A Gilded Grave

by Shelley Freydont

  “But I bet Daisy was trying to send Orrin a message,” Deanna said.

  “With the cover?”

  “Claire said Daisy had asked her to write a note to Orrin but was frightened away. If she thought she might not be able to get a note to him, she might have tried to send the cover to him, like a clue. To let him know she’d seen something suspicious.”

  “Oh, miss. Do you think that’s what was in the envelope? If it fell out, maybe it’s still down there on the rocks. I can go look for it while everyone is at the bonfire tonight.”

  “You will not. You will not go anywhere alone until this is cleared up.”

  Elspeth jutted out her chin.

  “I mean it. Whoever killed Daisy won’t think twice about killing you. Besides, the police searched the area. Will Hennessey is pretty smart. I don’t think they found anything. It either washed away or someone took it—or we’ve been reading too many detective stories.” She tapped the edition of The Old Sleuth.

  “But I still don’t understand,” Elspeth said. “Why leave the envelope?”

  “Because the envelope had Orrin’s name on it, and the murderer wanted to implicate him. Daisy left a perfect setup.”

  “So, what are we going to do about it?”

  “Well, I’m going to the bonfire. You’re going to stay put and not go outside. And first thing tomorrow morning, we’re going to figure out a way to go see Will Hennessey with what we’ve learned.” Deanna slumped back against the chair. And hope he doesn’t laugh himself silly.

  At seven that evening, Deanna went downstairs dressed in a blouson dress of white piqué draped by a light shawl of pashmina wool. Elspeth had dressed Deanna’s hair in loose curls around her face and the rest twisted up to the top of her head, and she had insisted Deanna wear a short half corset, even though Deanna protested that they would be sitting on blankets on the sand and it would be dark and no one would see her anyway.

  Deanna took her place in the carriage with Mrs. Woodruff and Cassie and Maddie. The men had gone ahead, and Deanna knew they would be at the bar when the ladies arrived.

  The veranda of the Beach Club was lit with colorful paper lanterns. The mamas and some of the young ladies who preferred to stay away from the sand were sitting in chairs or lounging on chaises. A carpet path was laid down across the beach to protect shoes from the salt and sand. It was flanked by two rows of torches to light the way.

  To their right, the row of changing booths had been closed for the evening. To their left, Reject’s Beach was roped off, the boulders behind it serving as perfect, if uncomfortable, trysting places.

  Mrs. Woodruff took her place among the ladies sitting on the veranda, and Deanna, Cassie, and Madeline followed the carpet path down toward the water. The bonfire had not been lit, but it rose behind the group like a small mountain against the darkening sky. It looked almost ancient, like a pyramid—or a funeral pyre.

  Deanna shook herself. It must have been all that talk about voodoo. Still, she couldn’t help but look behind her, just to make sure no one was following them.

  It was just dusk, but little knots of people already sat on blankets brought for the occasion, while waiters carried trays of punch and sandwiches to the guests, no easy feat due to the shifting sand.

  “Oh, there they are!” Cassie waved her bright yellow scarf and began to pick her way across the sand to where Charles and Lord David sat along with Vlady, Herbert, and Cokey. Deanna had had enough of Cokey to last a lifetime, but she couldn’t very well snub him.

  I’ll just sit as far away from him as possible, she thought as she followed Cassie and Madeline across the sand to the men.

  There was a bottle of champagne in a standing silver cooler. And another empty one neck down in the sand. They were all in good spirits.

  Charles, Herbert, and Lord David stood, brushing sand from their hands as the three girls approached. Vlady started to stand but lost his balance and fell back to the blanket, pulling Cassie with him and setting her off in a peal of laughter. Cokey was already too drunk to even attempt to stand. Maybe he would pass out and they wouldn’t have to pay attention to him.

  “Incomparable,” Lord David said, and kissed Deanna’s hand.

  To her acute embarrassment, she felt the same tingle she’d felt when she’d seen him kissing Madeline the night before. His sister. He’d been kissing his sister.

