A Golden Grave--A Rose Gallagher Mystery

by Erin Lindsey

  “Look at you, Wiltshire.” The minute hand jumped to three as Mr. Burrows stepped out of the crowd. “Anyone else in that tailoring would look old-fashioned, but somehow on you it’s the very height of style.”

  “It’s called classic, Burrows.”

  “And Miss Gallagher.” Then, coolly: “I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?”

  I glanced up sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Lowering my voice, I added, “This isn’t really a watch. It’s a luck meter.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Here.” Thomas handed his champagne to a bewildered Mr. Burrows. “Would you be so good as to tell me where this glass comes from?”

  Mr. Burrows’s eyes narrowed. “What is this?”

  “Humor me. No one will know what we’re about, I promise.”

  “I am not a trained monkey,” Mr. Burrows growled, but he did as he was asked, tugging off his chamois glove and turning the glass about in his bare hand. “Tastes like Althaus.”

  Thomas glanced at me, but I shook my head. “Take your time,” I said, pointing the probe directly at Mr. Burrows.

  He sighed impatiently. “High lead content. Definitely German. From the Upper Harz region, judging from the undertones of silver…” And so on, sounding for all the world like he was describing a fine wine. As he spoke, the minute hand on my watch climbed from three to seven, and the static against my wrist intensified. When I pointed the probe directly at him, the pulses vibrated through my glove like an erratic heartbeat; when I pointed it away, they faded.

  “Not very exact,” I reported, “but it works. You can definitely tell what direction the power is coming from.”

  Mr. Burrows regarded my cigarette holder with interest. “Where on earth did you get it?”

  “Tesla,” Thomas said.

  “Ah yes, your favorite prodigy. I’m beginning to see why. Is he looking for investors?”

  “Always, but you’d have to share the portfolio with Mark Twain.” This last in a tone of elegant distaste.

  “It’s a wonderful trick, but how will it help you? You’re not exactly looking for a needle in a haystack here.” Mr. Burrows gestured at the crowd.

  A needle in a pile of needles was more like it. Though only one percent of the general population was lucky, among the wealthy, the figure was closer to twenty percent. There would be no shortage of specimens here tonight.

  “The hope,” Thomas said, “is that we can single out the guests we need to keep an eye on, and possibly even be warned of an imminent attack. It’s not perfect, but we need all the help we can get.”

  “And you also need me to stay away so I don’t ruin your readings.” Mr. Burrows sighed theatrically. “What a shame. I was so looking forward to having Miss Gallagher on my arm, especially when Ava Hendriks is in view.”

  I groaned inwardly. “She’s here?”

  “Of course. The hotel is rich hunting grounds tonight. Ava and her fellow Dianas have their bows strung and their quivers full. We stags must be wary, Wiltshire.”

  Thomas tsked quietly. “Some respect, please, Jonathan.”

  “What’s disrespectful about it? I for one find it quite refreshing when the roles are reversed. One does tire of always playing the hunter.”

  “You’re an avid hunter, are you?” I asked dryly.

  “Oh yes.” His ice-blue eyes held mine just long enough to bring a hint of color to my cheeks, and then he was on his way.

  “Incorrigible,” Thomas and I muttered in unison.

  Scanning the crowd, I recognized several guests from the soiree at the Hendrikses’—including Ava herself, whose white satin gown gleamed amid a sea of black swallowtails. Most of the guests were middle-aged men, some of them quite celebrated. I recognized politicians and financiers and newspaper editors, including a certain extravagantly whiskered gentleman I’d give my eyeteeth to be introduced to, and then there was—

  I stiffened, sucking in a breath. “Byrnes is here.”

  Thomas didn’t look straightaway. “Where?”

  “Near the wall opposite us, under the chandelier.”

  Slowly, Thomas turned. The chief of detectives stood on the far side of the room in all his uniformed glory, conversing with a handful of older men. His expression was unreadable behind the huge mustache, but he scanned the room every few seconds, as though he were looking for someone.

  Thomas swore under his breath. “He could ruin everything, and not just for this case. Fewer than half a dozen people in this room know the truth about me, and only two about you. Byrnes could destroy us at a word.”

