by Jen Turano
“I don’t think there’s anything more to say on the matter.”
Gabriella sat forward. “On the contrary, there’s much to say about it, starting with how it’s possible that you so readily accepted the idea that a grandmotherly-type just conveniently happened to show up on my late mother’s doorstep, willing to whisk me away in order to fulfill her Christian duty.” Her eyes began to glitter in a most telling fashion. “How did she learn about my mother’s death?”
“I assumed your mother’s man of affairs sent her a letter.”
“One that got delivered in such a timely manner that this woman was able to get herself to New York the day after my mother died?”
“That does seem curious,” Chauncey began slowly, “but I’m sure there was a reasonable explanation. I’m simply not recalling it because of all the time that has passed since Josephine died.”
“If you’d ever taken time to actually consider the story you were told, none of it is reasonable.”
“Why would I have doubted the word of Mrs. Goodhue? She explained to me how Josephine’s illness came on quickly, as did her death, and then explained to me the plans that had been made regarding your care. From what I recall Mrs. Goodhue saying, your great-grandmother assured your nurse that you would be well taken care of.”
“But how would Mrs. Goodhue have known I’d be well taken care of?”
“She told me that your great-grandmother was dressed in the first state of fashion and had arrived in a well-equipped carriage.”
“And that’s reason enough to hand over the care of a child?” Gabriella turned to Nicholas. “I’m not sure he’s grasping the gravity of the situation.”
“That’s not true,” Chauncey argued. “I’m beginning to grasp that you might not have gone off to stay with your great-grandmother.”
“Of course I didn’t go off to live with my great-grandmother. She didn’t exist,” Gabriella said right as the butler reentered the room, pushing a cart with a silver tea service on it.
After the butler poured and then passed around the tea, he turned to Chauncey. “Would you care for me to stay in the room, Mr. de Peyster?”
“That won’t be necessary, Townsend, but do have the carriage readied. Bernice and I have plans this afternoon.” He pulled out a pocket watch and took note of the time. “We’ll be departing within the hour.”
“Very good, sir,” Townsend said, inclining his head and taking his leave without another word.
Chauncey took a sip of his tea and nodded to Gabriella. “Let us return to your story. If you could start at the beginning, it may allow me to get a clearer picture of what happened to you. But as I just mentioned, I’ll be leaving soon to attend an event with my wife, so you’ll need to make the story as concise as possible.”
Gabriella narrowed her eyes. “I certainly wouldn’t want to disrupt your engagement with your wife by dispersing too many details about what happened to me after my mother died. But, speaking of your wife, perhaps I should wait to tell my story until she joins us.”
“There’s no need to involve Bernice in any of this. She’s never forgiven me for my relationship with Josephine, and it will only upset her to revisit the past. Besides, she won’t have anything of worth to contribute to our conversation.”
Nicholas shook his head. “I’m afraid I have to disagree with that. From what we’ve learned, Bernice was directly involved in everything that happened to Gabriella.”
Chauncey paused with his teacup halfway to his lips. “I’m sure you’re mistaken about that.”
“I assure you I’m not, which is why I’m going to suggest you have your wife join us.”
Chauncey tapped a finger against the side of his cup. “While I haven’t the foggiest notion how Bernice could be involved, I’ll consider asking her to join us, but only after I get a better grasp of what happened to Gabriella after her mother died. Clearly, she didn’t go to stay with her great-grandmother, which leaves the burning question of where she went.”
Gabriella leaned forward. “I’ll give you fair warning, Mr. de Peyster, what happened to me is not a fairy-tale sort of story, so you might want to brace yourself.”
“There’s no need for you to call me Mr. de Peyster. I am your father, after all.”
“I’m certainly not calling you Father” was all Gabriella said to that before she launched into an explanation of exactly how she’d spent her childhood.
