“Silly Neily,” I joked, keeping my voice light, “that’s what servants are for.” Though I guessed there hadn’t been any servants in the little harbor-side saltbox last night.
“Yeah, I learned that the hard way.”
Laughing, we made our way back through the gate, though I’m a bit ashamed to say I breathed a clandestine sigh of relief as we stepped onto the safety of the lawn.
“A gentleman to see you, Miss Emma,” Katie announced when she poked her head into the morning room early the next day. Her cornflower blue eyes twinkled and her freckles stood out against rosy cheeks. “A right handsome one, I daresay.”
Her cheerfulness led me instantly to know it wasn’t Neily or any other Vanderbilt calling on me, for Katie hadn’t lost her skittishness when it came to my family. Across the table from me, Nanny peeked over the latest edition of the Newport Daily News. “Who’s this, Emma?”
“Am I psychic?” I shot them both an impatient look. “Did he give a name, Katie?”
“Aye, Mr. Anderson.”
I was on my feet in an instant. “Show him into the conservatory, please.”
“Hmm, you seem awfully eager. He must be someone interesting.” Nanny rustled her newspaper. “Do I get to meet him?”
“No.” Hearing the brusqueness of my tone, I stopped halfway to the door. “Sorry, Nanny. This isn’t a social call. Mr. Anderson is helping me with Brady’s case, so whatever he’s come to tell me, I’m sure he won’t want to talk in front of others.”
“Well, whatever it is,” she said sweetly, “I’m sure you’ll be telling me before too long.”
I continued walking. “Always so sure of yourself, aren’t you, Nanny?”
“Right enough,” she murmured to my back as she noisily turned a page.
Quickly I ran up the back stairs to smooth my hair, remove the carriage jacket I’d donned in preparation of leaving the house, and replace it with an embroidered shawl. On impulse I slipped on my best diamond teardrop earrings, the same ones I’d worn to Gertrude’s coming-out ball. A quick check in the mirror brought me to a rueful halt.
“Not a social call,” I reminded myself. “So stop primping like a giddy debutant.”
Yet the earrings remained in place as I made my way back downstairs and to the conservatory. I found Derrick Anderson near the ocean-facing windows, leaning over to examine one of Aunt Sadie’s exotic statues. This one was a bronze casting of a scantily clad female, her body curvaceous, her expression stern, and her six arms snaking out from her sides. I’d always found something oddly sensual about the lines of those arms, and I found myself blushing now at how intently he was studying the piece.
“The Hindu goddess Kali,” he said, turning his head to peer at me but not quite straightening. “Gentle mother, fierce warrior.”
I shivered slightly as I watched his fingertips trace the curve of a shoulder. Foolishly I envied the statue for a moment, imagining that broad palm on my own shoulder. Then I tightened my shawl and looked past him, through the windows. “Yes, well, that describes my Aunt Sadie to a tee, I should think.”
“Aunt Sadie?”
“My great-aunt. Not a Vanderbilt,” I added for no good reason, or was it perhaps to let this man know I was of hardier stuff than even my obvious heritage suggested. Of course, the significance would be lost on him, since he never knew Aunt Sadie. “This was her house,” I explained. “Her things. Her life, actually.”
“Funny, because I’d say this house and these furnishing fit you to a tee.” He stood upright, looking almost ridiculously tall and broad in this feminine room. A certain quality, an elegance about him sometimes made me suspect a gentleman’s upbringing, yet at other times I sensed a raw and rugged energy running right beneath the surface, a vitality that left me unsettled.
My hand drifted to my throat. “And how would you know that, Mr. Anderson?”
“Too late to go back to being formal, wouldn’t you say? I wish you’d call me Derrick. I already think of you as Emma. I hope that’s all right.”
His cheekiness wasn’t lost on me. And yet. . . “After the other night . . . yes, it’s all right.” I smiled. “So what brings you here? Have you learned something?”
His hand trailed over one of the statue’s smooth arms in a parting gesture. He came toward me, and I resisted an involuntary urge to retreat a step or two. Was it because it suddenly struck me that other than Brady and my Vanderbilt relatives, Derrick was the first man I’d ever entertained in my home? I stood gawking up at him, very much feeling the breach of etiquette, hearing, in my imagination, Aunt Alice’s outrage.
