A Golden Cage (3 page)

“Ha.” Elspeth scooped the dress up and carried it to the dressing room, then came back with Deanna's nightgown. “Those theater companies even have children working for them.”

“I know, but I think their mamas go with them. To be like their mama and their manager.”

“So what's this girl's name?”

“Amabelle, and she's the daughter of one of Mrs. Ballard's friends. Evidently she ran away from home and her mother wants her to come back.”

“Is she going back?”

“It doesn't seem likely, but guess what?”

“What?”

“She reads dime novels and she had the new issue of
Beadle's
.”

“How did she get that already?”

“They probably get them in the city sooner than here. But first thing on Monday we're going down to the bookshop and see if it's come in.”

Deanna sat down at the dressing table, and Elspeth began pulling the pins from her hair. It felt almost like being in her own home, living here at Bonheur. Her bedroom was larger than at Randolph House, but still cozy in the style of the older cottages, not the huge rooms of the new cottages. And unlike
her papa, Mr. Ballard had installed electricity the year before so things were brighter here and the lamplight was easier to read by.

The dressing table was Louis XIV; the four-poster bed had at one time been canopied. The woodwork was dark but the walls had been papered in cornflowers and pink anemones. Sometimes she missed Mama and Papa and Adelaide, but mostly she loved staying at Bonheur.

While Elspeth brushed out Deanna's hair, Deanna reached for the latest tale of Loveday Brooke. It was lying on the table in plain view. She hadn't had to quickly stuff a story out of sight even once since she'd moved into Gran Gwen's.

She turned to the page where they'd left off.

“‘Loveday did not linger here even to admire, but passed at once round the south corner of the house to the windows which she had ascertained, by a careless question to the butler, were those of Mr. Craven's study. Very cautiously she drew near them, for the blinds were up, the curtains drawn back. A side glance, however, relieved her apprehensions. . . .'”

*   *   *

I
t was well after two o'clock when Joe thought to take leave of his host and hostess. He'd stayed longer than he'd intended. But he was actually having fun, and when he finally did think about calling it a night, he realized that his family had already left. And that he hadn't danced once with Deanna.

Which was just as well. Better not to encourage gossip. Though he'd been tempted. She was wearing a new dress that Grandmère had bought her from Worth's shop down at the Casino. It was in a style of which Deanna's mother would never
approve. Actually she would probably be scandalized. The décolleté was cut lower than he'd ever seen Dee wear. But no lower than most of the girls—young ladies—there tonight. Grandmère had been right. Dee's mother was stifling her spirit, and she had begun to blossom during the last few weeks spent with Grandmère.

To blossom and to test her freedom. A dangerous thing with Dee. She'd always been fearless; now she was frightening. Last week he'd watched her arrive at the Casino in her brand-new tennis dress and proceed to wipe the court with a shocked, and later embarrassed, Cokey Featheringham. She was practicing her archery and had joined a ladies' cycling club with her newly purchased safety bicycle.

At least Grandmère had made her promise not to go swimming in the ocean by herself. The tides could be strong around the point of land on which Bonheur was built. Something he'd experienced personally only a few weeks before.

He took leave of his hosts and had started down the drive to walk home when he heard Vlady Howe hail him. Vlady was leaving with Herbert Stanhope, and Joe waited for them to catch up.

“Have your carriage tonight, Ballard?”

Joe shook his head. “I came in the family carriage, but they left earlier.”

“I say, Dee was looking smashing tonight, wasn't she?” Herbert said. “I think you're a damn fool for not securing her when you had the chance.”

“We decided we wouldn't suit.”

Vlady laughed. “Some of us just aren't the marrying kind.” He clapped Joe on the shoulder. “We're going down to Mersey's
yacht for a little after-dinner entertainment. He's bringing in some of the chorus girls from the play tonight. There will be champagne and a breakfast. Why don't you come along?”

Joe really needed to get to bed. He had a lot of work to do tomorrow, but the thought of breakfast was tempting. He tried to remember if there were any eggs or bacon in his larder. “Well, maybe for a while.”

