“I did, miss. She’s a beautiful lady, very genteel. And, oh, her clothes . . .”
Clara had referred to Lady Amelia in the present tense . . . so no one had yet told her the news. “Her clothes are the finest,” I agreed, “but not of great quantity, would you say?”
“I suppose not, but she could mix her attire and make it out she had more than she really did. Clever, that.”
“And did she have many visitors come to see her at Marble House?”
“None that I knew of, miss.”
“Did she go out often?”
“Never, miss. Except for her walks. Lady Amelia enjoys a nice long walk, mostly in the mornings, but sometimes later in the day, too, especially while Mrs. Vanderbilt is napping or working in her office.”
“Do you know where she went? Did you ever accompany her?”
“Never, miss, but I assumed she walked in the gardens, and maybe along the Cliff Walk. I always had other work to do when I wasn’t tending her.” Clara moved back a few steps and sank onto the end of her cot. With her hands folded in her lap, she raised her thin face to me. “Why all these questions about Lady Amelia, miss? Is it anything to do with the murder?”
She asked that question with surprising calmness. I made sure to answer her in kind. “There may be a connection, Clara. I’m not yet certain.” I opened my purse and removed the folded handkerchief I’d placed there before I left the house. Unfolding the linen, I held it out to her. She came to her feet and moved closer to the bars separating us. “Have you ever seen this flower before?”
Nestled in the fabric were, not the wilted petals I’d found in the pavilion, but the dried—and much more identifiable—sprig from Amelia Beaumont’s jewelry box. Clara squinted to examine it.
“Doesn’t that grow along the cliffs, miss?”
“It does. Do you have any idea how Lady Amelia might have come by this?”
“Well, no . . . She wouldn’t have been able to reach any from the Cliff Walk, I don’t think. She’d have to have climbed down.” She almost smiled at that unlikely scenario.
“Can you think of anyone who might have given her such a flower?”
“Like . . . like a man, miss?”
I nodded.
“Goodness, no. Lady Amelia isn’t the sort of woman a man would give wildflowers to, is she, miss? Any proper suitor would present her with roses or violets or . . . I don’t know . . . properly cultivated flowers. Don’t you think?”
And yet I had found this sprig of rugosa roses tucked intimately away among Amelia’s jewelry. Why?
“Is there anything else you can tell me about her, Clara? Anything at all?”
She scrunched up her features. “Well . . . she cried sometimes. I never actually saw it, but more than once I could tell that her eyes were red and her nose runny. When I inquired she said the ocean air bothered her, but I doubted that, miss.”
Surely with her fading prospects Lady Amelia had reason enough to cry; that didn’t tell me anything new. I waited another minute, but when Clara had nothing more to add, I smiled sadly. “I’ll have to be going now, Clara.” Her features became pinched with what I could only call desperation. “Don’t think you’re forgotten in here. I’m working to find the real murderer and I promise, Clara, I won’t stop until I do.”
How hollow those words must have sounded from the other side of those bars. It was a promise I’d made her previously, yet here she still was. She bowed her head and stared dejectedly at the floor. “Thank you, miss.”
“Oh, and when I leave the guard will bring in a basket of things I brought from home. There are some sweet rolls and blackberry preserves from Nanny, a shawl from Katie, and a blanket and . . . do you read, Clara? I included a couple of books.”
“I can a little, miss. Thank you. Thank Mrs. O’Neal, and tell Katie I said . . .” She hiccupped again. “Hello.”
That evening, a crash followed by a shrill cry sent Brady, Nanny, and me instantly to our feet. I don’t doubt recent events had our nerves in a jumble, or we might not have had such startled reactions. As it was, we tossed down our napkins beside our half-eaten supper plates and hastened to the service hallway with no small amount of jostling once we arrived; there simply wasn’t room for all three of us to fit through the narrow doorway.