  “What is he even doing here? I thought he was Tammany’s man. He’s up to no good, surely.”

  “Not necessarily. It could be a political gesture. To demonstrate the neutrality of the police department, or some such. Or perhaps he’s doing actual police work. There’s just no way to know.” Thomas sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to talk to him. Try to convince him that we’re here on other business.”

  That sounded like a very tall order to me. With due respect to Thomas’s ingenuity, I didn’t see how we could possibly hope to sell our presence here as a coincidence. There was another option, though. “I have an idea. It’s risky, but … Do you trust me?”

  He gave me a wary look. “Yes.”

  “Follow my lead.”

  Swallowing down a lump of nervousness, I made straight for Byrnes and his companions.

  The chief of detectives didn’t notice me until I appeared at his elbow. “Forgive me for interrupting, gentlemen, but I just had to say hello. It’s so good to see you again, Inspector.”

  A startled blink was the only hint I’d caught him off guard; in an instant, his features settled into a perfectly blank expression. “Madam.”

  “Rose Gallagher, and I believe you remember my cousin, Mr. Wiltshire?”

  “I remember you both. Very clearly.” His gaze shifted between us, as if to say, What are you up to?

  A question Thomas was almost certainly echoing in his own head, but he played along, wearing an expression of casual interest.

  “I didn’t know you were a Republican,” I said, gesturing playfully at him with my cigarette. I didn’t even need to glance at my watch to read the meter; the weak static against my wrist told me the inspector wasn’t lucky.

  “I leave the politics to the politicians, miss. I’m just a copper.”

  “A sound policy, I’m sure. I imagine it’s more than a full-time job, what with the crime in this city. It seems that nowhere is safe anymore, not even Fifth Avenue. Why, did you know that Andrew Price was burgled just last night?”

  I thought perhaps I heard a small, strangled sound from Thomas’s general direction.

  The inspector’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t aware of that, no.”

  “I understand the thieves made off with a particularly important bit of paperwork. A ledger, wasn’t it?” I turned to Thomas, as though for confirmation.

  “Yes,” he said with a strained smile, “I believe it was.”

  I shook my head. “Imagine going to all that trouble to meticulously document every financial transaction, who you paid and when, only to have it stolen. Do you suppose the thieves even know what to do with information like that?”

  The mix of incredulity and grim amusement on Byrnes’s face was quite satisfying. And more than a little terrifying. I was acutely aware of his size in that moment, and the predatory gleam in his close-set eyes. “I don’t know, Miss Gallagher. Do they?”

  “Well, I suppose that depends on— Oh, look!” I gestured at a gray-haired fellow a few feet away, whose extravagant side-whiskers made him one of the most recognizable people in the room. “Is that who I think it is?”

  Everyone looked, and when Thomas turned back to me, his eyes burned with triumph. For a moment I thought he might actually sweep me into his arms and spin me about; alas, he mastered himself almost immediately. “Why, yes, it certainly is. George Curtis,” he added, for the benefit of anyon
e who failed to recognize one of the country’s most eminent Republicans—who also happened to be the editor of Harper’s magazine. “And look, he’s chatting with Whitelaw Reid, editor of the Tribune. Why, this room is just full of press.”

  Byrnes smiled at me, and though I couldn’t see his teeth behind the mustache, I imagined they were very pointy indeed. “Are you an admirer of Harper’s, Miss Gallagher? I’d be happy to introduce you. Excuse us, lads.” Taking my elbow in a most ungentlemanly grip, he steered me aside.

  “Hands off, Inspector,” Thomas murmured, close behind me. “I’d hate to make a scene.”

  Byrnes let me go, but he still loomed over me, leaving barely six inches of space between us. “Now you listen to me, darlin’. I don’t know what that performance was all about, but I haven’t time to worry about your little variety act tonight. There’s too much going on, and I’m too thinly spread. You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. That’s a onetime offer, and it expires tomorrow.”

  “Fine by me, Inspector. Just remember, if you breathe a word about us to Price or anyone else, the press will have that ledger.”

