Parlor Games (46 page)

“I had occasion to visit with the Duke of Norfolk in London last December,” said Mr. Zaharoff. “He sends his regards, as does the Duchess.”

We sat in the Hôtel Métropole lounge, near sunlit windows, in plush armchairs. “Aren’t Henry and Gwendolen the most delightful couple? People talk about the age difference, but clearly they love each other.”

“You know she’s expecting another child?” Mr. Zaharoff stroked his chin-strip beard. His white mustache and beard set off an intelligent brow, a prominent nose, and ice-blue eyes with fleshy lids.

“Ah, the fruits of love.”

Mr. Zaharoff chuckled. “Has your husband kept up his game since last … when was it we met, last October?”

“Yes, much to the manager’s vexation.”

“What’s his secret?”

“If I knew, Mr. Zaharoff, I wouldn’t be sitting here sipping Marguerite cocktails.”

“You don’t gamble yourself?”

“No, I rely on Ernest to gamble on my behalf. And you?”

“Occasionally—purely for entertainment. I prefer to conduct my business away from the tables.”

“I understand you have a successful record.”

“Quite. Things are rather heating up on the Continent. France has almost sixty submarines. But the Kaiser won’t be outdone. He’s readying the launch of a new
Unterseeboot
. U-2, it’ll be called. And everyone’s trying to improve on the Maxim.”

“The Maxim?”

“A machine gun. Between them and the submarines, warfare is becoming very profitable business.”

“Do you ever accept outside investments?”

“Occasionally, for more private dealings.” He smiled and sliced his gaze from side to side. “I find women have certain advantages when it comes to business.”

“We must all use whatever gifts God has given us.”

“May I ask, Mrs. Whidbey, are you a patriot?”

“I would say not.”

“But you’re American.”

“True, but it’s no home to me. Before Ernest, I was a Dutch baroness, but that’s in the past. And now I live in London—but only because it pleases me.”

“And France?”

“France I adore, though I claim no allegiance.”

Mr. Zaharoff slanted his erect torso to the side, resting his chin on a curled hand. “You strike me as one who thrills to danger.”

“I admit I’m an adventurer.” His unblinking eyes invited me to elaborate. “And I’ve never been able to determine what separates danger from adventure.”

“Tell me, how would a beautiful woman such as yourself go about making herself inconspicuous?”

“Any woman is invisible in the black of mourning. Add a veil and you’ve as good as declared you carry the plague.”

Mr. Zaharoff and I continued our friendly banter for some time,
until Ernest appeared. His expression soured when he noted my company.

I did my best to displace his morose manner by making magnanimous introductions: “Mr. Zaharoff, this is my husband, the famous Dr. Ernest Whidbey,” and “Ernest, let me introduce Mr. Basil Zaharoff.”

After an exchange of curt pleasantries, Ernest turned to me and offered his arm. “Shall we dress for dinner, my dear?”

Ernest managed to maintain a stern silence as we navigated the corridors to our room. Once behind our closed door, however, he faced me with stiffened arms. “I do not approve of your association with that Zaharoff. Do you know anything about him?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you will understand why I prefer you not pass time with him.”

“Ernest, you’re being unreasonable. What am I to do all those hours you’re at the table?”

“You can read. Or find some ladies to shop with.”

“I have. But I refuse to turn down good conversation because of your unfounded suspicions.”

“Unfounded? You think I don’t see the way men look at you? The way you humor them?”

“Ernest, this is ridiculous. I was only sitting in the lounge. There was nothing untoward about it.”

“That’s where these things begin. I know—I was once one of those men.”

“Honestly, everyone knows you and I are attached. And who hasn’t seen Mr. Zaharoff with the Duchess of Villa Franca?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“You’re being foolish,” I said, reaching out in hopes of reassuring him.

He swiped my arm away, circled his hands around my neck, and squeezed.

My hands flew to his wrists, trying futilely to pull him away.

