A Sense of Entitlement (21 page)

“M
iss Davish?” James said, leaning on the open hotel room door. He was a mess. His hair was disheveled and fell into his eyes. His shirt was wrinkled and wet where he’d tried blotting a coffee stain. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary. His breath was stale with a lingering stench of old whiskey. What would Mrs. Mayhew say of her handsome first footman now? “How did you find me?”

“Britta told me where you were,” I said.

“Oh, Britta, my girl, why would you do a thing like that?” he said, turning his head and speaking into the back of the door.

“The police are looking for you, James, and she is worried about you,” I said.

“Why are the police looking for me?”

“Haven’t you heard about Lester Sibley?”

“What’s there to know? The man talks to me for a few minutes about the rights of workers and I lose the best positions I’ve ever had. I only spoke to the man. Sure, I thought about what he said. He made a lot of sense. But is that cause enough to discharge me?”

“James,” I said. “Lester Sibley has been murdered.”

“What? Murdered? When?”

“His body was discovered this morning.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” he asked, and then his eyes widened as realization set in. “The police think I did it?” He started to shake his head violently. “I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I promised Britta that I would speak to you first, before the police found you. If you can provide an alibi for the time between when Lester Sibley was last seen alive and this morning, the police will leave you alone.”

“An alibi? What’s that? What do you mean?”

“Where were you last night?”

“I was at Buckley’s Saloon and then I came here.”

“Did anyone see you return to the hotel last night?”

“The desk clerk.”

“And did you stay here all night?”

“Yeah, I haven’t even left to get the paper.”

“But can anyone verify that, James?” I didn’t expect an affirmative, but he hesitated. Maybe someone had spent the night with him after all. “James, if you know of someone who can prove you were here all night and all morning as you say, then the police will know you’re innocent.”

“Yes, someone was here with me.”

“Who?”

He hesitated again and I knew whom he was protecting.

“It was Britta, wasn’t it?” I asked.

He nodded. “She spent the night here and stayed until breakfast. I told her she should go, that she was risking her job too, but she wouldn’t be separated from me.”

“And then she came back a little while ago to check on you, didn’t she?” Britta hadn’t been out running errands when I’d seen her. She’d been here.

“Yes. How did you know?” he said. I didn’t answer.

“She’s risking more than her position if she’s caught spending time here, James. You know that, don’t you?” I couldn’t resist warning him about Britta’s reputation for Britta’s sake.

“You don’t understand, Miss Davish. We risked more by living together at Rose Mont. If we’d been discovered, both of us would’ve been booted.”

“You were courting under Mr. Mayhew’s roof?”

“Not courting, Miss Davish,” he said sheepishly. “Britta and I are married. The Mayhews don’t allow for married servants, but to work at Rose Mont . . . It’s an honor, it’s prestigious, and we couldn’t turn down the chance to work for one of the grandest houses in America.”

“But you risked being discharged without references,” I said, dismayed. I couldn’t comprehend how someone would willingly put themselves in such a dangerous position.

“It was worth the risk,” he said.

“And you still think so, having lost that position?” I said, still baffled.

“What’s important now is that Britta’s position is safe. I’ll find something. Not as a footman, of course, but I can work with my hands.”

“Assuming you can shake all suspicion from you,” I said.

“I didn’t kill the man. Yes, my association with him lost me my position, but that’s not enough to kill a man.”

“Isn’t it? You were willing to risk a great deal to obtain that position and Lester Sibley cost you what you valued so highly,” I said, not believing it but wanting to know what he’d say.

“I didn’t kill him. What more can I say? How else can I prove that I’m innocent?” He absentmindedly brushed his hands through his hair. He picked out a tiny feather left behind from his pillow. It gave me an idea.

“May I see the clothes you were wearing last night?”

He looked at me with furrowed brow. “Why?”

“You said you wanted to prove your innocence. May I see them?” I said, holding my hand out.

He disappeared into his room and produced the gray wool coat and trousers of a cheap sack suit, and a white cotton shirt. “Not quite the livery of a high-society house, huh?” he said as I began my thorough checking of his clothes.

“Your stockings too, if I may.”

He left again for a moment and returned with a pair of black stockings. “What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Beggar’s-tick seeds.”

“Why?”

“Because Lester Sibley’s body was found in overgrown bushes with beggar’s-tick plants everywhere. When I found his body, I got the seeds stuck to my skirt and stockings. The killer will have gotten them on his or her clothes as well.”

