Death on the Cliff Walk (The Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1)

by Mary Kruger

  “I won’t be a minute. Excuse me,” Brooke said, smiling, and walked away, by Annie’s side. “Well?”

  “He’s here, miss.”

  Brooke gripped her arm in excitement. “Is he? Did you hear his voice? Where is he?”

  “I don’t know, miss. But,” Annie swallowed, hard, “he threatened to kill me.”

  Chapter 14

  Brooke stopped dead. “Who is he?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know, miss, and that’s a fact. Kept his back to me the whole time. But I’ll never forget that voice.” She shivered. “He said, ‘Remember Illumination Night’.”

  Brooke took Annie’s arm and began moving through the crowd again. Dear heavens, that was a threat. So long as Annie was with someone, however, she should be safe. Brooke dreaded to think of what might have happened had they not planned for this.

  Charlie was sitting at the long table, chatting with Mrs. Smith, when Brooke and Annie walked into the kitchen. One look at them, and the smile on his face faded. “He’s here?” he said, getting to his feet.

  “Yes. She didn’t see him, though,” Brooke said.

  “He kept his back to me,” Annie explained.

  “And he threatened her. Tell him, Annie.”

  Charlie’s face grew darker as, haltingly, Annie told of her experience. “I think, though, if I go back I could figure out who it is-”

  “No.” His voice cut across hers. “You’ve done enough, Annie. At least we know he’s here.”

  “Do you think she’s safe, sergeant?” Brooke asked.

  “No. Not here. We’ll go on with the rest of the plan.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that!” Mrs. Smith exclaimed, coming forward with Annie’s hat and coat. “I was worried about this, I don’t mind telling you. Here are your things, Annie. Got them ready for you, just in case.”

  “Good thinking, Mrs. Smith.” Charlie winked at her, and to Brooke’s vast amusement, the housekeeper blushed.

  “Go on with you. Flirt with someone your own age, sergeant.”

  Charlie’s grin was unrepentant. “I just might. Well, Annie? Are you ready?”

  “Yes, sergeant. Oh, miss. Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine, Annie.” Brooke accompanied them to the back door. “No one knows that I’m part of this.”

  “But you left the hall with me, miss-”

  “And if anyone asks I’ll explain you took sick. Now, you’d best go. Can you tell me where you’re taking her?”

  Charlie shook his head. “It’s probably better if you don’t know. She’ll be safe, though. I can assure you of that.”

  “Good. Take care of her, then.”

  “I plan to,” Charlie said, and escorted Annie out the door.

  Silence fell in the wake of their departure, a curious silence not broken by the bustle of maids and footmen in and out of the kitchen. “Well. I’m thinkin’ we’ll be hearing wedding bells there,” Mrs. Smith said.

  “What?” Brooke glanced toward the door. “Annie and Sergeant Sweeney?”

  “Indeed. And a good match it would be, I’m thinkin’.”

  “Yes.” And, speaking of that, she should head back to the ball. “Thank you, Mrs. Smith. And remember, not a word to anyone.”

  “You think I’d do anything to hurt Annie? Not likely. Now just you get back to your ball, miss—yes, what is it?”

  Brooke turned at the sharp tone of Mrs. Smith’s voice to see Eliot standing in the doorway, looking distinctly out of place. “Eliot?” she said, crossing to him. “Is something wrong?”

  He frowned down at her. “Have you forgotten the announcement of our engagement? Really, Brooke, of all times for you to leave-”

  “I’m sorry,” she said hastily. Dear heavens, but she had forgotten. “I’ll come now.”

  “One would think the staff in this house is more important than I am,” he went on, as she placed her hand on his arm.

  “No, of course not.” She smiled absently at Miles, who was standing just at the junction of the corridor leading from the kitchen, and the Italian Hall.

  “Brooke. Payson.” He inclined his head. “I hope nothing’s wrong?”

  “No. A minor household emergency here, that’s all.”

  He nodded. “I see.” He looked from her to Eliot. “My best wishes for your happiness.”

  “Yes, I know. I was just going.”

  She forced a smile. “Thank you,” she said, and walked back to the hall for the announcement of her engagement.