His face reddened. He shook me by the throat. “I will say once more, and only once more: Stay away from that man.”

My airway collapsed under his firm grip.

He glared at me through narrow eyes. “Do you understand?”

Throaty gasps burst from the back of my mouth. I nodded as best I could, bulging my unbelieving eyes.

He released his grip. “Do you hear me?”

I clutched my throat and stepped back, words escaping me.

“Do you understand how strongly I feel about this?”

There is only one thing a woman can say under such circumstances, and I straightaway gazed meekly upon him and said it: “Yes, my dear.”

But I vowed that very instant to plot a way to extricate myself from his increasingly bellicose and dangerous grip. To be anything but cautious would have been foolhardy.

THE TRIAL
TRIVIALITIES
MENOMINEE—JANUARY 30, 1917

W
hen, I asked myself, would Frank and her attorney wrap up their case? Sawyer opened the seventh day of the trial by calling another witness to the stand, a neighbor of Frank’s parents, who, I might add, was quite far removed from the matters under consideration.

“Mrs. Schultz, I hope you’re comfortable,” he began, after giving the seventy-plus-year-old plenty of time to hoist her stubby frame onto the witness-box chair.

“Goodness, yes.” Mrs. Schultz nodded, jiggling the wattles on her throat.

“Did you know that the friendship between the Baroness and Miss Shaver broke off in 1903?”

“I should say so. Frank told me all about it.” The old woman’s gaze followed Sawyer’s every move, like an underling all too happy to do her master’s bidding.

“What was your understanding of the reason for the break?”

“Oh, that brother of May’s, Gene. He kept borrowing money from her. Frank didn’t think it was at all proper. And neither did I.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Sawyer. He paused, perhaps groping for some strategy to blunt the gossipy edge of Mrs. Schultz’s delivery. “In the years before the Baroness and Miss Shaver reconciled, did you ever see the Baroness?”

“I’d invited her to visit, and she did call on me a few times. Oh, yes, we had some cozy chats, the Baroness and me.”

“And what did you talk about?”

“My dog. She loved Snookie, my now departed Boston terrier. He ran crazy circles whenever she visited.”

Sawyer nodded to urge her on.

“And the weather, how I was doing, if I’d seen Frank, my prize flowers, and such and so.”

My God, did she imagine the court really cared about all this drivel? Poor Mrs. Schultz had clearly reached her prattling years. I glanced at the judge, who stared vacantly at Sawyer. No doubt he shared my impatience.

Sawyer rushed in to keep her on track. “Please tell us about conversations regarding Miss Shaver. Did the Baroness ever ask about her financial circumstances?”

“Yes, the last time she visited, after Frank’s father died in 1912, she asked how much money Frank had inherited. And when she’d get it.”

That seemed to be the nugget Sawyer had been digging for. He explored this a bit further before relinquishing his witness to my attorney for cross-examination. And cross-examine he did.

Mr. Powers stood no more than three feet from the witness box, brushing his palms together. “Do you recall the exact words, Mrs. Schultz, that the Baroness used when she asked about the inheritance?”

“Not exactly, just that she asked.”

“Was it you who brought up the passing of Mr. Shaver?”

“I don’t think so. The best I remember, the Baroness brought it up. Of course, it was all over the newspapers, too.”

Mr. Powers tapped a finger to his lips, pausing for a moment of contemplation. “Are you absolutely positive the Baroness brought it up?”

“Fairly positive.”

“But not absolutely positive?”

“Well, not absolutely.”

“Did you talk to any other people about Mr. Shaver’s passing?”

“Oh, yes. Everybody in the neighborhood was upset. He was a wonderful neighbor. Always kept his grounds tidy as could be.”

“Did any of them mention the matter of inheritance?”

“Yes, well, we were all curious. It was such a fancy home they had.”

“Exactly which neighbors talked about the inheritance?”