I finished examining every inch, and besides the faint smell of whiskey the clothes were innocuous, not a single beggar’stick seed.

“So you believe me?” James said.

“Yes, James, I do. And I believe the police will too.”

“You did say you needed a butler?” I said.

I’d accompanied James to the police station and listened as he explained his situation to Chief Preble. I added my theory about the beggar’s-tick seeds. On my way back to Rose Mont, I stopped by Moffat Cottage to see the elderly Shaw sisters and explain my proposal.

“Yes, dear,” Miss Lizzie said, a strawberry stain on the lace collar of her dress, “but isn’t he a suspect in a murder?”

“He won’t be for long,” I said. “I’m certain the police will clear him of any suspicion.”

“Well, he won’t come with a reference, that’s for certain,” Miss Lucy said.

“Yes, but you know Mrs. Mayhew would’ve recommended him if the situation had been different.”

“That’s true, Lucy,” Miss Lizzie said. “Charlotte did say the only reason why Gideon discharged the housekeeper and this James Chase fellow was because of Lester Sibley.”

“And now Lester Sibley is dead, Lizzie,” Miss Lucy said. “And what would Charlotte say of us hiring her first footman?”

“I think it’s a splendid idea,” Miss Lizzie said, sitting back and smiling. “You did say he’s married, didn’t you, Hattie, dear?”

“What does that have to do with Charlotte objecting?” her sister asked.

“Hattie?” Miss Lizzie said, ignoring her sister.

“Yes, to Mrs. Mayhew’s parlormaid,” I said. “But the Mayhews don’t allow for married servants.”

“Exactly. See, Lucy, we’re doing everyone, including Charlotte, a favor.”

“How so?”

“This way, Mr. Chase works for us, Charlotte gets to keep her parlormaid, and the pair get to stay close and in service. Like I said, a splendid plan.” Miss Lizzie clapped her hands.

“Yes, it does seem like you’ve thought of everything, Davish,” Miss Lucy said. “He’s not an intemperate man, is he?”

Miss Lucy was wrong. I hadn’t thought of everything. How could I be so irresponsible? This morning James smelled of whiskey and showed signs of intoxication, though he’d always been sober at Rose Mont. How could I have forgotten, after everything that happened in Eureka Springs, that this would be a concern for the sisters? In trying to help Britta, I’d overlooked the obvious. I grappled for a response.

Miss Lizzie saved me the effort. “The man wouldn’t have lasted two days at Rose Mont if he was anything but conscientious and proper.”

“And if he does on occasion imbibe,” I added to cover my mistake, “who better than you ladies to save him from its evil?” This comment elicited serious nods from both ladies.

“You’re right, Davish,” Miss Lucy said. “It’s our duty to see Mr. Chase respectably employed and thus we can ensure he stays a faithful and sober husband.”

“And you will have a first-rate butler,” I said.

“That’s true, Lucy, dear,” Miss Lizzie said. “The Mayhews only hire the best.”

“It’s settled then,” Miss Lucy said, “as long as the police clear him, of course.”

“Of course,” I said, pleased with such a positive outcome. I couldn’t wait to tell Britta what I’d done.

“The police clear whom?” Mrs. Grice said as she entered the room. She was smiling until she saw me. “Are you back again?”

“Hattie has found us a replacement for Mr. Grady. Isn’t that kind of her?”

“If you mention butler and police in the same conversation, how can you say he’s suitable?” Mrs. Grice said, sitting down and smoothing the folds of her dress in her lap.

“Where is Walter?” Miss Lucy asked, ignoring Julia Grice’s comment about the butler.

Mrs. Grice answered Miss Lucy but stared at me. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Her eyes sparkled as she clasped her hands before her. I’d seen Walter’s eyes light up like that. It didn’t bode well for me. “He’s escorting Eugenie Whitwell to see
A Trip to Chinatown
at the Casino’s theater.”

I suddenly felt nauseous picturing Walter with Eugenie Whitwell. Moreover, he was probably in the company of her brother, Nick, and Cora Mayhew as well.

“Isn’t it too soon for the girl to be out in public? Her father hasn’t even been buried yet. I heard they’ve sent the body to New York. They’re having the funeral there in a few days. Surely the girl should stay in mourning at least until then?” Miss Lucy said.

“Yes, dear, it’s most inappropriate,” Miss Lizzie said.

Julia Grice frowned. “I thought it was quite the coup myself,” she said. “Is Miss Whitwell not one of the richest heiresses in Newport?” Oh, how I wanted to tell her that Eugenie Whitwell would not be inheriting anything but debt, but I held my tongue. “Can a mother not want the best for her child?”

