Murder at Chateau sur Mer

by Alyssa Maxwell

  “Mrs. Andrews—”

  “And should he contact you, you are not to respond. Any overtures on his part are to be immediately and adamantly rebuffed.”

  She turned away, facing front again, and a thick silence fell. I contemplated her profile, realizing how like Derrick’s it was, but for a softening of the contours. But in the set of her chin, the straight and determined line of her mouth, and the present tightening of her brow, I saw Derrick’s tenacity and strength of will. Funny, had she not recognized those same qualities in her own son? Did she truly believe he would be so easily swayed by a mother’s meddling? Did she believe she could intimidate me?

  I relaxed beside her. “One can assume you saw this morning’s headline in the Daily News.”

  She flinched as if I had struck her, then spoke through gritted teeth. “Indeed, I have, Miss Cross. It is shameful and entirely unforgivable.”

  “I shan’t argue with you, ma’am. I perhaps made a mistake in climbing the front steps to the porch of the Reading Room. However, my motives for doing so were sound, and the same could be said about my visit to the tavern on Carrington’s Wharf.”

  She whipped her head around to pin me with a glare. “How dare you mention such an establishment in my hearing?”

  “I didn’t. I purposely did not mention the place by name, Mrs. Andrews.”

  “Insolent girl. I don’t know what I could have been thinking when I extended my welcome to you as a future daughter-in-law. You clearly can have no place in the Andrews family. My son is on the path to becoming a great man in society. You are not fit to be his wife—aren’t fit to polish his boots.”

  I took this insult with outward calm, noting how Mrs. Andrews’s anger flared her nostrils and consumed the greater portion of her beauty until she resembled a bitter and dried-up crone. A certainty struck me. She still didn’t know about Derrick’s disinheritance. She could not, or she would not have said what she had about his becoming a great man. This new development would only make a woman like Mrs. Andrews more resolved than ever to see her son married to the wealthiest of heiresses.

  I folded my hands primly over my handbag. “First of all, Mrs. Andrews, your welcoming me into your family, though kind, was premature. I have not made any decisions concerning whom or when I shall marry.”

  “Hah.” Her lips pinched with cynicism.

  “Second of all, Derrick is not a child. I do not believe he will allow you or anyone else to make his choices for him. Nor will I permit you to make mine.”

  She sputtered, and as she did so, I knocked on the roof of the carriage. The vehicle eased to the side of the avenue and stopped. Without waiting for the footman perched beside the driver, I opened the door and stepped down. “Good day, Mrs. Andrews.”

  She started to respond but I quickly closed the door. We had reached the corner of Bellevue Avenue and Church Street. I about-faced and set off back the way we had come. I found Barney dozing where I’d left him at the roadside. I ran my hand gently down the length of his neck.

  “Just one more errand today, my friend.” I gazed up at the three-story fieldstone and granite façade of Stone Villa and questioned the wisdom of what I planned to do. With a shrug—for I had little to lose—I passed through the open gates, its columns on either side topped by owls, symbolic of Mr. Bennett’s New York Herald. The elderly butler Derrick and I had encountered here yesterday inquired as to my name and ushered me into a receiving room whose furnishings did not invite visitors to make themselves comfortable. I chose to stand, gazing out the open front window, its curtains billowing gently in the breeze, to where Barney patiently awaited my return.

  “Miss Cross.” James Bennett’s greeting came with a lengthy sigh. “What is it now?”

  I turned to face him, keeping my shoulders back and my chin level. “Good morning, Mr. Bennett. Thank you for seeing me on short notice.”

  “If you’ve come to ask more questions about Lilah, I’m afraid—”

  “No, this isn’t about Lilah, unless you’ve remembered or learned something since we talked.”

  His long mustaches twitched. “No indeed.”

  “In that case, I am here, Mr. Bennett, because I am seeking new employment. And I thought—that is, I’d hoped—you might consider me for a position with the New York Herald.”

  An eternity of agony passed as Mr. Bennett regarded me with no small amount of surprise, his gaze rising and falling several times as he obviously took in every detail about my attire, my posture, my bearing, everything. Could he see me trembling? For trembling I was; I hadn’t realized until this moment how much store I’d set in the notion of joining the Herald’s staff of journalists.

