A Gilded Grave

by Shelley Freydont

  “Well, what is it?”

  Mr. Woodruff’s voice was impatient. Deanna wondered what was so important at the Reading Room, where everyone knew men retreated not just to read their papers, smoke cigars, and talk about business, but to get away from their wives and daughters. It didn’t sound all that interesting to Deanna.

  She leaned forward.

  “I’m concerned, Father.”

  “Oh, don’t you start harping on my health.”

  “Not on your health, but on the health of R and W Sugar.”

  Deanna slumped in relief. Charles wasn’t going to ask to break his engagement to Adelaide after all. He just wanted to talk business. And now she was stuck here until they left. Her bath was looking very far away.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the business.”

  “Isn’t there, sir? American Sugar is buying up refineries all around us. This Lord David fellow was supposed to ensure us a supply of raw material in order to keep us competitive. In the meantime, our smaller suppliers are either signing on with Havemeyer or selling to the refineries out west.”

  “Don’t you worry, Charles. Everything will be fine, fine.”

  “Then why isn’t he out doing whatever you brought him here to do, rather than dancing and dining and spending our money and asking for more?”

  “An investment. He could deliver twice the product if he were to plant all of his acreage. He just needs the capital.”

  “Let him use his own money.”

  “Don’t show your ignorance, Charles. His capital is tied up in the plantation.”

  “Don’t expect me to try to convince Randolph and Ballard to go along with this scheme. It’s jeopardizing the whole future of R and W.”

  “Nonsense. Our future is dependent on it.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I don’t even think Lord David’s interested in the company. I offered to take him to see the refineries, and he couldn’t have been less enthusiastic.”

  “I told you that I would take him when I was feeling better. Which I am. So stop worrying.”

  “I’ll stop worrying when I know that all the money you gave him in good faith is actually being used to bring the raw sugar to our refineries.” Charles took a step away, turned back to his father. “And now he’s dining with the Stanhopes, who are thick as thieves with our competitors.”

  “Oh, enough. Yes, Stanhope’s wife is a Havemeyer, but I’m sure she thinks no more about sugar than how much to put in her tea. And as far as Stanhope goes—the man hasn’t dabbled in business in years. I assure you, he’s only interested in his horses and mistresses. Our families go back generations, and I can tell you”—Deanna leaned forward—“more than one of the Stanhopes isn’t playing with a full deck.”

  “Perhaps,” Charles conceded. “But his son is.”

  “Herbert? Fun and games, that one. And air for brains. You just leave well enough alone, boy. I’ll take care of everything. Now, I’m off to the Reading Room. I’ll be back late. Tell the servants not to wait up for me.”

  Mr. Woodruff left Charles standing in the middle of the room.

  Deanna eased back, willing Charles to follow his father out of the room. Tonight, telepathy didn’t work. It seemed Charles had no intention of going anywhere soon. When he finally did move, he only went as far as the massive kneehole desk. He sat down, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a blue ledger.

  Several minutes passed with Charles bent over the ledger.

  Then with an exclamation that made Deanna jump, he slammed it shut, tossed it back into the drawer, and locked it. “He’ll ruin us,” he said, as if he couldn’t believe his own words. He slumped back in his chair as if he meant to stay there all night. “Damn and damn and damn.”

  Damn and damn and damn, agreed Deanna, and hoped to heaven no one would sound the alarm when she didn’t return to the drawing room.

  Chapter

  13

  Deanna awoke with a start. She thought she must still be dreaming, because she was hunched up in a tiny space, her head resting against a hard surface. She was in the hold of a ship like a slave or in a box like a magician’s assistant.

  Then she remembered.

  Good heavens, she’d fallen asleep in the library alcove. The library was now completely dark. Charles must have left, and she hadn’t even heard him. Was the family out looking for her? How would she explain?

