“In our search,” Prescott added, “we discovered other evidence of Wilson’s malfeasance.”

  She frowned. “What might that be?”

  Prescott described the secret account book. “Mrs. Thompson’s earlier discovery of his addiction to gambling and other vices made me suspect financial skullduggery. My agent in New York learned that Wilson has only the modest income he receives here. To cover his expenses he has apparently been embezzling funds from Broadmore Hall.”

  Lydia sighed. “That presents a more serious problem. My husband passionately dislikes being cheated, though he takes pleasure in cheating others. He’ll be severe with Wilson. Nonetheless, we’ll present the facts.” She paused thoughtfully. “Jennings apparently trusts Wilson with more responsibilities than he should.”

  Prescott asked, “Will you confront Jennings yourself or do you need us to come along? He seems to dislike me. Wouldn’t he resent my investigation of his steward?”

  “And wouldn’t he think me presumptuous in searching the steward’s office?” asked Pamela.

  Lydia replied, “I really don’t know how he’ll react, and I don’t care. He’ll be in New York for several days. When he returns to Broadmore, I want both of you to go with me to his study.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Business in the City

  New York, 22–24 June

  That afternoon, Prescott left Lenox to tend to business in New York for a few days. His secretary had arranged a late supper for him with Harry Miller at a tavern close to the office. Over beer and shepherd’s pie, Miller reported recent gossip, concluding with the remark, “They say that Henry Jennings is involved in a new, intimate relationship with a young woman. What do you make of that, sir?”

  “If true, Harry, it’s another insult to Lydia Jennings. And it means Helen Allen might lose Henry Jennings and the riches she coveted. Check the facts and give me a report tomorrow morning.”

  Prescott returned to his office and phoned George Allen. They agreed to meet the next day at the club for lunch. By that time, the gossip might be confirmed and presented to Allen. Would he still want to investigate his wife’s infidelity?

  Allen arrived a half hour late from a tennis match. “Sorry, my opponent put up a better fight than I anticipated. Now I’m thirsty.” He ordered an expensive bottle of French white wine and a plate of steamed oysters.

  Prescott led the conversation toward mutual acquaintances, male and female, then asked, “How is Mrs. Allen?”

  “She’s well, thank you, and preparing for the festive celebration of the Fourth at Broadmore. She has been in Lenox almost three weeks, at the Curtis Hotel.” His voice began to crack even while he strained to be calm. “She’ll be alone at the hotel for several more days. The press of business will keep me here until late on the third.” He took a long drink from his glass. “Henry Jennings will soon return to Broadmore Hall. Helen will not lack for companionship.”

  “Jennings might prove to be distracted company,” remarked Prescott. “This morning, my agent in New York told me that a beautiful young opera singer has caught Jennings’s eye. Late last night, they dined together at Delmonico’s, then retired to Jennings’s house on Fifth Avenue. After breakfast, a cab took her to a fashionable address on Fifth Avenue near Columbus Circle, leased by Jennings.”

  “Helen will be furious,” Allen blurted out. “But then Jennings and she are kindred spirits, both of them treacherous.”

  Prescott shrugged. “Tomorrow, I’ll return to Lenox. Henry Jennings is expected at Broadmore this weekend. I’ll study his behavior toward your wife, especially in light of the recent rumors.”

  His nonchalance appeared to irritate Allen. “Remember, Prescott, I’ve hired you to catch them in the act. I’m certain that they were fornicating behind my back, and will do so again, but I need proof.”

  “I won’t fabricate evidence, but if I find it, I’ll pass it on to you. What purpose would it serve?”

  “I’ll keep that to myself,” Allen replied.

  Prescott tried to puzzle out Allen’s attitude: Was he personally offended or angered that Jennings had seduced Helen, then apparently cast her aside? Would he claim alienation of affection and demand compensation? That could be a dangerous game to play with a man as powerful as Jennings.

  Prescott left Allen at the club and took a cab to the courthouse in lower Manhattan. A judge was considering Dennis Reilly’s petition to recover custody of his daughter Brenda. When Reilly had been arrested for conspiring to murder Pamela, Prescott had written to the court, requesting this hearing.

