Jesse was in that room. Jesse, whom I had known for as long as I could remember. His thirty-odd years put him rather squarely between my parents’ age and my own. He had first been my father’s friend, coming to sit with him in our rear garden in the evenings to trade news and stories of the day. During most of those years I had been little Emmaline, Arthur and Beatrice Cross’s precocious daughter. But gradually that had changed. First my parents had emigrated to Paris along with others of their artistic circle, leaving me to the guidance of Nanny and my aunt Sadie until I entered adulthood. Then circumstances began to throw Jesse and me together in ways that made it necessary for each of us to depend on the other.
I’m not certain when Jesse began to see me differently. I only know that one day I was no longer a little girl in his eyes, or in his heart. At first, the sentiments I’d glimpsed in him made me look away, for I despaired of ever returning his regard, not in the way he wished. That, too, gradually changed. I began to see him not as a family friend or kindly neighbor, but as a man in his own right. That didn’t necessarily make anything easier or clarify my choices for me. Even now, pacing up and down the waiting area, I could not say with any authority what my future or my heart held. I only knew I wanted Jesse whole and alive and with a long future ahead of him.
Hannah’s blue dress and white pinafore apron came into view. She hurried to me. The strain of events showed in her face, yet the calm façade of a professional nurse remained firmly in place. “They’re both very lucky, Emma. Dale took the worst of it, since he touched his hand directly onto the arm of the throne. What was Mrs. Goelet thinking, using gilded metal with all that electricity?”
I shuddered at the memory of Dale’s blackened fingers, while at the same time basking in the relief that neither man would die. “Will he lose any part of his hand?”
“We don’t yet know.” Her composure slipping a fraction, she made a fist and gripped it with the other hand. “He’ll certainly have nerve damage that could be permanent. Oh, Emma, if he loses some or all of his fingers, or his dexterity, he’ll also lose his means of earning his livelihood.”
At a loss for comforting words, I embraced her, whereupon she visibly collected herself. “I’m so sorry. You want to know about Jesse, too.”
I very much did, but I said, truthfully, “I’m concerned about both of them.”
“Of course. Thank you. Jesse isn’t in any danger of losing fingers, or even of permanent nerve damage, we don’t believe. There is pain in both arms and he can’t hold them steady, but that should pass in time.” She paused, and again relief for Jesse welled inside me, nearly making me giddy. “Dale knows better than to touch an object connected to a live cable. This shows how completely anguished he became at Miss Cooper-Smith’s death. He blames himself.”
Before I could reply, the street door opened. A gust of warm wind swirled about our ankles, followed by Silas Griggson as he stepped in from outside. He wasn’t alone. Behind him came two police officers. Scotty Binsford, who’d grown up on the Point along with Hannah and me, cast me sheepish look from beneath a lock of tousled brown hair that had escaped his police helmet.
Silas Griggson spoke first. “I want that man, that electrician, taken to the jail as soon as he is physically able to be moved.”
Hannah, obviously caught off guard, made a sound of distress.
Griggson’s right eyebrow arced into a sharp peak. “Is that a problem, Nurse?”
“Where and when Dale Hanson is moved is entirely up to his doctor,” I said while Hannah gaped at him. I couldn’t blame her.
“And to the police,” Griggson corrected me. “Whom I have brought with me to make certain the man doesn’t attempt to escape. He is directly responsible for my fiancée’s death, and he will pay for it.”
At a tearful gasp from Hannah, I slipped my hand into hers. “You are making two highly questionable claims, Mr. Griggson. While I am terribly sorry about Miss Cooper-Smith, fault, if there was any, is yet to be determined. And forgive me if I missed a development, but at no time did that poor young lady, or anyone else, indicate an engagement between the two of you.”
“We would have been engaged by the end of the evening.” Both his voice and his glare challenged me to contradict him. I didn’t. I merely stared back in my own attempt to convey the message that I didn’t fear him, though perhaps I did, a bit. He was first to tear his gaze away, swinging about to address the officers. “Well? Don’t you have work to do?”