He gestured to the wicker settee. “May we?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Of course. Can I get you anything? I was just having breakfast when you arrived. Nothing fancy, mind you, but Nanny’s a wonderful cook. Nanny’s my housekeeper and I’ve known her all my life. . . .” Goodness, I was rambling. I clamped my mouth shut and wondered why this man always managed to fluster me so. I sank onto the sofa and concluded with, “Coffee, perhaps?”
He sat beside me with an indulgent smile. “Nothing, thank you. I have some news about the blue house. I’ve discovered who the owner is.” He paused, perhaps for effect, and I found myself pressing forward to the very edge of the seat cushion. “A part-time Newport resident named John Benjamin Parsons.”
“Jack!”
“You know him?”
“Of course I know him. He’s a good friend of my father’s.” My mouth fell open and I clutched the edges of my shawl in tight fists.
“Emma, are you all right?”
“Jack . . . and Adelaide . . . I never would have guessed . . .”
“Well, it would appear so, unless there’s some other reason for their nighttime meetings. She’s never indicated anything to you?”
“Not a thing. And neither has Jack.” A dull pain pushed at my temple. I couldn’t make sense of this latest revelation. “Jack and Adelaide . . .”
“He’s quite a bit older than she is,” Derrick pointed out.
“Not as old as her husband and besides, Jack doesn’t look his age at all. But . . .”
Suddenly I remembered the afternoon I’d spent with Adelaide, when she first told me how Mr. Goddard had been sent to spy on Neily and Grace Wilson. That was my first inkling that Neily might have had a motive to want Alvin Goddard out of the way. Adelaide said she’d overheard Uncle Cornelius and her husband discussing the matter. But if she and Jack were using the same house to meet in as Neily and Grace, then Adelaide had known of the affair firsthand.
Good heavens, had she purposely shed guilt on Neily in order to lift it from Jack?
“Emma?” Derrick nudged my arm. “Where are you? What are you thinking? How well do you know this man?”
I snapped out of my reverie and turned to face him fully. “Not as well as I thought, apparently. Derrick, can you find out . . . things . . . about Jack Parsons? His finances, his debts if he has any. I need to know—”
“Slow down.” He pressed a palm to my forearm, the gesture sending tingling heat up to my shoulder and beyond. “Does this man figure into your brother’s case?”
I forced myself to focus. “Brady sneaked into Uncle Cornelius’s room that night to replace a set of plans he’d pilfered, plans outlining a secret buyout of a New England railroad line. Jack Parsons is a member of the board of directors of the line, so he stands to lose a good bit of money. You see, the line has been losing money and the stocks are down, so the company will sell at a sharp loss instead of a profit. Not only that, but Uncle Cornelius was predicting corruption on the part of the board is going to come to light. According to Brady, the line has lost money more due to skimming off the top than to flagging business.”
Derrick looked skeptical. “And you believe that’s a motive for Parsons to have murdered Alvin Goddard? Why not Cornelius himself—”
“No one in their right mind would do away with Uncle Cornelius. That would bring the highest authorities here to investigate. Bu
t killing Mr. Goddard would halt the plans at least temporarily and give Jack time to cover his tracks.”
“Hmm. Possibly.” I could see by his frown that Derrick’s doubts persisted, so I told him about the pocket watch with its etched P and about Reggie’s fixed yacht tournament. Halfway through, his expression eased and he began nodding. “But we don’t know for certain yet that Jack Parsons is in financial straits. Where is he staying?”
“A house on Lakeview Avenue, just off Bellevue.”
“Big house? Servants?”
“Not quite a mansion, not by The Breakers’ standards, but big enough. He’s got a butler and a cook, a maid as well, I would think.”
“So how would he be affording all that if he’s got money troubles?”
I eyed him askance. “Credit, of course. He wouldn’t be the first to pretend his pockets are deeper than they are.”
