“Migraines. She really suffers. I know everyone thinks she’s insipid, and she is, but she doesn’t pretend illness to be interesting. Though I don’t know who would think being ill is interesting. Anyway, please don’t tell anyone, especially the servants. They’ll find out soon enough, but I don’t want Elspeth ostracized for it. I’m sure he’s innocent,” Deanna repeated with as much conviction as she could muster. In her heart, if it had to be Orrin or Joe, she’d rather it be Orrin.
“I promise. Not a word. But I must say we’ll all rest better knowing they’ve arrested someone.”
Deanna didn’t bother to point out that if Orrin was innocent, it meant the murderer was still at large.
“Now, just let me go say good-bye to Papa, and I’ll change for luncheon.”
They were almost at the library door when raised voices sounded from inside. Cassie and Deanna both stopped, looked at each other, and silently moved toward the door.
Mr. Randolph’s voice rose above Mr. Woodruff’s. “I don’t understand this at all. Why hasn’t this been completed?”
“Oh, it’s just silly business,” Cassie said, and started to pull Deanna away.
Deanna shook her off. Her father never really lost his temper, not at home anyway. Is this why he’s been so preoccupied lately? Something to do with business?
Mr. Woodruff’s answer was so quiet that she couldn’t make out his words.
Cassie put her hands on her hips and waited none too patiently. “Let’s go,” she whispered.
Deanna put her fingers to her lips and moved closer to the door.
“What have you done?” her father demanded.
“Nothing, George. He just needs reassurances.”
“A fifty-thousand-dollar retainer isn’t enough good-faith money?” her father asked incredulously.
“He’s had a better offer.”
“What? Havemeyer, I presume. I thought we had a contract.”
“We do, and he’s willing to stick to our deal, but he wants to protect himself. To know that the money is there and we won’t succumb to the Sugar Trust before he can sell to us. I’ll take care of it.”
“Just make sure you do. And, Francis, if this falls through, you’ll answer to me.”
They must be talking about the deal they had to buy Lord David’s sugar. Deanna moved closer. Is that what had been worrying her father? Was their livelihood in danger?
“Perhaps I’d better talk to him before I go,” Mr. Randolph said. “Havemeyer is a scoundrel and determined to control all the sugar refining in America. He’s already taken over the refineries in Philadelphia. R and W is one of the last holdouts. If we fall, he’ll own it all and you know what happens then. Prices will rise and he’ll get richer on the backs of the consumers.”
“What do you think we can do when the government couldn’t stop him?” Mr. Woodruff answered weakly. Deanna thought he sounded tired.
“Is that it? You’re throwing in the towel? By God, I’ll run this company by myself if need be.”
“George, relax. Things aren’t so dire. I’m sure we can convince Lord David to honor our agreement.”
“He’d better. Where is he? I’ll invite him to New York and show him around myself.”
“He and Charles have gone out. Let me handle it. You’re needed in Manhattan to keep an eye on R and W business. Not play tour guide.”
“I thought this was a done deal. If he’s reneging, we’ll have to look elsewhere and quickly.”
“No, no, he isn’t. I just—just—” Mr. Woodruff’s voice broke off.
“If you’re not up to taking him to see the factories, at least have Joseph show him through his warehouse. He’ll be impressed by the efficiency of these new machines.”
“I think—”
“Francis. We’re depending on this deal. At your insistence, I might add. Just do what you promised to do.”
Deanna stepped back. Her father sounded so angry. What had Mr. Woodruff not done?
The door flew open. Her father came out and stopped mid-stride. “Deanna?” He made a visible effort to calm himself.
“I just wanted to say good-bye.”
“Well, yes, my dear. I was just going. Your mother or I will try to get back for next weekend. Have a pleasant stay.” He kissed her forehead, nodded at Cassie, and strode off down the hall.
Deanna could see Mr. Woodruff sitting slumped over in a leather club chair, his face in his hands. She pulled Cassie away, afraid that she, too, had seen her father’s despair.
“Deanna,” her father called from the front door.
“Yes, Papa?” She walked to where he was waiting.
He pulled her aside, away from Neville who stood by the door. “Remember, if anything upsets you or if you decide you’d rather not stay here, go to Gwen Ballard. I know you and Joe have had some difficulties, but you can trust him to take care of you.”
“I understand, Papa, but I’ll be happy staying here.” And she didn’t need Joe to take care of her. She could take care of herself.
“Just remember what I say.” He kissed her again and went out the door Neville held open.
Perplexed, Deanna climbed the stairs.
“What did he want?” Cassie asked.
“Oh, just . . . final instructions. What do you think they were arguing about?” she asked Cassie.
Cassie rolled her eyes. “How should I know? They sounded upset, but isn’t that what they do all week, rant and rail about business and go to the club afterward?”
Deanna couldn’t imagine her father ranting and railing, though she’d just heard him angry. But maybe Cassie was right, and it was just normal business.
Elspeth was in the lavender room, where Deanna had spent several nights during her younger years. It was frilly and soft and had a balcony that looked out to the sea.
Her trunks were open, and Elspeth was carefully hanging her gowns in the huge lacquer wardrobe.