I pushed my way through first to find Katie on her hands and knees, frantically reaching to gather up an array of forks, spoons, and dessert bowls—thankfully the little silver ones Aunt Sadie had left me—scattered across the floor. The fruit that had occupied the bowls now decorated the floorboards, slices of apples, pears, dates, and sprigs of fresh mint creating a colorful pattern among the fallen utensils.
“Oh, miss, it’s all gone to ruin!” Sitting back on her heels, Katie pulled her apron up over her face. “You’ll turn me out for certain now!”
Behind me Brady blew out a breath. “Good heavens, girl, it’s just spilled fruit. We thought you were being attacked.”
He remained standing, leaning against a bank of cabinets, while Nanny and I both crouched to clean up the mess. First I pried Katie’s hands away from her face. “Brady’s right, Katie. It’s nothing.”
“All this wasted food, miss!”
“Never mind, girl. It happens. I’ve certainly dumped a tray or two in my lifetime.” The gentle reassurance came from Nanny, who had shown the girl great patience in the months since she had come to work for me.
Earlier that spring Katie had been a frightened, silent shadow intent on hiding from the people and events that had caused her infinite pain: a forced liaison, an unwanted pregnancy, the loss of her previous employment. That her employers had been my Vanderbilt cousins at The Breakers was only half the reason I’d taken her in, nursed her when she lost the child, and given her a position and a place to live. When my aunt Sadie had been alive, this house, Gull Manor, had been a refuge for any woman in need, with few to no questions asked. This, much more than the house, had become her legacy to me. Because of her and what she taught me about the need for women to help each other in any way possible, I could turn my back on neither Katie nor poor Clara.
Katie’s wrists trembled in my grasp, and suddenly I guessed her distress hadn’t necessarily been a result of spilling the tray, but rather the cause of it. My anxiety for her rose as I considered what possible mischief she might have gotten into. “Something is terribly wrong, Katie, isn’t it? You know you can tell me anything. You can trust me.”
To further coax her confidence I shot Brady a glance over my shoulder. He read me correctly and, pushing away from the cabinets, sauntered back to the dining room.
I tugged Katie to her feet. “There now . . . tell Nanny and me what the matter is.”
“Oh, I’m just . . . just . . . Well, he’s coming later to call—that’s what!”
“Who’s coming?” Nanny and I said together.
Katie drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Jamie Reilly,” she whispered. “Oh, but if you don’t want him here, miss, I’ll tell him—”
After everything I’d witnessed earlier in the day, this simple return to normalcy brought a grin to my face. “Why, Katie, that’s lovely. When is he coming? You’ll need to be ready, won’t you? Come, let’s finish cleaning up our unfortunate dessert. Then we’ll go pick out a proper frock for you and dress your hair.”
Some forty minutes later a very different Katie than the one I’d come to know stood before me. We’d chosen a gown with three-quarter sleeves, a simple scooped neckline, and a pin-tucked bodice. The pastel blue muslin brightened the clear blue of her eyes; her pink cheeks stood out prettily against her translucent skin. Always quick with her needle, Nanny tacked on a bit of pale yellow chiffon at the ends of the sleeves and used another length to make a sash. We had pinned Katie’s russet curls, usually subdued in a tight bun, into a loose twist at the back of her head that allowed spiraling tendrils to cascade between her shoulder blades.
I stood back to admire her and judged our efforts enchanting. Her fidgeting made me frown. “Stop plucking at the chiffon or you’ll tear it loose.”
“Oh, miss, thank you ever so much. But . . . I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
“Nonsense. Of course you are. You and Jamie are friends after all.”
“Y-yes . . . I suppose.”
“Then think of this as merely associating with someone whose company you already enjoy.” When that failed to lighten her mood, I smoothed my hands across her shoulders. “And if anything more comes of it . . . well . . . we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
Excitement spun in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t help hoping,
wanting,
for Katie what I might never have myself. She’d been through so much in her young life, she deserved some measure of happiness. And she already possessed something I didn’t—a much more ingenuous outlook on life. My perceptions had become infinitely more complicated because of the independence Aunt Sadie had allowed—no, insisted—I taste. And once tasted, self-sufficiency is not something easily relinquished.
