Murder at Ochre Court

by Alyssa Maxwell

  “I knew what Grace was up to but I went along with it,” he said. “I wanted to talk with you, and heaven knows when else I’d have a chance.” He said this with noticeable wryness, prompting me to take the defensive.

  “If you wished to speak, you might have telephoned. I’m not so completely preoccupied that I won’t take a few moments for a friend.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” His eyes gleamed with amusement. “Or not quite,” he admitted. Then his humor faded. “I’ve heard from my father. He wishes to see me.”

  “Derrick, that’s wonderful. I knew he’d relent eventually.”

  “It’s been an entire year.”

  “Does it matter? He’s ready to reconcile.”

  He went to the railing. I noticed Neily glancing over at us, and then Grace tapping his shoulder and recapturing his attention, in essence giving Derrick and me our moment alone. “I’m not sure I want to reconcile.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course you do.” I searched his features, smoothed and gilded by the lanterns. “This past year hasn’t been easy for you. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

  “Of course it hasn’t been easy. But it’s also been . . . exhilarating. I’m not ready to give up what I’ve accomplished.”

  At those words, a thrill of comprehension filled me, an elation on his behalf. “I understand.” Of course I did. Isn’t that kind of independence, even with its associated risk, exactly what I strived for every day of my life? “Why would you have to give up your accomplishments? You’re growing the Messenger into a thriving, vital newspaper. Why can’t it be part of your family’s empire?”

  “I don’t know that I want it to be.”

  I watched his profile as he stared out into the night. “I understand that, too. But you can’t turn your back on your family, your father.”

  “He turned his back on me.” He didn’t say this resentfully, merely stated it as a fact.

  “Temporarily,” I reminded him.

  He nodded and sighed. “Yes, you’re right. You always are.” His humor returned. “That’s why I wished to speak with you. I knew you’d help me see things as they are, without the veil of my anger.”

  “So what will you do?” A knot formed in my stomach. Reuniting with his father, returning to his rightful place as heir to the family newspaper business, would also take Derrick away from Newport. At the completion of that thought the knot hardened into a churning ball of panic. I didn’t want him to go. Good heavens, I didn’t.

  “I’ll be heading up to Providence. Soon.”

  The veranda seemed to tip beneath my feet. I wanted to cry out that he mustn’t leave.

  And yet, I had left. I had gone to New York to pursue my dream of being a reporter—a real one. I returned to Newport because that dream hadn’t materialized as I wished it to, and because I’d missed my home terribly much.

  Had that been all? Had nothing else compelled my return to my island home? Or had I been tugged back by feelings I hadn’t known existed—or hadn’t wished to admit to?

  “There is something I wish to ask of you,” he said.

  I blinked and tried to appear natural, as if my world wasn’t violently shaking beneath my feet. “Of course. Anything.”

  “Not so fast,” he cautioned good-naturedly, obviously unaware of my turmoil. Good, I thought. “We’ve discussed this before, and at the time, you weren’t particularly keen on the idea.” He turned, taking my hand. “I want you to take over the Messenger. Now please, before you refuse, think about it. I’ll grant you complete autonomy in the day-to-day running of the place. I mean it. I won’t interfere.”

  “Derrick . . .”

  His free hand went up to stop me; his other hand tightened around mine as if I’d slip away. “Don’t give me an answer now. I understand you aren’t ready for any kind of personal commitments. That isn’t what this is about, I swear it. But I need someone I can trust to keep the Messenger going while I’m away.”

  I took a moment to compose myself, so that I’d be able to give him a reasonable reply. Meanwhile both my mind and my heart raced, not so much because of what he asked of me, but because of this unexpected revelation that I cared so much more than I’d believed, so much more than I wished to. I’d been lying to myself, and to Derrick and to Jesse, these past several years. Yes, I could run Derrick’s Messenger for him, I could even believe that he had no ulterior motive than that he trusted in my abilities.

  What I didn’t trust, was that I wouldn’t agree to the arrangement simply because I knew it would connect us permanently. I needed time to come to terms with that, and with this part of myself I’d denied for so long, and made excuses for, and barely knew at all.