  Inspector Williams, who had initially supported Reilly’s petition, arrived at the courthouse shortly after Prescott. The two men met outside the judge’s chambers. Prescott politely greeted the inspector, who responded with a cool, perfunctory nod. Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait in stiff, hostile silence. The judge’s clerk soon called them in.

  The procedure was brief and simple. At the judge’s request, Prescott spoke first. He argued that, since Reilly was in jail on a serious felony charge, his petition for custody should be held in abeyance, until the conclusion of his trial.

  Williams agreed in principle with Prescott—he could hardly do otherwise. Still, he insisted that Reilly’s arrest shouldn’t in any way prejudice his petition.

  For a few minutes the judge seemed to ponder the arguments, then he ruled sensibly that he would withhold his decision until Reilly’s trial was complete. Prescott had no doubt as to what the final determination ought to be. Reilly would surely be convicted, and the judge should reject his petition.

  Still, Prescott felt an irrational stirring of anxiety: The judge owed his position on the bench to the powerful influence of Tammany Hall, the political organization loosely allied with Inspector Williams. The judge could reasonably be expected to help the inspector who had invested his reputation in Reilly’s rehabilitation and now needed to save face. As a favor to Williams, the judge might find an arcane way to interminably delay his decision, thereby causing unnecessary pain to Brenda and to Pamela.

  As they left the judge’s chambers together, Prescott glanced sidewise at Williams. The inspector appeared confident. “It’s not over yet,” he said, with the hint of a sneer in his voice.

  The next day, Prescott dispatched routine business in his office. Yesterday’s judicial hearing on Reilly was still on his mind. He had hoped to bring more encouraging news to Pamela and Brenda.

  Late in the afternoon, he took a cab to Grand Central Station. As the train left for Lenox, he noticed Broadmore’s steward, Bernard Wilson, sitting at the far end of the coach. The seat next to his was empty. Prescott sat down before Wilson could object. In the coming hours on board, Prescott hoped to better understand the man at the heart of this investigation.

  After the introductions he asked Wilson, “Have you enjoyed a few days in the city?”

  “Yes,” he replied deferentially. He seemed to realize that Prescott was a man who commanded respect but was also congenial.

  From his portfolio Prescott pulled a small silver flask of whiskey and two silver cups. He poured a cupful and offered it to the steward. Wilson declined, but he seemed tempted. Prescott smiled gently and insisted that they honor the finest drink that man and God had ever created. Wilson yielded and accepted first one cupful, then another. He was soon speaking about the wonders of New York City and its fast pace of change. New buildings sprouted like weeds. He enjoyed the excitement.

  “Where do you stay?” Prescott asked, though Pamela had told him.

  “I have rooms in the basement of the Jennings’s residence and my own exit to the outside. After I’ve met with the housekeeper and her maids, I check the house from top to bottom. When I feel that everything is in order, I run a few errands. For the most part, I can come and go as I please.”

  “I’m told that Mr. Henry Jennings was at home while you were there. Were you called to serve him?”

  “He asked me twice to deliver flowers to an address on Columbus Circle—orchids, no less, very expensive and simply gorgeous. A special friend needed to be consoled, he said.” Wilson gave no indication that he might disapprove of Jennings’s “special friend.”

  With Prescott’s prompting, Wilson went on to describe how much he enjoyed serving the Jennings family. “They live like royalty,” he said, his voice quivering with admiration.

  Prescott filled the cups again and asked tentatively, “Have you ever had a family?”

  “Oh, no,” the steward replied. “The Jenningses are family enough for me. I’ll serve them until I’m pensioned many years from now.”

  As the train pulled into Lenox Station, Prescott said, “I wish you well, Wilson. Shall we share a cab to Broadmore Hall? I vacation in a cabin nearby.”

  “Yes, indeed. That would be most kind of you.” They continued their conversation until they reached Broadmore. Prescott paid the driver and bid Wilson good night. As Prescott walked to his cabin, he reflected that beneath the steward’s show of integrity beat a thieving heart. Still, he inspired pity. All his assumptions and aspirations for a good life would soon be shattered.