How perfect, I thought. Katie Dillon and Jamie Reilly. Hailing from the same country, they were sure to have lots in common. Surely they were social equals, as Brady would put it, and held similar expectations about life. And Jamie’s cheerful nature was just the thing to continue drawing Katie out, to help her find her confidence. Yes, this was something I would encourage.
At the clank of the front door knocker, I practically had to pry her fingers from the footboard of her bed and physically carry her down the stairs. Even as she trod each step, I continually whispered encouragements from the top of the stairs.
“Good evening, Miss Dillon,” Jamie said when she worked up the courage to open the door, abruptly cutting off his knocking. Had he begun to think no one was home? I watched from the top landing, hidden by shadow; eavesdropping, perhaps, but with such a buoyant heart I could hardly be blamed. It was about time we had some happy news for a change.
Like Katie, Jamie had taken pains with his appearance. He wore crisp white linen beneath a plain serge coat and a blue waistcoat with shiny brass buttons. How fortuitous, I noted, that they’d both worn blue. Did that signify as a positive sign?
My hopes flourished yet more when Jamie whisked a bouquet out from behind his back, and with his free hand raised one of hers and kissed the back of her knuckles. “You’re a vision tonight, Katie Dillon, and I’m a lucky fellow to be standing where I am, that’s to be sure.”
“Oh . . . I . . .” Katie took the flowers—from where I stood they looked like some kind of wild daisies—and buried her face in the blossoms. “Thank you.”
When she didn’t immediately raise her head, a bit of panic took hold of me. The two simply stood there, unmoving, saying nothing until the silence thundered in my ears. Jamie, at least, was grinning, his enjoyment of the occasion apparently not to be dimmed. With her back to me I couldn’t see Katie’s expression, and with all my might I willed her to invite him into the front parlor or the little conservatory at the back of the house—anywhere—but no words came out of her mouth that I could hear.
What an odd sort of friendship. I thought back on what Katie had told me. She’d first met Jamie over the flour bins at the Brick Market. He’d bought barely enough for two loaves of bread, but they’d gotten to talking. Jamie had asked if she knew of anyone hiring a groundskeeper. Later, she would sometimes pass him on the street while going about her business in town, and once they’d met at Forty Steps, a wooden staircase leading down from the Cliff Walk to a platform just above the water’s edge. A bit north of Marble House, it was where Bellevue Avenue’s servants occasionally gathered for evenings of music and socializing.
To look at them now, one would never imagine them socializing anywhere, at any time. Though I suppose the commonality of shopping for foodstuffs did provide a sound topic of conversation, and an evening of frivolity surrounded by one’s peers invited a camaraderie that might not otherwise arise. If only a similar camaraderie would present itself tonight, I thought almost desperately.
Katie, speak to the man!
Finally, Jamie gestured over his shoulder, pointing his thumb at the door behind him. “There’s a grand bonny moon out tonight, Miss Dillon. Would you care to walk with me?”
Her breathy response drifted up the stairs to me. “It’s dark out.”
“You can trust me not to let you step astray.” He took the flowers from her and laid them on the side table beside the coat rack. His gaze strayed upward to my shadowy hiding place and I could have sworn he winked. Then he extended an elbow to Katie. “Shall we?”
Once the door had closed behind them I let out a rather long sigh of relief. I ran downstairs to find a vase for the daisies, but just as I reached for them the telephone clamored.
Chapter 16
“I
need to speak to Miss Cross this instant!” The voice coming through the telephone line pierced like a darning needle against my eardrum. I whisked the ear trumpet away, yet I could still hear my aunt demanding my immediate attention.
“Speaking, Aunt Alva,” I said calmly and, hoping she would take the hint, quietly. Rarely did she call me on the telephone, so the event of her doing so immediately raised an alarm. Still, nothing would be accomplished through hysterics.