They looked uncertain and silently appealed to me. I said, “Why don’t you go and talk with Jesse? Hannah, would that be all right now?”
She nodded and found her voice. “He’s still in the examination room. You know the way.”
They moved to go, but Silas stopped them with the flat of his palm. “You are not here to talk. Hanson may not have meant to kill Miss Cooper-Smith but he is responsible just the same. There was a half-empty bottle of rum found hidden among his tools. He’s guilty of gross negligence.”
Hannah gasped, but Scotty said evenly, “We’re here, sir, to make sure you don’t disrupt the hospital with your demands.”
“How dare you.”
“Chief Rogers made that clear to us before we left the station with you. You’re welcome to take it up with him.” Scotty issued a grim little smirk at me, and led his partner to the rear of the building.
“We’ll see about this.” Mr. Griggson’s face contorted. Without another word he exited the building.
Hannah let go a breath. “I fear that man won’t rest until he sees my brother in jail. I don’t understand how a bottle of rum could have been found with his tools. Dale doesn’t drink, not like that, and certainly never while he’s working.”
“I don’t believe Dale had anything to do with what happened to Miss Cooper-Smith, but I very much believe someone is determined for him to take the blame.”
“Yes, that awful man who was just here. But what are we to do?” Even as she spoke, the answer to her own question dawned in her expression. Her eyes filled with hope. “Emma, would you . . . ? For Dale’s sake?”
I understood her query. This would not be the first time I had snatched the reins of an investigation. There were times when forces in Newport stood in the way of the police doing their job as one might wish. They were not at fault. With a word and a pile of bills placed in the right palm—often a palm far removed from Newport—powerful men could silence inquiries and force a convenient judgment. It had almost happened to my brother, Brady, three years ago, except that I had refused to sit idly by in my parlor while circumstantial evidence sent him to the gallows.
Silas Griggson was just such a powerful man. . . .
“Of course I will,” I said resolutely to Hannah, and to myself. “For you and Dale both. And for Jesse. I’ll find out how and why Miss Cooper-Smith died tonight.”
“Follow that man. I’ve no doubt he’ll lead you to the answers.”
“Perhaps.” It would have been all too easy to focus solely on Silas Griggson, an individual with little or no conscience, who seemed more than willing to sacrifice others for profit. I stared into the blackness outside the nearest window. My teeth clenched so tightly my temples began to ache. I forcibly relaxed my jaws. “I won’t rest until I’m certain of what happened.”
* * *
After Scotty and his fellow officer left the hospital, I took their place at Jesse’s bedside. He had been moved to the ward upstairs, rather against his will, but his doctor wished to observe him for the night at least. Dale occupied a bed at the other end of the ward, while the beds between them lay empty. He had been given a dose of morphia to ease the pain. He lay on his back, snoring lightly, his bandaged hands and forearms resting on top of the blanket.
Hannah brought me a stool, and I sat holding Jesse’s hand, carefully, mindful of his injuries. Unlike Dale, no scorch marks marred his skin, but I felt the weakness in his fingers and the tremor of his palm against mine. This worried me, but I didn’t let him see it.
His answer was blunt. “Yes. But that won’t stop us, Emma.”
“Us?” I smiled down at our clasped hands. “You would never have said that three years ago.”
“Three years ago I would have told you to stay out of it, that poking your nose where it doesn’t belong is dangerous.”
“But you’ve learned I can take care of myself, haven’t you?”
“I’ve learned there is no arguing with you. You’re far too stubborn.” He didn’t mean it; the fondness in his expression assured me he didn’t.
“It’s fairly certain this was no accident tonight. Someone murdered Cleo Cooper-Smith.”
“Yes, but why? She was how old? Nineteen?” When I nodded, he sighed and shook his head. “What can one so young possibly have done to warrant cutting her life short?”
“Perhaps the question is what did she know that necessitated her silence, and who would stand to gain from her death.”
