Chapter 15
No matter how hard I tried, I could not dissuade Grace of the notion that Derrick had proposed to me. I told her quite plainly that he had only requested that I take over for him at the Messenger, and she had nodded with an expression of joy.
“Don’t take too long with your answer,” she counseled me. “Only enough time to make him understand that you are not desperate. But men don’t like to be kept hanging. You don’t want him to become discouraged and run off.”
“Grace, for the fourth time, it wasn’t a proposal. He has to return to Providence. His father is ready to make amends.”
“Which is wonderful. A wedding should be a family affair. Ill feelings should be set aside.”
I sighed and gave up. We had dinner, several courses fit for a celebration, which was exactly what Grace considered this. When she and I left the men to their smoking and brandy and entered the drawing room arm in arm, I made a request I knew she couldn’t refuse.
“You mustn’t go making any announcements, Grace. Think of how my relatives would react, to hear rumors about me from outside sources, especially if they aren’t true.”
“Darling, I promise my lips are sealed. But as soon as you give Derrick your answer, you must inform Alice and Cornelius of this lovely development. And then we’ll begin planning.”
We sat together, our hands clasped. “I do wish you’d believe me. Derrick did not propose tonight. At least, not in the way you hope. It was strictly business, that is all.”
She nodded, grinning, her eyes sparkling. “If you insist.” And later, when it came time to leave, she wrapped her scheming little clutches around Derrick’s arm and with perfect innocence asked him, “Would you be a dear and drive Emma home?”
He readily agreed, and soon the two of us were proceeding down Bellevue Avenue in his cabriolet. “I’m sorry about Grace,” I said. “Once she’s taken hold of an idea, there’s no prying it loose.”
“Neily took a rather more pragmatic approach. He said it would be a splendid idea, whenever you and I are ready.”
I smiled. “That sounds like Neily. He seemed happy tonight. Leastwise, happier than I’ve seen in since . . .” I trailed off, not liking to voice my reservations about his and Grace’s marriage.
I didn’t have to. Derrick nodded. “They’re very different, he and Grace. I think he’s sometimes a little overwhelmed by her.” When I didn’t comment, he said, “It’s interesting how a similar upbringing, fortune, and connections are no assurance that two people will be suited to each other.”
I heard the implication in his words, that two people can hail from completely different circumstances and still suit perfectly. His and my very dissimilar backgrounds had always given me pause. How would I ever fit in with people of Derrick’s ilk, with his family? Never mind that his mother abhorred me; Derrick’s peers would always see me as an outsider and an upstart. Oh, I could make my way through a ballroom well enough, or join a dinner party at the home of my relatives without blundering horribly. I knew the correct words, the manners, the protocol. But knowing and being willing to live it, every day for the rest of my life, were two different matters.
The horse’s steady gait had helped settle my nerves, my emotions. When Derrick had spoken of leaving Newport, I had panicked as surely as if I’d stood upon the deck of a quickly sinking ship. In that moment I had known what I wanted with a clarity I’d never experienced before. But now, with the stars slowly passing above our heads and the night noises softly blending with the distant waves—and yes, with the gentle nudging of his serge-clad shoulder against mine—the urgency receded. I breathed in salt-tinged air, sweetened by the blossoms of Bellevue Avenue’s many gardens, and believed that somehow I would find my way. If Derrick and I were meant to be together, we would be, his family and social conventions notwithstanding.
“I think they’ll be all right,” I said after Derrick turned the carriage onto Ocean Avenue. “The birth of Corneil has surely brought them closer, and Neily has his studies and his work to keep him occupied while Grace seeks out her social amusements. I know of successful marriages with shakier beginnings than theirs.”
“Mmm” was all he said. He had fallen quiet. Was he contemplating our own circumstances? Thinking about his request to me, or perhaps wishing to take it further, to bring truth to Grace’s suspicions? The notion gave me a tiny thrill, but then I noticed Derrick wasn’t preoccupied at all. With a furrowed brow he peered into the darkness beyond the carriage lanterns, his face slightly raised.
