“It’s gone—my jewelry, all of it.” Mother held up her hands then wrung them together, rubbing her bare wrists as if someone had pulled bracelets from them.
“When did you notice things were missing?” Margaret asked. “And what about my things?” She didn’t want to sound selfish. She was glad no one was hurt.
“After tea.” Mother sighed. “I went to lie down because I had the beginnings of a headache, and I noticed the lid to my jewelry case was partly lifted. I knew I had not done that, because I didn’t put any jewelry on this morning. I pulled the lid off, and it’s—it’s all gone.”
“Are the authorities on the way?” James asked.
“We’ve not summoned them,” her father said.
“I told him not to,” her mother hurriedly followed up Father’s words before Maggie could ask. “We don’t need the attention. It’s embarrassing.”
The same as the Morrises. Maggie bit her lip.
“I apologize for inserting myself into your current situation, but I spoke with Mr. Webster at the tennis club and offered my assistance,” James said.
“Assistance? How?” Father folded his arms across his chest and regarded James skeptically.
“My specialty in my work is information. I notice things. I listen to people. I would like to help you find whoever has done this.” James’s voice held a confident air, yet not forceful or rude. Maggie found it entirely convincing.
“I don’t know, Mr. Livingston.” Mother frowned. “The idea of finding and, I hope, recovering our belongings is appealing to me. Perhaps Mr. Blankenship can help without much public fuss.”
“Yet you work as a newspaperman.” Now Father wore a frown that matched Mother’s. “How will I know you won’t use this information somehow to your advantage? After our recent discussion regarding my business outlook, that is.”
James hesitated briefly, glancing at Maggie as he did so. “I have to admit, my boss has asked me to spend time in Newport due to what happened at the Benjamin Morris residence. He wonders if this is a pattern, and I’m afraid to say I must agree with him. I would like to help you get to the bottom of this. I promise I will not reveal anything in writing before I consult with you.”
“Very well. Come with me, and I will show you what I can.” Father gestured to James, who followed him up the stairs to where the bedrooms were located.
Mother’s cheeks were flushed. She pulled out a fan, waving it in front of her face. “The weather this summer, and now all this. I’m simply too flustered and warm.”
“Mother, is all of your jewelry missing?” Maggie thought back to her earlier conversation with Elizabeth.
“I’m afraid so.” Her shoulders drooped, but then she squared them again. “It’s simply evil, just evil, that someone would do something like this to us.”
Maggie glanced at their staff who waited nearby. “Mother, may we speak privately, in the parlor?”
“Yes. I need to sit down, anyway. Perhaps the breeze will help.”
Maggie led her into the parlor with its marble fireplace, only used on damp, wet days in the summer. She slid the pocket doors closed then joined her mother on the chaise.
Mother opened one of the windows facing the ocean, after which a breeze swirled into the room. “And I thought such things would only happen in the city.”
“I must ask you some questions, Mother, while others cannot hear us.”
With a whirl and widened eyes, Maggie’s mother turned from the window to face her. “Margaret Livingston, I’m not sure I approve of your forceful tone.”
Maggie paused before continuing. “Mother, I mean no disrespect, but like Mr. Blankenship, I, too, would like to find out what has happened to our jewelry. I was speaking with Elizabeth Morris before Mr. Webster came to fetch me home, and I would like to see if there are any similarities in the robbery.”
Mother appeared to ponder that idea for a moment. She inclined her head slightly. “Very well. What would you like to ask?”
“First, why did you agree to allow J—Mr. Blankenship to help us, when but days ago you were calling for him to be fired from his position?”
“It’s simple, my dear. I want him nearby where I can hear firsthand what he is saying and doing about our plight.” She sighed again. “This is simply unacceptable. People just do not go around stealing things in broad daylight, not here, anyway.”
