Ethan and I climbed back into his pony cart and returned to the Messenger, where I edited stories sent to us from the Associated Press through the Western Union office. How much smaller the telegraph had made the world, and how much more accessible news from anywhere and everywhere. Someday, perhaps, the telephone would do the same. This endeavor kept me busy for the next couple of hours as I pored through various news stories and chose the ones I thought would most interest our readers. Anything within the scope of high society I handed off to Ethan.
I also rummaged through old Associated Press articles we kept on file, hoping to find a reference to Judge Clayton’s recent rulings. I found nothing significant, nothing that would have involved Cornelius Vanderbilt or men like him.
That turned my thoughts to Uncle Cornelius. With a shock, I realized I hadn’t spared him a single consideration since last night. Understandable, perhaps, given the circumstances, but guilt nonetheless prodded. And then it occurred to me that if Uncle Cornelius had still been alive, I would not have been at Wakehurst last night and would not now be scrambling to piece together how Judge Clayton had come to be lying among the hydrangeas, an arrow through his chest.
That Uncle Cornelius had been acquainted with Judge Schuyler I knew to be a fact. Yet, I could only guess at the extent of their friendship. Suddenly I wondered if any of my cousins could provide insight into the judge’s life and whether there might have been any threats to his life in recent days. Aunt Alice might know, but I couldn’t possibly question her now, during the height of her grief.
The Breakers hadn’t been properly shut down for the winter, and I hoped Alfred or Gertrude, or perhaps both, might return to Newport to see to the business of settling the household accounts, overseeing the packing of the items that would be returned to New York, and dispersing the excess staff to the family’s other estates. I saw no need to bother Neily again, since he would not have been privy to his father’s confidences in recent years. I was almost glad of it, in a way, as I didn’t think he would be pleased to see me anytime soon.
Speaking with my Vanderbilt cousins would have to wait. In the meantime, I couldn’t get the image of the surviving Schuylers, Delphine and Imogene, out of my mind. At the same time, I realized it might not be them I needed to question next. A plan formed in my mind.
“That’s about it for me today.” I slid the article I’d been working on from the typewriter’s cylinder and turned in my chair to regard Ethan. “How are you doing?”
“I’m done here, but I’ve got to get out to Bailey’s Beach for an evening swim race.”
I grinned. “Are you going as a reporter or a swimmer?”
His lips formed a smirk. “A reporter, to be sure.”
“Give me a ride out? I left my carriage at Stevenson’s for repairs. I’ll ring up The Breakers carriage house in the morning for a ride back into town.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Ethan and I both turned our attention to the doorway, and the surprise I saw there brought me surging to my feet with a decided lack of dignity. “Derrick!”
Ethan was grinning now as he, too, rose from his chair. “I’ll just be going, then. Mr. Andrews, it’s nice to have you back.”
“Thank you, Ethan.” As Derrick spoke, his gaze never left me. He moved aside to let Ethan pass through the doorway, then once more filled it, beaming at me. I came around the desk and with no further ado found myself in his arms, my cheek pressed to his collar.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” I whispered against starched cotton.
“So am I. I heard what happened at Wakehurst.” He drew back. “And once again, you’re involved, aren’t you?”
“Not in any official capacity, outside of being a reporter. But trust me, I will report.”
“I don’t understand.”
I explained to him about Jesse’s replacement, and the reason for it. “I feel dreadful, Derrick, but the whole thing is ridiculous. It’s only because I’m a woman that Jesse has to suffer. Those crimes were solved. What should it matter how or by whom? Besides, it’s not as though Jesse didn’t do his job. I merely helped.”
Derrick drew me closer again. “I’d say you’ve done more than that. But right now, I don’t know if I share your indignation or am relieved you’ll have to take a back seat in this investigation.”
“Not as a reporter I won’t. I certainly can’t rely on Gifford Myers to pass on the facts to me, so I’ll have no choice but to find them out on my own. The public has a right to be informed.”
