A Gilded Grave (23 page)

“But?”

“I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something off about her. She’s one who knows what she wants and is used to getting it.”

“Maybe it’s the way she kisses her brother.”

“My dear, that sort of thing I’m sorry to say is more prevalent than we acknowledge, though you don’t want to hear my views on that ninny Anthony Comstock and how his puritanical laws have forced so many relationships behind closed doors. The man’s a fool, not to mention his attitude is downright criminal.”

Joe nodded—the only safe response when his grandmother got going on Comstock, the self-proclaimed upholder of Victorian morals.

“His actions have sent people to jail, kept women from safe relations, and—”

“Grandmère.”

Gwen sat back in her chair. “Yes, well, in the meantime, be careful. I don’t need you in jail for burglary.”

D
eanna didn’t open the telegram right away. She dressed in an elegant but deceptively utile dress in case Joe needed her to do something that required freedom of movement.

“You’d better go on and open it,” Elspeth said. “You don’t
want your mother showing up at the door tonight while you and Mr. Joseph are committing a crime.” She picked the telegram off the dressing table. “You want me to read it to you?”

“No.” Deanna took it, sat down on the bench, and sliced it open. Read through it twice.

“Well?” Elspeth asked.

“The good news is she’s taking Adelaide to Switzerland for treatments and I don’t have to go.”

“Then why are you all mopey?”

“The bad news is she’s sending Aunt Harriet to chaperone me.”

“Is that the old— I mean, is that your mother’s sister from Boston?”

Deanna nodded. “And she’s even more strict than Mama.”

Elspeth sat down beside her, and they both stared at the open telegram as if they could change what it said.

“I might as well go to Switzerland for all the fun I’ll have.”

“Me, too,” Elspeth said. “Your Aunt Harriet don’t like me by half.”

“If it’s any consolation, Aunt Harriet doesn’t like anyone.” Especially not the Woodruffs, and even more especially not Gran Gwen.

Elspeth stood. “Well, we’ll worry about it tomorrow. Right now you’d best get downstairs. There’s work to be done.”

“You’re right.” Deanna gave herself a quick final look in the mirror, pulled her bangs to the side, went over last-minute plans with Elspeth, then went downstairs.

She thought it must be a slow night in Newport, for the guests began arriving soon after nine o’clock. Or maybe everyone just wanted to beat the worst of the rain. The drizzle had already turned to a steady rain. Thunder had begun rumbling
in the distance right after dinner and had moved progressively closer. There would be a downpour before long.

The footmen had opened the pocket doors between the two parlors to create twice the space. Deanna was glad to see that the chairs and sofas were facing away from the door to the hall. Joe would only have to wait until everyone was absorbed in the games before he sneaked away.

It was a festive atmosphere with no chaperones other than Mrs. Woodruff and her sister, Tillie, who mostly sat in a corner of the room, unnoticed and unheeded as she knit her way through the evening.

The windows were open and a breeze came in off the water, and though it was evening, most of the men had opted for summer suits and the ladies were dressed in summer frocks for the informal get-together.

Deanna’s mother would be dismayed by such a slip in form, but she wasn’t here—nor was her aunt, yet—and times were changing. Deanna could feel it. Soon women would have the vote, and they’d be able to play tennis without tripping over their skirts or fainting because their corsets were laced too tightly.

She’d already seen young women riding bicycles along the streets. Joe had a bicycle. Perhaps he would teach her how to ride.

Joe arrived with a group of young men, and she had to admit that he stood out from the others with his dark hair and eyes, and his muscular frame inside his finely tailored jacket and trousers. Girls had always been casting their lures for him . . . until he’d moved to his workshop. Then mothers couldn’t remove their daughters from his vicinity fast enough.