“Do you think … do you think it is one of the staff? I don’t want to think about any of them taking something then trying to sell it elsewhere. We have known them for many years.” Maggie stood, and strode to the open window and inhaled deeply of the air drifting in from outside. So much cleaner, purer, than the air in New York.
“I don’t know. Like you, I don’t want to think one of the staff might have done it, either. Mr. Webster is going to conduct a search of all their belongings to see if anything turns up.”
Maggie nodded. “Well, I am certain Gertrude had nothing to do with this. She has been with me all day in town, except for when she went to the market.”
“We will not rush to judgment, either way.”
“She was gone less than thirty minutes.”
“Your tone, Margaret.” Mother’s look could freeze the water that crashed on the shore but four hundred yards away were she staring out the window.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” Maggie bit her lip.
“Don’t worry your lip, dear.” Mother patted her on the arm. “I have had more experience with house staff than you. You have known Gertrude for years, as I have. But some employees are good at hiding their true natures, which is why we must always be on guard before—”
“Before something like this happens?” Maggie finished.
“Exactly.”
The pocket doors slid open. Father and Mr. Blankenship stood side by side in the doorway.
“Mrs. Livingston,” Father said, inclining his head slightly. “We shall look again at your rooms. Mr. Webster is nearly finished assessing the staff quarters.”
James had rather hoped Maggie—Margaret—would join them, and he was not disappointed when she fell into step behind her parents.
She slid a glance sideways at him. “You are a brave man, Mr. Blankenship.”
“Brave? How so?”
“My mother was not pleased with your newspaper article last week.”
“Ah, I see.”
Mother looked over her shoulder. “Not so much the article itself, but the headline was misleading, and I believe it would lead people to think our situation is not what it seems.”
James didn’t want to explain himself. Knowing about the arrangement between his family and the Livingstons, he thought it best to remain silent.
He inclined his head slightly. “I understand.”
They climbed the grand main staircase, its steps of polished marble, and stopped at a marble landing covered with a woven runner in shades of red and gold. The cost of the runner was likely as much as a year’s worth of rent for his tiny one-room apartment in New York.
Mrs. Livingston paused at a closed door. “I’m not certain I’d like a man to see my sleeping arrangements.”
“Come, Mrs. Livingston. He will not touch anything. He is merely here to observe.” Mr. Livingston studied James’s face. “And he has shown his skills of observation, which I welcome.”
He opened the door, and James let the three of them pass ahead of him into the room. It was decorated in blue and white, a soft blue that reminded him of a robin’s egg.
Nothing seemed amiss, not at first glance. But an empty box with layers of cushioned sections claimed their attention.
“Empty. Just as a I said.” Mrs. Livingston shook her head.
What was Maggie doing? He glanced around to see her behind them, at the bedroom door. She studied the lock and the doorknob mechanism, her hands resting on her knees as she bent at the waist.
“Do you see anything?” he asked, joining her near the door.
“No.” She squinted, her vivid brown ey
es assessing the doorjamb. “I see nothing that looks like someone tried to force the door open.”
“Ah, my dear,” her father said, turning to face her. “It is very likely someone used a key or picked the lock. Nothing as dramatic as what happens in those penny novels you read.”
Maggie stood upright, her cheeks coloring. “Father!”
“Don’t deny it. I’ve seen you slip a book under the table at suppertime.”
“Margaret Livingston,” her mother said, a hint of outrage tinging her voice. “Surely you can pursue another more profitable form of reading.”
“Surely, you can,” James echoed. He found her discomfort a bit humorous—was it due to him being there?
“Maybe I could.” Maggie gave him a withering expression. “It has been simply ages since I’ve read Robinson Crusoe.”
“So you remember, then?”
She nodded. “I do remember. It was a long time ago, but it was one of the best and earliest grown-up-feeling conversations of my childhood.”
“Oh, Margaret, whatever are you talking about?” Mother asked.
