“You own the Tivoli Opera House?” I heard Reginald Tremaine say as I drew closer. “But I don't understand why you're here. We have informed our daughter that a career on the stage is out of the question. I'm afraid you have wasted your time coming here this evening, Mr. Kreling.”
“Come now, Mr. Tremaine,” Kreling said, turning on considerable charm. The young man wasn't tall or particularly imposing, but I could see why he had achieved so much success in his brief twenty-six years. He had the sort of face people naturally trusted, along with more than his fair share of charisma. His brown eyes were focused and sparkled with sincerity. Despite her objections to Melody's pursuing a career, it was obvious that Faith Tremaine was taken with the young man.
“I can see where Miss Tremaine gets her beauty,” Kreling said, giving the woman an admiring smile. “But surely you must be her sister. You look far too young to be the girl's mother.”
Faith blushed prettily. “Actually, I am her stepmother, Mr. Kreling. But she is as close to my heart as is my own daughter.” She actually fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I married quite young, you see, but I have raised Melody since she was a small child.”
“Then you are much to be commended, my dear lady,” Kreling said. “Not every bride would dedicate herself so selflessly to the care of a stepchild.”
“Stepchildren,” Faith corrected, with a coquettish smile. “Melody has a twin brother, David.”
“Does she?” Kreling fawned. “Then you are truly to be admired as a gem among women.”
I could stomach no more of this twaddle. With many apologies and a contrived smile, I made my way more briskly through the crowd of guests. When I finally reached the piano, however, Melody was nowhere in sight.
Standing on tiptoes, I surveyed the room, but could see no sign of the girl. Nor, I thought with growing unease, could I see Gerald Knight! Spying Eddie coming through the parlor with a tray of coffee, I beckoned him over.
“Have you seen the young lady who was just singing and playing the piano?” I asked him.
“No, but I wish I had,” he answered with awestruck eyes. “She's a real looker, ain't she?”
“She's a very attractive young lady,” I agreed. “Please tell me at once if you should see her.”
“I'll do that, Miss Sarah,” the boy said cheerfully.
“Oh, and Eddie,” I said as he turned to leave. “When you get a chance, pull up your trousers. They're sagging.”
“Did you speak to her?” Samuel asked as I left the parlor.
“No. She was talking with Gerald Knight, but they left the room before I could reach her.”
“Where did they go?”
“I wish I knew.” I could not hide my concern, and I was certain from my brother's expression that he was equally worried. “Eddie hasn't seen her, either.”
“I caught a glimpse of Kreling doing his utmost to charm her parents,” Samuel observed. “Mrs. Tremaine appears quite impressed by the man.”
“I noticed,” I said. “But I doubt if anything he says will change their minds.”
“You don't suppose Knight took her off somewhere?” he said with fresh concern. “Surely she wouldn't leave the house with a strange man.”
“I should hope not,” I said, but had to repress a shiver of fear. In her present state of mind I had no idea what the girl might or might not do.
“Then where is she? Have you seen David? He's usually hovering about somewhere near his sister.”
“If he's with Melody, then I'm sure she's safe,” I said, taking comfort in this thought. “He would never allow anyone to harm her.”
We were still standing there, trying to decide where to search next, when Pierce and Robert joined us.
“I wish now that I had taken what you said about Knight more seriously, Sarah.” Pierce appeared more worried than I'd seen him. “I'm beginning to regret that I ever hatched up this little scheme. If I've placed that poor girl in danger I'll never forgive myself.”
“She's seventeen,” said Samuel unexpectedly.
“What?” Pierce and I asked in unison.
“Wasn't that Brielle Bouchard's age when she became Knight's mistress?” my brother asked.
“Dear God, yes,” I replied, panic rising in my throat. “Come, let's spread out and look for her.”
Samuel headed toward the front door, obviously to ensure that the girl really was too smart to leave the house with a strange man. Pierce entered the dining room and Robert went to check the parlor again, as well as the sitting room.
