Chapter 14
“Jacob, wait outside, please. Miss Riley spoke of an elderly aunt. All of us showing up together might frighten the poor woman.” Jacob sulked but moved a few feet away to wait on the sidewalk. I appealed to Derrick. “Really, even the two of us—”
“I’m coming, and that’s final.”
We walked up the front steps and entered the building, the door being unlocked. Derrick removed his derby and held it at his side. The mingled aromas of cooking—fish, cabbage, potatoes—perspiration, and a dank, moldy scent, assaulted our senses. A staircase rose to one side of a center hall. Beneath it, the front wheel of a bicycle and the canopy of a baby carriage peeked out. There was a door to either side of us, and one straight back. I squinted in the dim interior, lit only by a window at the half landing above, to make out if there were names on any of the doors. There weren’t, only apartment numbers. We both pricked our ears, listening for telltale signs of people at home. A strange quiet pervaded.
“Well.” I exchanged a resolved look with Derrick and knocked on the first door to our right. No answer. I tried the one on the opposite wall. Again, nothing. I gazed down the hallway to the rear apartment, but some instinct sent me up the stairs instead. Derrick followed at my heels.
I knocked at the first door I came to opposite the landing. This apartment would face out over the back of the building. To my surprise, the door opened almost immediately.
“Did you forget—oh. What is it?” The woman who squinted out at us spoke with a sharp brogue, much like Olivia’s. A kerchief surrounded a mane of gray curls that straggled down her back. I judged her age to be anywhere between fifty and sixty, her skin creased and pitted with both advancing years and past illness. But it was not her face that took me aback, but another one that turned up to meet mine.
A sweet, cherubic face surrounded by a cloud of wispy blond curls. The child, no more than a year and a half, two at the most, had her mother’s green eyes, the same slope of her nose.
She had lifted her head off the woman’s shoulder to peer at me. Now she lay her head back down, her lips puckering to a pout. But in the instant we gazed at each other, I saw the feverish light in her eyes, the blush that suffused her cheeks. She twined her bare arms around the old woman’s neck as she straddled the woman’s hip.
“What is it,” the woman repeated. She frowned at us and started to close the door. “I’ve a sick child on my hands. I’ve no time for fools.”
“Is she all right?”
“Are you deaf? I said she’s not well.”
A lump of worry formed in my stomach. I knew how rapidly a mild illness in a small child could become deadly. “Has she seen a doctor? Can you take her to one?”
The woman nodded tersely. “Her mother brought . . .” She caught herself and changed course. “A doctor’s been sent for.”
Her mother brought . . . money for the doctor, I surmised. That Miss Riley had visited this woman—her elderly aunt?—and this child, I had no doubt. The little girl looked too much like her for it to be a coincidence. Wiring the money would have required a trip to the local telegraph office, not easy for a woman caring for a sick child.
She started to close the door. I made a quick decision. “We’re looking for a former employee of ours,” I lied. I snatched the first name that came into my head. “Katie Dillon. Does she live in this building?”
I could feel Derrick’s gaze on me along with his puzzlement. We hadn’t discussed using a false excuse, but I realized that, should we tell this woman we sought Olivia Riley, she would find a way to alert Miss Riley soon after we left. Far better we retain the advantage of secrecy, for now.
“You lookin’ to rehire her?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.” I crossed my fingers behind my back. I didn’t relish lying, yet neither was I above the act if I deemed it necessary. “She was very good at her job and we’d like her to come back.”
“Dillon, you say? There’s a family by that name a couple of buildings over.” The woman jostled the child higher on her hip. “Don’t know that they have a Katie, though.”
“Thank you. So sorry to have bothered you.” Before she could back away and close the door, I reached out and traced my fingertip along the little girl’s satiny soft arm. She had those little creases at her wrists that most babies have, and dimples at her elbows. I was glad to see it. Though perhaps slightly small for her age, she appeared well fed. But her skin radiated heat into my fingertip. She tugged at her ear. “An ear infection?”
The woman nodded.
I smiled at the child. “And what’s your name, little one?”
I sensed the woman growing wary, pulling back. The child smiled weakly. “Fiona Wose.”
