A Sense of Entitlement (20 page)

“A
bullet wound in his chest?” Miss Lucy said incredulously.

“Oh, dear,” Miss Lizzie said. “Just like Harland Whitwell.”

“Just like Harland Whitwell,” her sister affirmed. “What did the police say?”

After my conversation with Mrs. Mayhew, I was dismissed for the rest of the day and decided to accept Miss Lizzie and Miss Lucy’s offer for tea. To Miss Lucy’s delight and my relief, I was able to answer their questions without restraint. So far, when Mr. Whitwell was mentioned I’d been able to redirect the conversation back to Lester Sibley.

“They took him to the coroner for an autopsy. When I tried to speculate about suspects, Chief Preble was quick to remind me that he will investigate the murder, one step at a time.”

“So he didn’t tell you anything,” Miss Lucy grumbled.

“No, except that he believed there were many people unhappy with Lester Sibley,” I said.

“I’m worried about you, Hattie, dear. Finding another man dead like that. It reminds me of—”

“My goodness,” Miss Lucy said, cutting her sister off. “This makes three men you’ve found shot in the chest. Isn’t that right, Davish?”

“Lucy!” Miss Lizzie chided. “Be honest, Hattie dear. How are you doing?”

“That’s what I want to know,” a man’s voice boomed. We all turned and watched Walter stride into the room. He rushed to my side, bent his knee, and kissed my hand. I clutched his hand and gazed longingly into his eyes. “Oh, Hattie,” he said, “whatever am I to do with you?”

“Get up off the floor, Walter,” his mother said as she entered the room.

I released Walter’s hand as Walter and I stood simultaneously. “Mrs. Grice,” I said, bowing my head slightly.

“I’ll take two sugars, please, Miss Lucy,” Walter’s mother said, ignoring me and sitting as far from me as possible.

“Mother, Miss Davish has had the most terrible shock,” Walter said, indicating for me to sit.

“Then she should be attended to by a physician, not courted as a lover.”

“Julia, dear,” Miss Lizzie said, handing the lady her tea, “Hattie has come straight from discovering another dead body.”

Disgust flashed across Julia Grice’s face.

Miss Lucy, on the other hand, pinched her lips and jutted out her bony shoulders. “Oh, Julia,” Miss Lucy huffed. “Hattie finds a man shot and left in the bushes and you’d think we told you we’d found a mouse in the larder. This is real news.” The old lady’s eyes gleamed. “And besides the police, we’re the first to know.”

“I don’t think murder is appropriate conversation for tea,” Julia Grice said. Miss Lizzie nearly spit out the strawberry and coconut cream cake she’d been eating.

“Not appropriate?” Miss Lucy snickered, her teacup clanking hard as she nearly dropped it back onto the saucer. “You must be joking! This has been one of the best conversations I’ve had in months!”

“And I don’t think it’s appropriate to have tea with the maid or secretary or whatever she is,” Mrs. Grice said, ignoring the elderly sisters’ reactions. “Do you?” She never looked at me once.

“What has come over you, Julia, dear?” Miss Lizzie said, genuinely puzzled.

It was no surprise to me. I stood up again. I didn’t want to be in Julia Grice’s company any longer than she wanted to be in mine. “Thank you for the tea, Miss Lucy, Miss Lizzie, but I think Mrs. Grice is right. It’s time I returned to Rose Mont.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Davish,” Miss Lucy commanded. “We’re not done with you yet. I don’t know if it’s the same gun that killed Harland Whitwell or what you were doing in the blasted bushes in the first place, though I bet I can guess, and I haven’t asked what more you’ve learned about Harland and—”

“Lucy, dear, Hattie’s right. She should rest.”

“Yes,” Walter said, latching on to what Miss Lizzie said and standing. “Miss Davish, as your onetime physician, I recommend that you rest as much as possible. You may still yet suffer ill effects from the shock.”

“I’m fine, Dr. Grice,” I said, knowing even as I said it he expected and hoped for this reply.

“I’ve heard that before,” he said, smiling. “Let me escort you back.”

“Walter, the girl said she is fine,” his mother said.

“Don’t listen to her, Julia,” Miss Lucy said, grumbling once again. “Davish is notorious about not looking after herself. I doubt the girl’s had a full night’s sleep since we saw her last.” At least that much was true, I thought.

“She’s a grown woman. She can find her own way back to Rose Mont.”

“Nonsense, Mother. She needs my attention.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t!” his mother exclaimed even as Walter offered me his arm and began walking me from the room.