Just as I was about to inquire what had so caught his attention, my nose itched and a sense of alarm went through me. “Fire.”
He nodded, straining to see into the distance. Suddenly, his hand went up, his finger pointing. “Is that smoke in the distance? Just there.”
It was. The coastline along Ocean Avenue twisted and turned. One moment we could see a thin, swirling grayness against the sky, and the next it vanished around trees and hills and rocky peninsulas. “Derrick, hurry.”
I hadn’t needed to tell him; even as I spoke, he made an urgent clucking sound that sped his horse’s steps. With each bend we rounded, my fears grew. I knew every turn and bump in this roadway. Every property. Every house. The farther we went, the more certain I became.
“Gull Manor.” Dread nearly choked me. “Nanny. Katie. Oh, Derrick . . .”
He prompted his horse to a near gallop, jarring and jostling us every step of the way. I didn’t care. I practically stood up on the footboard in my effort to see up ahead. Smoke continued to curl against the sky. Not a great deal, but enough to firmly lodge my heart in my throat.
Finally, the carriage tilted sharply around the last bend and onto the front drive. My greatest fears were realized. Flames danced behind the window of my little-used dining room, devouring the curtains. Beyond that, I couldn’t see, didn’t know how much of my house might be burning. Outside, Nanny, in a housecoat and her hair in rags, stooped with her hand around Patch’s collar. He yelped and barked and strained to bolt free. Her arm quivered from the pull of his weight but she held on fast. They both seemed unharmed, but where was Katie?
I cried out for Derrick to stop the carriage. The vehicle was still rolling when I leaped down off the seat and, skidding, ran the remainder of the way. Nanny turned, saw me, and called out my name. At my approach, Patch managed to tug loose from her fist and bounded to me. Nanny followed with a vigor I’d not seen in her in years.
Our arms were around each other in an instant. “I’m sorry, Emma, so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I don’t . . .”
“Where is Katie?” I yelled. From the corner of my vision I saw Derrick running toward the house. “Is Katie inside?”
Nanny was shaking her head. “We all got out. Katie ran to the Edwards’s place to use their telephone. She’s calling the fire department.”
“Were any of you hurt?”
“No, we’re all right.”
My knees went weak with relief, but only momentarily. Derrick had disappeared inside the house, and through the window I could see the flapping shadow of his coat as he beat at the flames. I dared not wait for the steam engine to come all the way from Wellington and Lower Thames. “Stay here,” I commanded Nanny. “And hold on to Patch.”
“Emma, don’t,” she shouted, but I was already to the front door and ducking inside. Wearing no carriage jacket and my wrap being too light to battle a fire, I detoured into the parlor and grabbed up the lap rug I always kept on hand for chilly days. I barely registered my immense relief that the fire didn’t seem to have spread to any other part of the house.
Yet.
In the dining room, Derrick beat at the cushion of the chair at the head of the table, nearest the window. The curtains smoldered, but the dancing flames had been subdued. In a corner of my mind I noted that most of the fire was already out. It could not have been burning long before Derrick and I arrived home. Still, I thumped the lap rug against glowing spots on the curtains and the area rug, lest the flames leap back to life. In the past I had seen how fast fires could spread and how quickly they became uncontrollable. Derrick came up behind me, nudging me out of the way.
“Go. I’ll finish here.”
My breath heaving, I shook my head. “It’s my house, if anyone should risk their life, it’s me.”
He swore and touched his fingertips to the window frame, quickly, then again, testing, I realized, for heat. Assured he would not be singed, he shut the window.
“To stop the breeze from fanning the flames,” he said unnecessarily. I nodded and hurried around the table to close the side windows as well.
