Murder at Beechwood

by Alyssa Maxwell

  At the sound of footsteps coming down the hall I wiped the tear away on my shoulder and pasted on a cheerful smile.

  Katie stopped before me and reached out her arms. “Can it be my turn to hold ’im now, miss?”

  This household was becoming perilously attached to our little visitor.

  The next morning, Nanny and the girls, as I’d come to think of Katie and Stella, were out beyond the kitchen garden, each taking turns walking with the baby. The child needs fresh air, Nanny had declared, and out they went. I’d remained behind, thankful for the solitude as I planned my strategy for the evening to come.

  I’d be attending the event of the season, already dubbed so by all the newspapers and the majority of the Four Hundred—that magical number of society’s most elite men and women who fit comfortably in Mrs. Astor’s New York ballroom. As merely a poor relation of the Vanderbilts, I held no place among that hallowed number, but what good was it to hold the most extravagant ball of the summer unless representatives from every newspaper in town, not to mention those from New York, Boston, and Providence, were there to capture all the sumptuous details?

  I would be reporting for the Newport Observer, but the details I sought involved more than place settings and silver, or which debutant outshined the rest with the latest fashion from House of Worth. I counted on my Vanderbilt relatives being there, especially the younger ones. With Gertrude I’d have access to the upper rooms, where ladies’ maids would wait to freshen frocks and redress ill-behaved curls. Such feminine gatherings were always reliable sources of the latest gossip. With Neily I could approach gentlemen and the older society matrons—who viewed him as excellent marriage material for their daughters—without appearing impertinent.

  My questions must be subtle and typical for someone in my position. Who had attended the spring balls? Who had traveled abroad? Which house parties offered the most interesting activities? Such probing, among enough individuals, would gradually assemble a picture of the past several months, including who had been where and when, and who had been absent. Four hundred might sound like a large number, but in reality comprised a close-knit community where everyone intimately knew everyone else—and their business. By ruling out enough individuals, I hoped to whittle down the possibilities and from there discover the identity of the baby’s mother.

  Unless, of course, my hunch about her hailing from society proved completely wrong.

  A knock at the front door interrupted me, and I was both surprised and pleased to discover Marianne Reid on my doorstep. Marianne, a woman only a few years older than I, originally hailed from England, and dire circumstances upon her arrival in this country had brought her to Gull Manor briefly last summer. Like Katie and Stella, Marianne had needed a place to stay and a fresh start in life, the first of which I’d been only too happy to provide. The second came from an unexpected source. Through the influence of my half brother, Brady, and the intervention of my Vanderbilt cousin Neily, Marianne had been hired as a lady’s maid to one of society’s most glamorous debutants.

  “Marianne, what a lovely surprise.” Upon seeing her looking fresh cheeked and so much healthier than when we’d first met, I reached out to draw her inside. “What brings you to Gull Manor?” I stopped, suddenly fearful. “I hope there’s nothing amiss at the Wilson household?”

  “Not at all, Miss Cross,” she replied in her lovely accent. “Miss Wilson sent me. I have something for you.” She stepped back outside and bent to retrieve a large box of heavy white cardboard from the stoop. I was dumbfounded when she held it out to me. “Miss Wilson sends this with her compliments.”

  “What in the world?”

  “Open it, Miss Cross!”

  Marianne’s enthusiasm worked its influence on me. Taking the package into my front parlor, I practically clawed the twine off the box and flung open the top. Next I tore aside layers of gold-foil tissue paper and could not contain a gasp of amazement.

  “Oh, Marianne . . .”

  “It’s for tonight, Miss Cross. Miss Wilson hopes you’re not offended by her gesture, but she thought perhaps you might want something special for the Season-opening ball. She apologizes for it being last year’s design. . . .”

  Marianne’s explanation went on, but I didn’t hear it. Beneath my slightly shaking fingertips lay folds of the most beautiful silk I’d ever beheld. Ever so gently, one might say reverently, I grasped the fabric and lifted the evening gown from its shiny nest. In a lustrous cerulean blue that outshone the clearest summer sky, the gown unfurled to pool its hems at my feet, revealing patterns of large and small roses framed by borders of leaves, all embroidered in a deeper shade of the same blue. Gossamer ivory lace dripped from the plunging neckline and shoulders, and from a cinched waistline the gown flowed in straight, hip-hugging lines in front and flared to a generous, graceful train in back. Simple, yet . . .