“Great. We'll take my carriage.” Vlady motioned to the footman, who relayed the message to one of the grooms, who went off to get Vlady's carriage. Within several minutes they were traveling across town to the Newport docks.

Jacob Mersey's yacht, the
Sophia
, was moored at the long wharf and was one of the largest yachts in the harbor. It was lit bow to stern with strings of lights. As the carriage drew up, a shout of raucous laughter rose above the piano music that meandered from the cabin into the night air.

Joe began to have second thoughts. He'd already enjoyed his share of champagne tonight, and he wanted a clear head for his work the next day. But he caught a waft of food and allowed himself to be trundled down the wharf and onto the gangplank.

They were ushered across the deck and into an immense cabin in paneled dark wood, furnished with overstuffed chairs and sofas. The air was thick with smoke and tobacco fumes. Gentlemen who had dropped their wives at home before continuing on to the after party had shed their ties and opened their waistcoats. Several prominent men stood talking as they smoked cigars and drank Mersey's excellent whiskey. Quite a few of their sons were also in attendance. Even Walter Edgerton had made an appearance, though Joe doubted if the Judge or his wife knew it.

Servants carried bottles of spirits through the room,
sometimes pouring out a glass to one of the revelers, often leaving the entire bottle. There were quite a few young women in attendance who appeared to be actresses in the chorus of
The Sphinx
. They were garbed in white see-through fabric that floated around their bodies. During the play they'd worn an underdress of some shiny opaque material, but now the “gowns” were covering only skin.

A little after hours improvisation for extra money
, Joe thought. He wondered if the costumer knew how her creations were being used tonight.

Jacob Mersey stood surrounded by two lovely girls dressed in see-through togas. One held his cigar and another his drink, giving his hands freedom to roam over their lush bodies and creep beneath the flimsy fabric.

Almost immediately, another one of the maidens sidled up to Vlady and spirited him away. He smiled back at his two companions and disappeared into the haze.

“Not really my thing,” Herbert said as he and Joe took drinks from a tray. Seeing several friends, they made their way through the crowd.

Two of the actresses were hoisted onto the table and were dancing in slow, sinuous movements to the delight of anyone still on their feet.

One of the girls jumped from the table into a gentleman's arms, where he kissed her, fondled her, and set her back to dancing. Soon the two were joined by others, and the dance became a game of jumping into someone's arms, where the girls would be manhandled and set back on the table to go again or be taken off to a more private quarter.

Joe couldn't help but think of how his mother would disapprove. Not of the girls' morals, but of them being used as
objects for the men's lust. He was pretty sure his father wouldn't be enjoying himself here.

One of the girls caught Joe's eye as she turned and raised her eyebrows. Joe minutely shook his head.

It wasn't that he was indifferent to her or any of the women. They were all quite lovely, but for them tonight wasn't necessarily about fun, and if they were looking to make an extra bit of cash, they should go after richer game than Joe.

The only delicacies Joe was interested in tonight were on the buffet table. He filled a plate with roast beef, ham, bread, and salad and went to find a quiet place to eat, preferably one less crowded and less smoky, though he had to peel another young nymph off his person, by promising her he would look for her shortly.

He stepped out of the cabin into the corridor of guest quarters, which he knew would lead to the foredeck. The hall was sometimes used for trysting, but more often the revelers managed to control themselves until they were behind locked doors.

He strolled out to the almost empty deck and sat down in an alcove on a comfortable couch to enjoy his meal. The night air was cool; beyond him the bay seemed quiet in comparison, though there were plenty of yachts and fishing boats moored there.

He ate until he was content, then finished the last bit of cheese off with a sip of champagne and stood. He was looking forward to his bed.

As he stepped back inside, he heard an argument coming from one of the guest compartments. He was sure he heard the name Belle. Were they arguing over the actress?