  She stood up; her foot must have fallen asleep as well, because it prickled painfully. But she had no idea of the time. She looked out the little window, but there was no moon, no stars. It was a cloudy night.

  Gradually, her eyes became accustomed to the dark, and she made out the shapes of things below her. She groped for the rail that ran around the edge of the balcony and followed it to the steps.

  Carefully, she placed her foot on the first tread and then the next. It took more time than she wanted, but she had no intention of breaking her neck. Not after what she’d heard tonight. Charles was worried about the business. Something he’d seen in the ledger had upset him. That terrible “He’ll ruin us.” And her father angry at something that Mr. Woodruff hadn’t done about the contract with Lord David. And that it was serious.

  It just didn’t seem fair that Mr. Woodruff should be jeopardizing all their lives. But she did know that fairness had no place in business, at least not at the level that her father and the other men practiced it.

  It was then she remembered the telegram sent to her father and that she had forgotten to pass on to Mr. Woodruff.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t pass it along after all. She wasn’t sure what she should do. Bob would have known what to do. Joe would know. But what did she really know? Maybe she could ask Gran Gwen, who knew about a lot of things. But it would all have to wait. Right now, the most important thing for Deanna to do was go out and make up some excuse for being gone so long.

  She felt her way across the room until she came to the desk. She wished she knew how to pick locks, but even if she got into the desk drawer, she doubted she could understand the numbers in the ledger. A few steps later she came to the door, groped for the doorknob, then opened the door to darkness.

  Was this a dream? Why was everything so dark? She began to be afraid. Her pulse throbbed in her neck like something that didn’t belong to her. All was quiet. Could it be so late that everyone had gone to bed? Why wouldn’t they be out looking for her? She might be lying at the bottom of the cliff like Daisy.

  How long had she slept?

  At least Elspeth ought to be looking for her. Wouldn’t she have sounded the alarm?

  Cold, clammy fingers crawled up Deanna’s spine. She turned and saw a soft glow of light ahead. Thank goodness. It was in the foyer. She hurried toward it. The foyer was empty. She crossed the floor and looked into the drawing room. All dark.

  She climbed the stairs and had just reached the landing when she heard someone enter the front door and silently cross the foyer below her.

  Her first thought was that someone had left the door unlocked and that a burglar was entering, then she scoffed at herself. A burglar wouldn’t use the front door. It must be Mr. Woodruff returning from his club.

  Deanna started toward her room. It wouldn’t do to be found wandering the halls in the middle of the night. Then she heard soft laughter and a hurried “shh.” It wasn’t Mr. Woodruff, but Lord David and his sister, coming back from a late night at the Stanhopes.

  Deanna blushed. This was even worse. Their rooms were in the opposite wing, but she’d never make it to her room without them seeing her. What would they think of her skulking in the shadows?

  She’d hesitated too long. There was no hope for it. A few feet down the hall, a slatted chest held a vase of peonies. She ducked behind the far side, shrank down and pulled her skirts close to her feet, just as they came into view.

  She could see them through the slats,
and it made them look like one of those new moving pictures that Mr. Edison had demonstrated. All flickery.

  They paused. And Deanna held her breath.

  “A successful night, brother,” Madeline said, and smiled up at him.

  “Indeed.” Lord David wrapped an arm around her, pulled her close, and kissed her. Full on the mouth, like a lover.

  Deanna swallowed a gasp. She knew she shouldn’t be watching and yet she couldn’t look away.

  The kiss went on and on. His hand slid up her bodice, his fingers spread over her breast, but Madeline pushed him away, frowning. “We must be careful.” Then she walked away, pausing long enough to smile back at him, and they both disappeared down the opposite hallway.

  Deanna sat on the floor for the longest time. Maybe that hadn’t been what it looked like. Maybe it was a Barbadian custom to kiss your sister on the mouth.

  But it hadn’t looked like a brotherly kiss at all. It was passionate in a way that made Deanna’s stomach flutter.