  “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” I whispered. Good heavens, in the past couple of days my front stoop had certainly yielded astonishing deliveries, so unlike the usual newspapers and bottles of milk. I looked up at the Englishwoman. “Is it . . . ?”

  “It’s a Worth gown, yes.”

  “Oh, my.” Even my cousin Gertrude had never given me one of her Worth gowns.

  “Miss Wilson wants you to have it because of how nice you were to Mr. Neily when the rest of the Vanderbilt family . . .” Marianne nipped at her bottom lip. “I won’t say another word, Miss Cross, but both Mr. Neily and Miss Wilson wished to show their appreciation.”

  After spending the autumn and winter abroad—to be near Grace Wilson—Cornelius Vanderbilt the younger had returned to his New York home only to have his father banish him to Newport for his defiance. Uncle Cornelius and Aunt Alice didn’t approve of Grace and probably never would. Though Neily had had the family’s Newport “cottage” all to himself, he instead stayed with me for much of the spring, and I couldn’t blame him. The Breakers, however luxurious, was a cold and lonely place for a young man on his own.

  “Mr. Neily is more than my cousin, he is my friend,” I said, “and I’ll do whatever I can to help him. I only want to see him happy.”

  Marianne nodded but looked distinctly uncomfortable, no doubt at this very personal turn in the conversation. Sometimes I forgot about the invisible barriers between servants and their supposed superiors. I didn’t think of myself as superior, but it was obvious Marianne saw my familiarity as a line she must not cross.

  I wouldn’t press her. Instead, I held the gown up to my shoulders. “Do you think it will fit?”

  The question immediately reestablished our respective stations, as it was meant to do, and with restored confidence she regarded me with the critical eye of an experienced lady’s maid. “I believe it will do quite nicely, but Miss Wilson instructed me to make any alterations needed. We can get started now, if you like.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you, especially when Miss Wilson needs your services for tonight. Nanny can do some quick nipping and tucking later.” Her eyes lit up at the mention of Nanny. I hesitated, uncertain, then decided this woman had more than earned my trust last summer. “Marianne, would you like to squeeze in a visit with Nanny and Katie before you go? Can Miss Wilson spare you a little longer?”

  “Oh, I would, indeed, and yes, I’ll make sure I’m home in plenty of time to attend to Miss Wilson.”

  “Good. There’s someone else I’d like you to meet. And then there’s a matter I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “Oh?”

  “I believe there is something you can help me with, Marianne, if you’re willing.”

  “Good gracious, Miss Cross, after all you’ve done for me? Whatever it is, rest assured I’m more than willing.”

  “I assume you’ll be accompanying Miss Wilson to Beechwood tonight?”

  “Of course. I’ll be upstairs with all the other maids, waiting in case Miss Wilson should need me.”

  I smiled at my good fortune. With Marianne’s help at Mrs. Asto
r’s ball tonight, I’d be able to be in two places at once.

  “Oh, Nanny,” I said hours later as I stood before the swivel mirror in my bedroom, “you’ve worked your magic yet again. This gown might have been made for me.”

  Half disbelieving, I stared at the unfamiliar image reflected back at me. Grace Wilson’s cerulean gown flowed like tropical waves down my torso, caressing every curve with a perfection never before achieved, before plunging from my hips to the floor in a gleaming silk torrent every bit as dramatic as a waterfall.

  “The dress was made for you, sweetie.” Nanny slipped one last pin into my hair, piled at the crown of my head and held in place by a wreath of silk flowers that matched the ivory lace at my neckline. “Mr. Worth just didn’t know it at the time.”

  My hand flew to my mouth to stifle an uncharacteristic giggle. “I hardly recognize myself. Oh, but, Nanny, I can’t possibly keep it after tonight.”

