A Gilded Grave

by Shelley Freydont

  Joe sprang to his feet. “Until what?” He faced Deanna.

  “That’s all she said. Then they went down the hall to their rooms, and I went back to mine.”

  Joe began to pace the room. Stopped and addressed Deanna. “Are you sure of what you saw?”

  Deanna nodded.

  “Not that their relationship has anything to do with the sugar industry,” Gran Gwen said.

  “Maybe not,” Joe said. “Regardless, the man’s not even interested in sugar. From the little he’s said to me, I doubt if he knows the difference between a condenser and a centrifuge.”

  “Perhaps, my dear, he’s one of those effete Britishers who’d rather ride to hounds or sit back with his sherry and let the overseer take care of the business. He does have an impeccable lineage.”

  Joe snorted. “Lineage doesn’t run businesses.”

  Will cleared his throat. “I know you’re all worried about the company, but I don’t see how disappearing money from R and W, or even the antics of the Manchesters, can possibly have anything to do with the murder of two maids.”

  “The murders are my fault,” Deanna said.

  Chapter

  20

  “What?” Both men and Gran Gwen stared at Deanna.

  “Well, not Daisy, but I’m responsible for the second one, Claire.”

  “How do you figure that?” Joe asked.

  “Just let her talk,” Will said. He turned to a new page in his notebook.

  There were so many things starting to add up in her mind, but how to present them so that they made sense and didn’t have the boys—men—rolling on the floor laughing at her?

  “Let her tell it in her own way with no interruptions.” Gran Gwen gave Joe an intent look.

  His mouth tightened as if he were holding his argument in.

  “Go ahead, Dee.”

  Deanna nodded.

  “To begin with, Elspeth was worried about Orrin, so when Mama had to take Adelaide to Boston, and we went to stay with the Woodruffs, we . . . Well, Elspeth asked if she could take Daisy’s things back to her family, and Mrs. Oates, the housekeeper, said that she might. So we—”

  “We?” asked Will.

  “With a murderer loose, I didn’t want Elspeth to go alone.”

  Will nodded. Joe just looked horrified. Deanna was afraid to look at Gran Gwen. She had no idea what that lady might be thinking of her.

  “We gathered up Daisy’s clothes and found her books under the mattress.”

  Will nodded. “I remember seeing them.”

  “We always loaned Daisy our dime novels when we finished them.” Deanna cast an apologetic look at the other three, who looked slightly scandalized. “Well, they’re more interesting than the young ladies’ magazines.”

  This time it was Gran Gwen who laughed.

  “But we found one with the cover stripped off. You didn’t take it, did you Will?”

  Will shook his head.

  “Oh, come on,” Joe said. “Those books are so cheap most of the covers do come off.”

  “I know that, but Daisy was always very careful to return them in good condition. We didn’t know what to make of it, until . . .” Deanna stood.

  Surprised, the two men hastily stood also.

  They all watched as she pulled back her jacket and reached behind her waist.

  “What on earth . . . ?” said Joe.

  She pulled the magazine gingerly from her waistband and held it out. “There.”

  Will lifted the book from her hand and studied it. “Dr. Pritchard, the poisoner? I remember the case. Scottish doctor who poisoned his wife. It was a sensation in its time, but that was years ago,” he pointed out.

  “I know, but they’re still writing stories about him. And, more importantly, look in the background.” She pointed to the image. “Look at the maid in the door, witnessing the poisoner.”

  Deanna saw the change in his expression. “You think Daisy saw something she shouldn’t.”

  Joe took the magazine from Will and perused the cover, then handed it to Gran Gwen.

  “But why tear the cover off?” Gwen asked. “She didn’t want anyone to see it?”

  “We wondered, too. So Elspeth went down to the servants’ hall to see what she could find out.”

  She had everyone’s full attention now.

  “Nobody much wanted to talk to her. But later, Elspeth brought Claire to my room, and Claire told us that Daisy had tried to sneak out the night of the party to tell Orrin something, but someone stopped her.”

  Joe sighed. “That was me. So if anyone’s to blame for Daisy’s murder, it’s me.”

  “Oh, piffle,” Gran Gwen said. “Neither of you is responsible for those murders. But someone else is, and they must be stopped before it happens again.”

  “Let’s stick to one thing at a time,” Will said. “What did Claire tell you?”

  “That when Daisy couldn’t see Orrin, she asked Claire if she would write a note to him. Daisy doesn’t read or write very well. I mean she didn’t.” And now she would never learn. “It isn’t fair.”

  Gran Gwen reached over and patted her hand. “No, it isn’t, my dear. But we can depend on Will to catch the monster that did this.”

  “None of the maids came forward when we asked them for information,” Will said.

  Deanna gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you surprised? The police aren’t exactly their friends.”

  Will looked chagrined. “No, we have a lot to answer for in that department. Did Claire tell you what she wrote?”

  “She never got a chance to write anything. Daisy was frightened away before she could tell her.”

  “You think Daisy tore off the cover as a message?”

  “Yes. She couldn’t write and she didn’t have time to go back to Claire, so she put the cover in the envelope. She had an envelope when you found her.”

  “Yes, but it was empty.”