He rested his chin on my hair, the strands stirred by his sigh. “The police department should realize it’ll take far more than a new detective to keep you down.” Finally releasing me from his embrace, he sat on the edge of the desk and held my hands.
“Do you know the Schuylers?” I asked him.
“Not well, although my parents had become friendly with them in recent years.”
“I don’t suppose they have any idea of who might have murdered the judge? An enemy, someone with a grudge?”
He shook his head. “My parents’ dealings with the Schuylers would be on a purely social level, and not particularly often, at that. I believe they did spend some time together in the South of France last spring, but that’s hardly a place where anyone dwells on unpleasant matters.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so,” I agreed, then added with a smile, “not that I would know.”
“Perhaps we’ll visit there together someday.” He returned my smile, then sobered. “Tell me what you’ve learned about the judge’s death so far.”
“Precious little.” I related all that had happened and all I had witnessed the night before. I included the tailor shop robbery and the man who might have been wearing the stolen clothing at Wakehurst. Then I told him about Jesse’s and my visits with Neily and Arnold Jenson.
“Assuming they are one and the same, this man went to great lengths to be at Van Alen’s fete. He must have had a darned good reason, and I don’t mean he’s longed all his life to see a joust.”
“I agree. Some pressing matter made it necessary for him to fit in and mingle with the guests.” We exchanged a long, significant gaze. “There’s something Neily doesn’t wish to tell me.”
“Or doesn’t wish to admit to.”
“Yes, but what? I don’t for a minute believe he had anything to do with Judge Schuyler’s death.”
“I don’t, either. But the matters could be somehow related. The only question is, why would Neily protect a potential murderer? Could this man have something on Neily, or on the family in general?”
I frowned as something occurred to me. “If this man had intended to murder Clayton Schuyler, would he have brought attention to himself with his antagonism toward my cousin? That seems foolhardy to me.”
“It does, at that.” Derrick’s thumbs made little circles against my palms, a sensation that felt delightful, but made it difficult to focus. “Does this Detective Myers know of the connection between this man and the stolen suit?”
A guilty little smile played about my lips. “Not unless Jesse told him. I’m certainly not going to.”
“Isn’t that called obstruction of justice?”
“I was told to stay out of it. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
He emitted a sharp laugh. “That is assuredly not what you’re doing. What we’re doing,” he amended with a guilty smile of his own. “Are you ready to leave? I’ve got my carriage outside and I’m positively craving Nanny’s cooking.”
“She’ll be delighted to see you. And she’ll scold you for being away too long.”
His expression changed suddenly, becoming saddened and pained. “Emma, forgive me. Here I am with all these questions about this case, and I’ve neglected you and how you’ve been since the funeral. I should have been there with you.”
I was already shaking my head before he left off. “No. It was better I went alone, for many reasons.”
He tipped my chin upward and bowed hi
s face toward mine. “It must have been awful. I’m so sorry. I know how fond you were of Cornelius, and he of you.”
That made me smile. “Yes. We were very fond of each other. We didn’t always agree on things, especially on how I should live my life, but he was always like a second father to me and . . .” I trailed off as I remembered how Uncle Cornelius had altered my financial status. I found myself reluctant to speak of it, though I couldn’t have said why.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Please take me home. I find myself craving Nanny’s cooking, too.”
He brushed his lips across mine and smiled gently. “There’s nothing Mary O’Neal can’t fix with a good meal and a strong cup of tea.”
* * *
On the way back to Gull Manor, I asked Derrick to take a brief detour. I had lingering questions about last night, and I thought these could be answered with a visit to Wakehurst. As we approached the front door, I hoped we would find Mr. Van Alen not at home, as it was the house I had come to see, not him. More specifically, the veranda. A footman answered, dressed in a traditional uniform of tailcoat and knee breeches rather than the doublet and hose of the previous night. He ushered us into the Long Gallery and asked us to wait while he climbed the stairs. Even during the day, entering that house felt like stepping back in time and across a great distance to England’s baronial past. Ordinarily, I appreciated this harkening back to earlier centuries, but now I found the dark coffered paneling, dusky Oriental rugs, and ancient displays of armor oppressive and ominous. I hoped to accomplish my task and leave as soon as possible.