“We … we were at a dinner party long ago with the Blankenships and the Morrises. I’m not sure who else was there. But Mr. Blankenship and I had a very nice conversation about books. He was preparing to go away to the university.”
“Well, I think it’s a fine thing that you two get along so well,” Mother said. “After all, we are practically family.”
“Practically family?” Maggie asked, glancing from her mother to her father.
She doesn’t know … she doesn’t know about Frank.
James couldn’t believe she had no idea about her upcoming engagement to his brother. How could they do that to her?
Mr. Livingston shook his head as if in warning to James. Aloud, he said, “Your mother and I have been friends with the Blankenship family for many years, Margaret.”
“Yes, that you have.” But Maggie still wore a confused frown. “Well, this makes it all the better that you’re going to help us, J—Mr. Blankenship.”
Of course, he wanted to help them. He’d just had a vivid reminder, though, that he could harbor no thoughts of getting to know Miss Margaret Livingston, other than as a sister.
At the moment, though, he wanted nothing more than to ask her to walk with him along the shore, to talk more about books and the big, wide world she had once wanted to see.
His brother remained in the city, not due back until the weekend and the grand ball which would announce his engagement to Maggie.
“I’m afraid I must take my leave of you now,” James said aloud, “and I must call on the Morrises to find out their story firsthand. I will see if there are any similarities to this break-in today.”
Mr. Livingston crossed the space of the grand bedroom and opened the window. He glanced down. “I see no footprints outside, nor anything on the window ledge that would lead me to believe anyone came in through the window, either.”
Mrs. Livingston joined him, murmuring something about a maid—or maids.
“When—when will I get to see you again?” Maggie asked him, her voice low. “I mean, I welcome the chance to talk with you, Mr. Blankenship. Perhaps we can compare notes on the robberies. I would like to help you.”
His gut tightened at his next words. He wanted to speak with her—very much, in fact. But nothing good could come of it. “I will see. I’m not sure that I will require your help, but thank you all the same.”
Chapter 4
Maggie’s cheeks flamed. He’d all but dismissed her. Well, she would investigate on her own. She stood staring at him while her parents left the window.
“We will remove the valuables from our safe immediately and deposit them in the bank,” Father announced. “Particularly the jewelry for your debut.”
“Yes, especially your jewelry.” Mother frowned. “If something happened to that, it would be an absolute catastrophe.”
“But my jewelry—why wasn’t that taken?” Maggie had to ask. “If it was someone we knew or welcomed to our home, which seems to be a strong possibility, why wouldn’t they have taken that, too? Especially since the household knows we have the jewelry.”
“Perhaps it would take too long for them to find the combination to the safe, and they do not possess the skills to open it themselves,” Father said.
That was true enough. Mother’s baubles were valuable. Yet something didn’t feel quite right about the whole thing.
James took his leave of them, seeing himself to the front door. Maggie found herself a bit sorry when he departed. The youngest Blankenship son leaving the family to work as a journalist years ago had been a bit of a scandal, as she recalled. It was no secret the patriarch of the family wished his son had chosen differently. She had always wondered what had become of him and how he’d fared.
Today she’d received an answer. The years in the “outside world” had been kind to him, giving him a relaxed demeanor she envied.
“My dear,” Father’s voice pulled her away from her musings, “you needn’t look worried. I believe that this thief, whoever he is, will not visit us again. Now that we have discovered our loss, he knows we will be on the watch all the more. As a matter of fact, I believe I will hire the young Mr. Blankenship to stay nearby, as the time for your debut draws nearer. He has a quick eye and a sure head about him.”
“Yes, please see about it,” Mother said. “With our connection to the Blankenship family, I feel at ease having him in our home, despite his chosen profession. Once word gets around about the robbery—and I am certain it will—he will be the one to write the story. Also, despite my misgivings about his journalistic qualities, we will have firsthand knowledge of what he will print.”
