Murder at Beechwood Read Online Free Page B

Myself? Perhaps. Jesse? Probably not. Whenever I saw that gleam in his eye, it was the arms of another man, Derrick Andrews, that I imagined around me, and I believe Jesse knew it.
    He said good-bye and with my shoulder I nudged the door closed behind him, then leaned against it and snuggled the baby’s head beneath my chin. Another summer had barely begun and already I found myself embroiled yet again in deception and murder, not to mention once again lost in the confusion of my own longings with no answers at hand. I let out a breath, and from deep inside me a tear squeezed its way to my eye and rolled down my cheek.
    At the sound of footsteps coming down the hall I wiped the tear away on my shoulder and pasted on a cheerful smile.
    Katie stopped before me and reached out her arms. “Can it be my turn to hold ’im now, miss?”
    This household was becoming perilously attached to our little visitor.
    Â 
    The next morning, Nanny and the girls, as I’d come to think of Katie and Stella, were out beyond the kitchen garden, each taking turns walking with the baby. The child needs fresh air, Nanny had declared, and out they went. I’d remained behind, thankful for the solitude as I planned my strategy for the evening to come.
    I’d be attending the event of the season, already dubbed so by all the newspapers and the majority of the Four Hundred—that magical number of society’s most elite men and women who fit comfortably in Mrs. Astor’s New York ballroom. As merely a poor relation of the Vanderbilts, I held no place among that hallowed number, but what good was it to hold the most extravagant ball of the summer unless representatives from every newspaper in town, not to mention those from New York, Boston, and Providence, were there to capture all the sumptuous details?
    I would be reporting for the Newport Observer, but the details I sought involved more than place settings and silver, or which debutant outshined the rest with the latest fashion from House of Worth. I counted on my Vanderbilt relatives being there, especially the younger ones. With Gertrude I’d have access to the upper rooms, where ladies’ maids would wait to freshen frocks and redress ill-behaved curls. Such feminine gatherings were always reliable sources of the latest gossip. With Neily I could approach gentlemen and the older society matrons—who viewed him as excellent marriage material for their daughters—without appearing impertinent.
    My questions must be subtle and typical for someone in my position. Who had attended the spring balls? Who had traveled abroad? Which house parties offered the most interesting activities? Such probing, among enough individuals, would gradually assemble a picture of the past several months, including who had been where and when, and who had been absent. Four hundred might sound like a large number, but in reality comprised a close-knit community where everyone intimately knew everyone else—and their business. By ruling out enough individuals, I hoped to whittle down the possibilities and from there discover the identity of the baby’s mother.
    Unless, of course, my hunch about her hailing from society proved completely wrong.
    A knock at the front door interrupted me, and I was both surprised and pleased to discover Marianne Reid on my doorstep. Marianne, a woman only a few years older than I, originally hailed from England, and dire circumstances upon her arrival in this country had brought her to Gull Manor briefly last summer. Like Katie and Stella, Marianne had needed a place to stay and a fresh start in life, the first of which I’d been only too happy to provide. The second came from an unexpected source. Through the influence of my half brother, Brady, and the intervention of my Vanderbilt cousin Neily, Marianne had been hired as a lady’s maid to one of society’s most glamorous debutants.
    â€œMarianne, what a lovely