  Matt glanced at the report one more time and then set it down. Paul Radley had been on the Priscilla from New York the night Rosalind was murdered and had produced a ticket stub to prove it. The officer who had done the initial check on Radley’s movements had confirmed it in his report. Still, it bothered Matt. Why had Vandenberg said what he had if Radley had been on the steamer? On impulse, he strode to the door of his office and put his head out. “Charlie.”

  Charlie appeared in the corridor. “Yeah, detective?”

  “Come here for a minute, will you?” he said, and went back to his desk.

  “What is it?” Charlie asked as he walked in.

  “This report about Paul Radley. I want him checked out.”

  “We did it already, Cap.”

  “I know. Let’s do it again. He was at Belle Mer last night, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. We’ll need to find out where he was on Illumination Night. Also, let’s find out how often he came down from New York, and how.”

  Charlie shrugged. “All right. About Nellie Farrell.”

  Matt looked up. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged again. “I’ve had men going up and down her street again, talking to her neighbors. I even went to the Reading Room and talked to some of the members, but they all claimed they didn’t know her. Can’t say I blame them, considering what that would mean.” He glanced down at his notes. “The neighbors didn’t like her much, but she didn’t bother them. Apparently she kept to herself. About the worst anyone can say about her is that sometimes late at night they’d see her greeting a man at her door. Medium height, dark hair, a gentleman by his dress. But we knew that.”

  “It could be anyone,” Matt said, but he didn’t think so. It sounded like Paul Radley. He was, after all, the likeliest person to have met with Rosalind, particularly if he had come down from New York on a night different from what he’d said. He was also the most likely man to have fathered her child, and he had been at Belle Mer last evening. The sketchy description came disturbingly close to that given by Annie. Not for the first time he was glad they’d arranged for her safety; at this moment she was with his parents in Middletown. Otherwise, the Cliff Walk Killer would likely have claimed another victim last night. “It was stupid of him.”

  “Who?”

  “Our murderer. He has to know we’ve arrested someone. Why not just let Annie alone?”

  “We don’t know what he had planned for her. If it’s the same man as did Nellie, he uses different methods.” Charlie’s face darkened. “I’d like to get my hands on him.”

  “So would I.” Matt leaned back. “I don’t think we’ve heard the last of him.”

  “You think he’ll try again?”

  “I don’t know. Killing doesn’t seem to bother him, does it?”

  Charlie’s mouth tightened. “I’m glad Annie’s safe.”

  “So am I.”

  “Matt.” Charlie’s voice was hesitant. “Whoever it was had to see Miss Cassidy going out with Annie last night. You think she’s safe?”

  Matt’s head shot up. “Brooke? Dammit, she’d better be. I don’t see what else we could have done last night.” He rose and began to pace. “If Annie’d gone out alone she would have been a target.”

  “Yeah. And now Miss Cassidy might be. He might think she knows where Annie is.”

  Matt looked at Charlie for a moment without seeming to see him, and then grabbed his jacket. “I’d be
tter warn her.”

  “Yeah.” Charlie rose. “And I’ll get busy on Radley.”

  “Good,” Matt said, as he walked out, his mind already on other matters. Until Charlie had pointed it out, he hadn’t considered that Brooke might be in danger. She would have to know, so she could be careful. Because if anything happened to her, he would have to do something about it. Even if she were going to marry someone else.

  “Excuse me, miss,” Hutton said, and Brooke, sitting in a white wicker chair on the loggia, book in hand, looked up. “Detective Devlin is here. Do you want to see him?”

  “Hello, Brooke,” Matt said, from behind Hutton. “Do you mind?”

  “No, Matt.” Brooke rose, smiling a little. Ordinarily Hutton would never let visitors in without checking first to see if they were welcome, but the entire staff looked on the police a little more kindly now. They knew, if the Olmsteads didn’t, what Matt and Charlie had done for Annie. “Bring us some iced tea, Hutton.”

  “Yes, miss. If I might venture to suggest, miss, perhaps the gentleman would like something stronger.”

  “I would, thank you,” Matt said, before Brooke could answer. “Whiskey, please.”