  Lord David smiled, no doubt thinking the shiver was caused by his gallantry. He offered his hand to help her sit, then sat beside her. He reached past her, and his arm brushed awfully close to her as he lifted the champagne bottle and poured her a glass.

  The champagne was fizzy and tart, and went down quite easily.

  The evening grew darker, the guests became livelier, Lord David filled Deanna’s champagne glass a second time and ordered another bottle. Next to them, Cassie and Vlady were carrying on a lively flirtation.

  Deanna’s memory of the night before grew fuzzy in her mind, and soon she’d almost convinced herself that she’d misinterpreted the siblings’ kiss. Lord David was being very attentive to her, the heat of his body compelling and seductive as he leaned close to speak softly in her ear.

  Charles and Madeline sat on the other side of the blanket, their heads together, deep in conversation. Things were looking worse and worse for Adelaide. If she didn’t hurry back, Deanna was afraid it would be too late to salvage her engagement.

  Just as darkness descended in earnest, a murmured excitement swept through the guests. Deanna and the others turned to see a row of torches carried by the Beach Club’s staff wind its way down the beach toward the water.

  But instead of lighting the bonfire, they pushed the torches into the ground until a square of sand was lit up like a stage.

  “My cue,” Lord David whispered in Deanna’s ear, setting off a delicious tightness in her stomach.

  He got to his feet and strode toward the “stage.” Everyone adjusted positions to see him better.

  Lord David raised both arms. The light from the torches played along the planes of his body and face, making him seem to leap from the black of the night. He had certainly gotten everyone’s attention. Some people stood and moved closer to see.

  “Ladies and gentleman, my sister and I thank you for your warm hospitality. Tonight we have a special treat to share with you.

  “Some of you may have heard that my servant Swan has some unusual powers far beyond the capabilities of a normal man. Now I would just like to set the record straight.” He paused. Deanna shot Cassie an “I told you so” look. Lord David was going to dispel the voodoo rumors.

  “Everything you’ve heard is . . . true.” He lowered his voice, leaned toward his now rapt audience. “And more.”

  His voice sent a ripple of uneasiness down Deanna’s spine.

  “I discovered Swan in a village in . . .”

  “What rubbish.”

  Deanna jumped at the new voice in her ear.

  “Joe!” She turned and they nearly bumped noses, he was so close. She tried to move away but he grabbed her arm and held her in place.

  “Shhh.” He was crouched on one knee, leaning close to her. Too close.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  “Crashing the party, though I am a member, remember?” His face looked diabolical in the flickering torchlight. “I need to talk to you—but not here.”

  “Good, because I want to talk to you. Elspeth and I found something today.”

  “Dee. Stop it.” His breath hissed in her ear and stopped the rest of her explanation.

  In the following silence Deanna heard “. . . can conjure fire and wind, talk to the dead, read your palm, but tonight . . .”

  “You’re going to Grandmère’s for tea Monday.”

  She leaned closer. “Yes, with Cassie and Madeline. Why?”

  “. . . so, wit
hout further ado, I present Swan the Obeah Man.” Applause broke out.

  “Joe, why do you— Joe?”

  But Joe was gone. Vanished into the night like a magician.

  Deanna looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Vlady and Cassie were clasped in an embrace. Cokey, cradling the champagne bottle, was sprawled out half on the blanket and half on the sand. Charles and Madeline were not where they’d been. Perhaps they had moved closer to get a better look. Deanna searched the crowd, but they seemed to have disappeared. And so had Joe.

  Lord David returned and sat down beside her, a little closer than he’d been sitting before, Deanna thought.

  “Where—” Deanna began.

  “Watch,” he told her.

  Deanna looked at the place where the torchlight danced in the air, though there was no wind that Deanna could tell. Then, out of the darkness, appeared two white orbs that seemed to float above two yellow slashes. Coming closer and closer.

