A Golden Cage

by Shelley Freydont

  “Penny for you thoughts, Mr. Edison?”

  Joe smiled down at Noreen. “I’m thinking that you could just call me Joe.”

  She slipped her arm a little farther through his and pressed closer to him. “I thought you were only interested in Belle.”

  What did he say to that? He was interested in Noreen, at least for the moment. But he wouldn’t take her back to the workshop and he wouldn’t sneak into a boardinghouse. Plus, even if he had the opportunity, he wouldn’t . . . He blew out air.

  “You’re not very talkative. Must use all your energy for other things.” She looked up at him, smiling invitingly. But just as his determination wavered, they passed under a streetlight and he saw the glint of something else in her eyes.

  He stopped her. Turned her to face him. “You don’t fool me, Noreen. You don’t want to bed me; you despise me. You are expecting me to use you to try to find out what you know. And I expect you’re willing to use me—and yourself—to find out what I know.”

  The seduction froze on her face. He’d shocked her, but she recovered quickly. “Good-looking and clever, too.” She moved closer, this time not seductively, but with a sense of urgency.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking. I can’t tell you anything. I don’t really know anything. Except that Charlie and Belle were good friends. She wouldn’t kill him.”

  “Not even if they had a lover’s quarrel, or if she thought he’d been unfaithful?”

  That brought a smile to her lips. “You don’t know Charlie.” She spoke fondly, as a friend or even a sister might, but not as a jealous lover. The smile that had softened her features was wiped suddenly from her lips. “There may have been someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I can only ask you to please leave it alone. Theater people have to be doubly careful in their private lives. There are people who would love to see us all in jail because of their own depraved imaginings. Looking for Belle will bring more harm than good. And could be dangerous.”

  “I can’t leave it.”

  She pulled away from him. “Why? What is wrong with the people in this town that you can’t let the police do their job? First that woman this afternoon, now you. Both of you looking for Belle, like she was your long-lost friend. Well, you didn’t know her.”

  “What woman?” Joe asked, a sudden dread stealing up his extremities.

  “Oh, some young thing . . . quite beautiful in a unique way—dark, rich hair and passionate eyes.” She sighed. “Extremely well dressed.” Her expression changed to one of delight. “I locked her in the closet.”

  “What?”

  “She was poking her nose around, and the police showed up. She tried to bolt, but I wasn’t about to let her go until she told us what she knew. Which was next to nothing. Do you happen to know her?”

  “I believe so,” Joe said between gritted teeth. “Was she riding a bicycle?”

  Noreen trilled a laugh that echoed brightly in the gaslit street. “Yes. Yes, she was. She said she and Belle became friends over dime novels. What a crock.”

  “No,” said Joe. “Unfortunately, it sounds perfectly plausible.”

  “Well, I’ll give you both a bit of advice. Don’t mess with an actor. You never know when we’re telling the truth. Listen. If I do see Belle, I’ll tell her you both are looking for her, as well as the police. Then she can decide if she wants to talk to you.”

  “But—”

  She put her fingers to his lips. “Don’t ask me to say more. I’ve already said more than I should. If it comes back to bite us, then it will be my fault for trusting you, even a little. And please, for her own sake, tell your friend to stay away.” She stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him full on the mouth. He responded automatically.

  She pulled away. “Now, I really must go upstairs, before Mrs. Calpini gets her broom after you.” She started up the steps to the porch, then stopped. “I’m twenty-two years old, Joseph Ballard. I have a five-year-old daughter. Fortunately, my mother is willing to live with us and take care of her while I’m away. I’m much more prudent than I was at seventeen. But sometimes a man makes me wonder what life might have been. It was nice meeting you, Joe. Good night.”

  She climbed the porch steps and went inside without looking back. Joe stood on the sidewalk for a while longer, then walked slowly back home, trying to separate the facts from the dross and rational thought from his heated blood.

