Let the Dead Keep Their Secrets

by Rosemary Simpson

  “Yet you don’t have his name,” Geoffrey commented.

  “She refused to reveal it. The transaction she was attempting was interrupted in the earliest stages, before the paperwork could be completed. One could wish that the bank officer who stepped in had waited just a bit longer.”

  “I’d like to speak to your client,” Geoffrey said.

  “Out of the question,” Tavistock replied. A cloud of cigar smoke hung above his head.

  “You have no guarantee that he won’t approach her again. And perhaps succeed in obtaining what he wants.” Geoffrey tapped Josiah’s copy of the law firm’s letter. “Marriage and access to her fortune. It’s already happened twice that we know of.”

  With measured deliberation Tavistock laid the burning cigar in a crystal ashtray. He straightened in his luxurious leather chair, rested his elbows on the polished surface of his desk, and leaned forward. “Tell me,” he said.

  “Do we have an agreement?” Geoffrey asked.

  “I’ll take you to meet her myself.”

  “She’s already refused to answer your questions.”

  “The best I can do is to give you an hour alone with her. I can’t guarantee that she’ll tell you what you want to know.”

  “His name is Aaron Sorensen. We’re aware of two wives who died in childbirth, although in each case there were no warning signs of potential medical complications. We believe he selects his next victim and begins to court her before he’s rid himself of the spouse from whom he plans to inherit. Your client could provide us with proof of that.”

  “Two wives that you know of. Were there others?” Tavistock rasped. He’d prosecuted or defended every kind of wrongdoing from trespassing to murder, but he’d never been as angry as he was now. His client was also his niece, and, for the next six months, his legal ward; he considered his brother’s child the daughter he never had. Unmarried himself, he’d gone to great lengths to find Damaris a suitable husband, only to have the girl tell him she wasn’t ready to marry yet. She’d lied to him. If she hadn’t made the mistake that gave her away, he didn’t doubt she’d have ruined herself by now.

  “We don’t know,” Geoffrey replied. “We think he repeats what’s worked for him in the past; that’s one of the reasons I need to speak to your client. So far she’s the only concrete lead we have. No one else can tell us how he operates, what promises he makes, how he manages to convince these young women they’re in love with him.”

  “Damaris is twenty,” Tavistock said. “Both her parents died when she was a child. I’ve been her guardian ever since.”

  “Was she sent away to school?”

  “Governesses. I kept her home. With me. But she hasn’t been lonely. She has cousins, aunts, and uncles on her mother’s side. I made sure she’s always had everything she wanted.”

  “I’d like to catch the afternoon train back to New York City,” Geoffrey prodded.

  Tavistock heaved himself to his feet, cigar clenched between his teeth. “Let’s get this over with,” he growled.

  * * *

  Damaris Tavistock was not what Geoffrey anticipated. Catherine had been a talented beauty, Ethel delicate and fragile. The young woman he suspected Sorensen had picked out to be his next wife was squat, fleshy, and so decidedly unattractive that the words ugly duckling sprang to mind the moment he saw her. The lace-mittened hand she extended to him was thick-fingered, the corseted waist far from the desirable hourglass silhouette fashion dictated. Yet, as he took the chair she offered in her guardian’s opulent parlor, Geoffrey caught a glimpse of a deliberately concealed intelligence behind the blank expression and unremarkable features.

  “I shall return in an hour,” Mortimer Tavistock said. His introduction had been brief and to the point. The man from whom he had rescued his niece in the nick of time had a history and was contemplating the ruin of another young lady. He had to be stopped. Mr. Hunter had promised that the family name would be protected.

  “So you’ve blackmailed my uncle into agreeing to cooperate,” Damaris said. She closed the parlor door her guardian had left cracked open an inch for propriety’s sake, then turned the key in the lock.

  “That may be an exaggeration,” Geoffrey said mildly. His first impression had been correct. This young woman was neither stupid nor easily duped. He wondered what hold Aaron Sorensen had had over her.