His hand, still resting on my arm, slid lower until his fingers curled around mine and sent my thoughts for a whirl. He, however, seemed as sharp as ever. “Before we get ahead of ourselves, let me see what I can find out about Mr. John Benjamin Parsons, or Jack as you call him.”
He was still holding my hand, his thumb absently tracing circles around my first knuckle . . . and tying my insides in not altogether unpleasant knots. I tried to focus, but it wasn’t easy. “What if you can’t find the information? It can’t be easy to snoop into a man’s finances.”
“I’m a reporter, aren’t I?” He grinned.
“Seems a tall order for even the most seasoned investigative reporter.” A sense I’d had before about this man returned to nudge my curiosity. “My guess is you have a source somewhere within the Four Hundred.”
“I might.” He regarded me a long moment, his gaze heating my skin, bringing a burn to my cheeks. “But a good reporter never reveals his sources.”
He released my hand and slapped his knees in preparation of rising, but hesitated. “Will you do something for me in exchange?”
“That is our bargain,” I reminded him.
“I’d like you to visit with Adelaide Halstock and try to get her to confide in you about this affair she might or might not be having. Don’t be obvious, just be a good listener. And maybe bring up this Jack Parsons, since you know him, too, and see how she reacts. . . .”
I cleared my throat. “Perhaps you don’t know this, but I’m something of a reporter myself, for the Newport Observer. I think I know how to coax information out of people.”
“I don’t doubt that you do, Emma Cross.”
“Emma, what an absolutely lovely surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I stood in the entry hall of Redwing Cottage, gazing up at Adelaide where she stopped on the staircase’s half landing. Framed by the stained-glass window behind her, she looked like an angel with streams of colored sunlight filtering all around her.
After Derrick left me earlier, I changed into my prettiest summer carriage dress, one that hadn’t belonged to Aunt Sadie but that I’d splurged on in a moment of weakness the year before. The light jacket and matching flowing skirt were of a soft green moiré dotted with bright yellow and purple flowers, and made me feel young and vibrant and . . . well . . . part of the happy, carefree summer Newport society.
I’d had many moments of remorse after purchasing that carriage ensemble, but today I knew it suited my purposes perfectly. I’d paired it with a smart little chapeau adorned with silken violets, and if I’d had any doubts about my appearance, Adelaide’s obvious delight smoothed them away.
She came rushing down the stairs to wrap her arms around me, then pulled back and held my hands. “And how ravishing you look, my dear. I can’t remember ever seeing you look prettier.”
“Thank you, Adelaide. I came by to see if you’d like to spend the afternoon shopping and driving around town. Just the two of us. Can you get away?”
Her eyes darted about the hall as if she were checking for eavesdroppers. Leaning closer, she smiled and whispered, “I believe I can. Just give me a few minutes, yes?”
“Take all the time you need,” I said, but hoped she wouldn’t.
“Make yourself comfortable, do.” She practically skipped back up the stairs, reappearing quicker than I would have given her credit for. I might have known her own carriage outfit would outshine my own, being of the very latest Parisian fashion, but that wasn’t what mattered. What did matter was that I’d have Adelaide’s full attention for the better part of the day.
“We’ll take my carriage and have Henderson drive us,” she said decisively, nearly causing me to trip over my own feet. The last thing I needed was someone listening in on our conversations.
I recovered quickly. “No, Adelaide, driving is half the fun. We’ll be so much more independent that way. We’ll go in my carriage.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way. I do believe you’re right. Oh, how exciting.” She wrapped a white-gloved hand around my wrist. “Thank you, Emma. Thank you so very much.”
Her earnestness squeezed a pang of guilt around my heart. “For what?”
“For being my friend.” Her eyes darted away and then back. “I don’t have very many nowadays.”
My throat tightened and I almost dropped my plan then and there. But I rallied my determination for Brady’s sake and smiled back at her. “Let’s be off.”
Her spirits remained high as we drove along the ocean and into town. We talked of fashions and upcoming parties, and the newest mansion going in along Bellevue Avenue. She told me about her Fifth Avenue mansion, thus providing me with my first opportunity to begin subtly questioning her.
“Did your things arrive there safely?”
“Things?” She looked at me blankly.
