I almost said it would serve Brady right if Uncle Cornelius did press charges. Brady might not have murdered Uncle Cornelius’s financial secretary, but he
did
attempt to steal business secrets with the intention of using them against the Vanderbilt family’s New York Central Railroad.
Actually, Brady
had
stolen those secret plans right out of Uncle Cornelius’s safe, only to have a change of heart at the very last minute. But as far as I knew, his bout of conscience had done little to endear him to Uncle Cornelius, who fired Brady from his position of clerk and ordered him never to show his face at the offices in New York, or at The Breakers, ever again.
I wanted to remind Brady of all that, and goodness knew he deserved his banishment. A quick glance at Nanny’s pursed lips told me she agreed. But he’d been through so much already and looked so vulnerable standing there in his dishabille and worrying his bottom lip, that I took pity on him.
“Maybe this is a good sign,” I said gently. “But why do you need me? I really don’t think Uncle Cornelius would appreciate me tagging along.”
He fisted his satin lapels as if hanging on for dear life. “I’m certainly not going alone.”
“Oh, really, Brady, you’ve nothing to fear,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “Besides, I have important things to do today.”
He swept farther into the room and sank onto a footstool, his dressing gown billowing dramatically around him. “More important than your brother?”
My resolve weakened a fraction. “It has to do with Consuelo.”
“Tell you what, then. You come with me, and then I’ll help you with whatever else you have to do today.” He leaned in closer, reaching for my hand. I reluctantly returned his grasp.
“Deal?”
I thought a moment. Having Brady along at Marble House could come in handy, especially when it came to examining the Cliff Walk for my mystery flower. “All right. I’ll come with you, although I highly doubt Uncle Cornelius will allow me to stay and hear whatever he has to say to you.”
As I spoke those last words, the telephone bell jingled, and I reclaimed my hand. “I’ll get it,” I said, coming to my feet.
On the other end of the line, Jesse greeted me quickly. “Good morning, Emma. I have some news I thought you’d be interested to hear. That wildflower of yours? It’s something we Islanders are all familiar with, so common we hardly notice it. Rugosa rose.”
I wrinkled my nose at the unfamiliar term. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Well, no, most people wouldn’t know it by name. As I said, it’s so common as to be considered a weed. It grows along the cliffs, especially along Belleview Avenue, and is one of the few wildflowers that blossom throughout the summer.”
Images of the cliffs appeared in my mind. Not being a boater, it was a rare occasion for me to view the cliff faces. The beaches and my own rocky shoreline were far more familiar. “Can you tell me what the whole flower would look like?”
“Much brighter pink than the petals you brought us, of course, and with golden centers,” he said. “I’m afraid this might not be much use after all. We’ll look into it, but if rugosa roses are growing beyond the Marble House property, it’s likely your petals merely blew in with the wind.”
“Yes, I had the same thought.” I sighed. “Thank you, Jesse. I appreciate your letting me know.” After hanging up, I returned to the parlor to be practically accosted by Brady.
“Was that Cornelius? What did he want? You will come with me, won’t you, Em? Just to be somewhere in the house in case I need you.”
“You are such a child.” I picked up one of the tea roses and flung it at him. Nanny chuckled. “No, that wasn’t Uncle Cornelius, and yes, I’ll come with you.”
Apparently satisfied, Brady finally seemed to notice the candles, roses, cards, and other items strewn on the floor. He propped his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. “What have we here? Are we playing a game?”
“You’re so right, Emma.” Nanny huffed as she tugged her bulk out of the chair. “Such a child.”
“Em, we have to go—now! The old badger said nine-thirty sharp and I don’t dare be late!”
Despite Brady’s shouts from his perch on my rig, I lingered inside the house. “Nanny,” I said as she gave my hat a minor adjustment, “what were you going to tell me earlier about Amelia Beaumont?”
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten with all of Brady’s hubbub.” She drew me farther away from the open front door as if to ensure our privacy from prying ears, not that Brady could have heard us or it would have mattered if he had. “Lady Amelia Beaumont hasn’t got two cents to rub together.”
“What? No!”
