“I thought I would go out to the lawn and sketch a bit this morning unless there’s something you’d like me to do.”
“Not at all, though you do have to attend some daytime functions or your mother will take you back.”
“Well, Vlady and Herbert did mention they were playing tennis later, but then I’d have to invite Ivy Bennett to go with me. She’s the only girl I know that will actually run after a ball.”
“Runs in the family, I suspect.”
“Because her uncle is such a sporty person?”
“That, too. Mainly just wild. Maybe you can convince Joseph to come with you.”
“No. I don’t want to interrupt his work. I’ll be fine.” She went upstairs to get her sun hat and art supplies. She did, however, slow down as she passed the library.
Joe was sitting at the desk, shirtsleeves rolled up, forehead resting in one hand as he studied a piece of drawing paper. Her movement must have caught his eye, because he turned, straightened up. “Is there something?”
“No, I just . . . I was just on my way outside to sketch. What are you working on?”
“Well,” he said, scrubbing his face, “remember the big wheel they used in the play at the Judge’s fete?”
“The one that carried the married couples to heavenly bliss.”
“Yeah, that one. Though I think I can put it to better use.”
Deanna didn’t think heavenly bliss sounded all that bad, but she stepped into the room and went to look over Joe’s shoulder at the drawing.
It was a good drawing, Deanna realized. She could tell exactly what it was, a Ferris wheel with two rectangles, one extended at a right angle to the bottom right and another to the top left.
“What does it do?”
“Well, nothing yet. But while I was watching the play, I was thinking about conveyor belts and how much room they require while still needing manpower at each end, plus elevators, so . . .”
Deanna laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “Do you even know what the play was about?”
“Sure, some Egyptian stuff.”
“So the Ferris wheel would replace the conveyor belt?”
“In some instances. Especially in limited spaces. And this would eliminate the need for an elevator, which would also cut down on inefficiency.”
“How?”
He frowned at her. “Are you really interested?”
She nodded. “If I wasn’t, I would have gone out the conservatory door and not passed by at all.”
He smiled slightly. “So theoretically, the filled bags would move along this shorter belt.” He pointed to the bottom right with his pencil point. “Get deposited on the flatbed of the wheel, where they would move counterclockwise to eleven o’clock on the other side, then they would be off-loaded onto another conveyor belt which would take them to be packed in boxes that would eventually be crated and carted to stores or depots or docks.
“It would be a continuous delivery system, consolidating space rather than being divided between conveyor belts and elevators that once unloaded are sent back empty for another load.”
“Which wastes time. And how will it be powered?” asked Deanna.
“With electricity, ideally. Though I don’t believe the one they used in the play was electrified. I’m hoping to get a closer look.” He shrugged. “As long as they’re here.”
He scribbled something on the drawing. “And if I added gears here and . . .” He trailed off, and Deanna realized he was working out some detail and had forgotten she was even there.
She tiptoed out of the room and went through the conservatory to the lawn. She tried not to look at the place where Charlie had lain as she passed by, but she couldn’t repress a shiver at the memory.
What had he been doing here? He must have been looking for Amabelle. Maybe they had planned the robbery together. They’d argued. No one had mentioned finding the earrings, so Amabelle must still have them. But that didn’t make sense. She distinctly remembered the blades of grass on his shoes and the grass stains on his trousers. As if he’d knelt—or fallen—or been dragged across the grass. The grass was mown once a week, and even though the landscapers were meticulous about raking the lawn clean afterward, he might have picked up a few blades wet from dew. But that still didn’t explain why he was found in the conservatory.
She hurried out into the sunshine and saw that Carlisle had set her camp chair and easel in the shade of a tree. She didn’t really feel like sketching, but she opened her pad, set it on the easel, and looked out to sea. Really, how many seascapes and landscapes did she need to draw? She should be doing something.
She took out a pencil and began to sketch, not the waves or the cliffs but the conservatory fireplace. The body sprawled on the carpet in front of it. The grass on the heels of his shoes, the stains on his plaid suit. His face turned to the side as if he were sleeping. But she didn’t draw his wounds; it was a sacrilege to destroy such a handsome face.
She hesitated, pencil inches from the page. There was no reason to ruin that face.
Maybe it wasn’t about robbery after all, but a personal vendetta? Someone had mutilated him on purpose, because of anger, jealousy? A Crime of Passion. She could see it in her mind’s eye. Would Amabelle do something like that?
And so what if she did? No one knew where she was.
Deanna wished she could do something to help find Amabelle Deeks and Laurette’s earrings. But it was more than that. She needed to find something useful to do with her life. She’d been willing to give up her childhood flights of fancy, knowing they were just that. Unattainable. She’d resigned herself to marry into society because she thought at least then she would be able to do all the things she wanted to do. But she was quickly learning that was not the case in most marriages.
Even Adelaide, who was the perfect daughter and had until a few weeks ago been engaged and ready to begin her life in society, was now living in an institute in Geneva without her corset.
Joe was inside inventing things to help the industry and the working man—and woman.
