Murder at Marble House

by Alyssa Maxwell

  Her mouth opened, formed a trembling O. “He . . . he did? Oh, that stupid, sinful man.”

  Leaning low, I grasped the arms of the chair and brought my face close to hers, so close I saw the fear flickering in her eyes, smelled it emanating from her skin. “So the real question here, Mrs. Stanford, is how much do you know about your husband’s activities, and to what extent do you approve of them?”

  “Approve? You’re talking nonsense.”

  “Am I? What better way to make tremendous profits selling black-market rum than if all alcoholic beverages are illegal?”

  She pushed forward so suddenly I was forced to straighten and step back. A moment later she was on her feet. Her eyes swam with tears, but also with a fierceness that sent me another stride backward. “I swear to you my temperance efforts are completely sincere and wholly aimed at what is best for this nation.”

  “Your husband apparently doesn’t agree,” I said, somewhat cruelly I must admit.

  “No, he doesn’t, much to his shame, if he had any. What am I to do? Stop working for sobriety? Abandon my life’s work? No, Miss Cross, that I will not do, not as long as I have a breath in me. And if Calvin wishes to twist my work for his own selfish purposes, it’s his sin, isn’t it?”

  “Why don’t you turn him in?”

  She raised her chin. “Because I firmly believe I don’t have to. God will see to my husband. Eventually Calvin will be caught, if he doesn’t mend his ways.”

  “And Madame Devereaux?” I whispered.

  Hope turned away from me, showing me her straight, inflexible back. “She knew. Of course she knew, the busybody.” She spun back around. Her color had returned, showing an angry, mottled red. “She was a medium, in touch with the spirits. Ha! She was a gossip and the worst kind of meddler. She knew just how many drinks to ply her victims with before she wheedled them with questions. She found out what she needed to know about Calvin up in Providence, and then she came to me with her demands.”

  “Money for silence,” I said.

  She nodded.

  Very low, I asked her, “And did you decide to silence her in another way?”

  Her chuckles took me by surprise. “In addition to being impertinent, Miss Cross, you are also highly amusing. Murder Madame Devereaux . . . for Calvin’s sake?”

  “For your own sake.”

  “Didn’t I just say I’ll leave Calvin’s fate to God? I’ll neither turn him in nor protect him.”

  “You’ll profit if he profits,” I pointed out, “but if he falls, you’ll fall with him. Who would put any stock in a temperance leader whose own husband is in the illegal liquor trade?”

  Once again, she laughed. “You underestimate me, Miss Cross. As for profits, I have what I need in this life. Greed is not one of my vices.”

  Her sensible, sturdy clothing and few adornments lent credence to the claim.

  “And should Calvin be arrested for his crimes, I shall be among the first to condemn his activities—not him, mind you, but the turpitude brought on by the demon spirits soaking his mind and his soul.” She took several strides toward me, rousing the fearsome image of an avenging, hammer-wielding Hope Stanford. “Why on earth would I commit murder, Miss Cross, when I have the power of righteousness on my side?”

  She didn’t linger long enough for me to answer, but circled me and disappeared into the hallway. My senses were left buzzing, my thoughts in disarray. Yet, as when I questioned her husband and Winty, I found myself believing her.

  I, too, turned toward the door; after all, it wouldn’t do to be caught here by Lady Amelia, and I could rely on Brady’s charms for only so long. As I passed the dressing table, however, I stopped, my attention caught by a gilt and ivory box sitting beneath the mirror. What kind of jewels would Lady Amelia have tucked inside? Were they real or paste? I was no longer sure why it mattered, yet, with a quick glance into the hallway, I opened the box and glanced inside.

  And gasped at what I saw nestled among necklaces and brooches, bracelets and earrings.

  I arrived back in the morning room breathless, my heart threatening to pound its way out of my chest. But the sight of one empty chair stopped me cold. “Where is Lady Amelia?”

  Brady and Aunt Alva looked up from their breakfast plates without concern.

  “Out walking,” Aunt Alva said.

  “Where?”

  Brady pointed in the general direction of outdoors. “The gardens, she said. I offered to go with her, but . . .” A corner of his mouth pulled.

