The Case of the Troubled Tycoon: A Gilded Age Historical Cozy Mystery (Shipwreck Point Mysteries Book 5)

by Elise M Stone

  “Shall we get started?” Melissa asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Rose said. “I think this is going to be ever so much fun.”

  “What have you brought with you?” Melissa asked Elisabeth.

  “I snipped a few branches from my lilacs this morning.” She lifted her basket to the table and pulled out a couple of sprigs. She frowned at their appearance. “I’m afraid they’re already starting to wilt.”

  “That’s easily fixed, although it might take a while for them to perk up.” Melissa took in the rest of the women with a glance before her eyes came back to Elisabeth. “You see, the first step in making tussie-mussies is to snip off the ends of the stalks and put the cuttings in warm water for a while. In fact, I did that with the flowers I brought as soon as I arrived. They’ve been drinking in moisture in the garden shed since before lunch.

  “Overnight is best, but we can make do with a shorter time today. Why don’t you come to the shed with me, Elisabeth, and we’ll get your lilacs started? Then you can help me bring the ones that are ready to the table.”

  “May I watch?” Rose asked.

  “Of course,” Melissa said. “Only the garden shed is small, so I’m afraid you’ll have to watch from the doorway while Elisabeth and I demonstrate. Shall we proceed?”

  She led the way, Elisabeth behind her. The other ladies followed. After she opened the door, Elisabeth hesitated to go inside the shed. Titus had found a body in it less than a year ago. She and Susanna were probably the only ones who remembered that, but it still felt eerie to step foot inside. Shaking off the willies, she forced herself to enter the small structure.

  A series of containers sat on the bench at the rear, blossoms sticking out of most of them. Melissa headed for the far end of the worktable where some space remained. “Here, give me your flowers.” She held out her hand for Elisabeth’s basket, which she relinquished. Melissa took a stem covered in purple blooms out of the basket and laid it on the wooden surface.

  “The first thing to do is cut the stem at an angle with gardening clippers. Or a sharp knife will do if you don’t have clippers.” She picked up a small pair of shears from the set of tools laid out on the bench and trimmed the lilac branch, then held it up so they could all see the cut she’d made. “Then put it in a container with some water for a while.” Which she did.

  “Now, if you’ll come inside one at a time, I’ll hand you a jar or two to bring back to the table.” She turned and picked up two of the jars she’d started earlier, then handed them to Elisabeth. One of them held a profusion of beautiful pink peonies.

  “Isn’t it early for peonies?” she asked.

  “It is,” Melissa said with a smile. “But I enjoy them year-round, and so keep a couple of tubs to grow them in the conservatory attached to the house. Most of the flowers I brought today came from my conservatory.”

  Of course. She should have thought of that. After all, she’d been in Fannie Tyler’s conservatory last summer. As she walked back to the table under the maple tree, she thought how wonderful it would be have a house with a conservatory and have flowers all year round. Not likely for a woman of her modest means, but it was something to dream about.

  As soon as the women had returned to their chairs, Melissa Chapman showed them how to start a tussie-mussie. “First, choose a large flower for the center of your posy. A rose or rosebud is traditional, but it’s too early in the year for roses. A tulip will do nicely, but beware the color.” She winked as she picked up a red one. “Red is a declaration of ardent love. Pink means love, but without the passion. White tulips symbolize lost love and yellow, hopeless love. Peonies can merely mean bashful, or beautiful, or welcome, so are safer if you’re not ready to declare your affection yet. That’s why I brought so many of them. I wasn’t sure what message most of you would want to convey.”

  She noticed Susanna picked up a red tulip without hesitation. Not surprising, given her betrothal to Philo Peck. Rose chose a peony, as did Elisabeth. Drusilla Rowland hesitated.

  “Can I assist you?” Melissa asked.

  Drusilla’s cheeks turned pink. “George and I aren’t young lovers any more. Neither are we strangers. I’m not sure that a tulip or peony would be appropriate.”