At a run I left the room, heading to the kitchen. Grabbing a bucket from the pantry, I filled it at the sink and ran back along the hall to the front of the house. I doused every smoking surface. Suddenly Derrick was before me, wrenching the bucket out of my hands. He tipped it toward me and water sloshed onto me, soaking the front of my skirts.
Steam rose from the sodden fabric. My fear spiked in retrospect as the singed edge of my petticoat peeked out from my hem. I hadn’t realized . . . I might have burned to death. Derrick’s arms went around me. He pulled me tight against him and swore again. His ragged breathing buffeted me for several seconds and rendered me breathless as well. Then he released me.
From the road came the clanking of the fire wagon. Derrick seized my hand and we hurried back outside. I shivered as cool ocean air hit my wet skirts. Pulled by four horses, the steam and hose wagon clattered up the drive and stopped close to the house. Several firemen hopped down and began unwinding the hose. The steam engine hissed, its pistons turning and pumping, ready to send the water coursing in a forceful spray.
“I think we’ve got it out,” Derrick said to the firemen, “but please make sure.”
Katie had returned by then, and I joined her and Nanny in a tangled hug, with Patch pressing his warm, trembling body against my legs. Derrick spoke to a fireman while the rest of the men scrambled into the house. I heard the tramp of feet on the stairs. The fire had been confined to the dining room, but I didn’t mind their caution. We waited out on the drive until they declared the house safe. Then they left my property with a promise to return with the fire marshal in the morning.
* * *
After securing the windows at the front of the house, Nanny, Katie, Derrick, and I sat around the kitchen table, each of us cradling a cup of hot tea between our hands. I had changed my damp evening gown for a sturdy flannel nightgown and robe, which I secured tightly around me. None of us could think of sleeping, not just yet. There were too many unanswered questions about how the fire had started.
“It seems highly coincidental for this to happen on a night I’m away from home,” I said. I stared into the steam rising from my cup and once again said a quick prayer of thanks the fire hadn’t been worse, that no one I cared about had been injured.
Derrick studied me before replying. “As if to suggest that, while you were away, Katie and Mrs. O’Neal became careless.”
I nodded, but Nanny bristled. “I never lit the lamps in that room tonight. Not even a candle.”
“Nor me, Miss Emma,” Katie said, the fear still evident on her face. “I hadn’t set foot in the dining room since this mornin’ when I opened the windows.”
“I believe you both. Don’t worry.” I sipped my tea, welcoming the strength of the brew and its warmth inside me. “Even if there is a problem with one of the gas lines, a fire couldn’t have started without a flame.” I went very still. Gas lines. Patrick Floyd’s wife had died because of an open gas line.... But why would Patrick Floyd attack my home?
“Emma, what is it?” Nanny leaned closer to me, scrutinizing my expression as Derrick had.
I shook my head to clear it. “Just a thought, probably nothing. But we’ll want to have the gas lines inspected just in case.” I thought also of Reggie’s argument with Mr. Brentworth concerning just such inspections, and Mr. Brentworth’s hostilities toward me. I had believed our differences resolved. Had I been mistaken?
Derrick guessed the train of my thoughts. “Are you wondering if this was done as a warning?”
“I am. From any number of individuals.”
“Silas Griggson,” he said, his voice low and threatening.
Yes, that name, too, raised my suspicions. “He wants Gull Manor so he can knock it down. Perhaps he decided to burn it down instead.”
He thought a moment, finger tapping on the tabletop. Then he shook his head. “If Silas Griggson wanted to burn the place down, something tells me we wouldn’t be sitting in this kitchen right now. But as a warning, yes, I can see him trying to frighten you away.”
“Emma, let the police finish the investigation.” Nanny’s quiet voice bordered on pleading.
“I’m afraid it’s already too late for that, Nanny.” I smiled to reassure her, but I experienced my own doubts. It was one thing to endanger myself in the name of justice. But endangering Nanny and Katie? They hadn’t chosen to become involved in Cleo Cooper-Smith’s death. They shouldn’t have to suffer for my decisions.