Nanny nodded sagely. “I’ve had it from Bonnie Preston, Mrs. Goelet’s housekeeper over at Ochre Court, who heard it from the family’s housekeeper in New York, who not only surmised it firsthand but conferred with Carrie Astor’s lady’s maid and Mrs. Frances Delafield’s personal secretary.”
Nanny’s list of illustrious servants had me shaking my head in confusion until she said, “Don’t you see, Emma? Lady Amelia stayed first with the Goelets last winter, then with the Astors in the spring, and finally with the Delafields before coming here to stay with your Aunt Alva.” She compressed her lips and peered at me over her spectacles like a schoolmarm waiting for the figures to add up in my head.
“You mean she doesn’t have a home of her own?”
“Nor maids nor carriages nor any prospects at all save for a trunkful of extravagant gowns.”
“And the kindness of friends.” I pressed my knuckles against my lips. “Good heavens. When all this happened and the police questioned Lady Amelia on the whereabouts of her scarf, it came out that Clara Parker had been serving as her lady’s maid because Amelia’s own had taken ill.”
“Ill, my eye. The gentry are always quick with a story to cover their tracks. Lady Amelia’s a fake, pure and simple. Oh, I’ve no doubt she was raised with a silver spoon between her lips, but the money’s gone and unless she finds a rich husband quick, she’ll be out of options.”
“And in a way it makes perfect sense that she’d ingratiate herself to Aunt Alva,” I said. “With Consuelo engaged, Amelia was probably hoping to be introduced to some of the castoff suitors.”
“Emmaline Cross, what the devil are you doing in there?”
Brady’s urgent interruption set my feet in motion. “Thanks, Nanny, this certainly sheds some new light on matters.”
We’d no sooner arrived at The Breakers than a waiting footman whisked Brady upstairs. I was also led upstairs but at a much more sedate pace, and delivered to Aunt Alice, who was enjoying breakfast out on the upper loggia. Sunlight glittered on the ocean beyond the gardens, but the covered loggia was cool and shady.
“Ah, Emmaline,” she crooned when she saw me. “Do join me for some kippers and eggs. Gertrude won’t be up for hours yet. Parker,” she said to the footman still hovering behind me, “please bring an extra place setting for my niece.”
She said this last with an affection that drew my notice. Not that I ever doubted Aunt Alice’s sentiments toward me. She might not approve of everything I did, but her fondness for me had always been evident. Still, she wasn’t one to express emotion save the hearty self-satisfaction of having full control over her world. So then . . .
“I hear you’ve been to Marble House recently.”
Ah. I sat in a cushioned chair beside her chaise lounge. “Yes, I was there when—”
“Oh, Emmaline, nothing good can come of associating with
that
woman. And now you’re embroiled in a most unsavory matter.”
By
that woman,
I knew she referred to Aunt Alva. I fought the temptation to remind her that associating with
her own
branch of the Vanderbilt family had brought nearly identical results not all that long ago. “I went to see Consuelo, Aunt Alice.”
She blew out a breath, popped a morsel into her mouth, and took her time in answering. “That poor child . . . a lovely girl, and she’s been made to endure so much because of that mother of hers.”
I couldn’t argue there.
“Tell me, how is the poor dear holding up?”
Here I needed to be careful. I appreciated Aunt Alice, I respected Aunt Alice, but I didn’t trust Aunt Alice not to find a way to use the current situation to her advantage. She and Aunt Alva had long been rivals—their two monstrous houses stood testament to that. Would Alice use Consuelo’s disappearance to fuel a scandal? My heart said no. Family history, however, warned otherwise.
“Consuelo is distraught,” I said without lying. “This is not a happy time for her.”
“Is it true—” Aunt Alice broke off as Parker reappeared carrying a tray. He set it down on the little garden table between Aunt Alice and myself, and lifted the cover off a plate heaped with golden scrambled eggs framed by two long, silvery brown kippers. Beside the plate sat a small bowl of sliced melon and strawberries.
“Did I mention I ate at home?” I said. Yet my stomach rumbled in appreciation of the aromas spiraling from the tray.
“You’ll eat again,” my aunt said with a dismissive wave, though an unnecessary one as I’d already set the plate on my knees and unwrapped my fork from the napkin. “You’re too thin, at any rate.”
Once again, not a point to argue over. Parker’s receding footsteps prompted Aunt Alice to swallow a bite of kipper and lean toward me. “I had started to ask you. Is it true about Consuelo’s engagement?”