Male and female guests were pressed together on the several
sofas that had been pushed together to form a small arena for playing charades and other games. Cassie was holding court from a cushioned chair. Vlady Howe sat on the arm, looking—Deanna rolled her eyes—down Cassie’s dress. Herbert Stanhope and Cokey Featheringham stood before her. Madeline was talking to a group of girls over by the pianoforte.

Joe didn’t come too close to her except to say hello. He moved from group to group, and Deanna noticed that some of the people snubbed him. Two girls actually walked away when he approached.

Deanna burned with indignation on Joe’s behalf.

Punch and cakes were served, then they all took their places back on the sofas while Vlady fetched the bag with the charade phrases that Cassie and Madeline had written out earlier that day.

“Wait, wait,” Vlady said. “We need some atmosphere.” He went around the room, adjusting some lamps and turning off others until the room was dark except for a large oval in the center of the room.

Everyone applauded. Just as Vlady took a bow, thunder cracked behind him and the rain began in earnest. Two footmen rushed to close the windows.

“Now, this is cozy,” Vlady continued. “Who will go first?”

Joe caught Deanna’s eye and a thrill, half anticipation and half anxiety, shot through her. It was starting. She turned to join the guessing, and Joe slipped from her view.

The games started calmly enough but quickly grew boisterous, and Deanna was aware that Joe had left the room. Everyone was enthusiastic and jumped from their seats or called out silly answers to the pantomimes.

The room filled with laughter but Deanna kept alert, listening for the door to open or for Joe to reappear, but he didn’t
come. They would soon be moving on to a different game. Possibly a quiet game, and someone might notice he was missing.

What could be taking him so long? It was everything she could do not to go out after him. But she had her orders, so she stayed put.

The game continued, becoming more raucous with each new participant. Deanna smiled and laughed and kept one ear always on the door.

Perhaps that was why she heard the carriage arrive.

Mrs. Woodruff was nowhere to be seen, but Madeline must have heard it, too, because she quickly slipped from the room. Deanna didn’t hesitate to go after her. She could always plead a trip to the ladies’ withdrawing room.

Madeline had stopped just outside the room, and Deanna nearly bumped into her. Madeline whirled around, surprise written on her face. Then the door opened and Mr. Woodruff hurried through. Rain dripped off his hat brim, and his clothes were limp and wet.

“Welcome home, sir.” Neville’s voice didn’t betray the surprise that he must have felt. The men hadn’t been expected to return to Newport until the weekend. The butler tried to take Mr. Woodruff’s hat, but he brushed him aside.

“The young people are gathered in the parlor. I believe Mrs. Woodruff is there, too,” Neville said.

“Don’t tell her I’m here. I’m only here for a moment to get something and leave again.”

He pushed the butler away. And Deanna froze. He had turned and was practically running down the hall. To the library. Where Joe was rifling through the books.

“Mr. Woodruff!” she called, and hurried after him.

But Madeline had the same idea, and she reached him first.
“My dear sir, you look unwell. Come, have some wine. Surely your business can wait a few minutes.”

Mr. Woodruff reared back like he’d seen a monster.

Deanna saw that his eyes were dilated and he looked feverish.

“He’s ill,” Deanna said, forgetting for a moment about Joe.

“He is indeed,” Madeline said calmly. “Now come, dear sir. Let me help you to bed. You don’t want to alarm Mrs. Woodruff. Neville, please have Cook prepare Mr. Woodruff some hot milk.”

Neville bowed and hurried away. Deanna thought how much Madeline sounded like she was already mistress of Seacrest.

Mr. Woodruff shook his head, but he allowed her to lead him upstairs.

Deanna didn’t know whether to follow them or try to warn Joe that Mr. Woodruff was home.

Joe won out.

She took one quick look around, then ran down the hall.

Deanna knocked at the door. No answer. She knocked again. “Joe. Joe.” She waited impatiently, sure that at any moment Neville would return and see her.

Finally she tried the doorknob. The door opened. The desk lamp was on but the rest of the room was dark.

“Joe?” she said into the darkness.