What about what your child wants?

“Yes, yes, of course,” Miss Lucy said. “Her father was quite rich. I’m not arguing that she’s not quite a catch for Dr. Grice, Julia, but that young people today don’t seem to show the respect to their elders that they used to. When my father died, I didn’t go into society for months.”

“Yes, well, things are changing, Miss Lucy,” Mrs. Grice said, slowly shaking her head. “Whether we like it or not. I simply thought Walter should take advantage of it.”

I couldn’t sit and listen to Walter’s mother any longer. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, standing, “I must be getting back.”

The two sisters nodded their farewell.

“We’ll speak again, Davish,” Miss Lucy said. She was still itching to get all the gossip, which the arrival of Mrs. Grice had brought to a halt.

I left the room, relieved to be out of the ungracious woman’s presence. But before I had taken two steps down the hall, I heard Miss Lizzie raise her voice and say, “Yes, Julia, dear, I couldn’t agree with you more. Things are changing. Who knows what will happen next? Today a child attends a play days after her father’s death; tomorrow a gentleman doctor falls for a lady typewriter.”

Thank you, Miss Lizzie!
I thought, smiling. And I was still smiling when I arrived at Rose Mont a quarter of an hour later.

I
wasn’t smiling when I heard the foursome return. I’d gone to bed at lights-out like the rest of the staff, having spent the remainder of the day and evening in my sitting room sorting through stacks of invitations to luncheons, teas, dinner parties, balls, recitals, and lectures and updating Mrs. Mayhew’s calendar, but as usual I couldn’t sleep. I’d borrowed a lantern from the Servants’ Hall and crept out of the house, hoping a few minutes of fresh air would help. I’d crossed the lawn and stood on the Cliff Walk path, taking deep inhales of the salty air, listening to the crash of the waves. After a few minutes, I heard raucous laughter and saw the swaying points of light from two lanterns coming toward me.

Who would be on the Cliff Walk at night? I wondered. Not wishing to be seen outside after dark, I blew out my light and stepped off the path. But my precaution was for naught. As I stepped off the path, the party veered toward the house.

“Who’s there?” a man shouted. I’d only met him a few times, but I knew Nicholas Whitwell’s voice. Was Walter with him? I wondered. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. The group stepped closer, confirming my suspicions.

“Miss Davish?” Walter said, holding up his lantern high to see. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Dr. Grice,” I said, stepping into their circle of light.

“What are you doing out here?” Cora asked. “Does my mother know you’re not in your bed at this hour of the night?”

Nicholas Whitwell laughed. “Could say the same about you,” he said, laughing again. He was wearing a bandage on his right cheek.

When did he injure himself? I wondered. And how?

“Oh, Nick,” his sister, Eugenie, said. Although she was inappropriately out in society, she was appropriately dressed in black.

“You haven’t answered my question, girl,” Cora said to me again.

Walter frowned. “Still not sleeping well, Miss Davish?” he said. I shook my head.

“You know this girl?” Eugenie asked, looking up at Walter.

“Yes,” Walter said without elaborating.

Eugenie slipped her hand from Walter’s arm and folded her arms across her chest. “How?” she said, pouting.

“Oh, Eugenie,” her brother whined, “you can be such a bore. She’s a secretary who once worked for those old busybody ladies Mrs. Grice is staying with.”

Isn’t everyone here a busybody?
I thought.

“Besides, the man’s a doctor. He knows about sleeping potions and stuff.” Although the details were quite right, I was amazed that of all people, Nick Whitwell not only knew my history but also came to my defense. I wasn’t at all sure I liked the idea of either.

“Oh,” Eugenie said, placing her hand on Walter’s arm again. “That’s all right then.”

I looked away. Being in Walter’s presence, like this, was almost unbearable.

“You’re right, Dr. Grice,” I said, hardening my heart and straightening my shoulders. “I couldn’t sleep and thought the night air would help.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Cora said. “You saw Nick’s father as well as that nasty labor man.” I nodded. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t be able to sleep after seeing two dead bodies,” Cora said, shuddering. Nick dropped his head and kicked the ground absentmindedly. “I’m sorry, Nick,” she said, lightly touching her hand to his cheek. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s okay,” Nick said, putting his arm around her. “The old man’s dead. That’s the way it is.”