For my part, I went to the kitchen to see if any of the servants had seen the girl. Although it was mid-December, the room was still uncommonly hot, due to all the preparation for tonight's party. I found Cook sitting on a straight-backed chair fanning herself with a copy of yesterday's newspaper.
“Mrs. Polin, I was wondering if you, or any of the staff, have seen a very pretty young girl wearing a dark pink dress?”
“You mean the poor little thing who came running through here crying her eyes out?” Mrs. Polin nodded toward the door leading out to the back porch. “Far as I know, she's still out there. Probably still crying, too. She looked that upset.”
I crossed the kitchen and went out onto the porch. Heedless of her gown, Melody was sitting on the top step leading down to the garden sobbing into her hands. I sat down beside her.
“What is it, Melody?” I asked softly.
She shook her head, trying to control her tears, then looked up from her hands. “Mr. Knight. He—” She hiccupped. “He wants me to go against my father's wishes and appear on the stage. He—he said he would take care of me, that I need never again worry about my future. Then he—” She drew a ragged breath and wiped at her tears with a lacy white handkerchief.
“He what, Melody? What did Mr. Knight do to you?”
“I hardly know how to tell you, Miss Woolson. It was so unexpected, and vulgar. One minute we were talking quietly, then suddenly he—he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.”
“Dear Lord,” I exclaimed.
“I'm afraid that is not all,” she went on, lowering her face in obvious embarrassment. “He—Oh, Miss Woolson, then he placed one of his hands on my—my bosom!” Once again she began crying. “I—I thought he was a gentleman.”
“Gerald Knight is no gentleman, my dear,” I told her through gritted teeth. “Indeed, he is far from it.” I put an arm around the girl's shaking shoulders. “If you are ever unfortunate enough to encounter that man again, you must ensure that you are not left alone with him.”
“I never want to see him again,” the girl said through her tears.
“I sincerely hope you never do.”
I heard the sound of running footsteps, and a moment later the back door flew open and Eddie bolted outside.
“Come quick, Miss Sarah,” he shouted. “There's a man hurt. His head's cut plum open and there's blood all over the place.”
I jumped up from my seat on the stairs. “Melody, you stay here,” I told her. “Take me to the injured man, Eddie. Quickly!”
“I heard a god-awful ruckus comin' from that room over there,” he threw over his shoulder as he ran. “I looked in to see what was goin' on, and I seen this gent lyin' on the floor with his head bashed in.”
The room he was referring to turned out to be the library. Opening the door, I spied Gerald Knight sprawled on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Papa's bronze bust of Abraham Lincoln was lying on its side by his crushed head.
I was so shocked by the sight of the newspaperman, that it was a moment or two before I saw Major Tremaine kneeling beside Knight's prone figure. His hands and suit trousers were covered in blood.
“Major, what has happened?” I started to kneel down beside the elderly man, but he held up a hand to stop me.
“There is nothing you can do for him, Miss Woolson,” he said somberly, his face nearly as white as the man lying before him. “He is beyond human help.”
“But—how did it—?”
>
“It was an accident,” he told me, placing a hand on a nearby chair to aid him in rising to his feet. I noticed, as if in a dream, the bloody handprint he left on the chair cushion. “I came in here several minutes ago to find this man fondling my granddaughter. When I pushed him away from her, he crashed against the fireplace and the bronze bust fell onto his head.”
My eyes went to the mantel, which was at least a foot lower than Knight's six feet plus height. I vaguely realized that I must be in some kind of shock, yet I could not visualize how such an accident might occur. Even if by some chance the bust had fallen on Knight, it most likely would have hit his shoulder, not his head. And never with the force necessary to inflict the kind of damage he had sustained.
I turned back to the door to find Eddie staring at the body with a mixture of alarm and fascination.
“Eddie, get my brother Charles,” I told him. “And tell him to bring his medical bag. Hurry, please!”