“Don’t forget to report, I mean, come right back, Dr. Grice,” Miss Lucy said, still hoping to learn more about my morning’s adventures.

“I promise to tell you everything, almost,” Walter said, winking. Miss Lucy beamed.

“Return promptly, Walter. Remember the delightful girl you’re to escort to the polo match this afternoon.”

Walter frowned. I tried to focus on the way his arm felt beneath my hand. Soon it would be someone else’s hand there.

“Yes, Mother,” Walter said. “I’ll be back in time.”

“Good. You wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone,” she said, determined to have the last word.

“I must apologize for my mother’s behavior,” Walter said. We’d walked several blocks in uncomfortable silence before he finally spoke. “She’s usually quite a pleasant person.”

“She has a point, Walter,” I said. “Seeing you at the ball reminded me how I’ve been deceiving myself. I’m a working girl, a servant even to some, and you’re one of them.” Walter stopped walking and, putting his hands on my shoulders, turned me toward him.

“Stop, Hattie. Just stop. My mother’s wrong and you’re wrong if you agree with her. I care about you and I know you feel the same way. Let’s forget all about us and them and enjoy the fact that we’re here, in Newport, together. Agreed?” I nodded. How could I not agree to anything he said with that smile? “Good.”

He pulled me against his chest for a moment, kissing the top of my head. Too soon he released me, the familiar scent of his cologne lingering in my hair. “Who would’ve known?” he said, searching my face for answers. “I had no idea you’d even be here. According to your last letter, you were in Virginia with Sir Arthur.”

“I didn’t know either until the last moment. I came here with Sir Arthur, but he had to leave for England almost as soon as we arrived. Lady Phillippa found me a position with Mrs. Mayhew.”

“And how are you doing at Rose Mont?”

“I’m lucky to still have a position. With all the labor strife going on, I’ve known three people in the last day alone who’ve lost their jobs. And I have a brand-new Redfern evening gown,” I added as an attempted jest.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Walter said. He wanted to know whether I was happy, whether I was content in my work. I didn’t want to say, but if I couldn’t tell Walter whom could I tell? I started walking again.

“To be honest, my stay in Newport has been unprecedented,” I said. “No, actually it’s been reminiscent of working for Mrs. Trevelyan in Eureka Springs.”

“But Mrs. Trevelyan was—”

“Exactly. At first I was quite content. As Mrs. Mayhew’s social secretary, I’m challenged, respected, and I’ve learned skills that I can call upon in the future. I have a lovely suite of rooms and an excuse to frequent the millinery shops almost daily.” Walter smiled at my confession. “But since Harland Whitwell died, I’ve done little of what I’m qualified to do. Instead I’ve found myself snooping into others’ personal lives in order to satisfy my employer’s social ambitions.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Walter said, laying his hand in mine.

“Me too. Other than her misplaced ambition, Mrs. Mayhew has been frank and reasonable. And doing her bidding has allowed me to hike and explore a great deal. I’ve been up every morning hiking on the Cliff Walk or down by the ocean. I’ve sampled some marvelous plants for my collection.” I looked up at him. “And I’ve gotten to see you again.”

“So not a total loss then?” he said, grinning.

“No, not a total loss.” Even as I said it, I pictured him escorting someone else from Newport society to the polo match or to the next concert at the Casino. We arrived at Rose Mont. I dropped my arm. “I’ll say good-bye here.” Walter frowned.

“Why?”

“Mrs. Mayhew’s guests don’t come in through the back door.”

“Yes, of course. But promise me you’ll get some rest? You’ve had a great shock finding that man this morning.”

“I’ll try,” was all I could say. “Good-bye, Walter. It was wonderful to see you.”

“You say it like one of us is leaving. I didn’t come all the way across the country to only stay a few days. I’ll be here until the horse show in September, as will the Mayhews. So we’re not going anywhere.”

“Of course,” I said, unable to look him in the eye. He might as well be in Arkansas. Mrs. Mayhew would never approve of my seeing Walter. She “relied on me” too much. And once his mother arranged his schedule, Dr. Walter Grice would be as unavailable to me as Master Nicholas Whitwell or Mr. Oliver Belmont.

Walter took my hand and kissed it, as I looked about to see that we weren’t being watched. “Until next time, my fair secretary,” he said lightly. He had no idea what Newport was like. He had no idea there wouldn’t be a next time.

“E
xcuse me, Miss Davish. How are you holding up?” After saying good-bye to Walter, I’d fled back into the grand house, trying to hold back tears. When I opened the back door, I literally nearly ran into Chief Preble. He’d been standing just inside the door studying a small pocket notebook in his hand. He mistook my distress over Walter for the shock of finding Lester Sibley. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes with a handkerchief.