  Only briefly this morning had I considered going to Derrick with my dilemma. But even if his father hadn’t severed Derrick’s ties with the Providence Sun, appealing to him for help would have been wrong, circumstances between us being what they were. If I could not commit to him, I certainly couldn’t run to him and expect him to save me from my own mistakes.

  As he considered my entreaty, Mr. Bennett crossed his arms, uncrossed them, stroked his chin, and then crossed his arms once more. “I already have a society reporter, Miss Cross.”

  An impossible knot formed in my stomach, which I attempted to ignore. “I have no wish to continue as a society reporter, Mr. Bennett. I’d thought perhaps I might . . .” I thought quickly—what words might best persuade him? “I thought I might regale your readers with stories of the real Newport, from an insider’s point of view. I was born and raised here on the island, but I am also a cousin of the Vanderbilts. That allows me singular insight into this city.”

  He smirked, though more with irony than mockery. “So you would wish me to take on the same criticism as your Mr. Millford at the Observer.”

  My bones seemed to turn to melting wax, but I somehow remained standing and pressed on. “I would think, sir, that what is considered unacceptable in Newport would send newspapers flying off the newsstands in New York.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps.” He studied me another moment, the silence stretching until I couldn’t keep silent.

  “And if necessary, I’d be willing to travel.” Would I? One of my foremost reservations concerning the prospect of marrying Derrick had been the necessity of moving from Newport to Providence. Yet I would not be deterred from my present course. “I could explore news stories from a woman’s point of view.”

  “Fancy yourself another Nellie Bly, do you?”

  I wanted to sing out that, yes, I’d be elated to consider myself on a par with Nellie Bly. I merely nodded and waited and hoped.

  “Why should I hire you?” he demanded bluntly.

  I doubted he could be influenced by my desperate need for independence that could only be guaranteed by a steady income. He needed to be convinced of my worth. “Because you already know I would never shrink from any story. Because I don’t take no for an answer and I don’t stop until all the facts are known. And also, Mr. Bennett, because after yesterday, you can’t help admiring my pluck.”

  He laughed heartily, until mirthful tears formed. He unabashedly flicked them away. “Indeed, yes, heaven help me. Your proposal is an interesting one, Miss Cross.” His hand went up when I broke out in a grin. “However, I shall need some time to think it over.”

  “Take all the time you need, Mr. Bennett.” But please, I thought, not so very much time. I left Stone Villa, only to find yet another carriage, this one an open, two-seater phaeton, waiting for me when I arrived at home.

  * * *

  “I came as soon as I saw the headline.” Derrick hurried into the hall from the parlor, where Nanny had been plying him with tea and cake.

  Calmly I removed my hat and unbuttoned my carriage jacket. “How long have you been here? I hope not terribly long.”

  He pulled up sharp. “Is that your main concern? How long Mrs. O’Neal has been keeping me entertained while you were away? Good heavens, Emma, I’ve been half sick with worry over you.”


  “Why? This isn’t the first time I’ve leaped into a boiling kettle.” But even as I spoke, I silently admitted I had never quite cloaked myself in a scandal of this nature. “I went to town to seek new employment, and while there I ran into your mother. She also saw the morning’s headline. It would seem she is no longer intent on planning our wedding.” I smiled halfheartedly.

  “Mother sought you out?”

  I shrugged and led him back into the parlor. “I can’t tell you if she went out searching for me or merely took advantage of the opportunity of crossing paths with me. She invited me into her carriage and delivered a thorough dressing down.” I sat on the settee, arranged my skirts, and sighed.

  Derrick sat beside me, his expression pained. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You can’t control your mother’s actions, just as she can’t control yours. Or am I mistaken about that?” I said this with a playful hint of challenge, to which Derrick smiled lopsidedly.

  “Indeed not. What exactly did she say to you?”

  “Oh, what one might expect. That you are going to be a great man someday and I’m not fit to be your wife. That sort of thing.”