  “I think I know just the thing.” Melissa picked up a branch of flowering dogwood. “A dogwood flower means love undiminished by adversity. It can also mean faithfulness. Would that be suitable?”

  The bank manager’s wife visibly relaxed as a smile came to her lips. “That would be perfect.”

  “Good. Now remove the leaves from the stem and snip the stem to about four or five inches.” Once they’d all done that step, Melissa continued the lesson with picking out smaller flowers to go around the main one, and adding leaves beneath those, and using a length of yarn to bind the posy together. “If you’re going to give your tussie-mussie to someone shortly after you’ve made it, that’s all you need to do—other than place it in an appropriate container or vase, if you have one. But if you want it to last, you can wrap the ends of the stems in damp moss, and then cover everything with ribbon.”

  Elisabeth examined her creation. She’d fetched some of her lilacs to go around the peony and added mint leaves for their color and aroma. She liked to think of herself as virtuous, which was the meaning of mint, but virtue was often a matter of opinion. Since she wasn’t going to show it to Titus until tomorrow morning, she also included the moss and some ribbon. She’d remove the ribbon when she placed the tussie-mussie in a small vase she had at home.

  “Very nice, Elisabeth,” Melissa said. Her posy, of course, was the best one. She’d surrounded her red tulip with cherry blossoms interspersed with white hepatica and skillfully bound ferns and white clover around the flowers. Of course, she’d also brought a small, silver, trumpet-shaped container for it, and a stand the container could sit in.

  “Thank you. It was fun to make. I think I’ll make another one, maybe more than one, once my garden comes into bloom.”

  She glanced about the table to see what the others had made. Rose had added white hepatica, which stood for confidence, to her posy. Drusilla Rowland had attempted to make a paper doily to put around her tussie-mussie, but she hadn’t had much success with that. There were too many large openings in the paper and the stems kept dropping through it.

  Catching the look on Elisabeth’s face, she said, “I’ll put a real doily on it when I get home. Lord knows I’ve got enough of them.” She laughed. “My mother-in-law gives me several every Christmas, as if everyone needs an unlimited supply of doilies in their sideboard.”

  From the looks of her posy, Susanna didn’t have a good eye for color. She’d surrounded her red tulip with yellow and purple pansies. Melissa had told them pansies stood for you occupy my thoughts, and apparently Susanna had gone for meaning rather than beauty. If Elisabeth was any judge of men, Philo probably wouldn’t notice the colors. He didn’t strike her as the sentimental type, so he’d most likely just politely thank Susanna for her efforts and put the posy aside.

  “I think this has been one of the best garden club meetings we’ve ever had,” Susanna said. “We should do this again.”

  “I’d be happy to conduct another tussie-mussie class later in the year,” Melissa said. “If I do, I would hope your mother could attend.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she would make the effort, especially once I show her what you’ve taught us to do.”

  After a few more words of small talk as the ladies gathered up the flowers, leaves, and tools, they went their separate ways home.

  CHAPTER 13

  Titus stopped at the sight of the small vase holding an equally small bouquet sitting on his desk. It looked out of place among the blotter, penholder, and telephone. He wasn’t one to have personal things in his work area. For instance, he didn’t have a picture of his mother, since it would prompt too many questions about where she was and why didn’t he invite her to any of the social gatherings in Whitby. He mostly avoided any talk of family.
And he didn’t have any friends, he realized, other than Owen and the old fisherman. Those were of recent vintage, and not exactly friends. Yet.

  “It won’t bite,” Elisabeth said from behind him.

  He shut out the thoughts that had overtaken him and replaced them with a smile. “I didn’t think it would. It’s very pretty.”

  “Thank you. I thought I should show you how I spent my afternoon off.”

  “It was definitely a worthwhile endeavor.” That didn’t quite come out right, but he didn’t know how to make it better. Instead of trying, he strode confidently to his desk and took his place there.

  “How are you doing on the charter for the yacht club?” Elisabeth settled into one of the chairs facing him.

