Bees in the Butterfly Garden (The Gilded Legacy)

by Maureen Lang

  “Mama wouldn’t dream of subjecting passengers in an enclosed vessel to Evie!”

  Nelson picked up his tea. “No, she’s here with us. Claire has been given strict authority over her. So far, she hasn’t been a whisper of trouble.”

  “But then we have the entire summer ahead of us.” Claire’s perfect face took on a frown. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make; Nelson insisted I be perfectly frank. Of course he’s right; I value honesty above all things . . . only . . .”

  Meg’s pulse quickened over the words, knowing an honest confession was something she could not offer, either. So when Claire averted her gaze, Meg did, too.

  “Well, here’s the truth,” Claire continued. “One of the reasons I was so happy to have you hasn’t anything to do with Mother’s garden. It has everything to do with Evie. We’ve decided to skip the summer season because of her. You must remember what trouble she’s always been, and I didn’t want to risk having sole authority over her at Newport of all places. You knew her for more than a year at school and must have had more success than I’ve had reining her in.”

  “But she was expelled!”

  “Only after her second year. As one of the older students, nearly in charge, you lasted a full year with her and then some. I wasn’t there to see how you managed.”

  “Evie never did confess what she’d done to get herself expelled,” Nelson said, “and Mother refused to tell us. What did the little terror do?”

  Meg wasn’t sure how much to divulge, if she was to share the same roof with Evie. While she didn’t recall Evie being particularly gruesome with most of her mischief, the final straw had been leaving raw chicken parts atop wardrobes in the rooms of the two most popular girls. The stench had been as noxious as it had been mysterious.

  Her dismissal had happened only a year ago, not so long past to hope that maturity had rid the girl of her mischievous ways . . . or squashed a wish for revenge against anyone who might have played the slightest role in her humiliating departure.

  “Let’s just say her sense of humor and adventure didn’t endear her to the other girls.”

  “Spoken like the social diplomat you were trained to become.” Claire was smiling now, her confession evidently having been good for her soul. “Far better than I ever learned, I admit.”

  “But we do still hope you’ll redesign Mother’s garden,” Nelson said. He glanced toward one of the tall windows at the back of the room, through which Meg saw the edge of a yard full of greenery. “I’m eager to see what you can do with the area, here in the city. It has only a few hours of sunlight due to the high walls, so God will have to help. Our gardener retired last year, and Mother hasn’t hired anyone to take his place yet. But we do have Mr. Deekes, our butler. He’ll purchase whatever you recommend and follow your instructions for planting. Will you be needing anything else?”

  “I’ve brought my books—sketches I’ve done through the years, full of possibilities. I thought I might show them to both of you for suggestions of what your mother might like.”

  “We’ll be glad to help, of course,” Claire said, although her hesitant voice sounded anything but glad. She exchanged a glance with her brother, who gave a small, encouraging nod. “Only I must admit this idea isn’t entirely for Mother’s sake. It seems our new neighbor next door, Mrs. Mason, hinted about the garden not being up to Fifth Avenue standards. I’m not at all sure she meant it to be a slight, but that’s the way Mother received it. So having you here will solve not only the garden, but a rift between neighbors.”

  “They’re new to New York and Fifth Avenue,” Nelson added, “which likely accounts for noticing things like standards. In any case, we’ve gone through a series of neighbors since the one that ended in heartache. We’d like to do what we can to maintain good relations with this new family.”

  “There was heartache between neighbors?” Meg asked, intrigued but cautious. Had Evie’s mischief been so serious that it caused a family to move away?

  “Nelson!” Claire chided. “How could you bring that up? And in front of our guest!”

  “I assumed Meg knew all about it. Isn’t that what schoolmates do, share all of their secrets?”

  Meg might have made a flippant remark to ease any hint of embarrassment, but she held back when she noticed the tremble in Claire’s hand as she set aside her tea. Evidently this secret was no trifling matter.

  “Then I’m glad I’ve come, Claire.” Meg squashed any trace of conscience and added, “So we can get to know one another well enough to share all of our secrets.”