  Using the chest to steady herself, Deanna pushed to her feet and walked back to her room on shaky legs. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to spy on people. Now she had knowledge she wished she didn’t have, and she didn’t know what to do about it, either. How could she possibly face them tomorrow like nothing had changed?

  The light in her room was on. Elspeth was curled up in the chair asleep, but she woke up when Deanna closed the door and leaned against it.

  Elspeth shook herself and jumped up. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick! I was afraid whoever killed Daisy got you, too.” She looked around, picked up the brush from the dressing table, and threw it at Deanna.

  “Ouch.” Deanna stooped to pick up the brush, which had fallen to the floor after hitting her in the arm. “I’m sorry. I’ve had such a night. Did no one else wonder where I was?”

  “Yes. Cassie came up and I told her you’d fallen asleep in the dressing room. That you were worn out and not to bother you. I don’t know if I should have done that, but I was afraid to tell on you. I looked for you everywhere, even went back to Daisy’s room—and that was not fun by myself, I can tell you. I didn’t know what to do.”

  She sat down again and burst into tears.

  Deanna hurried toward her. “I’m sorry, Elspeth. It wasn’t my fault. Truly. Well, not exactly.”

  “What happened to you?” Elspeth asked from behind her hands.

  Deanna sat on the floor at her feet. “Charles asked to speak with his father after dinner, and I was afraid he was going to end his engagement to Adelaide, what with all the moony looks he’s been giving Madeline.”

  “They went to talk in the library, so I sneaked in the servants’ entrance and hid up on the balcony.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  “What if they had caught you?”

  “I don’t know. I was just afraid for Adelaide and— Oh, I don’t know.”

  Elspeth lowered her hands and reached in her apron pocket for a handkerchief. She blew her nose. “Did he want to end the engagement?”

  “No.” Deanna told her what she’d overheard.

  “You think Mr. Woodruff’s doing something he shouldn’t with the business?”

  “Or not doing enough of what he should be doing. He went off to the Reading Room right after he talked to Charles.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you were gone so long.”

  “When Mr. Woodruff left, Charles got out a ledger and started going over figures. I couldn’t leave without him seeing me, and I guess I fell asleep.”

  Elspeth rolled her eyes. “That’s it?”

  “Well, actually there’s something worse.”

  Elspeth slipped off the chair to sit on the floor next to Deanna.

  “As I was coming upstairs just now, Lady Madeline and Lord David came home from their dinner.” Deanna stopped. Just thinking of what she’d seen made her feel queasy. She didn’t know how she could tell it without sounding crazy.

  “Everyone was in bed, and I didn’t want them to think I was waiting up for them or spying on them, so I ducked behind that table in the hallway.”

  “You have been the spy this evening. Did they catch you?”

  “No. But—I saw him kiss her. On the mouth. Like lovers do.”

  “But she’s his sister.”

  “I know, but I saw them. I really did. And he put his hand where he shouldn’t.”

  “Heathens! I told you.”

  “And Charles is worried about his father giving Lord David a lot of money.”

  “Why would he give Lord David money? He’s a rich landowner.”

  “I know. But evidently he wants even more to complete the deal. I don’t understand any of it. It’s probably nothing, or I misunderstood, but I think I should tell Joe, don’t you?”

  Elspeth nodded slowly. “I think you should . . . about the money. They were really kissing?”

  The sound of broken glass awoke Joe from a deep sleep. He lifted his head off the pillow.

  Damned drunk, he thought, and lowered himself back into bed.

  The second sound of smashing glass brought him out of bed and to his feet. That sounded more like a window than a whiskey bottle. He pulled on his trousers and reached under his bed for the pistol he kept loaded in case of a burglar or a saboteur, and made his way out of his bedroom. Everything looked fine from where he stood. The doors were bolted and all windows in the warehouse were grilled; no one could break in.

  Still . . .

