Some Saints Prey (Madeline Donovan Mysteries Book 4)

by Madison Kent

  Miss Myer offered, "That is true. I have been happy here and pleased to see the quality of the gowns. I have adapted some of my gowns from those I've seen. Miss Madeline, this one is from Paris, brought over not six months ago. Miss Emily has never worn it but wishes it to be for you. Look at the fabric...exquisite."

  It was magnificent―a crème-white tulle with dots of green satin appliqued over an airy, mint green. Corsages accented the jacket that featured drooping sleeves of a darker green shade. It boasted a sharply pointed vest and green accent bow. The rounded skirt had two rows of randomly placed large green bows that graced the footed ruffle.

  "I feel this was designed for a princess, not for someone like me. I have never worn such a striking frock," said Madeline.

  Emily said, "After your fitting, you will not only wear it but keep it. When I look at it now, I see it was much too youthful a look for me, and I would never do it justice. I always wanted a daughter to spoil with such things but never had that chance. It is one thing I can do. Consider it a gift from my dear, Belle. You helped her regain her sanity and peace at her home. I can surely do this one thing in return."

  "Thank you. I shall never forget your kindness. I will accept it, for the more I look at it, I cannot imagine not wearing it," said Madeline.

  "I think Miss Emma will finally have some competition," said Miss Myer.

  The dressmaker looked at Madeline and continued, "Do not blush. I am not one for false compliments. You will be stunning, but you must do something about your hair."

  Madeline laughed, but Emily seemed insulted by Miss Myer's remarks.

  "Oh, no, please do not think I take umbrage with your comment. I agree. Perhaps Miss Emily will have some magic hidden in another closet for that fix," she said.

  "Yes, if you are inclined, I shall have Charlotte do your hair. She is skilled, and I think you will be pleased with her," said Emily.

  "Thank you again. It will prove a most extraordinary evening. I will be counting the hours," said Madeline.

  Returning to her room, she hummed and twirled around in dance fashion. It was the first, in recent times, that she could remember feeling so excited.

  Gliding by the window, she abruptly stopped. Oliver could be seen coming up the road. Although she welcomed his company and knew he might return this evening, she certainly did not expect him in the latter part of the afternoon. He looked solemn. She stopped to straighten her hair, then went to meet her visitor.

  She was at the foot of the stairs when she heard him speaking to Reggie―requesting to see her.

  Madeline said, "I am here, Reggie. Please ask Mr. Mandrake to come in. We shall go to the drawing room. Could you please send in some light refreshments?"

  "Would you mind, it's such a lovely day, may we go to the gazebo?" requested Oliver.

  Reggie responded, "I shall bring lemonade and cakes out, Miss."

  "Thank you, Reggie," she replied as she took Oliver's arm and made their way to the outdoor destination.

  "I saw you from my upstairs window. You did not look yourself, and even now, you are stiff in manner," said Madeline.

  "Let's sit, and I will tell you why I have come."

  "You seem shaken."

  He then said, "Oh, it seems I was about to sit on some notebook. Is it yours?"

  "Why, yes, along with this lovely, unusable glass of absinthe, now decorated with a floating fly."

  How strange, she thought, she knew she left her notebook and writing implement on the table beside her absinthe. The wind could not have blown such a heavy object, nor landed it properly on the wicker seat. Her journal contained personal information she would not be comfortable with anyone reading, even her father. She would think about it later.

  "Absinthe, oh yes, I've heard of it, but never tasted it. Is it something you favor?"

  "I do, but, please, I can see you are trying to be polite when you clearly want to speak about something."

  His eyes slanted together, as he shook his head and said, "It's Lonnie. He's—dead."

  He sighed deeply. Several times he opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but subsequently said nothing. She knew Oliver and Lonnie had been friends, despite being rivals for Emma. Though only newly acquainted with Oliver, she felt compelled to reach over and take his hands in hers, saying, "I'm so sorry, so very sorry. If you need a moment to be able to speak, please do not feel uncomfortable. I will sit here with you until you are able."