  “I knew it wasn’t my person that attracted him,” she continued, seating herself again, smoothing out her skirts, folding the mittened hands in her lap. “I’m not a fool. I know what I look like. I also appreciate that wealth conceals a multitude of flaws.”

  She looked at him with the kind of frank, determined gaze young ladies were usually at pains to conceal. Geoffrey was reminded for a fleeting moment of Prudence.

  “Why did you persist in not naming him?” he asked.

  “I was vulnerable, Mr. Hunter. I still am. Aaron Sorensen is not to be trusted. I learned that lesson in a very hard way, but I learned it well. My mistake was in wanting to believe his lies, in allowing myself to fall into a situation in which I was entirely at his mercy. Once I extricated myself from his grasp, I couldn’t allow my guardian to pursue and catch up with him. Aaron would tell everything to save himself. And for the sheer malicious pleasure of doing me harm.”

  Geoffrey was trying to read between the lines of what Damaris was telling him. He knew she wouldn’t reveal whatever she had gone to such pains to hide from her uncle, but he also sensed that she wanted him to find his way to the truth she had resolved to put behind her. Maybe, if he could repeat her words accurately, Prudence would be able to pierce through the thicket of hidden meanings.

  “He’s a dangerous man,” Geoffrey began.

  “I know that now,” Damaris agreed.

  “He may be responsible for the deaths of two women.”

  “And I would have been number three?”

  “We think in each case he began courting a new wife before he was widowed.”

  “Convenient.”

  “He’s a gambler.”

  “Which means he’s always in debt,” Damaris said. “We know a lot about gambling in Saratoga Springs.”

  “If you could tell me how he approached you, and when, it would do a lot to help us build a case against him.”

  “Am I the only lead you have?”

  Geoffrey nodded.

  “I’ll deny telling you anything,” Damaris promised. “I won’t testify in a court of law. I won’t identify him as being anyone I’ve ever known.”

  “I understand.”

  “Don’t bother giving me your word because if you’re a man of honor, I already have it, and if you’re not, a promise means nothing.” Damaris pitched her voice low, as if to ensure that what she was about to say could not be heard by someone standing outside the parlor door.

  “I met Aaron Sorensen here in Saratoga at the beginning of September, the last week of the racing season. I remember because it was a glorious early-autumn day, cool and fresh after the heat of summer. Once the racetrack closes, the only visitors we have are people who come to bathe in the springs and drink the water. The hotels are nearly empty, you can cross Broadway without fear of being run down, and we permanent residents look forward to a quiet, snowy winter.”

  “Did he have an introduction?”

  “No. I should never have spoken to him. I wouldn’t have, if I’d been anywhere except the racetrack. I can’t explain why exactly, but there’s an entirely different atmosphere in the paddocks. Owners who wouldn’t socially cross each other’s paths mingle and drink together, the jockeys are brought out and shown off like pet monkeys, and ladies forget to be aloof and distant. My uncle has his own silks, and last season he had the most promising entry his stables had been able to put forward in years. Under other circumstances he would never have left me on my own.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure. Looking back, I think Aaron engineered the whole thing. He pretended to be one of the investors w
ho owned that day’s favorite. He admired my uncle’s horse and it seemed natural to drift into conversation. What strikes me now is that he made an excuse to leave the paddock area just as my guardian was coming back toward the stables. It didn’t make an impression then, but I’m positive I saw my uncle from a distance and said something about introducing Aaron to him. When I turned back around, Aaron was gone. It was just that quick. I never mentioned him to my guardian, because I knew that talking to a man who wasn’t a relative or old friend of the family was something I should never have done.”

  “And you hoped he would follow up that initial meeting.”

  “Yes, I did. He was so charming, so sincere. A week later . . . I received the first letter.”

  “Was it sent to your home?”

