A Golden Cage (5 page)

Will grinned, but quickly wiped it off his face. “Tell Cook I shall certainly stop in at the kitchen on my way out.”

*   *   *

D
eanna couldn't repress the sigh that escaped as she listened to Will question the Ballards. They were acting so formal, as if they were strangers, and it was so stupid. Obviously none of them had killed that poor actor, Charlie.

But he was dead. Amabelle was out there somewhere, probably frightened, and surely hungry. If they would just put their heads together instead of acting like people in a play, they might be able to find her before something bad happened to her . . . if it hadn't already.

Was it Charlie she'd been running from? That didn't make sense. She'd been flirting with him when they'd left her backstage after the play. Maybe they'd quarreled. Had he overheard Laurette offer her a place to stay at Bonheur? Laurette had made the offer right before they left the tent and just as Charlie arrived. Or he might have just followed her there. Anyone could have followed her. She rather stuck out in that gold cape and diaphanous gown.

“Deanna!”

Deanna jumped and turned to frown at Joe, who had sat beside her at the table.

“Will has been trying to get your attention, but you seem to be off in—”

“Joseph, that will do,” his mother said. Deanna blinked. She sometimes forgot that Laurette was Joe's mother. She seemed so young and vibrant; Deanna had even heard her laughing with her husband.

“I'm sorry, Will—Sergeant Hennessey,” Deanna corrected herself. “What did you ask?”

“Mrs. Manon”—he glanced at Gran Gwen—“says you took Miss Deeks to your, uh, room, to um . . .”

He was blushing. Probably because of his reddish chestnut hair, but still . . . Will Hennessey was blushing over bedrooms. The mind boggled.

“I took her to my bedroom to find her something to sleep in since she arrived with only the clothes on her back.” She glanced at him, but he was focused on the notebook. “A gold cape and a white gauze dress, probably a costume—you could see straight through it and she didn't have anything on underneath.”

Laurette cast her a sideways look and quickly hid her face behind her napkin.

“Really, Dee,” Joe said.

Really, Joe. You're getting to be such a prude.

“It's important to be accurate when giving details of a crime scene . . . isn't it, Sergeant Hennessey?”

Will cleared his throat. “Indeed. So you loaned her nightwear and did she go to her room then?”

“Not immediately. We talked a bit first.”

Suddenly she had everyone's attention.

“About what?”

“Well . . .” Deanna was sure some of the things Belle had
told her she'd told in confidence, but did that count considering Charlie was dead and Belle was missing?

“Go ahead,” Laurette said. “Whatever she said might help us find her.”

If she wants to be found
, thought Deanna. “I asked her about being an actress.”

“Don't even think it,” Joe said under his breath.

Deanna ignored him. “She said she liked it, but you had to be strong all the time.”

“Did it sound like she was planning to go home?” Laurette asked, then put her fingers over her mouth. “I do beg your pardon, Sergeant.”

“That's quite all right, Mrs. Ballard. Did it?”

“She said she couldn't go back.”

“Did she say why?”

“No.” Deanna pressed her fingers to her temples as if she could jar the memory of their conversation.

“Is something wrong, Dee? I mean, Miss Randolph,” Will corrected.

“No. I just wish I could remember. It was late and I'd been awakened from sleep and I guess my observational skills weren't at their best. I'm sorry.”

She could swear she heard Joe grinding his teeth. They needed to have a little talk if they were to keep from coming to blows.

“Oh, I asked her if there was anything we could do to help her. I mean, she seemed so distraught. But she said that she didn't think anyone could help her.”

“Did she elaborate?”

Deanna shook her head. “Then we started talking about
the latest
Old Sleuth
.” She'd been looking at her uneaten food, but looked up at Will. “She reads dime novels, too.”

Will merely nodded.

“Elspeth said she bet there was a man involved.” Deanna's voice wavered. “And I guess she was right.”

The room had become so silent that Deanna could hear the search party outside the windows. “You don't think she killed Charlie, do you?”

