Murder at Kingscote Page 18

  Many would happily advise me to let Derrick raise me up rather than insist he meet me part way. But all my life I’d tread with one foot among Newport’s common people, and the other among the Four Hundred. I’d seen enough of both worlds to understand the advantages and disadvantages of both. The cost. The sacrifices. And my conclusion had been that I wished to belong to neither world and both at once. In short, to live in a world of my own making where I was free to make my own decisions. And if that included living in a shabby old house with shutters that creaked in the ocean winds, or eating simple but extraordinarily good food in less than genteel surroundings, so be it.

  Could Derrick accept that—really accept it? On face value, I believed he could. But in day-to-day living, would the novelty of ordinary life, of my life and of me, eventually wear off? Could either of us change enough to make the other happy?

  I simply didn’t know.

  And yet, the deep tones of his voice as we spoke of Newport and the Messenger lulled me into a sense of calm that made my misgivings seem absurd and had me questioning why I allowed them to intrude on the day. It had been the same, slightly rumbling baritone a year ago that had worked its way into my very being and made something perfectly clear to me. If I eventually shared my life with any man, it would be the one sitting opposite me now.

  All too soon, we finished our meal and Derrick settled up with the proprietor. As he did, I spied Jacob approaching the train depot. He stopped and glanced up and down the street, then moved to a corner of the building and leaned with a shoulder against the brick wall. He angled his hat low on his brow.

  Derrick and I hurried across to him, careful not to trip over the trolley rails that bisected the street. He looked relieved to see us and came out of the shadows to meet us. “I know where she is. We should hurry, I don’t know how long she’ll be there.”

  Jacob led us on foot away from the depot, heading inland through a maze of streets. We reached a corner where a drugstore sat opposite a dilapidated three-story hotel, and he stopped us. “Halfway down. That building there, with the faded green door.”

  “Do you know who lives there?” Apartment buildings stood interspersed with peaked-roof houses so close together neighbors could have reached out their side windows and held hands. I studied the building he’d pointed to. It reminded me of some of the smaller tenement buildings on the Lower East Side of New York City.

  He shook his head. “She opened the door and went right in. I’m guessing there are several apartments inside. I didn’t dare follow. I watched a while, and then I went back for you two.”

  We watched the front of the building, ready to slip around the corner if necessary. Meanwhile, I considered what to do. Her errand here could indeed be of a personal nature and have nothing to do with Isaiah Baldwin’s death. We knew only that her actions in recent days were contrary to a typical housemaid’s, and that made us suspicious of her. But if we made our presence known to Miss Riley, we would have no further advantage over her, and most likely would learn little more about her.

  Suddenly, the front door opened and the subject of our curiosity stepped out. With an adjustment to her hat, she paused on the stoop and glanced about, not with any misgivings that I could perceive, but simply in preparation for her walk back to the depot. Derrick, Jacob, and I quickly went around the corner and down the street several yards. From there we saw her reach the same corner, cross the street, and continue down the next block toward the depot.

  “Let’s go after her.” Jacob started forward, but I checked him with a word.

  “No.” Both he and Derrick turned to me in puzzlement. “Let her go. We know where she was. In a few minutes, once we’re certain she won’t turn back for any reason, I’m going to go knock on doors in that building.” I frowned. “I just hope there aren’t more than a few apartments.”

  “And what if no one answers?” Derrick didn’t sound as though he challenged my strategy, but was merely curious.

  “Someone is bound to. If not the individual she visited, then a neighbor who might know something.”

  “Well, you’re not going by yourself.”

  “Derrick—”

  His jaw hardened and his gaze turned steely, and I knew I’d not be going alone.

  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 exactl
y.” 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 th
e 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?”