  “Amelia enjoys a solitary walk in the morning,” Aunt Alva supplied. “She’s done so every day since she’s been here. There’s no harm in it.” Her gaze narrowed on me. “Did you find anything interesting upstairs?”

  She referred to my fictional errand in Consuelo’s room. With some measure of truth I shook my head. “Nothing new, but don’t worry. I’ll talk to Jesse today.” I turned to Brady. “We need to be going.”

  “Oh, but Brady and I were just becoming reacquainted. He’s told me all about that wretched business with your Uncle Cornelius, and I told Brady he can very well come and work for me instead. I could use a good administrator for my estates here and in New York.”

  “That’s very nice, Aunt Alva, but we really have to be going. And . . . and I’d like to say good-bye to Lady Amelia before we do. Wouldn’t you like that, Brady? To bid Lady Amelia a good day?” I shot him a pointed glare.

  Shrugging and tossing down his napkin, Brady came to his feet. “I suppose. Aunt Alva, thank you for breakfast.” He leaned down to give her a kiss.

  “Well, if you do see Amelia, tell her I’ll be in my office until noon,” Aunt Alva called after us.

  “What was that all about?” Brady demanded as soon as we’d stepped onto the veranda and the French doors closed behind us.

  With trembling fingers I opened my purse to show him. “I just found this in Lady Amelia’s jewelry box.”

  What had been nestled among jewelry now lay atop my comb, extra hair pins, the key to my house, and a fresh linen handkerchief: a sprig of dried pink wildflowers with golden centers, the petals gone dusky from having been deprived of water and sunlight.

  Rugosa roses.

  Chapter 14

  Brady stared down into my purse. “She might have found this the same way you did—blown into the gardens from the cliffs.”

  “Maybe . . . maybe not.”

  “What are you suggesting? That she went scrambling down the cliff face and picked these flowers herself?”

  “No, I’m suggesting there is another, much more convenient source of these roses, and that whoever tracked them into the pavilion also presented Lady Amelia with this little spray. A woman doesn’t keep flowers she picked herself in her jewelry box.”

  Brady frowned. “Where does she keep them?”

  “Oh, Brady, don’t be obtuse.” I resisted the urge to shake him.

  “Don’t you see, she secreted these roses away like a clandestine memento. I’d say this represents the affections of a man.”

  “Aah.”

  “Come on, we need to find her.” I craned my neck and scanned the gardens directly behind the house, but no golden curls caught the sunlight. I took Brady’s arm and randomly headed to the south side of the house. It didn’t take long to comb the tree-shaded area. The estates along Bellevue sat on relatively little land, most of which stretched in front of and behind the houses. It took only moments to conclude that Lady Amelia wasn’t strolling on the south side of the house.

  We circled the rear veranda and this time set out to the north garden. As we neared the sheds, I saw Mr. Delgado, the head gardener, and hurried over to him.

  He removed his cap and showed me a smile. “Good morning, Senhorita Cross, Senhor Gale.”

  We bid him good morning and then I said, “My brother and I are on our way home, but I’d hoped to say good-bye to Lady Amelia first. Have you seen her?” At his puzzled look, I clarified, “Mrs. Vanderbilt’s guest, the very attractive lady with
the blond hair. Apparently she enjoys a morning walk each day.”

  His puzzlement didn’t appear to abate, and he shrugged. “I have seen no one this morning, Senhorita. Sorry.”

  “This is very odd,” I murmured to Brady once the older man had left us to continue his morning tasks.

  “Not necessarily. She’s probably walking along Bellevue. And can you blame her if she needed time away from Alva the Anaconda?”

  “Brady, really!” I landed a blow to his shoulder, which he took in stride.

  “Sorry, but I find the analogy rather apt. Anacondas are known for suffocating their prey before they eat them.”

  “Come on, then. Maybe we can catch up with Lady Amelia.”

  Once back in my rig, we saw no trace of her along Bellevue Avenue, not as far as the eye could see in either direction. We headed north and rode a little ways, peering down side streets as we went.

  “She’s a fast walker, unless she hailed a cab or met an acquaintance with a carriage. We could try turning down the side streets,” Brady suggested, but I shook my head.