He slowed. After all, he was his mother's son, and if Amabelle
or any of the women were in trouble, he might be forced to intercede. He listened more closely; the voices, both male, grew louder then suddenly cut off as a door opened. Joe hurried back the way he'd come. He'd just reached the deck again when the door slammed shut.

Seconds later, a young woman, one side of her toga sliding down her shoulder, ran toward him. “Help me, please!”

Joe pulled the girl onto the deck and pushed the door closed. They were standing in shadow and he couldn't see her face but he could feel her trembling against him. She wasn't wearing a corset or anything beneath that flimsy piece of fabric as far as he could tell.

When Joe was sure no one had followed them, he pulled her out into the light.

“Are you all right? How can I help you?”

Sobbing, the girl looked up at him with red, frightened eyes.

Joe cursed himself for letting Vlady talk him into coming. He looked more closely at the girl's face. She looked familiar.
Because they had met before.

“Amabelle?”

T
he girl pushed Joe away.

“How do you know my name?”

“I'm Joseph Ballard, we met last summer. My mother is Laurette Ballard, she's a friend of your mother's.”

“Oh . . . at Saratoga . . . the races.”

Joe nodded, relieved that she actually remembered him and he wouldn't have to go into lengthy explanations. He thought he should be getting her out of this environment before whoever was frightening her came looking for her.

She stood quietly chafing her bare arms. Joe tried not to notice the see-through fabric or the curvaceous body beneath it.

“You're cold. Would you like me to see you home? Where are you staying?”

“No—no—he would kill me.”

Joe's face suffused with heat. “No, I mean—I could put you in a cab, pay for it of course, if you wanted to leave this place.”

Amabelle shook her head. Her hair had partially come
loose and bright blonde ringlets bobbed around her face. She reminded Joe of a china doll, with high round cheeks, big round eyes fringed by long lashes, and a rosebud mouth.

Pretty, soft, and helpless-looking, though he imagined she would have to have some backbone to manage the life of an actress.

Voices brought him back to himself.

“I have to go,” she whimpered and pulled away from him.

“If you need help, go to my mother at Bonheur.”

A door closed. Joe stepped in front of the door to bar their way, but the footsteps receded. He opened the door just enough to see inside. The corridor was empty.

He turned back to tell Amabelle she was safe.

She was gone.

He hoped she would be all right. He didn't know if she'd heard him tell her to go to Bonheur or not.

He left soon after that. He didn't see Vlady or any of the other men his age, nor did he see Amabelle Deeks again. His conscience clear, he set off down the cobbled street toward the Fifth Ward and the warehouse he called home.

*   *   *

C
hurch bells
, thought Deanna, and tried to force her unwilling eyes open. But surely it was too early for church. She pulled the satin comforter more tightly around her neck and turned over.

The bells rang again, followed by the sound of feet running outside her bedroom. Her eyes pried open. It was still dark. The sky was only a slightly lighter shade of ebony than when she'd gone to bed and Elspeth had turned out the lights.

Not church, but the doorbell. Her first thought was that
something had happened to her papa or Adelaide or her mother or Joe. She pushed the covers away and grabbed her robe, pulling it on as she ran across her room.

She opened her door to Gran Gwen and Laurette standing in the hallway. Mr. Ballard, a burgundy and green paisley dressing gown thrown over his nightshirt, was running for the stairs.

Laurette held out her hand to Deanna, who hurried over to stand with the other two women.

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” Gran Gwen said. “It isn't a burglar, they never show such good manners, and I doubt if it is a marauding militia come to pull us out of our beds in the dead of night.” She marched off down the hall.

Maybe not, Deanna thought, but a predawn caller could not bode well. Nevertheless, she and Laurette followed Gran Gwen down the stairs.

The Ballard butler, Carlisle, was just opening the front door when the three women reached the foyer. Mr. Ballard stood with one hand in his dressing gown pocket, and for a moment Deanna wondered if he was holding a pistol out of sight. She shook her head.

Too many dime novels
, she told herself. Then changed her mind when she saw his hand tighten inside the pocket.

