A Golden Cage

by Shelley Freydont

  “I was called in to the chief after he left. He’s given me an ultimatum: either find someone to arrest or they’re taking me off the case.”

  “What? They can’t do that,” Deanna said.

  “Unfortunately, they can,” Gwen said. “The pressure the cottagers wield is formidable. A word in the right ear, and he’ll be dismissed.”

  “Which means,” Joe said, “they’re planning on arresting someone who is not a cottager. One of the actors or the crew that came with them,” he added, almost to himself.

  “Or one of the local lads who hired on,” Will said. “A windfall of money one minute, and the next, you get carted off to jail for life. Or hung.”

  “Will, this is not the time to get bitter,” Gran Gwen said. “You simply must find the killer.”

  Will sighed. “That’s why I came out. To look over the scene again, see if there is anything I could have missed. And that cursed girl still hasn’t shown up.” He rubbed his temples. “I’m stuck for a motive and for a suspect.”

  Deanna looked at Gran Gwen. Sent her a silent message asking whether they should reveal that Laurette’s earrings had gone missing.

  Whether she got the message or not, Gwen said, “There’s something you should know.”

  Will closed his eyes. “What is it?”

  “We believe the Deeks girl stole Laurette’s diamond earrings.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “We only found out yesterday, and Laurette felt torn because Amabelle’s mother is a very old and close friend. That’s why she went to New York. To consult with Rosalie Deeks. So perhaps a falling-out of thieves?”

  “Perhaps,” Will said. He looked at Gwen, then to Deanna.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Actually, I was wondering if it’s acceptable to Gran Gwen for you to go over what Miss Deeks said to you the night of the murder. I realize it’s been several days, but maybe you’ve remembered something else since then.”

  “I remember it. I wrote it down. Elspeth and I have been comparing notes.”

  Will took out his notebook; his pencil stub looked much smaller. He must have been taking lots of notes. “Okay, just begin again and tell me everything you can remember.”

  Deanna thought back. Told him how at first Amabelle was timid and frightened, then how she gradually relaxed. “First we discussed our favorite lady detectives in the serials. Then we talked about the theater and being an actress. She wasn’t very effusive. She said it was hard work. Actually, it sounded like she didn’t much care about acting.

  “And I said it must pay well, and she said only for the stars, that the chorus didn’t make good money. Then I said she must meet interesting people and . . . handsome men. And she said some handsome, and some not at all.

  “Then she kind of got upset again.”

  “Upset?”

  “More like agitated.” Deanna paused, trying to remember if there was anything else. “I asked her about her home, and she said she could never go back there.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What is? That she won’t go home again? Her mother sounds as strict as mine.”

  Will frowned. “She said she couldn’t go home?”

  “Yes, then she said she wouldn’t. That’s right. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t. Why? And don’t say you’re not at liberty to tell.”

  Will wrestled with a smile. “I’m not. But I will anyway, since it will all soon be out of my hands. We interviewed her colleagues. She lives with two of the girls in the chorus. But they say she hardly stays there. She tells them she’s staying ‘at home.’ They think she’s lording it over them. Or possibly . . .”

  Deanna waited. When it was clear he wasn’t going to say more, she said it for him. “Someone is keeping her.”

  “Dee,” Joe said.

  “Joe,” she mimicked.

  “You two, don’t begin this nonsense,” Gwen warned.

  “Yes, Dee. She’s most likely being kept. I don’t suppose she mentioned any names?”

  Dee shook her head. “And I don’t think Charlie made enough money to support her, do you?”

  “No, I’m almost certain he didn’t.”

  “Well, maybe she’s gone there, to her . . . you know.”

  “Except we don’t know where or who or if it’s even true. She may be going home, but it’s out of my jurisdiction. Hopefully Mrs. Ballard will be able to shed some light on the situation when she returns. Anything else?”

  Deanna thought back. “That’s all. I told her we would help her, and she said no one could help her. Then Elspeth took her down the hall to the guest room.