“Emmaline?” Her voice became shriller. “Is that you?”
“Yes, Aunt Alva. What’s wrong?” A sudden procession of fears marched through my mind. “Is it Consuelo?”
“Yes . . . or . . . no, she hasn’t been found, if that is what you’re thinking. But it’s an emergency. Oh, Emmaline, I do believe this dreadful situation has made me ill . . . quite ill. I so need your help. There is no one, positively no one else I can turn to anymore. . . .”
“Aunt Alva, you’re frightening me. Should I send for Dr. Kennison?”
“He’s been and gone. And he said exactly what I already knew. My heart can’t take much more of this strain.”
“Aunt Alva,” I said gently, “is it Lady Amelia?”
“Amelia? Good heavens, no. A shame, that—although why she strayed so far from Marble House I’ll never understand—but no.”
I wondered if it had occurred to Aunt Alva that perhaps Amelia Beaumont hadn’t strayed anywhere, but had been dragged away by force.
“Emmaline, I’m coming right over.”
The call clicked off and I was left to ponder her cryptic words for the next ten minutes.
Dressed like a widow in black bombazine, but with a white fox stole draped round her shoulders, Aunt Alva barreled in the moment I answered her footman’s knock. She pushed past him and nearly shoved me over, but I managed to step out of the way just in time. Both she and the fox, its head still attached to the pelt and dangling against Aunt Alva’s bosom, fixed mournful gazes on me for the span of an indrawn breath.
Then Aunt Alva did something I never could have imagined: She threw herself into my arms. The fox fur tickled my nose and I stifled an emerging sneeze. But my shock could not have been greater. Not only had the woman never set foot in my house before—I don’t believe the notion had ever crossed her mind to socialize with me anywhere but in the luxury of her own home—but I had never seen this indomitable lady in so vulnerable a state.
We eased apart, and even by the light of the hall sconces her appearance shocked me. Her eyes were sunken, the shadows I’d noticed hours earlier darker and heavier, and her features had somehow thinned, giving her a haggard look that spoke of relentless strain.
“Please, come into the parlor and tell me what’s wrong. Are you sure I shouldn’t call for the doctor?”
“A doctor can’t help me, Emmaline. My world is crashing down around my ears.”
I led her into the parlor and we settled together on the settee. “I’m afraid Katie—my maid—has the evening off.” I thought better of revealing Jamie Reilly’s presence in my home, for some employers disapproved of their servants fraternizing with others even during their leisure time. “But I can ask Nanny to make us some tea.”
“No—no tea. Nothing.” She dabbed a handkerchief at the corners of her eyes. “Emmaline, he’s coming.”
I didn’t need to ask. “The Duke? Surely that’s no surprise. We’ve known that—”
“He’s arrived in New York ahead of schedule. He could head north at any moment.”
I gaped at her, a bud of anger unfurling at my core. “Is that what this is all about?”
“Don’t you understand?” She fluttered her handkerchief at me. “We’re running out of time! What will I do if he arrives in Newport—on my very doorstep—and his reason for coming is nowhere to be found? How will I explain?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” I folded my arms and leaned back, trying and not wholly succeeding in keeping the disdain from tugging at my lips.
“Oh, that awful girl, how could she do this to me?”
Before my anger exploded into a barrage of harsh words, Aunt Alva turned to me full on, her tearful eyes giving her a lost and frightened look. “Oh, Emmaline, my poor girl! What if she’s hurt? What if she’s come to no good? I couldn’t bear it. . . .”
I sighed and reached an arm around her shoulders. “Will it help you to know I might be close to finding her?”
“What?” The tears immediately stopped, making me marvel at how easily she could turn them on and off. “Where is she?”
“I can’t tell you anything yet.”
“Emmaline—”
“No, you’ll simply have to trust me. When I approach Consuelo, I’ll do so alone. No one else can be present or . . .” I drew in a breath as I prepared to speak, for the first time, of the conviction that had slowly been forming inside me. “We’ll lose her again. I believe this, Aunt Alva, and you must believe it, too, and trust me, or risk losing your daughter forever.”
