Death at Blenheim Palace (11 page)

“Not to my knowledge,” Charles replied. “You were here before I came down, Winston. Did you see her?”

“No, nor the Duke, either,” Winston said, “which is a bit odd. He’s always down for breakfast at half past eight.” He grinned at Kate. “You’re an early bird, Kate. Don’t tell me you’ve been around the lake already this morning?”

“Just over the bridge and back,” Kate said. “It’s the best time of day to walk.” She smiled back at Winston, whose energies she admired. “You’re welcome to go tramping with me any morning you like.”

“Thanks,” Winston said earnestly, “but I’d rather not expend energy on walking that will be needed for writing. It’s amazing how blasted hard it can be to write, especially when one is writing about one’s father.” He wrinkled his nose. “I hate to say it, but I do believe that he dared to offend every member of the party, at least twice.”

They all laughed at that, and the men went back to their discussion. Kate ate quickly, listening with half an ear. Gladys still had not put in an appearance by the time she finished, so she stood and excused herself.

“I’m off to work,” she said to Charles, putting her hand on his shoulder. “What are your plans for the morning?”

“I’m taking my camera into the Park. I plan to be back by picnic time, though.”

“Enjoy yourself, then.” She left the men, still talking politics, and went upstairs. It was nine-thirty, and Gladys was probably awake by now. Before she and Beryl settled down to a morning’s writing, she would go to the girl’s room and speak to her.

In the second-floor corridor, Kate paused in front of a heavy oak door, where a hand-lettered white card with Gladys’s name on it had been inserted into the brass slot. She knocked, expecting a sleepily irate reply. Hearing nothing, she raised her hand to knock again. Just then, she turned to see Consuelo hurrying toward her down the hall, looking troubled. Behind her was Mrs. Raleigh, the housekeeper, a short, round, bustling woman with a bunch of jangling keys at her waist.

“Oh, good morning, Consuelo,” Kate said, dropping her hand. “I was just looking for Gladys. She doesn’t answer my knock, but perhaps she has gone out for an early walk.”

Consuelo’s lips were pinched and her voice was low and distracted. “The maid reported that she doesn’t seem to have returned to her room last night.”

“Didn’t return to her room?” Kate asked, startled. Suddenly, the scrap of cloth felt like a flaming ember in her pocket.

“Yes,” Consuelo said. “I thought perhaps I should see for myself. I’m very glad you’re here, Kate. Please come in with me.” She went to the door, squared her shoulders as if she were stepping into a lion’s den, and turned the knob.

The large room was cheerful and bright, with an eastern view. The draperies had been opened to admit the morning sun, and a tray with a cup of tea and a single rosebud sat on the small table beside the window. Last night’s fire had burned down and had not been relit. The coverlet and sheet had been neatly turned down but were undisturbed, and Glady’s dainty lace-trimmed nightgown was folded on the pillow.

Kate looked at the Duchess. Her hands were clenched into tight fists, and there was a bewildered look on her face.

“What in the world could have—” Consuelo stopped. “I wonder if she came back here to change before she . . .” Her voice trailed off.

With the torn scrap in her pocket, Kate thought she knew the answer to that question, but she went to the wardrobe and opened the doors. The crowded rack was a rainbow of Gladys’s stylish gowns in shades of blue, chartreuse, yellow, carnelian, ivory. But the burnished gold silk she had worn the night before was not there.

“She was wearing a diamond necklace,” Kate said, half to herself, and went to the elaborate jewel box on the dressing table. It was full of bracelets, baubles, and bangles, some of them, Kate thought, quite valuable. But the necklace was not there. Wherever the girl had gone, she was still wearing her dinner dress and diamonds worth a small fortune.

Consuelo made a low sound of wrenching pain. In the doorway, Mrs. Raleigh was watching the scene with a puzzled frown, as if she failed to see why the Duchess should be so upset about the vagaries of a guest, and particularly the flighty Miss Deacon. Kate felt it was time to take command.

In as authoritative a tone as she could summon, she said to Mrs. Raleigh, “Her Grace and I are going to sit down to a cup of hot tea in my room. Please see that it’s brought as quickly as possible.” And then she noticed the large bunch keys at the housekeeper’s waist. “Oh, before you go, please let me have the key to this room. Perhaps it’s a good idea to lock it.”

