A Scandal in Newport

by Pamela Sherwood

  Laura gently disengaged herself from her husband’s arm. “Thank you, Elvira, but that’s something I should do. Keeping busy will… do me good.”

  “Very well, my dear,” her friend conceded, “but I hope you will allow me to help.”

  Laura managed a smile. “Of course. And thank you again for staying with me last night. I don’t know how I would have coped without you.” She turned to her husband. “You, Andrew, and Thomas should go wash and change now—you’ll feel much better, afterwards.”

  “Good advice, my dear.” Adam clasped her hand briefly. “As always.”

  Amelia had always maintained that her parents’ marriage was one of temperate affection, rather than romantic passion, but witnessing the exchange between them, Thomas realized the strength of their bond, forged by years of companionship and shared experiences. He only hoped that one day he and Amelia would attain that same degree of wordless understanding—and pushed down the lingering dread that they might be deprived of their chance.

  Baths and fresh clothes did, in fact, help, and by the time he and the other men came back downstairs, the food was ready. At Mrs. Newbold’s insistence, Mrs. Russell left to return to her own family, though she made Laura promise to send for her if she needed anything.

  They sat in the parlor, eating and drinking in stoic silence. Mechanically, Thomas consumed sandwiches and strong black coffee, though the taste of both scarcely registered. He tried not to wonder if Amelia was being fed, though common sense told him that the kidnappers would not starve their “golden goose.” Now and then an unexpected sound would have one or all of them starting up, straining their ears to hear more. Mr. Newbold finally insisted that his wife go up and lie down, promising to let her know the moment they received any news.

  The knock did not come until evening, and for a moment, Thomas—half-dozing in a chair by the window—wondered if he’d dreamed it. But Mr. Newbold, who’d been sitting on the sofa with his eyes closed, leaning his head on his hand, started up as though galvanized and all but ran from the room. Thomas rose stiffly and followed, Andrew at his heels. They caught up with Adam in the entrance hall.

  “I saw no one, unfortunately,” he reported curtly, in answer to their unspoken question. “When I opened the door, this was lying on the mat.”

  He held up a sealed envelope, on which his name had been printed in capital letters. Nothing distinctive about either the hand or the envelope itself, except that the latter bulged slightly at one corner. Breaking the seal, Adam reached into the envelope—and froze with his fingers still inside of it, his face losing its remaining color.

  “Father!” Andrew exclaimed sharply, but it was not his son’s gaze that Adam sought.

  With mounting dread, Thomas watched as his future father-in-law slowly withdrew his hand. Held between his thumb and forefinger, a ring caught the light: a yellow diamond shining like a sun between the horns of a crescent moon…

  He could feel his blood turning to ice, thought he could hear every molecule freezing, and Mr. Newbold’s voice was a distant hum in his ears. “I’m so sorry, son.”

  Unable to reply, barely able even to acknowledge the older man’s words, Thomas took the ring, his own hand closing around it, so tightly that the sun, the moon, and the stars pressed hard into his palm.

  The ransom note was enclosed as well, demanding an amount that nearly took Thomas’s breath away, but neither of the Newbold men blinked, though Adam’s expression grew grimmer. And Andrew, the last to hear of the kidnappings in New York, flushed with fury on reading the stipulation about not contacting the police: the same condition that had effectively tied the hands of the Carrs, the Livingstons, and the Van Allens.

  “What about hiring a Pinkerton?” he urged. “Or some other private detective?”

  “Not a bad thought,” his father acknowledged, “and it may yet come to that, but right now, our first priority must be to get your sister back.” He glanced at the note in his hand. “It will take time to get that sum of money together, and it’s too late to contact my banker tonight. But I’ll telephone him tomorrow morning, explain what’s happened.”

  “Sir.” Thomas barely recognized the raspy scrape of his own voice. “I am not a wealthy man myself, but everything I have is at your disposal. And my family would be more than willing to help, if asked—my uncle is the Duke of Harford.”