  He moved stealthily toward the back work area and opened the door a slit. Saw the first explosion of fire. They were fire bombing his workshop. He stuck the pistol in his waistband and grabbed a burlap bag from the pile he kept for just such an occasion and a pail of sand. And ran recklessly across the floor to put out the fire that had begun to spread across whatever incendiary substance that had been in the bottle.

  It was moving toward the rolls of brown paper that would go into making the bags for the bagging machine. He looked above him to the broken window. He poured the sand in a wide line between the flames and the paper, then began to beat at the flames.

  More glass splintered farther down the room.

  Damn them.

  But no bomb followed. Just the sound of an angry mob. But Joe couldn’t stop to see if the interlopers had been caught; he had his hands full putting the fire out.

  Shots rang out, but Joe kept beating at the flames.

  When the fire was finally doused and an extra pail of sand had been poured over the smoking ruins, Joe returned to his room long enough to pull on a work shirt and a pair of boots. Then he went outside.

  “They got away,” said Hiram Harkevy, an ex-boxer and one of the men Joe paid to keep an eye on the warehouse. “They had a wagon waiting for them and armed guards. But we’ll get ’em next time.”

  There were verbal agreements throughout the knot of men who had come out of the tavern to help bust some heads. “And then they won’t be doing any mischief ever again,” someone yelled from the crowd.

  “Thank you.” Joe slapped Hiram on the shoulder. “No one was hurt?”

  “Nah. A pack of cowards coming sneaking in the night.”

  “Still, thank you much.” To the knot of men Joe said, “Drinks on me.” He locked his front door, and with the promise of bringing them a pint, Hiram dispatched two men to stand watch at the warehouse.

  The rest of men followed him into the tavern.

  The attacks were escalating. Until tonight, they had been mere annoyances, but fire was a real threat. If Hiram hadn’t stopped them, Joe could have lost months of work. He supposed it was time he hired full-time security.

  He’d talk to Hiram tomorrow. And tomorrow he’d do something about securing the interior with more than glass windows.

  “Get up, sleepy hea
d.” Cassie bounced into Deanna’s bedroom the next morning followed by a maid carrying Deanna’s breakfast tray.

  Deanna groaned. “Go away.” She pulled the satin comforter over her head.

  “You’ve been sleeping forever. Are you sick?” Cassie pulled the covers down and frowned at Deanna. “You look fine, so come on. We’re going shopping and to the Casino for lunch.”

  Deanna opened her eyes. Cassie’s face was about a foot from hers. She blinked. “I haven’t had breakfast yet.” Deanna tried to turn over, but Cassie jumped onto the bed and poked her. Deanna gave up.

  “Okay, I’m awake.”

  “Oh, good. Just put the tray down over there, Bridget,” Cassie told the maid. “And be a dear and bring me a cup.”

  The maid curtseyed and left the room.

  “You’ll never guess,” Cassie said as soon as the door closed.

  “What?” Deanna cleared her throat, gave up trying to go back to sleep, and sat up.

  “Joe’s Gran Gwen telephoned to invite us to tea at Bonheur on Monday. Maddie’s dying to meet her.” Clouds descended on her face. “I thought it would be okay to accept, since we can be sure Joe won’t be there—it will be great fun.”

  “Oh, good,” Deanna said, sitting a little straighter. Maybe she would have a chance to speak with Gran Gwen alone.

  “It will be just the three of us. Mama has to stay home. Papa’s under the weather again. Mama said he’d have to stop traveling if this is what happens.” Cassie frowned.

  “Is he awfully bad? He said he was fine last night.”

  “I know, but this morning he didn’t even get out of bed. I guess Mama was right about him not going out.”

  “Are you worried about him?” Deanna asked.

  “Not really. Mama says he’ll be fine, but she sent for the doctor, and we’ll have to take Aunt Tillie with us shopping this morning, since Mama wants to be here when the doctor comes.” Cassie made a face.