  Was that gratitude in those once-frosty eyes?

  Nelson stood. “I’ll leave you both to it, then. Forgive me if I’ve said anything I shouldn’t have, Clairy. And I’ll see you both at dinner.” He turned to Meg with a polite bow. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, Meg—do you mind me calling you that?” He exchanged a quick smile with his sister. “I’m afraid with our parents gone, we’ve relaxed many of the rules, so I hope you’ll allow me the liberty of treating you like a member of the family.”

  He was gone then, and Meg found herself wishing he’d been able to stay. How lucky Claire was to have such a brother—one who might say the wrong thing but do it so charmingly.

  When her gaze fell back on Claire, she found another reason to wish Nelson hadn’t left. Claire seemed to have closed up a little, becoming more like the quiet, standoffish girl Meg remembered from school.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t travel with your parents to Europe, Claire. Did you not want to go?”

  She gave a shrug, a decidedly un-Madame-Marisse-like gesture that was somehow still becoming on Claire. “I went to London and Paris last year with Mother, and the long voyage was just enough to make me appreciate our own country all the more.”

  “What about Nelson?”

  “Oh, he couldn’t possibly leave for an extended amount of time. He’s a lawyer, you know, and in spite of Fifth Avenue disapproval of all the time he spends working, many people—beyond Fifth Avenue—depend upon him.” She offered a grin that held a spark of the happiness she’d possessed when Meg first arrived. “Besides, Mother would never leave me here with Evie alone. One of us might not survive, although I’m not entirely certain which of us would be the victim.”

  Meg looked around, wondering where the mischief maker was at the moment.

  Claire looked toward the open door, beyond which the stairway was partially visible. “I suppose I should go and check on her, make sure she hasn’t disappeared the way she does sometimes. I’ll show you your room too. It’s our favorite guest room and overlooks the courtyard that you’ll be designing. We thought you might like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “I should tell you, too, that we gather the family and staff together every morning, and you’re more than welcome to join us if you like. We meet at the piano here in the parlor at nine thirty. If that’s too early, please don’t feel obligated. I only wanted to extend the invitation so you’ll know what’s happening should you hear any voices.”

  No doubt a planning meeting about meals and the day’s engagements, something Meg need not attend since she only planned to tag along with Claire.

  As they climbed the stairs, memories of Evie’s school pranks made Meg wonder if a quiet house was a good sign or bad.

  Claire stopped in front of one of the upstairs doors. “Here we are.”

  She opened the pristine white, six-paneled door and stepped aside for Meg to enter first.

  Meg saw only a glimpse of a room decorated in pinks and greens before a huge gray shadow at the window captured her gaze. Instant fear stole her breath. Wings longer than the length of Meg’s arms flapped madly, contrasting with a tail apparently dipped in vibrant red. The large bird hopped precariously along one edge of a sturdy but tipping lampshade. Feathers floated to the table beneath, joining what looked like generous spots of feces.

  Upon sight of them, the bird’s head lowered and its hefty body went rigid as
it stared directly at Claire, eye level.

  “Evelyn Annabel Pemberton! Evie, come here at once and take this dreadful creature to the aviary!”

  Meg’s heart rate calmed once she knew the bird hadn’t flown in from the wild. Only then did she realize the window wasn’t even open. The bird evidently could not fly anyway, and thankfully its droppings seemed contained in a single area.

  A moment later Evie appeared, her light-brown hair loosely braided, with various wisps having escaped a once-neat pattern. She’d grown at least an inch since Meg had seen her last, an appropriate height for a near-fifteen-year-old. But her green eyes shone bright with the same look of pleasure they’d had after any successful antic back at school.

  “Oh, did I forget to take you with me?” Her loving words, aimed at the bird, made the gray-feathered pet instantly relax. His head and body went up, and his wings fluttered as if inviting an embrace. When Evie held out her arm, he hopped aboard and climbed up to her shoulder. “That’s my pretty baby.”