  Mr. Newbold’s eyes warmed fractionally. “That is kind of you, Thomas, but I can meet the ransom demand easily enough.” He set a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Thank you for offering, though. Amy clearly knew what she was doing, when she chose you.”

  Thomas swallowed hard, more moved than he could say by that simple commendation.

  “Can’t anyone stop these men?” Andrew demanded. “After we get Amy back, what’s to prevent them from doing this again, and again?”

  “They have our hands tied, son,” Mr. Newbold pointed out wearily. “They know the girls’ families would give whole fortunes to have them back. Money is nothing compared to the life of your child.”

  After a moment, Andrew nodded tightly. “Will you tell Mother now?”

  “Only if she’s awake. Otherwise… it can wait until morning.” Adam’s hand clenched about the note. “Bad news can always wait. In the meantime,” he added, “you and Thomas should try to get some sleep yourselves. We’ll all need our wits about us tomorrow.”

  The idea of sleep seemed ludicrous under the circumstances, but neither Thomas nor Andrew could deny the merit of Adam’s suggestion. In weary silence, they climbed the stairs and retired to their respective rooms.

  Thomas lay awake for a long time, however, staring into the darkness—at the ring glittering on his bedside table. Even after he closed his eyes, he could still see it, along with Amelia’s expression of wondering delight when he slid it onto her finger. And when he finally slept, the sound of her laughter wove through his uneasy dreams.

  Everyone looked pale and heavy-eyed the next morning, and breakfast was consumed in grim silence. Afterwards, Adam disappeared into his study to place a telephone call to his banker about the ransom. Laura and Andrew both insisted on being present for the conversation, leaving Thomas to deal with any visitors—or further communications from the kidnappers.

  A knock at the front door had him springing up from the sofa to answer it. He stopped short at the sight of Geneva Livingston standing on the porch, her little spaniel in her arms.

  Her expression registered surprise at the sight of him, but she recovered quickly. “Mr. Sheridan. May I come in?”

  Thomas stared at her stupidly for a moment, unable to understand why she had come. Then, like a load of bricks, it dropped on him.

  “Of course, Miss Livingston,” he said, stepping aside to admit her.

  “I heard—about what happened to Amy,” she began, a touch breathlessly. “And I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am! I came to see if there was any way I could help.”

  Her face was pale—this must bring back terrible memories for her—but her expression was as fiercely determined as…Thomas’s heart contracted… as Amelia’s had so often been. “Thank you—that’s very kind of you.”

  Geneva followed him into the parlor and sat down on the sofa, with her spaniel on her knee; despite his worry over Amelia, Thomas experienced a faint twinge of amusement at the little dog’s perfect deportment. “Are Mr. and Mrs. Newbold here?”

  “They’re in the study right now. The ransom demand came last night.”

  Her lips compressed. “I imagine the kidnappers want some outrageous amount?”

  “It appeared so to me, though Mr. Newbold assures me that he has the resources to meet their demand. And even if he didn’t… he’d still move heaven and earth to get her back.” As any loving father would for his child.

  Geneva’s blue eyes met his own steadily. “I know exactly what Amy is going through right now, but trust me, Mr. Sheridan, she’s safe enough. The kidnappers won’t harm a hair on her head because they want that r
ansom and they stand no chance of getting it otherwise.”

  Sighing, Thomas raked a hand through his hair. “I know. I just wish there was something I could do, personally. This endless… waiting is driving me mad.”

  “I understand completely. And I have an idea.” At his inquiring glance, she continued, “I didn’t attend the masquerade myself, but I thought we could call on Sally Vandermere. She was the last to see Amy before the abduction—she might be able to tell us more.”

  Thomas blew out a breath. “Miss Livingston, not only was she the last to see Amelia—she was the intended victim!”

  Her eyes widened. “I hadn’t heard that! All the more reason we should speak with her! I tried to see her yesterday, but according to her parents, she’d been sedated and was sleeping heavily. But if she’s awake this morning, then she might be willing to see us.”

  “Do you think she’s likely to tell us anything she hasn’t already told the police?”