  He held her hands for a brief minute longer, then left the gazebo. He walked about the area in a pacing manner, while pushing his fingers through his hair, then throwing his arms behind his back, clenching his hands together. When he saw Reggie approaching, he walked further away.

  "Is everything all right, Miss?" asked Reggie.

  "No, it isn't, but I can't explain right now. Will you bring us back something stronger than lemonade—perhaps some brandy?" Madeline requested of him.

  "Certainly, right away, Miss."

  She walked towards Oliver. This time, he came toward her and put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Well, that old man, Davis, he must concede something other than accidental when two young men are found dead. I went to the dock this morning, and there must have been twenty of the boys out there, and none of them fishing. When I approached, they had heard from one of the neighbors say that a hunter found Lonnie's body in the woods. He was bloated and half-eaten by the animals—disgusting. There is much conjecture as to how he died, but one lady, whose husband is a physician, said it looked to be poison. She was the one who saw his body. I went to talk to Davis, but he would not see me. One of the other men informed me that he was busy investigating the news about Lonnie.

  "It seems there is a real and certain danger to becoming involved with Emma St. Fleur. I am not normally suspicious, or given to conspiracy accusations, but how can one not assume this has something to do with her."

  "But you must. If there is anything to learn from her, you would be the one she would either confide in or inadvertently say something that might help. Clearly, she must be at the heart of this situation. She may know if her young suitors had been quarreling, or if they had been planning to meet. You have to stay close to her now. Besides, I cannot imagine someone like you being thrown off the scent of such a woman so easily. I would say she is your match," said Madeline coyly.

  "You are right. In a way, this makes Emma, even more, fascinating. I will go to see her now. If you don't mind a late night visitor, I shall return, before ten, to tell you what I have found out," he replied.

  "Good. I will be waiting for you."

  After dinner, she joined Edgar and Emily outside to sit under the most brilliant Southern moon. Crickets chirping and birds tweeting in the background made the tea taste even sweeter.

  "What you told us at dinner about Lonnie is shocking. I knew that boy since he was just a lad. What has this Emma done to our city? What calamity can one young woman bring down upon an area? I wonder how she feels now about her silly behavior?" Edgar said with disgust.

  "Edgar! Whatever Emma may or may not have to do with this, her being a seductive, beautiful woman who manipulates men is as old as time. It does not usually turn into dead suitors. I don't know what to make of all of it, but I'm sure the inspector will sort it out. He is a wise man, and will do whatever it takes to solve this. Heavens, we have little crime, this should give him something to do with his time besides fishing," said Emily.

  "When was it, Emily? I think the last time we had a murder was three years ago—when that farm hand killed his brother in the field," Edgar said.

  "Really? No suspicious deaths of any kind?" asked Madeline.

  "There may have been a few, but the good inspector always solved the puzzle. The crimes were either natural or accidental events," said Emily.

  Madeline said nothing more but began to think that this paradise, with its storybook world, was more and more to her fantasy in an of itself. She supposed it might be possible that such an occurrence could
be true, but every instinct in her told her it was unlikely. Was she losing her mind? Because she now thought, Inspector Davis might be guilty of some manipulation himself.

  "I will retire, but do not be alarmed if you hear someone come up later. Oliver said he might drop in he found out anything from Emma," said Madeline.

  "Good-night, dear―I will tell Reggie to leave the lighting on in the foyer," said Emily, as Edgar nodded to Madeline.

  It was almost ten, the breeze still warm and soft, continued to ruffle through her room as she fanned herself. Perched on a chair near the window, she waited for Oliver. In her hand, she held the smudged notebook she had retrieved from the gazebo. If it were as simple as the staff moving it to clean, the glass of absinthe mixed with insects would have been removed. She trusted everyone in the household, but obviously, someone did not trust her and wanted she read her journal. At this moment, she couldn't imagine who or why anyone would do it, but they did, and it meant something, but she didn't know what. Was it just basic curiosity? Or was it something more, did someone on the grounds believe she was a threat in some way? She thought that would be disconcerting and a reason for alarm.