  “Yes, please give me a day or so to think about it,” I said more calmly than I would have believed possible. At that moment, I heard a small commotion from Neily and Grace.

  “Did she just say yes?” Grace whispered.

  Neily shushed her. “It’s none of our business.”

  “It most certainly is,” Grace shot back. She silently clapped her hands. “Oh, I knew it was only a matter of time.”

  Oh, dear. It seemed she had the entirely wrong idea.

  Chapter 15

  No matter how hard I tried, I could not dissuade Grace of the notion that Derrick had proposed to me. I told her quite plainly that he had only requested that I take over for him at the Messenger, and she had nodded with an expression of joy.

  “Don’t take too long with your answer,” she counseled me. “Only enough time to make him understand that you are not desperate. But men don’t like to be kept hanging. You don’t want him to become discouraged and run off.”

  “Grace, for the fourth time, it wasn’t a proposal. He has to return to Providence. His father is ready to make amends.”

  “Which is wonderful. A wedding should be a family affair. Ill feelings should be set aside.”

  I sighed and gave up. We had dinner, several courses fit for a celebration, which was exactly what Grace considered this. When she and I left the men to their smoking and brandy and entered the drawing room arm in arm, I made a request I knew she couldn’t refuse.

  “You mustn’t go making any announcements, Grace. Think of how my relatives would react, to hear rumors about me from outside sources, especially if they aren’t true.”

  “Darling, I promise my lips are sealed. But as soon as you give Derrick your answer, you must inform Alice and Cornelius of this lovely development. And then we’ll begin planning.”

  We sat together, our hands clasped. “I do wish you’d believe me. Derrick did not propose tonight. At least, not in the way you hope. It was strictly business, that is all.”

  She nodded, grinning, her eyes sparkling. “If you insist.” And later, when it came time to leave, she wrapped her scheming little clutches around Derrick’s arm and with perfect innocence asked him, “Would you be a dear and drive Emma home?”

  He readily agreed, and soon the two of us were proceeding down Bellevue Avenue in his cabriolet. “I’m sorry about Grace,” I said. “Once she’s taken hold of an idea, there’s no prying it loose.”

  “Neily took a rather more pragmatic approach. He said it would be a splendid idea, whenever you and I are ready.”

  I smiled. “That sounds like Neily. He seemed happy tonight. Leastwise, happier than I’ve seen in since . . .” I trailed off, not liking to voice my reservations about his and Grace’s marriage.

  I didn’t have to. Derrick nodded. “They’re very different, he and Grace. I think he’s sometimes a little overwhelmed by her.” When I didn’t comment, he said, “It’s interesting how a similar upbringing, fortune, and connections are no assurance that two people will be suited to each other.”

  I heard the implication in his words, that two people can hail from completely different circumstances and still suit perfectly. His and my very dissimilar backgrounds had always given me pause. How would I ever fit in with people of Derrick’s ilk, with his family? Never mind that his
mother abhorred me; Derrick’s peers would always see me as an outsider and an upstart. Oh, I could make my way through a ballroom well enough, or join a dinner party at the home of my relatives without blundering horribly. I knew the correct words, the manners, the protocol. But knowing and being willing to live it, every day for the rest of my life, were two different matters.

  The horse’s steady gait had helped settle my nerves, my emotions. When Derrick had spoken of leaving Newport, I had panicked as surely as if I’d stood upon the deck of a quickly sinking ship. In that moment I had known what I wanted with a clarity I’d never experienced before. But now, with the stars slowly passing above our heads and the night noises softly blending with the distant waves—and yes, with the gentle nudging of his serge-clad shoulder against mine—the urgency receded. I breathed in salt-tinged air, sweetened by the blossoms of Bellevue Avenue’s many gardens, and believed that somehow I would find my way. If Derrick and I were meant to be together, we would be, his family and social conventions notwithstanding.

  “I think they’ll be all right,” I said after Derrick turned the carriage onto Ocean Avenue. “The birth of Corneil has surely brought them closer, and Neily has his studies and his work to keep him occupied while Grace seeks out her social amusements. I know of successful marriages with shakier beginnings than theirs.”