Maggie staved off her fidgets. She knew better than to ask about calling on Elizabeth, who for all she knew might have remained at the tennis club. Perhaps later, after supper, while the twilight was long. Or perhaps she should sit down and make a list of any similarities between the two crimes.
They descended the stairs together, with Father and Mother discussing the upcoming weekend and the debut. Her debut.
“A few more days.” Mother beamed as they paused at the bottom of the stairs.
“A few more days,” Maggie echoed. The abominable dress had already been fitted by Madame Clothilde, the orchestra booked, the menu planned. Her parents had hinted at a few “surprises” for her debut. She didn’t know whether to be excited or frightened.
As if Mother knew what was on her mind, she spoke about the debut. “I hope you enjoy the surprises we have planned for you. One is your gift, of course, from us.”
“The only thing I dread is all those people looking at me.” She tried not to shudder, nor seem ungrateful. “Perhaps, Mother, I could receive my gifts when it is but you and I, and Father, by ourselves?” She hated the pleading tone in her voice.
“Nonsense. I won’t allow that. I want everyone to see what we give you, along with your reaction. That will be a gift to me.” Mother squeezed her hand.
Maggie did hope it would be a trip, if not to somewhere exotic, at least to Europe. She had said so earlier in the spring, when her parents asked what she would like for her debut gift. She had mentioned university studies at the time, but Mother had pishposhed that idea.
“All right, Mother. It is what I’d prefer, but you and Father are so kind, giving me this party.”
“It will be the grandest event in Newport, I am sure.” Mother had beamed.
Maggie tried not to squirm. No, it likely wouldn’t. That would be Consuelo Vanderbilt’s or Francesca Wallingford’s upcoming events. She didn’t say this aloud, though.
Ah, Mother … such pomp was but an illusion, and Maggie knew it quite well the time when she saw another debutante, Therese Howe, sobbing in a back hallway during her own debut. The young woman had everything in the world except the freedom to choose whom she would marry. She was summarily married off to a British count and lived in Britain with her title and estate,
or so Maggie last heard.
“Ladies, here is where I leave you. I must make a few phone calls before supper.” Father nodded to both of them and departed to his study.
As he left, Mr. Webster joined them in the foyer. Gertrude followed, looking white as a sheet, her eyes reddened.
He stopped in front of Mother then turned over his hand to show them an earring on his palm. “After an inspection of the staff’s belongings. I have found something. This. Among Gertrude’s belongings.”
An earring, made of gold, and Maggie recognized it right away. “I thought I lost that one. I still have the other.”
“If I can explain, please, Miss Maggie—” Gertrude’s voice, full of anguish, echoed off the marble.
“You most certainly may not!” Mother’s voice rang out with an anger to match Gertrude’s tone. “You are dismissed from our employ, and that straightway. Remove your things from our home. At once.”
“Mother, I lost that earring months ago.” Maggie took it from Mr. Webster. “The clasp is broken.”
“I was going to get it fixed—I promise I was—in time for your big party.” Gertrude’s shoulders drooped. “I tried them on one day and I broke the clasp. So I was embarrassed and kept it.”
“I care not of your intentions.” Mother’s face looked like a thundercloud. “The fact you would hide something like this from us? I would not be surprised if you were an accomplice to this thief, whoever he might be.”
Maggie watched as a sobbing Gertrude left the foyer, with Mr. Webster following, his face sterner than Maggie ever remembered seeing.
“I believe you are making a mistake, Mother.”
“Someday soon, when you are mistress of your own household, you will understand.” Mother’s expression softened.
“What do you mean, someday soon?”
“You will be someone’s wife before you know it. My duty has been to prepare you for that.”
Maggie nearly said she was tired of duty but stopped herself. “Please excuse me. I must take care of a few things before supper.”
She scurried away, feeling like a small child with a lump in her throat. Now, more than ever, she needed to help find whoever did this—especially if suspicions were cast on Gertrude.
The American Heiress Brides Collection Page 49