Deception by Gaslight

by Kate Belli

  “Yes, you damn well should have,” she shot back.

  “I haven’t had a lot of practice trusting people,” Daniel said. “Please, put the gun down, and let’s finish what we started.”

  Genevieve narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Despite all her talk of trust, she wasn’t sure she could overcome her own feelings of betrayal. But her arm was getting a bit tired, as was she. Here, finally, was the opportunity for answers.

  And she suspected she could fill in a few of the missing gaps to the story as well.

  “You first,” she finally said.

  Daniel let out a relieved sigh, then reached underneath the back of his jacket and pulled a gun from his waistband. With the other hand still raised, he gently placed the revolver—she recognized it from his desk drawer—on the floor.

  One down. “Rupert?” she asked.

  Following Daniel’s lead, Rupert kept one hand up and with the other extracted a long, thin blade from his left boot. He laid the knife next to Daniel’s gun on the floor.

  She raised a brow in query at him, and again, Rupert shrugged in response. “Quieter than a gun,” he said. “Helpful in picking locks.”

  “Elmira Bradley’s throat was slit,” Genevieve observed. “That’s quiet, all right.” Truth be told, she had never thought Robin Hood had killed Elmira; it had never added up. She glanced back and forth between the two men, both of whom were returning her gaze warily, then lowered her gun. Didn’t put it down, but lowered it.

  Both men sagged in visible relief.

  “Genevieve, I promise,” Rupert began. “I didn’t kill anyone. I take things. I … I’ve always taken things. For years. Tell her, Daniel.”

  “Not always,” Daniel said quietly. “But for a long time now. I believe that when you are particularly concerned about finances, the urge is intensified.”

  Despite herself, Genevieve found her curiosity piqued. “Urge?”

  Rupert nodded miserably, then plopped into a nearby armchair. “It’s hard to describe. It’s an almost physical sensation. This … feeling crawls up my spine and burrows into my brain. It’s maddening, awful. But the only thing that sates it is to … take.”

  “Things that aren’t yours,” Genevieve supplemented.

  “Yes, things that aren’t mine,” Rupert confirmed, gesturing around the room aimlessly. He looked exhausted and wrung out in the dim gaslight, his already pale face further bleached of color. “It started small. A silver-plated cigarette case here, a porcelain figurine there. I adore you Americans, you know, but sometimes the sheer excess of your money rankles.” He frowned and shoved his hair back from his forehead. “Particularly if I’d just received another letter from my mother, again reminding me of the direness of our situation.”

  Daniel remained standing. “You can’t solely blame America, Rupert. This began while we were at school.”

  Rupert nodded and blew a breath at the ceiling. “Yes. We’d always been genteelly impoverished, but that was when things really began to go south. I never meant any harm. It had been a lark, a bit of a gag, a subtle dig at the kids in school who made fun of my shabby jackets; at my father, who mismanaged and drank away our fortune; at the robber barons, whose overindulgences sometimes give even me pause.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against his seat. “At this whole damned society with its vast cogs and wheels and my tiny place in it.”

  He opened his eyes and regarded Genevieve wearily. She realized she was probably seeing the real Rupert, without the social mask he continually wore, for the first time. “And eventually I couldn’t control it anymore. I wasn’t taking just to show I could. It became something I had to do. I’ve tried whiskey, women, swimming at the natatorium until I was so exhausted I could barely stand, but nothing worked. Nothing could replace the insatiable need.”

  Finally, Genevieve sat as well. She kept the gun in her lap, but the tiredness that had overcome her was so sudden and severe that her legs felt wobbly. It was partially the lateness of the hour and her continued lack of sleep, but it was also hearing Rupert’s sad tale. This wasn’t a mastermind criminal hell-bent on seeking revenge on a society he despised, as his letters suggested. It was a melancholy, disheartening story about the power of money and society and one man’s broken way of attempting to cope.

  “What do you do with all those things?” she asked. “Your letters never said, simply that the money was given to the poor. Which poor? How?”

