by Adele Whitby
“I wish we could do something more,” I said. “I feel quite helpless.” I thought about the dashing stranger in Louisa Branson’s story. All clues pointed to him, but Miss Millhouse had kept pushing for the truth and discovered he was quite innocent.
I spotted my new journal on my nightstand and decided to write down everything I could remember, both to make myself feel as if I was doing something and because it might be useful later. Elizabeth thought she might paint to try to calm her nerves.
She opened the hidden compartment in our steamer trunk to get our supplies.
Elizabeth stood over her paints, her brow wrinkled in confusion.
“What is it?” I asked.
“My paints,” she said. “Someone’s been using them.”
“Are you certain?” I asked. “Who would know where to find them?”
“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said. “But see how the tubes are indented and rolled up? They were nearly full the last time I opened this case.” Then she gasped. “Oh no! What if someone used my paints to damage the portrait of Alfred’s mother?”
We were wondering what to do next when Essie knocked on my door.
“Have you heard, Lady Katherine, Lady Elizabeth?” Essie asked. “Terrible news. Henry Vandermeer has canceled the wedding.”
“Oh, Essie, no!” I said. I dropped onto my bed, completely shocked. “Canceled the wedding? But why?”
“The damaged portrait was found in Mrs. DuMay’s quarters and in her son’s hands,” Essie said. “I suspect Henry Vandermeer felt he had no choice.”
I shook my head. “But Anna had nothing to do with it. I couldn’t be more sure of that.”
“I can only tell you what I heard downstairs,” Essie said sadly. “Mr. Vandermeer instructed the servants to begin taking down all evidence of a wedding. I was there myself when Mr. Vandermeer asked the cook to begin packaging the food to send to the Aid Society in Providence.”
“How did he seem, Essie?” I asked. “Was he very angry?”
“No, milady,” she said, her eyes filling. “He seemed brokenhearted. He has lost the only portrait of his first wife, and he has now lost his fiancée.”
“I feel a little brokenhearted myself,” I said.
Essie pulled me into a hug. It felt so good to be embraced by our wonderful Essie.
“Oh, poor Anna!” I said. “She couldn’t wait to begin her new life as Mrs. Vandermeer. She’ll be brokenhearted, too.”
“And poor Alfred,” Elizabeth added, putting her arms around the two of us. “He was so happy about the marriage.”
“As happy as Samuel was unhappy,” I added. “Do you really think he could have done it? Could this be what he had in mind when he made those comments about the wedding at dinner last night?”
“He wasn’t pleased about the wedding, that’s for certain,” Elizabeth said. “And Alfred mentioned to me that all Samuel talked of was moving back to New York as soon as he could.”
“Neither of the voices I heard in the night belonged to Samuel,” I said.
“He could have had help,” Elizabeth said.
I grimaced. “And to think he might have used your paints to damage the portrait.” Then I remembered something more. “His mother has the same style trunk. Samuel would know about the hidden compartment.”
“But how would he know that I store my paints in it? Or that I even have paints with me?” Elizabeth mused. “This is a mystery, indeed.”
Essie’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What’s this about your paints, Lady Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth explained everything to Essie.
“Have you noticed anyone suspicious in my room?” I asked.
“One of the maids was in here yesterday when I came in straighten up and check to make sure your evening dresses were pressed and ready for dinner,” she said. “But I saw nothing amiss. She was merely doing her job.”
“Do you know which maid it was?” I asked. “She might have seen something—or someone—with Lady Elizabeth’s paints.”
Essie shook her head. “Many of the guests brought their own servants with them, and Mr. Vandermeer took on extra help for the wedding. I’m afraid I haven’t met everyone. This particular maid was new to me.”
“Would you recognize her if you saw her again?” I asked.
“I would, milady,” Essie said.
“Could you ask around downstairs? We must find out who did this terrible thing.”
“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, Lady Katherine. We’ll turn her up.” She gave me a big hug. “Don’t you worry for minute.”