After a few minutes, Mr. Van Alen came down to greet us. We had obviously interrupted his leisure time, as evidenced by his velvet smoking jacket, with its elaborately embroidered cuffs and lapels and the mock slashing detail on the sleeves, like those on an Elizabethan doublet. His house shoes, I was amused to note, were tied with satin ribbon and came to points at the toes that turned upward, in another attempt to ape Tudor fashion.
He greeted us with a puzzled expression. Certainly, he had not expected visitors on such a day. After making polite inquiries, he asked if he could provide us with refreshments, for which Derrick and I thanked him but declined.
“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, sir,” I said. “It’s a trivial matter, really.”
“Disturb me? My dear Miss Cross! ’Twas you who found the deceased last night. I’d have thought surely you had taken to your bed today and tried to cast the entire sordid debacle from your mind.”
“I lost something last night, a fan that was a gift from my parents. I wondered if I might walk out onto your veranda to see if it’s there.”
“Of course, of course.” He led us down the Long Gallery to the dining room, where we exited onto the veranda. Positioned at the side of the house above the formal gardens, the veranda spanned the width of the south wing from front to back, also overlooking the area where I had found Judge Schuyler. I pretended to search among the wrought iron garden furniture, even on the flagstone floor.
“Are you certain you didn’t leave it in your cousin’s carriage on your way home, Miss Cross?”
I glanced up to find Mr. Van Alen hovering right behind me, following my line of sight everywhere I looked. How I wished he would go back inside; how I wished he hadn’t been home at all. An idea occurred to me. “You know, sir, I might have left it in your den. I wonder, while I continue to look here, if you might check there for me?”
“I remember no such item in your possession whilst you inhabited my den, Miss Cross.”
“It’s worth checking, though, wouldn’t you say?” Derrick put his hand on Mr. Van Alen’s shoulder and gave him a little nudge. “Just to put the lady’s mind at ease.”
I put on as distressed an expression as I could muster.
“At your service, milady.” He stepped back inside, and I let out a little huff of relief.
Derrick scowled. “Life is a game to him.”
“A harmless affectation,” I replied with a shrug. “It’s not that I don’t wish to tell Mr. Van Alen why I’m really here. I don’t like lying, but I wouldn’t want him inadvertently repeating the true reason to Detective Myers.”
Derrick nodded his agreement, and I hurried over to the railing overlooking the rear garden.
He joined me there. “Where did you find the judge?”
Things looked different from this perspective and in the daylight. I searched the trees and shrubs and attempted to visually retrace my path as I’d followed the sound of the dogs’ barking. Finally I stretched out my arm. “There, I believe.”
I pointed to where I had circled the shrubbery and came upon the judge. “From the ground,” I explained, “he had been hidden, until I’d come within a few feet of him. But from here, from this raised vantage point, he would have been visible in the light from the kitchen windows.”
I raised both arms, as if holding a bow, and used the length of my left arm, as I would have with an actual arrow, to take aim at an imaginary target. I dropped my arms to my sides and nodded. “Yes, I believe our killer stood here, or close to it.”
“Miss Cross, ‘I am not bound to please thee with my answers. ’” The sound of James Van Alen’s voice startled us both. Shakespeare again. Derrick made a sound of frustration. We turned as that gentleman strode across the veranda to us. “Forsooth, your fan is not to be found in my den.”
He saw where we stood and frowned. “Ah, I see. You fear perchance you dropped it in the garden. Seems a likely scenario, but we cannot have you down there again, Miss Cross, I shall not hear of it.” His perplexity continued, until he suddenly brightened. “I shall send my footmen to search. Should they find it, I’ll have it sent to you posthaste. Gull Manor on Ocean Avenue, is it?”
