A Gilded Grave (28 page)

T
he play was well written, the actors admirable, the plot engaging, and yet none of the Woodruff party seemed to be paying much attention.

Deanna kept thinking about the night before—Mr. Woodruff’s wild entrance and his look of madness when Madeline stepped in to stop him. Charles’s race back on his friend’s yacht. Lord David being outwitted by the ailing man and having to walk from the wharf.

Now,
there
was a story for the stage. Except what would the ending be? Mr. Woodruff lying insensible. The Manchesters intending to leave. And who could blame them? Deanna would be inclined to leave, too, if she could. But Cassie and Mrs. Woodruff needed her support, if only as a sympathetic ear. And even though Mrs. Woodruff put on a brave front by sending them all to the theater, Deanna could see the strain on her face and in her voice. And Deanna knew that, when they returned, Mrs. Woodruff would be sitting by her husband’s bedside.

Deanna was so lost in thought that she started when the final curtain came down and the audience broke into applause. Charles was already standing before the curtain calls were finished. And the others quickly collected wraps and purses and hats, and were hurrying through the crowded lobby, where people were chatting about the play or stopping for refreshment, making plans for supper or when to meet at the yacht races. People at their leisure.

But not the Woodruff party. Deanna was as anxious as Charles to get back. She was worried about Elspeth being left by herself. She’d said she would spend the time with the other members of the Woodruff staff, but Deanna wouldn’t feel relieved until she saw her maid, safe and unhurt.

That was the state of her mind. And there was nothing she could do about it. They’d brought the family’s closed carriage so that the five of them could travel together. No one talked or even fidgeted, including Deanna, so intent were they on their own thoughts.

Neville answered the door almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for them. His face was more pallid and expressionless than usual. Deanna prayed Mr. Woodruff hadn’t taken a turn for the worse.

“I think I’ll go up to see my father,” Charles said as soon as he stepped into the house.

“I think the rest of us should all go to bed,” Lord David said. “It’s been a very eventful few days.” And indeed, he looked exhausted.

Charles started for the stairs before the rest of them, but Neville called him back. “Sir, if I might have a word.”

A sense of dread stilled Deanna steps.

Charles frowned. “Now, Neville?”

“If you please, sir.”

“Yes, well, all right.”

He went toward the library, and the butler followed. Lord David escorted Deanna, Cassie, and Madeline up the stairs.

Deanna said a quick good night, squeezed Cassie’s hand, and went into her room.

“Elspeth? Are you here?”

She was about to call again when Elspeth stepped out of the dressing room. Deanna froze with her hand on the bell.

The maid’s hair was pulled from its bun. Her apron was torn and her face was white and stricken.

“Elspeth? What happened? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?” Deanna rushed toward the girl but stopped several feet from her and reeled back. “Good Lord. What is that smell?”

“It’s me, miss. Something awful’s happened.” And Elspeth burst into tears.

Trying to breathe shallowly, Deanna moved toward her. The smell was overpowering now and seemed to be coming from Elspeth’s clothes.

“No, miss, stay back. It’s rum . . . among other things.”

Deanna sniffed, gulped. “You haven’t been drinking?”

For the briefest moment, Elspeth looked outraged, which
is what Deanna had hoped for. It only lasted a second, then Elspeth sobbed uncontrollably.

“Did someone attack you?”

Elspeth shook her head.

“And you’re not hurt?”

Another shake of her head.

“Then let’s get you out of that dress and you can tell me all about it.”

Deanna marched her back to the dressing room, turned her around, and untied her apron and slipped it over Elspeth’s head. Looked at it, then gingerly bundled it up and threw it to the farthest corner.

But when she tried to unbutton Elspeth’s collar, the maid rebelled. “I don’t have anything to change into.”

“We’ll send for your things later, but for now, get out of that dress.”

Elspeth shook her head.

“Now.”

Reluctantly Elspeth undid the buttons of her dress while Deanna rummaged in the wardrobe. She found a simple cotton exercise dress and brought it out.

As Elspeth let her uniform fall, modestly covering her camisole with her hands, Deanna slipped it over her head.

“Oh, miss—”

“Don’t argue,” Deanna said in her strictest voice. It came nowhere near her mother’s, but it worked. Elspeth turned around and let Deanna button up the dress.

The hem dragged along the floor, and Elspeth had to grab the skirt with both hands to keep from tripping over it, but it would have to do.

