A Golden Cage (13 page)

In three-quarters of an hour, good-byes had been said, and Joe and his father were in the carriage on their way to the ferry.

“I hope you don't mind,” Lionel began as the carriage rolled over the cobblestones of the street. “But I wanted to talk to you.”

“About?”

“About what's really bothering you these days.”

“You mean besides the sugar industry, the vandalisms . . .”

“About Deanna.”

Joe took off his hat, pushed his hair back, returned his hat to his head. “I can't get any work done worrying about what trouble she'll get into.”

“I see. I don't think Bob would expect you to lose sleep or work time over worrying about his little sister.”

There was a strange note in his father's voice. But when Joe looked at him, he was perfectly expressionless.

“It's not about Bob. I care about Dee, I do, but I can't have her disrupting my life all the time.”

“Then stay away from her. You don't really have to escort the ladies to their evening festivities. They do quite well without an escort.”

“I've tried.”

“Well, tell her to stay away from you.”

“Father, how can I? And I don't want her to go away, exactly, I just wish . . . I'm not like you. I couldn't sleep knowing Mother was off getting into trouble, possibly being injured. Even if it is for a good cause.”

Lionel laughed quietly. “Is that what you think? That your mother leaves and I don't give her another thought until she returns?”

Joe shrugged. “I know you miss her.”

“Ha.” His father's laugh was so loud and sharp that Joe flinched.

“You're more like me than you realize, son. Do you think it's easy for me to stand by and not beg her not to go, when I'm petrified that she'll get her head bashed in during one of her suffragette marches, or taken to jail and have a feeding tube forced down her throat?

“I know other men think that she rules the roost. They counsel me to put my foot down and keep her at home where she belongs. I could do it. All I have to say is ‘Stop doing this.' And she would because she loves me and wants me to be happy, but I wouldn't have her make that sacrifice . . . for the same reasons.

“We sometimes argue but we argue as equals. It's the only kind of marriage either of us wants. Perhaps we are an aberration. But neither of us would stand for an insipid, constrained marriage.

“So if you can't take Deanna's spirit—and Lord, does she have one—you'd better cut her loose. Find yourself a perfectly behaved little wife to have your dinner ready. Or set up a mistress and learn to cook for yourself.

“But love? I think it's already too late for Dee to love a man who would hold her back, and I don't believe that you would love any other kind of woman. Perhaps I'm wrong.”

Joe wanted to say that he was wrong. But he couldn't. Joe was afraid it might be too late for him, too.

The carriage drew up to the ferry. “It's up to you, but think about it before you burn any bridges. There's no hurry.”

They shook hands, and his father climbed down, but turned back and rested his hand on the carriage door. “Do you want me to speak to her father about taking Dee away for the summer? He can find someone to travel with her to Switzerland, or isn't there an aunt in Boston?”

“No! Sir, I already threatened her with that.”

“And?”

“And she asked why I hated her and ran away.”

“I see. Well, perhaps we'll give her a little more time?”

Joe nodded.

“Then I'll see you in a few days unless I can persuade your mother to join me in New York. Keep an eye on things here if . . .” He trailed off.

“You think I'm being selfish.”

“No. Actually, I didn't finish my sentence because I just saw Judge Grantham's carriage. Gwen said he had something he wanted to discuss with me on the trip.” He took a deep breath. “It could be a long ferry ride.”

“Surely not to caution you about that actor being killed in the conservatory. His family is the one that brought the troupe here.”

“Not to worry. I know how to handle the Judge. Now I must go.” He nodded to Joe and tapped the side of the carriage.

As the carriage drove away, Joe leaned out to watch his father stride down the pier to the ferry; tall, straight, a man in control and in love with his wife and life. Then he sat back to enjoy the luxury of the carriage drive to the warehouse.

It was a cool, late afternoon, and for a moment he thought of continuing on to Bonheur. It would be an excellent night for sitting on the lawn listening to the waves while the stars gradually appeared. But he would have to face Dee, and he wasn't ready. His father was right, as he often was. Give it some time.

When he reached Richmond Street, Joe said good night to the coachman, then nodded to the man sitting on a barrel outside the pub—the lookout for the warehouse until dark, when he would be joined by several other large and armed men—and let himself inside.

*   *   *

D
eanna was sitting in the embrasure of the window in her room when Elspeth came bustling in. She hadn't bothered to turn on a light. And anyone who did come in would have thought she was asleep.

