I smiled down at my tea. “I’m so glad. I want the best for him in life.”
“He’ll have it, if I have anything to say about it. You can be sure of that. Now, about Mother’s visit . . .”
“Yes, that.” I sipped my tea and then inhaled a steely breath. “You must speak to her. She all but has us trotting down the aisle together.” As soon as I’d spoken, I almost wished I hadn’t. This was no light topic of conversation. It involved deep sentiments and the many layers of Derrick’s and my acquaintance, which was no simple thing. We had been through a great deal, more than most people even after many years of knowing one another, intimate things no casual acquaintances should ever share. Tears, fright, and life-and-death matters. He knew me possibly better than anyone else did, with the exception of Nanny.
And yet, marriage had always been a sore subject between us. He had proposed rashly two summers ago, and I—I had turned him down almost as rashly. I had suffered regrets and second thoughts, but I knew in my heart I had been correct in refusing him. He had proposed for the wrong reasons, and had I accepted, it would have been for unsuitable, capricious reasons as well. We both knew it, though he had taken longer to come round to acceptance. When we parted last summer, it was with the understanding that, when we again met, we would begin anew and proceed slowly from there.
Whatever exactly that meant.
But now here I was, talking openly and casually about marriage, even if this time the subject had been instigated by his mother.
He sat quietly for some moments. Patch wandered in, his tail wagging furiously as he explored the potential of this new guest. Patch hadn’t yet joined my little family before Derrick went away last year. Now he sought to ascertain whether friend, foe, or indifference occupied the armchair across from me. Derrick obliged his breathy entreaties with a thorough petting, and hadn’t quite finished when he glanced over at me again. “Did you tell my mother neither of us is prepared to go ahead with marriage plans?”
“I did. She wouldn’t listen.”
Derrick’s hand stilled. “That sounds like my mother. Once she has a notion in her head, there’s almost no dislodging it.”
“But we must. She’s ready to begin ordering flowers and hiring the caterer.”
“I’ll be honest.” He leaned back in his chair, though continued absently petting Patch behind his floppy ears. “A year ago, I might have encouraged her to order those flowers and everything else that goes along with them.” He shook his head. “The events of last summer and everything that has happened since have changed me. Taught me. Rushing into something—anything—can have calamitous results.” He held up a hand when I started to reply. “Mind you, I’m not going away. You won’t be rid of me that easily. I’m simply . . . waiting.”
“Biding your time?” I smiled, though not altogether happily. “I’ve done some changing as well. But I am no closer to knowing what I want. In fact, such things are murkier to me than ever, and I cannot in good conscience ask you to wait—”
“You didn’t.”
I only just kept myself from sighing. No matter my feelings for him, and in truth, they were significant, the life he led—and which I would lead as his wife—held little appeal for me. His family’s wealth assured them a place among society’s Four Hundred, and I had no wish to emulate the lives of my Vanderbilt aunts, Alice and Alva. An endless procession of society events filled their days. The triteness of such an existence would stifle me.
How could I make him understand that one of the things I had realized in his absence was that making no decision concerning marriage was also a choice open to me? Great Aunt Sadie had never married—by choice. She always said she had too much to lose, meaning her life had been rich, filled with purpose, and independent of outside influences.
Did seeing the value of such a life make me hard and heartless? I didn’t believe so, for my heart did ache, just a bit, when I contemplated spending the years ahead alone. There must always be a price to pay, no matter one’s choices.
“Derrick . . .” I trailed off, deciding to let it go for now. “I am very glad you’re back. Will you be staying in Newport long, or returning to Providence?”
“Yes, about that.” He shifted his position, crossing one long leg over the other. “I am not returning to Providence anytime soon. You see, there is no longer any reason for me to be there.”
“What about the newspaper?” Derrick’s father owned the Providence Sun, which Derrick would one day inherit.
He shook his head slowly. “I am no longer an employee of the Sun. I have been replaced. My punishment, it seems, for taking Judith’s side and accompanying her to Italy.”