  “She might have taken any of them, or none of them. She could be in town by now. Or for all we know, while we searched the gardens she returned to the house.” I thought a moment, then brightened. “It’s all right. Lady Amelia isn’t going anywhere any time soon. I’ll simply wait until my next trip to Marble House, either later today or tomorrow. I’ll have my answers from the woman, make no mistake.”

  “Say, isn’t that Jamie Reilly? Where’s he going in the middle of a workday?” Brady raised his arm to point toward Bath Road, which intersected Bellevue as it ran from town down the big hill to Easton’s Beach.

  Sure enough, the familiar golden red hair shone clearly from beneath a tweed cap. I did my best to hurry Barney along, and within a couple of minutes we caught up with the young Irishman. He greeted us with a friendly grin when we hailed.

  “Miss Cross, what a lovely pleasure.” He removed his cap and made a little bow. “Mr . . . ah . . . Gale, I believe ’tis?”

  Brady gave a cordial nod.

  I switched Barney’s reins into one hand and leaned the other on the side panel. “Whatever are you doing here, Jamie?”

  “Ah, Mr. Delgado let me go early today, and I thought I’d ride the trolley into town.”

  “Early? Why is that?”

  “Well, with summer waning, miss, there’s less work to be done. I gather Mrs. Vanderbilt doesn’t wish to pay out wages if it isn’t necessary. Can hardly blame her, now can I?”

  Maybe not, but I experienced a pang of guilt for those lost wages considering I’d helped Jamie procure his employment at Marble House. Surely this young man needed full-time pay for full-time work. He very likely sent part of those wages home to family in Ireland, as Katie did when she was able. I should have inquired with Aunt Alva, and perhaps Mr. Delgado, before recommending Jamie for the position of gardener’s assistant.

  “We could give you a lift into town,” I offered, wanting to spare him the trolley fare. Brady shot me a glance, which I ignored.

  “Thank you kindly, Miss Cross, but I always look forward to riding the trolley, and the walk to the stop will do me good.”

  “All right, then. Oh, and by the way. My mysterious wildflower? It’s called the rugosa rose. And it grows everywhere along the cliffs.”

  “Does it now? I suppose I ought to have recognized it then, oughtn’t I, miss?”

  “No more than I should have, but then all we had to go by were some wilting petals.”

  He tilted his chin. “You don’t look happy to have solved your mystery, miss.”

  “No, I’m not, particularly. I thought it might be a clue to whoever murdered the medium. Well, I shouldn’t keep you any longer. Enjoy your day, Jamie.”

  “And you, too, miss. Mr. Gale. A good day to you both.”

  As I swung my rig around to head home, Brady grumbled beneath his breath.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “You’re altogether too familiar with people sometimes, Em. Offering the man a ride. You hardly know him and he’s certainly not your social equal.”

  “Social equal? Why, Brady Gale, what a snob you are. He’s a friend of Katie’s and that’s good enough for me.”

  “Friend of Katie’s—Katie, your housemaid. That only further proves my point. It doesn’t do for someone like you to overextend courtesies to such people, little sister. Don’t think they don’t know who you are. And they’ll only take advantage of you in the end.”

  The flap I gave the reins was more due to my growing annoyance than any desire to travel faster. At any rate, Barney ignored the command and continued at his usual sedate walk. “Stuff and nonsense,” I said. “Katie has been nothing but grateful and hardworking since I took her in, and Mr. Delgado seems genuinely pleased with having Jamie as his new assistant. No harm done as far as I can see nor any advantage taken.”

  “I’m not talking about helping people find work. I’m talking about trusting where you should show caution.”

  “Bah.” I could have reminded him I’d placed my trust in him not very long ago, and he’d betrayed my trust by involving me in his scheme to hoodwink Uncle Cornelius. It didn’t matter that my role was to help him return the stolen railroad plans. Had Uncle Cornelius chosen not to be generous, I might have been ostracized from the family. And as much as I sometimes complained about my Vanderbilt family . . . they were still my family.