  “Why ever not?” She stood back to admire her handiwork, her arms folded across her bosom, her chin tilted in satisfaction. “From what Marianne said, Miss Wilson meant this gown as a gift. Besides, I’ve done too much altering. It won’t fit Grace anymore, and being the youngest daughter she doesn’t have a younger sister to give it to. Surely you can’t imagine her bestowing a hand-me-down on one of her married sisters.”

  “Heaven forbid.” I pulled on my evening gloves, and couldn’t resist turning and gazing over my shoulder at my reflection. “I believe this train is the most elegant thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Nanny grasped my shoulders. “You are the most elegant thing I’ve ever seen, Emma. It’s not only the dress. You’re a natural beauty, and I don’t care who wears what tonight—no other young lady holds a candle to you. Don’t you ever forget it.”

  “Oh, Nanny.” My eyes misted and I hugged her. She held me tight for all of three seconds . . . enough time to remind me that while my mother might be far away in Paris and unlikely to return any time soon, there was no shortage of parental love in my life.

  She gently nudged me away. “You’ll wrinkle. Now, where’s your purse?”

  I picked up the drawstring bag from my dressing table. A homemade item of simple design with a braided cord and a tassel added by Nanny, the sapphire blue purse wasn’t a perfect match but somehow complemented the gown nicely. “Have Katie and Stella hitched Barney to the gig?”

  Before Nanny could answer a call came from below. “Miss Emma! A carriage has arrived for you!”

  “A carriage?” Gathering up my skirts, I hurried downstairs, with Nanny close at my heels, or as fast as her bulk would allow. In the doorway I gazed out at a pretty little two-seater brougham with a driver sitting high in his box, and pulled by a pair of matching grays. But there was no crest on the side panel to identify the owner. “Who in the world?”

  My heart hammered in my throat as a possibility leaped to mind. I hadn’t seen Derrick Andrews all spring, had believed him to be gone from Newport, perhaps indefinitely. Had he returned and—

  A footman jumped down from the rear bumper and came to the door. “Miss Cross? Miss Wilson requests the pleasure of your company on the way to the Astors’ ball.”

  “Oh! Thank you . . . and please tell her I’ll be out presently.”

  I said a quick farewell to Nanny and Katie, but then I hesitated. “Where’s . . . ?” I glimpsed Stella through the parlor doorway, pacing back and forth with the baby. I quickly detoured inside. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t leave without . . .” I leaned to press a kiss to his brow, and whispered, “I’ll be doing everything I can for you tonight, little one. Here, let me hold him for just a moment . . .” I reached out.

  “Emma Cross, what are you thinking?” I dropped my arms and straightened like a child caught sneaking a taste of a cooling pie. Nanny’s scowl only increased my chagrin. “One burp could bring up that child’s last meal and set that dress to ruin.”

  She tossed my wrap around me and shooed me to the door, but once again I dallied. “Now, mind you lock the door behind me and do not open it to anyone except Jesse or one of his men.”

  “Go!” she ordered with a nudge. Even as the footman helped me into the carriage, I noticed Nanny didn’t shut the front door, but stood watching, the pride I’d seen earlier in my bedroom evident again on her kindly features.

  “Good evening, Miss Cross. I’m so glad you didn’t leave on your own before I got here. I should have called ahead, but this was a bit of a last-minute decision on my part.” Grace Wilson smiled at me from her corner of the velvet seat. She extended her hand, her arm gloved to above the elbow in glossy satin, a wide diamond cuff encircling her wrist. More diamonds glittered in the tiara that framed an elaborate arrangement of golden red curls. I saw nothing of her gown, hidden beneath a black velvet cape. She looked like a princess, and for a moment I felt a surreal sensation of moving in a dream.

  “Thank you so much, Miss Wilson,” I finally managed to say. I shook her offered hand and she gave mine a squeeze. “Such a lovely surprise. I didn’t realize at first that it was you.”

  She laughed lightly. “No, my parents aren’t ones for crests or coats of arms.”