  Rupert allowed his head to roll to the side of the chair. “I sold them. I didn’t want the teaspoons or earrings or snuffboxes I took. Couldn’t stomach keeping them, in fact. Nor the money. I donated any profits to various charities I fancied. Anonymously, of course.”

  “But how could you sell something as recognizable as Sarah Huffington’s ring? And what did you take from the Bradleys? The family never reported anything missing, but your letter indicated you took something,” she asked.

  He smiled cynically at her. “There’s a buyer for anything in this town, Genevieve. Anything. You simply have to know who to ask. As for … Elmira, I took her ring as well. Big as a bird’s egg, that thing.”

  “And you managed to find a buyer?” she asked skeptically.

  Rupert shook his head. “Not for that, no. That I gave back.”

  Genevieve felt her eyes widen, suddenly feeling awake again. “Esmie.”

  The smile was softer now, less cynical. “Yes, Esmie. She figured out I was the thief and confronted me. Said she’d cancel the engagement and expose me unless I gave back her mother’s ring and the Maple diamonds. She’s clever, that girl. Far more clever than she lets on.”

  Genevieve’s mind instantly flashed back to the night of Esmie’s engagement ball. “The benefits of being a wallflower,” Esmie had said. “You see everything. I know all kinds of secrets.” Genevieve made a mental note: what else did Esmie know?

  “I had hoped being engaged would help,” Rupert said dolefully. “Knowing I had money coming. I’ve read some books that described my … behavior, and some of these doctors, at least, seem to think a person like myself might get better in time. Maybe a fool’s hope.”

  “But why steal from the Bradleys after your engagement was announced?” Genevieve asked, confused. “That seems a bit self-destructive.”

  Rupert sighed. “I don’t know. It was … one final act of rebellion, I suppose. God rest her, but I never did care for Elmira. She spent the whole of the ball smirking, so pleased with herself to be aligned with our family.” He barked a short, bitter laugh. “If only she knew what a mess poor Esmie will marry into.”

  “And then Elmira was killed, and the wedding was delayed,” Genevieve guessed. “Another year with little funds.”

  “Yes,” Rupert sighed. “Hence my taking these.” He pulled the Maple diamonds out of his coat pocket, where they glistened and sparkled in the gaslight. All three were silent as he gently placed the jewels on a side table.

  “It’s done now,” he said. “I’ve promised Esmie. I can’t risk that marriage. Unbelievably, she seems willing to marry me regardless of what I’ve stolen, but she did make me promise to stop.”

  “Will you be able to?” It was Daniel, now leaning against the credenza with his hands shoved into his pockets, who asked the question.

  Rupert looked at them both helplessly. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  Daniel met her eyes from across the room. “Well, Genevieve? Are you going to turn him in?”

  She waited a few moments, considering. Turning over all the various angles in her head. “I don’t know either,” she said finally. “Not that I condone stealing. But I think you need help, and I’m not sure you’d get that in the Tombs.” Rupert’s faced blanched further at the mention of the notorious prison. “Let us put the matter of Rupert’s crimes aside for now. If Robin Hood isn’t a murderer, who killed Reginald Cotswold and Elmira Bradley? Who tried to kill me? And how do we keep them from killing again?”

  CHAPTER 21

  Daniel pushed himsel
f away from the furniture he’d been leaning on and, after an inquiring look toward Genevieve—she still had that gun on her lap and obviously had an anxious trigger finger he did not care to startle—finally sat. His entire body, which he’d been holding tense for the past thirty minutes, seemed to sigh in relief.

  “I have ideas about how to stop them. As to who they are, I think you have the answers to that, Genevieve.”

  He could tell that surprised her. “In one of your notes to me, you said you’d uncovered who was behind Lexington Industries,” he continued.

  Genevieve’s eyes narrowed at him. “So pleased you finally read my missives, Daniel.”

  He hoped his expression betrayed exactly how sheepish he felt.

  “Just this afternoon, yes. They were waiting for me.”

  “Where have you been?” she inquired with a curious expression. “Did you retreat to that brothel again?”

  A half smile involuntarily tugged at the corner of his mouth. “For a time. It’s owned by my cousin, you see.”

  “Ah,” was her only reply. She didn’t seem quite satisfied with that answer.

