A Golden Cage (11 page)

Across the aisle and several boxes away, one pew was conspicuously empty.

“Do you think the Granthams will come?” Deanna whispered from behind her gloved hand.

“But of course,” Gran Gwen said, looking over her shoulder. “Even they wouldn't dare not show. And here they are, the Granthams and Edgertons arriving together and presenting a unified front.”

Deanna leaned forward slightly to see Judge Grantham, looking portly and pale in a gray suit, seating his wife, who looked extremely formidable that morning in an overly fussy dress and fichu and a black net hat that swept above her head like a sail. Behind them Walter Edgerton guided his wife, Drusilla, to the second pew.

All four of them sat very erect, and Deanna unconsciously adjusted her own posture.

“Really, they should ban Maude's hat from the congregation. Though I suppose it would be impossible not to see the pastor pontificating from his lofty goblet.”

It wasn't the first time Gran Gwen had compared the Trinity pulpit to a wine goblet. But it always caught Deanna off guard, and she had to quickly stifle a giggle.

She had to admit the beautiful, but massive, three-tiered structure at the end of the center aisle did resemble a wineglass.

The sermon was not about sin and evil among them, as Elspeth had surmised, but about casting the first stone. Was it a coincidence that the pastor chose that topic for this morning's sermon? Or had he hastily rewritten it after Friday night's murder?

As far as Deanna knew, no one was casting stones at anyone,
though Gran Gwen had warned her to be prepared for a few impertinent looks.

When the service ended, the altar boys snuffed the candles and followed the pastor out the door. The Astors followed, taking their time to stop and speak with various people, while everyone else waited to file out behind them.

Deanna and Gran Gwen had just taken their leave of the pastor when Judge Grantham strode toward them. “My dear friend, how delightful you look this morning.” He took Gwen's hand and held it for a moment. “And this must be Deanna; I believe we met the other evening at my birthday party.”

Deanna smiled, too tongue-tied to manage anything else. He was a very overwhelming man. Large both in height and girth, not exactly fat, but substantial.

“Delightful party, Samuel. Unfortunate that one of the actors ended up dead in my conservatory.”

“Terrible business,” he agreed. “I just wanted to let you know that I've been in personal contact with the chief of police to ensure that everything is being done to apprehend the man's murderer. Chief of Police Turner assures me that we'll have no more problems in that direction up at the cottages.”

“Indeed.”

“I would not be returning to the city this evening, if I weren't certain that you will all be safe.” He took Gwen's arm and leaned into her. “Is Lionel keeping in Newport?”

“He returns to New York on this evening's ferry,” Gran Gwen said.

“Ah well, I shall see him on the ferry, then.”

Deanna became aware of Mrs. Grantham watching them from several yards away. She was standing with her daughter
and son-in-law, and all three had stopped their conversation to watch the Judge speak with Gran Gwen.

Gwen also noticed. She smiled slightly and dipped her chin in Maude Grantham's direction.

Mrs. Grantham smiled and dipped her chin to Gran Gwen. Both were equally insincere.

Deanna knew Gran Gwen thought Maude Grantham was a prude and a nitpicker. But Deanna didn't think Mrs. Grantham had reason to be mad at Gran Gwen. She might not like her mode of living or her views on women's rights. But if she was upset that one of the performers at her husband's birthday fete had ended up dead in Gwen's conservatory, she should be thankful that poor Charlie hadn't died in hers. Now, that would be a scandal.

“I believe they're ready for you,” Gwen said.

The Judge took in his wife, daughter, and son-in-law with a sweep of his deep-set eyes.

“Quite. Walter and Drusilla feel very bad about what happened, though I've assured them it could happen anywhere. And the cottagers must be supportive of each other in trying times.”

“But naturally,” Gwen said.

The Judge nodded. “Maude is taking this very poorly. Her nerves, you know. I wouldn't leave her if I didn't have to be in court tomorrow. The poor devil has already been found guilty, now it's up to me to sentence him. But then I shall be returning to Newport hopefully midweek, for a much deserved respite. Perhaps you might drop in on Maude while I'm gone. Just to commiserate, you know.”