“Surely Uncle William discussed it with Uncle Cornelius,” I began, but she cut me off with another one of her waves, as if swatting at a fly.
“I mean that Consuelo is unhappy about the match.”
“Oh.” I set my fork on my plate. “Well . . . yes, it’s true.”
“What’s wrong with the girl? My goodness, if I could arrange a duke for Gertrude, she’d be in raptures. If only we’d gone abroad last spring, instead of going back and forth between here and New York. Well, I suppose it couldn’t be helped, not with this house in its final stages of reconstruction. Oh, but still, if
we’d
met the young duke first . . .”
I let her go on, all the while knowing that shy, awkward Gertrude could never have landed a man so high on the social register; nor did I believe my cousin would have wished for so public a life. But if Aunt Alice enjoyed reveling in her disappointed hopes, who was I to disillusion her?
We spoke of other things as well, all the while skirting another concern of my aunt’s regarding one of her children, namely, Neily, and his association with a young heiress named Grace Wilson. As Uncle Cornelius’s primary heir, Neily was expected to make a brilliant marriage; yet despite the Wilson family’s wealth and Grace’s celebrated beauty, his parents didn’t deem her good enough. I couldn’t help attributing their dislike to the fact that Grace’s brother, Orme, had wed Carrie Astor—the Astors and Vanderbilts had been carrying on a thinly veiled social feud for years now. An upstart and a gold digger, Aunt Alice called Grace. That seemed harsh considering the Vanderbilts had built their fortune in trade only two generations previously. That hardly qualified them as
old money,
but once again I knew better than to argue with her.
Throughout our conversation, the greater portion of my thoughts dwelled on Marble House and Nanny’s revelation about Amelia Beaumont. I had detected something not wholly genuine about the woman; her mannerisms seemed too practiced, as if she were moving through the acts of a play. Granted, all women of the upper classes cultivated a poised exterior, like a kind of genteel armor, but somehow Lady Amelia’s armor didn’t quite fit. Thanks to Nanny, I now knew why.
I also now had three reasons to return to Marble House: search for my wildflower, the rugosa rose; question Hope Stanford about her temperance efforts and deduce how much she knew of her husband’s illegal activities; and learn more about Amelia Beaumont. I was impatient to be off.
Yet nearly an hour passed before Brady stepped out onto the loggia looking pale and a bit wild about the eyes. He circled me and went to Aunt Alice’s side, and leaned down to kiss her cheek.
“It went well?” she asked.
Judging by his pallor I wouldn’t have thought so, but Brady nodded somewhat shakily. “He gave me my job back.” He sounded baffled, as though he couldn’t quite believe it.
A jolt of surprise nearly sent my plate tumbling from my knees. I set it aside. “Brady, that’s wonderful!”
He shrugged and sat down on Aunt Alice’s other side. “I have you to thank for this, don’t I?” he said more than asked her.
“Nonsense. I merely suggested he speak with you.”
I tossed up my hands in a bid for details. “What did he say to you?”
“Awful things at first.” Brady shuddered. “What a scoundrel I am, a traitor to the family, don’t deserve the slightest regard, some things I won’t repeat . . . and then . . . it was the da—” He darted a gaze at Aunt Alice. “It was the oddest thing. He admitted part of him admired my gumption. Can you believe it? Said if I ever betrayed him or the family again he’d see me behind bars for the rest of my life, but as long as I’ve learned my lesson, he could use a man with ‘my cunning,’ as he put it, on the staff of the New York Central.”
I was dumbfounded—and not altogether pleased with Uncle Cornelius’s reasoning, I must confess. It saddened me to think of my exuberant, slightly naïve older brother being absorbed into the high jinks of the railroad business. Being Uncle Cornelius’s clerk was one thing, but contributing to the subterfuge that plagued the industry was quite another, and I despaired of the effect it would have on Brady’s erratic but essentially good-hearted nature.
For now I let it go. Brady had a job again, and in the short term that meant fewer nights spent carousing and fewer days nursing the resulting hangovers.
Brady and I said our good-byes to Aunt Alice, but as we approached the staircase Uncle Cornelius’s office door sprang open. “Emmaline, a word.”