“Well, Miss Davish,” Cora said, “I won’t tell my mother, this time. Do see that it doesn’t happen again. Come on, Nick. I’m cold.”

Eugenie took a few steps to follow, but Walter stood his ground. “Walter?” Eugenie said. “Walter?” I cringed at Miss Whitwell’s use of Walter’s Christian name. Did they know each other more intimately than I’d thought? This time he removed Eugenie’s hand from his arm. “What are you doing?” she said.

“I will bid you good night here, Miss Whitwell,” Walter said. “I trust your brother will see you safely home?” Nick smiled and winked at Walter.

What was that about? I wondered until Nick turned and leered at me.

“Sure, Walt,” he said. “Come along, Eugenie.”

“Well, I never . . . ,” his sister huffed. “Good night and good riddance, Dr. Grice.” She swung her face away and stormed across the dark lawn, followed by her brother and Cora Mayhew.

“You’re not going to win any favors for doing that, Dr. Grice,” I said.

“With Miss Whitwell or with my mother?” Walter said.

“Either.”

“I only went out tonight to appease Mother, but it seems one wrong step and the evening’s good has been undone.”

“It would seem so,” I said.

“That’s what I love about you, Hattie,” Walter said, reaching for my hand. “You’re so . . .”

I took a step back and shook my head. “Please, don’t do this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This,” I said, pointing back and forth from him to me. “I once told you we didn’t live in the same world. The past two nights only prove it. I’m a girl who works for a living, Walter. You’re a gentleman who would hire the likes of me, not court her.”

“Hattie,” Walter said, concern rising in his voice. “What are you saying? I told you I escorted Miss Whitwell to please my mother, that’s all.”

“But your mother objects to you even consorting with me, let alone . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to voice my previous hopes for the future. I could see that it didn’t matter now, maybe it never did. “Don’t you see you could never escort me to Bailey’s Beach or to the Casino, even if your mother didn’t object?” I understood the logic, but my heart objected to every word I said. “Good night, Dr. Grice.”

I meant to run across the lawn fleeing Walter Grice’s presence as Eugenie Whitwell had, though for very different reasons, but even as I stepped away Walter grabbed my hand and pulled me to him. His arms encircled and restrained me.

“You’re not getting away that easy,” he whispered in my ear as tears streaked down my cheeks. “Oh, Hattie, don’t cry,” he said, looking down into my eyes. “I love you.”

I buried my face into his chest, desperately wanting to believe him and stay in his arms forever but unable to face his ardent gaze or the truth that I couldn’t do either.

“And did you see the bandage on his face?” Leonard, the newly promoted footman, said, busy polishing a spoon.

I peeked into the Servants’ Hall before putting the lantern away. The table was laid with at least fifty pieces of silver: forks, spoons, knives, trays, teapots, sugar bowls, creamers, waste bowls, pitchers, urns, and candlesticks. Several others, including Miss Issacson and Monsieur Valbois, were drinking coffee and loitering about gossiping.

This would never have happened if Mrs. Crankshaw were still here,
I thought.

After Walter escorted me back to the house, his arm around my waist and kissing me good night, I’d slept better than I had in weeks, but I’d forgotten to return the lantern. The first thought in my head upon waking this morning was the exact question I heard as I approached the Servants’ Hall after breakfast. Why was Nick Whitwell wearing a bandage? I’d seen him at the ball. He was uninjured then. I hadn’t thought to ask Walter last night if Nick had explained it. What had happened between the ball and the time he arrived to escort Miss Cora last night?

Lester Sibley was murdered,
I thought.

“How did you see that?” Annie the chambermaid was asking as I passed the Hall again. I slowed down to listen.

“I answered the door when he came to escort Miss Mayhew,” Leonard said.

“Did Miss Cora ask him about it?” Miss Issacson said.

“Of course she did.”

“What did he say?” Annie said.

“Said he fell down after the ball, scraped his cheek on the driveway,” Leonard said, laughing.

“Ha! Right he did,” Annie said. “And Miss Cora believed him?” Did the chambermaid know something? I would have to talk to her alone later.

“Yeah,” the footman said. “She’s going to marry him, isn’t she?”

“Good morning, Miss Davish,” Davies, the butler, said as he passed by me.

“Good morning, Mr. Davies.” Did he know I was listening at the door? I hoped not. I took a few steps down the hallway. As soon as he disappeared into the Servants’ Hall, I backed up again. The conversation had come to an abrupt end.

“Who’s going to marry whom?” I heard Davies ask.