  “Mmm” was all he said. He had fallen quiet. Was he contemplating our own circumstances? Thinking about his request to me, or perhaps wishing to take it further, to bring truth to Grace’s suspicions? The notion gave me a tiny thrill, but then I noticed Derrick wasn’t preoccupied at all. With a furrowed brow he peered into the darkness beyond the carriage lanterns, his face slightly raised.

  Just as I was about to inquire what had so caught his attention, my nose itched and a sense of alarm went through me. “Fire.”

  He nodded, straining to see into the distance. Suddenly, his hand went up, his finger pointing. “Is that smoke in the distance? Just there.”

  It was. The coastline along Ocean Avenue twisted and turned. One moment we could see a thin, swirling grayness against the sky, and the next it vanished around trees and hills and rocky peninsulas. “Derrick, hurry.”

  I hadn’t needed to tell him; even as I spoke, he made an urgent clucking sound that sped his horse’s steps. With each bend we rounded, my fears grew. I knew every turn and bump in this roadway. Every property. Every house. The farther we went, the more certain I became.

  “Gull Manor.” Dread nearly choked me. “Nanny. Katie. Oh, Derrick . . .”

  He prompted his horse to a near gallop, jarring and jostling us every step of the way. I didn’t care. I practically stood up on the footboard in my effort to see up ahead. Smoke continued to curl against the sky. Not a great deal, but enough to firmly lodge my heart in my throat.

  Finally, the carriage tilted sharply around the last bend and onto the front drive. My greatest fears were realized. Flames danced behind the window of my little-used dining room, devouring the curtains. Beyond that, I couldn’t see, didn’t know how much of my house might be burning. Outside, Nanny, in a housecoat and her hair in rags, stooped with her hand around Patch’s collar. He yelped and barked and strained to bolt free. Her arm quivered from the pull of his weight but she held on fast. They both seemed unharmed, but where was Katie?

  I cried out for Derrick to stop the carriage. The vehicle was still rolling when I leaped down off the seat and, skidding, ran the remainder of the way. Nanny turned, saw me, and called out my name. At my approach, Patch managed to tug loose from her fist and bounded to me. Nanny followed with a vigor I’d not seen in her in years.

  Our arms were around each other in an instant. “I’m sorry, Emma, so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I don’t . . .”

  “Where is Katie?” I yelled. From the corner of my vision I saw Derrick running toward the house. “Is Katie inside?”

  Nanny was shaking her head. “We all got out. Katie ran to the Edwards’s place to use their telephone. She’s calling the fire department.”

  “Were any of you hurt?”

  “No, we’re all right.”

  My knees went weak with relief, but only momentarily. Derrick had disappeared inside the house, and through the window I could see the flapping shadow of his coat as he beat at the flames. I dared not wait for the steam engine to come all the way from Wellington and Lower Thames. “Stay here,” I commanded Nanny. “And hold on to Patch.”

  “Emma, don’t,” she shouted, but I was already to the front door and ducking inside. Wearing no carriage jacket and my wrap being too light to battle a fire, I detoured into the parlor and grabbed up the lap rug I always kept on hand for chilly days. I barely registered my immense relief that the fire didn’t seem to have spread to any other part of the house.

  Yet.

  In the dining room, Derrick beat at the cushion of the chair at the head of the table, nearest the window. The curtains smoldered, but the dancing flames had been subdued. In a corner of my mind I noted that most of the fire was already out. It could not have been burning long before Derrick and I arrived home. Still, I thumped the lap rug against glowing spots on the curtains and the area rug, lest the flames leap back to life. In the past I had seen how fast fires could spread and how quickly they became uncontrollable. Derrick came up behind me, nudging me out of the way.

  “Go. I’ll finish here.”

  My breath heaving, I shook my head. “It’s my house, if anyone should risk their life, it’s me.”

  He swore and touched his fingertips to the window frame, quickly, then again, testing, I realized, for heat. Assured he would not be singed, he shut the window.

  “To stop the breeze from fanning the flames,” he said unnecessarily. I nodded and hurried around the table to close the side windows as well.