She stared back at me, her gaze penetrating, searching, as if she could see the very workings of my mind. But as I regarded her in turn, I witnessed her own inner debate, the war between her fiercely independent and determined spirit, and a part of her she herself may not have known existed until this very moment: the mother’s heart, which wanted nothing beyond having her child once more safe in her arms.
I didn’t doubt the sincerity of the single tear that escaped the corner of her eye.
“Very well.” She dabbed the tear away and came to her feet. “I’ll trust you, Emmaline, because I don’t see that I have any other choice short of shaking you until you tell me what you know.”
The words startled me; I could almost envision her doing it.
“But should the Duke arrive before Consuelo is found—”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said. “
If
we come to it.”
“You’ll keep me informed?” She adjusted the fox head dangling from her shoulder.
“No, but you’ll be the first to know once I’ve found Consuelo, reassured her, and convinced her to come home.”
“And if you don’t? Good gracious, Emmaline, what if she insists on—”
I gently slipped my hand into the crook of her elbow and started guiding her into the front hall. “Have faith. Consuelo is a smart girl. In the end, she’ll do the right thing.”
I thought Aunt Alva would protest again. She surprised me. “Yes, yes, she will. I raised her to do the right thing. She’ll come around.” At the front door she turned to face me. “Thank you, Emmaline, I feel infinitely better. Good night.”
She hadn’t been gone two minutes—in fact, I could still hear her carriage receding down the drive—when the service door opened and Katie came striding into the hall, Jamie following some several steps behind.
“Ah, you two. I suppose you saw Mrs. Vanderbilt’s carriage in the drive. Wise of you to postpone returning to the house until she’d left. Not that you’re doing anything wrong, mind you—”
I broke off as, without a word, Katie swung round to the base of the stairs and proceeded to stomp her way up. My gaze flicked to Jamie, hovering uncertainly beside the telephone alcove. He crumpled his cap between his hands.
“What happened?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’m not quite sure . . . I . . .” He looked away. “I fear I might have become just a wee bit too familiar, miss. I tried sayin’ I was sorry, but ’twas too late, the damage was done.”
By this time Katie had disappeared at the top of the staircase, and presently I heard the thwacks of her shoes against the wooden steps leading to her attic bedroom. Jamie heard it, too; his gaze drifted to the stairs, then back to me.
“I’m sorry, miss.” He looked crestfallen, almost devastated. “We were gettin’ along swimmingly . . . I thought.”
My first impulse was to berate him for pushing his advantage with Katie. But then I thought of Derrick, and of Jesse, how both men had made their feelings clear to me and how overwhelmed they made me feel. Yet . . . neither had taken advantage of me. They had simply been honest about their intentions.
And then I thought of Katie and all she’d been through the previous spring. If two men could overwhelm me, only think what even the most innocent kiss or caress might do to her, and the frightening, unwelcome memories that would come flooding back.
I drew in a breath. “Jamie, if you want my advice when it comes to Katie, if you are truly interested in her—”
“That I am, miss.”
“Then proceed very, very slowly and allow her to let you know when she is ready to be more than . . . friends.”
He stared intently at me, seeming to hang on every word. “I will, miss. If she’ll see me again, that is. I believe she misunderstood my meaning about a certain matter.”
I took “a certain matter” to be a polite euphemism for physical intimacy and smiled gently. “Well, you’ll simply have to show her your honorable intentions. If nothing else, you’ll see each other in town. Or perhaps at the next soirée at Forty Steps?”
“I do hope so, miss.” He swung his cap back and forth a couple of times across his leg. “Well, I should be going now.” He came toward me and I stepped aside to open the door for him.
“Come to think of it,” I said, “how did you get here? Do you live close by?”
“An acquaintance does, miss. I hitched a ride with him. He’s sure to give me a ride back to town.”
“Oh, all right, then. Good night, Jamie. And don’t worry too much. Katie will come around.”
