Chapter 17
After disconnecting with Mrs. Fish, I went into the parlor and perched in the corner of my increasingly threadbare sofa. The owner of the yacht Stuart Gale had supposedly died on was a Rothschild. Prince Otto had ties to that family as well.
Something else prodded at the back of my mind, preventing me from relaxing enough to lean back against the cushions. The cocaine. It had been in the possession of all three victims. In my mind that connected Katherine Pendleton to the Spouting Rock victim and Prince Otto, and not merely in the past. Now the hotel clerk had established a sure link between the Spouting Rock victim and Prince Otto.
Something else, something more important still, continued to evade me, a thread hanging just beyond my reach. I heard footsteps, and Nanny entered the room with Katie behind her. Katie carried a tray with a teapot and cups and set them on the table before the sofa.
“Thought you could use more tea this morning.” Nanny lowered herself into the armchair opposite me with a soft groan. She rarely sat on the sofa anymore; she said dislodging herself from its down cushions had become too difficult in recent days. I regarded her pale, velvety skin and her faded blue eyes behind her half-moon spectacles, and not for the first time felt a pang of worry.
Even so, I was about to say I didn’t want any more tea—I’d drank enough at breakfast—but Katie had already begun pouring and handed a cup and saucer first to Nanny, and then to me. I thanked her and sipped dutifully.
And then it struck me.
“I’d told him I didn’t want any tea,” I said aloud.
“Told who, dearie?” Nanny asked me absently. Katie, on the other hand, regarded me with concern. She waited for me to continue.
“Harry Forge,” I said. “When I visited him to question him about Otto and the Spouting Rock victim, he plied me with tea.”
“And cakes, too, I should hope.” Nanny chuckled, but Katie remained solemn.
“Why do you think he did that, Miss Emma?”
I met Katie’s gaze. “I considered it merely hospitality, at first.”
Katie frowned. “At first?”
Nodding, I continued. “And then I thought he was trying to entice me to stay longer. He became . . . flirtatious. And not in a pleasant way. He made me uncomfortable, and I found myself pushing past him and hurrying to the front door.”
Nanny had stopped smiling and set her teacup aside. “Why, that brute. That disrespectful beast. Wouldn’t I like to say a thing or two to him.”
“When I got outside,” I went on, concentrating on the memory, “I didn’t feel myself. Not myself at all.”
“What do you mean, Miss Emma?”
“I had the jitters, like there were wasps loose inside me.” I almost felt that way now, but this time it was anger setting the hornets loose.
“How very strange.” Katie stared down into her cup. “Was it very strong tea?”
“No, it wasn’t the tea.” Outrage sent me to my feet. “It was what he put into the tea, or had his man put in the tea before bringing it out to us. I’d wager anything it was cocaine.”
Nanny, too, came to her feet, faster than I’d seen in quite a while. “You must call Jesse immediately and tell him about this. Have that man arrested for trying to poison you.”
“I certainly will tell Jesse at the first opportunity, but I can’t prove a thing, can I?” I began to pace. “But he wasn’t trying to poison me. He was trying to throw me off balance, perhaps make me feel disoriented enough for him to—” I broke off as indignant fury sent my pulse pounding in my temples. “Well, if nothing else, his little deception certainly links him to three murdered people.”
“Good heavens, Emma.” Nanny stepped in my path and seized my hands. “Do you think he’s the murderer?”
Behind her, Katie gasped and whisked a hand to her mouth.
“I don’t know. But I believe he knows more than he was willing to tell me. Though he tried to deny it, surely he must know the identity of the Spouting Rock victim.”
Nanny’s gaze bore into me. “What are you going to do?”
Before I could answer, a fierce barking went up outside, in front of the house. I slipped my hands free of Nanny’s and ran to the front window, where I saw Patch jumping in circles around a newly arrived carriage. A by-now familiar one.
Mrs. Fish had returned.
* * *
Our search for Harry Forge brought us to the Casino. Despite the most recent murder, and the fact that this one involved a popular member of the Four Hundred, today’s tennis tournament had not been canceled.