  * * *

  “You look perfectly lovely,” Elspeth said, surveying her handiwork the next morning. “Just as a modest young woman should look for Sunday morning at Trinity Church.”

  Deanna sighed. She didn’t mind the dress, a light blue, bird’s-eye piqué with a long, pointed basque. It was quite pretty, actually, though the high-pleated dotted swiss of the bodice scratched a bit, and Elspeth had once again laced her too tightly.

  “Gloves,” Elspeth reminded her.

  “I’ve been to church before.”

  “My, aren’t we being cranky this morning.” Elspeth looked at Deanna’s reflection in the mirror. “Perhaps it’s because you’ll be spending hours at church and then luncheon and I’ll be picnicking at Easton’s Beach.”

  “Well, I didn’t have to get up at five o’clock in order to have church in chapel before I went to work.”

  “But chapel was only a half hour long.”

  Deanna screwed up her mouth.

  “Oh, it will be fun.” Elspeth’s eyes widened. “Maybe the preacher will give a sermon on murder. That would be ever so timely.”

  “I don’t think he will,” Deanna told her, picking up her gloves. “Not with the Granthams members of his church. I’m sure everyone will be steering clear of the murder of an actor as long as they are there.

  “I don’t know what Gran Gwen has in mind. I sure hope people don’t gossip about the Ballards having a body in their conservatory. You know, how they say, ‘Where there’s smoke there must be fire.’”

  “I know. And Mrs. Ballard is in love with her husband as much as any woman I ever knew of. And him with her.”

  “They are awfully affectionate, aren’t they, even in public, which is kind of strange, but it’s nice.”

  Elspeth nodded. “When they’re alone, too. Birdie, she’s one of the chambermaids here, says they’re just like a couple of—”

  “I think that will suffice,” Deanna said. “And I hope you aren’t going to start saying ‘Birdie says’ all the time since we banned the ‘Orrin says’ wisdom of you brother.”

  “Well, Birdie does say . . .”

  “Oh, you provoking creature. Get my hat.” Deanna sat at the dressing table while Elspeth fetched her hat from the cupboard.

  Elspeth could be provoking, and Deanna’s mother was always saying that she let her take too many liberties, but these days Elspeth was the only friend she had. That’s what had been so exciting about meeting Amabelle Deeks. Someone near her own age, who liked reading the same novels as Deanna did. And now she had disappeared and was under the suspicion of murder or might even be dead herself.

  Deanna sighed. “Think of me, sitting straight backed on those wooden pews while you’re splashing in the waves.”

  “I will, miss. But it won’t be all play and no work.”

  “No, you just enjoy yourself today; you work hard enough the rest of the time.”

  “This will be fun work. I’ll see the other girls I know from town and from service. There’s bound to be gossip about what happened night before last.”

  Deanna shot her a quick look.

  “Don’t you worry. If anyone comes around from that Colonel Mann’s scandal rag looking for juicy morsels, I’ll hardly tell him anything. Besides, everybody’s already heard about Charlie and how his head was bashed in.”

  “I’m sure you can add a few gory details.”

  Elsp
eth grinned. “Even if I have to make them up. Not to no newspaperman, though. What’s our business is our business.”

  Deanna knew she didn’t have to worry about Elspeth in the way most mistresses had to worry about their own servants. Elspeth was true-blue.

  “In fact, I know at least one girl who does work for that Mrs. Calpini who owns the boardinghouse where those actor people are staying. She might have heard or seen something.”

  “You do?” Deanna twisted around to see Elspeth better. “Why didn’t you say?”

  “I just thought of it. Besides, day workers don’t socialize with us that got a permanent position, so I might not even see her. Still, we mostly grew up together so . . .” She shrugged. “Sometimes we flout tradition.”

  Deanna smiled. She wasn’t the only one learning new notions from the Ballard household.

  “Some of us who’ve moved up might act high and mighty, but it just doesn’t feel right to me.”

  “Good for you, Elspeth. We both must try to be more egalitarian.”