  He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I dearly wish she would return to Providence.”

  “She doesn’t know yet, does she? I mean about your father’s threat of disinheriting you.”

  “It’s more than a threat but no, I haven’t told her, and I don’t believe she’s heard it from my father yet, either.” He frowned. “You said you went to town to ‘seek new employment. ’ Then Mr. Millford—”

  “Has sent me packing, yes. I half expected it.”

  “Of all the rotten timing. Here you might have worked for the Sun, if only I hadn’t gone and infuriated my father.”

  I placed a hand over his. “You did the right thing in accompanying your sister to Italy. What other choice could an honorable brother make? I believe your father will come to see that in time. As for the Sun . . .” I trailed off, searching for words to make him understand. “Even if you owned the newspaper outright—no, especially if you owned the Sun—I could not work for you, Derrick. No,” I hastily added when he appeared about to cut me off. “Listen to what I have to say. Accepting employment from you would be tantamount to imposing on our friendship. And it would alter the nature of our friendship as well. We would no longer be equals. I would become your subordinate, and that would place us in an awkward position.”

  “Do you really suppose I would treat you as a subordinate?”

  “If you didn’t, I would be receiving special favors denied your other employees. Don’t you see it’s an untenable situation?”

  “Emma, my dear, the only untenable situation is your stubbornness.”

  I laughed. “Perhaps. My aunt Sadie instilled in me too much of an independent nature to allow me to lean on others when I might make my own way, on my own two feet.”

  “That’s scandalous talk.” His lopsided smile reappeared. “For a woman.”

  “I have a habit of courting scandal, don’t I? But it’s all a moot point, isn’t it? At present, you and I are both unemployed.” I waited for him to ask me with whom I sought new employment. I didn’t like the thought of telling him; after all, James Bennett was something of a suspect in Lilah’s death.

  Nanny’s footsteps echoed from the hall just as a knock came at the door. “I’ll get it,” she said.

  A sense of foreboding came over me the moment I heard Jesse’s voice, especially when obvious irritation took possession of Derrick’s features. Jesse came through the parlor doorway, with Nanny right behind him looking nonplussed.

  Jesse opened his mouth to greet me but shut it again when he spotted Derrick. He scowled. Derrick scowled back. Nanny stared at me from over Jesse’s shoulder and held up her hands as if to say, What was I to do?

  I pasted on my brightest smile. “Good morning, Jesse. What brings you out to Gull Manor?”

  “The headline in the Daily News, for one.” His gaze pinned Derrick to the cushion behind him. “It was you, wasn’t it? You went with Emma to the Reading Room yesterday.”

  “There is no need for that,” I said, but Jesse would not be deterred.

  “Were you or were you not with Emma yesterday?”

  Derrick stared coldly back and raised an eyebrow. “I was.”

  “I’ve a good mind to horsewhip you, sir. How dare you—”

  I came to my feet. “That will be enough of that. Whether Derrick came with me or not, my actions would have been the same.” Of course, I thought, that wasn’t exactly true, for my plan had been for Derrick to persuade James Bennett to speak with me outside. Striding up onto the porch had been an act of rashness on my part. One I felt sure I would hear about for some time to come.

  “Emma, gentlemen, why don’t you all relax and I’ll bring in more tea.” Nanny started to back out of the room, but Jesse stopped her.

  “I don’t care for any tea, thank you, Mrs. O’Neal. At least not while this miscreant inhabits this room.”

  “Miscreant, am I?” Derrick’s body tensed as though he might spring up from the settee and lunge for Jesse’s throat.

  Though I didn’t question Jesse’s concerns about what I had done, it was not lost on me that his pique had equally as much to do with finding Derrick here with me. I calmly met Jesse’s gaze and attempted to make light. “Is that charge leveled at me or Derrick?”

  His expression eased. “You know it’s directed at him, Emma. Men like him think they own the world, think they may do as they please when they please without a thought for anyone else. You of all people should know that.”