She was confused and torn between doing what she wanted and doing what she thought might be expected of her. And she felt terribly alone.

She heard the door to the dressing room open, then the dressing room light glowed on.

Deanna sighed.

“Miss Deanna?” Elspeth called quietly. “Miss Deanna, are you here?” She turned on the light.

“Miss Deanna. Where are you?”

Deanna gave up. “Over here by the window.”

Elspeth let out a shriek. “Lord, you gave me a turn. What's happened here?”

Getting no answer from Deanna, she marched over and stuck her face close to her mistress's. “What happened to you? What's the matter?”

Deanna sighed. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? There's a tray of uneaten food, you look like you've been bawling your eyes out—”

“Ladies don't bawl.”

“—Bawling your eyes out. So don't tell me nothing is wrong.”

“Joe and I had a fight.”

“Oh, is that all. I was afraid somebody had died. Why didn't someone come take this food away? I'll have Cook send up something fresh.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Well, if you aren't, I am.”

Deanna peered past Elspeth to the clock. “Why are you back so soon?”

“I couldn't wait. I have news. I think.” She stopped. “But I'm not going to tell you about it if you don't get rid of that ‘poor me' attitude. I think maybe I cracked the case.”

Deanna shook her head. “We can't investigate anymore. Belle will just have to manage on her own. If she's even alive.”

“What? What's wrong with you? Are you coming down with something?”

“No. Joe says I'm an embarrassment to his family. He hates me.”

“He didn't.”

“He did. He hates me. And he said if I didn't stop, he was going to make Father send me to Aunt Harriett.”

“He wouldn't dare.”

“He said he would.”

“Did you tell Madame Manon?”

“No. What could she say?”

“She could tell you it was a crock.”

Deanna smiled in spite of her mood. “She'd probably say just that, too. But only because she wouldn't want to hurt my feelings.”

“Then who am I gonna tell what I learned?”

“No one.”

Elspeth gave her a very inappropriate servant-to-mistress look. “You just gonna stop, because Mr. Joseph said to? Cad Metti wouldn't never let anybody tell her what to do.”

“That's because she's
your
favorite story detective.”

“I don't even think Kate Goelet would, either, though she's not nearly as clever as Cad.”

“She is, too. I can't go live with Aunt Harriett; she's worse than Mama.”

“Fine. I'll just go get out your corset. You know the one? The really heavy one with all the bones on the inside that poke your ribs? The one your mama made you wear at the Christmas ball and you almost swooned.”

“I thought you threw it away.”

Elspeth slowly shook her head. “I suppose I'll just call for the trunks and send all your brand-new clothes out to the Sisters of Mercy. Though for the life of me, I don't know what they can do with a lawn tennis outfit, or the new bathing costume, or the split skirt for riding your bicycle. Oh, and you won't need the bicycle, neither.

“Can I give it to Orrin? He'd like a bicycle. Him and Mr. Joseph could join one of those clubs like you belong to . . . though I guess you'll have to unjoin that one.”

“That's just what I'm saying. Either I behave or I'll have to give all this up.”

“If you behave, you won't be able to wear any of this stuff anyway, because I know your mama won't think one new thing you have is what a proper young lady should have.”

“But if I don't give it all up, I'll be in disgrace, probably sent away to a convent or something. And you'll be out of a job. Though I'm sure Gran Gwen would help you find another position.”

“I don't want no other position.”

Deanna pulled up her knees and hugged them. “What are we going to do?”

Elspeth didn't say anything.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Still she didn't speak.

“You're making your mistress angry.”

A minute shrug.

“Okay, I give up. What did you learn today?”

“I went home for lunch and afterward I met some girls from the ward to go to Easton's Beach. A couple of them work at the big houses, like me. We met a few other friends there. We were drinking lemonade and eating tater pie. Midgie O'Sullivan's ma makes the best tater pie, and there was enough for all of us.

“So we got to talking about the goings-on last weekend. And they know that poor Charlie was found dead in the conservatory.” She hesitated. “Everybody knows, miss. I didn't tell them that.”

“That's all right, Elspeth. I suspect everyone in town knows the details by now.”

“Well, pretty much so. They wanted to know everything about it. And you remember once I told you about how when you're a servant you have to gossip some or nobody will trust you?”

“I remember.”

“So I told them what it looked like and everything. And Phoebe O'Doul said she heard it was a lover's quarrel and one of the actresses bashed him over the head so she could run off with someone else.”