  Lord David placed a supporting hand in the small of her back. “He’s a gentle soul, just a magical one. Don’t be afraid.”

  Slowly, the objects moved into the light of the torches and Deanna saw that the floating slashes of color were actually face paint and the orbs were merely two wide eyes.

  She wasn’t afraid—not really. She’d seen this apparition in the flesh on the back stairs of Seacrest. But tonight he looked even taller than she remembered.

  Swan was dressed in a long red robe with a striped shawl tied diagonally across his chest. Two large feathers stuck up from a red turban. He began to chant, low and barely audible at first, then growing louder, sounds that Deanna had never heard before.

  His chant became louder, the syllables quicker, until he stopped abruptly, words suspended. He began flicking his long fingers, sending sparks of red, green, blue, and yellow into the air until they surrounded him. They floated upward and spread into the night before they were gone in a poof of smoke.

  There were gasps and nervous laughter and finally applause and a few bravos.

  But Swan seemed oblivious. He began walking in a circle within the torches, his knees bent, body leaning forward, arms stretched outward, and his fingers playing the air like a harp.

  He circled once, twice, drawing his audience into his spell. On the third time, he stopped in the center, and the ground lit up in a line around him, not with fire but with a phosphorescent glow.

  “That’s amazing,” Deanna whispered to Lord David.

  “And it just gets better.”

  Next, two large birds appeared from the folds of his sleeves and came to rest on each shoulder. Scarves appeared and disappeared only to be found in the audience. He glided up to a young woman; when he reached her, his hands shot from the folds of his robes and she screamed. Coins appeared between his fingers. He opened his hands and they dropped into the young woman’s lap.

  Everyone laughed as he backed away, grinning and leaving her dumfounded.

  “Who has lost something?” His voice was mysterious, melodious.

  One of a group of young men sitting nearby jumped to his feet and, laughing, called out, “I’ve lost something. Finally.”

  His companions laughed uproariously.

  “Can you guess what it is?” the young man asked.

  Swan pointed at him. “Do not mock the magic or it will come for you.”

  The man swayed and fell back into his companions. There were some concerned murmurs. One of his companions said, “No harm. Just a little tipsy.”

  “Look in your pocket, disbeliever.”

  The man rolled to his side and checked his trouser pockets. “Nothing.”

  “The left pocket of your vest.”

  The man reached in his vest, slowly pulled out his closed hand. Opened it and stared. “My ring. My signet ring. How did it get there? What did you do?”

  “I never touched it with my hand but with my”—Swan’s hand rose slowly and a long finger pointed to his temple—“mind.”

  “Huh,” scoffed one of his companions. “He probably picked your pocket during the evening.”

  Swan slowly turned to stare at the man with the ring, who began to quake.

  “He didn’t. I lost this last week, before they ever arrived. How did you do that?”

  Keeping his eyes locked on the man, Swan backed into the center of the circle. He broke his gaze and raised his hands to the side. Around him a ring of opalescent light pulsated on the sand. Sounds of amazement reverberated through his audience.

  They were totally in his thrall.

  Swan’s hands stretched high above his head, moving in circles as if he were molding the air into a ball, holding something none of them could see. With a cry he flung the invisible object over their heads.

  Everyone turned as the bonfire burst into flames. When they turned back, the torches had died. Swan was gone.

  A bloodcurdling scream rent the air.

  Chapter

  15

  For a moment there was dead silence, then several ladies also screamed. There were titters of nervous laughter, and then confusion.

  Lord David jumped to his feet. “That scream wasn’t part of the act.”

  “It came from up there.” Vlady Howe pointed toward the tumble of rocks that rose along the far side of the little pocket of sand that was Reject’s Beach.

  He and Herbert took off across the sand. Several other men grabbed the lanterns that lit the canvas walkway and began to run toward the rocks, while others began escorting the ladies back toward the veranda.

  “Lets go see,” Cassie said.