  A clip-clopping and the accompanying rumble of wheels alerted me to another vehicle approaching from a side street, yet I remained unprepared for the speed at which a curricle came bounding around the corner of Lakeview Avenue onto Bellevue. With only feet between us, I drew Barney up short, an action that elicited a startled snort from the animal and a hissed oath from Brady. The curricle swerved around us, creaking and tilting sharply; it continued north at the same madcap speed.

  But not before I registered the identity of the driver: Winthrop Rutherfurd.

  I twisted round to watch the receding rig. “What was that all about?”

  Brady shrugged. “He’s in one devil of a hurry.”

  “Indeed he is.” I was tempted to turn around and follow him, but he was already a number of streets away and hadn’t slowed one bit; Barney would never be able to match that pace, much less catch up. I sighed, resigned to not being able to satisfy my curiosity, at least not at present.

  “Maybe Winty’ll give Mr. Reilly a ride to town.” Sarcasm sharpened Brady’s words. “He’d certainly get him there eons sooner than the trolley. But then, I can’t see old Rutherfurd sharing his rig with a gardener. Might soil the Spanish leather.”

  “Oh, Brady, leave it, won’t you?” I snapped as we continued to Ocean Avenue. My mind returned to other, more immediate mysteries. “What I’d very much like to know is who gave Lady Amelia that rugosa rose; or in other words, whom she might be dallying with. It can’t be someone acceptable or she wouldn’t have hidden the fact from Aunt Alva.”

  “Maybe it was Jamie Reilly,” Brady murmured. He hunched deeper into the seat, arms crossed over his chest.

  “Don’t be boorish.”

  He scowled at me, but then his expression lightened. “Maybe it was me. Huh, Em? You think maybe I’ve been dallying with Lady Amelia? Maybe she and I were only pretending not to have met previously. A ruse to fool Aunt Alva. And you.”

  Alarm rippled through me for several long seconds before the tension drained away and I shook my head at him. “You are incorrigible. I have no idea why I put up with you.”

  “Because I’m your older brother and you adore me. Now, how about hurrying this old hack so we can get home and see what treats Nanny’s cooking up for us today.”

  There was no time for treats when we arrived home. We found Nanny in the alcove beneath the stairs shouting into the mouthpiece of the telephone because she believed that to be the only way the person on the other end could hear her. The moment Brady and I stepped into the foyer, she broke off and gaped at us for an
instant before speaking more quietly into the mouthpiece. “Never mind, she’s here.” She ended the call.

  “I was just calling over to the Marble House to find you, Emma.” Still in her house slippers, she shuffled over to us. “Oh, you’ll never guess. Mable Hanson called me some twenty minutes ago. You remember Mrs. Hanson, don’t you, Emma? She lived over on Chestnut Street on the Point. That is, until her husband closed his butcher shop and they retired to a little cottage in Middletown, near Second Beach. They’re on Paradise Avenue and can see the beach from their front windows.”

  “Yes, I remember the Hansons, Nanny.” I tried to hide my impatience. “What did she want?”

  “She thinks she might have seen Consuelo this morning.”

  “What?” Brady and I exclaimed together. My pulse spiked and I found myself gasping for breath. Once more in unison we asked, “Where?”

  “On the beach. Strolling.”

  I whirled about and reached to open the front door. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait, Emma.” Nanny caught me by the shoulder. “It’s not likely she’s still there. Mable knew we were looking for Consuelo because I’d spread the word among my friends, the most trusted ones, of course. But she doesn’t have a telephone, you see, and her neighbor who does have one wasn’t home at the time. She couldn’t call me until she went into town over an hour later. She’d have gone sooner, but her husband was out with their carriage. And then I couldn’t reach you right away because you’d already left The Breakers, and I just missed you at Marble House. So it’s been a little while.”

  “A little while?” My eagerness deflated and I wanted to stomp my foot and swear. I did neither, but instead gritted my teeth in frustration. “You’re right. She wouldn’t be on the beach for so long. Oh, what dreadful luck to practically have her in hand, only to have her slip away again.”

  Brady patted my back. “It’s still a good lead, Em, your first real one. There aren’t all that many houses in the immediate area, and if she was walking on the beach it’s highly likely she’s staying nearby.”