A Golden Cage

PRAISE FOR

A GILDED GRAVE

“This well-crafted mystery is an absolute delight. Freydont has brought Gilded Age Newport to life with the skill of a historian and the insight of the keenest social observer. Deanna Randolph is my favorite new sleuth.”

—Tasha Alexander,
New York Times
bestselling author of
The Counterfeit Heiress

“Evoking the luxurious and extravagant world of the Gilded Age, Newport heiress and feisty amateur sleuth Deanna Randolph is a force to be reckoned with in this lively mystery.”

—Tessa Arlen, author of the Lady Montfort series

“Utterly captivating! Freydont skillfully combines the glittering excess of the Gilded Age and a believable upstairs-downstairs dynamic with a thrilling murder mystery. Readers will fall in love with this intrepid new sleuthing pair and the dashing young men they assist. A must read for fans of historical mystery.”

—Anna Lee Huber, national bestselling author of the Lady Darby Mysteries

“A wealth of secrets lies beneath the surface as spunky heiress Deanna Randolph and her maid Elspeth navigate the glittering waters of Gilded Age Newport's high society while working to catch a murderer. Charming and colorful characters, a richly detailed setting, and a compelling mystery make
A Gilded Grave
a thoroughly captivating read.”

—Ashley Weaver, Edgar
®
Award–nominated author of
Murder at the Brightwell

Celebration Bay Mysteries

FOUL PLAY AT THE FAIR

SILENT KNIFE

INDEPENDENCE SLAY

TRICK OR DECEIT

Newport Gilded Age Mysteries

A GILDED GRAVE

A GOLDEN CAGE

Specials

COLD TURKEY

TRAWLING FOR TROUBLE

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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

This book is an original publication of Penguin Random House LLC.

Copyright © 2016 by Shelley Freydont.

The Edgar
®
name is a registered service mark of the Mystery Writers of America, Inc.

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®
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.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Freydont, Shelley, author.

Title: A golden cage / Shelley Freydont.

Description: Berkley Prime Crime trade paperback edition. | New York, New York : Berkley Prime Crime, 2016. | Series: Newport gilded age

Identifiers: LCCN 2016002305 (print) | LCCN 2016006190 (ebook) | ISBN

9780425275856 (softcover) | ISBN 9780698165694 ()

Subjects: LCSH: Women detectives—Rhode Island—Fiction. | Upper class—Rhode

Island—Fiction. | Newport (R.I.)—Social life and customs—19th

century—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Historical. |

FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | GSAFD: Historical

fiction. | Mystery fiction.

Classification: LCC PS3556.R45 G65 2016 (print) | LCC PS3556.R45 (ebook) |

DDC 813/.54—dc23

LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016002305

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime trade paperback edition / June 2016

Cover illustration by Aleta Rafton.

Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To my aunt, Mot.

A free spirit who led the
way.

D
eanna Randolph tried not to stare, but it was the most remarkable thing she had ever seen. When she'd first learned that Maude Grantham was transporting an entire theater company to perform for her husband's birthday fete, Deanna hadn't known what to imagine.

The Granthams' “cottage” on Bellevue Avenue stood out like a sentinel of good taste against the more imaginative façades of the other “cottages” that were being built in Newport. But even its stalwart presence was a study in excess, if you asked Deanna.

Tonight it was the scene of festivity and color. Across the meticulously trimmed lawn, huge golden cages, trimmed with fairy lights, held birds of iridescent plumage. Exotic flowers cascaded down the bars and spilled onto the ground.

A red velvet carpet led across the lawn to a canopy and booths of entertainment. And at the back of the garden a theater—an actual theater—had been built for the occasion.

This was Deanna's first season, and though she'd attended many extravagant affairs, none came close to what she was seeing tonight.

Gwendolyn Manon, with whom Deanna was spending the summer, leaned closer. “My goodness, it looks like a combination of an Istanbul bazaar and Brighton Beach.”

Deanna thought it was all those things and more.

“Close your mouth, my dear, and prepare to meet our hostess.” Gwen nudged Deanna forward.

Deanna closed her mouth, but her eyes continued to drink in the spectacle. Such a play of lights against shadows. The huge August moon hung above the carnival atmosphere like a stage set. She didn't see how any actual play could surpass this scene. She'd love to paint it. She'd call it
Festive Lights on a Dark Summer's Night.

Now that her mama had taken her sister, Adelaide, to Switzerland to cure her migraines, Deanna was enjoying many more freedoms, including painting objects that Mama wouldn't approve of at all. This was all thanks to Gran Gwen, who wasn't Deanna's grandmother but a friend of her father's and the grandmother of Joe Ballard, to whom Deanna was almost engaged the previous summer.

Gwen led her to a woman of robust proportions. Their hostess, Mrs. Samuel Grantham, stood in a circle of soft light that illuminated her champagne-colored ball gown with its sweep of train, covered in embroidered gold and silver stars. A firmament herself, and circled by her glittering guests.