With some effort the boy tore his eyes off the body, then turned and fled, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Major,” I said, regarding the elderly man steadily. “Tell me the truth. What really happened here? Gerald Knight surely did not meet his death the way you described it.”
“My head!” cried a voice from behind the Major. “Oh, God, my head.”
I looked across the room and for the first time realized that someone was standing where the spill of light from the overhead gasolier did not quite reach. It was young David Tremaine.
“David,” I called out. “What's the matter? Are you suffering one of your sick headaches?”
“Leave him be,” the Major said rather sharply. “I am bringing him home and will see that he takes his medicine. It's the only way he'll obtain relief.”
“Wait,” I said, as he moved to help the boy. “First you must tell me how Gerald Knight died. How he really died.”
“He was just like all the others,” David said, his face contorted in pain. “They all wanted to take Melody away from me. I—I couldn't let them.”
“David. Be quiet!” Major Tremaine commanded. “You are ill. You don't know what you're saying.”
I stared at the elderly man and his grandson, and suddenly I saw what I had been missing for the past two weeks. Everything seemed to shift in my mind, then neatly click into place. The mystery surrounding the three murders—four murders now—became tragically clear.
“You killed them, David,” I said quietly. “That was what Nigel Logan, Dieter Hume, and Patrick O'Hara had in common: All three men had been attracted to Melody. You feared they would convince her to leave you, and you could not allow that to happen.”
“It's always been Melody and me,” the boy cried, still holding his head. “Can't let anyone come between us.”
“You even murdered a man you admired,” I said. The words rushed from my lips, but my mind was still struggling to accept their truth. “It must have been very hard for you to kill Mr. Logan.”
“He was the first,” David said, his eyes becoming glassy with pain. “I liked Nigel. But—but I could see he was in love with Melody.”
“David, that is enough!” Major Tremaine had reached his grandson and was leading him toward the door. “I must take him home, Miss Woolson. The boy is unwell, you must see that.”
“I see everything now, Major Tremaine. I know how much you love the boy, but you cannot protect him. These senseless killings must stop.”
He stood still and looked at me. The despair written on his face was so heart-wrenching it robbed me of breath.
“Melody must never hear of this,” he said, his voice ragged. “It would kill her. She adores her brother. She can never know that, because of her, he took the lives of four men.”
His eyes burned into mine, pleading for me to understand. “I am the one who murdered those men, just as I killed Gerald Knight here in your library. That must be the story told to the police. Please, Miss Woolson, promise me that you will never tell anyone what—what really happened.”
He looked with great affection at his grandson, using his fingers to stroke the hair out of the boy's face. David seemed very small, almost like a child, wrapped in his grandfather's protective arms.
“I should have acted sooner,” the old man said. “Ever since the O'Hara boy's death I suspected that David might be involved in—” He choked, and I could see he was fighting back tears. “But I didn't—I couldn't believe it.” With an effort, he pulled himself together. “There will be no more murders, Miss Woolson, I promise you. Just, please, leave poor David out of it.”
I did not immediately answer. What he was asking me to do went against all my principles, as well as my integrity as an attorney. I was an officer of the court, sworn to uphold the law. And yet, was the truth more important than a young girl's life? I believed the old man when he promised there would be no more murders. Wasn't that the important thing? He was willing to irreparably tarnish a lifetime of distinguished service to his country in order to save his beloved grandchildren. What purpose would be achieved if I put the lie to this last sacrifice by a brave soldier?
I sighed, and my heart felt heavy in my chest. “Yes, Major, I agree. I will give you an hour.”
He smiled wanly at me as he reached the door. “Thank you, Miss Woolson. It is the right thing to do.”
Only moments after Major Tremaine led his grandson out of the room, Charles burst into the library, closely followed by Samuel, Robert, and Pierce. My mother came to the door, but was quietly turned away by my colleague.
