“What was that all about?” I murmured. Winty’s fishing—a diversion to distract from whatever those two men had tossed in the water?
I thought of asking Angus if he’d ever noticed Winty skulking about Rose Island before, but then I became aware of a sound I’d been hearing all along, that of my old neighbor whistling a gay tune as he sat staring into the water beside him. No, it was my guess that by design Angus noticed little during his jaunts on the harbor. He finally glanced up at me. “Ready to go home?”
I nodded and showed him a crooked, sheepish smile. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention this to anyone.”
“Mention what?” He appeared genuinely puzzled.
“Nothing. Thank you, Angus.”
He merely gripped the oars and set both shoulders to the task of turning us about and heading landward. Need I say I nearly had to bite my tongue to keep from asking him to head over to Rose Island instead, so I could see what Winty’s companions had tossed in the water.
A small voice inside me asked why it mattered, what business was it of mine what Winthrop Rutherfurd did? But his connection to my cousin made it my business.
Might Winthrop have been marking a spot for a later rendezvous to secrete Consuelo off Aquidneck Island, perhaps a signal for where a boat should put in? Her mother dreaded the idea of their eloping, but that would certainly save her daughter from her unwanted marriage to the Duke. Good heavens, it made sense. Why, even now she might be holed up in the lighthouse, awaiting her chance to escape. And Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were conveniently away.
I had to return to Rose Island, but now wasn’t the time, not in full sunlight when someone might see me. Later then, once darkness fell, I’d go alone. At night the Rose Light would shine its beams out across the water, deepening the shadows directly below it, shadows that would safely conceal me.
If Aunt Alice, or anyone in society for that matter, could have seen me later that night, the shock waves would have been felt from one end of New England to the other. Yet I thanked my deceased aunt Sadie once again as I pulled on her old work trousers, button-down shirt, boots, and corduroy workman’s coat. Aunt Sadie had always said a single woman—as she had been by choice—had work to do, and she’d be damned if she went about sowing her garden or mending the house shingles in petticoats and lace.
A tweed cap stuffed with my hair and pulled low over my brow completed my look for the evening. I even smeared a bit of coal dust across my chin to give the illusion of beard stubble should anyone peer too closely as I drove beneath a streetlamp. Satisfied, I turned away from my mirror.
“Well?”
From her perch at the foot of my bed, Nanny surveyed me with a pout. “It’s not a good idea, you know.”
“Yes, well, it’s been more than twenty-four hours and I still haven’t found Consuelo. If my suspicions are correct, I can’t let this opportunity slip away. Or she might slip away.”
“Then let Jesse handle it.”
“I can’t, Nanny. I promised Aunt Alva complete secrecy. Calling in the police is a last resort.” My promise, however, weighed heavily on me. What if Consuelo hadn’t run off voluntarily? What if . . . but I refused to entertain the notion that she’d come to harm.
“Send Brady,” Nanny suggested next.
“Have you lost your wits? Brady? Oh, he’s the soul of discretion, all right. No, Nanny, I have to go, and don’t you dare breathe a word to him about this. I promise I’ll be careful. One hint of danger and I’ll turn right around and row back to the harbor.”
“Someone might recognize you.”
I glanced again in the mirror. “I doubt that.”
“Someone might recognize Barney and the carriage.”
This made me pause and sent my bottom lip between my teeth. I’d been so engaged in making sure I’d be unidentifiable that I hadn’t given a thought to my means of transportation. I glanced at the clock; it read nine forty-five. “Well, it’s late. Most locals are either getting ready for bed or they’re sitting in a tavern already beginning to see double. It’s the social set that will be traveling the streets now and they aren’t likely to spare me a glance. Besides, at night Barney could be any brown horse and the rig any black carriage. It’s not as if there’s a shiny gold crest on the side panel proclaiming my identity.”
“And what if the McPaddens’ rowboat isn’t where you’re expecting it to be? For all we know, the thing rotted away years ago,” Nanny persisted. “What then? Are you going to swim out to Rose Island?”
