A Scandal in Newport Read online

  Newport, 3 September 1891

  * * *

  “How long will Mr. Sheridan be gone?” Geneva asked as she and Amy strolled through the garden at Shore House. Clemmie trotted a little before them and sniffed at everything that caught her interest, though her mistress kept a firm hold of her leash.

  “Perhaps a week,” Amy replied, with a resolute smile. “Certainly no more than two weeks. He’s promised to be back by the 15th, when we’ll be celebrating Mama’s birthday. And he said he’d write regularly. I just received his first letter today.”

  “The two of you seem so happy together,” Geneva observed, a bit wistfully. “You must miss him very much.”

  “I do,” Amy confessed. “And I know he misses me as well. But he is an artist, and if he feels stifled and unfulfilled here, then it’s only right that I let him go to a place where he can work. It’s only a temporary situation, after all.” She changed the subject. “Has anyone caught your fancy this summer, Geneva? I noticed that several young men were very attentive to you at my engagement ball.”

  The younger girl turned slightly pink, but shook her head. “Oh, no—I haven’t got any beaux just yet. And if truth be told… I don’t feel ready for one. Especially not now,” she added in a low voice.

  “Understood,” Amy said lightly, knowing all too well the reason why. “No need to settle on anyone this soon. I was all of twenty-one when I succumbed to Thomas’s charms.”

  “Twenty-one! A veritable old maid,” Geneva teased gently.

  “At my last prayers, as the English would say,” Amy agreed.

  They laughed and walked on together, breathing in the heady scent of roses mingled with bracing salt air. Off in the distance, the vast expanse of the sea shone like a mirror, reflecting back the deep blue of the sky. A perfect summer afternoon.

  Geneva looked more relaxed than the last time Amy had seen her. And exceptionally pretty in a green and white ensemble that flattered her dark hair and fair complexion, with fresh color glowing in her cheeks. While she’d said she enjoyed Amy’s engagement party, she still did not socialize often, so it had been a delightful surprise to receive a visit from her and Clemmie today, though Amy was careful not to make too much of it.

  Reaching the gazebo in the middle of the garden, they climbed the steps and sat down together on one of the benches. Geneva scooped Clemmie onto her lap, cuddling the little spaniel close.

  “Such a beautiful day,” she said, gazing around them with apparent content. “I would dream about days like this last winter. About being here, near the sea. Everything seems so much more… manageable away from the city. Nothing to remind me of—what happened before.”

  “So you’ve been doing better, my dear?” Amy inquired solicitously.

  Geneva nodded. “Mostly better. I’ve been trying to get out more. Yesterday, I went to the Casino. Venetia and I played tennis with John and Larry, and then we had tea. It was very pleasant. Tomorrow, if the weather continues fine, I may even go for a swim.”

  “I’m delighted that you’ve made such progress. Have you—felt up to attending evening entertainments too?”

  “A few—we’re to dine at the Russells’ this Saturday. And I’ve heard there’s to be music, afterwards: a violinist and then a noted soprano, who’s apparently performed in Paris and Milan.” Geneva’s eyes glowed with anticipation. “I have missed the opera, so I’m looking forward to that very much.”

  Amy smiled. “The Russells have invited us too, so we’ll see you there. What about the Thurstons’ masquerade next week? I’ve heard it’s to be one of the highlights of the Season.”

  Some of the fresh color drained from Geneva’s face. “I—don’t think so,” she demurred, lowering her gaze and fidgeting with Clemmie’s collar. “I’m not really comfortable… with the idea of putting on a mask, or with being around people who are disguised. In fact—ever since it happened, I find myself growing anxious if I can’t see someone’s face clearly. If I can’t recognize the people I’m with. You may think it strange—”

  “Not at all!” Amy interrupted swiftly. “Forgive me for not realizing sooner. Were your abductors disguised?”

  “I suppose they must have been. I never saw their faces.” Geneva bit her lip. “Amy… how much did Mrs. Ogden tell you?”