  “Because whoever killed her took the image.”

  “Why leave the envelope behind?”

  “Don’t be dense. Because it had Orrin’s name on it. And you arrested him.”

  “It wasn’t just because of the envelope. He had no alibi for her time of death.”

  “A lot of people didn’t,” Deanna said. “But everybody’s ready to accuse Orrin, just because they heard his name was written on an envelope.”

  Will leaned forward, every muscle tense. “What frightened her away?”

  “Lord David’s man. Swan. He came down the stairs and Daisy ran.”

  “I think maybe I’ll go have another talk with the magician valet.”

  “But he was performing at the bonfire when Claire was killed.”

  Will looked at her long and hard. “Claire was killed at least twelve hours earlier and someplace else. Her body was dumped there after she was already dead.”

  “How do you know this?” Gran asked.

  “Forensics is a science. It can tell us much more about a murder than hot-tempered policemen who are willing to arrest the most convenient person while the real perpetrator goes free.”

  Deanna sucked in her breath. That was the most passionate speech she’d ever heard from Will. “So that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “When we heard the scream, we thought it was someone in danger. But it wasn’t Claire who screamed. It was Madeline.”

  Will scratched his head. “Dee, you amaze me. She certainly didn’t volunteer that information to the police.”

  “She told me,” Deanna said. “She was trying to give me an explanation for why she and Charles were together in the dark on the rocks.” Deanna turned to Joe. “It’s terrible. She said they were in love and I wanted to scratch her eyes out. What do I tell Adelaide? She can’t marry Charles now.”

  Wil
l cleared his throat. “And did she say that she saw Joe kneeling over the body when she screamed?”

  “Yes, but I don’t believe anything Lady Madeline says anymore. She probably just wanted to take the attention off herself. Just out walking, indeed. Charles’s vest was buttoned wrong. His valet would never let him leave the house in such a state.”

  Will leaned back in his chair and raised his arms in victory. “If I had even one officer with your brain, the crime rate in Newport would be cut in half overnight.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Joe said. “You’re not staying another night in that house, Dee. You can come stay here with Grandmère, you and Elspeth.”

  “Dee knows she’s always welcome,” said Gran Gwen. “Shall I send one of the footmen to collect Elspeth and your things?”

  “Thank you, but we’re no closer to catching the killer,” Dee said. “We can’t stop now.”

  “You can and you will,” Joe said. He was practically yelling.

  Deanna stood. “May I remind you, you have no right to tell me what to do.” The barb hit the mark. Joe’s suddenly ruddy cheeks drained just as quickly.

  “I’m aware of that,” he said in a subdued voice.

  Will slowly shook his head. “None of the staff remembers seeing or not seeing her during the day. Either she was very unmemorable or, more likely, they decided not to cooperate.”

  “They’re frightened,” Gran Gwen said.

  “All the more reason to help the police find the killer before he strikes again.”

  “Again?” said Deanna.

  “No,” said Will. “That’s just my frustration talking. I beg your pardon. Still, please be careful.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t question the servants anymore.”

  Deanna shook her head. She’d learned her lesson.

  “Good. That’s settled,” Joe said. “I don’t have to worry about you. Because right now I’m more concerned about Woodruff’s subterfuge.”

  “Well,” Deanna said, shooting him a sour look, “with Mr. Woodruff and Charles having taken Lord David to see the refineries, Mrs. Woodruff is giving a party for the young people tomorrow night. I’m sure she will invite you, Joe.” She cast an apologetic look at Will. “Though probably not you, Will.”

  “I’m quite used to being left off the guest lists. But I must say, Joe, with you and Deanna on the scene—and the other men out of the house—there’s no telling what you might find out.”

  Joe frowned at him, then there was a sudden glint in his eye. He was making a plan, Deanna thought. But would he include her?

  Gran Gwen clapped her hands. “Good. Deanna can finagle you an invitation while we’re having tea today, to which neither of you gentlemen is invited. And I’ll plan a little soiree myself for an evening later this week. See what we can ferret out.” Gran Gwen shared a smile with Deanna, then reached over to ring the bell. “It’s time for luncheon. All this sleuthing has given me an appetite.”

  There was no talk of murder during lunch. Gran Gwen was forward-thinking, but as she pointed out, manners were manners. Will stayed for lunch, but once he left, Deanna reminded Joe of his promise to go down to the beach with her.

  “Delightful idea,” Gran said. “But, my dear, you cannot go down to the beach in that dress, not if you plan to wear it to tea.” She tugged at the bell pull. Two minutes later, Carlisle appeared. “Ask Minerva to take Miss Deanna upstairs and find something of Laurette’s to wear to the beach.”

  “Does she have one of those new bathing costumes?” Deanna asked.

  Gran Gwen raised an eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, she does. But you won’t be wearing it when you’re on the beach with Joseph and unaccompanied by a chaperone.”

  Deanna’s face fell.

  “When this is all over, we’ll order you one of your very own.” Her dark eyes twinkled. “But we’ll keep it here, and you won’t wear it to Bailey’s. Your mother would have a stroke.”

  “Oh, thank you. I’ve wanted one forever. And a tennis dress, like the one I saw in the Harper’s catalogue.”