  “That’s the last I saw of her.”

  “So sometime during the night,” Will said, “she managed to steal the earrings. Then she must have gone downstairs to pass the earrings off to Withrop, but why didn’t she just go with him?”

  “She didn’t have any clothes except that gown and cape,” Deanna said.

  “She stole the earrings while my parents were in the next room,” Joe said. “Surely she could have managed a dress or two.”

  “Or there is a third person,” Will said. “Someone who was part of the plan or who took advantage of the situation. It keeps coming back to the acting company. Who better to overhear the two of them making plans involving Bonheur than another actor who decided to go along for the ride?”

  “Does that mean you think Amabelle is dead, too?” Deanna asked.

  “Dead or with the third person.”

  “A prisoner?”

  “Or she went willingly.”

  “Or she killed Charlie herself, panicked, and ran.” Joe crossed his arms.

  “No.” Deanna crossed hers. “She couldn’t have.” Getting no response, she continued. “Because I think somebody killed him outside and dragged his body into the conservatory. Maybe so she would find him.”

  “And you think this because . . .” Will held his pencil at the ready.

  He was taking her seriously. “Because he had dirt and grass on the heels of his shoes and stains on his trousers, like he’d been dragged.”

  Will broke into an appreciative grin. “That’s exactly what I think happened, too.”

  Deanna heard a low growl. She was pretty sure it was coming from Joe. She turned on him. “You think so, too. I saw you out looking in the grass after I left.”

  Will let out a laugh. “Not much gets past our Dee.”

  “But how will we ever find her?”

  “We’ll find her. I just hope I can find the real culprit before they arrest and execute the wrong person.” Will pushed out of his chair.

  “Won’t you stay for tea?” Gwen asked.

  “Thank you, but I have work to do.” He stopped at her chair, kissed her cheek. “You understand that I’ll have to make inquiries about the diamonds.”

  Gwen nodded.

  “If someone tried to sell or pawn them, it could lead us to the killer.”

  Chapter

  13

  “Well, I don’t know if Joe is planning to join us for dinner; he seems to have wandered off with Will. But with or without Joe’s escort, we must make an appearance at the Schermerhorns’ soiree. Anne will never forgive me. We missed her musicale earlier this summer.”

  Deanna smiled wanly. A soiree was the last thing she felt like tonight. “Will there be music, ma’am?”

  “Most likely a string quartet playing in the background. I imagine there will be literary figures and a few artists. William is quite the connoisseur; he has truly good taste. There will be all sorts of people there who might be quite amusing and certainly passionate about their work.

  “Not exactly ideal,” Gwen said, motioning Deanna into the parlor, “since your mama has already written twice to remind me that the only reason she allowed you to stay at Bonheur w
as in the hopes that I would find you a suitable husband. I feel we must have something to write about in our next letter to her. There is the Rensselaers’ on Thursday. Then the Fishes’ ball, but she won’t be pleased with them. Oh well, we’ll have to do our best.

  “So tonight please find someone suitable to assuage her fears that I’m turning you into a terrible example, but don’t pay him so much attention that you give some poor soul the wrong impression.”

  “Ugh,” Deanna said.

  “Chepstow is a lovely house, grand but not cloyingly so. And the Schermerhorns have a much-to-be-admired art collection. Though I imagine tonight the talk will turn literary, considering the news from England.”

  “What news?”

  “It will probably stay among the men at their port, but if it does erupt in company, just don’t pay any attention.”

  “I don’t understand, ma’am. What could it be?”

  Gwen sighed. “I suppose forewarned is forearmed. Your mother would skin me alive. But I’m speaking of the trial and sentencing of the playwright Oscar Wilde.”

  “The one who penned The Importance of Being Earnest? The Perrys saw it in London and said they enjoyed it very much.”

  “Yes. Well, I’m afraid his talent has been overshadowed by his private life.”

