“I will.”
I nodded and then turned and made my way along the rest of the corridor and back into the noise and smoke and music of the speakeasy.
* * *
I ARRIVED BACK at the Aldens’ house and made my way quietly up to our bedroom. It felt very quiet and empty without Milo there. I did hope he wasn’t going to get himself into any sort of trouble tonight. I was used to his evenings away from home and had never been one to sit and fret, but something about tonight had me on edge. I very much hoped he would arrive back quickly and set my unnamed fears to rest.
As I prepared for bed, my mind ran again over all that I had learned. Mr. De Lora had been rather cagey about his relationship with Grant Palmer, but I had the feeling he had been telling me the truth. At least insofar as his not having anything to do with Mr. Palmer’s death. I did have to admit that it had been rather sloppily done. Why had he been killed on the steps of the Aldens’ home rather than somewhere else? It was all so strange.
Mr. De Lora had also told me that Grant Palmer had spent time in jail. I wondered how many people knew this fact. This was not to say, of course, that it had any bearing upon his murder, but it just seemed to me that there were too many coincidences.
I wondered if there was any way I could discover what kind of crime Grant Palmer had committed. Surely it would be on record somewhere? Or was it possible that someone might know? Rudy Elliot and Grant Palmer had been friends since childhood. Mr. Elliot would likely know why Grant Palmer had gone to jail. I would just have to ask him.
I lay in bed for a long while, all of this swirling in my head. I half hoped that the door would open and Milo would slip in, his evening having not taken as long as he had originally assumed. What if something, even at this moment, was going wrong? What were we thinking, anyway, involving ourselves with American gangsters?
I sat up and switched on the light. I was clearly not going to fall asleep now.
Looking around the room, I saw that I had left my book on the table near the fireplace. Perhaps a few pages of reading would calm my mind. I got out of bed, sliding my feet into my slippers, and pulled on my dressing gown. Moving across the soft carpet, I took a seat in the chair and picked up the book.
I began a desultory perusal of its pages, but soon found myself unable to concentrate. It was a good-enough story, a mystery, in fact, but my mind kept wandering, and my stomach growled, reminding me that it had been a long time since dinner.
It was much too late to disturb Winnelda, and I didn’t fancy the idea of creeping down to the kitchen in the darkness. Instead, I moved to the water jug that sat on a little table in the corner and poured myself a glass.
As I drank, I recalled the cool glass of water and the conversation with Mr. Brown at Mr. Alden’s warehouse. Why had Grant Palmer and Jemma Petrie gone to the warehouse together? What had been their aim? I realized that if I was to get an answer I was going to have to ask Miss Petrie directly. So far subtle inquiries had gotten me nowhere. The American way was direct and straightforward, after all. Perhaps I would have to try it.
Jemma Petrie was coming in the morning to discuss wedding plans with Tabitha. Perhaps there would be a few moments when I could ask her.
I sighed. Setting the half-empty glass on my nightstand, I went back and retrieved my novel.
A second attempt at reading it produced the same result. I found I had no heart for mystery tonight. As much as I enjoyed a puzzle, the thrill of the chase, I desperately wished all of this hadn’t happened. I wished that we had had a quiet visit to New York and that Tabitha would be able to enjoy her wedding to Tom. I wished her a long, quiet life after this, full of happiness with Tom and their children.
A thought occurred to me, and I sat up straight, the book falling from my lap onto the floor as I stared ahead, mentally calculating.
I realized suddenly the answer to something that had absolutely nothing to do with Grant Palmer’s death, and felt in a rush that I should’ve been more careful before careening all over the city, interviewing gangsters and searching for a murderer.
Putting myself in danger had been one thing, but I was responsible for two lives now.
I was pregnant.
22
I FELT A strange mixture of elation and terror, almost like a shot of adrenaline coursing through me. I went through the timing again in my head, more carefully this time, and I was quite sure I had not made a mistake. I was very definitely pregnant.