  “Maybe. Sometimes, it’s easier to remember things after you’ve had a chance to calm down and collect yourself. Under the circumstances, I should think Sally would want to help Amy in any way possible. And if you or any of the Newbolds accompanied me,” she added, “it might be a salutary reminder of what Sally owes to her!”

  Thomas felt his lips twitch in the shadow of a smile. “As strategies go, Miss Livingston, that has much to recommend it.”

  “Well, Amy is my friend, and I too would do anything to help her,” Geneva declared staunchly. She gathered her spaniel in her arms and stood up. “I’ve come in my carriage, Mr. Sheridan. We can ride to the Vandermeres’ together.”

  “Let me leave a message for the Newbolds first, and then I’ll gladly accompany you.”

  During the drive to Bayview, the Vandermeres’ summer cottage, Geneva tersely related the details of her own kidnapping in New York. From everything that Thomas had gathered about Amelia’s abduction, the details were all too similar. The kidnappers appeared to be familiar with their victims’ habits and had accosted them when they were apart from others.

  “The papers were all over the story last winter,” Geneva told him. “Three heiresses kidnapped and held for ransom within weeks of each other. We had reporters practically camped on our doorsteps wanting to know all the grisly details. How we were taken, what was done to us in captivity, every penny that our fathers paid to get us back… they’d even badger the servants for answers. Papa had to threaten to call the police before they’d leave.” Her hands twisted in Clementine’s lead. “That’s something to be grateful for—the press hasn’t gotten involved yet.”

  Thomas grimaced. “They might still descend upon us, once word gets out about this latest kidnapping. There are newspapers here as well.”

  “The Daily News is the only one worth bothering about, and so far, it’s kept its distance.”

  “That gives it points over most London rags.” He doubted that any American reporters could be as obnoxious or persistent as the ones employed by Fleet Street. “Did the papers offer any useful information at the time, or just noise?”

  “The latter, mostly. The police told my father that they’d observed a pattern among the kidnappings, but there wasn’t enough evidence to make an arrest or even to name a prime suspect. Maybe Sally can provide a missing piece or two.”

  “Is it absolutely certain that we’re dealing with the same blackguards?”

  “It seems the most likely possibility, from what I’ve heard.” She shivered. “And it’s almost too awful to imagine that there might be two such gangs out there!”

  Thomas rubbed his forehead. “Forgive me, Miss Livingston—I don’t wish to cause you further alarm. And in all likelihood, you’re right, though these men must be desperate indeed to start up again here, where they won’t have the same resources they would in the city.”

  “No, they wouldn’t, would they?” she said, much struck by this. “Not the same resources, and a much smaller territory! So, wherever they’re keeping Amy, it must still be on the island!’

  “That thought had occurred to me as well. And I’m quite prepared to turn Newport upside-down to find her—though I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “Let’s hope it won’t come to that. But if it does, I would be more than willing to assist you—and so would the rest of the Livingstons!”

  The carriage came to a stop at last before another grand Newport mansion. Thomas climbed out first, then helped Geneva and Clemmie descend. Man, woman, and dog made their way up the walk and knocked on the front door.

  The Vandermeres’ butler admitted them and escorted them into the family parlor, where

  Mrs. Vandermere, a well-groomed matron who strongly resembled her daughter, received them with guarded courtesy. She balked, however, when Geneva asked if they might speak to Sally.

  “My daughter has been through a dreadful ordeal,” she began.

  “Mrs. Vandermere, I know exactly what Sally went through that night,” Geneva said, meeting the older woman’s eyes squarely. “And what Amy is going through now. That’s why Mr. Sheridan and I have come here today—please help us to help her.”

  Mrs. Vandermere hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. “This whole family owes Amy Newbold a debt. I’ll see if Sally’s awake and up to receiving you.”

  “Well done,” Thomas told Geneva in a low voice, once Mrs. Vandermere had left the room. “I doubt I could have made that appeal so effectively.”

  She fiddled with her spaniel’s lead, fondled the dog’s velvety ears. “Sally and I aren’t close, but the Vandermeres and Livingstons have known each other for years, socially. We’re both—older New York families. That creates something of a bond between us.”