D
eanna had known better than to ask that question. She knew Will wasn't at liberty to say even if he had formed an opinion. But as far as Deanna could see, Amabelle had either killed her friend then fled, or conspired with someone to kill him and had fled. Or she had seen who had killed him and was either dead at the villain's hand or had run, afraid that the murderer would be coming after her.

Any way you looked at it, it didn't look good for Amabelle.

“We won't be able to make any statements until we have further information,” Will said, looking into the middle space between them.

He wouldn't even look at her. Because he didn't want her butting in or because he thought Amabelle was guilty?

“Does anyone have anything to add?”

Deanna had plenty to ask. Like had he noticed the heels of poor Charlie's shoes? Or the blades of newly cut grass on his trouser leg?

She could picture the scene in her mind. It was something she'd learned from her drawing lessons, out of necessity, because someone was always eating the fruit from her still lifes before she finished her picture. She knew she couldn't see anything that the photographer couldn't see. Still . . .

Deanna looked around the table. No one else had anything to say. Good. She couldn't wait to get away from this. As soon as she got upstairs, she'd make her own sketch of poor Charlie. She was about to ask to be excused when Joe said, “I suppose I do.”

Joe rose from his seat and strode toward the window. “Mother wasn't the only one who offered her an invitation to Bonheur last night.”

If Deanna thought it had been quiet before, the silence now was smothering. She tried not to look at Joe, standing at the window, his back to the room.

He had everyone's attention.

“How's this?” Mr. Ballard asked.

“When did you see Amabelle?” his mother asked. “I didn't think you remembered her. It's been a year or two since we've seen the Deekses.”

“Son.”

Deanna's head snapped back from Joe to his father, which was the only reason she saw Mr. Ballard's reaction, the minute quirk of the head, the lift of the eyebrow.

Joe turned slowly to face the room. Deanna swallowed. She hoped this wasn't going to turn into one of those things young ladies shouldn't know about.

Fortunately the gonging of the hall wall clock, and the subsequent echo of the other clocks throughout the room, prevented the conversation from continuing.

“Deanna?” Gran Gwen said once it was quiet again. “Aren't you meeting your cycling group this morning?”

Her cycling group. She'd forgotten all about it. But if she went, she wouldn't hear what Joe had to say, though from everyone's reaction, it might be better if she did leave. But would it be disrespectful to the dead to go and enjoy herself?

“Yes. You don't want to miss that,” Laurette said, glancing at Joe.

Her better judgment told Deanna it would be smart to leave now that she had the chance. Curiosity told her to stand her ground. For once better judgment won out. If Joe had been carrying on in ways that weren't exactly proper, she didn't want to know.

She assuaged her curiosity by telling herself that Elspeth, who had been sent with the other servants to search the house for Amabelle, would be full of news from the search.

“I believe that's all I need from you at the moment. You've been most helpful.”

Will was addressing Deanna, but he was looking somewhere past her shoulder. She had an overwhelming desire to turn and look, but she knew it was just a wall. Why wouldn't he look at her?

And suddenly she didn't feel like she could meet any of their eyes. She pushed her chair back and walked blindly to the door, which fortunately was opened by a footman as she approached. She didn't slow down as she left the room, didn't slow as she climbed the stairs. Didn't stop until she reached her room and shut the door firmly behind her.

“Miss, what is it?” asked Elspeth, hurrying in from the dressing room. “Did they find her? Is she dead? Was it awful?”

Deanna shook her head. “They haven't found her.”

“Then what is it?”

“I—I think Joe may be involved in some way.”

“Is the sergeant still down there?”

Deanna nodded.

“Is he questioning Mr. Joseph?”

Deanna shrugged and sank onto a chair.

“Well, if you're looking like that because you think Mr. Joseph bashed that man's head in, you need to take a tonic.”

That forced a laugh from Deanna.

“That's better.”