Matches were held on the lawn within the long, enveloping arms of the horseshoe pavilion that comprised a restaurant, covered walkways and porches, the bowling alleys, and the main casino building, whose wide entrance we had just walked through.
Mr. Forge was no mere spectator, but a player, teamed with another Harry—Harry Lehr—against Oliver Belmont and my cousin, Alfred Vanderbilt. The match appeared to have been going on for some while when Mrs. Fish and I arrived. The players were perspiring heavily in the morning sun, their white tennis togs clinging to them in a way that would have been entirely inappropriate under any other circumstances. A fine crowd encircled the court, with many more ranged along the covered porches, both the ground floor and above, where they could view the match while escaping the sun.
We weren’t there five minutes before Jesse joined us. As we had planned, we met him in front of the tower, beneath the Tiffany clock. Like many of the men present, he had dressed in a suit of lightweight seersucker and wore a straw boater to shield his head from the sun. We didn’t speak to each other, but instead moved off into the crowd, Jesse keeping Mrs. Fish and me in his sights. I had telephoned the police station before leaving Gull Manor and explained to him what I needed. I’d also conveyed what had happened at Harry Forge’s house—the tea, its odd effect on me, and his attempt to detain me there.
When the match ended, Mrs. Fish and I wasted no time in moving in to congratulate the winning team, consisting of the two Harrys. The excitement began to die down, and Mrs. Fish engaged Harry Forge in a conversation about a charity event she wished him to help her organize when they all returned to New York in the fall. She did virtually all of the talking, allowing him little more than grunts of agreement. She claimed his arm and led him slowly away from the crowd. No one seemed to notice, for another match would soon begin. Mr. Forge seemed a bit bemused by Mrs. Fish and her rapid-fire talking, until he noticed me standing off to the side.
“Will you also be in New York this fall, Miss Cross?” A salacious smile accompanied his question, arousing only my anger.
“I’m afraid not,” I replied with false sweetness. “I’m not a summer visitor to Newport. I live here.” Mrs. Fish had not relinquished his arm, and after a glance at me, she continued walking, compelling him to come along or publicly behave in an ungentlemanly way. I knew Harry Forge was no gentleman, and with an inner shudder I contemplated what might have happened if I hadn’t had the presence of mind to leave his house when I did, not to mention not drinking any more of his tainted tea than I had.
We moved beyond the pavilion toward the Casino’s theater. With everyone’s attention on the tennis court, this area was empty. Good. Mrs. Fish brought Mr. Forge to a halt, and I moved in closer.
I once again showed him the photograph of my mother and Stuart Gale. “You said he was familiar. I believe you know exactly who he is.”
Though the photograph held his gaze, his thoughts were obviously elsewhere—probably on whether or not to admit the truth. The distant thwap-thwap of the tennis ball counted off the seconds. Mr. Forge’s nose flared as his good humor turned to anger. “This amounts to calling me a liar, Miss Cross. And you, Mrs. Fish. I wouldn’t expect this sort of behavior from a woman of your standing. But then, you seem to be keeping rather low company these days.” He shifted his gaze to me.
Behavior, indeed; he was one to talk. Despite the insult, Mrs. Fish’s eyes twinkled. She was enjoying this, I could tell, and obviously looked forward to seeing it through to its outcome.
“Well?” Harry Forge demanded. “Nothing to say for yourselves? Why should I stand here and endure rudeness from either of you?”
“Because you’ve little choice, Mr. Forge.” Jesse, who had approached us unobserved—at least by Mr. Forge—joined our little circle. Mrs. Fish and I had been expecting him. He held up his badge before replacing it in his inner coat pocket. “You can answer Miss Cross’s questions here and now, or you can do so at the police station. It’s entirely up to you, sir.”
Mr. Forge took his time in sizing Jesse up. Applause broke out within the pavilion, followed by cheers. An insolent smirk curled Mr. Forge’s lip. “Do you always take your orders from women half your size?”