  A bond that Amelia’s family didn’t share, Thomas remembered. All the more reason to appreciate the Livingstons’ genuine liking for the Newbolds. “I can see how it would,” he remarked. “And I’m prepared to follow your lead in this situation.”

  “Thank you,” she acknowledged with a faint smile. “Though I promise you’ll have the chance to express your concerns about Amy as well.”

  Some minutes later, Sally entered the parlor. The usually vivacious girl appeared subdued and wan, her face pale and her eyes puffy and red-rimmed. “Geneva. M-Mr. Sheridan. How good of you to call.”

  Despite her words, her tone was as listless as the hand she extended to them. Geneva, however, embraced her lightly. “Dear Sally!” she exclaimed warmly. “I was so sorry to hear about what happened. Are you all right?”

  “A little better now, thank you.” Sally sank down onto a chair opposite the sofa Thomas and Geneva had been sharing. “Has—has there been any news yet, about Amy?”

  Geneva glanced at Thomas, who picked up his cue. “A ransom note was delivered last night, Miss Vandermere,” he informed her.

  Sally’s eyes widened. “A ransom note? Have you contacted the police, Mr. Sheridan?”

  He shook his head as he held her gaze. “The kidnappers have made that a condition of Amelia’s safe return. No police.”

  “The same condition applied for me, last winter,” Geneva added.

  Sally bit her lip. “I’m—so sorry that I didn’t visit you then, Geneva. I thought about it… but I just didn’t know what to say.”

  “I understand, dear,” Geneva said gently. “And your family did send flowers and good wishes, once I was safe at home again. But you would be helping me—and Mr. Sheridan—enormously now, if you could tell us more about what happened that night.”

  Sally’s gaze dropped. “I’ve already told the police all that I could remember.”

  “Yes, but sometimes we can remember more, when we’re calmer,” Geneva pointed out. “That’s how it was with me, anyway.”

  “Please, Miss Vandermere,” Thomas interposed. “Anything you have to tell us, however minor, might help to bring my fiancée home sooner.” He emphasized the phrase “my fiancée” slightly, and Sally looked up again, quick sympathy in her eyes.

  “Of course,�
�� she said at once. “I’ll help in any way I can, Mr. Sheridan! I haven’t forgotten what I owe to Amy!” She paused, then continued a little tentatively. “That night… I left the ballroom to—to get some fresh air. I was in the garden, standing by the fountain, when I heard someone shouting my name, telling me to run… and that’s when I saw them. Two big men in black coming towards me.” She shivered, her hands clenching in her lap. “They must have been hiding behind the hedges, lying in wait.”

  Geneva had paled a bit herself, Thomas noticed. But she managed to retain her composure, though her spaniel whined softly and nuzzled her wrist for comfort. “Did you happen to see their faces?”

  “No, they wore something over their heads. One of them was carrying a rope, I think. For a moment, when I saw them, I was… paralyzed. I couldn’t move! Then I saw Amy running towards the kidnappers, shouting at me to run, and this time, I did.” She swallowed. “I didn’t stop until I was back in the ballroom, and that’s when I realized that Amy hadn’t followed me! That they must have taken her instead! I told everyone what had happened, and they ran out into the garden. But the kidnappers were gone—with Amy!” Tears sprang to her eyes. “She saved me, but I couldn’t save her, and I’m so sorry, Mr. Sheridan!”

  Thomas pushed down a rush of fear and fury. “Thank you for telling us, Miss Vandermere.” The words came out hoarse and strained. “And thank you for raising the alarm.”

  She wiped her eyes. “I just wish I could have done more.”

  “Sally,” Geneva spoke up again, “when you were in the garden, did you happen to see anyone else? Besides the kidnappers, I mean.”

  Sally shook her head, pleating a fold of her dress between her fingers. “No. I told you—I was alone.”

  The slight emphasis on her last word had Thomas regarding her more closely. A case of the lady protesting too much? Meanwhile, Geneva had not taken her gaze from the other girl.

  “Was there anyone you were expecting to see?” she pressed.