  “Not a great deal. Only that you—and the other two—were kidnapped while returning from social engagements.” Amy paused, then resumed gently, “And you don’t have to go into any more detail about it if it bothers you so.”

  Geneva shook her head almost vehemently. “Talking about my abduction isn’t easy, but it’s not nearly as awful as having experienced it! And my family believes…” she swallowed, then resumed more steadily, “my family believes that my speaking openly of it will give the whole ordeal less power over me. That it will make me less afraid. Less ashamed.”

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of!” Amy objected.

  The younger girl blinked furiously. “That’s what my family tells me too. But I can’t help feeling that I was stupidly trusting and naïve. That I should have suspected something from the start.” She paused, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. In her lap, Clemmie whimpered softly, sensing her mistress’s disquiet.

  “But how could you have?” Amy asked, bewildered.

  “It was such… an unusual invitation. A little eccentric—but I told myself that even members of the Four Hundred have their idiosyncrasies. And it sounded like fun too, in a way.”

  Geneva lowered her hands to caress her spaniel’s silky head. “A Christmas party for puppies! Several of my friends were going. Mabel Ogden had a new Pekingese, and Edith Waddington—who was hosting it—had just acquired a pair of miniature poodles. So I took Clemmie, and there was this lovely supper for the dogs. Chopped chicken, shredded beef, even pâté de foie gras, though I didn’t want Clemmie having too much of that. It might have made her ill. But she did seem to be enjoying herself with the other dogs, so I let it be.

  “After a bit, I thought Clemmie had eaten enough, and it might be best to take her outside for—well, you know. So I put her on a leash and we went out into the garden. A footman offered me a cup of hot punch so I wouldn’t freeze while I was out there.

  “It was awfully sweet, but it was hot, so I drank it. But I felt so dizzy afterwards. I sat down on a bench, hoping it would help, and the next thing I knew there was a sack over my head!” Geneva shivered, her blue eyes going stark with remembered fear. “That’s when they grabbed me, I tried to move, to fight, even to scream, but it was no good!

  “And I heard Clemmie barking, trying to help me. Then I heard her cry out. One of those monsters must have kicked her! Venetia said they found her cowering in the bushes, after the kidnappers had taken me.

  “I must have lost consciousness after that—I don’t know whether it was the drug or the pure terror. When I came to, I was in this little room, all boarded up. No way to see out of the windows, and the doors were bolted. I was bound hand and foot, and gagged too—no way to scream, and I wonder if it would have done any good if I had. If anyone would have heard me.”

  “Were you left entirely alone?”

  “Someone—it was so dark I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman—came in with a tray. Just bread and water. And there was a chamber pot if I needed to use it. I was untied long enough for that, then bound again so I wouldn’t get any ideas of trying to escape when my restraints were gone.” Her mouth twisted. “Not that I could have. I was so stiff by then that I could barely stand, much less run.”

  “Did your jailer say anything to you? Anything by which you might able to recognize him—or her?”

  Geneva shook her head. “He—or she—was as silent as the grave. And I never heard my abductors talking among themselves either. I couldn’t tell how long I was there—it felt like an eternity, but I learned afterwards that Papa had paid the ransom within two days. And then I was taken out the same way I’d been brought in, bound, gagged, and with a sack over my
head.

  “I don’t even know where they left me,” she went on hurriedly. “Some spot agreed upon in the ransom note, I think. They set me down on the ground—it was so cold, I could feel it through my dress, and then they left. I heard them moving off—two sets of footsteps, maybe three. And then the next thing I know, Papa and Larry were there, taking off the sack and untying me.” She paused, her lips crimping. “I started to cry when I saw them, and the doctor had to give me a sedative because I couldn’t seem to stop.”

  Amy squeezed her hand in sympathy. “Oh, my dear!”

  Geneva closed her eyes for a moment. “When I woke up, the police were there,” she continued, her voice strained. “I told them everything I could remember, as I’ve just told you.”

  “Have they discovered anything?” Amy asked gently. “Anything at all?”