Deanna frowned. “Run off with somebody else? Elspeth. How much of that do you think is sheer fantasy?”

“Oh, most of it, but I haven't gotten to the good part yet.”

“Okay, get to it, then, please.”

Elspeth frowned. “Nobody knew the name of the actress, so after a while I announced that I knew her name. That got their attention. So I told them, Amabelle Deeks, just as plain as you want, then I said, but her friends call her Belle. That's when Midgie—the one whose mother makes the pies—”

“Yes, I know which one Midgie is.”

“She says Deeks ain't no name for an actress. It ought to be more glamorous. And the other girls started thinking about better names. And I broke in and said Deeks was good enough, because Belle was an actress and that was her name. And Midgie laughs and says it's the name for crazy old people. And we're about to come to blows and she says 'cause her little sister does day work for one of them.”

“For an old person?”

“Don't be dense, miss. For an old lady named Deeks. Do you think they might be kin, her and that actress?”

“I don't know. Deeks isn't that unusual of a name.”

“Well, I think we should find out more.”

“I don't know.”

“This ain't like you, Miss Deanna.”

“Don't say ‘ain't,' and I know it. It's just . . .”

Elspeth sat down beside her. “It's just we are at a crossroads, miss.”

Deanna nodded. “But which road to take?”

S
leep didn't come easily to Deanna, and she woke many times in the night; she tossed and turned and tossed. Should she apologize to the Ballards and stay put? Should she just say she was missing her family and have Elspeth pack her belongings—her considerably pared-down belongings—for New York? She felt sick and alone and she had a responsibility to her family, to the Ballards, and to Elspeth.

She'd tried that excuse when Gran Gwen came to her room a little while later.

“I see,” she'd said. “If that's true, I suggest you give it a few more days. It sometimes takes a while to accustom oneself to being away from one's family, especially under circumstances such as these.”

Was she being polite, or did she really want Deanna to stay? Deanna couldn't trust herself to know.

“But if it's merely because you argued with Joseph. Well, let me say, you needn't think that Joseph's attitudes reflect those
of this family. Young people can be headstrong. That is a good thing. He'll either come round or he won't; that's his choice.”

“But am I an embarrassment to my family and yours?”

“He said that?” Gran Gwen laughed with such mirth that Elspeth stuck her head out of the dressing room, where Deanna knew she was listening to the conversation.

“You're an independent woman in training.” Gran Gwen raised her voice. “And so are you, Elspeth. Why don't you come out here where you'll be more comfortable?”

Elspeth's head reappeared, her eyes as round as the cheeses at Horn's market. She stepped a few feet into the room.

“Your mistress is one of the bright young women of her class who holds the future for all women. You will do your best to see that she remains safe . . . and well dressed. You may argue with her politely, but be respectful of her decisions.”

Elspeth nodded, caught somewhere between a curtsey and a reply. Deanna could tell she thought Gran Gwen was raving mad.

Deanna was wondering about that herself.

“Deanna. You're smart and curious. You must walk a fine line in society and be sure not to cross over it . . . well, not often anyway, and not until you have a developed cachet. You will not put yourself in danger if at all possible. Do you understand?”

Deanna nodded. She knew how Elspeth felt—she couldn't manage to get words out, either.

“And you must have a brilliant Newport season or none of us will ever hear the end of it.”

Deanna had gone to bed relieved, but still she tossed in her sleep. She was amazed that Gran Gwen had actually licensed her behavior . . . to a point. But that's not why she stayed
awake. She was thinking about Amabelle Deeks and poor Charlie, as he'd come to be called.

She knew it was imperative to find Belle, if she were still alive. Deanna was lucky that she had someone she could trust, but she imagined Belle in hiding somewhere, frightened and alone. Maybe she didn't have the good fortune of having someone she could talk to, who understood her. Her parents might change their minds and forgive her for running away.

But she'd never know unless she was found.

She finally fell asleep in the wee hours; at a crossroads no longer. She would help Belle if she could, and she would become her own woman, and Joe could just like it or lump it.

*   *   *

B
oth Laurette and Gran Gwen were in the breakfast room when Deanna came down the next morning. Deanna was dressed demurely in a visiting gown of peach and yellow muslin. Laurette and Gran Gwen were conservatively dressed as well.

“Good morning,” Deanna said, feeling just a little more grown-up and self-assured than she had the night before.

Gran Gwen gave her a warm smile. “Ready to face morning calls?”