I started to protest but Jesse held up a hand to silence me. “You know, Mr. Forge, you have a point. This is my investigation, after all, and Katherine Pendleton is dead. You know about that, don’t you?”
“Of course I know. What’s that got to do with—”
Jesse held out the same hand again, this time to silence the man before him. “Who gave her the cocaine, Mr. Forge?”
“What?” The man’s face turned ruddy. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
This time I wouldn’t be silenced, by either man. “Yes, you do, Mr. Forge. I’ll wager if a thorough search of your house was made right now, an elixir containing a good amount of cocaine would be found there. I wonder if a search need even be made. It’s probably right on your kitchen work counter, where it’s handy for your butler to mix into your tea.” I spoke that last word with emphasis. Mr. Forge’s lips thinned.
“Answer my question, Mr. Forge.” Jesse made a show of taking a pad and pencil from his coat pocket.
“I gave Katherine nothing,” the other man said, his jaws clenched. “Besides, there are no laws against it. It’s nothing more than what’s found in countless patent medicines.”
Jesse nodded as if in agreement, but a vein thrashed in his temple. “You’re right. But should it become known that you supplied a beautiful young debutante with a drug that has been acknowledged to be potentially harmful, I think it would be safe to say your social calendar will become a gaping chasm for the next several years at least.”
“I told you I didn’t give it to her.” He swallowed hard, making his Adam’s apple bob sharply. “That’s the truth.”
“Then where did you get yours from, Mr. Forge?” I raised my eyebrows at him.
He scowled back. Then he nodded at the photograph still in my hand. “From him. If that is him.”
“The man who was murdered at Spouting Rock,” I said without surprise.
He nodded.
“Tell us his name.” Jesse once more set pencil to paper.
Harry Forge expelled a breath. “Sturm. Gabriel Sturm.” “Not Stern,” I said. “Miss Pendleton told us his last name was Stern.”
“Close,” Mrs. Fish observed. “Likely she didn’t want us to know his real name, or that she knew him well at all. Not if she wished to keep us from learning her little secret.”
“Why did you lie about recognizing him when I asked you the first time?” I tapped my foot in impatience to hear the truth.
Mr. Forge turned a little away from me, as if he found speaking to blank air easier. “Because I didn’t like admitting to knowing the likes of him. Gabriel Sturm was a shyster and gambler, and a deplorable influence on Otto. He used the prince’s money to pay for his own excesses, and in return the prince used him to strong-arm those in his debt. That’s why he brought Sturm to America. Had Sturm not been murdered, he’d have twisted more than a few arms among the Four Hundred. Many of whom were your guests at Crossways that night, Mrs. Fish.”
Mrs. Fish narrowed her eyes in speculation. “That still doesn’t explain why you lied to Emma—that is, Miss Cross here—about recognizing the man.”
Mr. Forge hesitated. The steady beat of the rackets against the ball was beginning to wear on my nerves, and I noticed Jesse pressing his pencil against his notepad until a sliver of the tip broke off.
Finally, Harry Forge spoke. “The . . . the age difference put me off at first.”
Jesse let out a laugh. “Hardly. Come now, Mr. Forge. Why did you deny knowing this Gabriel Sturm? Let’s hear something approaching the truth for once.” His notetaking forgotten, he let his hands fall to his sides. “Where did you spend the spring, Mr. Forge? Were you in Prince Otto’s company, and perhaps this Gabriel Sturm’s? Did something happen between the two of you?”
“It would be easy enough to find out the truth.” Mrs. Fish turned to Jesse. “We can’t do a thing without a few dozen other people knowing about it, and that’s not counting the press.” She placed a hand on Mr. Forge’s shoulder. “Go on, Harry. Tell the man what he wants to know. It’ll all come out anyway.”
Harry Forge nodded with a show of resignation. “All right, yes. There were enough witnesses to tell you that I crossed the Atlantic with the prince and Gabriel Sturm. Two weeks ago. And during the voyage I had it out with Sturm. I’d grown sick and tired of how he was using Otto and leading him to self-destruction.”
“‘Had it out with Sturm,’” I repeated. “As in, you argued?”
