A Fatal Gilded High Note by Cecelia Tichi

Author:Cecelia Tichi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cecelia Tichi
Published: 2022-01-20T16:17:14+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

THE PREPOSTEROUS RUMOR APPARENTLY had spread widely. I couldn’t eat another bite, and Roddy pushed away his ham and cheese.

“Gossip needs oxygen,” my husband said, “and the truth will stamp it out.”

“Roddy, don’t be naïve.”

“Let’s try for ‘optimism,’ shall we?”

I shut my mouth. The footman removed our breakfast plates, and Velvet followed him, nose twitching.

Roddy said, “I told mother the earring was lost at the opera but said nothing about the Wendells’ box.”

“And the Police Commissioner? My confiscated earring?”

“Not a word to mother about the police. The gossip does not involve the police.”

“Not yet.” My voice rose. “The rumor probably started in the opera house,” I said, “…with Hoff.” I clutched my throat. “Who else, but Hoff?”

Roddy frowned. “Doubtful, Val. The DeVeres are long term shareholders. Maurice Hoff would be asking for trouble.”

“—unless ‘Wild West’ Valentine is dispensable.”

“Val….”

“It’s true. Divorces in Society have become run-of-the-mill, and you can marry an appropriate debutante…if I’m out of the way.”

“I won’t listen to this nonsense.”

I blinked back angry tears, and Roddy looked stern.

“I could have a word with your parents, Roddy.”

He shook his head no. “I spoke for us both, Val. Let it go for now.” He sat back. “We have no idea where the rumor started, but Mother promises to tamp it down. Our best move is the fact-finding ‘q.t.’ inquiry. For today, I suggest the sight of rosy-cheeked ice skaters cutting figure-eights.”

“With Glenna May Rankin….”

“If she’ll come with you to the skating pond, you’ll listen for down-home talk about her late brother. Or Lewis, his son and her nephew.”

“Or their foes….”

“Friends or foes,” Roddy said.

After breakfast, Sands summoned a Western Union messenger and wired Miss Glenna May Rankin at the Plaza. If I did not hear otherwise, I would meet Miss Rankin in the lobby at 12:45 p.m. I looked at our social calendar, dreading the upcoming dinner at the Stadlers…Hornby and Phillipa Stadler. The social obligations fell to lady of the house, and I must keep track. I had promised Roddy to try harder.

Mrs. Thwaite got to me first. “Ma’am, if you would, the carpet samples are ready for your selection and approval…if your day allows the time.”

The housekeeper knew perfectly well that my “day” left scads of time. Her barbs never quite reached the point of belligerence, and I hoped that she would one day announce her departure from the DeVere household. Not a day too soon.

“Yes, Mrs. Thwaite,” I said, “let me see the samples.”

I sat in the nearest reception room, and the housekeeper brought the carpet squares, which stirred the memory…Don Giovanni, the blood…the corpse.

“Ma’am, are you feeling unwell?”

My throat felt tight.

“Ma’am…?”

When his breath shortened, Roddy always closed his eyes and imagined a low hum. I closed my eyes and mentally hummed.

“Ma’am, would you wish smelling salts…?”

“No.” Eyes open, I shook my head just seconds before the housekeeper released a vial of ammonia from the pocket of her uniform. Ladies carried hartshorn for fainting spells, but Mrs. Thwaite kept her salts like a chemical spray.

“I’m fine,” I said.

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