She didn’t mention a word about Nicholas’s role in her childhood, obviously taking it upon herself to protect his secret. When she delved into her time as a pickpocket and petty thief, explaining how her unlawful activities kept her from starving to death, Nicholas caught Chauncey wincing. He couldn’t help but wonder if Chauncey was thinking about how he’d recently suggested a wall be built around the Lower East Side, one that would have effectively blocked his daughter from ever finding her way into a better life.
“So, now you know the sordid details of what happened to me, which brings me to . . .” Gabriella’s words trailed off as Bernice de Peyster suddenly breezed into the room, reading a note she was holding.
“I’m off for a quick visit with Mr. Ward McAllister. He has some suggestions for what he wants served at the next Patriarch Ball. I won’t be more than thirty minutes, so no need to worry we’ll be late for—” Bernice stopped talking as she lifted her attention from the note and glanced around the room, her attention drifting over and then back to Gabriella. She stopped in her tracks for all of a second before spinning on her heel and heading for the door again.
“Such a rapid exit seems slightly suspicious, don’t you think?” Gabriella asked to no one in particular, her question having Bernice turning around, two bright patches of color now staining her pale cheeks.
“I beg your pardon?”
Gabriella rose to her feet. “Oh, you definitely have reason to beg my pardon, and with that out of the way, won’t you join us?”
“Why would I join you? Or better yet, why would I have a reason to beg your pardon? I’ve never met you before in my life.”
“Come now, Mrs. de Peyster. We recently spoke at the Linwood ball,” Gabriella returned. “I’m certain you recall our encounter, seeing as how you mistook me for my mother. But to refresh your memory, I’m Gabriella Goodhue.”
Bernice’s eyes narrowed as she tapped a finger against her chin. “Ah yes, now I recall speaking with you at the Linwood ball, but I had no idea Josephine was your mother.” Her eyes narrowed another fraction. “Seems to me I’ve been hearing some unnerving rumors about you lately, Miss Goodhue. Something to do with your association with the Knickerbocker Bandit.”
In the blink of an eye, Gabriella was striding across the room, stopping a mere foot from Bernice.
“How interesting that you’d bring up that particular rumor, but before we delve into that, allow me to make myself clear. I’m well aware that you’re the one responsible for attempting to get rid of me twenty years ago, but understand this—I’m no longer a scared little girl incapable of defending myself.” She smiled a rather lethal smile. “The life I lived for years after my mother died left me quite capable, so I warn you now, be mindful of the accusations you hurl my way. You may not care for the consequences.”
“You dare threaten me?”
“It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.” Gabriella nodded to Chauncey. “Since your wife has mentioned the Knickerbocker Bandit, a topic we have yet to discuss, you should know that there’s a distinct possibility your wife is in cahoots with the true Knickerbocker Bandit. Interestingly enough, a mere day after Bernice recognized me at the Linwood ball, someone tried to frame me for the theft of the Linwood diamonds, and that very same day, those nasty rumors started spreading within society. Mere coincidence, one might ask? I think not.”
Chauncey abandoned his chair and took a step toward his wife. “Surely she’s not right about any of this, is she?”
“She’s clearly delusional because how would I, an esteemed and sheltered m
ember of society, know how to conspire with the Knickerbocker Bandit?”
“I imagine it’d be the same way you learned about a man with a vicious reputation who could make problems disappear,” Gabriella said, drawing Bernice’s attention in the process.
“I have no recollection of ever meeting with such a man.”
“Which is why it’s fortunate this man has a very vivid recollection of you, and a vivid recollection of you telling him to get rid of me . . . permanently.”
Bernice shot a look filled with venom at Gabriella before she moved directly beside Chauncey and took hold of his arm. “You must know she’s lying. I certainly wouldn’t have tried to get rid of her.”
Chauncey frowned. “But you did know who she was when you first entered this room, didn’t you?”
“I suppose I did, but can you fault me for not wanting to acknowledge her, or admit I know she’s your by-blow?” Bernice drew herself up. “Those were difficult times for me, Chauncey, and I prefer to leave those times firmly in the past.”