And what was she doing? I’m stuck, she realized. Stuck and useless. She jabbed her pencil behind her ear and wandered over to the little copse of trees that somehow had managed to withstand decades of storms and winds. She could see the conservatory doors from where she stood. Had Charlie stood in the trees waiting for Amabelle to come out? Or did she signal for him to come in, and then she bashed him over the head?
Or had he been attacked out here, beneath the trees, by some unknown assailant? Someone who followed him to rob him or punish him? Or to punish the Ballards?
Why drag him into the conservatory unless to cast suspicion on Amabelle or the Ballards?
She began searching the ground even though it had been several days and she knew the servants and the police had gone over it before.
“Dee? What are you doing?”
Deanna let out a squeak and turned around. “Joe, you scared me to pieces. You shouldn’t sneak up like that.”
“I didn’t sneak up. I looked out the window and saw you weren’t where you were supposed to be, and I got worried.”
Deanna knew she should be grateful that he was concerned, but she just felt . . . cornered. “Thank you, but as you can see, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine, you look sad. Are you missing your family?”
She shook her head. “I was thinking about Amabelle Deeks. Has Will found her yet?”
“No. And he might never. But there’s nothing you can do about it. We befriended her, and she took advantage of our goodwill.”
“I know, still . . .”
“Well, you can stop worrying about things you can’t fix and go change into tennis clothes. We’re meeting Vlad and Herbert at the Casino.”
“Are we?” She quelled her initial jump of excitement. “What about your wor
k?”
“It’ll wait.”
“But what about your injured hand?”
“It’s my left, and it isn’t bad. Do you not want to play tennis today?”
“Yes, of course I do, it’s just . . . Did Gran Gwen put you up to this? You don’t have to, you know. I’m fine.”
“She may have mentioned it. But I could use the exercise, sound mind in a sound body and all that.”
“Oh, thank you, Joe.”
She practically ran to gather her drawing things and then across the lawn toward the house before she realized Joe wasn’t coming. She stopped and turned back to him. He was standing with his hands in his trouser pockets, just watching her.
Then he pulled his hands out and made shooing motions with them and she darted toward the house. She paused at the door just long enough to glance back. Joe was looking at the ground.
* * *
Vlady and Herbert were already at the courts when Deanna and Joe arrived. Gran Gwen had insisted on coming with them as chaperone, and they had left her in a comfortable niche in a loggia behind an oval window surrounded by latticework.
“Now, run along. I have my book. And if I stick my head out this opening, I can see you. And really, that’s chaperonage good enough for the sticklers of society. Knock the stuffing out of them, my dears. Then invite them to luncheon in the restaurant.”
Joe rolled his eyes. “Shall we?”
“Yes, we shall,” Deanna said.
“I meant shall we go?”
“I know what you meant.”
Vlad and Herbert were lounging against the steps, but straightened up immediately when they saw Deanna and Joe.
“I say, Deanna. You look wonderful.”
“Thank you, Herbert.” She loved her new outfit, so much lighter weight than her old one and much less restrictive. She might even be able to lunge after a ball. The dress was made of a white and ecru striped dimity with block pleats in the back and smaller pleats across the shirtwaist, with peach cuffs at the wrists. She even had a new white straw boater with matching peach ribbon. She’d drooled over the catalogue picture for months before she finally moved to Gran Gwen’s and was able to order it. And it was everything she’d dreamed of.
Vlady gave Joe an appraising look. “How long since you’ve been on the court, Ballard?”
“A while. Why? Am I out of fashion?”
Deanna thought he looked wonderful in his white flannels. Like the old Joe before he forsook society and went to live with his machines. Actually, all three of them were very handsome and she knew she’d be the envy of every young lady at the Casino today, if any of them bothered to stop gossiping long enough to look out to the courts.
But Deanna didn’t care. She was going to play tennis. Really play.
“I’ll take Joe,” Vlady said. He winked at Deanna. “That way I can keep my eyes on the lovely Deanna.”
“And while you do,” Herbert said, “Dee and I will trounce you with our superb tennis skills and haute couture.” He sketched a bow and ushered Deanna to the near side of the court.
Herbert had improved his game since the last time Deanna had seen him on the court. And they held their own against Vlady and Joe, who was a little rusty. They each took a set and decided to adjourn for luncheon.
* * *
Joe took the towel from the attendant and dried his face. He was sweating. He wasn’t getting the kind of exercise that a man got from sports anymore. He’d feel it tomorrow. He’d almost forgotten how life used to be. To be awakened with a tray of hot coffee. Breakfast made daily and kept warm, tennis at the Casino, luncheon in a restaurant, not at the pub or the food wagon. It was seductive.
Though he could do without dressing for luncheon after a game of tennis. And it was time he got to the reason for so readily agreeing to accompany Dee today. He planned to question Vlady and Herbert, who had both been at the yacht the night Charlie died.
Will was loath to do it, since they’d already gone through questioning before this summer, and he didn’t want to push his luck. The cottagers tolerated him because he was well bred and well educated, but they wouldn’t tolerate him for long if he kept “harassing” them.