  At a run I left the room, heading to the kitchen. Grabbing a bucket from the pantry, I filled it at the sink and ran back along the hall to the front of the house. I doused every smoking surface. Suddenly Derrick was before me, wrenching the bucket out of my hands. He tipped it toward me and water sloshed onto me, soaking the front of my skirts.

  Steam rose from the sodden fabric. My fear spiked in retrospect as the singed edge of my petticoat peeked out from my hem. I hadn’t realized . . . I might have burned to death. Derrick’s arms went around me. He pulled me tight against him and swore again. His ragged breathing buffeted me for several seconds and rendered me breathless as well. Then he released me.

  From the road came the clanking of the fire wagon. Derrick seized my hand and we hurried back outside. I shivered as cool ocean air hit my wet skirts. Pulled by four horses, the steam and hose wagon clattered up the drive and stopped close to the house. Several firemen hopped down and began unwinding the hose. The steam engine hissed, its pistons turning and pumping, ready to send the water coursing in a forceful spray.

  “I think we’ve got it out,” Derrick said to the firemen, “but please make sure.”

  Katie had returned by then, and I joined her and Nanny in a tangled hug, with Patch pressing his warm, trembling body against my legs. Derrick spoke to a fireman while the rest of the men scrambled into the house. I heard the tramp of feet on the stairs. The fire had been confined to the dining room, but I didn’t mind their caution. We waited out on the drive until they declared the house safe. Then they left my property with a promise to return with the fire marshal in the morning.

  * * *

  After securing the windows at the front of the house, Nanny, Katie, Derrick, and I sat around the kitchen table, each of us cradling a cup of hot tea between our hands. I had changed my damp evening gown for a sturdy flannel nightgown and robe, which I secured tightly around me. None of us could think of sleeping, not just yet. There were too many unanswered questions about how the fire had started.

  “It seems highly coincidental for this to happen on a night I’m away from home,” I said. I stared into the steam rising from my cup and once again said a quick prayer of thanks t
he fire hadn’t been worse, that no one I cared about had been injured.

  Derrick studied me before replying. “As if to suggest that, while you were away, Katie and Mrs. O’Neal became careless.”

  I nodded, but Nanny bristled. “I never lit the lamps in that room tonight. Not even a candle.”

  “Nor me, Miss Emma,” Katie said, the fear still evident on her face. “I hadn’t set foot in the dining room since this mornin’ when I opened the windows.”

  “I believe you both. Don’t worry.” I sipped my tea, welcoming the strength of the brew and its warmth inside me. “Even if there is a problem with one of the gas lines, a fire couldn’t have started without a flame.” I went very still. Gas lines. Patrick Floyd’s wife had died because of an open gas line.... But why would Patrick Floyd attack my home?

  “Emma, what is it?” Nanny leaned closer to me, scrutinizing my expression as Derrick had.

  I shook my head to clear it. “Just a thought, probably nothing. But we’ll want to have the gas lines inspected just in case.” I thought also of Reggie’s argument with Mr. Brentworth concerning just such inspections, and Mr. Brentworth’s hostilities toward me. I had believed our differences resolved. Had I been mistaken?

  Derrick guessed the train of my thoughts. “Are you wondering if this was done as a warning?”

  “I am. From any number of individuals.”

  “Silas Griggson,” he said, his voice low and threatening.

  Yes, that name, too, raised my suspicions. “He wants Gull Manor so he can knock it down. Perhaps he decided to burn it down instead.”

  He thought a moment, finger tapping on the tabletop. Then he shook his head. “If Silas Griggson wanted to burn the place down, something tells me we wouldn’t be sitting in this kitchen right now. But as a warning, yes, I can see him trying to frighten you away.”

  “Emma, let the police finish the investigation.” Nanny’s quiet voice bordered on pleading.

  “I’m afraid it’s already too late for that, Nanny.” I smiled to reassure her, but I experienced my own doubts. It was one thing to endanger myself in the name of justice. But endangering Nanny and Katie? They hadn’t chosen to become involved in Cleo Cooper-Smith’s death. They shouldn’t have to suffer for my decisions.