But as I had said, it was too late to turn back. It made me more determined than ever to expose Cleo’s murderer—perhaps now an arsonist as well. “We’ll have to see what the fire inspector discovers tomorrow. I wonder if someone didn’t simply throw a lighted match in through the window. It would have been easy. In the dark, no one would have noticed a person creeping close to the house.”
Nanny shuddered. “To think we’re no longer safe in our own home, that we have to worry about locking our doors and windows. I never thought I’d see the day. Not here.”
At a weight against my knees, I glanced down to see Patch leaning his chin against me. I frowned. “Odd that he didn’t bark.”
Katie gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. “He did. Oh, Miss Emma, I didn’t realize. He was in the kitchen with me. I was finishin’ up the dinner dishes when he started barking, and he crossed my path and nearly tripped me. I told him to hush and go lie down. He whimpered like, but did as I told him. I’ll wager that was when . . .” Her face crumpled.
I reached over and placed my hand over hers. “Don’t go blaming yourself, Katie. We all know how Patch can forget his manners sometimes and needs a scolding. A bird, a squirrel, anything can set him off. You couldn’t have known what was about to happen.”
“No, but from now on I’ll be payin’ him better mind.”
The ringing of the telephone echoed from the corridor, startling us all. We flinched, and then I rose to answer it. “I have a good idea who it might be.”
I wasn’t wrong. I’d barely uttered a greeting when Jesse’s voice burst in my ear. “Emma, I just heard. Is everyone all right? What happened?”
“Yes, we’re all fine, and I don’t know what happened. Derrick and I came home from dinner with my cousin to find the dining room curtains on fire. Most of the room survived just fine, and it didn’t spread to the rest of the house.”
“I’m coming out there.”
“No, Jesse, don’t. It’s not necessary. As I said, we’re fine.”
After a lengthy hesitation, he asked, “Is Derrick still there?” I heard a slight strain in his voice.
I longed to say no, that Derrick had left, but I couldn’t lie, not to Jesse. Especially not after what occurred at Beaulieu earlier. Derrick’s news of returning to Providence had changed something in me, forced me to acknowledge feelings I had been ignoring for too long.
“Derrick is here,” I said, finding myself taking a gentle tone. The last thing I wished was to hurt Jesse. I hurried on, anxious to reassure him about our safety. “We’ve closed and locked the downstairs windows. The doors are shut tight.” As if to reiterate that claim, light perspiration dotted my forehead. It was July; we normally welcomed the cooling ocean breezes, especially at night. At least we could feel safe in keeping the upstairs windows open.
Then again, could our perpetrator toss something high enough to reach the second floor? Would he—or she—be so brazen as to come back tonight?
“Is he . . . staying?” Jesse swallowed audibly. “If you won’t let me come out there, I’d sleep better knowing he was there. Not that I’ll sleep much in either case.”
“I . . . no, I think I’ll send Derrick home soon. We can take care of ourselves here. Patch will alert us if anything is wrong. It turns out he tried earlier, but Katie thought he was merely being an unruly pup, barking at the night noises. We know better than to ignore him now.”
“If there is anything—anything at all that doesn’t seem right, you’re to call the police station and then call me.”
“I will, Jesse.”
“Promise me.”
I did, and hung up feeling bereft and traitorous. I wished I had not gone to Beaulieu earlier, wished Derrick had never mentioned leaving Newport. Wished I could return to my notions of independence and remaining unmarried—anything rather than having to face making a decision and hurting someone I cared so much about. I feared I would find excuses to put off that decision, to pretend it wasn’t hanging over me. But it was. And it would, until I took responsibility and admitted what I wanted.
But for tonight, at least, I needn’t do anything. I could put off that moment, for now.
* * *
Derrick never did leave that night. He slept on the parlor sofa, cramped and uncomfortable, his head resting on one arm and his feet dangling over the other. By the time I came downstairs he was already up and having a light breakfast with Nanny and Katie. I noticed how he flinched slightly each time he turned his head a certain way. I hoped the kink in his neck would work itself out before very long.