  “Pretty baby,” the bird repeated. “Funny prank. Funny prank.”

  Meg couldn’t help but laugh. “It seems he’s tattled on you, Evie.”

  She scowled. “He always says that.”

  Claire pointed a finger at her sister. “That’s because anyone who’s around you for five minutes knows that’s what you do best: your so-called funny pranks. Only I don’t think they’re funny at all. Look at the mess he made!”

  “Hello, pretty girl,” the bird went on, this time eyeing Meg.

  “You don’t have to greet her, Pindar. She’s the one who made me leave school.”

  To that the bird whistled in a decidedly human way.

  Evie might have walked from the room, but Meg held out a hand to detain her, despite the bird’s proximity. It did have a rather large, black beak that looked capable of tearing into flesh.

  “It wasn’t my decision to have you leave, Evie.”

  “We all know who was responsible for your expulsion,” Claire said. “You were, Evie. And it’s ancient history by now anyway. Apologize to Meg this instant, and then get that bird out of here.”

  Evie walked from the room, gazing downward, mumbling as she walked. “I don’t apologize.”

  “Apologize,” the bird said and repeated the word all the way out of the room.

  When her sister was gone, Claire turned to Meg. “You’ve gotten off lightly. The last time I had a friend stay, she put a snake in the bed. Oh!” She eyed the neatly covered mattress as if an idea had just struck her. “I think we ought to check anyway. I’ll have someone up here to clean that table and replace the lamp too. Perhaps we ought to check the closet and the corners and drawers as well.”

  As they did so, Meg couldn’t help thinking that, despite Evie, she might enjoy her stay after all.

  16

  The difference between bank robbery and bank burglary is whether or not the victimized bank was open at the time of the theft. It is robbery if the bank is open for business, putting the lives of employees and patrons at risk. It is burglary if the bank is closed at the time of compromise. Either criminal act is a felony and not to be dealt with lightly.

  An Informal Look at the Penal Codes of London and New England

  Ian left the bank, having made yet another deposit—one he would soon withdraw in both an unconventional and illegal way. He walked with a light step until turning onto Broadway. It was there he felt something old and vaguely familiar join him. The weight of a shadow trailing behind.

  This was no human shadow. Rather it was something Ian had long ago thought he’d banished. He shrugged one of his shoulders as if to shove it away, but no sooner had he done so than the memory of its origin made it grow even larger. It was a shadow his father had tried to bequeath him—his real father, not the replacement both he and John had established through their friendship. This was the shadow of compunction.

  Why be bothered with such a thing now? This wasn’t the first bank job he’d planned. Ian’s thoughts scattered in search of an answer. Surely by understanding the dilemma, Ian could leave it behind.

  The answer was easy. Meg’s wish to have better known her father had conjured memories in Ian of his own family. Memories he hadn’t allowed himself to ponder for quite some time.

  He picked up his pace in a useless attempt to skirt the phantom. His plan for the bank was set. It was bound to be a success with the measures he’d taken, and it certainly could not be abandoned at this late stage anyway. Besides, what harm was done? Brewster might work with those possessing fewer scruples, but Ian limited himself to an etiquette established by Skipjack, one that had steadily averted threat of arrest. Settling for the theft of stocks and bonds for ransom—and not endangering either the public or bank employees in the process—would result in the same freedom John had enjoyed his entire life.

  Ian was a master at negotiation, something John had always utilized. With the theft limited to banknotes, the bank often didn’t even involve the police. True, it made the banks somewhat complicit in these crimes, but it was worth it to save the embarrassment of having been robbed. Through negotiation they ended up with their stolen notes returned, and Ian with cash that was more or less sanctioned. The banks benefited by tightening their security, so as far as Ian saw it, he did them a favor. More or less.