  He snorted. “I’ve no loyalty to Price. He’s a money purse and nothing more. But I promise you, if you go on making a nuisance of yourself, there’s a cell on Blackwell’s Island with your name on it.”

  “I’m glad we understand each other,” I said, and I spun on my heel and walked away.

  Whereupon my momentary courage fled me, replaced by the same wobbly feeling I’d had after my treacherous climb from a third-story window. As for Thomas, he was flushed and glassy-eyed, as if he’d downed a stiff whiskey. “Rose Gallagher, I could kiss you.”

  My laugh sounded thin and warbling. “That would be awkward, since we’re meant to be cousins.”

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “So Byrnes is here on police business after all. In fact, it sounds as though we’re pulling in the same direction, however grudgingly.”

  Grudgingly wasn’t the word I’d have chosen. As far as I could tell, Byrnes would just as soon see us at the bottom of the East River. “That man terrifies me.”

  “And yet you confronted him head-on.” Thomas shook his head, smiling. “You know, I think I finally understand why jujitsu feels so foreign to you. It relies on turning your opponent’s momentum against him, but that doesn’t suit you at all, does it? You prefer a preemptive strike.”

  “Is that bad?”

  He laughed softly, and his hand brushed against mine, a fleeting, forbidden interlacing of fingers. “It’s brilliant, Rose. You’re brilliant.”

  The gesture would have been intimate in the privacy of our own home. Here in this crowded place, it was practically a kiss, and it left me nearly as breathless. If I were struck down this instant, I’d die happy.

  A dangerous thought, that. I should have known better.

  CHAPTER 18

  OLD-FASHIONED—A RARE BIRD—KICKING THE HORNET’S NEST—CHAMPAGNE CHARLIE

  By half past six, the reception was in full flight. The champagne flowed, the volume rose, and canapés flew past on flashing silver trays. Andrew Price had arrived at about quarter past and was promptly set upon by his new best friends Thomas Wiltshire and Jonathan Burrows, which left me to mill about the room surreptitiously scanning the rest of the crowd. (Price himself had been my first target, but he proved to be a mere mortal; only his nearness to Mr. Burrows prevented the dial from dropping to zero.) I must have looked positively eccentric wandering about waving my cigarette at unsuspecting party guests, but nobody paid me too much attention. As for my readings, the dial had picked out a handful of lucky people, but so far nobody matching the description of our killer.

  It was a dull bit of business, so when a sudden staccato rhythm started hammering against my wrist, it nearly startled me out of my skin. The minute hand on my watch climbed from three to five, and when I veered to my left, it jumped all the way to seven. I was so absorbed in following the signal that I very nearly collided with its source: a stylish brunette wearing a familiar arch expression.

  “Cocktail?” Without waiting for an answer, Edith Islington pressed a honey-colored drink into my hand.

  “Er, thank you. I’m sorry, what is it?”

  “A cocktail,” she repeated, as though that told me everything I needed to know. “The old-fashioned kind, with whiskey. I’m not much for these newfangled liqueurs, are you?”

  “Not really,” I said, which was technically true, since I’d never heard the word liqueur in my life. I pretended to examine the drink, letting my eye fall to the dial at my wrist. Eight. She’s using her luck right now. I supposed that made sense. Some forms of luck were probably never really off.

  Miss Islington was looking at me expectantly, so I took a sip of the drink—and winced.

  “Hmm,” she said. “Not a brilliant testimonial.”

  “Sorry. It’s a touch bitter, that’s all.”

  “Never mind, I’ll have it.” She waved to a passing waiter and grabbed a glass of champagne, swapping me for my cocktail. “There, better?” Now she had a cocktail in each hand. “Well, this should be interesting. Promise you’ll rescue me if I do anything too outrageous.”

  I laughed, despite myself. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Is that a cigarette?” She eyed it with interest. “The holder is a lovely bit of work. Not as lovely as that brooch, mind you. I noticed it the other night. Stunning.”

  My fingers drifted to the jewels at my neckline. “Thank you. It was a gift.”

  “Why, Miss Gallagher, are you blushing? From a suitor, then? He must be very fond of you.”