  CHAPTER 22

  A Reckoning

  Lenox, 25 June–1 July

  On Sunday, Lydia and Pamela went to Trinity Church. To their surprise, they met Prescott at the door. He sat with them through the service, respectful though apparently not inwardly engaged. Afterward at lunch in the Curtis Hotel he described Jennings’s latest romance in New York with a young opera singer, speaking hesitantly out of concern for Lydia.

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Your report hurts but it doesn’t surprise me, Prescott. I’d much rather hear it from you than from a gossipmonger.” She hesitated, then asked, “Would you come to the cottage with us? I may need you.”

  He nodded. “Your servant, madam.”

  At Broadmore they discovered Jennings had arrived an hour earlier in his private railway car. After lunch and a short nap, he had gone to his study. Lydia sent a note asking to see him there.

  He agreed in a curt reply.

  As they entered the study, he was at his desk wearing his signature diamond lapel pin. He seemed to be in pain; the embroidered pillow supported his back. Lydia had announced her coming “on a serious matter.” He glared at Pamela and Prescott, then turned to his wife.

  “Why did you bring your companion and your lawyer?”

  “They’ll add to what I have to say, Henry. May we sit down?”

  “If you must,” he replied irritably.

  Prescott pulled chairs up to the desk for himself and the two women. They acknowledged his courteous gesture and sat down, Pamela and Prescott to Lydia’s right side.

  “So what’s on your mind?” Jennings’s voice was cool and unfriendly. He irritably fingered the diamond.

  “Your steward Wilson is a rascal and a thief,” Lydia replied. “Here’s the evidence.” She handed him the secret account book. “He has embezzled your money and wasted it on whoring and gambling. Your accountant has failed to detect this. You might want to hire another.”

  “How did you come by this evidence?” Jennings’s eyes were darkening, a sign that anger was building up.

  Lydia appeared to sense the approaching storm. Nonetheless she spoke calmly. “Wilson’s behavior troubled me. So I asked Mrs. Thompson to investigate. She discovered that Wilson leads a double life: At Broadmore he is seemingly a meticulous manager of your money and supervisor of the staff. In New York he frequents expensive brothels and gambling dens. His losses and other expenses are far greater than his income.” She deferred to Prescott with a gesture.

  He explained, “At your wife’s request, and aided by Mrs. Thompson, I secured Wilson’s secret account book—we knew that he must have had one hidden away in his office. A brief comparison with the official audit revealed large discrepancies.”

  Lydia then remarked to her husband, “I’m sure you are disappointed that Wilson betrayed you, but you should be grateful that Mrs. Thompson and Mr. Prescott have brought you the evidence to deal severely with him. He returned to Broadmore late yesterday and may not yet realize that he has been exposed.”

  Jennings glowered at the three persons facing him and addressed his wife. “You could have come to me first, before ordering these private detectives to break into my steward’s office. I had not given my consent.”

  “When the issue came up, Henry, you weren’t here. So I acted on my own. After all, Wilson’s criminal behavior is my concern as well as yours.”

  His face grew pinched. “Lydia, you have deliberately set out to humiliate me. I promise that you’ll regret it. Now leave me. I’ll deal with Wilson first thing tomorrow.”

  That evening, Lydia summoned Wilson to her study. She had also asked Pamela to be present for safety’s sake.

  As he entered, he appeared confident and calm, unaware of the storm he was soon to face. He noticed Pamela and nodded politely. He had probably grown accustomed to her presence at Mrs. Jennings’s side.

  She left him standing and questioned him concerning his trip to New York. With an expression of self-satisfaction, he described the errands he had run.

  “Thank you, Wilson. Mr. Jennings will probably want to hear your report. Now I’ll address an issue that’s been on my mind for weeks.” She paused for a moment to gain his attention, then asked, “Would you please explain what you meant by this note?” She handed him the one that said she was being betrayed.

