That made me immeasurably sad.
It was on the ride home that a thought struck me. That last conversation with Aunt Alva kept playing over in my mind, until I suddenly stopped my aging hack short.
“Barney,” I said out loud for no other reason than that sometimes voicing a thought helped me judge its validity, “you don’t suppose . . . No, never mind.” I shook my head and was about to cluck my tongue to the horse. His ears twitched in my direction for the signal to resume our trek home. But I hesitated, my mouth slightly open.
“Would Aunt Alva stoop so low?” I whispered to the gathering afternoon shadows.
Was it possible she knew exactly where Consuelo was, and Aunt Alva’s distress was nothing more than a ruse to distract . . . me? Beneath the trees in the quiet of Bellevue Avenue, near the bend where that grand street turned onto Ocean Avenue, I began ticking off the facts one by one, to the rhythm of the ocean waves at nearby Bailey’s Beach.
Four suffragettes currently inhabited Marble House; five if you counted Aunt Alva.
Consuelo faced an unwanted marriage and virtually choked on the irony that her mother’s bullheaded independence would never extend to her daughter.
Aunt Alva had orchestrated today’s so-called entertainment with Madame Devereaux in an effort to persuade Consuelo to cooperate. But in this instance, it was the medium herself who balked at cooperating. Who had outright told Consuelo she’d never be happy if she married him.
Madame Devereaux was dead, and Consuelo was missing. The two incidents couldn’t be a coincidence, and the sudden, sickening question was, would Aunt Alva resort to murder and then kidnap her own daughter to avoid letting Consuelo’s future slip through her fingers? And setting me on Consuelo’s trail? Well, wouldn’t that distract me from discovering the truth?
“Oh, Barney, tell me this can’t be true. Tell me I’m jumping to conclusions.”
But that loyal old soul simply gave his head an impatient shake to let me know he was tired, hungry, and wanted a brisk brushing down. I clucked to set him back in motion. I needed Nanny and Brady to help me sort out my suspicions and approach the matter with a clear perspective. Furthermore, I needed Nanny to work her magic among her well-placed connections in Newport. If so much as a breath of a hint existed as to where Consuelo might be hiding—or was hidden against her will—Nanny would get wind of it, eventually.
Chapter 6
“What do you think?” I asked my little family back at home once I’d filled them in on the details of that harrowing morning.
Saying nothing, Nanny pursed her lips and reached for the teapot. When I arrived some half hour ago, feeling and probably looking battered after my day at Marble House, she, Brady, and I had gathered around the morning-room table for sandwiches and a pot of strong Irish tea that Katie had brewed for us. And dare I confess each time Nanny poured a cup she also trickled in a tiny bit of the spirits, just to shore up the constitution.
Brady cradled his cup in his palms and leaned back in his chair. “Alva Vanderbilt is no murderer. The old girl doesn’t have it in her, Em. If I’m certain of anything, it’s that.”
“But that temper of hers,” I reminded him. “We’ve all seen it. Goodness, just about everyone has seen it at one time or another.
“All bluster,” he replied with a quirk of his lips.
“I think so, too,” Nanny said. “As far as murder goes. But as for her possibly using that poor woman’s death to hide her daughter away . . . well. Can’t say as I’d put it past her.”
“Then again . . .” I watched the thin stream of whiskey make its way into my tea before Nanny handed me the refilled cup. “Alva was with the rest of us the entire time. It was Consuelo who slipped away, supposedly to her room.”
“Alva might have had a servant do her dirty work,” Brady said, “to steal Consuelo away.”
I shook my head. “I doubt she’d trust any of them enough.”
Nanny’s eyebrows went up. “How about the butler?” “Grafton? Alva had him search the house for Consuelo—” I broke off, and the other two studied me with burgeoning “aha” expressions.
Brady nodded. “Bet he didn’t find a thing, did he?”
“No, he didn’t,” I conceded. “Or at least he said he didn’t.”
“Mm-hmm.” It was Nanny’s turn to nod knowingly. “But if Consuelo was there, my guess is she’s gone now to who only knows where.” She reached for the whiskey again. I shot her a glance. She returned it with an unapologetic narrowing of her eyes. “Are you going to play mother with me now, Emma?”