  “He was drinking away his sorrows in the most rotten pit imaginable, Genevieve,” Rupert chimed in, sounding more like himself again. “Whiskey like rotgut. He was three sheets to the wind by the time I found him, possibly even drunker than he was the day we graduated Harvard; do you remember that, Daniel? You said you wanted to give Boston a proper send-off, but by three in the morning …” He trailed off, seeming to notice for the first time that they were both giving him singularly incredulous looks. “Well, he’s come to his senses now,” Rupert muttered, shrinking a bit in his chair.

  Daniel turned his attention back to Genevieve and leaned toward her, resting his forearms on his knees. Gratifyingly, she didn’t flinch back or tighten her grip on her weapon. “Tell me,” he said simply.

  He could see excitement replacing the anger in her eyes. “Recall ‘Syndicated American Hospitality’?”

  He sucked in a breath. “Sarah Alston Huffington.”

  Genevieve smiled triumphantly. “The very same. Syndicated American Hospitality Co. is the major investor and part owner of Sampson Affiliated Habitats, Incorporated.”

  “And their purpose?” He was sure he knew, but he needed the confirmation. All trace of tiredness was gone now, every sense on full alert.

  Genevieve leaned forward, matching his pose. “Construction,” she breathed. “And building management.”

  “And their profits?”

  “Sky-high.”

  He smacked a fist into his open palm as the puzzle pieces dropped neatly into place. A huge weight he’d barely been aware of was suddenly lifted, and he stood, energized.

  “Stupid of me not to see it. Of course, they were in on this together.” He began to pace the width of the room, his mind working furiously.

  Genevieve stood too, her eyes bright. “Andrew and Sarah,” she said.

  “They formed the company under her initials, making it less obvious. I bet she brought Clark into it.”

  “Her lover,” began Genevieve, who had started to pace the room as well.

  “Maybe. Maybe even with Andrew’s encouragement, to get someone out of their direct sphere into the scheme.”

  There was that feeling again, that irrefutable connection between them. A strange, exhilarating symbiosis.

  “So Sampson Affiliated Habitats is the real business, and they funnel the money made through Lexington Industries to hide its true origins.” Genevieve ticked the points off on her fingers as she paced. Suddenly she stopped. “But why hide it? There’s nothing illegal in having a building corporation.”

  “I’m sure this one is engaging in all kinds of activities that, if not illegal, are on the margins of ethical. Tenement construction, Genevieve. They’re building and managing tenements. I’d bet my hat the buildings are substandard, with shoddy materials, and they’re surely charging a fortune in rent. They’ll all be making money hand over fist.”

  “And all the investors are on a committee devoted to tenement reform,” Genevieve breathed, her eyes wide.

  Daniel had stopped pacing too. They faced each other in the middle of the room. “Which is exactly what they don’t want. Reform. The profits are too high. That’s why Reginald was killed. We may never know for sure, but my guess is he figured out the committee’s true purpose was to block reform rather than aid it, and had to be silenced.”

  Genevieve shook her head. “Just for money,” she observed sadly.

  “Greed is one of the most powerful motivators there is. And don’t forget who else was involved: Tommy Meade. He would be the one to get builders on the cheap, know how to pay off inspectors, police officers …”

  “Commissioner Simons,” Genevieve said. “He was on the committee.”

  Daniel nodded. “And Deputy Mayor Manfort.”

  “And the others? Ted, the Stuyvesants? Did they know?”

  “I don’t know. The truth will out, though.” Daniel ran his hands through his hair. “I have a hard time believing they’d condone murder, but money is a powerful drug. Reginald was a threat. Kill him, take the box, make it look like Robin Hood.”

  “This box,” Genevieve said, removing a heavily jeweled object from her pocket. Rubies winked in the dim light. “It was left in my desk drawer, I believe as a warning.”

  Daniel shoved aside the spike of rage that erupted in his chest, both at the thought of Reginald’s death and at continued threats to Genevieve.

  “A letter about Reginald was never sent to the paper,” Genevieve continued.

  They both looked at Rupert. He’d been silent, watching them with a troubled expression.