  Yes, I’d known that, actually. Despite being vastly wealthy, the Wilsons weren’t keen on displaying it the way many of the Four Hundred were, my own Vanderbilt relatives included. While so many of Newport’s summer elite resided in European-inspired villas and palazzos, the Wilsons seemed content with a shingle-style mansion not much bigger than Gull Manor.

  “And this gown, it’s . . .” Searching for words, I smoothed the folds in my lap.

  “Perfect on you, and you need say no more. Besides, I owed you a debt. Marianne has proven to be a most proficient lady’s maid.”

  “Now that, Miss Wilson, is a lie,” I said with a chuckle. “You could have found any number of much more qualified lady’s maids. Marianne was new at it, and I know you only took her on as a favor to me.”

  “Yes, because you’re Neily’s cousin . . . and his friend.” She hesitated, glancing out the window as the driver made the turn onto Ocean Avenue. “I wanted to talk with you, Emma—may I call you Emma?”

  “Of course. I’d like that.”

  “Good. And you may call me Grace.” She looked out the window again, and I sensed her gathering her thoughts before she turned back to me. “I wanted to talk to you about Neily. I know he stayed with you after his father sent him out of New York a few months ago.”

  “Banished him,” I corrected her.

  “Yes, because of me.”

  Because Cornelius and Alice Vanderbilt vehemently disapproved of Neily’s association with Grace, though why, I couldn’t understand. They called her a gold digger, yet her father was vastly wealthy; they called the Wilsons nouveau riche, yet much of society considered the Vanderbilts new money as well; they said she was too old for Neily, yet Grace’s twenty-five years set her at a mere three years older. Hardly scandalous.

  Grace and I barely knew each other, yet I suddenly found myself the recipient of her intimate confidence. Unable to look her in the eye, I studied my hands in my lap as I replied, “It was very hard on him. Neily isn’t the sort who thrives on contention.”

  “Do you blame me for his troubles?” The question came in a small voice very unlike that of a debutant, as if my opinion meant something to her, as if she dreaded my disapproval.

  I shifted on the seat to face her more fully. “Not at all. It distresses me to see Neily and his parents so at odds, but I certainly don’t blame you. Neily knows what he wants. And, like his father, once his mind is made up there is no changing it.”

  That seemed to satisfy her and she relaxed with a sigh. “You know, his parents aren’t coming tonight.”

  “No, I didn’t know that.” But I might have guessed. The dispute between Neily and his parents had begun nearly a year ago, ever since he and Grace had danced at his sister’s coming-out ball last summer. I remembered how Aunt Alice had charged me with keeping an eye on the pair, making sure th
ey didn’t steal off somewhere together and reporting back if they did. I’d reluctantly agreed to the task, only to shirk my responsibilities in the wake of a murder I witnessed shortly after.

  But that is a story best left for another time.

  “They’re staying home specifically on my account.” Grace’s assertion shook me from my memories. “The family is fast closing ranks against me, Emma. Cornelius and Alice, William, Frederick—all of the older generation, with the exception perhaps of your aunt Alva.”

  I grinned. “No, she’ll support you just to enrage the others. But what I fail to understand is why Alice and Cornelius object so strongly. After all, Carrie Astor married your brother, Orme. No one has a more narrow sense of proper society than Mrs. Astor. If she didn’t object to that match, then—”

  “Oh, but she did, Emma. My goodness, she considers us upstarts every bit as much as your relatives do. But Carrie was determined and Mrs. Astor had no choice but to accept the match or lose her daughter. I’m afraid Neily’s parents are going to prove much more stubborn.”

  “The Vanderbilts are nothing if not stubborn,” I murmured with a shake of my head.

  “Even Gertrude feels we should end it rather than continue to defy their parents.”

  “Gertrude!” It surprised me that Neily’s sister would take sides against him. It hadn’t been very long ago that Gertrude exhibited her own rebellious streak, though in truth she never stepped far beyond the boundaries of her parents’ expectations. Yet I’d noticed changes in her in these past weeks since she’d returned to Newport. She seemed older, a good deal more mature than last summer, and ready to take her place as an adult in society. There were even stirrings of a coming engagement.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Grace. What will you and Neily do?”