  “Just that once. He begged me to rent a post office box here in Saratoga Springs and to write to him at a post office box in New York City. He said he traveled so much that he never knew from one week to the next which hotel he would be staying at. As for me, he didn’t mince words. He said he knew my guardian would never agree to a friendship between us, and for that reason and no other, he urged me to keep secret the ‘mysterious and exhilarating feelings’ that had taken hold of him when he first saw me. Feelings he didn’t doubt I shared. I remember almost every word of that initial letter, Mr. Hunter, though I burned it according to Aaron’s instructions. I was thrilled, drowning in emotions I’d never felt before, crazy to deceive my uncle and forge a new life. Every time we met was like being caught up in a whirlwind. I was powerless to refuse whatever he asked of me.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “I think I’ve told you enough. Aaron approaches a young, vulnerable woman at a public function, isolates and then flatters her, draws her into a relationship that is all the more powerfully compulsive because elaborate precautions have to be taken to keep it secret.”

  “You tried to arrange for substantial funds to be made available to him.”

  “Now that he’s ending up with nothing, I think asking for that much was a mistake he must bitterly regret. But gamblers often make unwise decisions when they’re threatened with physical injury. I’ve heard stories that would freeze your blood about some of my uncle’s clients.”

  “And that’s how your guardian discovered what was going on.”

  “And made me sever the connection.”

  “Did you save any of Sorensen’s letters?”

  “None. I burned each one as soon as I’d read it.”

  “Gifts? Did he send or give you any tokens of his affection?”

  “A pair of earrings. Antique jade wound with gold thread worked into a lover’s knot. He said a ring would be noticed, but no one remarked on what a woman wore in her ears.”

  “Do you still have them?”

  “Why?”

  “It’s possible they could be traced to a jeweler who might have a record of who originally purchased them.”

  Very slowly Damaris took a small velvet drawstring bag from her skirt pocket. “I tried to throw them away. Many times. I don’t know why I couldn’t. It wasn’t out of any excess of sentimentality. I despise Aaron Sorensen and what he tried to do to me, the harm he succeeded in inflicting.” The emerald green velvet glowed on the white lace of her mittened hand. “Take them, Mr. Hunter. Maybe this is the only way I can finally be rid of them. Of him.”

  Geoffrey slipped the earrings into his coat pocket just as the door handle rattled and an angry male voice called Damaris’s name. Before she could rise from her seat and turn the key in the lock, he whispered, “Is there anything else, Miss Tavistock? Anything you can or want to tell me?”

  He thought she hesitated, as though some terrible secret had fixed itself in her throat and she was struggling to dislodge it. The moment passed; she shook her head. Opened the parlor door. Ended their private time together.

  “My carriage will take you to the train station,” Mortimer Tavistock said.

  CHAPTER 26

  “You can’t be alone with him.” Geoffrey paced away from where Prudence sat demurely on the pale blue silk sofa of her Fifth Avenue Hotel suite. It was all he could do to keep from clenching his fists and pounding them against something. Preferably a wall or Aaron Sorensen.

  “I won’t be. Lydia is my lady’s companion. She’s sticking to me like glue,” Prudence said. “Sorensen came here yesterday for tea in answer to my invitation, and this afternoon we’re going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I have to pretend I’ve never been there before.”

  “I don’t like your not being able to use your own carriage and coachman. Kincaid is a good man in a crisis.”

  “Danny Dennis has promised to be at the head of the hansom queue when we come out of the hotel. He has two other drivers lined up for future excursions so Sorensen doesn’t get suspicious. There isn’t much that can go wrong, as long as I confine our outings to public places,” Prudence explained. She’d proven her ability to handle herself in tough situations; now she chafed under what seemed an obvious lack of confidence. “I suggested meeting at the museum so we wouldn’t have to ride in the same hansom.” She took a deep breath. “I have been careful, Geoffrey.”

  “What did you learn in Saratoga?” Lydia asked. The spark she’d always sensed between these two was still there. And getting stronger, she thought.