It explained so much: my constant tiredness, the vague feeling of seasickness that had followed me even after disembarking the ship, the wave of dizziness that had caught me unawares that day I had bent to pick up my lipstick. All the symptoms were there. A fine detective I was, missing the most obvious of clues.
Unable to sit still, I rose and began pacing the room, trying to make sense of the myriad thoughts and emotions that tumbled through me.
I didn’t know why I should be surprised. Most of the young women with whom I had grown up already had multiple children. If there was anything unusual about my pregnancy it was that it had not happened before now.
With our marriage on better terms, we had not been expressly working to prevent a pregnancy as of late. Perhaps I had just assumed that, as I had never gotten pregnant before, I simply wouldn’t. A child had always seemed like some distant possibility, something that would happen in its own time; now I was confronted with the reality.
I was thrilled that I was going to be a mother, but I knew absolutely nothing about it. I was the only child of a mother who had foisted me upon nannies and packed me off to boarding schools from a young age. What did I know of raising a child?
What was more, I was not at all sure how Milo would take the news. It wasn’t that I thought he would be displeased, but he had never seemed particularly eager to have children, though we had, of course, discussed the possibility in rather abstract terms. In general, however, Milo liked children, and they liked him. I didn’t suppose that fatherhood would prove too much of a challenge. And, after all, it was not as though a great deal of the burden was going to fall on him.
Besides, I was not, as my mother frequently reminded me, getting any younger, and if we were going to start a family, there was no time like the present.
There was a small part of me that wondered if Milo and I were suited to being parents. Neither of us had especially good examples to look up to. My parents, though I had never wanted for material things, had always maintained a vague detachment.
Milo’s mother had died when he was born, and he and his father had been at odds for most of Milo’s life. Neither of us knew what it was like to grow up in a warm and nurturing family, and, though I had always promised myself it was the environment in which I would raise my children, there was a nagging doubt that I was equal to the task.
I drew in a breath, and stopped my mental rambling. What was done was done; there was no sense worrying about it now.
I stood still for a moment and let the news fully sink in.
We were going to have a baby.
As surprised and afraid as I was, I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face, nor the happy tears that sprang to my eyes.
* * *
WHEN I AWOKE the next morning, the first thing I remembered was that I was going to be a mother. My beaming smile was quickly wiped away by a wave of nausea so severe that I clutched at the bedspread until it passed.
I was still lying there, afraid to move a muscle, when Winnelda knocked on my door a short while later.
“Come in,” I called weakly.
“Do you need help dressing, madam?” she asked, poking her head in, eyes averted, as she often did just in case she should find Milo and I behaving inappropriately again.
“No, I…” I clenched my teeth, too queasy to go on. It was as though, now that I had discovered its secret source, the sickness had decided it might as well reveal itself with full force.
“Madam, are you all right?” She had come into the room
now and hurried worriedly to the bed. “You look dreadful.”
“No, I’m all right.” Mustering all my resolve, I sat up slowly, grimacing. I wouldn’t tell Winnelda, not just yet. I wanted Milo to be the first to hear, wanted it to be, for just a little while, a secret that the two of us shared.
Winnelda came and arranged the pillows behind me, and I leaned against them in relief. I felt slightly less sick in this position. “Just feeling a bit under the weather. I wonder … do you suppose you could bring me some toast and tea?”
“Certainly. Is there anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
She left the room, and I picked up the glass of water I had left on the bedside table, sipping it and taking in slow, deep breaths through my nose.
Now that the sickness was abating, at least momentarily, I realized that Milo had not yet come in. I glanced at the clock and was shocked to find that it was after ten o’clock. Not only had I slept absurdly late, but I would’ve expected Milo to be back long before now. Surely he and Leon De Lora would have finished their night of revels or business dealings, whatever they were, by dawn.
Winnelda came in a few minutes later with a tray. “Here’s your toast and tea, madam. You’ll be feeling all right in no time.”