  Geneva shook her head. “They investigated as thoroughly as they could, but found nothing. And the Waddingtons have apologized again and again—they still have no idea how the kidnappers managed to get in and out of their garden unnoticed. And then, after Maisie, the abductions just… stopped. Before we left for Newport, Papa asked the chief of police if there’d been any further developments, but after more than six months, the trail’s gone cold.”

  Amy shivered. “No wonder you’ve been having such a hard time of it.”

  “I would give just about anything for it to be over—somehow!” Geneva’s arms tightened about Clemmie, who tried to lick her mistress’s face. “I want them caught as much as Papa does! I want to be able to go for a walk without feeling as though someone’s following me. I want to be able to—to go to a concert or the theater and not see the pitying looks or hear the whispers.”

  Her eyes filled. “My family says I’ve done nothing wrong. That I should remember I’m a Livingston of New York. That I should hold my head high and be the life and soul of every party I attend. Except that I never was like that, even before! Venetia was the outgoing one, and Florrie is going to be just like her! I was the ‘quiet Livingston sister.’ And now I have to pretend to be this—this social butterfly just to show the rest of the world that I’m not ruined or broken…”

  She choked to a stop, covering her face with her hands. Clemmie whimpered in sympathy, and Amy put an arm about the younger girl.

  “Of course you’re not ruined, or broken!” she declared staunchly. “You’ve had a terrible experience, and you need time to recover—at your own pace and no one else’s.”

  “Thank you,” Geneva managed after a moment. “For understanding. I wish my family did.” She pulled away and took out a handkerchief, blotting her eyes. “It’s not that I want to be a recluse. Or a coward. But I can’t pretend to be what I’m not, and I can’t deny that some things still—frighten me. Like crowds. Or unfamiliar surroundings. And I can only bear going out at night if I’m with people I trust completely. Alice feels the same way.”

  “Alice Carr?”

  Geneva nodded. “Maisie couldn’t receive visitors, after, but Alice and I have spoken about what happened to us. Who else would understand?” A bleak smile ghosted about her mouth. “So we compared our ‘war stories.’ She was abducted about two weeks earlier from a skating party in Central Park. They grabbed her when she left the ice for a short rest, just the way they grabbed me—by coming up behind her and throwing a sack over her head.”

  “But didn’t anyone else at the party notice that she was missing?”

  “According to the police, her friends all thought she’d gone home early,” Geneva replied. “And there must have been dozens of people on the ice that evening. It would have been easy to lose sight of one skater in a crowd.”

  “The kidnappers were probably counting on that,” Amy observed grimly.

  “The police thought so too. Poor Alice woke up the way I did: bound, gagged, and held in some dark little room with the windows boarded up. They didn’t even take her skates off.”

  Which would have rendered Alice even more helpless, Amy thought. Something niggled at her mind: the abductors seemed to have some knowledge of their victims’ habits—what they liked, where they went, who their friends were. That argued for a certain degree of… premeditation. Of course, the kidnappers could have been observing—and stalking their prey for weeks. The thought made her blood run cold.

  “Alice’s father paid the ransom even faster than Papa,” Geneva went on. “Not that it helped. Alice told me she became a nervous wreck just walking down Fifth Avenue. That all the places she loved to go were tainted for her now. That’s why she went abroad this summer—to get away from everything that reminded her of it.” She took a shaky breath and cuddled Clemmie to her, letting the little spaniel lick her chin. “I hope she’s doing better than I am!”

  Amy laid a hand over hers. “I think you’re doing just fine, my dear. And that you’re so much braver than you realize.”

  Geneva managed a wobbly smile. “I don’t feel very brave. But thank you all the same.”

  “Shall we go in now, and have some tea? I know it’s not a panacea, but…”

  “Tea would be lovely, Amy. Thank you again.”

  Newport, 9 September 1891

  * * *

  A clear, starry summer night, with just a breath of wind stirring the trees. Perfect for a masquerade, Amy thought as she followed her mother up the steps of the Thurstons’ grand summer home, Château de Sable. Personally, Amy preferred the English term—Sandcastle—and if she and Thomas ever acquired their own cottage by the sea, she might suggest calling it that.