“You didn’t try to get rid of Gabriella, though, after Josephine died, did you?” Chauncey asked.
“Why would I have wanted to get rid of her?”
“Because you hated Josephine.”
Bernice’s lips thinned. “I’ve never denied that.”
“And will you deny that the story I was told about Gabriella going off to live with a relative was a complete fabrication?” Chauncey pressed.
“If you’ll recall, I didn’t tell you what happened to her, Mrs. Goodhue did. Since you were out of town, Mrs. Goodhue paid me a visit to explain that Josephine had expired from an unexpected illness and then told me to tell you there was no need to concern yourself over Gabriella’s care because a relative had come to claim her.”
Chauncey’s brow furrowed. “But why would Mrs. Goodhue, who was employed by a woman you detested, have sought you out to explain what plans had been made over Gabriella’s welfare in the first place? Or better yet, how did it come about that there was a great-grandmother involved, when I’ve now learned Josephine didn’t have any living relatives?”
Bernice glanced around the room, her attention lingering on Gabriella for the briefest of seconds before she returned her attention to her husband and shrugged. “Gabriella was a beautiful little girl. Perhaps Mrs. Goodhue decided to exploit her beauty by selling her to someone. I imagine she’s the one who took Gabriella off to the Lower East Side and sold her to Humphrey Rookwood.”
“I never mentioned anything to you about the Lower East Side, nor have I mentioned Humphrey Rookwood,” Gabriella said quietly.
Bernice’s face began to mottle. “I think I’ve had enough of you trying to disparage my character. I won’t stay and listen to more of your warped lies.” She turned, but before she could move more than a few inches, Chauncey had hold of her arm.
“You can’t leave simply because this conversation isn’t to your liking, Bernice,” Chauncey said. “Someone is lying, and I’m not convinced it’s Gabriella.”
Bernice leveled a glare on Chauncey before she shrugged out of his hold and brushed past him—not for the door, surprisingly enough, but for the tea cart, pouring herself a cup and gulping it down. She then drew herself up and turned. “I’ve just recalled that I was mistaken about Mrs. Goodhue seeking me out. I sought her out after I began hearing rumors that Josephine had died unexpectedly. I thought it only right, since you were off on one of your yachting trips, that I should inquire whether plans needed to be made for Gabriella. However, when I got to Mrs. Goodhue, I discovered that Gabriella was already gone. That’s when Mrs. Goodhue told me about Gabriella’s great-grandmother coming to fetch her. I fear the years that separated me from that event clouded my memory.”
Gabriella’s brows drew together. “Mrs. Goodhue told Humphrey Rookwood, the man you paid to make me disappear, that my great-grandmother showed up out of the blue at my mother’s house. This woman supposedly gave Mrs. Goodhue money from my mother’s account to tide her over until she secured another position, then packed up a few of my things and took me away,” Gabriella said. “I’m going to assume that you hired this woman to pose as my great-grandmother, then took me from her and delivered me yourself to Rookwood.”
“You have no proof of this.”
“I’m sure Rookwood would be more than happy to corroborate my story.”
“And you believe the word of a criminal will hold more sway than mine?”
Chauncey cocked his head to the side, his gaze on his wife. “You’ve admitted you loathed Josephine, Bernice, and you loathed Gabriella as well.”
“Why wouldn’t I loathe Josephine? You were completely smitten with the woman—so smitten that you threatened to divorce me.”
“But I didn’t divorce you.”
Bernice narrowed her eyes on him. “And you’ve held that against me forever, Chauncey, although if you were honest with yourself, you’d admit that you were never committed to the idea of divorcing me and marrying Josephine. You knew that if you divorced me and married a woman who made her living treading the boards, society would turn on you. Gone would be your days spent at your many clubs, and no society hostess would ever consider inviting you to another dinner or ball.”
Chauncey didn’t bother to deny his wife’s claim, and the touch of guilt in his eyes suggested Bernice was right, even with him not saying a word.