“Fiona Rose?” I looked to the woman for consensus, and she gave a reluctant nod. “That’s a beautiful name, for a very beautiful girl.” I tickled her beneath her chin, bringing on a soft, half-hearted giggle. She turned her face away and pressed it into the woman’s shoulder in a bout of shyness, only to whisk back toward me with a flounce of her curls. She grinned. Was she suddenly feeling better? She pointed to a tooth at the front of her mouth.
“Oh, is that new?” I received a proud nod. “Very impressive.”
“I’ve work to do, and she needs to lie down again.” The woman backed decisively away and closed the door, not with a slam, but with a firm message of finality. From the other side I heard a whimper of protest from Fiona that unexpectedly tugged my heartstrings. For several moments I didn’t move, until Derrick placed his hand at the small of my back and gently nudged me.
“Are you all right?”
I blinked. “Fine. Let’s go.”
We made our way back outside to reunite with Jacob. He fired questions at us, and I let Derrick provide him with answers. I didn’t feel much like talking. Only once we were back on the train, headed for Newport, did Derrick ask me what was wrong.
“The child. She could be Isaiah Baldwin’s. The timing, according to what Mrs. Meeker said, is about right.”
“She certainly could be,” Jacob readily agreed. “I’ll wager the bounder stood by while Miss Riley was fired, and then he abandoned them both. A motivation for murder if ever I heard of one.”
All that was true. But it wasn’t what weighed so heavily on me. “What we’re doing could destroy Fiona’s life.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting anyone should get away with murder?” Facing us, Jacob bounced against the back of his seat as the train pulled out of the depot.
“No,” Derrick replied when I hesitated. “But if Miss Riley killed Isaiah Baldwin, it was one more tragedy in a series of tragic incidents, beginning with a man taking advantage of a woman under his supervision. She’d have believed she had little choice in the face of his advances and gone along with his demands in order to keep her position. Now, if she’s guilty and convicted, her daughter faces an uncertain future, perhaps a disastrous one.”
My throat had gone tight, achy, as I pictured that halo of flaxen curls and the sweet smile that rewarded me when I’d complimented the child. I nodded in response to Derrick’s summation of the circumstances and swallowed back gathering tears.
He placed his hand over mine, unapologetic even when Jacob’s eyes widened. “Don’t worry. We know where she lives. I won’t let her starve. That’s a promise.”
* * *
After we parted with Jacob in Washington Square, Derrick and I walked over to Marlborough Street to see Jesse at the police station. A knot of men—about a dozen of them—hovering outside made me glad I hadn’t ventured there alone. Although not quite as irate or out of control as the crowd at the hospital after Baldwin had been brought there, these individuals held signs and shouted for attention.
FREE THE COACHMAN NOW, one sign read, while the individual holding it shook a fist and shouted at the front of the station, “Philip King is guilty! Arrest Philip King!”
Another cardboard placard proclaimed in bold black paint, NO JUSTICE FOR WORKING MEN, and still another asserted, THE RICH GET AWAY WITH MURDER.
Two uniformed policemen stood on the steps of the station, watching, their arms folded across their chests. They didn’t answer the shouting, but remained unmoving and on the alert. Their presence brought some measure of reassurance, although if violence broke out among this many men gathered on the sidewalk, more than two officers would be needed.
Derrick brought us to a halt at the corner. “Perhaps we should come back another time.”
“We need to tell Jesse our news now, and besides, I’m not afraid of them.” I squared my shoulders, letting him know I would not be diverted. After all, I silently assured myself, I had shamed the last throng of malcontents we’d encountered into submission. These were local Newporters, and I was one of them. I searched for familiar faces; there were several I recognized.
I didn’t blame them for their anger, nor their need to vocalize it in such a public way. Why should John Donavan languish in a cell while Philip King enjoyed the comforts of his bedroom? As long as they remained peaceful, theirs was a justified cause. But would they let us pass, or would Derrick and I fall prey to a frustrated mob’s need for action? Would the two officers come to our aid before any real harm befell us?
My worries proved unfounded. As we neared the police station steps, the men parted to give us room to walk. They eyed Derrick with both suspicion and resentment, but then a few of them shifted their sights to me, and I heard my name dance across several pairs of lips. I nodded greetings, maintaining a somber expression to let them know I understood and sympathized. Still, Derrick took possession of my upper arm, a fierce sense of protectiveness communicating itself to me through the tension in his fingers. One of the policemen opened the police station door for us, and we proceeded inside.