“I don’t understand. How can you be replaced? You’re your father’s only son.”
“Apparently, I am no longer that. I have been thoroughly and, according to Father, irrevocably disinherited.”
Chapter 7
In an instant, Derrick’s announcement changed everything. I entertained no doubts that he would make his own way in life, and quite nicely. My cousin Neily, formerly his father’s principal heir at the New York Central Railroad, had been disinherited a year ago. He had been allowed to stay on as an employee, which he had accepted rather than live entirely off his wife’s dowry. But he was also continuing his education with a higher degree in engineering as his goal.
No, disinheritance would not hold Derrick back, and might perhaps propel him to a far more rewarding life than otherwise. Perhaps he’d start his own newspaper business, and I—I could work for that paper, and report on real news openly and without restrictions, as I had longed to do. His newly fallen state also, I realized with no small jolt of amazement, set the two of us on far more equal terms, socially speaking. If he and I were to marry, I might not be required to carry on like a typical society matron. Added to that, we now had his mother’s permission.
I waited for a sense of joy to take hold of me. It did not, and the reason became obvious. As I had been telling myself all along, I was not ready to be a wife. Any man’s wife. I was still becoming myself, the person I wished to be, the person Aunt Sadie encouraged me to be. The reasons for denying Derrick’s proposal, and for holding Jesse at arm’s length, had nothing to do with either man or my conflicting feelings for them, and everything to do with myself. Confidence in the decisions I had made thus far in my life rose up in me, along with a kind of serenity.
Until another thought occurred to me.
“You mother doesn’t know, does she?”
“I don’t believe so. Not yet. She’ll be furious. I’m sure she’ll rush off to Providence and have the most awful row with my father. I wouldn’t be surprised if we heard them from here.”
“That isn’t all.” I couldn’t help the ironic smile that curled my lips. “Her enthusiasm for any kind of association between the two of us shall wane as quickly as it waxed.”
“Mother isn’t as fickle as all that.” He frowned. “At least I don’t think she is. Besides, you’ve done nothing wrong. This is between my father and me.”
“Don’t you see? Once your mother learns the family fortune might not be going to you as planned, she’ll be on the hunt for a suitably wealthy daughter-in-law.”
He thought that over a moment, and smiled as I had done—ironically and without genuine amusement. “She can try.”
* * *
After one of Nanny’s hearty New England dinners, Derrick and I set off back to town. On the way, I had an idea. I had showed him a photograph I’d taken from Lilah Buford’s photograph album, and told him everything that happened from the time of the polo match to my brief interview with Anthony Dobbs on the wharf.
“You should not have approached that man on your own, Emma.”
“It was broad daylight and we were surrounded by others.”
“Other dockworkers. Not exactly the most savory or trustworthy bunch.”
“Perhaps not, but I felt safe enough. Aren’t you going to scold me for entering Madam Heidi’s brothel, a
s Jesse did?” Where Ocean Avenue met Bellevue, I turned Barney toward town. We passed Rough Point and soon after Marble House and Beechwood. Carriages heading toward dinner parties and balls traveled up and down the street, their elegantly dressed occupants waving to one another.
“Would it do any good?” Derrick replied to my facetious question. “Did the detective’s scolding change anything?”
I grinned, raising one hand from the reins and adjusting my hat. “That photograph is a good likeness of Lilah, even though it was taken long ago. She hadn’t changed much since she was a girl. I want to show it around at the Casino and see who reacts to it, and how they react. I’d appreciate your coming with me, if you would.”
“Ah, so you’ll engage ladies of the evening and dockworkers alone, but you require a chaperone to enter the Newport Casino?”
I tilted my chin at him. “Don’t be impertinent. I don’t fear to approach any Newporter. No matter how unsavory some may appear, I am one of them and not likely to come to harm.”
“Dockworkers are not all Newporters,” he interrupted before I could make my point. “Many of them come in on boats from who knows where, work here for a while, and then move on.”
“Be that as it may. At the Casino I will be dealing with members of your set—”
“I’m not of their set any longer.”