That fell to Joe. “How late did you two stay at Mersey’s the other night?” he asked nonchalantly.
Vlad tossed a towel in the bin. “Lord, I don’t know. I think I staggered home sometime around four. You, Herbert?”
“’Bout the same, I guess. It was loud and noisy and reeked of tobacco. Ended up talking to Erik Dolan and a couple of fellows out on deck for an hour or so, then I went home.”
“We heard you ended up with the body of one of the actors on your parlor floor,” Vlady said.
“Conservatory,” Joe corrected. “I don’t guess either of you saw him that night at the yacht.”
Vlad and Herbert looked at each other.
Herbert shook his head. “Wouldn’t recognize him if I saw him.”
“Nor I,” Vlad said, slipping into his jacket. “Besides, I wasn’t looking for guys.”
“Though I might have seen her,” Herbert added.
“Amabelle Deeks?”
“Yes, not that I know her, either. Like I said, I was standing on deck when this young woman runs by. Someone yelled, ‘bell.’ She stopped and turned around, at which point I realized it might be her name rather than some nautical term. But then she ran down the gangplank, and that’s the last I saw of her.” He folded his jacket collar over and straightened his tie.
“No fights breaking out at all?”
“Hey,” Vlad said, pulling a comb through his hair before tossing it into the waste bin. “We’re civilized men.”
Joe snagged his jacket off a hook, and the three of them went to join Deanna and Gwen.
“Sorry we couldn’t be of more help,” Herbert said. “Do you think that actor followed her to Bonheur?”
Joe shrugged. “Or someone followed them both. I don’t suppose you noticed that, either?”
“No, sorry,” Herbert said as they started down the corridor to the restaurant.
“Well, here’s someone who might know,” Vlad said. “Mersey. What ho?”
Jacob Mersey had just rounded the corner and came to a stop.
“Great party the other night,” Vlady said.
“I aim to please,” Mersey said.
“What brings you to the Casino today? I thought you and Dolan were heading to Saratoga for the races.”
“Meant to. But I decided to spend a couple more days here. Nice little piece I’d like to enjoy for the moment. If you catch my meaning.”
The three nodded. It didn’t take much imagination. Mersey was notorious for high living and questionable women.
“I heard you had a bit of excitement at your place, Ballard. Hope it didn’t have anything to do with you. Is that why you were looking for a little blonde the next day?”
“One of the actresses’ mother is a friend of my mother’s. I was staying at the warehouse as usual, but evidently she came during the night, was gone the next morning, having left us a body in the conservatory.”
Mersey laughed. “Sorry, old thing, but really. Ah, there’s the Casino’s manager. I must run. I’m here to persuade him to open the stage for the troupe to rehearse while they await their fate.”
“Didn’t know you were interested in theater,” Joe said.
“I’m not. I’m interested in the lovely Talia. Coryphée extraordinaire and limber as an acrobat. Later.” He saluted them and hurried after the manager.
Well, at least they would have a place to rehearse, Joe thought as they sat down to luncheon. Maybe Talia could use her acrobatic talents to persuade Mersey to pay some wages.
* * *
Deanna had a wonderful time, and the luncheon Gran Gwen ordered was superb, but she noticed Joe was rather quiet, and that was di
sturbing. Did he resent being kept away from his work, even for a morning? One more thing for him to be mad at her for.
After lunch, they left Vlad and Herbert at the door of the Casino and drove south on Bellevue Avenue, then past Jones Street, where old Mrs. Deeks lived her lonely life. Deanna expected that they would let Joe off at the warehouse, but the carriage didn’t slow down, and he accompanied them all the way to Bonheur.
“Well, I suppose we’ll have to do the grand drive today,” Gran Gwen said. “We don’t want the town to forget that Deanna is here. But first I must have a nap.”
But when they reached Bonheur, Carlisle informed them that Will was waiting for them in the conservatory.
They found him kneeling down at the place where they’d found Charlie’s body.
He stood immediately. “Sorry if I overstep.”
“Not at all, Will. Do you have news?”
“Not much and none of it good, I’m afraid. I really came to speak to Joe.”
Gran Gwen raised an imperious eyebrow.
“And you, of course, if you wouldn’t be put off by the subject.” He glanced at Deanna.
“I’m sure that Deanna and I can handle it. Shall I call for my vinaigrette?”
Will smiled sheepishly. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Then please sit down.”
They all sat, and it felt to Deanna that things seemed almost normal again. The feeling didn’t last for long.
“Walter Edgerton was down at the police station again today, demanding we make an arrest. He doesn’t really care who as long as it gets done. His wife and mother-in-law are nagging—you didn’t hear it from me. Though I do feel for him, poor fellow. And the Judge will return tonight or tomorrow and expects action. He seems to be taking this personally—not the birthday present he’d hoped for.”
“Well,” Gwen said, “I don’t know why he should complain; the man wasn’t found in his conservatory. But that’s how these big reformers are. See everything as a slight to themselves.”
A Golden Cage Page 17