“Fine, Chief Preble. Thank you. Were you able to go back for your fish?”

“No, better luck next time,” he said, patting the hook on his cap. “No, I’ve been talking to the staff about the housekeeper and footman. From what I gather, they were discharged because of their dealings with Lester Sibley.” I nodded. “I was just going up to request assistance from Mrs. Mayhew. I have a few more questions for her as well.”

“Do you think she knows something?” I had placed Mrs. Mayhew on my suspect list but hadn’t truly thought she was involved. But now?

“I don’t know,” the policeman said. “Let’s go find out.”

“Us?” I said.

“Since you’re her secretary, I think she may be kinder to me in your presence.”

“If you think it will help,” I said reluctantly. I wanted nothing more to do with death and murder but felt obligated to this policeman who had been congenial to me when others weren’t.

“Yes. Mr. Davies said we should find her in her sitting room,” he said, indicating the stairs. “After you.” We climbed the stairs in silence.

“By the way,” the policeman said as we approached Mrs. Mayhew’s sitting room. “Ballard found one empty bullet cartridge in the bushes near where you found the body. It’s a .41 caliber, just like the one we found in Whitwell’s office.”

“Is it from the same gun then?”

“We can’t say for certain, but if it isn’t, it came from one just like it.”

“And all the members of the shooting club have one just like it,” I said.

The policeman nodded. “Not very helpful, huh?” He stepped aside, indicating for me to enter before him. “After you, Miss Davish.”

Mrs. Mayhew was lying on her chaise longue as usual, Bonaparte purring in her lap. “Are you feeling better, ma’am?” I asked. She’d complained of a headache earlier.

“Yes, thank you, Davish, but who is this?”

“Chief Samuel Preble, Mrs. Mayhew,” the officer answered, removing his hat. “I apologize for intruding upon you this way, but I hoped I could have a few minutes of your time.”

“Is this about that labor man, what was his name again?”

“Lester Sibley,” I said.

“Yes, Lester Sibley,” Mrs. Mayhew said. “What could I possibly be able to tell you about Lester Sibley, Chief Preble?”

“Actually, I was hoping to speak to you about your former housekeeper, Mrs. Crankshaw, and former footman, James,” the policeman said.

Mrs. Mayhew bolted upright, sending Bonaparte bounding off her lap. “Why do you need to know about them?” she demanded. “They didn’t murder anybody.”

“It is my understanding, Mrs. Mayhew,” the policeman said as Bonaparte rubbed against his leg, “that they were both dismissed from their positions in this household because of their association with the murder victim.”

“And you think one of them may have killed him?” she asked, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“We are following every possible lead, ma’am,” he said, though I knew that not to be true. The police were only following leads that didn’t include the “cottage” families. “It’s possible neither had anything to do with this death. But then again, they may have valuable information about the man that may lead us to his killer.”

“Yes, I see. Well, I’m afraid I can be of no assistance to you. My husband was the one who discharged the servants and I have no idea what’s become of them.”

“Does either of them have family in the area?” Chief Preble asked.

“I wouldn’t know,” Mrs. Mayhew said. “I’m sure the servants’ files are kept downstairs somewhere. You may find the information you seek there.”

“Then I have your permission to look, ma’am?”

“Yes, if it will help.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Mayhew.”

“May I also interview your staff? Someone may know where they may have gone.”

“No, I think that would be too disruptive. Maybe Davish can ask around, but I won’t have my staff’s work interrupted. Will that be all, Chief Preble? I have a headache.”

“Yes, thank you, ma’am,” Chief Preble said, trying to hide his disappointment. I too was disappointed. Did she know something or didn’t she?

“Miss Davish, a moment if you please,” Mrs. Mayhew said as I turned to follow the policeman out the door.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“My calendar is in desperate need of updating; I’m afraid I may have already missed Mrs. Moewis’s lecture on architecture at ‘Rough Point’ this afternoon. But I will excuse this lapse if you will do what you must to rid me of this man’s embarrassing presence. I don’t want that policeman or any policeman in my house one moment longer than necessary. It’s over there on the desk. You can work on it this evening. I’d like to know where I’m going first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, picturing the stack of invitations and announcements to dances, boating parties, lectures, luncheons, recitals, polo matches, and more that Mrs. Mayhew had received but ignored until now. I would be up late again tonight. Mrs. Mayhew lay back down in her chaise longue, closed her eyes, and began petting Bonaparte, again curled up in her lap.