“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Van Alen.” I experienced a wave of guilt over the footmen having to search the scene of the crime. Were there bloodstains on the grass? Would those young men find it a gruesome task? I would have owned up to the truth if not for the prospect of Detective Myers finding out, taking the matter to Chief Rogers, and Jesse landing in more trouble than he was already in.
* * *
For a brief time that evening, I found myself forgetting about death—about Uncle Cornelius laid to rest in that mausoleum on Staten Island, and about Judge Schuyler bleeding out among the hydrangeas. Nanny’s artful touch in the kitchen did indeed soothe my demons, at least temporarily, and having Derrick there lifted my mood.
After supper, he and I strolled the length of my property, a small peninsula that thrust its rocky edges out into the Atlantic Ocean. The morning’s threat of rain had dissipated with little more than a brief drizzle. Under a purpling sky, the lowering sun half obscured behind a thin band of clouds near the horizon, our shadows stretched out long and deep behind us. The spray was up, the waves choppy and edged with golden foam. Derrick seemed uncommonly quiet and I sensed something weighing on his mind. I also sensed it had nothing to do with Judge Schuyler.
“We’ve barely discussed your time in Providence,” I said, hoping to prod him into revealing his thoughts. We walked, hand in hand, our shoulders brushing in a way that felt intimate yet comfortable.
“There’s not much to say,” he said with a shrug. “We sold off a few smaller newspapers and purchased some larger ones. Business as usual.”
I had known that had been part of the reason for his trip to Providence. The Andrews family’s newspaper holdings included the Providence Sun, but also numerous other papers throughout New England and Upstate New York. “You say it so nonchalantly, but those kinds of acquisitions are important.”
“Perhaps, but I needn’t have been there. My father and his financial team could have handled the transactions just as easily without me.”
I halted and turned to face him. “What are you saying?”
He glanced out over the waves, then back at me. “Claiming to need my help was merely another excuse to bring me to Providence.”
“And get you out of Ne
wport.” It was my turn to shrug. “It’s not the first time. We needn’t be surprised.”
“Oh, I’m not surprised. But I am angry. And growing weary of such tactics.”
Perhaps I should have been, too. Derrick’s parents would do anything to separate us. They simply didn’t consider me good enough for their son, and rarely missed an opportunity to make their opinions known.
But I smiled, anyway, knowing that while Derrick wouldn’t abandon his family, neither would he abandon me. No, if he and I were to go our separate ways, it would be our decision, not theirs. It had taken me some time to fully believe it, and there were moments when I still feared the differences in our social positions would come between us. But so far, he had proven as constant as the tides, and equally dynamic.
“Why are you smiling?” He tried to look annoyed, but smiled as well.
“Because perhaps I understand your parents, a bit anyway. They need you. They’re afraid of losing you.”
“Then they should stop pushing me away.”
“They don’t realize that’s what they’re doing. They believe by creating reasons to keep you in Providence, you’ll forget about Newport, the Messenger, and me.”
“How mistaken they are.” His arms went around me. Earlier, he had shed his coat, and despite the chill carried on the evening air, he had come out in his vest and shirtsleeves. Beneath those sleeves, I could feel the ruggedness of his muscles, honed years earlier by rowing and boxing. Those muscles rendered his embrace as sturdy as the bedrock beneath our feet. His lips nudged until mine opened, and he kissed me, soundly and long.
Of course, it was exactly then the kitchen door opened and my dog, Patch, came lumbering out.
Nanny called to us, “Cake’s ready!”
I let out a sigh; Derrick blew out a breath that might have carried a mild oath along with it, but we ended with a shared chuckle. Nanny had baked a ginger pudding cake specially to welcome Derrick back to Newport, and we mustn’t disappoint her. She was sure to have whipped up some fresh cream to go along with it. It was therefore our duty to go inside and for each of us to enjoy a thick, lovely slice, perhaps two.
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