Murder at the Bellamy Mansion (14 page)

“
Let’s get out of here,” Melanie cried.

“
Wait,” I said. “She can’t see you. And something’s going on.”

“
What do you mean?” Melanie asked, peeping around the menu.

Jackie just looked from one of us to the other, perplexed by our extreme reaction.

“
They seem to be quarreling, Melanie,” I told her.

Melanie could not resist. She turned around in her chair.

Candi and Vanessa were fighting. Their belligerent voices carried even to our side of the room. Other diners were staring. Candi was practically shrieking in her high-pitched voice. I couldn’t make out all of the words, what with the general din of conversation, but I did hear the word “cheat.”

“
I think she is accusing Vanessa of cheating her,” I said.

Vanessa’s face grew red and angry. She leaned forward, right in Candi’s face. Whatever she was saying was delivered in a venomous tone by the look on her face, but also delivered in a low-pitched volume. I could not hear.

“
Candi’s accusing Vanessa of cheating?” Melanie asked. “But Candi is the one who recommended Vanessa to me. Come on. Let’s get out of here. I want nothing to do with either of them.”

Plunking a twenty down on the table, she rose and hurried toward the exit. Jackie and I followed suit, leaving money without being presented with the bill as hurriedly we followed Melanie out of the restaurant.

“
Now what was that all about?” I mused out loud when we had reached the safety of the board walk out front. “Vanessa Holder planned a party for Candi. But it seems there is more to that relationship.”

“
Much more,” Melanie said.

“
I don’t care how many parties Candi Cheng gives,” Jackie declared determinedly. “I’m going to destroy her. Just like she is destroying the environment.”

18

“
During the Civil War, Union troops occupied the Bellamy home,” Binkie was saying. The microphone he spoke into was a small device called a lavaliere that was pinned to his jacket. A cord had been looped around his waist, attached to a power pack that was clipped onto his waist band. I had been hooked up with a similar device.

Cam was acting as the moderator, asking questions of a distinguished panel of local historians and preservationists. During the introduction, he had interviewed the executive director of the museum separately. Now he invited, “Tell us about those times, Dr. Higgins.”

In anticipation of The Bellamy Mansion’s one hundred and fiftieth anniversary, Cameron Jordan, as CEO of Gem Star Productions, was producing a special feature for Exploring North Carolina, the PBS show that aired on PBS stations around the state.

Binkie was in his element, as if he had prepared for this moment all of his career. His enthusiasm for the subject of the history of his hometown deflected whatever nervousness he may have felt.

Aunt Ruby had told me he had been practicing in front of the mirror for weeks. Plus, had tried on every bowtie he owned and finally sent her to Belk’s to buy a new one in a vivid red.

“
He intends not to be outshined,” she had said with a chuckle. “How I love that man. I am so mighty grateful that we found each other so that we could share a few good years together. My stars, imagine how empty my life would be if I did not know this bliss.”

I had teared up when she told me that. As a nurse, Aunt Ruby had been trained to keep her feelings to herself, which made her heartfelt confidences all the more precious.

Our panel was seated in the front formal parlor of the mansion. Two of us sat on an antique deep red Duncan Phyfe sofa. A painting titled “Child with Dog” by Belle Bellamy, the family’s oldest daughter, and a most talented painter, hung on the wall behind us.

Binkie looked straight into the camera, not a mite hesitant. “This glorious antebellum mansion, of which Wilmington is justly proud, was under construction in 1859. But it wasn’t until early in 1861 that the Bellamy family moved into their residence. Two months later the war began when a Confederate militia attacked federal Fort Sumter. However, it was not the war that drove the Bellamys from their home. Rather, it was old Yellow Jack.”

“
By old Yellow Jack, you are referring to the Yellow Fever epidemic, are you not, Dr. Higgins?” Cam asked.