“But of course,” Gwen answered.

“Very good to see you, Gwen.” He bowed to her, nodded
to Deanna, and strode back across the grass to where his family waited.

“Did I just promise to visit Maude Grantham?” Gwen asked when he'd returned to his family.

Deanna nodded.

“Oh Lord. And he talked—more likely made demands—on the chief of police. I wonder which poor soul from the acting company the police chief is planning to arrest for murder while the Judge is away.”

“Is that what is going to happen? They don't think Amabelle did it?”

“Amabelle, yes, and if they can't find her expeditiously, they'll find someone else.” Gwen looked away and quickly transformed her mouth into a smile.

A trio of ladies slowed as they walked past. Then came to a stop.

“Dear Gwen, we're just devastated for you,” said the woman Deanna recognized as Gertrude Palmer. “Has anyone figured out what he was doing there?” She cut Deanna a quick sideways look.

A look that made Deanna blush. Surely she didn't think . . .

“Not what you're assuming, dear Gertie.” Gwen's eyes glinted with amused malice. “And he wasn't trysting with me, either.”

“Oh really, Gwendolyn,” said the second lady, and tried to draw the other two away.

“Is that not what you were asking? Which one of the ladies of the house he was rendezvousing with?”

“Certainly not. We came to commiserate, but obviously you are in no need of succor. Come, ladies.” They huffed away.

Gwen turned to Deanna. “I know. My behavior was uncalled
for. But really I could just shake these people sometimes. Let's get home and warn Lionel that the Judge will be looking for him tonight. And then hope Cook has something wonderful for luncheon.”

They returned to the carriage. The coachman opened the door and let down the step. “On second thought,” Gran Gwen said as she arranged her skirts on the seat, “I think it behooves us to make a morning call on Maude Grantham as Samuel asked. Not that she'll be glad to see us.” She smiled. “We'll get Laurette to accompany us.”

As they drove away, Deanna caught sight of the two actresses she'd met the day before, Noreen and Talia. They were dressed for church and were intently watching the Ballard carriage as it drove away. They must have been at the service, and Deanna hadn't even noticed them. Some detective she was. She wondered if Elspeth would have better luck on her outing at the beach.

*   *   *

S
undays at Bonheur were leisurely, orchestrated for the enjoyment of the family and anyone who wished to call whom the family wished to see. Sunday dinners at the Randolphs' house, no matter whether in New York or Newport, were just as stuffy as all the other meals they shared.

Deanna wondered briefly if her father missed her mother or if he, too, was feeling a bit of freedom. He certainly hadn't raced back to Newport for the weekend like he normally would during the summer season. He had sent a very nice telegram, though.

Deanna changed into her new tea gown for the afternoon.
It was made of green lawn and lace and was designed so that she could manage it herself. It floated around her like a deliciously sinful pleasure as she wafted down the stairs to the parlor.

Her mama would never approve, and Deanna had to admit it did look like a nightgown and just a tiny bit like a costume. But Gran Gwen and Laurette always wore them, and Gran Gwen had ordered it from Worth.

Deanna wished she could wear it all the time.

She swept into the parlor and came to an abrupt halt. Gran Gwen and the Ballards were already there. And so was Joe.

He didn't look any happier than when she'd seen him last. Surely he couldn't still be mad at her just because she had the idea of looking for Amabelle at the yacht on the way home from her—detour from her cycling club.

She gave him a tentative smile, but he didn't smile back.

“Lovely, my dear,” Mr. Ballard said as she went to sit on the sofa next to Gran Gwen.

Gran Gwen looked over her head, and Deanna knew she was giving her grandson the evil eye for his bad manners, and good for her. She patted Deanna's hand. “I was just telling Lionel to expect the Judge to accost him on the ferry into the city this evening.”

“For my sins,” Lionel countered, then waggled his eyebrows at the room like a stage villain.