“Yes indeed,” Deanna said, filling her plate from the sideboard.

“I confess, I'm ready for a little gossip,” Gran Gwen said. “There must have been some word about the missing child, Amabelle.”

Laurette put down the toast she'd been buttering. “I telephoned her mother yesterday. The police had notified them of Amabelle's disappearance. They're very upset, as you can imagine.”

“Are they coming to Newport?”

Laurette, who had just picked up her piece of toast again, put it down. “No. Which I find very odd. What parent wouldn't want to be on hand?”

“Do you know what the rift was about?” Gwen asked.

“No. She just said they hadn't spoken to her in two years.”

“Then, why did they ask you to look in on her?” Deanna asked. “Why now?”

“I have no idea. Rosalie, her mother, just said she'd been thinking about her lately.”

“But she must be keeping up with her life, or how would she know that she was going to be in Newport?”

“An excellent question,” Gran Gwen said.

“I don't know. She wouldn't confide in me. I tried to find out. I thought it might help Will's investigation, and you know how women are more likely to talk to other women than to men, especially one in an official capacity. But I had no luck. I guess I don't have the knack for ferreting out secrets.”

“Never mind, dear, you organize brilliantly.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

*   *   *

T
he first stop on the round of calls was Maude Grantham. The gilded cages, the exotic birds, the fireworks, had all been removed. Only the tents and the stage stood forlorn and empty at the edge of the lawn. This morning the Grantham cottage looked more like a municipal building than a summer retreat.

Though Deanna supposed that was fitting for a judge. The carriage stopped at the front entrance at the center of a shallow loggia that was fronted by four Corinthian columns. They
were shown through to the morning parlor, where Maude Grantham sat with her daughter, Drusilla Edgerton.

“Madame Manon, Mrs. Ballard, and Miss Deanna Randolph,” the butler announced, and stood aside for the ladies to enter.

“Ah, Gwen, Mrs. Ballard, Miss Randolph. How kind of you to call.”

And so it would go all morning, the insipid talk of weather and parties.

But Deanna had never gone visiting with Gran Gwen before.

Gwen bustled ahead of the others. “Oh, my dear, Maude, you must be
bouleversée
over what happened. And the Judge, for such a thing to happen on his birthday, of all days.” She
tsk
ed.

Deanna had never heard Gran Gwen
tsk
ever before.

“What were those awful people doing in your house?” Maude countered.

Gwen leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, my dear, the girl's mother was at school in Montreux with Laurette. The Chateau Mont Choisi. Lovely family. But these girls today. Ran away from home, leaving her mother distraught. As a friend, Laurette could only see if she could help bring mother and daughter together again.”

Deanna glanced at Laurette, wondering how she was taking this total fabrication. And was shocked to see her looking very demure and smiling slightly, as if to say,
What's another mother to
do?

Deanna thought the actors had nothing over Gran Gwen and Laurette. And she was struck for the first time, blindingly so, as to how façade was all-important to society. She'd known this, of course. But she'd always been looking at it from the inside out; today she was watching it objectively.

“And what do you make of this, Miss Randolph? After what we've been hearing of you, I would think you'd be happy to have a murder right under your nose.”

“Mama,” Drusilla exclaimed.

Deanna blinked, but kept her aplomb. “I could never be happy of a death, ma'am. A terrible tragedy.”

“I wish I had never thought to bring those horrid people here,” Drusilla said. “But Papa loves the theater. Edgerton and I thought it would be the perfect gift. Only I couldn't get Gilbert and Sullivan.”

They all assured her that it was not her fault.

Deanna felt a little sorry for her. It couldn't be easy being the daughter of the Judge and his wife. She sat ramrod straight on her chair, so close to the edge that one jostle might have sent her to the floor.

None of them really noticed when the door opened and Walter Edgerton strode in, checked, and said, “Ladies.”

They all looked up as if caught in something clandestine.

Gran Gwen, of course, recovered first, even more quickly than his mother-in-law or wife.

“Dear Walter, we were just telling Drusilla how much we enjoyed the Judge's birthday fete. Lovely, just lovely,” she gushed. “The gardens were transformed into a paradise. So clever, Maude. Where did you find all those exotic birds?”

“Why I . . . well, actually, I had not much to do with the arrangements. Drusilla and Walter offered to arrange it all. I have no fondness for theater, as you must know, but the Judge does enjoy a good play.”