  “Very good, sir,” Hutton said, and went back inside.

  “He likes you,” Brooke said, and Matt turned to her.

  “What? Why?”

  “He called you a gentleman. Sit down, Matt.” She indicated a chair near hers, and they sat for a moment in companionable silence.

  “This is nice,” he said, looking up first at the mosaic ceiling, and then past the lawn to Sakonnet Passage and the blue Atlantic beyond. “I could get used to this.”

  “Yes, well, it’s not quite so nice in the fog, but I have to admit this is my favorite part of the house.”

  Matt twisted his head to regard the house. “You’ve come a long way, Brooke.”

  “From the Fifth Ward? Yes, in some ways. Thank you, Hutton.” This as the butler set a tray with their drinks down upon a table. “I take it you’re not here on official duty?”

  “Actually, yes, I am. Why?”

  Brooke looked pointedly at his drink. “That.”

  “Oh. This.” He cradled the crystal tumbler in his hands and looked out at the view again, this time with a frown creasing his brow. “Something’s come up.”

  “Something serious?”

  “Yes. Last night, when you went to the kitchen-”

  “Is Annie all right?”

  “Yes. Fine. It’s you we’re concerned about now.”

  “Me?” she said in surprise. “But I’m fine.”

  “We know the killer was here last night, Brooke.” He regarded her soberly. “He saw you leave with Annie. Of that you can be certain. He must be wondering now how much you know, and how much of a danger you are to him.”

  A chill went through Brooke. “You think he might come after me?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a possibility.”

  “Dear heavens. But, Matt, I don’t know anything.”

  “You know the real killer hasn’t been caught. You know that it’s someone you know.”

  “Dear heavens,” she said again. “What do I do?”

  “I don’t know, dammit. Sorry,” he said, in apology for his language. “I’ll talk to the guard here, but I don’t even know who to warn you about. I can tell you this, though.” He hunched forward. “Stay close to home. Don’t go out on the estate unless someone is with you. Do not ever go out alone. And don’t be alone with any man until this thing is settled.”

  “Not even Eliot?” she said faintly.

  “No. Not even him.”

  She set her mouth. Eliot surely wasn’t capable of killing anyone. “All right,” she said reluctantly.

  “Good.”

  It couldn’t be Eliot, she thought, looking off across the lawn without taking in any of the view. When Rosalind’s body had been found she had felt the menace coming near to her, but never had she expected it to come this close.

  “I don’t really think he’ll come after you,” Matt said soothingly, breaking the silence. “He has to know he couldn’t get away with it. I just want you to be prepared.”

  “Thank you, Matt.” She flashed him a quick, strained smile. “I promise I’ll be careful.”

  “Good.” He set the tumbler down on the table and rose. “I don’t want anything happening to you,” he muttered.

  “Excuse me?” Brooke said, not certain she’d heard correctly.

  “I said I don’t want anything happening to you.” He turned and glared at her. “Even if you did leave me.”

  “I didn’t leave you, Matt!” She rose hastily to her feet, facing him. “My parents died. What was I supposed to do?”

  “You could have married me, dammit.”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “I didn’t think I had to.”

  “Didn’t think you-!” She stared at him. “Of all the nerve!”

  “What was I supposed to do?” he demanded. “You were upset about your parents. Was I suddenly supposed to start courting you?”

  “You could have given me some sort of sign.”

  “I thought I had. I thought we had an understanding. And don’t say you didn’t know. You knew. God, when you left...”

  “Maybe I would have stayed,” she said quietly. “Maybe, if I’d thought—I needed family, Matt. I told you that before. When I left I never intended to turn my back on my old life, never! Don’t you think it was hard for me, leaving all my friends and everything I ever knew? And then to be plunged into society—no one knew me, no one would accept me for myself for a long time. They still don’t.” She hesitated. “You never said anything, Matt.”

  “And I can’t very well say anything now,” he said bitterly.

  “Why? Because of this?” she challenged, waving her hand to indicate Belle Mer and all it represented. “You don’t know me at all if you think this matters to me.”

  “It matters to me, dammit.”

  She stared at him. “Why, you snob.”

  “Brooke.”