“Maybe Samuel didn’t do it,” I said, watching Essie leave. “And the wedding can still go on as planned.”
“I hope so, but it seems unlikely. He was caught red-handed,” Elizabeth answered.
“Maybe that’s just what the real thief wants us to think.” I scribbled a few notes in my journal and then turned to my sister with a sigh. “Let’s go see Anna right after dinner,” I suggested. “I know she’ll be upset. At the very least, maybe we can bring her some comfort.”
Dinner was a rather gloomy affair. Henry and Alfred both took trays in their rooms, as did Anna and Samuel. Many of the guests had gone to hastily arranged dinner parties at some of the other great houses of Bridgeport. Cousin Maxwell did what he could to cheer us up, but I was too worried about our friends to be very good company.
As soon as we could slip away, my sister and I went to knock on Anna’s door.
Tabitha answered and showed us into the sitting room. Anna’s face was pale and her eyes red. She paced slowly about. I could see that she was downhearted, but there was a strength in her, too, that I couldn’t help but admire. She came and took our hands with a sad smile.
“My dears, how good of you to come and see me,” she said.
She led us to the small table that we had sat at for luncheon just yesterday.
I told Anna how sorry I was that the wedding had been called off. “I know you didn’t have anything to do with defacing the painting,” I said.
“Did you know how much Samuel was against the wedding?” Elizabeth asked.
“I know what everyone’s been saying. I know what Henry and Alfred believe, but Samuel didn’t do it,” Anna insisted. “I know it sounds peculiar, but someone is framing us.”
I asked a hard question, but I felt I must. “Are you sure? Samuel did seem unhappy about the wedding at dinner the other night.”
Anna nodded. “Samuel would have preferred that we stay in New York, but he genuinely likes Henry and Alfred. And he loves me—he wants me to be happy.” She took both my hands in hers and looked me in the eyes. “You must believe that.”
“If you believe it, I believe it,” I said. “We’ll do everything we can to find out what really happened and to clear your name.”
“Maybe the wedding can still take place as planned,” Elizabeth said hopefully.
Anna shook her head. “I don’t see how. Even Miss Millhouse couldn’t solve this mystery in one day. The wedding was supposed to take place the day after tomorrow.”
“We’ll just have to hurry, then,” I said, sounding more optimistic than I felt. “And solve the mystery tomorrow. We’ll get to work first thing in the morning.”
Anna nodded weakly and said good night.
Elizabeth and I headed back to our rooms, where Essie helped us get ready for bed. She hadn’t turned up the maid she had found leaving my room yesterday, but she was able to share all of the servants’ gossip. Each and every one of them believed that it was a jealous and angry Samuel who was responsible.
“That’s going to make our work that much harder,” I said to Elizabeth. “It will be difficult to turn up anyone who had more to gain by canceling the wedding.”
Despite my sadness, that night I slept soundly for the first time since I had arrived at Vandermeer Manor. The ocean waves lulled me to sleep, and there were no angry voices to wake me and disrupt my rest.
Elizabeth and I were up early
, ready to get to work on solving this mystery. I read Louisa Branson’s unpublished story and tried to think about this mystery in the way Miss Millhouse would have. I read over the notes about the voices in my new journal. They were a clue. I was sure of it. Then I tried to make a list of the people who might want to stop the wedding. The problem was, I had only one name on it: Samuel.
If Anna was correct about Samuel being framed, I had to prove it by finding out what really happened to Alfred’s mother’s portrait. I decided to carry the journal with me to record everything I learned.
At breakfast, I told Maxwell about our plan to solve the mystery and save the wedding and asked him to help. The three of us were whispering about what we could do when Alfred joined us, looking as if he hadn’t slept a wink.
“How are you?” Elizabeth asked him.
“Sad,” Alfred replied. “At first I was angry, but now I’m just sad. Sad for Anna, sad for my father, and sad for me. I know Anna had nothing to do with this; so does my father.”