We had to wait for Jesse, as he had gone back to the cells to talk to John Donavan again. When he returned to the main part of the station, he invited Derrick and me to sit at his desk. Between officers typing up reports, the ringing of telephones, and people coming and going, we needn’t worry about being overheard.
He looked like a cat who all but had the mouse between his paws, but first he asked, “Did you meet with any trouble outside?”
“No,” I replied. “They’re angry, but not violent. But I can see you have something to tell us. What is it?”
Jesse tried to hide a grin but couldn’t quite accomplish the feat. “He’s admitted it. Donavan admits he and Baldwin worked together in Bristol, and that Baldwin had been blackmailing him in exchange for keeping quiet about the accident that killed the girl.”
“How is it they both ended up working for Mrs. King?” Derrick brought a second chair closer for himself after I took the one already facing Jesse’s desk. “Or was that Baldwin’s doing as well?”
“That’s right.” Jesse shuffled some papers. “Baldwin kept tabs on Donavan these past couple of years. Made constant demands on him but kept his secret. When Baldwin’s last job ended early last spring, he contacted Donavan, discovered he’d been hired by the Kings, and insisted Donavan pave the way for the butler position.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “If the family’s daughter died as the result of an accident and it wasn’t Donavan’s fault, how could Baldwin have blackmailed him?”
Jesse stopped shuffling and met my gaze. “The fact remains, the girl died. How many people do you think would be willing to hire a coachman who had a passenger die on his watch?”
“I see your point.” I fidgeted with the strings on my handbag. “I assume you asked Donavan if he murdered Baldwin?”
Jesse nodded. “He still denies it. As of course he would.”
“What do your instincts tell you?” Derrick asked him. “Is he telling the truth?”
“Hard to say. One thing is certain. He’d been drinking—quite a lot. And now he’s having a very hard time of it here, being deprived.”
“That would explain what Ethan said about Donavan frequently disappearing to his rooms above the carriage house,” I said, and shook my head. “Imagine drinking like that in his circumstances. One would think that after one carriage accident, he’d make sure he never had another one.”
“I suppose when he knew he’d be driving Mrs. King, he abstained.” Derrick leaned closer to the desk. “We discovered something today, too. And it might mean Donavan’s telling the truth. We followed Olivia Riley to Fall River earlier. Just got back, actually.” He sat back and deferred to me with a nod.
I said, “She has a daughter, Jesse. A baby girl about a year and a half old. She’s being looked after by an older woman. At Kingscote, Miss Riley mentioned an elderly aunt.”
“But she has never mentioned this child, at least not to me.” Jesse’s eyebrows went up in speculation without my having to confirm his hunch. “She didn’t want anyone knowing.”
“No,” I replied. “Housemaids with children are not only looked down upon, they’re rarely hired. Potential employers assume such a young woman possesses low morals and will only bring trouble. So no, she would not want anyone at Kingscote to know.”
“Especially if Baldwin was the father,” Derrick added.
At Jesse’s surprised reaction to that, I said, “You remember my telling you about Nanny’s friend, Mrs. Meeker, and her story of Baldwin getting a former housemaid with child.”
“I do indeed.” Jesse appeared deep in thought for several moments. The activity around us continued, the bustle of a busy police station. While Newport remained a small city, the influx of summer residents, constant shipments to the island, and the whirlwind of social activities meant issues were constantly arising that required police attention. Theft, drunkenness, and brawling were always at the top of the list, at least in the summer months. “They could both be guilty,” Jesse said at length. “It’s too much of a coincidence that they all three worked at Kingscote together. Do you still have Ethan in place there as butler?”
“He’s still there,” I assured him. “Despite his being attacked by Donavan.”
“Have him ask the servants if Baldwin and Miss Riley seemed more familiar with each other than the rest of them. Remind him to be discreet. We don’t want to give Miss Riley a reason to run.”
“She already might think there’s a reason,” Derrick said. “We gave her aunt a false excuse for showing up at her door, but I’ve no doubt that as soon as she has a chance, she’ll alert her niece to the two strangers who appeared only minutes after she left the apartment.”