“No one, Mr. Davies,” Leonard said.

“All right then, everybody, get back to your work.”

“Any news on a housekeeper, Mr. Davies?” Valbois asked.

“Yes, the missus hired one yesterday. She will be joining us sometime this morning.”

“Bon,”
Valbois said loudly, then lowered his voice. “Any news on Mrs. Crankshaw?” I stepped closer to the open doorway to hear. I peeked in again to see the butler shake his head. The cook shrugged his shoulders, set his cup down, and stood. He disappeared into the kitchen.

“Any news on James, Mr. Davies?” Leonard said. I saw Britta coming down the hall carrying a tray. She half smiled to me in greeting. I decided to follow behind her.

“Yes, actually,” Mr. Davies said as Britta and I entered the Hall. Mr. Davies looked right at me. “Rumor has it James has been hired by those two old sisters, Mrs. Fry and Miss Shaw, at Moffat Cottage.”

“What’s this, Mr. Davies?” Britta said. “What did you say about James?”

I realized I hadn’t had a chance to tell her the good news yesterday. I’d returned late and had been preoccupied with organizing and updating Mrs. Mayhew’s calendar. Britta must not have visited James last night or he would’ve told her. That Mr. Davies already knew was proof again that Newport’s rumor mill was the swiftest I’d ever experienced.

The butler repeated himself. Britta followed Mr. Davies’s gaze to look at me. “Is this true?”

I looked for permission from Mr. Davies to answer. He nodded.

“Yes, I was there when the Shaw sisters made the decision.”

“We all know that Mr. Grady has enlisted in the navy,” Davies said. “The elderly sisters were in need of a good manservant.”

“But Mr. Mayhew discharged him without a reference, didn’t he?” Leonard said.

“Yeah, and what about the police?” Annie said. “Don’t they think James killed that labor man?”

Clank, clank, clank.
The silver tray clattered when Britta dumped it onto the table. “Oh, Annie, you’re awful,” she said, and then fled the room, crying.

“What’s gotten into her?” Leonard said.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Davies said, looking at the door where Britta had disappeared. “She’s normally such a steady, reliable worker.”

“All the more reason we need a new housekeeper,” Mrs. Mayhew’s lady’s maid said.

“Yes, Miss Issacson, I couldn’t agree with you more,” Mr. Davies said, shaking his head as he strolled to his pantry. “Now off with you all,” he said without turning around.

I stopped Annie in the hallway as we both left the Hall. “Do you have a minute?” I asked.

“Sure, Miss Davish, what is it?”

“I happened to overhear you talking about Mr. Whitwell’s bandaged face.”

She nodded. “Yeah, isn’t that something?”

“Yes, it is, but what makes you think so?”

The maid furrowed her brow and frowned at me. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s lying. He didn’t get that by falling down in the driveway.”

“And how do you think he got it?”

“I think that Lester Sibley clipped him one before he was killed,” she said. I was astonished. How did she know about the connection between the two men, let alone make the ready assumption that Nick Whitwell killed Lester Sibley? She must’ve heard what happened at the ball.

“And why do you think Mr. Whitwell killed Lester Sibley?”

“Because I saw them.”

“Wh-h-hat?” I said, stammering. This wasn’t the response I’d expected. “When? Where?”

“Since I wasn’t needed during the ball the other night, Mrs. Mayhew gave me permission to spend the evening with my folks. They live on Extension Street.”

“And you saw Mr. Whitwell and Mr. Sibley when?”

“Well after dark. My father gave me money for cab fare. We were driving down Bellevue and I saw them. Mr. Whitwell had Lester Sibley’s arm behind him, pushing him along.” I realized that she might have mistaken who actually was with Lester Sibley.

“How do you know it was Mr. Whitwell? Did you get a good look at his face?”

“No, didn’t have to. I heard how he threatened him at the ball, and then Sibley ends up dead and Mr. Whitwell has a bandage on his cheek. Isn’t it obvious? Mr. Whitwell was dragging the union man to his death.”

“Thank you, Annie.”

“Sure,” she said, turning away. She turned back again. “You’re the one who found the guy, huh?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” I said.

She nodded. “He was shot, like Mr. Whitwell, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“I’m glad we know Mr. Whitwell did it,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

“Because if he’s going around shooting people, at least I know I won’t be next.”

“And why’s that, Annie?” I couldn’t follow her logic at all.

“Because I’m nobody but a chambermaid. He doesn’t have cause to kill me. Gotta go,” she said, running up the stairs.