“Thank you,” I said, seizing a piece of toast and eating it dry. “Has Mr. Ames come in?”
I knew it wasn’t possible that he had slipped into our room during the night without my notice, but perhaps he had come in this morning and was still downstairs.
An expression of concern flickered momentarily across Winnelda’s face before she smoothed it away. “No, madam. At least, I didn’t see him downstairs.”
“He had a business matter to attend to last night and said he might not return until this morning.”
“I see. Shall I tell you when he comes in?”
I took a sip of the tea. It was hot, strong, and very sweet. Just what I needed. I shook my head before taking a second sip.
“Run a bath for me, will you, Winnelda? And lay out something for me to wear.”
Her eyes swept over me with an assessing glance. “The burgundy suit, I think. It’ll give you color.”
I nodded, but my mind had already begun to wander. “Winnelda, did you hear anything else from Annie about Miss Tabitha’s missing gun?”
“Oh, yes. I meant to tell you. I asked her about it, and she said that Miss Tabitha’s father gave it to her for protection. But Annie said Miss Tabitha was afraid of the thing and would hardly touch it. Annie said Miss Tabitha was always saying she wanted to be rid of it.”
The timing was certainly suspect, but her fear of the gun seemed a point in her favor. Did that mean she wouldn’t have had the nerve or skill to use it? I certainly hoped so. Perhaps she had gotten rid of it at an earlier date and no one noticed. I was not satisfied with this theory, but I put it to rest for the moment.
A short while later found me descending the stairs, feeling unutterably improved. The mirror had showed that I was still a bit pale and wan, but I also thought I detected a subtle glow that I hadn’t noticed before.
There was no one in the breakfast room, and I went to the drawing room looking for any signs of life. Mr. Alden was sitting in a chair. He was holding a newspaper, but he did not appear to be reading it, his gaze trained at something in the distance.
He looked up when I came in, rising from his chair. “Oh. Good morning, Amory.”
“Good morning,” I said. “I’m afraid I’ve slept rather late.”
“The change in time across the Atlantic is always difficult. Tabitha’s gone out with Tom, I believe. She said she didn’t want to disturb you, but she’ll be back later. I think Jemma’s due to arrive before lunch. Do you want some breakfast?”
“Thank you, no. I’ve had some tea and toast in my room.”
“Will you sit down?” He motioned to one of the chairs across from him. I thought about begging off, leaving him to continue to read his newspaper in peace, but I had the impression that he wanted to talk, or at least that he wanted company, so I went and took a seat.
He looked uneasy, preoccupied.
He lit a cigarette and then settled back into his chair.
“I guess this trip hasn’t really been what you imagined it would be,” he said. His tone was light, but he looked tired and there was darkness under his eyes marking a lack of sleep. I noticed, too, that his hands were not quite steady as he struck the match and brought the flame to the tip of his cigarette.
“Not exactly,” I admitted. That was true in more ways than one. “I’m just sorry that all of this had to happen. It was such a shame about Grant Palmer.”
“Yes. I wanted everything to be perfect for Tabitha…” His voice trailed off and he sighed. “I’ve made some stupid decisions.”
I didn’t know how to respond to this, whether he was looking for a confidant or simply speaking to himself.
“I’m sure everything is going to turn out all right,” I said by way of encouragement.
He looked up at me then, offering the sort of smile one gives to someone who had just said something very stupid indeed. “Maybe.”
“Don’t worry, Calvin,” I heard a voice say from the hallway. “I’ll tell them I’m here.”
It was Mr. Elliot.
I thought of going out into the hallway to ask Calvin if there had been any word from Milo, but I thought I would wait until I could catch him alone. Besides, I was quite sure he would’ve told me if Milo had sent a note.
It was not an unusual thing for Milo to disappear for several hours without notice, but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had settled over me since I woke up, since we had parted ways last night, really.
“Good morning,” Mr. Elliot said, coming into the room. “I’m dropping by unannounced.”
“Hello, Rudy,” Mr. Alden said. “Tabitha and Tom aren’t here.”