Cassie openly admired the new orange Paquin. “You change into something cooler and meet everyone downstairs for luncheon on the terrace.”
She bounced out of the room, the argument between their fathers and Orrin’s arrest forgotten. Deanna went over to the windows and looked out. It was sunny, a perfect day for a lawn party. Someone had placed the croquet wickets in the grass ready for a game. It was hard to believe that, farther out on the rocks below, Daisy had met her death.
Deanna was still unsettled about what her father had said. Why should she feel uncomfortable here? Did he think she’d be afraid of living in a house where a servant had been killed?
Elspeth began undoing the buttons of Deanna’s morning dress. “I wonder, miss . . .”
“Yes, Elspeth?”
“I told the housekeeper I was to fetch Daisy’s things and bring them home. She said they were still in her room, since they hadn’t had time to clean it out what with all the guests and things. She said I might collect them this afternoon if you don’t need me.”
“You may. But you’ll have to wait for me.”
“To do what, miss?”
“Well, didn’t you say we might find a clue among her things?”
“We?”
“Yes, Elspeth. You must wait until later this afternoon when all the maids will be busy. I’ll slip away from the others and meet you here.”
“You, miss?”
“Absolutely. Do you think I would let you search alone? I’m going with you.”
Chapter
9
Joe turned away from the Randolph home. He was too late; the family was gone, and Dickerson informed him that Deanna was staying with Cassie Woodruff. Joe had thought he could depend on Mrs. Randolph, that her extreme propriety would never allow Deanna to stay behind, especially not with the Woodruffs. He’d been wrong.
He decided to walk to Seacrest. He probably should have borro
wed one of the Ballard family carriages and arrived in style. But he’d only planned to make the one stop to assure himself that the entire Randolph family was gone and out of harm’s way. Just as he reached Bellevue Avenue, a carriage traveling in the opposite direction stopped in the street. Joe recognized the Randolph’s brougham.
George Randolph hailed Joe over.
“Are you in a hurry, my boy? There’s something I want to discuss with you.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Hop in and accompany me home.”
Joe climbed in the carriage and the coachman drove on. They didn’t speak until they were back at Randolph House and safely ensconced in George Randolph’s library with glasses of whiskey.
Mr. Randolph invited him to sit in one of the two wingback chairs that faced the unlit fireplace.
“Did you want to discuss business, sir? I know my father has been concerned about the finances.”
“Business . . . among other things.”
Joe nodded and waited for the older man to enlighten him.
“Have you had commerce with your father lately?”
“Some. Actually, I received a telegram two days ago asking me to be his envoy to the Woodruffs’ dinner before their ball. He thought I might take the measure of Lord David.”
“And did you?”
Joe shrugged. “Typical of other men I’ve met who were sent off to the colonies to make good. He seems to have parlayed the family’s business into a good position. But the man himself . . .”
He hesitated, careful to keep his emotions out of his analysis. He had to admit that he hadn’t watched Lord David waltz with Deanna without feeling a modicum of jealousy.
“The man?” Mr. Randolph prodded.
“Well, it was dinner and I was careful not to overtly bring up business, but I did get a chance to talk to him over port. He didn’t seem very interested in discussing sugar.”
Randolph chuckled. “One of these effete Englishmen who sit back and let their foreman keep the land productive?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. But I think something else worries you, sir.”
“Yes, actually. Your father and I have been concerned for a while about Francis’s participation. Can I be assured that this will go no further than here?”
Joe nodded.
“The negotiations with Lord David seem to have stalled. The last telegram we received from him, he’d agreed to our terms. We sent Francis down to seal the deal. Now Francis is being cagey about exactly what he promised Lord David and how much Lord David has agreed to.”
“So he hasn’t signed the contract with R and W.”
“It appears he’s asking for more money up front.”
“Appears, sir?”
“Since I haven’t so far had access to him; whenever I tried, he wasn’t at home. I don’t know how well you are acquainted with Woodruff.”
“Only through my father.”
“Let’s not tiptoe around this; I need to leave on the overnight ferry. And I probably won’t be back for the weekend. There’s work that cannot wait.” He leaned forward, almost as if he were telling a secret. “Francis Woodruff is a spendthrift, a gambler, and a philanderer.”
Joe nearly choked on his whiskey.
“Do I sound harsh? Well, so be it. He usually keeps himself in check, but recently I’ve been hearing about losses at the track. Extended parties on his yacht. Card games way beyond what he can afford. This is not the first time it has happened.
“Your father and I agreed that sending him down to Barbados might break the escalation and get him back on an even keel. We didn’t want to do it, but we both needed to be here in order to keep one step ahead of the damn Sugar Trust.
“Now I’m afraid we may have made a mistake. As soon as we get Lord David to our offices, we’ll push for him to sign. But so far Woodruff has kept the man’s social calendar filled to excess, and I can’t stay any longer.
“I know that I can say for your father that we’d greatly appreciate it if you would keep an eye out for exactly what’s happening here.”
“I will,” Joe said. “But what about Charles?”
“He’s promised to bring Lord David to the city if his father doesn’t rally in the next day or two. Though, if you ask me, Francis is just avoiding the situation. But you can’t ask a son to spy on his own father.”