  “I hope that egal-thing doesn’t have to do with flying. I also hope Mr. Joe will keep his interest in machines to ones that stay on the ground.”

  “An automobile, perhaps.”

  “And don’t go too fast.”

  “A submarine. I don’t think they go very fast.”

  “Nor go under the water. Think what happened to the one in the story we read about in Frank Reade’s Search for the Sea Serpent.”

  “Well, maybe not a submarine,” Deanna agreed. “Besides, we weren’t talking about Mr. Joe, but about your friend who works at the boardinghouse.”

  “Well, if she’s there I’ll ask her if she knows anything. And one of the other girls is bound to have heard something.”

  “Be careful.”

  Elspeth looked incredulous. “Me, miss? Be careful? I’m not the one going off on that bicycle contraption. I didn’t go visiting those actor people and putting myself in harm’s way. I’m not the one got locked in a closet ’cause I was being too nosy.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have told you about the closet.”

  “You better not keep secrets from me.”

  “I would never.”

  There was a knock at the door. Gran Gwen looked in. “Are you ready, my dear?”

  “Yes, just as soon as Elspeth ties my hat.”

  “I’ll be waiting downstairs. Enjoy your half day, Elspeth.”

  Elspeth bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, Madame, thank you.”

  They took the open carriage to Trinity Church, the oldest Episcopal church in Newport. It was a lovely wooden building with a tall white spire.

  Carriages were lined up ahead of them and behind them. Families were walking toward the entrances, pausing only long enough to let a more influential family pass into the church before them.

  “It’s going to be crowded today,” Gran Gwen observed as they waited for the carriage to stop near the front door.

  The Ballard pew box was located near the front. The Ballards were an old Newport family, here long before the Vanderbilts, the Wetmores, the Perrys, and their ilk. The box was large enough to contain the entire family as well as a number of guests, though Deanna knew that it wasn’t used as often these days as it had been when Mr. Ballard’s mother had been alive. His father rarely visited Newport.

  Gran Gwen smiled and nodded graciously as they walked down the aisle. Beside her Deanna smiled and nodded, hoping she didn’t look half-witted. Try as she might, she never had been able to reach the level of aplomb that her mother hoped for or that seemed to come naturally to her sister, Adelaide.

  They arranged themselves in the pew, reached for prayer books and hymnals as the organ—which had to be a hundred years old—played a hymn. They received a few odd looks as people passed. Old lady Stuart, for one, practically stared. Not only was she a stickler for propriety, but rumor had it that she had been her husband’s second choice. After Gwen had refused his proposal.

  The people of Newport had long memories and held tenaciously to their grudges.

  “Ah, the Astors have arrived. Which means Alva and her entourage will most likely be attending services in their private chapel. They’ll blame it on Consuelo having the vapors.”

  “Does she suffer from the vapors?” Deanna asked. She didn’t know Consuelo Vanderbilt; they’d never really run in the same circles. Having finally attained society’s blessing, the Vanderbilts had quickly risen to lord it over everyone else. Deanna didn’t mind. The few times she’d seen Consuelo she appeared as sickly as Adelaide.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised, but the Vanderbilts and the Astors rarely come to church on the same Sundays. That way they won’t have to vie over which family departs immediately on the heels of the pastor—the Astors have the oldest money, but Alva has the clout.”

  Across the aisle and several boxes away, one pew was conspicuously empty.

  “Do you think the Granthams will come?” Deanna whispered from behind her gloved hand.

  “But of course,” Gran Gwen said, looking over her shoulder. “Even they wouldn’t dare not show. And here they are, the Granthams and Edgertons arriving together and presenting a unified front.”

  Deanna leaned forward slightly to see Judge Grantham, looking portly and pale in a gray suit, seating his wife, who looked extremely formidable that morning in an overly fussy dress and fichu and a black net hat that swept above her head like a sail. Behind them Walter Edgerton guided his wife, Drusilla, to the second pew.