Deanna led her into the bedroom and shut the door behind
them. Then she sat Elspeth down in the slipper chair and pulled up the dressing bench.

“It was the voodoo man. He—I . . .”

“Go on.”

“I was down with the others, but it was boring and I thought I’d go get my book from my room. The Cad Metti one.”

Deanna nodded. Cad Metti was Elspeth’s favorite detective. Streetwise and working class, she was a master of disguise, and she could even outsmart her boss. Elspeth’s kind of heroine.

“So I did. And I was coming out of my room when I heard a moan coming from down the hall, where the men servants live. And that voodoo man, he comes staggering down the hall. I was too scared to move. I thought I was a goner.

“When he gets right up to me, he says, ‘Poison,’ and falls down dead at my feet.”

“Swan’s dead?” Deanna exclaimed.

“Dead drunk. Leastways, that’s what I thought at first. So I’m sorry to say I gave him a little kick. Just to see if he was alive. Then I got to worrying if it really was poison, so I got him turned over and he didn’t look like no drunk man I ever saw. Turning all gray like.

“I called for help. But I was afraid to wait, ’cause he was looking worse and worse, so I stuck my fingers down his throat and got him to get it all back up until he was just about empty. That’s why my dress is so smelly.”

Deanna shivered. “I see.”

“By that time, Mr. Neville came, then went off to call the police like I told him to do . . .” Elspeth stopped to give Deanna a little smile. “The voodoo man was getting some color back, but he still didn’t wake up. Now I’m thinking something don’t seem right, so I leave him lying there and tell one of the fellas
to look after him. They didn’t want to, chicken-hearted so-and-so’s. And I went into the men’s hall—might get into trouble over that.”

“Not to worry,” Deanna assured her.

“There was a rum bottle on his table. But then I see that something’s on the floor. It’s a piece of paper. So I picked it up. It’s a note.”

“What did it say?”

Elspeth pulled up her skirt. “I thought I’d better keep it safe, so I put it in my knickers pocket.” Holding it by the edge, she pulled out a rectangle of cheap paper. “Just hold it like this, miss, just in case the police have one of them fingerprinting machines.”

Deanna doubted it, but she took the paper by the edge and read the crooked printing there.

I killed those girls. I am bad man. I must die.

Deanna looked up.

Elspeth nodded. “I’m thinking that something doesn’t seem right. A man poisons himself and then stumbles down the hall for help?”

“Maybe he changed his mind.”

“Hmmph. Somebody that big oughta not succumb to fear at a time like that.”

“Did you show this to the police?”

“No. I wasn’t taking any chances of some flat-footed policeman treading all over it. Or some maid thinking it was trash and throwing it out. I was going to show it to Sergeant Hennessey when he came.”

“Good thinking,” Deanna said. “Did you show it to Will?”

“By the time he came and they took the voodoo man away and Will had questioned everybody, you all had returned from the theater and I had to go. He told me to wait because he wanted to talk to me. And he told me not to say a word about anything that happened. So I figured I’d tell him later. But I did see the police taking the bottle away, so maybe the sergeant suspects something, too.

“What do you think, miss? Do you think that the voodoo man wrote that note and killed those girls? ’Cause I’m thinking something don’t smell right, and it ain’t just me.”

I
t was another hour before a maid tapped on Deanna’s door to say the police had requested to talk to Elspeth. “I told him you’d likely be in bed, but he insisted. Mr. Neville is down there with him, but he told me not to wake up the missus.”

“That’s exactly the way it should be. We’ll be glad to come down.” Deanna turned to Elspeth. “Now, aren’t you glad I convinced you to change clothes?”

“Yes, miss. Though I can smell the liquor still.”

“It’s just in your mind.”

“If you say so.” Elspeth patted the pocket that now held the suicide note.

They went downstairs to the little study where Neville had placed the sergeant to wait.

“I thought you would be more comfortable here, miss,” Neville said.

“Yes, thank you.” Deanna nodded slightly, which was what
her mother did when she was dismissing someone. She hoped it would work on Neville.

Neville didn’t move. “Wouldn’t you rather I stayed, miss?”

“No thank you, Neville. You go on to bed. I’ll let Mr. Hennessey out when we’re finished.”

“Thank you, miss, but I’ll be waiting in the hall to accompany the sergeant to the door.” He bowed and left the room.

“To the servants’ door, I bet,” Elspeth groused.

“Hush.” Deanna turned to Will so quickly that he barely managed to wipe the grin off his face.

“You did that very well,” he said.