  “Damaris Tavistock was holding something back,” Geoffrey began, turning from the window overlooking Fifth Avenue. “Maybe you can figure out what it is.” He took the jade-and-gold earrings out of their velvet pouch and placed them on the table in front of the sofa where Prudence sat. Lydia joined her.

  “These are beautiful,” Lydia remarked, twirling one of the earrings so the miniature cage of interwoven gold threads shimmered as they caught the light.

  “They look to me as if they were designed to complement the gold nets women used to hold their hair in place before the war,” Prudence said. “You don’t suppose . . . ?” She stopped, appalled at what she was thinking.

  “If we had them appraised, I think we’d learn they aren’t very valuable,” Lydia said. “But they could be family heirlooms.”

  “There’s no point attempting to find the jeweler who might have sold them to Sorensen. He didn’t buy them.” Prudence laid one earring on the palm of her hand and held it out before her. “Claire has green eyes. I noticed how pure and clear they are the first time we met. You don’t often see eyes that color, with no trace of hazel.” She closed her fingers over the earring she believed had once hung from Catherine’s ear. “If Claire recognizes them, I’ll know I’m right.”

  “Catherine inherited them after their mother’s death,” Lydia said. “A woman’s jewelry is divided between her daughters after she dies,” she explained to Geoffrey.

  “I wonder why Sorensen didn’t sell them,” he commented. “We know he always needs money.”

  “Jade isn’t an expensive stone. He may have decided it wasn’t worth the bother when he could put them aside until he needed them.” Lydia shuddered with distaste. “To give to someone else.”

  “You said Miss Tavistock in Saratoga was holding something back,” Prudence reminded him. “What made you think that?”

  “Just before I left, when her guardian was about to put an end to the interview, I had the feeling she was on the verge of confiding whatever it is she’s been so determined her uncle not find out.”

  “Can you remember exactly what she said?” Lydia asked.

  “I made notes once I got to the train.” Geoffrey consulted the small leather-covered book he carried with him everywhere. He caught the smiles the two women exchanged and knew what they were thinking. Pinkerton training. As best he could, he recounted the hour he had spent with Damaris Tavistock.

  “She got caught,” Lydia said without hesitation. “Nothing else makes sense. She may have miscarried very early on, perhaps before she could be certain, but at some moment she realized that Sorensen wouldn’t stand by her.”

  “Ethel was still a
live,” Prudence said. “He couldn’t risk a bigamous marriage in the same state where Ethel’s death certificate was going to be filed.”

  “We may never know exactly what happened,” Lydia continued. “The only thing we can be certain of is that she decided to buy his silence.”

  “Damaris Tavistock is not a stupid woman,” Geoffrey said. “She must have known that by giving him money, she was putting herself in his power. Yet you believe she was willing to risk it.”

  “I do,” Lydia said. “But to make it work she had to convince Sorensen that she was willing to expose him if he went back on the deal—despite what it would do to her reputation.”

  “He may have realized she was the mistake that could topple his house of cards,” Prudence said. “So it made sense to walk away.”

  “Then he let his greed or his desperation get the better of his caution. I’d lay odds he promised silence for a larger payment than she anticipated.” Geoffrey had known men more clever than Sorensen ruin a scam because they didn’t know when to quit.

  “And that’s where he tripped himself up. The amount alarmed someone in the family bank who notified the guardian,” Lydia summed up.

  “He might have gotten away with it if he’d asked for less.”

  “Damaris made one terrible mistake, but she was able to pull herself out of the abyss before it swallowed her.” Lydia grimaced. “Sorry. That makes it sound poetic and romantic when it’s actually a very ordinary tale of misplaced affection and callous seduction.”

  Prudence unobtrusively replaced the earrings in their velvet bag and handed it to Lydia, who quietly left the room. She didn’t think Geoffrey noticed she hadn’t given the earrings back to him; mention of pregnancy discomfited even the most worldly of men.