With barely disguised displeasure, Mrs. Raleigh took out the key and handed it to her, then went off to see to the tea. Kate put her arm around Consuelo’s shoulders and led her out of the room, pausing to lock the door behind them. As they turned, Kate saw that the door across the hall was open, a pair of white-capped, white-aproned housemaids peering out, saucer-eyed. Kate shook her head at them and they scurried back to their work, but she knew that within the hour, news of Gladys Deacon’s unexplained absence—and the Duchess’s reaction to it—would be on every servant’s tongue. And if Kate knew servants, the tale would be full of exaggerations, intentional and otherwise. Why, they’d probably have Gladys murdered and her body in the lake, she thought, and shivered.

A few moments later, sipping a cup of hot tea in a chair in front of the fire in Kate’s bedroom, the color had come back to Consuelo’s cheeks, her hands had stopped trembling, and she looked rather better. But her voice was still bleak and thin when she spoke. “I’m sorry, Kate. I didn’t mean to cause such a commotion, especially in front of the servants. They are such terrible gossips.”

“You didn’t cause a commotion,” Kate said comfortingly. Holding her cup, she sat in the opposite chair. “It was the shock, that’s all. I was every bit as surprised as you. Where on earth can the girl have gone?”

She had already decided not to say anything just yet about the scrap of gold silk. If Gladys reappeared with an explanation for her absence, she would speak to her privately about it. And if she didn’t, well, the torn silk was a clue to where the girl had been. It was the sort of thing that Charles, or the police, if it came to that, would want to know about. Kate found herself wishing that she’d had the presence of mind to scout around Rosamund’s Well for any other signs that Gladys had been there—Gladys and someone else. She somehow doubted that Gladys would have gone there alone.

“I have no idea where she might be,” Consuelo said miserably. “I must confess that she occasionally behaves . . . well, erratically. But she’s never just disappeared like this.” Her hand trembled, and she put down her cup on the small table beside her chair, as if she were afraid she might drop it. “May I . . . may I speak to you in confidence, Kate? I’m reluctant to burden you with my troubles, but there’s no one else, and I feel as if I will go mad if I can’t at least talk about it.” She looked away. “I’ve begun to feel as if you’re . . . well, a kindred spirit. After all, we are both Americans. And both married to Englishmen.”

With a soft sound, a coal fell in the grate. They might both be Americans, Kate thought, but they were separated by an enormous chasm of class and upbringing. Consuelo was a Vanderbilt, heiress to one of the largest fortunes in the world, while she herself had been raised on the Lower East Side of New York.
²
But her Irish aunt and uncle had taught her to support herself by her own industry, while she suspected that Consuelo had been given few opportunities to make her own independent decisions or even to develop her own interests. And as to their both being married to Englishmen—well, Charles was nothing at all like the Duke of Marlborough, thank heavens. Kate could comfort herself with the thought that he hadn’t wanted her for her money (since she had none), while Consuelo was daily confonted with the fact that Marlborough had loved not her, but the Vanderbilt millions. All in all, there were a great many more differences between them than similarities.

But Kate said nothing of this. Instead, she replied softly, “Of course you may speak confidentially, Consuelo. Tell me anything you like. Your secrets will remain with me.”

“I used to talk to Gladys about the way I felt,” Consuelo said bleakly. “She’s an American, too, and we’ve been friends for several years. But recently, I’ve come to realize that—” She stopped, took out a lace handkerchief, and blew her nose. “That she is more my husband’s friend than mine.” She looked at Kate. “I suppose you’ve noticed.”

Not sure what she should say, Kate only nodded.

“They make no secret of it,” Consuelo said miserably. “Everyone must know. I hear whispers whenever I’m in London.”

Kate thought that gossip and rumor, real or perceived, must be very painful for the Duchess of Marlborough, who lived such a public life, herself and her marriage always on display. She felt a mix of emotions: pity for Consuelo’s pain, anger at the causes of it, fear that nothing could be done to make the situation any better.

But she kept all this from her voice as she said, “How long have they known each other?”