“I’ve had the best training,” she said ruefully.

Will smiled. “Yes. One look from your mama and even Satan would turn tail and run.”

“So, what did you learn?”

“I believe that’s my question.”

“Is he dead yet?” Elspeth asked.

“Swan? He’s at the hospital with a guard. He hasn’t regained consciousness but he’s still with us. At least when the guard checked in with me twenty minutes ago. But”—he held up a finger and turned to make sure the door was fully closed—“I think we can keep his condition to ourselves.”

“Oh, yes,” Deanna said. “Just what Elspeth and I were thinking. If the note was a fake—”

“What note?”

“The suicide note that Elspeth found.”

“Elspeth.” Will stuck out his hand.

She reached into her pocket and, holding it by the edge, put the note on the table before him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”

“Well, I didn’t want everyone to overhear, did I? ’Cause if we
keep it secret, then the person who tried to kill him will be listening for that bit of detail. And when they don’t hear it being talked about, they’ll get nervous and slip up. Then we’ll catch them.”

“Where do you get these ideas?”

“Well, wouldn’t they?”

“They might. But don’t you go trying to press them into doing something desperate.” Will leaned over the note. “I suppose you two handled it while you were studying it for clues.”

“Yes, but we were careful not to disturb any fingerprints.”

That startled Will into a crack of laughter. “Is that what they do in those adventure stories you’re so fond of?”

“Yes, and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, too,” Elspeth said. “
He
can tell all sorts—”

“Yes, thank you. I’ve read Mr. Conan Doyle’s stories.”

“Can you do all the things he does?”

“Me personally? Probably not. Theoretically, the department could, if we had the money and time—and the inclination—which, alas, we do not. Now, tell me again exactly what happened.”

Elspeth told him. And finished with, “Did you take the bottle of liquor?”

“The rum? Yes, we did, and yes, initial tests show that it contains some kind of poison. The hospital is running more tests to see what kind. Hopefully your quick thinking saved his life.”

“That’s nothing; everybody knows to stick your finger down a little one’s throat when he swallows something he shouldn’t.”

“I’d hardly call Swan little.”

“No, but I used more than one finger.”

Will grimaced. “Poor man.”

“It wasn’t too much fun for me, neither.”

“No.”

“Will he be okay?” Deanna asked.

Will shrugged. “Too early to tell. However, I haven’t made anyone in the house aware of the incident. I’m sure the staff will gossip, and I’ll come to give a report to Manchester in the morning. Until then, mum’s the word.”

“And what about Mr. Woodruff’s tonic?” Elspeth asked.

Will looked startled. “What about it? Do you think he’s being poisoned, too?”

Elspeth looked at Deanna and she took up the story.

“He hasn’t been well since he returned home. At first everyone assumed it was seasickness, but it’s lingered. And then, two nights ago, he rushed into the house like a crazy man, Will—I mean Sergeant—”

“Never mind. How was he acting crazy?”

“He ran in, saying he had to get to the library, and his face, it was all contorted. Fortunately, Madeline was there. She helped him upstairs, and he went with her, completely docile. It was odd,” Deanna said. “Then Charles came in looking for him, and finally Lord David. It seems that Mr. Woodruff was running from both of them.

“Later in the night there was a commotion, and Elspeth and I followed one of the servants to Mr. Woodruff’s bedroom. He was thrashing about and the bedcovers were on the floor. He was out of his head, fighting and ranting. They had to hold him down while Mrs. Woodruff mixed medicine into a glass. She forced him to drink it and he calmed down after that, but he hasn’t awoken since.”

“And you think Mrs. Woodruff might be poisoning her husband?”

“No. But—”

“We saw it in a magazine,” Elspeth blurted out. “The one
that Daisy was reading when she was killed. You showed him that cover, didn’t you, miss?”

Deanna nodded.

“Well, it was a man in the book, but the maid saw it; she was standing in the doorway and she saw the whole thing. And Daisy must have seen it, too, and that’s why she got killed.”

“Elspeth, that’s just a story.” Will looked over to Deanna.

“As crazy as it sounds, Will, it makes a certain kind of sense.”

Will nodded. Deanna could tell he was tired and had no patience for their story. But she also knew he was listening and would think about it later.

“And Claire was killed,” Deanna voice cracked, “because she talked to us.”

“Okay, supposing just for the sake of argument that Daisy did see something and Claire knew about it. Why try to kill Swan?”

“To keep him from talking,” Elspeth said, exasperation heavy in her voice.