  “I finished writing that up while you were out yesterday. If you could type it, with two carbon copies, this morning, and then send it over to Arthur Muir, I might be able to bill him for it before the week is out.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait until it’s approved by the members of the yacht club?” Elisabeth asked.

  “There aren’t any members yet because, officially, there isn’t a yacht club yet. And won’t be until the charter is approved. It’s a bit of a conundrum. However, when I asked Muir if he would pay me for drawing up the charter, he said he would. So my agreement was with him, not with the not-yet-formed yacht club.”

  “All right. I’ll get started on that now.” She rose from her chair, and a few moments later he heard her typewriter keys clacking.

  There was one more thing he needed to do this morning. He stared at the telephone as if it were a deadly cobra waiting to strike. He should have done this yesterday afternoon, but he hadn’t wanted to make a fool of himself with the telephone operator. Tillie, the installer had called her. But now he was afraid he’d make a fool of himself, not only with Tillie, but Elisabeth as well. Maybe he should close his office door first. No, that would just make his secretary suspicious.

  He shut his eyes for a moment, picturing the way he’d been told to place a call. He wondered how long he could put off his answer to Muir about the dinner party. Perhaps he could send him a telegram. But no, he’d promised to use the telephone.

  In a fit of determination, he grasped the snake by the neck, lifted it up close to his face, then removed the receiver from the hook and held it to his ear.

  “What number, please?”

  Number? Oh, right. He looked at his desk in a panic, then remembered he’d put the directory in his desk drawer. Before he could retrieve the piece of paper, the voice repeated, “What number, please?”

  His throat felt like sandpaper.

  “Mr. Strong? Would you like to place a telephone call?” The woman’s voice was gentle, almost coaxing.

  And then he remembered what the installer had said a few days ago. He didn’t need the number. “Yes, I would, thank you. I would like to speak to Arthur Muir.”

  “Very good. I’ll connect you now.”

  Almost immediately, he was speaking with Muir, and told him he would be bringing Elisabeth to the dinner party. His mission accomplished, his heartbeat returned to normal, and he puffed out his chest. There was nothing to making telephone calls. Why didn’t he have a telephone installed months ago? He would have, had he known he was a snake charmer. He grinned. Another title to add to his curriculum vitae. Harvard graduate, attorney at law, and tamer of telephones.

  “What’s the grin about?” Elisabeth stood in his doorway, a folder filled with typed pages in her hand.

  “I have successfully charmed a snake.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Titus held out his hand to assist Elisabeth from the hansom cab. She clasped it with her left hand while she lifted her skirts with her right. Safely on the ground, she released her grip. He glanced at her as they approached the cottage to see if something was wrong. No. It wasn’t anything to do with him. He smiled as she scrutinized the entrance, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “This is somewhat larger than my bungalow,” she said with what sounded like awe.

  “It’s also larger than my townhouse. In fact, I believe we could fit both your house and mine inside it, perhaps in the dining room.”

  The butler opened the door at his knock, and they stepped inside. Elisabeth may have been impressed by the exterior of the house, but it was nothing compared to the interior. She was positively gawking at the three-story entrance hall. “Elisabeth,” he whispered to her.

  She brought her eyes down to his level and tried to compose herself. “I’m not sure I belong here. It’s all so grand.”

  “Of course you belong here. You were invited. Any time you’re feeling intimidated, just remember these people use a privy the same way you do.”

  She turned to him with a grimace, but her eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief. “I’m not sure I want that image in my head when I meet all of them.”

  “Which we should do promptly rather than gawking at the hall like a couple of rubes. Come. The drawing room is this way.” He led her toward the back of the house to a salon filled with light and glitter. The large gilded mirrors at either end of the room reflected the four gold chandeliers hanging from the white, coffered ceiling. The wood of the parquet floor gleamed beneath them. Sofas and assorted chairs upholstered in an ivory fabric decorated with huge roses were scattered about the salon, but few people were seated on them. Most of the guests were standing in discrete clusters. Titus recognized nearly everyone as he peered into the corners, looking for their host.