I snapped my hands to my hips. “You’re making me regret ever telling you my plans. You know that, don’t you? If the McPaddens’ rowboat isn’t docked behind their house, I’ll find another. This is the Point we’re talking about. Every house on the water has a boat.”
“Why is this your obligation, Emma?” Nanny asked so quietly I had to prick my ears to hear her.
“I just told you. I promised Aunt Alva—”
“No, Emma. The question I’m asking isn’t what you promised, but why you made the promise. Why do you think it’s your responsibility to put yourself at risk to find Consuelo?”
“I . . .” I turned back to the mirror, gazing at the reflection of the young man I’d become. But that young man could barely bring himself to meet my gaze. He glanced away and found Nanny’s unwavering questions staring at him through the glass.
“Look at me, Emma.” She waited until I turned back around before continuing. “If you can’t tell me the answer, at least tell yourself.”
The tops of my leather work boots suddenly became fascinating, and I fell to studying them. I knew the answer to Nanny’s question, but in rushing around today to try to find some trace of Consuelo, I’d managed to avoid the truth.
I felt responsible—wholly responsible. I couldn’t help thinking that if I hadn’t betrayed her yesterday, if I hadn’t taken her mother’s side in trying to persuade her to see the sense in marrying the Duke of Marlborough, she might now be safely tucked away in her bedroom. I’d tried to believe my encouragement had been for the best, to help her face the unavoidable future bravely, but, oh, how my words must have singed Consuelo’s heart. That I, her older cousin, should take her mother’s side . . . should do anything other than fight for what she wanted . . . She’d trusted me, confided in me, and I had let her down completely. How devastated she must have been. How utterly bereft and alone.
“I have to do this, Nanny,” I whispered. “If anything happens to Consuelo, it’ll be my fault.”
Nanny shook her head, her expression as serious as I’d ever seen it. “No, Emma. It won’t be your fault. It might be her mother’s fault, or her father’s, or the fault of this man who wants to marry her for her money, or . . . and don’t turn away again . . . but Consuelo isn’t necessarily blameless in all of this either.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? If she did run off, shouldn’t she take responsibility for her own actions?”
“She’s a frightened girl, practically a child . . .”
Nanny’s eyebrow rose. “If you believe that, aren’t you treating her just like her mother does? Like a beautiful but empty-headed doll?”
Was I? An answer prodded, but it wasn’t one I liked to acknowledge. “Either way, I can’t simply forget all about what happened. I can’t go on with my everyday life with my cousin out there somewhere, missing and possibly traumatized.”
“No.” Nanny sighed and perused me with an assessing look. “I don’t suppose you can.”
She knew me far too well to continue arguing with me. I went to her and leaned down to deposit a kiss on her cheek. Her soft skin smelled of lavender and I breathed in the fragrance, the sense of comfort I’d known since my earliest days bolstering my determination. Unfortunately, being the source of my stubborn courage probably wasn’t what she’d had in mind.
“Don’t worry, Nanny dear. I’ll be careful, and I’ll be home before you know it. Promise.”
That only brought a frown. “And if you’re not?”
“Then send the cavalry.” Standing straight, I touched two fingers to my cap brim and headed for the door.
“I’ll do that,” she mumbled to my back.
Some twenty minutes later, I brought my rig to a stop at the end of Walnut Street, near the train tracks that separated the street from the cemetery beyond it. My old home sat a few dozen yards away. We rented out the first two floors and Brady, when not staying with me or working in New York with our relatives, occupied the garret apartment. Tonight the windows were dark but for a glow on the ground floor overlooking the back garden. I set the brake and slipped the straps of Barney’s feedbag over his head. That would keep him contented until my return. I didn’t worry for his safety or about the prospect of someone stealing the carriage. Such crimes occurred rarely on the island, for any thief would be caught long before he could make his getaway on the morning ferry.