“They don’t know that yet. Besides, you were born to the Four Hundred. You’ll always belong, fortune or no. And what I’ll need tonight is someone who belongs, to whom the others are willing to speak. I can manage among my Vanderbilt relatives, but the others? That is where you come in, if you’re willing.”
He leaned back against the carriage seat, a small smile playing about his lips. “I am.”
Carriages lined both sides of Bellevue Avenue outside the Casino, and stretched away into the distance. We passed by the Casino’s row of fine shops to our right, while to our left stood Stone Villa, the three-story Italianate mansion owned by James Bennett.
Mr. Bennett had purposely bought property for the Casino directly across from Stone Villa, as a reminder to the Four Hundred that at this place of entertainment, his rules would prevail. Seventeen years ago he had been temporarily expelled from the Newport Reading Room, farther down the avenue, for encouraging his friend to ride his horse up from the steps and onto the veranda. The building of the Casino had been his reply.
I guided the carriage onto nearby Bath Road, where I found space to park. A few moments later Derrick and I passed through the entrance arch of the Newport Casino and through the paneled corridor. Like many of the Four Hundred, his family maintained a membership here, and as his guest I need not pay an entry fee. A set of stairs led to the second floor, where reading rooms, card rooms, the billiards room, and gentlemen’s accommodations were located. It would have done me little good to go that way, for attempting to break in on card or billiard games, or intrude upon gentlemen renting private rooms, would result in a hasty escort back out to the street. We continued on, emerging into the open air of the courtyard.
Beneath a starry sky, a crowd milled over the main lawn. A covered piazza stretched along the north side of the enclosure while the Horseshoe Pavilion curved around to embrace the courtyard. Beyond the pavilion lay the tennis courts and the Casino Theater. Lively music floated from one of the covered patios on the upper story of the piazza.
I took a moment to savor the lovely shingle-style design of the structure, with its gables and intermingling of English, French, American Colonial, and most surprising, Japanese architectural motifs. Behind us, beside the entryway, the clock tower with its bell-shaped roof emulated the turrets of Loire Valley châteaux. Thanks to the inner Tiffany works, the clock was said to keep perfect time.
In studying the mingling crowd, my confidence flagged. Where would I start? Whom would I question first? I did have a plan, which was to portray Lilah as a missing young woman last seen here. Word of her death, and of her occupation, had not yet become common knowledge. What with the way news traveled in Newport, especially in the summer months, I had limited opportunity in which to work my deception.
Derrick took my arm in his and led me onto the piazza. “Perhaps we should begin with your cousin.”
He gestured with his chin, and sure enough, I spotted Neily sitting with his brothers, Alfred and Reggie, at a table overlooking the green in the open air section of the restaurant. All three stood when I called to them. We climbed the few steps up to join them. Reggie was the first to greet me.
“You’re not often here, Em. What brings you?” The youngest of Cornelius Vanderbilt’s sons, Reggie had passed his seventeenth birthday some months earlier. He had achieved a man’s height and filled out in the shoulders, but he remained clean-shaven and youthful but for the weariness lurking beneath his heavy eyelids. He rocked slightly on his feet as he took my hand, and I saw in an instant that he had been drinking, and as usual more than he should have.
Alfred, the middle brother, showed no such signs of inebriation. His eyes were clear, keen like his father’s, his clothes crisp and sharp, and he bore himself with the steadiness of a man who saw his future plainly laid out for him, the prince and heir apparent. Apt, for upon Neily’s disinheritance, Alfred became his father’s primary heir. At only twenty, Alfred had already taken on much of his father’s responsibilities, both within the family and at the New York Central Railroad. He took my hand and bowed over it in his very proper way, his gaze sliding sideways at Reggie as he did so. He glanced back at me with a look that apologized, for he knew as well as I that his brother had over-imbibed. Then he bade me good evening and resumed his seat. We had never been close, Alfred and I. Never at odds, but never true friends.