  “Exactly. The police refused to believe Mrs. Dolan that Reginald’s death had anything to do with Robin Hood, but as it was deemed he died of natural causes, the killer didn’t need to push the Robin Hood story.”

  Genevieve sat again, moving the revolver she’d left on the seat to the floor and shoving the box back in her pocket. “But Elmira? Were the Bradleys approached, perhaps?”

  “Esmie says she has no idea who killed her mother,” Rupert chimed in.

  “My money’s on Tommy,” Daniel said. “He had that man you saw in the alley killed, Genevieve.”

  He saw her visibly swallow. “Gerry Knox. I heard he complained about the conditions in his building.”

  Daniel nodded. “And I’m sure, if we check, that building will have been constructed and managed by Sampson Affiliated Habitats. Gerry’s grumblings could have been passed off as those of a drunk, and Tommy still had him killed. Elmira did far worse; she embarrassed him in front of society. Conveniently, Robin Hood struck that same night.”

  “Convenience?” Genevieve shook her head. “That seems too neat.”

  “It does,” Daniel agreed. He leaned back against the credenza. Again, they both turned to Rupert, who if anything appeared distinctly alarmed.

  “Someone else figured it out.” Genevieve cocked her head at Rupert, considering. “That you’re Robin Hood. They knew when you were going to steal from the Bradleys.”

  Daniel nodded. “And used your theft to cover up their murder.”

  “But who?” Rupert cried. “I never killed anyone.” A sudden, ashy look came over him. “Esmie?” he whispered.

  “I don’t think so,” Genevieve replied slowly. “If she wanted to frame you for her mother’s murder, she wouldn’t have confronted you about being the thief.”

  “Genevieve’s right,” Daniel agreed. “No, someone in league with Tommy. Esmie can’t be the only one to have figured it out.”

  They were silent for a few breaths, thinking.

  “It was Sarah,” Rupert finally said. Daniel looked at him sharply. His friend looked utterly miserable. “I said something about how gaudy Elmira’s ring was, and we laughed about it. She said what a pity it would be if Elmira lost it. The look on her face … I assumed she was joking, but if all you two are saying is true, then my guess is it w
as she.” He blew out a breath.

  “If she figured out you were Robin Hood, Rupert, she would have been quite angry,” Genevieve observed. “After all, you stole from her too. You publicly exposed her affair with Ernest Clark. I’m sure she would have been perfectly happy for you to be blamed for Elmira’s murder, were you ever caught.”

  “Another woman I’ve underestimated,” Rupert muttered.

  Daniel kept his mouth shut at that observation, though he slid a look toward Genevieve, who had pursed her lips in a telling fashion. In the end she chose to let the observation lie, and instead asked, “So what is our next step?”

  “Rupert is going to lay low,” Daniel said, with a stern look toward his friend, who nodded meekly. “And I am going to approach Mrs. Huffington. I’ll tell Sarah I want to invest, but I need to meet somewhere private, and I will only meet with the principals of the firm. Tommy, Andrew, Sarah … such a meeting would be noticed. It will be somewhere out of the way, and I daresay I know where.”

  Genevieve stood and stretched. “That is a sound plan. I’ll tell the same to Ted, and arrange a meeting as well.”

  Alarm reared within him. “You are doing no such thing. We don’t know if Ted is aware of the underlying reason behind Lexington Industries, and there is no way you’re meeting with Tommy Meade.”

  He watched Genevieve’s face shift from satisfied to outraged in the course of his speaking. She planted her hands on her hips. “Haven’t we had this conversation? You are not in a position to make any decisions regarding my actions. Besides, I’ve already almost been killed, I’ve been followed, I’d actually feel safer … what?”

  His guilt must have shown on his face. Damn, he was tired, to have allowed that kind of mistake. Typically he had more self-control.

  It was time to come clean, though he knew she would be furious.

  “I had you followed,” Daniel admitted.

  He’d been right. Her outrage intensified.

  “What?”

  “The times you thought you were being followed, on Fifth Avenue, in the park … you were. But not by anyone involved with these crimes. By my associates.”