“That will be all,” Mrs. Mayhew said, mistaking my hesitation for awaiting her dismissal.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I found Chief Preble in Mrs. Crankshaw’s former office delving through desk drawers filled with files on every person who had ever worked at Rose Mont.

“Odd thing, Miss Davish,” he said. “The file on you only has a recommendation letter in it from a Lady Phillippa Windom-Greene.”

“Yes, I was working for her husband, Sir Arthur Windom-Greene, when he was called away to England on short notice. My employment here was sudden and unforeseen. If you need more information, I would recommend contacting Lady Phillippa. Sir Arthur has a more complete employment file for me back in Virginia.”

“No need, you’re not a suspect,” he said, chuckling.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” I said, startled that he would even jest about such a thing. “Are you finding what you need for James and Mrs. Crankshaw?”

“Not much that will help. Neither has family on the island or nearby. They both came with the Mayhews from their household in New York. Wait a minute,” the officer said, peering closer at the form in his hand. “Says here that Mrs. Crankshaw’s closest kin is a sister who lives in Queens. It might be a coincidence, but the sister’s name is Margaret Sibley.”

“Sibley?” I exclaimed. “Lester Sibley may have been Mrs. Crankshaw’s brother-in-law?” It would explain her familiar behavior toward him.

“Could be a coincidence, but I doubt it. All the more reason I need to track this woman down.”

“And James?” I asked.

“Who knows? The man could be anywhere.” The policeman shook his head and replaced the files into the cabinet. “Well, I guess this concludes my inquiries at Rose Mont,” he said, slamming the drawer closed.

“Mrs. Mayhew has given me permission to speak to the other members of the staff. If I find out anything of use, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“I’d appreciate that, Miss Davish, but don’t expect much. I’m sure you’re quite capable as a secretary, but you’re not trained in interrogating suspects. You have no experience conducting a murder investigation.”

You have no idea,
I thought. Instead, I said, “But if I can glean valuable information from my fellows?”

“I’ll be all ears.”

After seeing Chief Preble out, I systematically spoke to every staff member in the house, starting with Mr. Davies and ending with Biddy the scullery maid. My inquiries took me to every part of this enormous house as I tracked down the chambermaids, kitchen maids, footmen, and housemen. I found myself in rooms I’d never seen before: the kitchen, the larder, the billiard room, the music room, Miss Cora’s bedroom, Mr. Mayhew’s dressing room, Mr. Mayhew’s gymnasium, and several guest bedrooms. Unfortunately, the answer was always the same. No one knew where James or Mrs. Crankshaw was. I wouldn’t give up, though, until I’d talked to Britta. Their relationship was more familiar than you’d typically find between parlormaid and footman. She might know where James was. But where was she? No one knew that either. Was the house that big that one could lose track of a parlormaid? I was heading outside to start my inquiries anew with the groomsmen, groundskeepers, and other outdoor staff when I ran into Britta returning from an errand outside.

“Britta!” I said as she scampered by me. “Can I have a moment?”

“Oh, Hattie, I need to get upstairs. I’m running behind,” she said, donning her apron.

“I wondered if you happen to know where James is?”

Britta took a sharp inhale of breath and reached for her left ear. “How did you know?” she whispered. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

I was taken aback by her reaction but attempted to appease her fears by shaking my head.

How did I know what?

“The police are looking for him,” I said, only adding to Britta’s distress. “They want to speak to him about Lester Sibley’s murder.”

“Oh, Hattie, he’s done nothing wrong,” the maid nearly shrieked as she grabbed my arm. “You’ve got to believe me!”

“Britta, if you know where he is, tell me and I’ll go speak to him. The police may never have to be involved.”

She nodded, removed her hand, and fumbled with her apron strings. “He’s at the Aquidneck Hotel on Pelham, a block from the Old Stone Mill.” I wrote down her directions in my notebook. “But please, Hattie, you’ve got to believe me. He only spoke to that labor man. He never intended to act, despite what Mr. Mayhew thinks. And he certainly didn’t kill anyone.” Britta threw her hands to her face and began to sob, confirming my suspicions about the pair.

I placed my hand lightly on her shoulder. “If he’s innocent, than there’s nothing to cry about,” I said.

“He is innocent, Hattie,” she said, still crying softly.

“Then you get upstairs and do your job and I’ll get over to the Aquidneck Hotel and do mine.”

Britta wiped her tears with the trim of her apron, attempted a smile, and then ran up the stairs. As I watched her go, I wondered when had my job become questioning murder suspects?