  Deanna waited. There must be some scandal Gran Gwen knew of. It seemed like there were scandals in everyone’s households except hers and the Ballards’.

  “I suppose you must know. You’re bound to see it in the papers. The man was accused of having, um, indecent relations with the Marquis of Queensberry’s son. Lord Alfred Douglas.”

  Deanna waited.

  Gwen cleared her throat. “The kind of relations a man usually has with his wife. They’ve sent him to prison. Ah, here’s Carlisle with tea at last. And enough said about Mr. Wilde. Surely no one will bring it up in mixed company.”

  Carlisle placed tea and cakes, and a decanter of sherry for Gwen, on the tea table.

  “Tell Minerva to prepare my bath. And tell Miss Deanna’s maid, too. We’ve had an eventful day; I think we can forgo the drive again this afternoon.”

  Carlisle bowed. “Yes, Madame.”

  “Oh, and Carlisle, Joseph is planning to be in residence for a while. If he returns in time for dinner, please let him know that he’ll be escorting us to the Schermerhorns’ this evening. Have someone lay out his evening kit.”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  Carlisle bowed and left the room. Gwen poured Deanna tea and herself a sherry.

  She took a sip and looked over the sandwich and cakes tray. “I keep thinking about that old lady and her tin of cookies.” She chose a delicate cress sandwich. “Do you think she knows where that wretched girl is?”

  “It didn’t seem so,” Deanna said. “And I can’t imagine Amabelle seeking her out for help. I know I wouldn’t.”

  “No. A horrible way to grow old.”

  “I wonder if her family cast her off?”

  “Or just forgot about her. Tragic. Even though she was an annoying old bag.” Gwen sighed. “I suppose if I manage to find a better situation for Lilbeth, I’ll be responsible for finding her someone more capable, who can do a little dusting and open the drapes occasionally.”

  It was a short tea, and Joe hadn’t returned when Deanna and Gran Gwen repaired upstairs. Deanna wondered where he and Will were and what they were discussing. She didn’t like feeling left out.

  Elspeth undid her dress and carried it away. Deanna removed the rest of her underthings and climbed into the tub of steaming water. It was long enough to stretch out in and deep enough to come up to her shoulders; marble, carved with fat cupids and grape arbors.

  When she’d first come to Bonheur, Deanna had found it a little unsettling to climb naked into the tub in front of the little angel boys, but since they were as naked as she was, she soon accustomed herself to it and now barely noticed them at all.

  The water was hot and the oils that Gran Gwen had given Elspeth to use in her baths always left her skin silky. Deanna breathed in and out in slow breaths, scrubbed her skin until it glowed, as she relaxed into a semistupor.

  She was practically asleep when Elspeth shook a warmed towel at her and made her get out of the water.

  “You’ll look like a shriveled prune tonight at the soiree,” she said.

  Deanna stood and let Elspeth dry her off, then used Elspeth’s shoulder to steady herself as she climbed out of the tub.

  “I think you oughta have a nice lie-down until dinner,” Elspeth said.

  And Deanna didn’t protest. Between the entertainments and the cycling and the murder, and the visits, she was having a hard time staying the course.

  She closed her eyes and didn’t wake up until it was time to dress for dinner.

  She sat at the dressing table while Elspeth brushed her hair.

  “You’re ever so quiet tonight, miss.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “About what dress you’re going to wear tonight?”

  “No. I’ve already decided to wear the persimmon brocade. Did you hear downstairs if Joe is going this evening?”

  “No, miss, is that why you’re wearing the persimmon dress? It sets off your hair and complexion perfectly.”

  “No, it is not. I just wondered. He’s being so strange lately. Fun one minute then an ogre the next. I don’t understand.”

  “Orrin says—”

  Deanna cut her a look. “I thought you were going to stop saying ‘Orrin says.’”

  “Sorry, miss, but my brother does say that Mr. Joseph’s been having some trouble with part of that machine that’s supposed to make paper bags.”