With the unaccustomed sensation of trousers encasing my legs and producing a disconcerting woof-woof sound as I walked, I proceeded toward the harbor. There I discovered Nanny’s cautions were unfounded; the McPaddens’ rowboat appeared sound enough, drifting to the length of its twine from the short dock behind their house. All appeared quiet in the house. Noiselessly I made my way across the weathered planks, went down on one knee, and reached to tug the boat closer through the blackened water. Out in the bay the Rose Light burned brightly, a beacon to warn incoming ships away from the dangerous shoals near the shoreline.
A thwack of boots hitting the timbers behind me nearly sent me tumbling head over heels into the water. I’d barely caught my balance—and caught a splinter in my middle finger—when a stern voice sent my heartbeat careening.
“Emma Cross, you are incorrigible.”
For a brief moment eyes darker than the surrounding night held me immobile. My heart continued to thump, but no longer from fear; from a multitude of other emotions, however, desire and exasperation not the least among them.
“Derrick.” I released the boat line and pressed to my feet. “What in the devil’s name are you doing here?” I demanded, making a monumental effort not to allow my voice to rise above a whisper lest the McPaddens come to investigate. “You’re supposed to be back in Providence by now.”
“Am I, Emma?” He strode closer, taking care to muffle his footsteps now that his dramatic appearance had effectively captured my full attention. “And leave you to your own devices?”
“My de—” My chin hefted in the air of its own accord. “You’ve been spying on me, haven’t you?”
The scoundrel had the audacity to smile, the fog-tinged moonlight caressing his lips with a silver glint. At the sight of that now-familiar gesture a slight tremor went through me, and I pressed my own lips together. “My plans changed the moment I got wind of what happened at Marble House yesterday.” His gaze swept me up and down, and a chuckle blended with the light slap of the water against the seawall. “Oh, Emma, how predictable you are. Did you think I’d let you investigate another murder on your own?”
Predictable? Why—I opened my mouth to protest but quickly realized the futility of arguing the point, at least there on that little dock, with my errand waiting to be accomplished. However . . . “That shows how much you know, then. Because it so happens I am not investigating a murder.”
“Ah, then you’re dressed like a boy and stealing a boat . . . because you’re off to a costume ball on your uncle William’s yacht?” He reached out to graze my chin with his fingertips, then held them up so we could both see the coal dust smudging them.
“Borrowing, not stealing,” I said with a huff. “And it so happens I’m looking for someone, and I can assure you that someone is not a murderer.”
I expected a return quip; I did not expect Derrick to grip my shoulders and pull me closer. “Stop playing games with me, Emma. Yes, the moment I heard about the murder at Marble House I began following you. You mean to tell me you never sensed it?”
In a whirl of confusion fueled as much by the scent of his shaving soap as by his anger, I could only stare wide-eyed up at him and shake my head.
“Then maybe you’re not as good at this as you think you are. Didn’t getting mixed up in one murder and nearly getting yourself killed teach you anything?”
That time I did intend to answer him, but before I could gather the words his face dipped, bringing with it the scent of his skin, the heat of his breath, and the press of his lips against mine. His evening stubble was rough against my cheek; his mouth was hard, punishing. All at once I felt myself spinning as if the dock had broken loose from its pilings, leaving us at the mercy of the tide.
But then he released me, his face tight, pained, his own chin now shadowed by traces of that dratted coal dust. Slowly he pulled back from me, though his fingers continued their vise grip on my shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He looked away. “That was uncalled for.”
“Derrick . . . I . . .”
“No, leave it, Emma. You don’t need to repeat the things you said the other morning. There is no need for either of us to be redundant.” He released me, his arms swinging to his sides. As the cool air claimed my neck, I couldn’t remember the things I’d said to him that morning, or why on earth I would have said them. I only wanted him to hold me again.
Kiss me again.
He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and eyed me levelly, all hint of turmoil gone from his gaze. “So . . . who is this mystery person we’re off to find?”
“It’s my . . .” Aunt Alva’s admonitions stilled my tongue, but then Derrick’s choice of words struck me. “We? Who said anything about you and I . . . ?”
