Murder at Marble House (9 page)

“I’m sorry, but my cousin’s life is at stake,” I began, but before the words were fully out of my mouth, the servants’ door swung inward, as if the footman who appeared on the threshold had answered Winty’s silent call of a moment ago.

He bobbed a deferential greeting to his employer. “Will you be wanting the lamps in your study lit now, sir?”

“Yes, Davis, thank you. On your way, please see Miss Cross out.” With that, Winty sank back into his chair and lifted his newspaper, giving it a brisk snap before hiding his face behind it. “Good day, Miss Cross.”

I briefly considered trying to question the footman once we were out of Winty’s hearing, but I conceded to the unlikelihood of his answering at all, much less telling me anything I wanted to know. Was Winty hiding Consuelo, or had his refusal to allow me the run of his house stemmed from some other matter of which he preferred I remained ignorant? Consuelo’s erstwhile beau might very well have something to hide, but the question persisted as to what.

But if young Davis, the footman, possessed any knowledge of my cousin, it was far more likely I’d hear about it in the roundabout way, once the information traveled through Newport’s network of servants and reached Nanny’s ear. With little other recourse, then, I trailed the young man through the house until he summarily deposited both me and a bemused-looking Katie on the front stoop, bid us a terse good day, and shut the door behind us.

 

My next stop brought me to The Breakers. Halfway up the sweeping drive, I brought my rig to a halt and sat staring up at the palatial mansion, newly rebuilt to withstand fire and any other catastrophe nature might conjure. I fully believed those solid stone walls could withstand even the power of the nearby ocean. Yet a sense of irony filled me. With all their vast stores of wealth, my Vanderbilt relations could protect themselves from only so much, could keep the ugliness of the outside world at bay for only so long.

My own brother, Brady, had been accused of committing a murder in this very house only a few short weeks ago. As those awful memories filtered through my mind, my gaze drifted to the balcony where a man had been pushed to his death—to land at my feet. And now here I was, so soon after one horrific experience, entangled in yet another murder involving my Vanderbilt relatives. A dreadful coincidence?

Sitting on the seat beside me, Katie shifted and adjusted the brim of her squat straw hat. “Is something wrong, miss?”

I blinked, not having realized how long I’d sat staring. “Oh, Katie. Is there some kind of curse hanging over the Vanderbilt family? How can this be happening all over again?”

She patted my wrist. “If it means anything, miss, I don’t believe in curses, though my granny Norah back in Killarney would call me daft. The Vanderbilts are havin’ a bad run o’ luck is all.”

“To say the least.” An unsavory thought struck me. “I was in the vicinity of both murders. I hope I’m not some kind of jinx.”

“You, miss? Never have I heard such nonsense. Why, you saved me last spring when I was in the family way, sacked from my job, and had nowhere to turn. And you saved your brother when he might have been hanged for a murderer. I just know you’re goin’ to find Miss Consuelo and you’re goin’ to save her, too, in whatever way she needs savin’.” Katie gripped my hand and squeezed; her eyes shone bright against her fair, freckled complexion. “Because that’s the kind of person you are. You don’t let others suffer an injustice if you can do aught about it. So no more talk of jinxes, miss. I won’t be hearin’ another word about it.”

I regarded her in astonishment. Though a case of nerves might bring on a slew of chatter, my otherwise shy housemaid had never strung together so many eloquent words at one time in all the weeks she had been working for me. And because of that—and because the words had come out calmly and deliberately—I knew she meant every one and hadn’t merely said them in an attempt to placate her employer.

In short, she’d spoken as a friend. And as a friend, I slipped my hand free of hers and reached my arms around her. After a moment’s hesitation she hugged me equally tight, and we rocked gently side to side like two sisters, or how I imagined sisters could sometimes be.

“Thank you, Katie,” I whispered through the curling tendrils of her fiery red hair. “That was quite the nicest thing anyone has said to me in the longest while.”

“It’s all true, miss.”

With a cluck I set Barney walking again. We drew up beside the front portico and immediately the main door opened. Beside me Katie stiffened, but I was quick to reassure her. “You can wait for me here. I’ll tell the footman he needn’t bother with the carriage.”