Laurette slipped her hand in his. “Don't mistake his overtures as friendship. You know he's in the pocket—”

“Yes, my dear. I know, and I don't want that name unleashed in the air in my own home.” He sighed. “How did I ever survive without you taking care of me all those long years?”

“I'm more worried about you now,” Laurette said. “Knowing his ilk, if the Judge thinks this death can in any way cast aspersions on his family, he'll deflect it to ours.”

“And if he doesn't,” Gwen said, “there are those who will. That ghastly Gertrude Palmer was fishing and insinuating that poor Charlie, as we know him, must have been to see one of the ladies of the house. I believe I set her straight on that subject.” She gave her son-in-law an arch look.

“It isn't funny,” Joe exclaimed from behind them.

“Oh, Joseph, what is ailing you these days?”

“Nothing. I beg your pardon.”

“I think you and Deanna should take a nice walk down to the beach. It'll do you both a world of good. I think this murder of poor Charlie has upset us all.”

A walk with Joe was the last thing Deanna wanted at the moment. A talk with Will would be of more use. But she didn't really have anything to report. And she didn't want to throw suspicion on the theater troupe without real evidence. Though she couldn't imagine why anyone else in Newport would want to kill “poor Charlie.”

“Joseph,” Laurette said.

Joe stood and bowed slightly to his mother. “Shall we . . . Deanna?”

They walked without speaking until they were almost across the lawn. Deanna wondered if the others were watching them from the window. Was she supposed to find out what was bothering Joe? Is that why Gran Gwen sent them away? Or were they talking about the murder and didn't want her to hear?

“Are you enjoying your walk, or would you rather be relaxing in a linen closet?”

The toe of Deanna's slipper hit a stone and she nearly
tumbled forward. Joe grabbed her elbow, put her back on her feet, and dropped his arm.

“Whatever do you mean?”

He turned on her and grabbed her shoulders, shook her until her teeth rattled. “You stupid little ninny. What did you think you were doing? Lying to Grandmère about going cycling, accosting actresses in the street. Poking your nose into things that don't concern you. Do you know how dangerous that could be?”

Deanna shrugged out of his grip and walked away toward the cliffs. But when she got to the steps down to the beach she stopped. There was no way she was going to ruin her new tea gown because Joe was being so unreasonable. “Did you follow me yesterday?”

Joe hesitated. “No.”

“You did. How dare you?”

“Will and I were cycling the same way. I saw you join your group, and we rode on. Obviously, I
should
have followed you, because you didn't stay with the club. Does Grandmère know?”

Deanna shrugged. “Not yet. I was going to tell her, but we had that dinner last night, then she went straight to bed, and then there was church this morning.”

He cocked his head like he used to do when he thought she'd done something idiotic.

“Well, I ran into two of the actresses and went back to their boardinghouse with them. I thought they might know something.”

“You can't do those kinds of things.”

“The same two were at church this morning, but I didn't see them until we were already in the carriage coming home. Don't you think it was strange that they went to our same church?”

“Dee, enough. They don't want you bothering them anymore.”

“Oh? How do
you
know?”

“None of your business.”

“But—”

“Stay out of it.”

“You think you can boss me around like you and Bob always did. Well, guess what, I'm not a child anymore, and you can't.”

“You think not? If you can't be trusted, Grandmère will send you to stay with your father in Manhattan and he'll have to tell your mother.”

“She wouldn't.”

“She'll have no choice. I hope you enjoy living with Aunt Harriett until your mother and Adelaide return to the States.”

Sheer panic drove the breath from Deanna's lungs.

“If something were to happen to you, everyone will blame Grandmère and the Ballards. Is that what you want? Is it?”

She could only shake her head, and to her horror, tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

“Stop it. Don't think you can get your way because of a few tears.”

She was trying to stop them. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but she couldn't get the words out.

“Deanna,” he said. “Come on, Dee. Cut it out.” He stretched out his hand but she slapped it away.

“Why do you hate me so much?” She turned and ran back to the house, not to the family rooms, or her bedroom, but to the spring house at the far side of the kitchen, where she stood against the cold stone in the dark and sobbed.