Fear lifted the hairs on her neck and arms. Where was he? There were papers spread out on the desk, but it looked like they had been thrown there.

Deanna crept toward the desk. Something was terribly wrong. When she drew closer, she saw that all the drawers were open and papers were strewn across the floor. Joe would never have left such a mess.

She climbed over the papers intending to turn on another lamp, but her foot caught on something and she fell forward, just managing to catch herself on her hands and not step on the recumbent figure.

She turned around, tucked her skirts under her. “Good heavens, Joe. Get up! What’s wrong? Oh—”

A clap of thunder was followed by lightning, and she saw what she had feared: Joe lay crumpled on the carpet. She didn’t see any blood. She leaned over him until she could feel his breath on her cheek.
Alive. Thank God
.

Another clap of thunder and the rain pelted the panes of the French door that led outside. Then the lights went out.

A few screams of surprise that must have come from the party, then the sound of running. They couldn’t be found here. Joe’s reputation was already questioned because of Cokey’s accusations. If they found him here with the desk obviously broken into—well, she couldn’t let that happen.

“Joe, you have to get up.” Desperate, she shook him, but he didn’t stir. She grabbed his arm and pulled as hard as she could. But she couldn’t budge him.

She tried again and managed to drag him six inches. If she could just get him outside, she would think up some excuse later. She just knew they couldn’t be caught in the ransacked office. If Joe hadn’t been unconscious, she would have kicked him. He’d obviously been knocked out by some unknown assailant who had then ransacked the library.

There were too may odd things going on in this house to stop and question the hows and whys now. They had to get out of this room. As she pulled, he rolled to his back, and she saw that he’d stuck some papers in his vest.

“Joe, so help me.” She grabbed him under both arms and
hauled. She’d just gotten him to the French doors leading outside when she heard voices.

“We’re just getting a torch. Mrs. W. says there’s one in the library.”

Sheer terror gave Deanna the strength to drag Joe to the door. She unlocked it, opened it, and rolled him outside into the rain just as someone opened the other door.

She saw the library light come on. Someone’s gasp of surprise. Shear panic had her dragging Joe into the shadows, hopefully out of sight.

“I say, there’s been mischief here!”

“The French doors are open. He must have gone this way.”

Deanna pulled Joe close to the wall and squatted in the rain, praying they wouldn’t look for the thief outside.

Joe stirred. “Wha—”

She covered his mouth with her wet hand. “Shh. Not a sound.”

“I don’t see anyone out here.” Deanna recognized Herbert Stanhope’s voice. He stepped out to the terrace, looked one way, then the other—right at Deanna and Joe.

Deanna tightened her hold on Joe and held her breath.

Then Herbert turned away and went back inside. “Nothing out here. He must be long gone.” He closed the doors.

Joe blinked a couple of times, but Deanna wasn’t sure if it was in disbelief or to keep the rain out of his eyes.

Herbert must have seen them huddled in the rain. And yet he’d held his tongue. It made no sense. Perhaps he planned to confront them later. Perhaps he hoped they would give themselves away and he wouldn’t have to.

Joe’s eyes cut to hers. Hers rounded in reply. Understanding passed between them. She hauled Joe to his feet. He took only
a second to recover. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and together they stumbled toward the back of the house, where they could stand under the eaves of the servants’ entrance, though it was little enough shelter from the rain, which bore in on the house at a sharp angle.

There was no way of getting back inside now without everyone knowing they’d been caught out in the rain. They were both soaked. Hopefully, no one would put together the ransacked office with their disappearance.

Deanna’s teeth began to chatter. Joe pulled her closer, but he wasn’t in any condition to shelter her. She suspected that the wall was all that was holding him on his feet.

She was sure of it when she tried to step away and he sagged against her.

And then from the darkness came not a sound, but a feeling—a big hand clamped around her arm, and before she could scream, the mate to that hand covered her mouth and she was dragged into the dark.