He studied me, his gaze gently caressing my features. “You have some ideas about that, don’t you?”
“I didn’t come all the way to Newport just to cover this coming-out ball. True, that’s why the Herald sent me, but I came with another purpose in mind. Jesse, several weeks ago, a tenement on the Lower East Side collapsed. Several people died, and dozens more were injured.”
“My God, how awful.”
“The project foreman took the blame, but before his case went to court, someone bailed him out of jail . . .” I paused to gather a breath, and yes, perhaps for dramatic effect as well. “And the next day, his body was found floating in the East River.”
“Sounds like the work of one of those cutthroat gangs New York is famous for.”
“I don’t know about that. But I do know whose company built that building and employed that foreman. Silas Griggson’s.”
His gaze locked with mine. “And the connection to Miss Cooper-Smith?”
“Her father is an architect who often works with Mr. Griggson.”
He looked down at our joined hands and swore. “So this Griggson tops the list.”
“For now,” I said. “What bothers me is that it seems too easy.”
“But it’s a start.” He glanced up sharply. “A building contractor nowadays would probably have at least a rudimentary understanding of electricity. Voltage, current, circuits. Someone had to have known what they were doing. So . . . you followed Griggson to Newport. Why? Why not simply wait until he returned to New York to investigate his activities?”
“Because I’m afraid he might have taken it into his head to buy property here in Newport, with the intention to build. Whether or not he had anything to do with Cleo Cooper-Smith’s death, I don’t want that man here. I certainly don’t want anyone else to suffer for his shady dealings.”
“I don’t want you suffering for his shady dealings either.” His fingers trembled as he tightened them around mine. He tried to hide his grimace of pain. I pretended not to notice, yet neither of us was fooling anyone. He laughed softly. “Whatever brought you home, Emma, I’m glad. I’ve missed you.” Then, perhaps deciding he’d admitted too much after what had basically been a yearlong separation, he added, “Newport has missed you.”
“And I’ve missed Newport. Silas Griggson and Miss Cooper-Smith’s coming-out ball weren’t the only matters that brought me home.” I steeled myself to reveal my recent decision, which became more of a reality each time I voiced it. “The Herald doesn’t yet know it, but I’m staying, Jesse. I’m not going back to New York.”
He beamed at me with an emotion that pinched my throat and stung my eyes. Hannah shooed me away soon after with strict orders that Jesse get some sleep. His deep-throated “Good night, Emma” echoed inside me all the way down the stairs and into the lobby, whereupon I walked half-blindly into the arms of Derrick Andrews.
Chapter 5
“What are you doing here?” I asked after Derrick steadied me and his hands came away from my shoulders, leaving traces of warmth where they had rested.
“I came to see how Jesse’s doing.” He bent his head to me, his dark hair and eyes seeming to fill my vision. “And to see you.”
“How did you know . . . ?” I hadn’t given him notice of my returning to Newport, and he hadn’t been at Ochre Court earlier. Movement behind Derrick caught my eye. “Brady.”
“Hello, Em.” His hat in his hands, Brady leaned around Derrick’s shoulder and grinned.
Derrick smiled. “When were you going to let me know you were home?”
“All in good time,” I said, with a prick at my conscience. “There was no rush, you see. I’m planning to stay.”
“Permanently?” The eagerness in both his voice and his expression prevented me from trusting my voice in that moment. I nodded.
Any reason for reticence about my decision had passed. If Brady, Hannah, Nanny, and Grace all knew I’d decided to move back to Newport, then all of Newport probably knew by now as well. A disconcerting notion struck me. James Bennett, owner of the Herald and the man who directly hired me on, was also currently in Newport. He hadn’t attended Mrs. Goelet’s ball either, but how soon before my decision reached his ears? I preferred to tell him of my plans myself and resolved to call at his summer cottage, Stone Villa, tomorrow. “It was good of you to come to check on Jesse.”
“Yes, well, he and I have settled some of our differences in the past year.”
“Only some?”