“It seems they always run off and forget to tell me where they’re going,” he said lightly. “I thought Tom and I were supposed to have lunch today.”
“Oh, well, perhaps they’ll be back soon then,” Mr. Alden said, rising from his seat. “Jemma is coming to discuss wedding plans, from what I understand. I’ve got some business matters to attend to. If you’ll excuse me?”
“Certainly.”
Mr. Alden took his leave then, and I was left alone with Mr. Elliot.
“Tabitha ran off without you, too, eh?” he said with a smile.
“I slept rather late, I’m afraid.”
“And where is Mr. Ames?”
“He’s gone out, too,” I said. I didn’t know why, but I felt that I shouldn’t volunteer information about Milo’s unknown whereabouts. I still hoped that he would arrive any minute, breezing through the door after a night spent gambling and drinking, and I didn’t want to create undue alarm. And if it was something more serious than that, I wanted to wait, to give myself time to decide who to trust.
“I guess I’ll wait a few minutes and see if Tom shows up. Do you mind if I smoke?” Rudy Elliot asked as he took a seat.
“Not at all.”
He sat down and pulled a cigarette case from the pocket of his jacket, then felt around for matches.
“I don’t suppose you have a lighter?”
“No, I’m afraid not. But perhaps if we ring for Calvin…”
“Oh, no, let’s not bother him. He gives me the creeps.” He continued feeling his pockets. “I thought I had some here. I have hundreds of matchbooks. You’d think I’d have one of them…”
His looking for a lighter brought Milo’s ever-present silver lighter to mind, and I wondered again where my husband had gone. If he was all right, I was going to be very cross with him for having disappeared.
Not too cross, of course, for I would have to tell him about the baby and I wanted the moment to be just right. I wondered again what his reaction would be, how he would feel about the news that he was going to be a father.
What kind of parents would
we be? I tried to picture the two of us with a little dark-haired child. Milo would be overindulgent, naturally. I supposed I would, too, for I already felt that this child was going to be the most important thing in my world.
“Ah. Here’s some on this table!” Rudy Elliot exclaimed triumphantly. He lit his cigarette then and I pulled my attention back to him. He looked down at the matches, seemed about to put them in his pocket, and then, apparently remembered they were not his and set them down on the table.
“I have to admit, I’ll be glad when the wedding is over. I think I’m going to go out of town for a while. I need a chance to clear my head.”
I nodded. I felt much the same way. I very much wanted Tom and Tabitha to begin their happy life together, and I wanted to be back in England. I wanted to sit in our quiet morning room at Thornecrest and stitch clothes for the baby.
“I’m glad that they caught the killer, but I find it hard to just go back to normal life. I suppose things will never be as they were,” he said wistfully.
I decided to ask Mr. Elliot the question that had been weighing on my mind. “I heard somewhere that Mr. Palmer had spent time in prison. Do you know what it was for?”
He looked up at me, a frown flickering across his brow. “Oh, it was the crowd he was running with, I think. He got sucked into some scheme or another and ended up paying for it. Luckily for him, he got a light sentence.”
“I see.” Though I didn’t really see. It was all so vague. I was fairly certain of one thing, however. If Tom had been in prison with Grant Palmer, Rudy didn’t know about it.
He looked at the clock. “Well, I guess Tom and Tab aren’t going to be back in time for lunch. I guess I’ll be going.”
He stood, grinding out the cigarette. “Will you tell Tom to call me when he gets back? Maybe he wants to meet for dinner instead.”
“Yes, I’ll be sure to tell him.”
He took his leave and I sat alone in the sitting room, still lost in thought. Who had killed Grant Palmer? That was still the question, for, despite Detective Andrews’s announcement that he had the killer in custody, I couldn’t help but feel that there was more to the story than that. There was something that had only to shift to make everything come into focus. I felt as if I knew the answer; I just had to make my mind realize it.
A Dangerous Engagement Page 23