“I don’t know that I could say which ones did and which ones didn’t. But we all talked about his passing for days and days.”

“And did the newspapers mention anything about inheritance?”

“It’s been so many years now. I can’t say for sure.”

“So you don’t recall if the newspapers mentioned an inheritance; you don’t remember which neighbors you discussed it with; and you can’t say for certain that the Baroness brought up the matter? Is this all correct?”

“Yes, but I know she asked. I’m almost positive of that.”

“That’s all I have, Your Honor.”

But the charade was not over. Sawyer next called Mabel Owens to the stand. Mabel, a cousin of Frank’s, was about as drab as Frank was blustery, much older than Frank, and altogether refined in appearance, if not decorum. Having been widowed at the age of thirty-seven, she had taken to traveling from one relation to another, settling in their homes for months on end. In fact, I first met her while she stopped for a summer at Frank’s Chicago-area home.

Sawyer swaggered to the witness box. “Mrs. Owens, when did you first meet the Baroness May de Vries?”

“In August 1913, at Frank’s home in Highland Park.”

“Did you talk with her about an invitation she had put to Miss Shaver?”

“Yes, May wanted Frank to go on a trip to London, but Frank hadn’t accepted.”

“Was Miss Shaver there when you talked about this?”

“No, it was just me and May.”

“Can you tell us the gist of the discussion?”

“Yes, I told May that Frank didn’t feel she could afford such an expensive trip, but May explained that she’d invited Frank as her guest and Frank wouldn’t need to spend any money at all. May said she’d treat her to a first-class cabin on the
Lusitania
. I was surprised, because a trip like that would cost plenty. But May said, ‘Well, I
am
very wealthy. Can’t you tell?’ ”

“And did the Baroness attempt to demonstrate her wealth?”

“She showed me a yellow-diamond necklace and said that yellow diamonds were especially rare. And she went on and on about her first string of pearls, which were given to her in Japan in 1891. She said they hadn’t even started cultivating pearls at that time and these were perfect, all balanced in size, with smooth, shimmering surfaces. She told me everything anyone would ever want
to know about pearls. I believe she wished to impress me with her wealth.”

Powers shot to his feet. “Objection, the witness is conjecturing about motive.”

“Sustained,” said the judge. “The jury will disregard the last remark.”

Sawyer continued nevertheless. “Mrs. Owens, did you think that the Baroness was a wealthy woman?”

“Heavens, yes. Very wealthy.”

“Did Miss Shaver take this trip with her?”

“She did, in early 1914.”

“And did she tell you about it afterward?”

“She said she’d had a grand time, but she’d spent altogether too much money.”

“Did this surprise you?”

“It most certainly did.”

“Did you talk to Miss Shaver about this?”

“I told her I’d been given to understand that she’d be May’s guest, and she just laughed it off. She said, ‘When you’re in May’s entourage, you don’t quibble about money. You just live the high life.’ Afterward, I warned her to watch out for that woman.”

“And did she?”

“No, she was completely in her clutches, and nothing I said deterred her. Until she finally realized May had taken her for all her money.”

“And did she talk to you about this?”

“She told me she’d been tricked. She was terribly upset.”

And with that, Mr. Sawyer finally announced that he had called all his witnesses, though he reserved the right to reintroduce them should the defense’s testimony warrant it. My attorney opted for a brief cross-examination of Mrs. Owens, craftily pointing out how very much she herself had benefited from Frank’s beneficence.

Then he called as our first witness my brother Gene, who proved quite adept at corroborating how Frank had, while sipping tea in her bedroom at the Menominee home in 1915, signed a document releasing me from all debt. Not even Sawyer’s cross-examination could budge him from his clear testimony on the matter.

I felt well satisfied with how the testimony ended that day. And Sawyer hadn’t yet met his match—Daisy, our prize witness.

WHAT ARE THE RISKS?
LONDON AND MONTE CARLO—1908–1910