“I suppose that’s true,” I agreed, “but what other choice did we have? We needed to find out what she was hiding in Fall River. Besides, now that the truth is known, perhaps she should be confronted with it.” I didn’t need to point out that the child, if Baldwin’s, gave Miss Riley a strong motive for murder. I turned back to Jesse. “Are you thinking Donavan and Olivia Riley acted together in Baldwin’s murder?”
“Exactly that,” he said. “As I said, it’s too much of a coincidence that all three worked for the Kings. It sounds like they coordinated, doesn’t it? Emma, see if you can’t find out from Mrs. King exactly when each was hired. Was it all at once, or did one recommend another?”
Derrick shifted his long legs in front of him. “You do realize we might be wrong about Miss Riley. For certain she’s been hiding a child, but the little girl might not be Baldwin’s.”
“Another coincidence,” I said. “Like Jesse, I don’t believe in them, not generally speaking. I’ve found that whenever a link appears to exist, there is one. But perhaps someone should persuade Miss Riley to acknowledge her secret in Fall River and see whether she has more to confess.” Even as I spoke, guilt stabbed sharply. Fiona’s beautiful features would haunt me, would steal into my dreams at night, should she be deprived of her mother due to my interference in the case. But what else to do? Ignore evidence and allow a murderer to walk free?
“Then again, there are still Eugenia Ross and Francis Crane, both of whom might have had reasons to commit murder. Both certainly have reasons to begrudge the Kings,” I reminded Jesse.
“I haven’t forgotten. But these two—Donavan and Olivia Riley—have a more direct link to Baldwin. Or so it appears.”
I sighed. “In what’s left of the afternoon, I should spend some time at the Messenger, or I could find myself out of a job.”
“Never.” Derrick started to reach across the space between our chairs to grasp my hand, but with a glance at Jesse, he let his own drop. Jesse angled his own gaze away with an ironic smile hovering over his lips, one that reminded me he had a secret of his own.
Her name, he had confided to me last fall, was Nora Taylor, and she worked as a maid at Ochre Court. She and Jesse had met a year ago during a police investigation. Their courtship had progressed slowly, and I wondered when they might openly acknowledge their affections for each other. But then, who was I to judge—I who couldn’t make up my mind from one moment to the next if I even wished to be courted?
* * *
The late afternoon proved more productive at the Messenger than I had anticipated. I edited several articles that came over the wires for the next morning’s edition, and I’d been pleased to discover several new businesses on the island inquiring about advertising space. All this left me with a deep sense of satisfaction on my way home that evening. Nanny had a sumptuous meal of pot roast and root vegetables waiting for me, plus a surprise, one not only she had kept, but Derrick as well. He greeted me in the front hall and helped me remove my carriage jacket and hat.
“I hope you don’t mind. There was a message waiting for me when I arrived home earlier, an invitation from Mrs. O’Neal. I should have telephoned you at the Messenger to let you know . . .”
“There she goes again, playing matchmaker. I hope you don’t mind.”
He grinned, bent over me, and pressed a kiss to my lips. “That answer your question?”
He left me light-headed and a little breathless. Shuffling footsteps coming from the kitchen prompted me to give him a playful swat and step out from under his hovering, smiling features. “Nanny, this is a surprise,” I exclaimed when she appeared in the corridor. “And everything smells delightful.”
“My lamb has had a long day.” She embraced me and stepped back. “That employer of yours works you too hard.”
Derrick pressed a hand to his chest. “You have my deepest apologies, Mrs. O’Neal, and I shall mend my ways. Emma, take tomorrow off.”
“That I shall not, or my employer will begin to think I’m not indispensable. And then where will I be?”
We spent a homey evening together, enjoying the delicious meal Nanny had prepared with Katie’s help. Though she, Katie, and I normally ate informally at the kitchen table, tonight we sat in the dining room, finally restored after a fire had damaged the room last summer. The calm, unhurried evening contrasted sharply with the frantic pace I had maintained these several days since Baldwin’s murder, and reminded me to acknowledge my blessings and savor my good fortune.
It proved a much needed respite, though a short-lived one. Mrs. King sent a footman to Gull Manor in the morning, asking me to stop at Kingscote on my way into town.