  But the Thurstons had certainly decorated their home with a magnificence suited to its name and the occasion. Entering the ballroom, Amy found herself dazzled by the silk hangings in every shade of the rainbow, the arrangements of massed summer flowers, and the fully illuminated crystal chandelier ablaze in the center of the ceiling.

  At least she and her mother were gowned with equal splendor as ladies of King Louis XIV’s time. Laura looked as dainty as a porcelain figurine in silver and pale violet, while Amy wore rose satin, open over an embroidered petticoat, with close-fitting sleeves trimmed from elbow to wrist with frothy Mechlin lace. Unlike her mother, she had eschewed a white wig and had Mariette dress her hair in ringlets instead. No powder, either—it made her scalp itch.

  “Laura, Amy!” Mrs. Thurston, resplendent in a medieval-style gown trimmed with bands of ermine, rustled up to greet them. “Delighted that you could attend, my dears. How lovely you both look tonight.”

  Smiling, they thanked her and returned the compliment before moving on to mingle with the other guests. Glancing around the ballroom, Amy couldn’t help but wish that Thomas were with her, if only because seeing some of the more extravagant guises of their Newport neighbors would surely amuse him. She resolved to describe them to him in meticulous detail when she answered his most recent letter.

  Gypsies and princesses, pirates and kings, even a cowboy or two. Some wore masks, while others had simply concealed their features with heavy cosmetics. Not surprisingly, most of the women had chosen to wear gorgeous gowns from bygone eras, although one daring soul was dressed as the Statue of Liberty, right down to the papier-mâché torch in her hand. Seeing her, Amy was struck with a longing not only for Thomas but for Relia too, or someone else with whom she could laugh over the absurdity of it all.

  Still, the Russells had come tonight, as had the Waddingtons, and it was easy enough to fall into conversation with them. Several guests inquired after Thomas, some more slyly than others, as though hoping to hear of a rift between them. Amy only smiled and mentioned that he was off on a painting excursion in New York and would be back perhaps in a week or so.

  Once the dancing started, Laura settled into a chair in a quiet corner to chat with the other Newport matrons. Amy, however, accepted a cowboy as a partner in the first set, taking care that his spurs did not catch on the hem of her gown.

  Other men presented themselves for subsequent dances: a Roman senator, a dashing pirate, and a Georgian
gentleman who insisted on attempting a minuet with her. Despite the masks and face paint, Amy recognized a fair number of her partners, though it was much more amusing and in keeping with the spirit of the evening to pretend that she did not. So she laughed, danced, and flirted—discreetly—with them, though, compared to Thomas, they all struck her as a bit… callow. Still, it was no hardship to take a turn about the floor with them. And to enjoy their attentions when they brought her refreshments—very good, if displayed rather ostentatiously—between dances.

  Still, Amy wondered if Geneva had been in the right of it by choosing to stay home with a good book or some quieter form of entertainment. She could write back to Thomas, whose latest letter had arrived only this morning, full of lively descriptions of his excursion to Coney Island. He’d even enclosed a sketch of the Elephantine Colossus. Or she could write to Relia, to whom she also owed a reply. Her twin was still on her honeymoon, extolling the beauties of the West Country and the virtues of her new husband. Either way, grand parties like these were most fun if one had a companion to enjoy them with. Otherwise, they palled a bit—and sooner than she would have imagined, once.

  Towards the middle of the evening, she took refuge in a flower-bedecked alcove—fortunately unoccupied—to rest her tired feet. On the floor, the dancers whirled through a lively Viennese waltz, of the sort Amy would have delighted in, had Thomas been present. Beguiled by the music and the motion, she watched the couples, spotting Clara Thurston—a shepherdess straight out of a Watteau painting—in the arms of a Cavalier, and Sally Vandermere, wearing a spangled white gown and a sparkling tiara, partnered with a second Cavalier.