  Ian knew the layout of the targeted bank as if it were his own home. Before this week was out—on Thursday, to be exact—Dickson would stay late on his shift to prepare the supposedly crack-proof safe. He would drill holes with one of the smallest drill tips available, holes that would be indiscernible once he adhered putty to the vulnerable spot. Ian could then compromise the safe by removing a small piece of the drilled metal and inserting a tiny mirror below the combination wheel. He would twist the dial to see which numbers allowed the safe to open. With the holes already drilled, Ian could be in and out in a matter of minutes. All under Keys’s watchful beat parade on the sidewalk outside—making sure the street remained safe. For them.

  They waited only for the designated day. Soon, not only would Ian’s coffers increase; so would his reputation for designing a job without John’s—or Brewster’s—help.

  With the upcoming success, Ian’s claim to have little use for Brewster couldn’t be denied. He could far more easily refuse anything Brewster proposed after this week.

  Including the proposal to accept help from Meg.

  Now all he needed do was avoid thoughts of either her or the old memories newly stalking him.

  Although Fifth Avenue ran alongside Central Park, the park was too far from the Pemberton mansion near Thirty-Fourth Street to reach by foot, at least by feet confined within fashionable shoes. The afternoon following Meg’s arrival, Claire insisted they continue her normal routine by taking a drive to the park and, once there, a walk.

  Surprisingly enough, Evie didn’t need to be asked. She appeared at the door at the appointed time of departure, looking far neater than she had yesterday with her messy braids and rumpled day dress. Today her maid must have taken great care with Evie’s coif, creating curls from a fountain of light-brown hair that cascaded in waves past her shoulders. Her dress, though falling above the ankles, denoting her youth, was clean and attractive with straight sleeves and a cinch waist. She didn’t compare to Claire, who looked particularly lovely in the multiple flounces and dainty lace of her turquoise morning gown, but Evie was pretty nonetheless. If Meg didn’t know better, at that moment Evie could have presented herself as an immaculate product of Madame Marisse’s.

  They soon alighted from the Pemberton carriage under the welcoming shade of young oaks and maples inside the low, concrete Scholars’ Gate.

  “Are there any particular plants or flowers your mother has admired in the park?” Meg asked. “Perhaps we might consider them for the courtyard, if you see any that grow in shade.”

  “She does love those tall purple flowers,” Claire said. “We’ll see them along the way.”

  “Must we always go t
he same route, Clairy?” Evie moaned.

  “There’s nothing wrong with taking a familiar path.”

  Evie looked from her sister to Meg and then issued a smile that was never a good sign from the girl. “Do you know why she always takes the same path, Meg?”

  Meg shook her head but, judging by the unprecedented wrinkle marring Claire’s forehead, guessed she didn’t want it discussed.

  “Because she used to walk this route with our old neighbor, Jude Johnson. They were supposed to get married, only Jude left her. A year later, the rest of the family packed up and followed him to Chicago. The last of their belongings were taken away the very day their wedding was to have been.”

  Meg watched the color in Claire’s face heighten, though she made no attempt to stop her sister’s words.

  “I’m so very sorry, Claire,” she whispered. “I didn’t know.”

  “Nobody did,” Evie went on, her tone a cheerful contrast to the subject. “She went back to school that last year even though the engagement had just been broken. Didn’t you notice how she was? I expect she didn’t say a word at school, unless they were the ones no one could avoid: ‘Yes, Madame,’ or ‘No, Madame.’”

  “Really, Evie,” Claire said quietly, “must you enjoy yourself so much in trying to embarrass me?”

  “I’m not trying to—oh!” She cut herself off, waving a handkerchief that had appeared from her palm. Meg followed Evie’s gaze to see a young man with an older woman—much older, gray-haired and somewhat frail—walking slowly along a path that would naturally intersect theirs up ahead. “Look, it’s Geoffrey!”

  “The latest of the new neighbors,” Claire said to Meg. “The Masons.”

  Eyes sparkling, Evie nodded. “Yes, they’re the third family to live next door since the Johnsons moved out. They’ve lived there only a few months, but we hope they stay! People do come and go in New York, don’t they? Come along, Clairy! They’ve spotted us. We don’t want to keep them waiting, and you know Nomi doesn’t do much walking. She’ll be back in that carriage before you know it.”