“Maybe Swan also saw something he shouldn’t have. Or maybe he knows who killed the maids. He warned us to leave.” Deanna shuddered at her thought. “He said something evil was going on in this house. And I think he’s right.”

“So do I,” Will said. “And I wish the two of you would remove to somewhere else.”

“I can’t until Mama comes home”—
or Aunt Harriet arrives
—“and besides, you need someone on the scene.”

Will stood so fast that his hat, which had been balancing on the edge of the table, fell to the floor. “Dee! How can I get you to understand?”

“I do understand. This is not a game. I’m aware of that. Two young women have been murdered, and Swan may make
the third victim. We’re all scared. You think Elspeth and I are silly girls who read too many dime novels, but who else do you have in the house as your spies?”

Will didn’t answer. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Dee,” he began more quietly, “Joe would kill me, and so would your mother and father, if anything happened to you. Bob would haunt me from the grave. He expected Joe and me to take care of you and Adelaide.”

“Oh!”

“Dee? Why are you looking like that? Are you ill?”

“No. You said Bob would haunt you from the grave.”

“Yes, and he’d find a way, too.” Will looked abashed. “Sorry, Deanna, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset. It’s given me an idea.”

“Deanna, what are you thinking?”

“‘Haunt you from the grave.’ Maybe we can use the voices of the dead to flush out their murderer.”

“What are you concocting?”

“We’ll hold a séance. Let the dead speak for themselves.”

J
oe took the overnight steamer back to Newport. His father had decided to return for the weekend and offered to take Joe on his yacht the next day, but now that Joe felt confident that the business end of the matter was being handled, he was impatient to return home. He didn’t like Dee staying in that house with God knew what all. A partner who was an embezzler and a betrayer, and a shady plantation owner who might or might not hold a huge amount of R and W money but was making no move to sign any contracts.

There was something off about the man, Joe thought. Or was his father right, that the real reason he didn’t like David Manchester was because he was getting much too familiar with Dee?

Joe didn’t join in the card games or drinks in the first-class parlors; he just went straight to bed and slept like a log. He awoke in time to dress, shave, and be standing at the gangplank when the ferry docked.

He went straight to the warehouse, where he found Orrin and Will Hennessey drinking coffee and eating a hearty breakfast.

Orrin jumped up when Joe opened the door. “We thought you’d be coming in on the ferry.”

“And you didn’t come to meet me?”

Orrin grinned. “Wait until you hear this.”

“Good news?” Joe looked the question at Will.

“Yes and no,” Will said.

Orrin poured Joe a mug of coffee and set it on the table. Joe pulled up a stool.

“Good for Orrin, not so good for someone else.”

“You’d better start with whatever happened while I was gone.” Joe said, his mug cradled in both hands.

So Will started with how he’d been called to Seacrest the night before, how Elspeth had saved Swan’s life and found the suicide note and the poison.

“Stood there as bold as brass and told me she thought the man was innocent and someone, possibly the real murderer, had poisoned him and tried to make it look like suicide. I tell you, Joe, those two women are formidable.”

“I suppose the other woman you’re talking about is Deanna.”

“Who else? She’ll never be happy as somebody’s society wife.”

Joe passed a hand over his eyes. “So is Swan dead?”

“Not yet. They pumped his stomach at the hospital, though I have to say, Elspeth did a pretty good job of emptying it before we got to him.”

All three men grimaced.

“I’m not letting anyone see him. Lord David was already at the station this morning making inquiries. I had them fob him off—not hard to do, because nobody much likes a rich guy demanding things when two women of their class have been murdered. Everyone at the station is now betting that one of the cottagers did it.”

“And what do you think?” Joe asked, though he was afraid he already knew the answer.

“I’m afraid they’re right.”

“Ha!” said Orrin, who’d been silent so far. “So which one of the cottagers did it?”

“That, my lad, is the question.”

“So, what we need is to trap them.”

“You considering becoming a policeman?”

Orrin’s face suffused with red. “No, sir. I just thought—”

Will punched him lightly on the arm. “I’m just kidding you. You’re absolutely right. Do either of you have any ideas?”

Orrin shook his head.

“No,” Joe said slowly.

“Well, don’t worry, my boys, because Deanna does. I’m meeting her at Bonheur later this morning. She told me to say you may come if you’re back.”

“Why Bonheur?”

“Deanna will be there consulting with your grandmother.”

Joe closed his eyes. “Oh Lord.”