“But then why cancel the wedding?” I asked.
Alfred pressed his lips together. “Samuel,” he snapped. “My father believes that if he is capable of doing such a hurtful thing to his new family, then it’s best not to move forward. He’s the only one who could be happy about the wedding being canceled.”
“That’s just it,” I said. “We spoke to Anna last night, and she’s convinced Samuel didn’t do it. She thinks he’s being framed.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Alfred said. “All signs point to him. You heard what he said at dinner the other night. And he’s been sullen and unhappy since the day I met him. He made no attempt to be my brother.”
“All the same, we’re going to look into it,” I answered. “We have to try.”
Elizabeth leaned forward, putting her hand over Alfred’s. “We’re not going to give up,” she said. “We’re going to try to save this wedding for Anna and your father. Maxwell’s going to help us. Won’t you help us, too?”
“Where do we start?” Alfred said.
“I think we’d better start with talking to Samuel,” I answered.
We found Samuel in his room—packing. “Are you here to accuse me, too?” he snapped. “My mother’s heart is broken, and everyone’s blaming me.”
“We just want to find out what happened,” I said. “Your mother says you didn’t harm the painting. So then help us discover who did.”
Samuel dropped into a chair. “My mother’s lady’s maid, Tabitha, found the portrait in Mother’s closet and came to me. We don’t know how it got there. Mother was shut up in her writing room all morning and had no idea someone had been in her rooms.”
“Why didn’t you immediately come to us when you found the portrait?” Alfred demanded.
Samuel flinched in the face of Alfred’s anger. “We should have,” he answered. “Tabitha was sick with worry that someone would think that my mother had damaged it out of jealousy—although she never had anything but kind words for the first Mrs. Vandermeer. My mother is glad that Henry had such a happy first marriage.”
“So you were going to hide the damaged portrait?” I asked.
“I thought if I moved it to another part of the house, no one would suspect us. Then I dropped it,” he said with a grimace, “and everyone came running. I know how bad it looked.”
“If you didn’t splatter paint all over the portrait, then who do you think did?” Elizabeth asked. “You said the other night at dinner that you didn’t want the wedding to take place.”
“That’s not what I said,” Samuel said hotly. “I only wondered if it was really going to take place. I’m not at all surprised that someone tried to sabotage it. I’m just sorry that he succeeded.”
“He? Who, besides you, would have reason to do such a thing?” Alfred pressed.
Samuel stared at Alfred, a challenge in his eyes. “Your uncle Willem,” he said.
“Uncle Willem?” I asked. “He wasn’t even here yesterday. We saw him leave for Providence in the morning.”
“And he won’t be back until this afternoon. Besides, for what possible reason would he try to sabotage the wedding and hurt us all?” Alfred asked.
“He’s been trying to get rid of my mother ever since your father announced their engagement,” Samuel said, his mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “Oh, he’s gracious and kind when you and your father are in the room, but I’ve seen the way he looks at my mother when he thinks no one is watching.”
Uncle Willem had seemed a little put out that Anna didn’t come to meet us when we arrived at Vandermeer Manor, but he hadn’t expressed any misgivings about the wedding. I thought Samuel must be mistaken. “How does he look at her?” I asked.
“Like he wishes it were the last time he’d have to share the same room with her,” Samuel answered. “He hides it well, but he’ll be delighted to learn that the wedding has been canceled.”
“This is nonsense,” Alfred said. “What evidence do you have?”
“No evidence, but I know what I saw,” Samuel said. “He was alone in the parlor the day after the engagement was announced. I saw him ripping a newspaper to shreds and muttering under his breath before he stalked out. I looked into the wastepaper basket to see what had made him so angry. It was a reprint of Mother’s story about a woman seeking the right to vote.”
“And that’s why you made that comment at dinner?” Maxwell asked.
Samuel nodded. “I think he’s been planning to stop the wedding all along, and this is the way he did it.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell anyone about this?” I asked, making a note of Samuel’s story in my journal.