She wilted slightly in relief. It had been here at The Breakers last spring, when a visiting youth, a friend of my cousin Reggie’s, had first seduced and then forced himself on Katie, resulting in her pregnancy and dismissal from her job. With no references, no family in this country, and no prospects of any sort, she had shown up on my doorstep, because when my aunt Sadie had been alive, Gull Manor had become known as a haven for young women in trouble.

I did what I could to keep Aunt Sadie’s legacy alive.

Katie had lost her baby one awful night, but she had never quite lost her fear of this house or the people in it, who had shown her so little compassion when she needed it most. I wasn’t always proud of my relatives.

So while she waited huddled against the squabs of the carriage, I hurried inside and searched for my cousin Gertrude. There was no one else here who might have heard from Consuelo, and though her having contacted Gertrude was unlikely, I couldn’t yet rule out the possibility.

“Good morning, Parker,” I said to the young footman who had admitted me. I let him take my light linen wrap from my shoulders. “Is Miss Gertrude at home?”

“She is, Miss Cross. She was outside with the family last I saw her. Would you like me to inquire after her for you?”

“No, thank you. I’ll just go on out and see for myself.” Thanks to my being a relative and a frequent visitor, I had the privilege of being allowed to walk in unannounced and roam the house as I pleased, something no ordinary visitor would have dared do.

As I passed through the entry hall into the open expanse of the Italian palazzo–inspired Great Hall, I blinked just as surely as if I’d stepped into a garden bathed in dazzling sunlight. No matter how many times I entered this room, the grandeur of marble and gilt and priceless art never failed to stun me, to leave me both breathless and speechless.

I stopped just at the top of the few steps leading down to the main floor of the room. Two under footmen passed into view from the dining room, where they appeared to be gathering up the silver, probably to be taken below stairs and polished. Above me along the open gallery that looked down upon the Great Hall, a maid exited one of the bedrooms with an armful of linens. I let my gaze slide past her, higher and higher, until it came to rest on the ceiling, painted to resemble a clear, sunny afternoon sky.

I pulled my gaze earthward as voices drifted in from the terrace that spanned the rear of the building. Listening, I could make out Uncle Cornelius’s and Aunt Alice’s voices . . . and the higher, eager tones of my youngest cousin, Gladys. They were discussing an upcoming yachting excursion. I listened for Gertrude’s voice but didn’t hear her, and as the downstairs seemed quiet but for the soft murmurs of working servants, I crossed to the staircase and hurried up. I found Gertrude in her room, still in her dressing gown, though a pile of dresses littered her bed and she seemed to be studying them with a critical eye.

“Oh, good morning, Emmaline,” she said when I stepped through the open doorway.

I smiled. It always both amused and annoyed me that most of my Vanderbilt relatives, with the exception of Reggie and Consuelo, called me by my full name rather than the shorter version I preferred. The men could be nicknamed; hence there were Reggie, Neily, Willy K., etc. Ah, but nothing so sporting or casual would do for the females of the family; thus, we remained Emmaline, Gertrude, Consuelo, and the rest. I had long since given up trying to persuade them otherwise.

“This is a lovely surprise,” she continued brightly, “especially since I was just thinking of you.”

“Were you?” We embraced and kissed each other’s cheeks in the European fashion Gertrude had learned during her travels last summer.

She leaned over her bed and selected a sleek frock with a matching jacket, both the color of spring leaves. She held them up for my perusal. “Do you want this? The color simply doesn’t work with my complexion. I’d told Mama that when she chose this fabric, but she wouldn’t hear it. Now that she’s actually seen me in the outfit, however, she can’t help but agree.”

Even I had to admit neither the color nor the tailoring suited my tall, substantially framed cousin.

“Oh . . . I . . .” I reached out a finger and stroked the brushed sheen of the silk bodice. I couldn’t begin to estimate how much the walking ensemble had cost—more than I could ever afford, that much was certain. That she could simply give it away with hardly a thought . . .

“Do take it, Emmaline. I know Nanny O’Neal can take it in a bit and shorten the hem, and make it just perfect for you. And with your dark hair and hazel eyes, I do believe the color will do quite well for you.”