“It is best if you don't come in, Mrs. Woolson,” the Scot told her. “There has been an accident. A man is dead.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” I heard her exclaim, but she did not press Robert to enter the library. “Who—who is it?”
“I don't believe he was invited,” Robert told her. “I doubt that you know him.”
“Heaven help us!” Mama's voice was thin and cracking in distress. “Whatever shall I tell my guests?”
“Tell them there has been an accident,” I said, going to her at the door. “It would probably be best if they didn't leave until the police arrive.”
Before I could close the door on my mother's retreating back, Papa entered the room.
“What has happened—? Oh, my God!” He stood just inside the library door, staring at the dead man on the floor. “Who is he? Is he—dead?”
“It's Gerald Knight,” Samuel answered. “He owns, owned, the Daily Journal.”
Papa looked at his youngest son in confusion, then turned his attention to me. “Gerald Knight? Isn't that the man you were telling me about, Sarah? The one who kept the girl on Pacific Avenue?”
I nodded.
“Well, what in tarnation is he doing here? I don't remember your mother inviting him. And how in God's name did he end up like that?”
“He wasn't invited,” I explained. “He accompanied Joseph Kreling, owner of the Tivoli Opera House.”
“Yes, I met Kreling after Miss Tremaine sang. I wasn't introduced to this fellow.”
“No, he left right after Melody finished performing,” I told him.
Before my father could question me further, my brother Charles rose to his feet. He was shaking his head. “He's gone. He must have died almost instantly.” He looked at me. “Sarah, do you know who did this?”
I attempted to remain as close to the truth as possible. “Major Tremaine was in the library when it happened. He claimed it was an accident.”
All four men looked at the bronze bust on the floor, then at me. “How in hell can this be an accident, Sarah?” Samuel asked. “Are you telling us Lincoln's bust flew off the mantel all on its own and attacked Knight? There is no way it simply fell on his head, unless he was crawling around on all fours beneath it.”
“I'm only relating what the Major said,” I told him, endeavoring to keep my face blank. “It's up to the police to determine if they believe him or not.”
“Sarah,” said Robert, “what are you hold
ing back? I know that look on your face all too well.”
“You're always telling me to leave these matters to the police,” I answered quietly. “Well, you should be happy, for that is exactly what I intend to do.”
After the police arrived and I had given them my statement, I threw on a shawl and slipped out of the house, making my way to the Tremaine home on Harrison Street and Rincon Place. Reginald and Faith, along with Melody and the rest of our guests, were still being questioned by George Lewis and a lieutenant who had been assigned to the case. I had not asked anyone to accompany me. In fact, I had told no one I was going out. My father and Samuel—and probably Robert and Pierce, as well—would have insisted on accompanying me. However, this was something I felt I must do on my own.
It was well after midnight when I knocked on the Tremaines' door. The twins' young brother and sister would have long since been put to bed, but surely at least one of the servants would still be awake. It was customary for a member of the household staff to stay up until the family returned after an evening out.
When I knocked a second time, the door was opened by a surprised-looking butler. “Yes, miss?” he said, obviously not sure what to say to a young woman who was out and about apparently on her own at that hour of night.
“I know it's very late,” I told the man, “but it is urgent that I see Major Tremaine. I believe he is expecting me.”
“If he is,” the butler said doubtfully, “he failed to inform me, miss. I suggest that you return tomorrow at a more civilized hour.”
I was sorely tempted to take the man's advice and allow circumstances to reveal themselves in their own time. But that would be cowardly. In my heart, I was sure I knew what the Major planned, and I could not bear to think of Melody or one of the younger children making the discovery. If I was wrong, my only sin would be disturbing an old man's sleep.
Having made up my mind, I rudely pushed my way past the butler and started up the stairs. The poor man was so shocked that it was several moments before he gathered his wits and followed upon my heel.
“Miss, you cannot barge in here like this,” he sputtered, hurrying up the stairs behind me. “Please leave this house at once!”
Scandal On Rincon Hill Page 33