  “Good evening, Strong, Miss Wade,” a familiar voice said.

  “Good evening, Payne, Mrs. Payne.” As always, the chairman of the board of selectmen was wearing his dark glasses with the shields on the side to protect his eyes from the light. It gave him somewhat of an insectile appearance that the lawyer never would get used to. It wasn’t like the albino’s white hair, which could have been merely premature graying; instead, it called attention to his hereditary disability. His wife, a stiff, proper society lady, was dressed in brown with some kind of blouse made of dark green velvet. It had those huge, puffy sleeves the women seemed so fond of this year. He didn’t see the point of the silly froufrou.

  “There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Payne said.

  “Oh?” He had no idea who that might be, but at least Elisabeth and Mrs. Payne, who had warmed toward one another in recent months, could engage in conversation while he found out who this new man was. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said to Elisabeth.

  “I’m sorry,” Payne said. “I didn’t mean to exclude Elisabeth. Don’t you think it would be worthwhile for her also to meet our new judge and his wife?”

  “Of course,” Titus said, while his brain ran through a string of all the curse words he knew. Things hadn’t worked out well after he’d met the last new judge. He had hoped to enjoy this evening, but he supposed it was best to get the introductions over with. He held out his arm. “Elisabeth?”

  They followed the Paynes to a quartet assembled near the fireplace which, of course, was unlit on this warm spring night. As they drew closer, he recognized one pair as Richard Morris, an architect and the builder of his townhouse, and Stella Underwood, editor of the Clarion and advocate for the woman suffrage movement. He was surprised to see her at this gathering, although it would have been awkward to leave her out while inviting Morris. He caught the architect’s eye, who lit up at the sight of him.

  “How is the townhouse working out for you?” the builder asked him.

  “It’s turned out to be perfect for me. Close enough to my office to walk, peaceful in the evenings, and a beautiful view of the bay. What more could one man ask?”

  Morris flicked a glance in Elisabeth’s direction. “A woman to share it with?”

  Titus’s throat spasmed, and he was overcome with a fit of coughing. He recovered as quickly as he could, but he could feel the tops of his ears burning. Why was everyone in such a dashed hurry to see him married again?

  Morris pounded him on the back. “Sorry, ol
d son. It’s awfully dry in here. I’ll get you a drink.”

  “Thank you,” he managed to croak. He dared a glance at Elisabeth. Had he mucked things up again? She was staring at the parquet floor. He doubted she was studying the pattern in the wood. Stella Underwood pursed her lips as she gave her a pitying look, then turned it on him.

  He leaned closer to Elisabeth and whispered, “Sorry.”

  Fortunately, Morris returned quickly with a cocktail. For once, Titus didn’t decline it and ask for something non-alcoholic. Instead, he accepted it gratefully and took a long swallow. The liquor burned his throat, but it took away the dryness and any inclination to have another coughing spell. He smiled at the architect. “Thanks again. That seems to have done it.”

  Payne was shaking his head. “I’m afraid you’re not making the best first impression on our new judge.” He turned toward the odd-looking man who had stepped up beside him. Shorter than average and on the thin side, his unruly hair hung in ringlets on the sides of his head, and his thick eyebrows formed carets over his sunken eyes. He sported a longish mustache and a gray goatee. “Titus Strong, I’d like you to meet Judge Jasper Crane. Judge Crane, Whitby’s famous criminal defense attorney, Titus Strong.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” the judge said.

  “All good, I hope.” Or at least not bad. His past included plenty of both.

  “Mostly. May I introduce my wife, Celia?”

  “And I, my confidential secretary, Miss Elisabeth Wade.”

  The two women sized one another up. Celia Crane had a similar build to her husband, but unlike him, her grooming was impeccable, every hair in place. “How nice to meet you.”

  “And I, you, Mrs. Crane.”