  Wilson scanned the note with mounting disbelief. Finally, he stammered, “I’m dumbstruck, madam. What must you think? While trying to disguise my identity, I didn’t express myself correctly. I meant well.”

  Lydia nodded for him to continue.

  “I wanted to warn you that Mr. Jennings and Mrs. Allen were having an affair that could lead to disaster for all involved, including Broadmore Hall itself.”

  “Unfortunately, Wilson, your note has troubled me. I grant that the scandal may be as threatening as you claim. A month ago, I sensed as much. Consequently, I engaged Mrs. Thompson to investigate. Unfortunately for you, the cat is out of the bag, as they say. Your secret life in New York’s brothels and gambling dens is exposed. Mr. Jennings has also learned that your account books are out of order. You will soon hear from him.”

  By this time, the steward was gasping for breath and swaying dangerously on his feet. Lydia nodded to Pamela. She rushed up to him, sat him in a chair, and patted perspiration from his brow.

  When he had sufficiently recovered, Lydia told Pamela to take him to his rooms. When she returned, Lydia said, “Wilson’s character is weak, but he doesn’t seem malicious.”

  Pamela hesitated to agree. “He appears well intentioned toward you. But I suspect that Mr. Jennings will be harsh and pitiless. That could inspire very hostile feelings in Wilson. He may act on them.”

  Lydia looked doubtful. “His character is so weak. What serious harm can he do to as powerful a man as Henry?”

  Pamela replied, “Wilson is cunning and angry. That’s enough. He doesn’t need much strength or courage to stab your husband in the back—in a manner of speaking.”

  Early the next morning, Pamela drove Prescott to the station. He would return to New York for a few days to look after his business, consult with Harry Miller, and be back before the Fourth of July.

  She reported on Lydia’s conversation with Mr. Wilson. “I pity him.”

  Prescott nodded. “When Jennings finishes with him, he’ll be a desperate man. Keep watch on him.”

  At breakfast, Pamela learned that Jennings had just called Wilson into his office. She hurried down the hallway to the room next to Jennings’s study. She couldn’t hear what was said between the two men, but she could imagine that Jennings accused the steward of betraying his trust and threatened to dismiss him. She opened the door a crack to observe the hallway.

  When Wilson left the study ten minutes later, he seemed crestfallen. He glanced about and, seeing no one, began to weep. A few moments later, he dabbed the tears from his cheeks, straightened up, and tried unsuccessfully to regain his usual dignified expression.

  Unobserved, Pamela followed him outside into the garden. He began to sob again.

  She approached him, showing concern. “How are you, Wilson? You appear distressed.”

  He looked up, sad faced. “Since you know so much of my story, I may as well tell you that Mr. Jennings has ordered me to train my clerk to serve as a temporary steward. At the same time, I’ll have to continue preparations for the festive celebration of the Fourth of July. Mr. Jennings said if I cooperated fully, he might be lenient.”

  “Well, isn’t that encouraging?”

  “Not really.” Wilson was now dry-eyed, his expression bitter. “Mr. Jennings is a heartless liar. He will wring a few more days of hard work out of me and then destroy me.”

  The next afternoon, Jennings’s accountant, a Mr. Carter, arrived by train from New York and was brought immediately to Broadmore. Standing in for Lydia, Pamela received him at the door. A small, thin, sallow-faced man in a dark suit, Carter looked anxious and grim. Pamela imagined the message that Jennings must have telegraphed to him: “Fool! I’ve been embezzled. Drop everything; come immediately.”

  Pamela showed the accountant into Jennings’s study. She lingered outside the door and heard Jennings at the top of his voice berate the man for failing to detect Wilson’s fraud. Carter could not leave the cottage until he had produced a complete and accurate audit.

  When he emerged, shaken, she took him to Wilson’s office. The disgraced steward surrendered the keys to him and retreated to his private room. Carter was to live in the office. The housekeeper had arranged for a cot and other basic conveniences. His meals would be brought in.

  “This is like being in prison,” the accountant muttered. But he had no choice. If he didn’t comply, Jennings would put him out of business.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26