“I’m afraid there are some matters on which we’ll never see eye to eye.” A lift of his eyebrows indicated that one of those matters stood before him now.
I silently thanked Brady when he changed the subject. “How are Dale and Jesse doing?”
“Hannah says the doctor thinks Jesse will be all right in time. Dale’s fate isn’t clear. His life isn’t in danger,” I hastened to add, “but only time will tell how much damage was done to his hands.”
“Can we see them?” Brady asked.
“Dale was sleeping when I left, and I’m not sure if Hannah will allow Jesse any more visitors tonight. Brady, go up and talk to her. She’s putting up a good front, but she’s terribly upset about what happened.” I lowered my voice. “Dale is being blamed. Even framed, I fear.”
“Then what happened wasn’t an accident,” Derrick said rather than asked.
I regarded him. “Are you asking as a newspaperman, or as a friend?”
Another waggle of those dark eyebrows. “Both.”
Before I could respond, Brady spoke. “I’ve been called back to New York, Em. I’ve got to head back in the morning.”
“Oh, Brady. I’ve only just got home.”
“I know. But you know how things are with the old man being ill.”
He referred to my uncle, Cornelius Vanderbilt II, who had suffered a stroke two years ago and showed few signs of recovering. As head of the Vanderbilt family and the New York Central Railroad, his incapacity created a large, exceedingly hard-to-fill gap in the daily running of the family’s affairs.
“Then you had better go up and see Hannah.” I gave him a little nudge, and he headed for the stairs.
Derrick offered his arm to me. “Can I drive you home? You can tell me what happened on the way.”
“I have my carriage here.”
“You’re going to make poor Barney walk all the way back to Gull Manor at this late hour? Leave him. I’ll bring you home, and meanwhile have my valet collect your gig and bring it over to my house.”
“You mean my house,” I murmured. I still hadn’t quite forgiven him for purchasing my childhood home on the Point when my parents quietly put it up for sale three years ago. Had I known, I would have bought the property myself. Somehow. Although with what funds, I had never precisely determined. And I suppose my parents had realized th
at. My father, an artist, came into money sporadically, and that summer they’d fallen short. They hadn’t had the time to wait for me to devise a plan; besides, I already owned Gull Manor. I understood their decision, yet my heart still ached when I thought about it.
Derrick replied with a lopsided grin. I sighed and decided my roan hack, Barney, deserved a good night’s sleep. I would also reach home eons sooner than if Barney, who knew only one slow speed, brought me. “Thank you.”
“We’ll bring your horse and carriage home in the morning. Come.”
Though it was well after midnight, Newport’s streets were alive with summer residents coming and going from parties and events. Carriages lined Bellevue Avenue outside the Casino and choked driveways inside the gates of the grand cottages farther along. I was thankful not to have to pass by Ochre Court, which sat on Ochre Point Avenue to the east of Bellevue. Along the way I explained to Derrick what happened. He listened with very little comment, his profile tense in the moonlight.
At the wide turn where Coggeshall Avenue joined Ocean Avenue, the horse seemed to know where to go without Derrick prompting him. That made me curious. “Do you come out here often?”
“A bit.” Did I detect a note of evasiveness?
“To swim?” I gestured toward the dark outlines of the pavilion and cabanas of Bailey’s Beach, hunched against the ocean.
“Actually,” he said, “Nanny sometimes invites me to dinner.”
“She does? She never told me that.” I didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed. Clearly, Nanny had wished to keep Derrick firmly entrenched in her—and by association, my—life, while I was away. “She knew I’d be coming back, didn’t she?”
“Either that or she hoped I’d follow you to New York.” He paused to adjust the reins. “Or one of us would. I hear tell she invites Jesse to dinner, too. Just not on the nights she invites me.”
But for a single lantern in the parlor window, the house was dark when we arrived. Dear Nanny always provided a light to guide me inside. Derrick stopped the carriage close to the front door. An awkwardness suddenly came over me as I prepared to leave him.
Murder at Ochre Court Page 6