better. It gives us both an excuse to get out of the house.”

“What are you up to, Miss Deanna?”

“I’ve decided that I’m coming with you.”

Elspeth’s jaw went slack. “You can’t do that. The Fifth Ward is not a safe place for a lady.”

Deanna was a little taken aback by that notion, but she stood firm. “We’ll be in the carriage, and while you’re visiting Orrin, I’ll go around and visit Joe.”

“You’d never.”

“Yes, I would. There are a few things that I need to discuss with him. And I can’t think of a better time.”

J
oe was just returning from lunch at the tavern when a carriage pulled up in front of the warehouse. He was expecting Charles and Lord David; he was shocked to see Deanna Randolph instead.

“What are you doing here?” Joe quickly looked around. This would not do.

“I came to see you. Where have you been?” she asked, sounding annoyed as she took his hand and stepped down to the street. She was wearing a green morning dress with a braided jacket nipped-in at her waist. The color brought out the glow of her skin and the sheen of her dark hair. She looked so out of place on the dingy street, like a rare bird, slightly exotic—something he’d never noticed before—and something he had to admit he found compelling.

But this was no time for thoughts like that. “You’d better come in.”

He stepped ahead of her and unlocked the door.

She brushed past him like an assured doyenne, but he didn’t miss the flush of her cheeks. And he flushed also, remembering the conversation she had overheard at the Casino. Surely she wasn’t here about that.

She’d stopped in the middle of the room, and Joe realized that his dirty dishes were stacked in the wash pan and his
shaving kit was left on the counter with a crumpled towel next to it. The door to his bedroom had been left open and the bed was unmade. He crossed the room quickly and slammed it shut. He’d been in a hurry that morning. He hadn’t expected company.

“This is where you live?” she asked.

Joe looked around at his living quarters, kitchen area, and the small bedroom off to the side. It had electricity, some running water, even a tub, if you didn’t mind cold water. It was comfortable enough for him, but for the first time he saw it through someone else’s eyes and realized how squalid it must look to Deanna.

“It used to be the manager’s office. It’s modest, but it’s home.” He’d shocked her. He could tell by her face. He took the defensive. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I’d ask you to sit down, but as you can see, there’s not a comfortable seat in the place.” Just two stools and one rickety straight-backed chair.

“Where are the machines you’re working on?”

“In the back.”

She gave him a look that he remembered well, and that reminded him of happier days, then she immediately walked off in the direction he’d indicated. He ran after her.

“You came to see the new condenser?”
Why the hell had she come?

“Not really, but now that I’m here, I’d like to see what you’re doing.”

“I’m afraid it’s rather dirty—and greasy—it’s no place—”

“For a lady?” she finished for him. “Well, I hate being a lady.” She grabbed her skirt in both hands and stomped through the door to the warehouse.

Joe followed. He didn’t know whether to laugh or quake in his boots. He saw Grandmère’s work here. If his grandmother wasn’t careful, she’d derail Deanna’s chances for a good marriage.

“Really, Deanna.”

She spun around. “Did you kill that poor girl? Daisy?”

Joe staggered back.

“Did you?”

“No, of course I didn’t.”

She frowned at him, the scowl that had melted his heart the first time he’d seen her; it hadn’t changed in all the years he’d known her.

She bit her lip, nodded slightly, then shook her head. “Cokey Featheringham . . .”

“I know. Grandmère told me. And if you’re wondering, I didn’t do that, either.”

She blushed more hotly, shook her head.

“Is that why you came? To ask if I was a murderer? Don’t you know me better than that?”

“I used to. Now you’re not the same.”

No, he wasn’t. And neither was she, as much as she might not want to admit it.

“If you’re satisfied that I’m not a murderer, can I put you back in the carriage?”

“I’m waiting for Elspeth. She went to visit Orrin.”

“Look, I’m working on getting him out. Leave it to me. Go back home and wait. I’ll send her word.”

“Was it something I did?”

“What?” he asked, fumbling to switch gears to her train of thought. Deanna’s lightning change of subject—a habit of hers that had always kept him on his toes—surprised him now.

“Why aren’t we friends anymore? Was it that stupid marriage thing?”

“God, Dee. Do you want to marry me?”

“Well, no. I just want things to be like they were before.”

“They—can’t be.” Because the same business that was supposed to bring them together until death them did part, was now just as likely to drive a wedge between them. Joe was afraid it was too late for them ever to be friends again.

She started to say something but changed her mind and stepped away from him. He watched her pick her way across the dirty floor, avoiding grease patches and metal shavings with a grace and assurance that belonged to a woman, not a girl. And yet she stopped in front of his latest work with the same curiosity she’d always had.

“What’s this?”

“It packs refined sugar into bags.”

“How?”

He walked over to it. “When I work the kinks out, the conveyor belt will drop a bag here, where the worker pulls on this lever and the sugar pours into the bag. Then the moving belt takes it to the next station, which I haven’t yet constructed, where the bags will be folded and glued, then packed in larger containers for shipping.”

“To stores?”

“Yes, you’ll be able to buy it right off the shelves and pour it into a storage container at home.”

“Hmm.”

“It will be much more efficient and easier to use and store.”

She turned, frowned at him. “Someone murdered Daisy. I want to help.”

Again that unexpected change of subject. Joe realized it
was an efficient way of startling someone into saying more than he intended. But not Joe. “I’m working on Orrin’s release. Be patient.”

“I’m glad, but it doesn’t solve the problem of who actually killed her. If the police don’t find the killer, they’ll go after Orrin again. It’s what they always do.”

“How do you know what they always do?”

“Don’t be dense. The police are afraid to go after the cottagers, so they always come after people who live in the Fifth Ward because they are poor. Elspeth told me,” she added in an afterthought.

“Well, there’s nothing you nor I nor anyone else can do about that. We’ll have to leave it to Will to find the real culprit.”