  Deanna didn’t have to be persuaded. She had a bad feeling about that scream.

  Deanna and Cassie threaded their way through the crowd. As soon as they were clear, Deanna began to run.

  Deanna beat Cassie to the rope that separated the public Reject’s Beach from Bailey’s and slipped underneath, then held it for Cassie to wiggle through.

  It took only a few minutes to get to the cliff base, another couple of seconds to hike their skirts into their waistbands—something they had done often in childhood—and start to climb.

  They were both good climbers; you didn’t forget a childhood of exploits just because you turned eighteen. And though the moon wasn’t full, there was enough light to keep from falling.

  Beyond them, men scrambled over the rocks, torchlight bouncing in and out of view.

  “Here! Over here!” someone called.

  “That was Vlady,” Cassie said, and began to climb over the rough surface of the rocks toward the voice. They were upon him before they realized it, and Deanna sucked in her breath.

  A girl lay crumpled in a little pocket of sand. Vlady stood over her, holding his torch like a centurion. Herbert had stepped back from the body and was a mere shadow. Across from Vlady, Charles Woodruff stood supporting a wilting Madeline. And kneeling beside the girl was Joe Ballard.

  No one moved, trapped like the subjects of a painting.

  Then Joe looked up and held Deanna’s gaze.

  Deanna brought a fist to her mouth, bit down on it as if to stop her own scream. This just couldn’t be happening. She swallowed hard, inched forward. The black uniform, the white apron. She had to know who it was, but the maid’s face was turned away.

  “Good Lord. It’s Joe Ballard. He’s done it again.” The words were slurred and came from behind Deanna, but she recognized the hateful voice.

  “Shut up, Cokey,” Herbert demanded. “You’re drunk and witless.”

  “No I ain’t.” Cokey staggered past Deanna, and Dee was tempted to give him a push.

  Joe stood and faced him. “I hear you’ve been making all sorts of accusations about me, Featheringham. This is neither the time nor the place. You may explain later. For now just be quiet.”

  Deanna didn’t know how Joe could be so calm.
He’d been leaning over the body when she and Cassie had arrived.

  She pushed Cokey aside. He stumbled but she didn’t care. She sidestepped around the scene until she was standing next to Vlady, where she could see the poor girl’s face in his torchlight.

  This time Deanna couldn’t stop her choked cry of dismay. It was Claire. The maid who had come to them to tell them about Daisy. Was that why she was lying here dead? Killed? Murdered?

  Because it must be murder, and that proved once and for all that Daisy’s death hadn’t been an accident or suicide, but murder. And that Orrin couldn’t have done it, because Orrin was still safely in jail. Relief mingled with her sadness and anger—and guilt.

  She was responsible for this. She had sent Elspeth to question the servants. She had encouraged Claire to tell all that she knew. She’d actually thought she could help find Daisy’s killer. She couldn’t. She should have left it to Will like Joe had told her to do.

  But Claire would never have confided in the police. She’d been willing to speak to Deanna, though, had trusted her, and now Claire was dead, too.

  What was she doing all the way out here? How did she get here and why? Two maids from the same household, both their bodies found on the rocks. Was a madman loose among them? Questions tumbled over themselves in Deanna’s mind.

  Joe stood over the body almost as if he were guarding it.

  And the others . . . Slowly, Deanna became aware of the other two people who had been on the scene when she had arrived. Charles and Madeline. Charles had his arm around Madeline’s waist, and she leaned into him as if she was about to faint. Charles didn’t look uncomfortable or embarrassed. He didn’t even seem to realize he was holding her; he just stared down at the dead girl.

  Deanna wondered how they had gotten there so quickly, then realized that they must have already been close by when the scream cut through the night.

  Which meant they’d been on the rocks together. And everyone knew what went on in the dark shelter of the rocks at Bailey’s Beach.

  A small crowd had gathered around them—mostly men and a few of the more adventurous young ladies—and murmurs of disbelief passed from person to person.