“My theory is this: Whoever murdered Madame Devereaux wore some sort of heavy fabric that didn’t tear when he or she broke through the azalea hedges to make their escape. This may suggest a man and does tend to rule out most of Aunt Alva’s guests that day. All but one of the ladies present wore silks, ruffles, and delicate pleats.
“Now,” I went on, “the person also brought coins, which were found strewn across the table and spilled onto the floor.” The coins in front of me clinked as I ran my fingers over them. “This, and the lighted candles, suggest the person had asked the medium to read his or her fortune, and had to have time to do so before the ladies and I went out to the pavilion.” Next, I fingered the playing cards. “This theory is supported by the fact that we found tarot cards spread out on the table.”
I paused and once again contemplated the scenario I’d devised. “So, either a man or someone dressed as, say, Mrs. Stanford went to the pavilion and asked for their fortune to be read. This person carried money, either in a purse or in a pocket, along with Amelia Beaumont’s silk scarf. At the same time, he or she had been somewhere where pink wildflowers grow and managed to track them in, most likely on their shoes.”
“Or in the cuffs of his trousers,” Nanny said, “or the train of her dress.”
“Yes!” I hadn’t actually thought of that and rewarded Nanny with a grateful smile.
“Have you checked the Cliff Walk?” she asked. “For the flowers, I mean.”
“Not yet, but I’m going back to Marble House later today. I’m hoping these flowers were not from the cliffs.”
“Why not?”
I sighed. “Because if they are, they no longer stand up as a clue.” Her frown prompted me to continue. “You see, anyone entering the estate from the Cliff Walk could easily have been seen walking across the lawns to the pavilion. The murderer would have been taking quite a risk of discovery. Plus, if the flower grows on the cliffs, how likely is it our murderer was scaling the precipices directly before killing Madame Devereaux? It doesn’t make sense and yet . . .” I sat back again. “And yet I believe the flowers to be a key bit of evidence. Link these flowers to a person, and I truly believe I’ll find both the murderer and Consuelo.”
“You think the murderer has Consuelo?” Nanny’s voice was grave, echoing my own inner sentiments.
“I didn’t at first, and as much as I wish it were otherwise, yes, I do. And that terrifies me.” I dropped my head into my hands. “And the thing is, the police won’t believe it, not if they think Anthony Dobbs and Clara Parker are guilty. Oh, Nanny, why can’t I figure this out?”
“I can tell you something that might possibly be of some help.”
My head shot up. “Yes?”
“It’s about that Lady Amelia. She’s not what she pretends to be, that one.”
I remembered Lady Amelia staring down at me from her window as I discussed the petals with Mr. Delgado and Jamie Reilly. For the most part, I’d believed her to be filling an idle moment. Could she, from that distance, have seen the petals in my palm and have cause to be concerned?
I returned my attention to Nanny. “What is she, then?”
Approaching footsteps sounded in the foyer and a moment later Brady stood in the doorway. He wore his blue and silver damask dressing gown, his flaxen hair tousled. “Em, you’re awake. Good. I need you.”
I’d barely seen my brother in the past several days. Since his exoneration and release from jail, he’d caught up on a lot of missed sleep while I’d kept busy tracking down Consuelo and a murderer.
Who could blame him? He still looked tired, yet the heavy shadows that had haunted his features were slowly fading beneath restored color and the sparkle that typically resided in his gaze, as though he expected a delightful surprise at any given moment. Yet now I detected something in his expression that convinced me he was about to toss a barricade between me and my plans today.
“What are you doing up so early?” I asked, not completely sure I wanted to know.
“I have been summoned,” he said in an ominous tone. “To the big house.”
Both Nanny’s and my eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “Uncle Cornelius wants to see you?”
“Mm-hmm.” He released a long breath. “What do you think he could want, Em? You don’t think he’s decided to press charges, do you?”
I almost said it would serve Brady right if Uncle Cornelius did press charges. Brady might not have murdered Uncle Cornelius’s financial secretary, but he did attempt to steal business secrets with the intention of using them against the Vanderbilt family’s New York Central Railroad.