The Body in the Ballroom

by R. J. Koreto

  Unfortunately, he had a point, and Alice saw it, too. But she did have a parting shot. “Very well. But this isn’t the end. You are wrong—there is a connection between those deaths and the XVII. Mr. St. Clair, it’s time to leave.”

  “We have a little housekeeping first,” I said. I emptied the revolvers and pocketed the cartridges while Alice looked on.

  “Can I have one of them?” asked Alice.

  “That’s theft!” said Van Dijk.

  “Oh, do be quiet. Mr. St. Clair?”

  “No. But you can toss them out back where the men can find them,” I said. She seemed a little huffy I wouldn’t give her a loaded gun but did as she was told and came back a few moments later.

  “Very well,” Alice said to Van Dijk. “We’re leaving now. You can let the men out of your cellar when we’re gone, and they can find their revolvers in the grass. Just stay out of my way as we continue our investigations, and we will keep your cooperation in mind later.”

  It should’ve been funny, this girl giving a grown man a dressing down like she was a tough old city cop, but watching the look on Alice’s face, it wasn’t funny at all. Mr. van Dijk certainly wasn’t laughing.

  I said a good day, and Alice and I left the house. I paused by the thugs’ motorcar, then took out my jackknife and slashed one of their tires.

  “Why, Mr. St. Clair, what a clever idea!”

  I cranked up our motorcar, and we headed back to Manhattan.

  “That was entertaining,” said Alice.

  “Glad I could oblige,” I said. “Of course, you do know I have to report this to Mr. Harris at Secret Service headquarters.”

  “Report what? Nothing happened. Nothing important, anyway.”

  “Miss Alice, there’s a secret group of armed men out for us. Now the first two—well, they could’ve just been a couple of average toughs. But we seem to have a conspiracy here, and it’s more than one man can handle.”

  “You can’t do that, Mr. St. Clair. If they think something serious is up, we’ll get sent back to Washington and miss all the fun.”

  “I’m paid to protect you, not amuse you.”

  “But we’re the only ones who can solve this! What if they decide to arrest Peter again? Or someone else who’s innocent?”

  I sighed. “Miss Alice, I have my orders—”

  “Ha! Don’t forget that I know that you disobeyed orders in Cuba to save the life of your captain. My father didn’t get the Medal of Honor, which he richly deserved, because he complained about the War Office’s incompetence in sending back sick and wounded men. So don’t talk to me about orders and responsibilities. We have higher responsibilities.”

  We drove in silence for a while. “Oh, hell,” I finally said.

  Alice giggled. “I knew you’d see it my way,” she said. “You still have responsibilities. They’re just new responsibilities.”

  “What about my orders?” I asked. Alice grabbed my free arm and gave it a squeeze.

  “You still have orders. And I’m giving them.” She giggled again. “Here’s my first order. We’re going to pay another visit to Miss Meadows.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “Now you’re really playing with fire, Miss Alice,” I said as I drove back to the Herald building. “You’re a smart girl, I’ll give you that—”

  “Thank you,” she said, looking carefully at me to see what was coming next.

  “But Miss Meadows is a pretty sharp girl, too. She’s lived by her wits, and just look at what she did to me. You’ve won’t be able to pull a fast one on her like you’ve done with others. Her loyalty is to the Herald, and she wants to use you to get the story of her life. You need to be careful.”

  I saw a bunch of emotions roll over Alice’s face. “First of all, she didn’t embarrass me. She embarrassed you, and that’s why you’re being silly about this. And nothing she said indicated she’s smarter than I am. We’re simply trading favors and information, not ‘using’ each other. You’re being silly because you’re infatuated with her, that’s all. Personally, I think you could do better.”

  “You do, Miss Alice? I’m going to try to consider whether or not that’s a compliment.”

  “Forget your romantic life for a moment. Let’s talk some more about Delilah Linde. Who was she? If she had an affair, could it have been with Lynley Brackton?”