“Yes, we argued. But that’s all we did.”
“There were witnesses?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I suppose our voices were overheard. But I tell you, that’s all it was. An argument.”
“You’re something of a hypocrite, aren’t you, Mr. Forge?” I couldn’t help pointing out the obvious, while another burst of applause from the court seemed to emphasize the point. “You say Mr. Sturm was leading the prince down a self-destructive path, but what about your own habits? What about you . . .” My voice rose in anger. “Leading me astray with your cocaine-tainted tea? Where were your noble intentions then?”
“I didn’t mean any harm.” He wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve.
“No harm?” That was all I could manage; I was near choking on my indignation.
“Look—” Whatever Harry Forge would have said dissolved into an oomph, forced out of him by Jesse’s elbow jabbing him in the ribs. I let out a gasp; I’d never before seen Jesse manhandle anyone. Not a suspect, not a hostile witness, no one. I wondered, if Jesse’s hands hadn’t been occupied with his pencil and notepad, would he have used his fist?
His features impassive, Jesse straightened his coat with a twitch of his shoulders. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Forge. I didn’t mean any harm. Are you all right?”
Mrs. Fish stifled a giggle. Mr. Forge raised his gaze to Jesse slowly, as if he feared making eye contact would bring on another jab. “I’m fine. Now see here, am I under arrest or not?”
“Not,” Jesse said succinctly. “At least not yet. We’ll see. If I were you, Mr. Forge, I’d give up my dangerous habits. They’re bad for one’s health, in more ways than one.” He turned to Mrs. Fish and me. “Ladies, if you wouldn’t mind, I have a word or two I’d like to exchange with Mr. Forge in private.”
“You’re sending us on our way?” Mrs. Fish’s hands went to her waist. “After we—”
“Mrs. Fish, Detective Whyte obviously has some official police business to finish up with Mr. Forge.” I linked my arm through hers and drew her away. “Why don’t we watch some of the match.”
“Oh, very well. But I don’t like being dismissed. I surely don’t. And another thing . . .”
* * *
The Four Hundred had come out for the match in large numbers, and familiar faces surrounded me as Mrs. Fish and I rejoined the crowd. I half hoped to find Brady here, and left Mrs. Fish’s side to stroll along the sidelines and the covered walkways. My hopes might have been in vain, but my efforts did not go unrewarded. On the patio of the restaurant, I spied Thea Clemson sitting by herself at a corner table. A second cup of tea and a place setting sat before an empty chair, signifying that she had been accompanied. Her mother? Probably. I glanced around but saw no sign of the woman. Of course, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t descend upon me with the swiftness of a dragonfly on evening gnats if she saw me anywhere near her daughter.
The thought didn’t deter me, and I climbed the steps to the patio and approached the table. Most of the other tables were occupied, as customers enjoyed a meal while watching the match. Thea, however, showed no interest in the tennis match. Instead, she sat with her head bent over an item cradled in her hands.
“Miss Clemson.”
Her hands closed around the object and whisked it to her lap as she looked up, clearly startled. Then she relaxed. “Oh, it’s you. Whatever do you want?”
“I wished to apologize for upsetting you on the previous occasions we’ve met.”
She pursed her lips in a way that let me know she wasn’t in a forgiving mood. But then she did something that astonished me. She burst into tears.
Not a sound escaped her, but her shoulders shook fiercely with her effort to silence her sobs while the tears streaked down her cheeks. She retreated under her hat brim, and her knuckles whitened around the object she held.
I quickly looked around at the other diners. So far, no one seemed to have noticed Miss Clemson’s emotional distress. Thank goodness for the match. I chose a seat that would further help shield her from scrutiny, and leaned over the table toward her. “Miss Clemson, what is it? Can I be of assistance in any way?”
She shook her head while her lips remained tightly pressed together. And yet, I didn’t have the impression she wished me to leave her, or that I had caused her tears. No, I believed they had been gathering long before I arrived on the patio. I reached across and gave her shoulder a squeeze, then folded my hands on the table before me and waited, all the while serving as a wall between her and the others on the patio. Finally, she lifted the back of her hand to dab at her eyes.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she said with a hiccup. “That’s not something I typically do.”