“Maude.” Gran Gwen offered her gloved hand for a brief return of pressure. “I believe you are acquainted with my guest, Deanna Randolph.”

Maude Grantham turned slightly toward Deanna, and Deanna was momentarily blinded by the sparkle of the thick diamond choker that graced the lady's neck.

“Ah yes, George and Jeannette's girl. I'm surprised that her mother would leave her to stay with you, especially after that business last month.”

Deanna held her chin high. At least murder had stopped all the gossip about why she and Joe Ballard had broken off their assumed engagement.

Mrs. Grantham sighed. “A detective. What will they do next, these modern girls?”

“There's no telling,” Gran Gwen said with an air of agreement, but there was a malicious glint in her eye. “She was br-r-rilliant,” Gran Gwen said, rolling her
r
's in such an exaggerated fashion that it made Deanna want to laugh. It was daunting to be known for her “exploits,” as her mother called them, rather than being sought after for her breeding, beauty, and monetary future.

Though if she had to choose . . .

“I suppose we can't expect less, considering the way that young Joseph has surprised us all, throwing off society to consort with . . .” She raised a desultory hand.

“The great unwashed?” Gwen supplied.

Maude cut her a look. “Why am I surprised? You've set such an outrageous example, but surely you could have stopped that nonsense if you had tried.”

“Surely, I could have. But you know how indulgent we older folks can be. I'm surprised that you allowed Drusilla and Walter to have a theater constructed on your property and present a play.”

“It was an indulgence, I know, but Drusilla so wanted to
please her father, and the Judge does love the theater. As long as it's on a decent subject.”

Gran Gwen smiled and moved on.

Deanna gave a quick half curtsey and followed her.

“I'm sure the play will be very staid . . . and long . . . and boring,” Gwen said as she nodded and smiled at people as they made their way across the lawn.

Deanna hoped not. She loved going to the theater. Something her own mama didn't totally approve of unless it was the opera or Shakespeare.

“Maude is becoming more of a stickler than her husband. She's always been a bit of a prude, and marrying the Judge didn't help. But now that Anthony Comstock with his asinine morality laws has got his talons into the Judge, not to mention that Parkhurst fellow, there's no bearing either of them. At least the Judge, moralistic bombast that he is, enjoys a good play, and the occasional glass of champagne.

“Ah, there are Joseph and his parents.” Gwen took Deanna by the elbow and propelled her down the velvet walkway to where Laurette and Lionel Ballard were standing with Joe.

“Where have you all been?” Gwen asked. “I was beginning to think you weren't coming.”

“Laurette received a telegram that of course must be answered,” Lionel said, casting an amused but loving look to his wife, Joe's mother.

Laurette was Gran Gwen's daughter; and though they both shared the same fiery temperament, the two women couldn't have been more different in looks. Gwendolyn Henriette Laguerre Manon was large of name but diminutive in figure, petite and small boned; she nonetheless held the respect of all of Newport in spite of her less-than-orthodox life and loves. Her
daughter Laurette was tall, willowy, with light brown hair and classic features. The story was that Lionel Ballard had met, fallen in love with, and proposed to her in the same night.

“Yes,” Laurette said. “From Rosalie Deeks. Her daughter, Amabelle, left home, must be two years ago now, to become an actress. Evidently she is one of the players in tonight's performance.”

“Ah,” Gwen said. “And I imagine she wants you to convince the girl to go home?”

“Yes, but of course I will do no such thing. The theater is one of the few professions where a woman can earn as much money as a man. I will, however, look in on the girl. Perhaps invite her to stay with us while the company is in Newport. If that's all right with you, Mama.”

Deanna noted that even Joe's mother, the actual mistress of the Ballard cottage, was still seeking the approval of her mother. Though Deanna expected in Laurette's case, it was more a show of respect than needing Gran Gwen's approval.

Laurette was an indefatigable worker for women's suffrage and children's welfare. She traveled widely to organize marches and workers' strikes. Lionel, whose family was one of the scions of old money, was a respected financier who dabbled in business, though “silently” in most cases. Joseph, their only son, and heir to the Ballard fortune, had surprised the entirety of society the summer before, by remaining in Newport full-time to live in the working-class Fifth Ward, where he could house and work on his inventions.

An eccentric but respected family by the sheer dint of Lionel's money and Gran Gwen's personality.

And into their lives, Deanna had come. Sometimes she couldn't believe her good fortune.

“I'm sure I don't care what the girl does,” Gwen said.

“Nor I,” Laurette agreed.

“In that case, my love,” Lionel Ballard said, “shall we leave the topic and have our fortunes read? I see a gypsy tent among the arcades.”

Laurette laughed and took his arm, a familiar gesture that might scandalize some of the more staid members of society, Deanna's mother included. But her mother was an ocean away. Deanna didn't even try to suppress her shiver of exhilaration.

“Are you cold, my dear?” Gran Gwen asked.

