Murder at Beechwood Read Online Free

choosing to ignore my observation.
    I chewed my lip to hide the smile that refused to go away, and went to sit beside Nanny on the sofa. “Tomorrow night is June thirtieth and Mrs. Astor will be holding her annual ball to kick off the summer Season. I’m on the guest list—well, not strictly as a guest, mind you. I’ll be working, taking notes for my Fancies and Fashions page. Every member of the Four Hundred who’s in Newport will be there. It’s as good a place as any to begin asking questions.”
    I glanced over at Nanny, who agreed with one of her sage nods.
    â€œAnd what makes you think a woman who gave birth so recently will be at that ball?”
    â€œShe’ll have to be,” I replied to Jesse. “If my suspicions are correct and the mother is a society lady, she’ll make every effort to attend the ball to quell any rumors that might have sprung up during her confinement. A woman can’t simply stop making her usual appearances without her peers noticing, not to mention wondering and whispering. She might get away with the excuse of having been ill, or visiting relatives in the country or some such, but she’d be desperate to reenter society as soon as possible and have everyone see her carefree and happy and, more to the point, laced tightly into her corset.”
    Jesse winced. “Sounds painful. Not to mention unhealthy.”
    â€œIt is, on both counts.” I smoothed a hand down the front of the sprigged muslin I’d hastily donned earlier. I wore stays, but not nearly as tightly as fashion dictated. In the past it had been a source of disagreement between my aunt Alice and me. “Loose stays suggest loose morals,” she would often admonish. Only to add in a rush, “Not that you are of loose morals, Emmaline. Heaven knows you are not. But one does not wish to give a wrong impression, does one?”
    Jesse again shifted the baby from one shoulder to the other, his large hands fumbling when the blanket began to unwind and a tiny foot dangled freely. I bit back yet another grin and came around the sofa table to help tuck those miniscule toes safely back in. I pretended not to notice the blush suffusing Jesse’s face or how he avoided my gaze.
    He said, “I’m still not sure why you’re so convinced the mother is a society lady. She could be a lady’s maid or even a laundry maid. And if the murdered coachman was involved, he could have been the father, all too eager to hide the evidence of his indiscretion.”
    â€œThen why murder him?” I shook my head. “It makes more sense that he was murdered to preserve a secret. And who more than anyone else would wish to hide the evidence of an illegitimate birth?”
    When neither Jesse nor Nanny answered, I threw up my hands. “A member of society! Someone with heirs or who stands to gain an inheritance, or who wishes to preserve his reputation, along with that of the woman who birthed the child.”
    â€œEmma,” Jesse said, “rage knows no class distinctions. Rich or poor, an angry brother or father might have shot that man, not to mention we haven’t yet found a definite connection between the two occurrences. Anyone could have gotten hold of that handkerchief. Have you considered that the mother might want you to believe the child hails from a wealthy background in the hopes you’ll do better by it?”
    â€œAs if that would make any difference to us,” Nanny replied with a huff.
    â€œNo, it wouldn’t.” I resumed my place beside her on the sofa. “But it might to a lot of people. Jesse does have a point, one I hadn’t considered. A desperately poor mother might have thought she was influencing us by leaving a false clue. Perhaps she thought that rather than delivering him to an orphanage, we’d find a good family willing to take him in, or we’d raise him ourselves.”
    If Nanny thought I wouldn’t