“They met in London after our first child was born, while I was still confined.” Consuelo gave a little laugh. “I was . . . well, naive, I suppose. For a time, I didn’t notice what was going on, and when I did, I thought it would fade. After all, Gladys was barely sixteen then, and Marlborough is a man of few passions. He was so fully immersed in Blenheim’s restoration that I honestly thought the flirtation would wear itself out.” She bit her lip. “It’s hard to know how Gladys feels, but his infatuation with her has only grown more intense.”

“I don’t suppose they are together that often,” Kate said thoughtfully. “She lives with her mother on the Continent, doesn’t she? And travels a good deal?”

“Marlborough invited her here several times last year, once for a full month. And earlier this spring, they were together in Paris.” She made a little face. “I know, because her mother—such a wicked, foolish woman—told a mutual friend that she was afraid that my husband and her daughter would . . . would run away together.” She said the words gingerly, as if to give them voice might make it happen.

“I’m quite sure the Duke would never do that,” Kate said firmly. “He hates scandal. And he is so deeply attached to Blenheim.” Then, fearing the omission had been hurtful, she added, “And to you and his sons, of course.”

“To his sons, yes,” Consuelo said, “since they represent the next generation of Churchills.” Her voice became bitter. “He keeps reminding me that we are merely links in a long chain that stretches back into the past and ahead into the future. A
chain,
” she said, with a sudden, angry emphasis. “A chain, yes, exactly, Kate! I feel as if I am chained to this awful place, and to this marriage. As if I live in a hideous cage, and I’ll never break free. Can you understand that?”

“I think I can,” Kate replied. “It must be a terrible thing, to feel imprisoned.” She hesitated. “Have you spoken to Gladys about it? Or to the Duke?”

“Not to Gladys,” Consuelo said dispiritedly. “I don’t blame
her,
not really, you know. For all her sophistication, she’s still an innocent child.”

Kate stared at her, remembering the flirtatious, seductive Gladys she had seen at dinner the night before. An innocent child? It seemed to her that the Duchess was the innocent one, trustful and accepting, protected throughout her life from anyone who might want to harm her and without the experience that would help her see that her young friend Gladys was capable of betraying her.

“But I do blame Marlborough,” Consuelo was going on sadly, “who is misbehaving badly. I’ve tried several times to talk to him about it, as recently as last week. But I’m not very good at confrontation, you see. He just gives me that . . . that hooded look of his, as if there’s nothing behind his eyes, or if there is, he’s hiding it from me. He refuses to talk. He says there’s nothing wrong. Nothing to be said between us.”

It was time, Kate thought, to say what she thought. “If you don’t mind my speaking frankly, Consuelo, we see this situation from different points of view. I don’t believe that Gladys is at all innocent. She’s deliberately toying with Botsy Northcote, and casting eyes at Winston as well. And she’s scarcely a child, although she loves to play the
jeune fille
.” She paused. “I’m sorry to say this, Consuelo, but I think she’s . . . well, dangerous. She’s put your marriage in jeopardy and your happiness.”

“Do you think so?” Consuelo’s mouth twisted. “Oh, God, Kate,” she said wretchedly. “My life is such an appalling chaos.” Her voice rose. “What am I to do? I’m trapped. I’m chained. I want more than anything to be free, but that is a hopeless dream. The law makes divorce nearly impossible. And even if it didn’t, Marlborough would never agree because of the scandal. And the money.” She paused. “It’s the money, more than anything.”

“We can only take things a day at a time,” Kate said, knowing that the words, offered no real comfort. “But at the moment, there is something we really
must
do. We must find Gladys.”

“You’re right, of course.” Consuelo blew her nose again. “But where can we start?”

Kate thought for a moment. Charles had said that he was going out for the morning and would not be back until lunch, so she could not ask his help or advice. She would have to deal with this herself.

“What about the Duke?” she asked. “Shouldn’t he be told that Gladys is gone?” She paused, seeing the look of wrenching pain on Consuelo’s face, and she softened her tone. “Whatever else the girl is to him, you know, she is a guest in his house. You will have to tell him—and the sooner the better, I should think.”

Consuelo seemed to brace herself against the thought. “You’re right, of course. But I don’t think I can face Marlborough alone, and I think he might find it easier if you’re there.” A smile ghosted across her mouth. “At the least he might feel that he has to make a civil answer. Will you come with me?”