“No, ma'am, just excited,” Deanna said as she watched the two Ballards enter the canopy and stop at a colorful tent before stepping inside.

“I suppose you'll want to have your fortune read, too?” Joe said, sounding jaded and worldly and bored.

“I don't think so,” Deanna answered. Maybe it was better not to know. Anyway, fortune-tellers always told you that you would meet a tall, dark, handsome man, and she was standing next to one. That would be beyond embarrassing, since Joe had already rejected her as a potential wife. Not that she cared.

There was a whole world to experience out there, and she intended to experience all of it.

“Then, come. I'll win you a prize at the coconut shies booth. Grandmère?”

“You two run along. I see someone with whom I wish to speak.” And before Joe could offer to accompany her, she swept away like a woman of many fewer years. Deanna and Joe both turned to see where she was going.

“Of course,” Joe said. “Quentin Asher. Well, it won't be a dull evening.”

How could it be? Deanna wondered, with a play and carnival games and dinner and dancing—and fireworks.

“What are coconut shies?” she asked as Joe escorted her beneath the bright red canopy toward the rows of colorful tents.

*   *   *

C
oconut shies turned out to be a game where each player was given three wooden balls to knock over a line of coconuts. Joe won a pretty gold and enamel box, which he presented to Deanna, but when she announced her intention to try for herself, he guided her away.

“Not tonight, but someday I'll take you to Coney Island and you can ride the carousel and throw balls at coconuts to your heart's—” He broke off. “There's Mother and Father. Let's join them.”

Just as they reached them, a gong sounded, deep and reverberating through the night, announcing the performance was soon to begin. The four of them joined the other guests as they began to make their way toward the theater.

“It looks just like a real theater,” Deanna said as soon as they entered. There was a raised stage with heavy curtains pulled across the proscenium. An orchestra was placed in front of the stage. Rows of chairs were arranged at comfortable intervals across the wide expanse of wooden floor which Deanna guessed would soon become the ballroom.

They were shown to four chairs by a footman, one of a dozen who were showing parties to their seats. Mrs. Grantham had surely hired extra for the occasion. Deanna looked around at the audience. Some of the finest families were there. Several
Vanderbilts, the Olneys, the Wetmores, a veritable who's who of Newport society.

Lionel leaned toward the others. “I talked to Walter Edgerton. The play's called
The Sphinx
. He says Maude had the good sense to have it cut down to one act. It only lasts an hour.”

“Good,” Joe said. “These chairs are about as comfortable as a second-class train car.”

Deanna frowned at him. He'd joined them for dinner the night before with stories of watching the construction of the stage; he'd explained in detail the operating of the sets. As far as Joe was concerned, he'd seen the best the play had to offer. He couldn't care less about the acting or being swept up in the emotions of the characters.

It really was just like being at the theater, Deanna thought as the lights dimmed and everyone became silent.

“The lights are run from a large master board at the side of the stage,” Joe whispered to Deanna. “They use—”

“Shh,” Laurette warned.

Joe settled back to endure the play.

A door at the side of the stage opened and the conductor stepped through. Applause broke out as he climbed the podium, where he turned and bowed to the audience.

The music began, the curtain rose, and everyone's attention was focused on the stage. Before them stood a golden pyramid almost as large as the stage itself. Its large Sphinx head scrutinized them all as if from a far and exotic place.

“Impressive,” Joe said under his breath. “I wonder . . .” He trailed off into silence before his mother had to warn him again.

Deanna knew he was wondering how they'd managed to construct such a massive structure in such a limited time. He'd
probably sneak off sometime during the evening to get a closer look. Deanna just planned to enjoy the play.

Two rows of girls dressed in school uniforms entered, singing in chorus. According to the program, they were students from the P'teecha's Institute. On closer inspection, Deanna saw that though a few of them could be schoolgirls, others were long past their schoolgirl years.

They were interrupted by the entrance of a male chorus of approximately the same number as the girls', costumed as bedouins, spinning and leaping onto the stage. They were dressed in colorful robes and held scimitars over their heads, and they quickly subdued the girls with the power of their love.

Deanna peered more closely at the women on stage. “Which one is Amabelle?” she whispered to Laurette.

“I'm not sure. Maybe . . .” She lifted a finger toward one. “Or . . .” She shook her head. “We'll have to wait until the play is over to find out.”

Deanna hoped that “we” meant Laurette was including her in the meeting. She'd never even been close to a real actor or actress. Her mama considered them unprincipled, immoral, and a few other things Deanna didn't remember.

Deanna thought they were fascinating. And to think actresses made just as much money as the men.

The play proceeded with a Professor Papyrus giving the schoolgirls a book that held the answers to the Sphinx's questions each one must answer in order to marry her bedouin.

Deanna wished they would make plays of some of the stories from the dime novels she and her maid, Elspeth, read together each night. They were much more exciting than most plays she'd seen. They told of dangerous adventures and female
detectives who did a lot more than worry about marrying some bedouin.