His cool amusement returned. “Come, Emma. It’s you and I or nothing. I’m not letting you row off across the bay or wherever you’re going alone. So start talking. Now. Or I take you home.”
It was all I could do to keep from stomping my foot. “Impossible man.”
“Yes, now, as we say in the newspaper business, who, what, where, and why?”
I heaved a sigh. “My cousin Consuelo. She’s missing—been missing since right after the murder.”
“And no one saw fit to call the police?”
I explained the reasons why not. “And before you decided to take ten years off my life moments ago, I was on my way to Rose Island. I think she might be there, or might be going there tonight, possibly to meet up with another boat to take her off the island.”
“Sounds rather cloak-and-dagger, don’t you think?”
“It’s just a hunch, but one backed up by a strange coincidence.” I told him about seeing Winthrop Rutherfurd out by the island today, how his companions had dropped some sort of marker into the water. And how, with the light glaring its beams out across the water, anything happening directly below the lighthouse would be draped in shadow.
As I fell silent he regarded me for such a long moment I nearly squirmed. Then he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it to the deck of the boat, his shirtsleeves glowing white in the darkness. “All right, then, let’s go.”
Moments later we shoved off, Derrick manning the oars.
Chapter 8
We put in on the east side of Rose Island. Derrick let our small craft drift the last few yards before hopping out—ruining his half boots and trousers in the process—and almost noiselessly pulling the dinghy up onto a spit of sand. Taking his offered hand, I crept out and we set off across the island, heading thirty or so yards down from the lighthouse.
I’d been right. Beyond the lighthouse proper and wan light spilling from the windows of the keeper’s cottage, the island lay in inky darkness. We stopped at intervals, listening but hearing nothing but the waves rippling against the island’s banks.
Finally, a low murmur brought us to an abrupt halt. We were nearing the westward shore, and here Derrick immediately tugged me down behind a rocky outcropping. I pricked my ears, again hearing nothing, until the breeze carried a throaty whisper that could not have originated from nature. Derrick held up a hand to me, signaling me
to stay while he proceeded, but I snatched his wrist and shook my head no. He hesitated, his annoyance felt rather than seen, but then he nodded and we crawled forward together, bellies close to the ground.
We came to the low wall that surrounded the cottage grounds, extending some fifty yards out from the house itself. The property encompassed a neat kitchen garden, several sheds, and pens for small livestock. Just beyond the wall a steep, rocky shoreline tumbled into the bay. There a single-masted catamaran sat anchored, exactly where Winty’s skipjack had lingered earlier. Like Winty’s boat, this vessel had a flat bottom that wouldn’t scrape the rocks hidden beneath the waves. Now, as then, men stood at the railing—I counted four of them—but instead of dropping anything into the water, they were carefully lowering, by means of ropes and pulleys, what appeared to be barrels that were caught by two more men standing on the rocks at the water’s edge.
I attempted to creep over the wall, but Derrick grabbed the back of my coat and held me fast.
“I want to be able to hear them,” I whispered.
His only answer was to press a finger to his lips.
Soon the lines were hoisted and the men onshore climbed back into the boat via a rope ladder. The anchor was raised and the boat turned about. Once again I started to rise, my intent to slip down to the water’s edge to see if I could discern what type of barrels and how many now sat waiting on the shore. Once again Derrick tugged me back.
“It’s none of our business, Emma. Whatever’s going on here obviously has nothing to do with your cousin.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“No, and you shouldn’t be either. You know what they say about curiosity and the cat, don’t you?”
“But the men have gone. There’s no one to see . . .”
I trailed off at the putter of a steam engine. The sound became progressively louder and soon a small freighter, no larger than twenty-five feet in length, rounded the north end of the island, the farthest point from the lighthouse. About halfway between there and Derrick’s and my position, they cut the engine and drifted the rest of the way, dropping anchor exactly where the catamaran had been.
Murder at Marble House (A Gilded Newport Mystery) Page 11