“You know, the items you moved out of Redwing Cottage. Remember, the Manuel brothers were loading their freight wagon that first day I came to visit.”
“Oh . . . those things. Uh . . . yes, I suppose they’ve all been moved into the New York house by now.”
“Why the spinet, though?” I pressed, even as my conscience nudged. “I couldn’t help noticing you don’t have another instrument at Redwing Cottage. And your husband seemed so attached to it.”
She studied her clasped hands, and I felt like a scoundrel because I knew very well the spinet hadn’t been moved to her New York home. “That spinet holds particular memories for Rupert. It belonged to his first wife, you see, and I thought perhaps by moving it . . .”
Obviously Adelaide was sticking to her original story and wasn’t going to confess to any financial difficulties, at least not now. I held both reins in my right hand and with my left I patted her forearm. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to pry. Forgive me.”
She cheered up after that and we returned to lighter matters. Until, that is, Adelaide noticed me urging Barney through town and toward the Point.
“Where on earth are we going?”
I put on a carefree grin. “I thought it might be fun if you and I visited the old neighborhood.”
“Oh.” Her nose crinkled. “Must we?”
“Surely the place where we were children together holds some good memories for you, Adelaide.”
“I suppose . . . Though I’ll confess the times you invited me to play with your cousins up at The Breakers are happier memories. Oh, such fun that was.”
“And look at you now.” I passed an admiring gaze over her. “Now you’re living in your own mansion—or mansions, I should say.”
“Yes, I am, aren’t I?” she agreed with no particular enthusiasm.
As we turned onto Third Street she stiffened beside me. I brought Barney to a slow walk and began pointing out where neighboring families had lived, and mentioning which were still there and which had moved away. We approached the blue saltbox.
“That’s a lovely house,” I mused aloud. “I always did like it. Didn’t Kenneth and Emily Daniels live there?”
“The twins?” Adelaide asked absently.
“Yes, I’d forgotten they were twins.
They really didn’t look much alike, did they? Was that where they lived?”
“I think it was,” she replied after a hesitation.
“It was always a little rundown in the old days, but it certainly looks well taken care of now. I wonder who owns it. . . .”
Adelaide shrugged.
“Does Mr. Halstock own any of these houses?” I asked, and watched her flinch.
“Why do you ask that?”
“Oh, I believe quite a few were bought up as investments, so I just wondered. Anyway, here’s Walnut Street coming up.”
Adelaide’s enthusiasm continued to wane as we paused in front of our former homes. I could barely coax a word out of her, so I concluded our tour quickly and headed back into town. We parked the carriage along Spring Street and proceeded on foot. Or rather, I followed Adelaide about as shop windows beckoned to her. I didn’t comment on the fact that, despite her oohs and aahs, she never strayed inside to make any purchases. I knew the reason.
And then I saw my intended destination: Lily’s Tea Emporium—the very same tea shop where Grace Wilson and I had had our intimate chat. I hadn’t brought Adelaide to the Point expecting the sight of the blue saltbox to prompt a confession about her affair with Jack. I’d brought her there to evoke a mood, to plunge her into a melancholy state of mind where later, amid the comfortable surroundings of floral chintzes, sweet, steamy teas, and warm, luscious pastries, she might feel inclined to confide.
In me, apparently her only friend.
Guilt clutched at my heart with full-out spiky claws, but I’d promised Derrick I’d try, and I owed it to him—
No. What was I thinking? I owed it to Brady, my brother sitting at that very moment in a jail cell for a crime he didn’t commit. And if Derrick would help Brady in exchange for information about Adelaide, then yes, I’d shove my conscience aside.
A few of the tables were occupied; women looked up as we entered the shop, eyed us up and down as they undoubtedly assessed our attire, and returned to their quiet conversations. The hostess brought us to a corner table, flanked on one side by a shelf holding porcelain figurines and on the other by a painted Oriental screen that concealed the doorway into the kitchen. Away from the front windows, the table sat swathed in comfortable shadows that danced subtly in the glow of the single candle at the center of the table. The location afforded us exactly the privacy I’d hoped for.
Murder at the Breakers Page 20