  If I wasn’t blushing before, I certainly was now. “It’s a bit extravagant, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, I was referring to the choice of stone. It speaks volumes.”

  “How so?”

  “An emerald? I suppose it could be a coincidence, but I’ll wager he chose it in honor of the Emerald Isle. A sweet sentiment. I do hope he was suitably rewarded.” She winked, and I blushed all over again.

  “You remind me of someone,” I said dryly, glancing across the room at a certain golden-haired swell. Then my eye fell on Thomas, and I found myself wondering if what Miss Islington said was true. Had he chosen an emerald because I was Irish? Or was it to match his cufflinks? Maybe it was just what the jeweler had on hand. I supposed I’d never know.

  “Mr. Wiltshire is here too, I see,” Miss Islington said, following my gaze. “Ava was right after all. Your arrival has brought him out of hiding.”

  “I’m sure he hasn’t been hiding.”

  “He’s certainly been a rare bird. Sightings are few, and enthusiastically reported.”

  “Enthusiastically reported?” I didn’t much like the sound of that.

  “Of course. He’s played us all masterfully, your cousin. He excited a great deal of interest when he first arrived in New York—mysterious young foreigner and all that—and then he all but disappeared. We see him at three, perhaps four society functions a year. Barely enough to form an impression of him, which of course leaves us all ravenously curious. Not that I imagine it’s calculated. I suppose he’s just very private?”

  “Oh, indeed. Why, I expect you could spend nearly every waking moment with him and still have no idea what’s going on in his head.” I took a generous pull of my champagne.

  “Well, calculated or not, he’s made a magnificent success of it. Which is why Ava is so determined to put one of her friends in his path. If she can take credit for helping someone snare the elusive Thomas Wiltshire, her reputation as a matchmaker will be peerless.”

  As though I needed another reason to dislike Ava Hendriks.

  “Speaking of matchmaking.” Miss Islington lifted her gaze over my shoulder. “Don’t look now, but you’re being admired by a walrus.”

  I nearly blew champagne out of my nose. I didn’t need to ask whom she was referring to, and the idea that he was admiring me was almost as funny as hearing him called a walrus. “That’s
Inspector Byrnes. He’s been glaring at me all evening.”

  “Oh, dear. Why should he do that?”

  Think fast, Rose. “Well, he’s a Tammany man, you see, and I made my disapproval of their brand of politics quite plain.”

  That explanation seemed to satisfy her, but I made a mental note to stay on my guard. I notice things, she’d told me the other night, and I never forget them. The first part, at least, she’d proven several times over, which meant I needed to be careful around her.

  “Smokes cigarettes, takes an interest in politics, and speaks frankly enough on the subject to offend high-ranking police officers. Miss Gallagher, you are the most unconventional person I’ve met in ages.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “Dear God, yes,” she said with such theatrical vehemence that I couldn’t help laughing. “You’ve single-handedly rescued me from a dull evening. Please say you’ll sit with me at supper. We’ll have to have a gentleman between us, but your cousin will suit the purpose.”

  It would have been hard to refuse even if I’d wanted to, but as it happened, I didn’t. Quite unexpectedly, I found that I was enjoying Edith Islington’s company, and apparently the feeling was mutual. “I’d like that,” I said. “Thank you, Miss Islington.”

  “Edith, please.”

  “And I’d be very happy if you called me Rose.”

  “Glad that’s settled. More champagne?”

  “Er, not just now, thanks.” I still had a job to do, and it was high time I got on with it. “In fact, would you excuse me for a moment? There’s something I ought to take care of before supper…”

  “No need to explain. I understand completely.” And before I could ask what she meant, she cut a sidelong look at an approaching trio of young ladies. Ava Hendriks, Betty Sanford, and a third woman, whose name I had forgotten, were making their way over to us. “Go ahead,” Edith murmured. “I’ll make an excuse for you.”

  Well, I could hardly leave after that. I would be damned if I let myself be run off by Ava Hendriks. “Oops, too late,” I said, and took a fortifying sip of champagne.

  “Good evening, ladies.” Miss Hendriks favored me with an anemic smile. “How nice to see you again, Miss Gallagher.”