“No, I don't think he killed poor Charlie.” She was thinking about something else entirely.
Oh, grow up, Deanna. Men do those things. Joe is a man, ergo . . . “
So did you find anything during the search?”

“Nothing,” Elspeth said, obviously disappointed. “We looked high and low. Checked every window—and let me tell you, some of these footmen don't have brains for nothing. They looked at every window, even the ones with sheer drops to the ground. I coulda told them not to waste their time. But would they listen to a maid, even a lady's maid?

“No they would not.” Elspeth answered her own question before Deanna even opened her mouth.

“If you ask me, she walked right out the door. 'Cause while those pretty boys were hanging out the windows with their breeches' backside in full view, we maids were checking the linen for anything missing and anything that could have been made into an elopement rope.”

“An elopement rope? She wouldn't have come here if she was planning to elope with Charlie—or anybody else—she just would have done it.”

Elspeth fisted her hands and gave Deanna her most exasperated sigh. “That's just an expression. What I mean is, she didn't climb out of no window.”

“Your grammar is slipping.”

“Sorry, miss, but you can be very vexing,” Elspeth said at her primmest.

Deanna sank onto her bed. “I know. It's just that I think Joe was doing something he shouldn't last night, because Gran Gwen reminded me that I had to meet the cycling club and that I should go change into my cycling outfit. Which I'm pretty sure was just a pretense for getting me out of the room while they found out what he did. And if the Ballards and Gran Gwen are trying to protect me, it must be something bad.”

“Not Mr. Joseph.”

“You don't even know what it was.”

“I don't need to. Orrin says—”

“I thought we were going to dispense with things your brother says after his dead misses on some important issues not so long ago.”

Elspeth's eyes rolled up into her lids until the blue irises disappeared. “Well, Mr. Joseph wouldn't do nothing illegal. And though I'm sure he enjoys his pleasures as much as the next man, if that's what you're thinking, he wouldn't be making up to any young unmarried girl, even if she was an actress.”

“Then who would he—No, don't tell me what you think or what Orrin says. It's none of our business.”

“Well, that's the first sensible thing you've said all morning. Now, get up off that chair and let's get you dressed so you won't be late for that club of yours.”

*   *   *

“W
ould you like your mother and grandmother to also leave?” Lionel asked Joe as soon as the door had closed behind Deanna.

“No, of course not. All I did was offer to help a girl. By sending her here, I might add, not taking her into my den of iniquity. Not that I even have one.”

His father snorted. “Is that what you're afraid Deanna will think?”

“No. Shall I tell you what happened last night, or not?”

“Please,” Will said.

“Please do,” his mother said.

Joe sighed and sat down. He knew his mother wouldn't approve of Mersey's yacht party, not because she thought it was immoral, necessarily, but because the men who would be there would invariably take advantage of the women who were hired for the occasion. Not only would they use them but oftentimes abuse them as well.

“I ran into Vlady Howe as I was leaving the birthday fete last night. He and Herbert were going to drop by Jacob Mersey's yacht. I agreed to go with them.”

He shot his mother and grandmother a serious look. “Mainly because I was hungry and Mersey always does a good spread. So we went; it was the usual, women and drinking and lots of noise. A number of the actresses were there.

“I went out on deck to find a quiet place to eat, and when I'd finished and was coming back inside, I passed a stateroom where voices were raised—angry voices. I slowed just to make sure no one was in trouble. But the door opened so I quickly went back outside, waiting for them to leave.

“As I stood there, a girl runs out saying, ‘Help me,' and I recognized her. It was Amabelle Deeks, and I told her if she were in trouble, she should come here. Which evidently she did.” Joe shrugged. “Then we heard one of the stateroom doors close and she ran off.

“I thought she would be safe, so I left.”

Will turned a page in his notebook. Licked the end of his pencil. “And about this argument you overheard. Was it in connection with Miss Deeks?”