  “You are, you know. You’ve always resented anyone with money, and now you’re judging me because I have rich relatives, because I don’t live in the Fifth Ward anymore.”

  “Dammit, Brooke, you’re engaged.”

  Silence fell. “So I am,” she agreed after a moment, looking down at her ring and twisting it on her finger.

  He followed her gaze. “Do you love him?”

  “I—we like each other. We’re well suited.”

  “That’s not what I asked. Do you love him?”

  “Oh, Matt.” Wearily she brushed her hair away from her face. “Love isn’t always the most important thing.”

  “Hogwash. You know better. Your parents had it. My parents have it. What do you think has kept them together for so long?”

  “Matt, it’s complicated-”

  “No, it isn’t. You either love him, or you don’t.” He stared at her, hard. “Do you love him?”

  Brooke looked fixedly at her ring. “No,” she said, in a very small voice.

  “But you’re going to marry him anyway.”

  “Yes.”

  “Dammit. I see.” Matt snatched up his hat and stomped toward the glass doors that led inside. There, however, he stopped. “You tell me you haven’t changed, Brooke.” He turned to look at her. “But you have, you know. You have,” he said, and turned away.

  “Matt,” Brooke said, but it came out softly, almost a squeak. Calling him back would do no good. He was gone. And never, Brooke thought, dropping into her chair and sinking her face in her hands, had she felt quite so alone.

  Matt threw himself onto his bicycle and pedaled off at a furious pace for the station house. He’d had enough of Bellevue Avenue and the people who lived on it. Give him ordinary people, the townies and the workers, any day. Conflicts with them were likely to be straightforward, almost easy. He was not a snob, as Brooke had accused him. There was, however, no question in his mind that the ric
h were a different breed of people. He’d do well to remember that.

  At least he’d done his duty, warning Brooke of any possible danger. He’d also make sure she was protected. He’d do no less for anyone in such a situation. That was all there was to it. Other than that, he needn’t think of her at all. Swinging off the bicycle at the station house, he glanced at the clock set high in the wall. At the same time he heard the distant sound of a ship’s horn, and the two events converged in his mind. Quarter of eight, nearly time for the New York steamer to come in from Fall River. Matt jumped onto the bicycle again and headed down Thames Street. Since the Fall River Line kept no passenger records, he’d relied on testimony from a steward as to whether Paul Radley was aboard the steamer on the night he’d claimed. Maybe he was wasting his time, but he felt a sudden urge to confirm that fact. What Miles Vandenberg had said to him the other day bothered him. What if Radley had indeed been in Newport at the time of Rosalind’s death?

  If any one place epitomized the two different Newports, the workaday world and the social capital, it was Long Wharf. Here the fishing boats tied up and unloaded their catch, leaving a perpetual aroma that overlay everything; here, as if this were a street, were tenements and saloons and boatbuilders’ shops. At the end of the wharf, however, things were very different. A crowd of well-dressed people waited to board the steamer; Matt recognized more than one cottager in the line. Showing his badge to the ticket collector, he went to the head of the line, watching as the steamer Priscilla rounded Goat Island, preparatory to docking. The big white boat, almost as large as a trans-Atlantic liner, made a splendid sight as she docked, all lights ablaze and the paddle wheel foaming the water. Matt had never actually been aboard a Fall River Line boat. He certainly was seeing a different side of life on this case, he thought, as he had once before.

  As soon as Priscilla docked, Matt bounded across the gangplank, intent on his errand and very aware of the time constraints, since the boat was scheduled to leave again in half an hour. He’d ask his questions and get out, he thought, and then stopped, brought up short by the room spread before him. While passengers pushed past him, he stood and stared at the Grand Saloon. It was huge, easily as big as several tennis courts, and the ceiling soared high above, its domed chandelier twinkling with hundreds of lights behind its opalescent glass. Dazed, Matt wandered across the room, his feet sinking into plush red and gold carpeting, taking everything in, from the gilded columns to the fine velvet-upholstered furniture. Good God, this wasn’t a boat, it was a floating palace. How must Nellie Farrell have felt, traveling in such splendor, he wondered, and abruptly returned to earth. He had a job to do.