“I see,” Joe said. And he did. Mr. Randolph wanted him to spy.
“I knew you would, my boy. And there’s one other thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if Francis . . . makes use of the young female staff.”
“You don’t think he was involved with Daisy?”
“I don’t want to. But Eleanor has had to dismiss servants before. I’m sure Deanna will be perfectly safe in that regard. He wouldn’t dare stoop to molesting any young woman of his class. I don’t like her staying there, but I also didn’t want her at the mercy of her mother in Boston.”
“Would you rather have Deanna stay with my grandmother?”
“Jeannette dislikes Eleanor Woodruff, but I think she’s afraid that once your grandmother got entrée to Deanna, there would be no restraining her.” He smiled ruefully.
“I believe you are right, sir. I’ll try to keep an eye on that situation as well.”
“I knew I could count on you. Can I drop you somewhere on my way to the terminal?”
“Actually, I was on my way to Seacrest when you stopped me. If you wouldn’t mind dropping me at the gate.”
Joe took a moment to straighten his tie and adjust his hat, then he strode up the drive to Seacrest. It always felt to Joe as if he were walking into a marble wedding cake.
Of course even Seacrest had been eclipsed with the unveiling the week before of The Breakers, the Vanderbilts’ massive new cottage. Grandmère had been invited to dinner, one of a select few who were granted the privilege of visiting before the ball that would officially open the mansion.
“Glorious excess,” she’d said when asked about the interior. “It gave me the headache.”
Well, Joe thought. If the The Breakers was glorious excess, Seacrest was merely excess, and not a very glorious one.
Neville opened the door and bowed with barely a trace of the condescension he saved for those who had fallen out of favor. And Joe had certainly fallen by moving to the lower-class Fifth Ward and by deciding to work for a living. He had to consciously not hide his fingernails from the supercilious butler. He could never remove the dredges of machine grease completely from his skin.
“How are you today, Neville?”
“Quite well, sir. Mr. Woodruff is not receiving visitors. He hasn’t been well.”
“I am sorry to hear that. Please give him my wishes for a speedy recovery. Actually, I came to see Lord David to extend an invitation to visit the warehouse this week.”
“He and Mr. Charles are in the garden with the ladies.”
Neville turned just as a voice from above them called out.
“Well, if that isn’t Joseph Ballard!” Eleanor Woodruff stood on the landing above them waving her handkerchief like a passenger on an ocean liner.
Joe made a slight bow.
“The young people are out on the terrace. Neville, take Mr. Ballard back and get him something to drink. I’ll leave you to it. Wouldn’t do to be caught hovering like a nervous mama.” She laughed and, with a final wave of her handkerchief, disappeared down the corridor.
“This way, sir.”
Joe followed Neville through the house to the back terrace. He had to hand it to the Woodruffs. The house might be an architect’s nightmare, but the view was spectacular—almost as spectacular as the view at Bonheur.
Charles, Lord David, Lady Madeline, and Herbert Stanhope were playing croquet on the lawn. Cassie was lounging in a chair with her feet on a footstool and glancing through the pages of a magaz
ine while Vlady Howe serenaded her on an out-of-tune ukulele.
Deanna was sitting some yards away, in the shade of a tree, sketching in her drawing notebook. She was surrounded by bushes of blue hydrangeas and looked like a painting herself.
“Joe,” Cassie said in a squeak. “We didn’t expect you.”
And probably wished him anywhere but here.
Deanna looked up at the sound of his name, scowled as only Deanna could scowl, and went back to her drawing.
A cry of victory went up from the croquet match, and the players came back to the terrace, where they immediately headed for the pitcher of lemonade that was set in a bowl of ice.
“Hello, Ballard,” Lord David said. “Thought you would go back to New York City with the other men of industry.”
“Actually I came to invite you and Charles to a tour of my workshop. Since you’ve had to postpone the tour of our refinery, I thought you might be interested in viewing the modern advancements of refinery machinery.”
He glanced at Herbert, who was handing Lady Madeline a glass of lemonade and seemed totally uninterested in what Joe was saying. Herbert was a decent man as far as Joe knew, but he was also a Havemeyer, if only by marrriage, and not to be let in on any confidences.
Lord David smiled slowly. “But of course. Capital idea. I’m beginning to feel quite the man of leisure.”
“Shall we say tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? What say you, Charles?”
“Sorry? I wasn’t attending.”
Too busy attending to Lady Madeline, Joe thought.
“Ballard has invited us to tour his factory.”
“But of course.”
Madeline Manchester, flushed with exercise and sheer good looks, cried, “Oh, don’t pull them away to work! We’re having a glorious time in your beautiful city.”
Joe smiled, but he’d noticed Deanna close her sketchbook and walk toward the water instead of coming to welcome him. Well, what did he expect? She suspected him of murder. It stood to reason that she would avoid him. He glanced around the group; fortunately, it didn’t appear that she’d shared her suspicions with the others, at least not yet.
“Far be it for me to take away your pleasure,” Joe said gallantly. Deanna was almost to the cliff walk. Damn. Where did she think she was going?
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