The next morning, I found Katie in the laundry yard, hanging up sheets and towels. The day was warm, but the ocean breezes brought an edge that hinted of the coming autumn. I pulled my shawl a little higher around my shoulders and sat on the wooden bench where Katie had set her basket, piled high with damp heaps of linen.
“Would you like to talk about last night?”
She shooed a fly away from her face and reached into the box beside the laundry basket for another clothespin. “Not particularly, miss.”
“Jamie seemed terribly sorry for . . . whatever it was that happened.”
“Men always are.” She snapped a sheet over the clothesline and proceeded to secure it against the wind.
“Don’t you believe he might be sincere?” When she shrugged, I studied her face, a task made difficult by her obvious attempt to shield herself behind a fluttering pillowcase. A shadow of doubt crept into my heart. “Was he being honest with me, or did something more serious happen than he let on?”
“Depends on what he said, miss.” She had no choice now but to approach me. She reached into the basket for the next damp item to be hung, and I wrapped my fingers around her wrist.
“Sit.”
She darted her gaze about as if seeking rescue. Finding none, she sighed and sat stiffly beside me.
“Now, what happened between the two of you?”
A flash of teeth caught at her bottom lip. She studied her hands in her lap. “Begging your pardon, miss, but it’s a private matter and I’d like it to stay that way.”
“Oh.” That certainly put me in my place as a busybody and an overly intrusive employer. That fly returned to bother first Katie and then me, buzzing around my hair. The breeze kicked up, threatening to tug the aforementioned pillowcase from the line. Katie grabbed two clothespins and jumped up.
“Well, at least tell me this,” I said to her back. “Are you all right?”
She finished securing the clothespins and returned to gather another sheet from the basket. Her arms full, she paused, looking down at me. “I am, miss, and thank you. I appreciate your lookin’ after me and all. I assure you last night was nothin’ like what happened to me . . . well . . . you know. It was nothin’ I couldn’t handle. Mr. Reilly just made me feel . . . uncomfortable, I guess you could say.”
“I can certainly understand that,” I replied truthfully. I stood and reached for a dangling corner of the sheet she held, then found the other. Together we stretched out the sheet and draped it over the line. As Katie moved to place a pin on the end nearest me, I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I am your employer, Katie, but I hope you’ll also think of me as your friend. And I do hope you know you can come to me if anything is ever troubling you.”
“I do know that, miss. Thank you.” But all too quickly she turned away to resume her task. With a sigh I left her to it, saddened but not surprised that she wouldn’t confide in me. It wasn’t the first time she’d kept her secrets to herself.
And yet, as I walked to the end of the property and stood braced against the salty breeze, I felt a sense of gratitude. For a short time at least, I’d been given the gift of ordinary matters, one might even say mundane, a brief reprieve from danger and death and the mysterious disappearance of my cousin.
I myself ended that relatively peaceful interval, this time by seeking to satisfy my curiosity. Once more enlisting Brady to accompany me, I set out to the home of Winthrop Rutherfurd.
“Let me do the talking,” I said as I steered us toward tree-lined Lakeview Avenue.
He angled a look at me from under the brim of his straw boater. “Have I ever been able to stop you?”
“No, nor I you. So please, let me ask the questions.”
“There’s no reason he should answer them, you know.”
I smiled. “Oh, trust me, there is.”
Brady studied me for several clop-clops of Barney’s slow-moving hooves. “Blackmail, little sister? You
have
been busy, haven’t you?”
It suddenly occurred to me I’d never fully explained to Brady about Winty’s involvement in smuggling. But I wasn’t about to embark on the details now. We’d reached Winty’s rented house.
“So how are we going to ease into this?” Brady whispered in my ear as we approached the front door. “Pretend it’s a social call?”
“Brady, do be quiet, please!” I raised the knocker and struck two resounding clanks. The door opened almost immediately, the face greeting us sending me back a step in surprise. “Mr. Rutherfurd.”