  “That’s a possibility. It would explain why she was near him at the punch table. Also, you heard what your aunt said. He was charming on the surface. For her, that may have been enough. That’s all she wanted. She may have not been the smartest girl in the world, and whatever his other good points, Marcus Linde wasn’t the kind of man who could make a young woman like Delilah happy. She got what she was missing from Brackton. And—just maybe—she wanted a child, even if the child wasn’t her husband’s.”

  “Mr. St. Clair, you are now the expert in what keeps young women happy?”

  “Yes, Miss Alice,” I said, dead serious. “Yes, I am.”

  She crossed her arms and sulked until we reached Herald Square.

  There was a different office boy on duty when we walked in, but Alice just said, “Miss Roosevelt and escort to see Miss Meadows” and strode right by him before he could even respond.

  The advantage was to Alice, as she really did catch Felicia Meadows by surprise as she was scribbling away at her desk.

  “It’s Miss Roosevelt … and the sheriff. If you’re here about complaints, I can point you in the direction of my editor, but he isn’t going to care.”

  “I’m not here to complain,” said Alice and took a seat.

  “What about you, Cowboy, are you here to complain?”

  “His name, again, is Mr. St. Clair, and he doesn’t like being called ‘Cowboy,’” said Alice. Miss Meadows raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, we’re rather busy, and I imagine you are, too. So I’ll get down to business. The information you gave me was accurate and useful. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Miss Meadows, looking a little surprised. “You came down here just to say thanks?”

  “No. Not just. I want even more. I realize I need a lot more information, and you seem to have it. It occurred to me that you probably know even more, and I’m willing to pay for it in coin I know you will appreciate.”

  Miss Meadows tapped her pen on her desk for a few moments before speaking. “You may have overestimated me. I have bits and pieces here, gossip. I don’t keep dossiers on everyone in Society. Not formally. Anyway, I’d have thought for the most part you had your own sources. Who’s more connected in New York Society than the president’s daughter?”

  Alice looked a little unsure of herself for a moment, which didn’t happen often. She took a deep breath. “In Society, murder shuts all doors. If this were just about cheating spouses or fortunes lost to gambling, I might be able to get what I need. But this is murder, and Society isn’t going to gossip. Also…” She hesitated. “I’m still considered very young. Because of my age and my position as the president’s daughter, I’m not well placed to hear a lot. I will be over time but not yet.”

  Miss Meadows leaned back and grinned. “I bet you will. Hell, I bet you’ll get your own column here someday.”

  Alice hadn’t liked admitting there was something she couldn’t do and was pleased Miss Meadows responded well.

  “Thank you. There are some people whose relationships are unclear to me. Maybe you have heard things about what they’ve been doing recently, something one of your sources heard. There’s some overlap here with what I asked you already. First, I want to know about Abraham Roth—”

  “Oh, he’s talked about enough,” said Miss Meadows. “Son of Reuben Roth, who practically runs Wall Street. The son is sharp, too, and handsome in a sort of … foreign way. Jewish, you know, or he’d be marrying into one of the best families. But they never marry outside their faith.”

  “Do the Roths have any financial dealings with the other great families? I’m thinking of other families at the Rutledge
party, such as the Rutledges themselves, the Lindes, or Delilah’s family, the Van Dijks?”

  Miss Meadows pursed those lovely lips. She wrote down the names and then traced her pen along her jawline as she considered.

  “Miss Roosevelt, I don’t know if you realize what you’re asking. I cover Society news. Business is another department, and no women work there.” She sounded a little bitter about that, and I didn’t blame her. I knew enough about newspapers to understand that even though there were women here and there, it really was a man’s business. “I hardly know anything about Wall Street, anyway.”

  “But what about Nellie Bly? She was a woman journalist.”

  “Oh, Nellie Bly!” said Miss Meadows. Even I had heard about her, a woman journalist who wrote all kinds of stories and set a record traveling around the world. “She was something, but Miss Roosevelt, that’s not the kind of thing I do. Although I suppose…” She wandered off for a moment, then those eyes became shrewd. “You said you’d pay me in coin that I could use. What would that be?”

  Alice suddenly looked proud of herself, which made me nervous. She got that look when she was about to pull off something big.

