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Murder at Marble House(87)

By:Alyssa Maxwell


We eased apart, and even by the light of the hall sconces her appearance shocked me. Her eyes were sunken, the shadows I’d noticed hours earlier darker and heavier, and her features had somehow thinned, giving her a haggard look that spoke of relentless strain.

“Please, come into the parlor and tell me what’s wrong. Are you sure I shouldn’t call for the doctor?”

“A doctor can’t help me, Emmaline. My world is crashing down around my ears.”

I led her into the parlor and we settled together on the settee. “I’m afraid Katie—my maid—has the evening off.” I thought better of revealing Jamie Reilly’s presence in my home, for some employers disapproved of their servants fraternizing with others even during their leisure time. “But I can ask Nanny to make us some tea.”

“No—no tea. Nothing.” She dabbed a handkerchief at the corners of her eyes. “Emmaline, he’s coming.”

I didn’t need to ask. “The Duke? Surely that’s no surprise. We’ve known that—”

“He’s arrived in New York ahead of schedule. He could head north at any moment.”

I gaped at her, a bud of anger unfurling at my core. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Don’t you understand?” She fluttered her handkerchief at me. “We’re running out of time! What will I do if he arrives in Newport—on my very doorstep—and his reason for coming is nowhere to be found? How will I explain?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” I folded my arms and leaned back, trying and not wholly succeeding in keeping the disdain from tugging at my lips.

“Oh, that awful girl, how could she do this to me?”

Before my anger exploded into a barrage of harsh words, Aunt Alva turned to me full on, her tearful eyes giving her a lost and frightened look. “Oh, Emmaline, my poor girl! What if she’s hurt? What if she’s come to no good? I couldn’t bear it. . . .”

I sighed and reached an arm around her shoulders. “Will it help you to know I might be close to finding her?”

“What?” The tears immediately stopped, making me marvel at how easily she could turn them on and off. “Where is she?”

“I can’t tell you anything yet.”

“Emmaline—”

“No, you’ll simply have to trust me. When I approach Consuelo, I’ll do so alone. No one else can be present or . . .” I drew in a breath as I prepared to speak, for the first time, of the conviction that had slowly been forming inside me. “We’ll lose her again. I believe this, Aunt Alva, and you must believe it, too, and trust me, or risk losing your daughter forever.”

She stared back at me, her gaze penetrating, searching, as if she could see the very workings of my mind. But as I regarded her in turn, I witnessed her own inner debate, the war between her fiercely independent and determined spirit, and a part of her she herself may not have known existed until this very moment: the mother’s heart, which wanted nothing beyond having her child once more safe in her arms.

I didn’t doubt the sincerity of the single tear that escaped the corner of her eye.

“Very well.” She dabbed the tear away and came to her feet. “I’ll trust you, Emmaline, because I don’t see that I have any other choice short of shaking you until you tell me what you know.”

The words startled me; I could almost envision her doing it.

“But should the Duke arrive before Consuelo is found—”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said. “If we come to it.”

“You’ll keep me informed?” She adjusted the fox head dangling from her shoulder.

“No, but you’ll be the first to know once I’ve found Consuelo, reassured her, and convinced her to come home.”

“And if you don’t? Good gracious, Emmaline, what if she insists on—”

I gently slipped my hand into the crook of her elbow and started guiding her into the front hall. “Have faith. Consuelo is a smart girl. In the end, she’ll do the right thing.”

I thought Aunt Alva would protest again. She surprised me. “Yes, yes, she will. I raised her to do the right thing. She’ll come around.” At the front door she turned to face me. “Thank you, Emmaline, I feel infinitely better. Good night.”

She hadn’t been gone two minutes—in fact, I could still hear her carriage receding down the drive—when the service door opened and Katie came striding into the hall, Jamie following some several steps behind.

“Ah, you two. I suppose you saw Mrs. Vanderbilt’s carriage in the drive. Wise of you to postpone returning to the house until she’d left. Not that you’re doing anything wrong, mind you—”