It was Neily who embraced me fully, held me a moment longer, and released me with an observation of his own. Quietly, his words nearly gobbled up by the surrounding chatter, he said, “You’re looking somber tonight, Emmaline. What brought you here, and is there anything I can do?”
I could never hide anything from Neily. Of all my Vanderbilt cousins, his was the friendship I valued most, which I could not do without. Though I had applauded his marriage to Grace Wilson despite his parents’ objections, I had also secretly mourned the loss of our easy rapport. For though I might enjoy a close camaraderie with my single cousin, I certainly couldn’t make claims on the time of a married man.
With Alfred and Reggie engaged in conversation with Derrick, I opened my handbag and slid out the photograph of Lilah. “This is not recent, but the resemblance is strong. Do you know her?”
He studied the print, squinting slightly in the dimness of the gas lighting. When he still hadn’t spoken a moment later, but rather swallowed and compressed his lips, I knew that he recognized her and was uncomfortable discussing her with me.
“Were you here after the polo match two days ago? Did you see her here that night? It’s important, Neily, so please don’t prevaricate in the effort to spare me indelicate details. I know what sort of work Lilah Buford did.”
His head snapped up. “Did?”
I immediately realized my mistake. I took him by the arm and moved him farther away from his brothers. “Lilah is dead, Neily, but please, tell no one. Not yet. I’ve been hired to find out what she did that night, and who last saw her.”
“Hired by whom?”
“I can’t tell you that. Did you see her here? I know she came sometimes to solicit business. Someone told me when she left her . . . home . . . that night, she appeared to be dressed to fit in here.”
“I believe I did see her.” He fidgeted with his cuffs, a sure sign the conversation made him uncomfortable. “But where she went, and with whom, I cannot tell you.”
“What about your brothers?”
He hesitated, and then called Reggie over. I showed him the picture.
“She looks familiar . . . Is that Lilah Buford?” As soon as he spoke her name, Reggie looked sheepishly at his older brother. “I mean . . . uh . . .”
“I know what
you mean, Reg.” Neily shook his head in disapproval.
I hadn’t time for a brotherly squabble. “Reggie, were you here three nights ago, and if so, did you see Lilah here?”
“Why? What’s going on?” Reggie didn’t wait for an answer. “Does this have anything to do with her showing up at the polo grounds earlier that same day?”
“You know about that?”
“Sure I do, Em. I was on the hill. I saw the whole thing.”
His elder brother asked, “What were you doing up on Morton Hill? Why weren’t you on the grandstand?”
Reggie shrugged. “I happened to be escorting a young lady, and I use the term loosely, who preferred the hill.” He turned back to me. “What did Lilah want with the Wetmores?”
So Reggie had heard as well as seen. Odd that he had escaped my notice. “Did she arrive on the grounds with anyone?” I asked him. “Did you see her with anyone at all?”
He thought a moment. “She talked with some fellow. A footstool, by the look of him. Up on the hill before she decided to make a scene.”
I remained silent a moment. I’d heard the term footstool before and I didn’t like it. It reduced our local population to mere props that existed for the comfort of the summer set. Then I remembered the man who had come down off Morton Hill to speak to Lilah as the police escorted her from the polo grounds. She had been resisting, but at a few words from him, the fight left her and she went out quietly. Could he be the same individual Reggie had seen her with prior to that? “Was he wearing a workman’s straw hat? The kind gardeners often wear to keep the sun off their necks?”
“Now that you mention it, I believe he was. Didn’t pay much attention, really.”
“And could he have been the same man who intervened as the police escorted her away?”
“That I can’t say. By then my, uh, lady friend decided I’d been ignoring her long enough. By the bye, did you know Westchester and Meadowview are scheduled for another match?”
This news took me by surprise.
Reggie seemed excited by the development. “It was decided today. Westchester raised an official protest over the oversight in upgrading Meadowview’s skill rating. I’m surprised you didn’t hear. The Competition Committee ruled in Westchester’s favor.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I don’t have to tell you I’m relieved. I lost a hefty wager on the first match. I’ll make it all back this time.”
Murder at Chateau sur Mer Page 11