“Thank you, Gertrude.”

She waved away my gratitude. “I’m assuming you’re in your little rig, so I’ll have it sent over later. Now, was there something you wanted to see me about?”

From her expression I judged she hadn’t heard yet about Madame Devereaux’s murder. I needed to be careful. Although I believed I could trust Gertrude with a confidence, tensions existed between her mother and Consuelo’s, and if Aunt Alice gleaned so much as a hint of Consuelo’s disappearance, she’d no doubt find a means to use it against Aunt Alva, socially if in no other way. The two women were forever trying to discredit one another, each being intent on rising to the top of the social register as
The Mrs. Vanderbilt.
I was not about to let Consuelo become ammunition in their genteel warfare.

So, pretending to be preoccupied with the piles of satin, silk, and lace covering Gertrude’s canopied bed, I casually asked, “Have you heard from Consuelo lately?”

“No, and I feel just awful about it,” she said without hesitation. “Poor Consuelo. I know she’s not happy about this engagement to the Duke. I’m not sure I understand, not completely, but she is young still and I can see how marriage in general might seem a rather frightening prospect.” She absently reached for a white linen tennis dress with a big, square collar and navy blue piping at the cuffs and hem. She held it up in front of her. “I’ve been wanting to call on her, but Mama’s refusal to invite either Aunt Alva or Consuelo to my coming-out ball made for such an awkward situation between us.” She held out the tennis dress. “Do you want this, too?” She didn’t wait for my answer but tossed it beside the bright green walking outfit.

Although I had rarely in my life played tennis, I nodded my thanks and said, “So you haven’t spoken to her in a while, then?”

“No.” Her gaze sharpened. “Why? Has something happened? Is Consuelo ill? Or have she and Aunt Alva been arguing again?”

I saw no harm in disclosing what had happened at Marble House yesterday, minus Consuelo’s disappearance. Gertrude paled as I told her about the murder. Then she dragged herself to her dressing table chair and sank down into it.

“Good heavens . . .
again?
”

 

I left Gertrude to resume sorting through the contents of her dressing room. Satisfied that Consuelo hadn’t contacted her, I went out to the terrace to bid good day to the family. Leaving it to Gertrude or the local newspapers to reveal the details of the murder, I said fairly quick hellos and good-byes and let myself out the front door. I met my eldest cousin, Neily—short for Cornelius—out on the drive. He had just ridden up on horseback.

To his credit, he acknowledged Katie with a short wave, to which she gave a polite nod. There had been a time when I’d held Neily responsible for Katie’s troubles last spring, but that’s all another story. He and I had always been good friends, possibly my closest out of all my Vanderbilt cousins, though lately his interests had been diverted elsewhere.

With a grin he dismounted, grabbed me up in a hug, and swung me about. I slapped at him to put me down; after all, we weren’t children anymore, but I secretly relished his playfulness. Being Uncle Cornelius’s primary heir, twenty-one-year-old Neily ran the risk of becoming too serious, not to mention too grand for his britches. But somehow, so far, he remained immune to the burdens he’d one day assume.

“Are you leaving?” he asked with a bit of a pout.

“I am. Are you living here again?”

He’d recently moved out after arguing with his parents over a young woman he’d begun courting. They didn’t approve of her; Neily didn’t give a hoot.

“I’m back home for the moment,” he said, then lowered his voice. “But Grace and I are planning, Emma.”

“Do be careful. There could be serious repercussions.”

“I am. But eventually Mother and Father will have to accept my choice.”

“Oh, Neily.” I looked up into his handsome face and pressed my palm to his cheek. “No, they don’t, and you could end up disinherited.”

“Then I’ll have to find a way to earn a living, won’t I?”

Would Grace want him then, I wondered. With all my heart I hoped so.

“I have to be going,” I said, “but come by Gull Manor for supper some night. Bring Grace, if you like. You know Nanny would love to cook for you.”

“Nanny loves to cook for everyone.” His expression darkened. “Is Brady still staying with you?”

Neily had reason to resent my half brother. Brady had attempted to steal business secrets from Uncle Cornelius, though in the end his conscience won out and he hadn’t been able to carry out his subterfuge.