  “What I know, Jesse, is that no one controls my actions, however much that seems to be the popular opinion this morning. And you of all people should know that.” I turned to look at Derrick. “Both of you, stop posturing. What happened cannot be undone. I count you both as my friends, and if you cannot extend that sentiment to each other, the very least you can do is maintain civility while you are under my roof.”

  Their standoff continued silently for another several seconds. Then both visibly relaxed.

  “Certainly,” Jesse murmured. He dragged himself to a chair facing Derrick and me and lowered himself into it.

  Derrick nodded. Nanny blew out a breath. “I’ll have Katie bring in more tea.”

  When she’d gone, I said to Jesse, “You alluded to more than one matter that brought you here this morning.”

  “Yes. It’s about Lilah Buford. The case is being reopened.”

  “But I thought the police were being pressured to call her death an accident.”

  “We were, until the latest coroner’s report came in. It appears Lilah’s neck didn’t break as a result of a fall down the Wetmores’ staircase, if indeed she actually fell. All evidence points to the injury, which caused her death, happening beforehand. The coroner determined that someone held Lilah by the head and deliberately snapped her neck.”

  Chapter 10

  At Jesse’s news, I sank back against the cushions behind me. “No more pretending otherwise, then.”

  “No more pretending,” he echoed, “and no more having my hands tied behind my back. This case wasn’t the first time, but I tell you, it never gets any easier being told to ignore the facts and go about one’s business. This is my business.”

  “The question is,” Derrick began, then paused when Jesse darted a sharp glance in his direction. He raised that eyebrow again. “That is, if I am permitted to have questions concerning the case . . .”

  Jesse consented with a wave of his hand.

  “Then the question is, which is the foremost crime? Miss Buford’s death, or the apparent attempt to frame George Wetmore for it—assuming he’s innocent. Was Lilah Buford merely a convenient vehicle, or was she somehow involved with or connected to the scheme against Wetmore?”

  “Good questions,” Jesse mumbled.

  “What was that?” I asked him with a smile, certain he didn’t like acknowledging De
rrick’s logic.

  Jesse narrowed his eyes at me and shook his head. “My instincts tell me Lilah was involved. Not necessarily guilty of anything, mind you, but as you say, Mr. Andrews, connected to the people who set this plot in motion.”

  “Then you do believe there is a plot against the senator,” Derrick said.

  “However much I would like to, I cannot entirely rule out Mr. Wetmore as Lilah’s killer,” Jesse replied. “He’s under house arrest.”

  I pressed my hand to my lips at the thought of a man like George Wetmore enduring the humiliation of a house arrest. Such a circumstance could destroy his reputation and his career, just as his wife feared. “Have you stationed men around the house?”

  “No, he gave his word he wouldn’t go anywhere, and I’m inclined to trust him.” Jesse shoved auburn hair off his brow. “Honestly, though, I’m not sure if it’s instinct or wishful thinking that makes me lean toward an outside culprit who wants to ruin the Wetmores.”

  “That certainly concurs with what I learned from Flossie at the Blue Moon, that Lilah overheard men talking about how they’d like to splatter mud on Mr. Wetmore’s doorstep.”

  “It would seem they decided blood would be harder to ignore.” Jesse thought a moment, then continued. “You also told me Lilah felt she owed Mrs. Wetmore for something. What can that be? It’s doubtful the women ever had any contact with each other.”

  “Perhaps Mrs. Wetmore funded some service from which Lilah benefited.” Derrick waved away my offer of more tea.

  “But practically all the wealthy women in this town involve themselves in philanthropy, usually in groups. They’re always forming some beneficent society or other.” I set the teapot down on the sofa table. “It seems unlikely that Lilah would single out Mrs. Wetmore in particular. That aside for now, I think we should return to the circumstance of Lilah’s having overheard a scheme against Mr. Wetmore.”

  “We can’t use it as evidence, I’m afraid.” Jesse angled his head at me. “Since you came by the information thirdhand, it would be considered hearsay.”

  “True,” I conceded, “but it coincides with what I overheard at the polo match between Robert Clarkson, Stanford Whittaker, and Harry Lehr. And all three men are known to visit the Blue Moon. It seems possible they were the men Lilah heard talking.”