  She penned a note to her friend.

  August 31, 1889

  My dearest Hugh,

  Things have turned in such a way, here that I find myself, more and more, thinking of the value of having you to talk to when I can't make sense of a thing. I am fearful that something more is going on here than just every available man seeking Miss Emma's hand. It may seem absurd, but I find I am not sure if I am completely comfortable as Miss Emily's guest. I don't know if I am welcome after all.

  We have just learned that Lonnie, the other man who was missing, is also deceased. The good inspector overseeing the case is preposterous, but I would need several pages to describe to you why.

  Please consider coming to St. Augustine. If you are unable to, of course, I understand. I look forward to hearing from you.

  Your friend,

  Madeline

  She was sealing the wax on the letter when she heard the activity outside. Peering through her window, she could see it was Oliver. She had remained dressed, not donning bedding clothing, as she had expected him.

  As promised, the foyer was well lit, as she welcomed her guest into the house. She had asked Reggie to leave a tray with brandy and bourbon on the table near the entrance.

  "You look flushed. Emma must bring out a vibrancy in you," Madeline said, honestly flattering him.

  He looked back at her strangely and replied, "I suppose the color in my face is from rage, not admiration. I don't know what to make of those St. Fleurs'. They are the voice of calm and charm, even in the face of two young men laid to rest thirty years before their time. Mrs. St. Fleur flutters her fan as if nothing more than a wasp flew at her head, something to swat at, but not be bothered about. The old man has some empathy, saying things like ′"terrible business, young man, such terrible business."′ But then he lit up his cigar and asked me if I would like a game of cards. Impossible! I have to say I thought myself callous at times and faulted myself for not being empathetic to social ills, but―honestly― both men were suitors to her daughter!"

  "Begin at the beginning, and tell me what brought on this bitter speech?" requested Madeline.

  "Of all the strange behavior—first—the old man was there, bold as you could be, puffing away on that cigar. I swear it seems attached to his lip, and he was twisting his mouth around like his was chewing tobacco at the same time..."

  "Wait...that old man?"

  "Oh, dog-faced Davis, "he coughed and apologized, "I'm sorry, that's what the boys and I call him, I mean Inspector Davis. It seems they have the whole thing wrapped neatly up like a Christmas box of candy. They think Lonnie killed Clifford, and then he went off, and accidentally, or on purpose, poisoned himself with some berries they found in the forest. They say he did it because of his remorse for what he had done. Of all the nonsense, I..."

  Oliver stopped speaking, stood and walked around the area in the foyer as if he were trying to shake something chasing him.

  "Let's go outside. The air is clear and still warm. We will not disturb anyone if we walk to the gazebo, and you may speak freely there without whispering."

  He nodded, she taking his arm and walking out onto the veranda.

  Oliver continued, "Both Emma and Mrs. St. Fleur nodded in concurrence to everything the men said as if it were the most logical and natural of conclusions. Mrs. St. Fleur said she was relieved the sordid thing was now over, and that, of course, she was sure the turn out for Clifford's benefit would be greater than ever after the news. She almost seemed excited about it. I finally had to excuse myself because I felt dangerously close to saying angry words to them all.

  "Emma escorted me to my horse and kissed me farewell without any show of grief. I kept hoping for some tears or horror that should come from her, but she was as dignified as if she were in church. I suppose she would do the same for me if I were to marry her. Of course, the benefit to that is I would never have to worry about a hysterical woman who fell apart at every little thing. Many women are like that," he said the last sentence as if thinking out loud and that she was not there.

  Then he turned to her and said, "I'm sorry. That sounded so, well, terrible. I'm in such a state, two friends of mine are dead, and it seems no one even cares."

  "Surely the families of the boys will want something done. I would think especially Lonnie's family would want the boy's named cleared of murder."