  “Very well, but go upstairs now and change into a day dress if you want to get down the cliff and back before the others arrive.”

  Deanna practically ran out of the room.

  “Joseph,” Gran Gwen said as soon as Deanna was gone. “That girl needs some freedom before that mother of hers sucks the life out of her.”

  Joe, who had just picked up a copy of the Newport Mercury, put it down again. “If you ask me, she manages to find plenty of freedom. Always has,” he added.

  “Yes, she’s clever, but to no useful purpose.”

  Joe groaned. “Oh, Grandmère, don’t say you’re going to make a free thinker and suffragette out of her.”

  “Do you want a biddable ninny for a wife?”

  “No. But I’m not marrying Deanna.”

  His grandmother shrugged.

  “It surprises me that you would want me to honor an arranged marriage.”

  “Oh, piffle. How your two fathers came to make such a mess of things is beyond me. They are usually smarter men.”

  “You would have tricked us more subtly?”

  “Is that’s what is upsetting you?”

  Joe sighed. “No. It’s just that I’m . . . selfish.”

  This statement got two raised eyebrows—his grandmother at her most disapproving. “And how so? You’ve never been selfish.”

  “Because I have my work.”

  “And you can’t have a life also? Are the two mutually exclusive?”

  “I can’t go traipsing around to balls and yacht parties with grease under my nails. Or talk about the latest winner at Saratoga when I’d rather drive one of the new motorcars.”

  “Heaven forbid.”

  “And I wouldn’t marry someone and leave her sitting alone in one of our cavernous houses, unlooked after and free to carry on all sorts of liaisons.”

  Gwen threw back her head and roared with laughter. “Oh, my dear boy, give her a wrench and put her to work on one of your inventions.”

  Joe stared at his grandmother, but before he could think of anything to say, the door opened and Dee walked in wearing a white frock with slimmer sleeves than the current fashion and with a short enough hem that he could see her feet and ankles. It took his breath away.

  He heard his grandmother humming a tune under her breath.

  “Shall we go?” Dee said formally, then exploded the mood by running to his grandmother and twirling in a circle. “It’s so beautiful. Much too beautiful for the beach.”

  “My dear, it’s exactly what to wear at the beach. And it looks just ravishing, doesn’t it, Joseph?”

  “Ravishing,” he said. He gestured toward the French doors. “Shall we?”

  “Yes, we shall.” Dee cut him a saucy look, not flirtatious but triumphant.

  As soon as she reached the lawn, Deanna took off, arms stretched in the air. For a moment all he could do was watch. He hadn’t been around for her New York season, but seeing her now, free like the old days, made him realize how stifled she’d been and how much she deserved to be out from under her mother’s thumb.

  It was all well and good for Adelaide. She was made for society. But Deanna . . . Deanna should have been born a Ballard, that would be the atmosphere in which she could thrive. The thought brought him to his senses.

  He had to run to catch up to her.

  She was already sitting on a boulder, her skirt hiked up to her knees, her shoes sitting neatly to one side.

  She glanced up at him. “Don’t look.”

  Joe shook his head and turned away, but when he felt her lean over to pull off her stockings, he looked anyway.

  “You weren’t supposed to look.”

  Joe shrugged.

  “Well, take off your shoes, too. Or
have you grown too old and decrepit over the winter?”

  “I’ll show you decrepit.” Joe shucked off his jacket and untied his tie and tossed it after his jacket. Then he took off his shoes and socks, and rolled up his pant legs. When he turned back, she had tucked her skirts up and was already clambering down the wooden steps that led to the secluded beach.

  “Dee, slow down. It might be slippery.” The warning only made her go faster. She didn’t slow down when she reached the sand, but ran straight to the water and didn’t stop until she was ankle-deep in the surf.

  “Ah,” she said as Joe picked his way painfully across the rocky sand.

  She watched him approach, shaking her head the whole time. When he got close, she kicked water at him, spraying his ankles and wetting the folds of his trousers.

  “Hey.”

  She kicked again.

  “Stop it.”

  She laughed and leaned over to use her hands.

  Joe gave up. If she wanted a water fight, she would get one, and his grandmother’s maid could have the dubious pleasure of putting her together again before tea.

  He, on the other hand, would take a hot, luxurious bath—one of the things he missed most about living as he did—then change into one of the many suits that still hung in his closet.

  Water sprayed his face.

  “Okay, that’s it.” Joe ran into the water, and a kicking war commenced and didn’t stop until they were both drenched and out of breath from laughing.

  Suddenly Deanna stopped. The joy fled and she became serious again.

  He stepped toward her and saw there were tears in her eyes. “What is it?”

  She shrugged.

  He stepped closer, gave her a little shake. “Come on, Deedle-dee, you can tell me.”

  She looked up at him, tried to smile. “I miss my old life.”

  When she was younger and she’d skinned a knee or her governess had scolded her, he’d sit beside her or put an arm over her shoulders and cajole her out of her unhappiness. But he didn’t think that would work now. And he knew that putting his arm around her now wouldn’t have the same effect it once had. At least not for him.

  He wasn’t sure about her.