  “You wanted to know what was going on at the Gadsden ball. What if I could do something better? What if I could get you in?”

  “Miss Roosevelt, even you couldn’t convince a Society hostess to let a reporter wander around at a big event with her guests.”

  “But we wouldn’t tell anyone. Have you been to Boston? You’ll be a distant cousin from Boston. No one knows who you are by sight, so you can just use an assumed name.”

  My first thought was the potential downside for me if Mrs. Cowles found out about this and it blew up in our faces. Could I pretend I hadn’t known anything about it?

  “I’ll need an escort,” said Miss Meadows. Her eyes slid over to me. “Why not Mr. St. Clair here, since he’s in on it, anyway?”

  “Mr. St. Clair is far too busy with his security responsibilities,” Alice shot back before I could even think of a good response. “You need someone from Society, of course. I’ll set you up with Stephen Lesseps, who took me to the Rutledge ball. I can’t go with him again, or people will start talking. He’s a good dancer and not very bright, so he won’t question you, and he’ll be glad to do a favor for me.”

  “I could get a lot of information from that, if they thought I was one of their own. This could be very big for me.” She checked her watch. “I’ll need to get started now because I imagine you need this information quickly. I’m going to have to pay back some of the men I’ll be getting any information out of…”

  “Excellent. It’s a deal,” said Alice, and the two women shook on it.

  “Assuming you can get what you need tonight, you can join me at breakfast at eight tomorrow at the Caledonia. I’m starting a new tradition of breakfast meetings.”

  “Breakfast at the Caledonia? That sounds inviting. I’ll gather what I can and meet you tomorrow.”

  “Very good. We have a talented cook and serve the best coffee. Come, Mr. St. Clair, let’s give Miss Meadows time to do her work and gather her team. Meanwhile, we can start making notes for our next tasks.” She was out of the office in the blink of an eye, before anyone could make any objections.

  With considerably less enthusiasm, I stood and prepared to follow her. My mind was still trying to take in the deal Alice had made, smuggling a reporter into one of the biggest Society events of the year in exchange for secrets about some of those same people. To say nothing of inviting that same reporter to the household of the president’s sister. What could this mean for Alice if it worked, and what could it mean for me if it failed?

  It was clear what it could do for Miss Meadows. She’d be playing with the big boys.

  “You seem a bit disturbed by this, Mr. St. Clair,” said Miss Meadows, and a smile played across those lips. “Still annoyed about my write-up about you?”

  “Nah. That was kind of flattering. I think the other Secret Service agents were jealous they didn’t get a write-up in the Herald. No, I’m thinking of how this might play out,” I said.

  “For you? What about for me? I have my honor with the rest of my newsroom on the line. I could lose my job.”

  “Heck, miss. You’d get a new job. If this thing falls apart on my watch, Alice’s aunt, Mrs. Cowles, will have me shot.”

  “Have some faith. I’ll buy you a drink when it’s all done.”

  Alice was waiting for me and tapping her foot in the hallway.

  “Come on,” she said. “You can flirt with Miss Meadows on your own time. I want to get back in time to call Stephen Lesseps and let him know who he’ll be taking to the Gadsden ball.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Miss Alice,” I said.

  “Your faith in me and my abilities is underwhelming,” she said.

  * * *

  There wasn’t much else on for the rest of the day, but it had been busy enough. Some local politicians were coming around, and Mrs. Cowles was expecting Alice to be a good girl and talk nicely to them and their wives.

  “What are you up to this evening?” asked Alice.

  “There should be a card game in the basement,” I said. “Beer and tobacco.”

  “William T. Jerome, the Manhattan district attorney, will be coming to dinner.” Alice sighed. “I don’t suppose Aunt Anna will allow me to drink and smoke in front of him.”

  We drove back to the Caledonia, and Mrs. Cowles greeted us at the door. “Good, right on time. I want to go over the guest list with you tonight, to discuss topics you might want to bring up with our guests and”—her voice came down heavy—“topics you might want to avoid.”