“Who would believe me?” Samuel asked. “He never lets on how he truly feels when he thinks anyone is watching. It’s only when he thinks he’s alone, or your backs are turned. I’ve been keeping a close eye on him. I know.”
“I don’t believe it,” Alfred said. “Uncle Willem wouldn’t—”
“Believe it or don’t believe it,” Samuel spat. “Your precious uncle has done the worst he can do now, and I’m glad I don’t have to worry about protecting my mother from the likes of him anymore. And to think, I was starting to like it here.”
Alfred smarted at that last comment as we left Samuel to finish his packing and went for a walk on the grounds to clear our heads. I believed Samuel was telling the truth when he said he was only trying to protect his mother when he moved the painting, but Alfred and Maxwell had their doubts.
“What we do know for sure is that Uncle Willem wasn’t even here,” Alfred said.
“So we’re completely out of suspects,” Elizabeth added.
I looked in my journal, reading my notes about the strange voices and Elizabeth’s missing paints. What would Miss Millhouse do?
“Maybe we need to look at things another way,” I suggested. “Who knew about the paints in our steamer trunk?” I asked. “And who would have been able to get their hands on them?”
“Maybe Essie has turned up the housemaid she found leaving your bedchamber,” Elizabeth said slowly.
“Let’s go find her,” Maxwell suggested.
We found Essie in our rooms, replacing the fresh flowers in the vases on our nightstands.
“Did you find that maid you saw in our rooms?” I asked.
Essie shook her head. “But with so much work to do, it’s hard to get anyone to stand still for even a moment. Any of the maids could have had a reason to enter your room.”
“Keep looking, Essie,” I said. “That maid might have the very clue we need.”
Fresh out of ideas, I suggested we talk to Anna again. We found her placing her manuscript in her steamer trunk—the one with a secret compartment just like ours.
Elizabeth nudged me and whispered, “Tabitha saw me painting when she came to our rooms the other day. And she’d know about the secret compartment in our trunk since Anna’s trunk is the same style. Maybe she’s the one who took my paints.”
“And Samuel said
she’s the one who found the defaced portrait. She could be our culprit,” I suggested.
After a brief discussion with Anna, we set off in search of her maid. We found her in Samuel’s room.
“Master Samuel went for a walk,” she said.
“We’re here to talk to you,” I answered.
Seeing the serious expressions on our faces, she stiffened.
I got right to the point. There was no time to lose. We had to save this wedding. “You knew about the secret compartment in our trunk. Did you take Lady Elizabeth’s paints?” I asked.
“And use them to ruin my mother’s portrait?” Alfred added.
Tabitha looked away, chewing her bottom lip.
“You did take them, didn’t you?” Elizabeth said.
“I did. But it wasn’t to damage anything,” she said quickly. “I paint, too. I wanted to do something special for Mrs. DuMay for her wedding, so I’ve been working on a painting.” She raised her hands, palms up. “I wanted to finish in time. You weren’t in your rooms—I was going to ask your permission—but I had a free hour and you weren’t there. I was going to go to town and replace them before you had a chance to notice anything was amiss. I will show you the painting.”
Tabitha left the room and came back with a painting of the night sky, glittering with stars and a crescent moon. Under that moon were Anna DuMay and Henry Vandermeer, gazing into each other’s eyes.
“This is quite good,” Elizabeth said. “But why don’t you have your own paints?”
At that, Tabitha stiffened again. “I used them all up. I didn’t bring enough with me from New York. Now, please excuse me. I have to go to the basement for the rest of Mrs. DuMay’s trunks,” she said. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”
Alfred watched her leave the room. “We’re back where we started, and the wedding’s still off.”
My sister took his hand to comfort him, but I wasn’t ready to give up.
“There’s something Tabitha’s not telling us. Something about her paints. Let’s take a look at the closet where she said she found the portrait,” I said. “Maybe there’s a clue there.”