Gabriella released a snort before she marched her way back to the chair she’d abandoned, took a seat, and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Well, there we have it,” Gabriella said, her eyes brimming with temper. “A delightful story if there ever was one. If you ask me, the two of you deserve each other, what with your propensity for lies and deceit.” She nodded to Bernice. “In all honesty, I understand why you loathed my mother. She was certainly a threat to your happiness and standing in society. Nonetheless, while I can sympathize with your feelings back then, I cannot condone your decision to make me disappear. I was a defenseless little girl, all alone in the world, and yet you couldn’t see past your hatred for my mother. I’ve been told Josephine was a woman of means, which suggests that even with Chauncey being out of town at the time of her death, I still would have been taken care of in his absence. You took that away from me.”
Bernice’s glare burned hot. “You would have been a reminder of everything your mother tried to take from me. I did not want to have that reminder, so—” She suddenly stopped talking, shot a quick glance to Chauncey, who was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before in his life, then began taking a marked interest in the hem of her sleeve.
Gabriella got to her feet and turned to Nicholas. “I think that’s about all I can stomach for one day.” She took a step toward Bernice. “I would like to know the name of the man you hired to frame me as the Knickerbocker Bandit, though—and don’t try to deny that you did. You’ll only embarrass yourself further.”
Bernice pressed her lips together and didn’t say a word.
“You need to tell her, Bernice,” Chauncey said, his hair no longer perfectly arranged as he raked his hand through it yet again. “Gabriella has obviously suffered because of things this family has done—or hasn’t done—but that needs to end today. Who did you hire?”
Temper flickered through Bernice’s eyes, but to Nicholas’s surprise, she suddenly shrugged. “I don’t know his name. He’s from the Lower East Side, but he’s not Rookwood. I realized Rookwood was not trustworthy the moment I saw Gabriella at the Linwood ball.” She nodded toward Townsend, the butler, who’d taken up a position right inside the door after Bernice had entered the library. “Townsend found the man for me through his contacts with all the servants in the city. He was also the one who gave me Humphrey Rookwood’s name back in the day, which is why he took pains this time to find me a criminal known to follow through with requests.”
Townsend abruptly turned on his heel and bolted out of the room.
“Want me to go after him?” Nicholas asked, jo
ining Gabriella as she moved for the door, peering out into the hallway but discovering no Townsend in sight.
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Agent Clifton will probably catch him as he runs from the house.”
“You noticed Agent Clifton following us here?”
Gabriella smiled. “I did, and realized you’d probably asked him to after Phillip decided to remain at the boardinghouse this afternoon.”
“Who is Agent Clifton?” Bernice demanded, drawing Gabriella’s attention.
“A Pinkerton agent who’s working on the Knickerbocker Bandit case. He’ll probably be paying you a visit soon, since you might have very well hired that bandit, although perhaps you didn’t realize it at the time.”
“I will not be questioned by a Pinkerton man.” Bernice shot a look at Chauncey. “Think of the talk that will cause if someone takes note of him paying us a call.”
Chauncey crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps you should have considered that before you hired someone to frame Gabriella.”
“I was only trying to protect this family—once again—from the scandal you brought on us when you weren’t strong enough to resist the lure of an actress.”
“I really think I’ve heard enough,” Gabriella said as Chauncey and Bernice began throwing one accusation after another at each other.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else you wanted to ask Chauncey?” Nicholas asked.
Gabriella released a sigh. “There was one question I was hoping to get an answer to. However, from what I’ve seen so far, I don’t believe it will do any good to ask Chauncey if he ever cared about me, considering he seems to care more for himself than anyone else, even my mother. However, speaking of my mother, there is one last thing I need to do.”
She squared her shoulders and walked across the room, stopping in front of Chauncey and Bernice. Neither of them paid her any mind because they were now arguing quite heatedly.
Gabriella cleared her throat, cleared it again, then began tapping her toe, which finally drew Chauncey’s attention.