“
I am,” Binkie said. “In the late summer of 1862, the Yellow Fever epidemic hit this city and the results were fatal. Six hundred souls perished of the fever within three months. At that time it was not known that the fever was transmitted by mosquitoes. Sailors aboard a blockade runner, the Kate, brought the fever to Wilmington and this area; mosquitoes did the spreading. Villages further inland were spared. Later the steamers were quarantined before they could sail into port, but by then it was too late for many.

“
Thus, Dr. and Mrs. Bellamy bundled their younger children together and off they went to Floral College near Shoe Heel. The two older sons had volunteered for the military. Wagons transported their household belongings and they set up housekeeping in the country. Periodically, they returned to Wilmington to visit their home here. One such visit was on Christmas Eve 1864, just as the Union Navy began their bombardment of Ft. Fisher. They say the roar of cannons carried all the way upriver to Wilmington. And the Bellamys, fearing for their children’s safety, fled again to Floral College.”

“
And what was the fate of this house after Ft. Fisher fell, Dr. Higgins?” Cam asked.

“
Confederate forces fled from the advancing Union army,” Binkie answered, “burning the cotton and rosin stored at the wharves with the intention of depriving the Union forces of any commodities to confiscate. As a consequence, and to add to the misery, a thick pall of oily smoke hung over the town for days.

“
Union troops arrived and requisitioned local homes for their own use. The officers requisitioned the finest houses for themselves. The first general to requisition the Bellamy Mansion was John M. Schofield. After six months, Schofield reassigned the house to General Joseph Hawley, who remained in it for another six months.

“
During that year, the Bellamys were barred from their home, except for a brief visit from Mrs. Bellamy to Mrs. Hawley to plead for the restoration of her home.

“
Another six months went by during which time Dr. Bellamy sought a presidential pardon for his role as a secessionist. He was advised to do so by General Robert E. Lee who said that particular course of action was necessary if Dr. Bellamy was ever to resume life as he had known it before the war.

“
Thus, in August, Dr. Bellamy traveled to Washington, D.C. where he met privately with President Andrew Johnson. After swearing an Oath of Allegiance to the United States Government, he was granted a written pardon, signed by President Johnson, with the oath attached. His lands were then returned to him.”

“
And so that settled things?” Cam asked.

“
Unfortunately, no,” Binkie replied. “He was not able to regain possession of this house because, in some bureaucratic snafu, the house had not been registered on the federal government’s list of lands assigned to The Freedman’s Bureau. In desperation, Dr. Bellamy appealed to the military. Finally, in the fall of 1865, the family was permitted to return to their home. After resettlement, the Bellamy family and their heirs retained ownership of the house for over one hundred years, until 1972 when Bellamy Mansion, Inc. was incorporated by the heirs.”

“
That is quite a story, Dr. Higgins,” Cam said.

“
The Civil War era was an extraordinarily complex period in our nation’s history,” Binkie said.

Cam had brought technicians from the studio. They bustled about out of the camera’s range, a steady stream in and out of the house, from their remote van parked at the rear of the house, to the back porch where they had set up technical equipment. A select few people had been permitted to attend the filming, and they were grouped along the sidelines, out of sight. Jon was there, and Melanie. Vanessa Holder had been allowed in for some reason I couldn’t fathom. Perhaps because she’d once been a docent here? A few volunteers I’d come to know. I recognized Cam’s security officer in the connecting doorway to the front hall.

Cam then addressed another of the historians who went on to talk about the builders of the house, James F. Post and Rufus Bunnell. Inspiration for the design of the house, he said, had come from Miss Belle Bellamy whose sketches of the Clarkson House in Columbia, South Carolina, moved her father and the architects. That the Clarkson House was later burned during Sherman’s march to the sea, made her drawings all the more poignant.

A docent was introduced, and continued the tale. “When the house was finally completed, and everything was in its place, the family held a magnificent housewarming party in March of 1861. The dining room in the English basement was filled to capacity with lavish foods. Imagine these colorful rooms filled with guests in their best Victorian finery. And out on the rear piazza, a band entertained them with gay tunes throughout the evening. Miss Ellen Bellamy vows it was ‘the grandest party ever given in Wilmington.’”