  All four of them sat very erect, and Deanna unconsciously adjusted her own posture.

  “Really, they should ban Maude’s hat from the congregation. Though I suppose it would be impossible not to see the pastor pontificating from his lofty goblet.”

  It wasn’t the first time Gran Gwen had compared the Trinity pulpit to a wine goblet. But it always caught Deanna off guard, and she had to quickly stifle a giggle.

  She had to admit the beautiful, but massive, three-tiered structure at the end of the center aisle did resemble a wineglass.

  The sermon was not about sin and evil among them, as Elspeth had surmised, but about casting the first stone. Was it a coincidence that the pastor chose that topic for this morning’s sermon? Or had he hastily rewritten it after Friday night’s murder?

  As far as Deanna knew, no one was casting stones at anyone, though Gran Gwen had warned her to be prepared for a few impertinent looks.

  When the service ended, the altar boys snuffed the candles and followed the pastor out the door. The Astors followed, taking their time to stop and speak with various people, while everyone else waited to file out behind them.

  Deanna and Gran Gwen had just taken their leave of the pastor when Judge Grantham strode toward them. “My dear friend, how delightful you look this morning.” He took Gwen’s hand and held it for a moment. “And this must be Deanna; I believe we met the other evening at my birthday party.”

  Deanna smiled, too tongue-tied to manage anything else. He was a very overwhelming man. Large both in height and girth, not exactly fat, but substantial.

  “Delightful party, Samuel. Unfortunate that one of the actors ended up dead in my conservatory.”

  “Terrible business,” he agreed. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve been in personal contact with the chief of police to ensure that everything is being done to apprehend the man’s murderer. Chief of Police Turner assures me that we’ll have no more problems in that direction up at the cottages.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I would not be returning to the city this evening, if I weren’t certain that you will all be safe.” He took Gwen’s arm and leaned into her. “Is Lionel keeping in Newport?”

  “He returns to New York on this evening’s ferry,” Gran Gwen said.

  “Ah well, I shall see him on the ferry, then.”

  Deanna becam
e aware of Mrs. Grantham watching them from several yards away. She was standing with her daughter and son-in-law, and all three had stopped their conversation to watch the Judge speak with Gran Gwen.

  Gwen also noticed. She smiled slightly and dipped her chin in Maude Grantham’s direction.

  Mrs. Grantham smiled and dipped her chin to Gran Gwen. Both were equally insincere.

  Deanna knew Gran Gwen thought Maude Grantham was a prude and a nitpicker. But Deanna didn’t think Mrs. Grantham had reason to be mad at Gran Gwen. She might not like her mode of living or her views on women’s rights. But if she was upset that one of the performers at her husband’s birthday fete had ended up dead in Gwen’s conservatory, she should be thankful that poor Charlie hadn’t died in hers. Now, that would be a scandal.

  “I believe they’re ready for you,” Gwen said.

  The Judge took in his wife, daughter, and son-in-law with a sweep of his deep-set eyes.

  “Quite. Walter and Drusilla feel very bad about what happened, though I’ve assured them it could happen anywhere. And the cottagers must be supportive of each other in trying times.”

  “But naturally,” Gwen said.

  The Judge nodded. “Maude is taking this very poorly. Her nerves, you know. I wouldn’t leave her if I didn’t have to be in court tomorrow. The poor devil has already been found guilty, now it’s up to me to sentence him. But then I shall be returning to Newport hopefully midweek, for a much deserved respite. Perhaps you might drop in on Maude while I’m gone. Just to commiserate, you know.”

  “But of course,” Gwen answered.

  “Very good to see you, Gwen.” He bowed to her, nodded to Deanna, and strode back across the grass to where his family waited.

  “Did I just promise to visit Maude Grantham?” Gwen asked when he’d returned to his family.

  Deanna nodded.

  “Oh Lord. And he talked—more likely made demands—on the chief of police. I wonder which poor soul from the acting company the police chief is planning to arrest for murder while the Judge is away.”