  Deanna huffed out a sigh. “Is that all?”

  “All? Well, it’s pretty important to him. And I’d think you could show a little interest, since Orrin says . . .” She glared at her mistress. “Orrin says that his machines are going to save R and W’s ars—are going to save the company.”

  “Well, he has a champion in you.”

  “And he oughta have one in you, too . . . if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “Well, I do mind.” Deanna rested her elbows on the dressing table. “And I am interested. And I think it’s wonderful what he’s inventing. But he doesn’t care what I think.”

  Elspeth frowned.

  “What is it, Elspeth? Why are you looking like that?”

  “I’m not looking like nothing. If you’d be nice to him, he’d be nicer to you.”

  “I am nice to him. Most of the time.”

  “Just so long as nobody’s nicer to him than you are.”

  “I don’t understand. I am nice to him.”

  “Good, then.”

  “I wish everything didn’t have to be so complicated.”

  “Ha. Pardon me for not crying. You and me, we’ve got it made: good food, a nice place to live, a family who loves us. Not everybody gets even close to that.”

  Deanna thought of Lilbeth, and the obnoxious Mrs. Deeks, and Amabelle, out there somewhere alone, or dead. And Charlie, who would never have a chance to have any kind of a life now. “I’m sorry, Elspeth. I’m being awfully selfish. Forgive me?”

  “True-blue, miss. Now, you put on your fine gown and wow all the gentlemen tonight. And when you come home we’ll have a nice read.” She sounded like everything was back to normal, but Elspeth was frowning when she sent Deanna downstairs.

  * * *

  Chepstow was an Italianate villa with a mansard roof and arched windows. It was so soothing after the extravagance of the Grantham fete and the dinginess of the Deeks house that Deanna was lulled into a calm she knew was deceiving.

  Joe had agreed to come with them, and he looked very distinguished even with his bandaged hand. Though he refused to tell everyone that he received the injury in a duel, as Deanna suggested
. Really, he’d lost all of his sense of humor recently.

  The interior of the house was just as Gwen had described it. There was artwork everywhere, paintings on the walls, statues on tables and in nooks, and smaller items on shelves and in display cases. And yet the rooms didn’t seem overstuffed, like some of the huge rooms in many of the newer mansions.

  They were, however, overstuffed with the prestigious families of Newport and people Deanna had never seen before. Gwen pointed out artists, poets, musicians, and philosophers of note.

  She introduced Deanna to Mrs. Astor, who was rather daunting in her pearl choker as she watched Alva Vanderbilt and her daughter, Consuelo, walk by.

  “I see she’s let the poor girl out for air, and just when we were all beginning to think she had the child chained to her bed until the duke’s arrival,” Mrs. Astor said.

  Gran Gwen just smiled.

  “Will she really have to marry him?” Deanna asked.

  “Yes, dear.” Mrs. Astor gave her a bored look. “It’s what we do.”

  Gwen bowed and they walked on.

  “Not you or Laurette?” Deanna asked.

  “Not Laurette,” Gwen said, and turned to greet a lanky gentleman with thinning hair and a long thin beard in the German style. And Deanna had no time to ponder whether Gran Gwen had married for love or not.

  They were joined by another lady and gentleman, and the man with the beard moved off to another group. Gwen introduced her to person after person who wrote, painted, or was a patron of the arts. It was a delightful, if head-whirling, evening. There were a few young people invited, but not many of her normal crowd, except for Herbert Stanhope, looking unusually distinguished, and Vlady Howe, who had accompanied his mother and was behaving in a very gentlemanly fashion.

  Deanna’s eyes began to wander, and she saw Joe and Herbert deep in conversation with an older gentleman across the room. She knew they were either talking about the sugar industry or the automobile industry, and she longed to join them.

  She wished she knew more people. She could only guess that would come with time, though she might never be allowed to rub shoulders with such interesting people once her mama was back from Geneva.