Cam then turned to me. I had been chosen to discuss the mansion’s interior features and decor. Cam formally introduced me as a local historic preservationist and invited me to tell the viewers about the decorations and fixtures.

I had dressed conservatively in a simple gray wool suit with a single strand of pearls and pearl stud earrings. Now I stood and moved to the center of the room so that the cameraman would be able to include the gasolier that was positioned over my head.

“
The Bellamy Mansion was the first house in Wilmington to have gas chandeliers,” I began my presentation. My voice trembled and I took a deep breath. Get a hold of yourself, Wilkes, I told myself. I looked to Jon for support and he gave me a loving look, plus both thumbs up.

I plowed ahead with my rehearsed speech. “Imagine the novelty of seeing these huge, ornate gasoliers all lit up, when most folks had never seen anything like them. These five-arm gasoliers were manufactured by the firm of Cornelius and Baker in Philadelphia. In the mid-nineteenth century, Cornelius and Baker were the premiere manufacturers of lighting fixtures, having installed lighting in the U.S. Senate and the House of Representatives, the capitol at Columbus, Ohio, the House of Representatives at Nashville, Tennessee, and the gas fittings at City Hall in Baltimore.”

Suddenly I was distracted by flashing lights. A man stood inside the front door, snapping pictures, annoying flashes from his camera irritating my eyes like strobe lights. Immediately, Cam’s security officer grabbed him and hustled him out the front door. How had he gotten past security and into the mansion, I wondered.

Quickly I composed myself and continued, “These fixtures are made of cast brass. The cornices over the windows are stamped brass over wood. The mirror frames are made of gilded wood and composition. The styles of the three are all similar.”

I moved toward the Southeast windows. The cameraman followed, filming the fireplace and the windows on either side. Over the white marble fireplace, a huge mirror was framed in an ornate frame similar in design to the gasolier. The same was true for the elegant cornices.

“
The brass was cast into fanciful designs common for that era: flowers, leaves, grapes, cherubs playing musical instruments. The glass globes are frosted, as you can see. In modern times the chandeliers were electrified. They are quite valuable. Recently, a matched pair of gasoliers, not nearly as elaborate or as pretty as these, sold at auction for eighteen-thousand dollars.

“
As you can see these adjoining parlors can be closed off from each other by these pocket doors.” I demonstrated the sliding doors that were concealed in wall pockets, sliding one out, then returning it again to the recess within the wall.

“
The museum is slowly acquiring furniture authentic to the period. Here in the rear parlor, we have another Victorian sofa and this lovely, intricately designed tiered whatnot for bibelots.”

I led the cameraman on a tour of the mansion. We crossed the center hall and went into the family parlor and adjoining library. I pointed out the gasoliers, the painted slate mantels.

“
The walls are painted the original white. Very avant-garde for the nineteenth century. And very little had been changed in the way of paint colors or wallpaper, so the house was a restorationist’s dream come true.”

Then we moved back into the center entrance hall again with its huge front door bracketed by side lights and topped with a fan light made of etched glass in a design of grape vines.

The cameraman filmed the staircase. “The carpeting is, of course, not original,” I said. “Here on the stairs we have a dark blue runner patterned with gold and red acanthus leaves that is a reproduction of the original carpeting. The baluster is made of burled walnut. The balustrade and hand rail are mahogany. In her memoirs, Ellen Bellamy describes the original velvet stair runner as being held in place by broad silver rods.”

The cameraman preceded me up the staircase, otherwise he would have been filming my tush. I continued my narration while following him up the stairs with Cam trailing along behind me.

On the second floor, I pointed out family bedrooms and the bath. Described the sophisticated plumbing system, filling in the missing but recently discovered piece of information that it was Wilfred Hudson and his sons who had installed the ahead-of-its-time plumbing system and the gas pipes.