  “Of course. I know the Brackton-Linde murders are off the table, and I’ll be a good girl. Speaking of that, I did, of course, pay a call on Marcus Linde.”

  My first reaction was that Mrs. Cowles wasn’t buying that, but Alice didn’t look furtive. She met her aunt’s gaze right back. “Naturally, as I am a member of a leading family, it would’ve been very rude if I did not call on such a prominent citizen as Mr. Linde. Did you know that he was on the committee that appointed Father police commissioner? Indeed, my visit was more than a social kindness; it was an official duty.”

  I thought I deserved some kind of prize for not laughing.

  “Is this newfound devotion to duty and comforting the bereaved applicable only in cases of murder?” asked Mrs. Cowles. “I recall having to bully you into attending the funeral of the mother of a congressman in Washington last month.”

  “She was ninety-two. It was hardly as tragic or unexpected as in these cases. Anyway, the point is that I am doing what I’m supposed to do and meeting with the leading families of New York.” She paused, and I could see she was planning the next sentence carefully. “Unfortunately, I don’t know the family very well. Can you tell me anything about them?” She did her best to sound casual. Mrs. Cowles looked at her.

  “I suppose that’s a reasonable question. I don’t know Marcus Linde very well. He doesn’t like to socialize, so one doesn’t see him at the major events. He’s very wealthy, cultivates rare books, or maybe it was rare coins. Some sort of expensive, solitary hobby, I believe. His first wife died abroad.” I bet Mrs. Cowles knew that marriage had really ended in divorce but didn’t want to discuss that with Alice, and I hoped Alice would go on pretending she didn’t know, or it would lead to uncomfortable questions.

  “Yes, I heard that, too. What about Mrs. Linde, that is, the second wife, who just died? She was a Van Dijk.”

  “Yes. A rather sad family, plenty of trouble, mostly brought on themselves via bad decisions, drunkenness, and gambling. Your father was very upset and offered help, but you can’t help people who refuse to see they have a problem.” Mrs. Cowles shook her head. “I knew Mrs. van Dijk, Delilah and Miles’s mother. The children took after their parents. Miles was not strong, not morally strong. Your father said some men rise to adversity, and some are diminished. Miles was t
he latter, I’m afraid. Like his father. I don’t know what he’s doing now.” We did, of course, and Mrs. Cowles was right—he hadn’t risen to it.

  “What about Delilah Linde, née van Dijk?” Alice was pushing it too far.

  “I believe we’re moving beyond family background and wandering into more idle curiosity—but I think I will indulge you,” said Mrs. Cowles. “There is a lesson there for you. If Miles was like his father, Delilah was like her mother. Beautiful and sweet, but … she wanted more. This is what I want you to know, Alice. She got a certain life by marrying Marcus Linde, a life of financial comfort and position, which she had lost. But to marry a man like Marcus Linde who is … older and perhaps not an ideal choice for a young bride—that requires sacrifice. And I’m not sure, from what I have heard, that Delilah realized that.”

  Little went on in Society that Mrs. Cowles didn’t know, and I wondered if she knew about Delilah’s condition. Or at the very least, had anticipated it.

  Alice nodded. “I suppose Miles could’ve married a social-climbing nouveau riche heiress, with all that would entail.”

  “That’s a very cynical observation for an eighteen-year-old girl,” said Mrs. Cowles. “But apparently, he didn’t want to go that route.”

  And from what I saw, he wasn’t willing to accept the sacrifices required of his choice, either, throwing in his lot with Brackton and his crew.

  “So what lesson is there for me?” asked Alice, a little challengingly.

  “That no matter what advantages you are born with, you have to make choices and accept the sacrifices that come with those choices. You can’t have everything, and by trying, you end up with nothing.”

  Alice glanced at me, and I know she was thinking about both Delilah and Miles. Was Delilah’s death related to her pregnancy, to choices she didn’t want to make? Miles’s refusal to accept choices led him to the XVII, and now he was one step away from prison.

  Alice gave me a mischievous smile and turned back to her aunt. “Your point is well taken. Do you think Mr. St. Clair has learned it, as well?”