“Thank you for staying,” I said to him. “I believe we all slept better for your being here, though I fear you hardly slept at all.”
“I offered to make up the guest room,” Katie said with a shake of her head.
“It wouldn’t have been proper, me sleeping upstairs.” He rubbed at his shoulder.
Nanny nodded her agreement, but said nothing. Instead she offered him another blueberry hotcake and another cup of coffee.
Before coming into the morning room I’d peeked into the dining room to survey the damage in the daylight. The acrid odors of smoke and dampness made me cough, while sorrow pressed against my breastbone at the ruination of the curtains and the matching seat cushions Aunt Sadie had made a decade ago. All the fabric in the room would need to be replaced, the area rug as well. The table showed scorch marks that would require a thorough sanding and refinishing. The walls and ceiling would need a new coat of paint, and of course the window frame, blackened and half consumed, would need to be rebuilt.
It could have been so much worse. No one had been injured. And had the fire started in the parlor, the upholstered furnishings, pillows, and books would have provided a good deal more fuel. The flames might have spread faster, reaching the rest of the house before help arrived.
Derrick left soon after breakfast, and I couldn’t help being relieved, especially since Jesse had telephoned to say he would be accompanying the fire marshal. After asking Nanny, Katie, and me a few questions, the two men went into the dining room. I could hear them moving furniture and speaking in low voices. I strained to overhear, yet I kept clear of the room to allow them to do their job. When they finally came out, Jesse warned us to keep the doors and windows locked at all times, until they discovered who had set the fire. In a gloved hand he held up a blackened rock wrapped in the remains of charred cloth.
His expression was grim. “We suspect this had been soaked in kerosene.” He handed it to the fire inspector, who slid it into a leather case he held.
“It was most certainly arson,” the man confirmed. “Unless you’re in the habit of wrapping rocks in accelerant-soaked cloth and tossing them about.”
“Indeed I am not.” Despite my rising anger, I felt real fear, too. Just as I had felt fear when Silas Griggson stood in my parlor and assured me my house would be his. I considered again that the fire had been started in the dining room and not the parlor. The conclusion I reached made me suspect Griggson all the more. “I don’t think anyone meant to burn this house down. I think it was a warning.”
“I concur,” Fire Inspector Filby said. “At least in that whoever did this could have chosen a more efficient means of burning the house down had that been his intention. Even taking into account his hurry to be away, he might have poured kerosene or linseed oil directly onto the curtains and rug and followed that with a lit match. Such a fire would have caught instantly, burned hotter, and spread faster than this one did. Judging by the scorch marks, I believe this fire smoldered on the rug a while before catching hold.”
Jesse remained behind when Mr. Filby left, his observations echoing my own thoughts. “Silas Griggson wants you out, one way or another. He might have believed a stunt like this would achieve his goal.”
“Little does he know me.”
Jesse nodded his agreement.
“I have his card in the parlor. He’s staying on Webster Street. I want to go there right now and confront him.” Even as I declared my intention, I hesitated at the notion of an arsonist leaving behind his calling card as proof of his interest in possessing the house. Though it seemed ill advised, Silas Griggson might believe himself to be that far above the law. He hadn’t been implicated in the New York tenement collapse. He could easily evade charges in a minor house fire where no one had been injured—or so he might believe.
“He’s dangerous, Emma.”
“Obviously. So ask a couple of officers to meet us there.”
“Assuming he’s still there.” Jesse glanced in the direction of the dining room. “He might have cleared out by now.”
“Oh, I have a feeling Silas Griggson isn’t going anywhere until he gets what he wants, namely Gull Manor. I believe he’s that arrogant and that sure of himself.”
Jesse regarded me with part resignation, part admiration. He held out a hand. “All right. Let’s go.”