  "Tomorrow is the dinner. You will see for yourself how our little group of elite friends respond to murder. I think you will be surprised. I must go now, but I will see you tomorrow night," Oliver said, and his turned and nodded to her before riding off on his horse like a hunted man.

  She lay in bed thinking of everything that had happened. Perhaps tomorrow she would be able to ascertain at the St. Fleur's event how others felt. The laissez-faire attitude she had seen displayed so far was perplexing to her. It was as if the town deliberately wished for no disturbance of any kind. If there were one, they mislabeled it to fit into the grand scheme of things to be able to remain a peaceful village with no sins.

  Chapter Five

  The St. Fleur's Benefit

  Walking down the staircase in her borrowed French gown, she felt like a princess, who had stolen the tiara, instead of earning it. Although she felt beautiful, she was uncomfortable having such a lavish gift bestowed upon her.

  Emily and Edgar were awaiting her, and the carriage had been pulled round to take them to the St. Fleur's.

  Edgar proclaimed, "My word, Emily, I don't believe you would have done the garment justice. Madeline, you will best them when you enter the room."

  Slightly blushing, she replied, "I've never owned such finery. I confess to feeling somewhat awkward—like a moth in a butterfly's dress."

  "Nonsense, child, you are exquisite. It is just the thing for you. It's time for you to feel like a young, desirable woman again. Mark my words, your youth will run away from you quicker than you think. This outing is one thing we can offer that Chicago cannot. You shall know a proper Southern affair, with all its frills, coquettish fair ladies, and dashing young men," said Emily playfully while Edgar smiled at her.

  She could see they were still in love, and possibly remembering their courting days.

  During the ride, Edgar and Emily conversed like young lovers, excited at attending this social event, despite the idea of the two deceased boys. After what Madeline had told them, they were willing to accept the facts, as presumed by Davis, and were resigned to feeling the ordeal was now over.

  She believed she might feel a tinge of jealousy at seeing Emma with Oliver. But then laughing to herself, she thought she must just miss the idea of romance, and having a handsome lover take you into his arms on a cold, Chicago night.

  She was anxious to meet this unusual mix of people. Though she doubted if Matthew would attend, she was comforted by the fact that
Jeffrey would be there, and she could rely on him for companionship.

  The path down the entryway to the mansion was about a half a mile long. She could see the estate in the distance, and had to clench her jaw together to stop from gaping. It made Belle Magnolia, and Montgomery House look like servants quarters. Just this glimpse of such wealth immediately made her understand Emma a little better, and all the gentlemen that might yearn to be a part of this.

  "I see you are in awe of the place. They said it boasts one-thousand acres, likely seems more than that to me," said Edgar, stretching to see the place, as if it were his first time looking at it.

  Emily added, "It has that effect on you. You strain to see it each time. It is the closest thing, we in the Americas' have, to a palace. They say there are twenty fireplaces. My word! Even for the St. Fleur's, that does seem excessive."

  Its grand white columns were in prominent positions at the forefront of the three-story home. She had seen pictures of Monticello, Thomas Jefferson's home, and this reminded her of the grandeur of his estate. Madeline was told by there were over thirty rooms. Each level more ornate than the next, embellished with beautiful statues and ornate wall decorations. There were three large domes adorning the rooftop, and the veranda were so spacious, it looked as if one could throw a garden party within its area.

  "I've heard they have six hundred varieties of wildlife upon the acreage, some meant for breeding, such as the horses and dogs," said Emily.

  There were carriages in front, and behind them coming down the winding drive lined with palm trees.

  "It will be the event of the season. The added mystery about the boys will titillate the affluent crowd," Emily offered.

  The guests arrived at the mansion and thoroughly treated like royalty. Her first impression viewing the marble staircase was how extraordinary it was. It shone like stardust; everything was perfection. Cherry wood furniture and elaborate stained glass windows decorated the rooms. Everyone dressed beautifully, and she was relieved Emily had granted her the gift of the Parisian gown.