“Though perhaps not the caliber we'd hoped for,” Walter said.

Drusilla flinched and sat even straighter, if that was possible.
“I was just telling our friends that I was unable to obtain the Gilbert and Sullivan troupe that is touring the States this month and next.”

“Yes, well, you did your best on short notice. Though the subject matter left something to be desired.”

“Papa enjoyed it greatly; he told me so.”

“Yes, dear.” Walter Edgerton smiled indulgently at his wife, and Deanna understood what Gran Gwen had told her the night before. She would never marry someone who was as condescending and dismissive of her as Walter Edgerton was with Drusilla.

“I don't agree,” Gran Gwen said, jumping into the fray. “Bedouins perhaps were a bit far-fetched, but I'm sure they were Christian bedouins. After all, they could have carried those poor women off to their oasis, or whatever. But they all had a proper marriage in the end.”

“Yes,” Drusilla said as if it had just occurred to her.

Edgerton bowed slightly. “You're absolutely correct, Mrs. Manon. Being a man, I'm not equipped to see the nuances of the script. Though I do believe it can be said I know my fellow man. And we all know what actors are.”

Deanna was sure that Gran Gwen or Laurette would say something, but they both held their peace.

Maude Grantham's smile was growing tighter. “If only those people hadn't wrecked everything by killing someone. Or at least they could have waited until they were back in New York. Despicable creatures.”

Gwen nodded sympathetically. “Well, you have the consolation of knowing that it was my conservatory, not yours, that was chosen for the deed.”

“Yes, and why was that?” Walter asked.

“I assure you, Walter,” Laurette broke in, “none of us have the slightest idea.”

“I've heard that you were acquainted with the family of the girl who killed him, this actor.”

Deanna started to protest, but caught herself just in time. She was in the company of seasoned sparrers. She would sit back, listen, and learn.

“As far as I've heard,” Gwen said, “they haven't charged the girl with any crime. Innocent until proven guilty. I'm sure being a prosecutor, you would agree with that.”

Edgerton smiled. He was tall and thin, with a high forehead and light brown hair. He carried himself with a certain elegance, though Deanna couldn't imagine him as the persuasive prosecutor he was known to be.

“Yes, quite. Though I must say, where has she gotten herself off to?”

“I wish they would just find her and let those awful people leave town,” Maude mumbled, and reached for her smelling salts. “Their sets and costumes are being stored in our stable. We had to house our horses in town and now they are stuck there, and even though I send the grooms down every day to attend them, I know they aren't receiving the attention they deserve, and it makes going anywhere so inconvenient.

“And those tents and that hideous stage; I'm sure they've ruined the landscaping. It's like living next to a shantytown.” She sniffed. “Not that I've ever seen a shantytown.”

“I'm sure they are just as anxious to leave as you are to see them go.”

“I wish they had never come.”

Drusilla made a choking sound. “It's all my fault.”

“Nonsense,” Laurette said. “And I'm sure they'll be gone
soon. I imagine having to pay for room and board while not working is creating a strain among them. Though, of course, you've so graciously offered to compensate them for their loss of income. That is very generous, Maude, I must say.”

Mrs. Grantham merely nodded, giving Laurette that cold half smile she gave everyone. Drusilla was the only one of the three who looked surprised.

“Well,” Gwen said, “we must be going. I told Samuel I'd drop in to see how you were getting on. Please, if I can help in any way, don't hesitate to let me know.” Gran Gwen stood. Laurette and Deanna stood, and Walter walked them to the door.

“Thank you so much for coming. Mother-in-law has been very upset in the face of this unfortunate event. Poor Drusilla feels responsible, though I've tried to convince her otherwise. The Gilbert and Sullivan players were in Baltimore and couldn't possibly arrive and set up in time for the fete. Good day, ladies.”

Edgerton bowed, and the butler showed them out the door.

“Well,” Gran Gwen said as soon as the carriage started down the drive. “Poor Drusilla. To give up life with Maude and Samuel to life with Walter is a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone.”

“Well, at least they have their own town house in Manhattan,” Laurette said. “And only have to live with the Judge and Maude while in Newport.”

“They are very odd,” Deanna said. “He seemed like he was trying to make his wife feel better, but made her feel worse. And it's strange, but I can't help thinking he was doing it on purpose.”

“Very astute,” Gwen said.

“I'd bet it was probably more out of habit than done intentionally. Men sometimes have no idea of the damage they can do.”