“I didn't hear, though I thought I heard one of them say ‘bell.' When I saw Amabelle, I made the connection.” Joe thought back. “It might be coincidental that she ran from the same corridor as the arguing men. There are maybe four guest rooms there. It might have been about her—or over her. Or something totally unrelated. I didn't hear any female voice.”

“And did you know the owners of those voices?”

“Not that I noticed at the time.”

“Do you think you would recognize the voices if you heard them again?”

“I might. Like I said, I wasn't paying that much attention, and they were muffled by the door.”

“And did you look for her afterward?”

“No. I had just come to have some breakfast. I'd had it and I went home.”

“Next time,” his father interrupted, “you might do better to come to Bonheur for a home-cooked meal.”

“Yes, sir. And I'm sorry if I brought the family into this mess. I was trying to help a young woman.” He glanced at his mother. “I didn't think she would murder someone.”

“You don't know that she murdered Charlie,” Deanna said, striding into the room.

Joe did a double take. She was dressed in a tailored shirt and a skirt hemmed several inches above her ankles. A skirt that was actually divided, similar to trousers. The cycling club. He'd seen their costumes before, just not on Dee.

She stopped in the middle of the room. “You don't know that she murdered poor Charlie, or did you discover evidence while I was upstairs changing?” She cocked her head at him. She was upset that she'd been made to leave, regardless of how gently it was done.

“Did you?” she reiterated.

“No. And since when did a dead stranger become ‘poor Charlie'?”

Gran Gwen threw up both hands. “
Pour l'amour du ciel.
You children are enough to make one tear one's hair. A girl is missing. A man is dead. Deanna may call him ‘poor Charlie' if she so desires. It is time for Deanna to meet her group, and for Carlisle to bring me a sherry. Joseph, ring the bell.”

Joe jumped to his feet and rang for the butler.

Lionel stood. “Ladies, have your sherry, though I must say—” A quick glance from his wife stilled his tongue. “Then, if you'll excuse us, Joseph, Will, and I will see Deanna off.” He ushered Deanna out of the parlor. Will bowed to the ladies, and he and Joe followed.

“Whew,” Lionel said once they were in the hallway. “Not the quiet weekend with my wife I envisioned. Now, my dear, where is your bicycle? Carlisle?”

The butler was suddenly at his elbow. “I've had it brought round to the front, sir.”

“Excellent.”

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“The ladies want their sherry.”

“I had anticipated that, sir,” Carlisle said, as a footman carrying a tray with a decanter and two glasses arrived at the door to the parlor.

“And if I might say . . . Cook has asked that I remind Sergeant Hennessey to come round to the kitchen before he leaves.”

“To do with the case?” Lionel asked.

“To do with his breakfast, sir.”

“Bribing a police officer,” Lionel quipped. “Cook's a deep one.”

“I think this one incident can be overlooked, sir.”

“Good man,” Lionel said. “You see to the ladies. I'll see these three out and make sure Will gets his sandwiches.”

Deanna went down the steps and took her bicycle from the footman.

“Do you think she needs help getting on?” Lionel asked.

“If you suggest it, you'll get your head bit off,” Joe said.

The three of them watched wordlessly as Deanna maneuvered the bicycle onto the drive and glanced back at the three men, scowling like only Deanna could scowl.

“Maybe she'd prefer to get started without an audience,” Lionel suggested.

The three of them turned back toward the house, but quickly looked back over their shoulders in time to see Deanna pedaling down the drive, wobbling slightly at first but steadying and gaining speed as she reached the avenue.

The three men expelled their breath.

Lionel went back into the house.

“So where will you go from here?” Joe asked Will.

“I'll check in at the station and write my report and make sure it is being attended to properly. Then I plan to talk to the theater company. But I'll also need to question the people who were on the yacht last night. Someone might have seen Miss Deeks after you left, maybe even saw her leave.”

“Or followed her to Bonheur and killed Charlie and possibly her?”

Will shrugged. “It would help to know how Charlie fits into this and whether he followed her or accompanied her. How many of the theater people did you notice?”