“There’s certainly no need to apologize to me.”
“I don’t suppose there is. Except . . . thank you for sitting there.” She darted glances over my shoulders. I looked around as well. The attention of everyone around us had remained on the match, their meals, and one another. “I don’t know what I would have done if all these people had seen my moment of weakness. It would have been too, too shameful.”
“I’m glad I could be of service. Well, I suppose I should leave you alone now.” I slowly gathered myself to stand.
Her features crumpled with the further threat of tears, and she raised the object she held to eye level. Nestled in her palm was a gold locket with a faceted ruby mounted on the cover. She opened it. “It’s Otto,” she explained without prompting. “He gave it to me the night he died, when he came to see me. It was his mother’s, and he’d put a portrait of himself inside. How handsome he was. Don’t you agree, Miss Cross?”
She held out the locket for me to see. The image of the dark-haired, dark-eyed young man immediately seized my attention. The miniature portrait, rendered in oils, was small by any standards, yet I could make out enough detail to shock me to my very bones. I raised my gaze to Thea’s face, and suddenly understood more than I wished to.
“If Mother knew I had this,” she said, “she’d take it away from me. Probably destroy it, at least the picture.” She tucked the locket into her bodice and pressed a reverent hand over her heart. “I don’t know why she hated Otto. I never knew she did until that day you and Mrs. Fish came to talk to us, and I admitted that Otto and I had planned to marry. The way she reacted, and the things she said after you left. Terrible things about Otto and his family. I suppose Mother believed he took advantage of me. But, Miss Cross, he never did. He was always a gentleman. But now I’m so afraid it was Mother who . . .”
I went utterly still. Thea didn’t have to continue; she obviously feared her mother had murdered Otto in a desperate attempt to keep the pair apart. I admit I’d had the same notion, and even now I didn’t rule it out. As I groped for something comforting to say without making myself a liar, Thea gave herself a shake and drew up straighter.
“It’s silly of me, isn’t it, Miss Cross, to think my mother could do something so unthinkable. Of course she couldn’t have. And . . . she was surrounded by so many people at the Harvest Festival. She couldn’t have slipped away without a few dozen people noticing. Isn’t that right?”
I half nodded. There had been so many guests at Crossways, in so many parts of the house and grounds, that any one of them could have slipped away without the others noticing. But if Thea took my silence as affirmation, I wasn’t of a mind to contradict her.
“This . . .” She again pressed her palm over the locket. “This was meant as a promise. Otto said there would be a ring soon, and a wedding. But now that will never happen, and I don’t know what to do, Miss Cross. I don’t know how to go on.”
This extraordinary speech left me without words of my own. My mind wheeled like gulls searching for a meal.
“Miss Cross? Have you nothing to say?”
I reached across to lay my hand over her wrist. “I’m determined to help find the prince’s killer and bring him to justice. And I hope that when that happens, it will bring some small comfort to you, Miss Clemson.”
She leaned back and nodded. “Yes, there’s nothing more to be said, is there? No one and nothing can bring Otto back. I shall live out my life alone, and I must grieve privately, mustn’t I?”
I wished to tell her that she would not remain alone, that in time, she would find someone else to love and grow old with. I wished I could have told her that her mother had been right, that she and Otto could not have married. But I could not say any of those things to someone so heartbroken and inconsolable, or so young. She would not have believed me, and such words would not have helped. Not then.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Clemson?”
She nodded. “Yes, if you see either of my parents, do not mention my distress to them, and certainly don’t tell Mother what I’d been suspecting of her. Will you keep this a secret, Miss Cross? I know you’re a reporter and that you work for the Messenger, but I’ve also heard that you can be discreet.”
“Indeed I can, Miss Clemson. There is no story here, nothing to tell anyone. You have my word on it.” I remained another few moments while Thea took a handkerchief from her bag and finished drying her eyes. Then, after assuring her she no longer appeared as if she’d been crying, I left her.