No great scuffle ensued, no attacks or shooting or low-down grappling. Nothing at all happened.

The two men just stood looking out the door. Then simultaneously, as if they'd awakened from a spell, Carlisle opened the door wider and Mr. Ballard stepped out onto the flagstones to usher in a diminutive figure wrapped in a gold cape, the hem of a diaphanous white gauze skirt swaying beneath the cape's hem.

It was a girl. She looked up and Laurette shot forward. “Oh my dear, are you hurt? What on earth is the matter?” She began unclasping the cloak from Amabelle Deeks's neck.

“I—I've done something. . . .” The girl swayed, then crumpled to the floor.

“Good heavens,” Gwen said. “Someone call Minerva.”

Carlisle moved quickly out of the foyer as Mr. Ballard scooped Amabelle into his arms and carried her into the back parlor. He gave his wife a quick look as he passed her. Laurette shrugged slightly. They seemed to know without saying a word just what the other was thinking.

Deanna followed the others into the parlor.

Amabelle Deeks lay on the settee, looking pale and vulnerable in spite of the exaggerated red of her lips. Almost like a nymph in her gauzy—and very revealing—white dress. Deanna raised an involuntary hand to her mouth; Laurette pulled a tapestry off the arm of a chair and spread it over the girl.

Minerva, Gran Gwen's maid of long-standing, swept into the room carrying a small silver tray holding an array of bottles, atomizers, and tiny pill boxes. Elspeth slipped in behind her, stopped while her eyes scanned the room, then rested on Deanna's face. Her relief was palpable.

“Come, Elspeth,” Deanna said, “and see if you can be of some use to Minerva.”

Deanna thought she'd given the order with authority, but Elspeth slowly let her eyes drift toward the ceiling before she stepped to Minerva's side. There was absolutely nothing Elspeth could do to help, and they both knew it.

Minerva was the consummate lady's maid, trained in Paris by Gran Gwen over twenty years before. Deanna had been
hoping some of her aplomb would rub off on Elspeth while they were staying at Bonheur, but so far Minerva had managed to ignore the younger woman.

Of course, Elspeth was from Ireland via the Fifth Ward of Newport; her English was underscored by a thick Irish brogue. Minerva spoke impeccable English with a cultured French accent.

She was nice enough, helpful, never complained that Deanna knew about, but still she always made Deanna feel like a clumsy oaf whenever she was around. Deanna could only imagine what Elspeth must feel. Well, actually, she could do more than imagine. Elspeth could give as good as she got. Didn't care for maids who put on airs, even if the airs were real. And passed damning judgment on poor Minerva by saying that she bet she'd never had a sweetheart and wouldn't know what to do with one if she did.

She'd made Deanna blush, because the same might be said of Deanna.

Amabelle stirred, her eyelashes fluttered, and she awoke with a start. Minerva moved the salts from under her nose.

She reared back. “Where am I?”

Deanna caught another roll of Elspeth's eyes as the maid turned from the invalid.

Deanna had to look away to keep from smiling. Amabelle sounded just like one of those pitiful girls in the melodramas at the afternoon theater.

Laurette helped the girl to sit up.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “But you said I could come here if . . .” Her lip trembled.

“And we're very glad to have you,” Laurette continued for her in a tone of voice that Deanna could imagine she used when
inspiring the suffragettes to walk one more mile. “But what has happened?”

Amabelle looked around the room and bowed her head.

“Good heavens, Laurette,” Gran Gwen said. “It's nearly dawn. The girl is exhausted. You can ask your questions in the morning. Deanna, you and Elspeth take Miss Deeks to your room and find her something to sleep in. Minerva, have the rose guest room made up for our visitor.”

Minerva curtseyed and smoothly left the room.

Laurette helped Amabelle from the settee. “Can you manage the stairs?” Laurette asked.

Deanna moved to her other side. “We'll help you. You can come to my room and you'll be right as rain.” Besides, Deanna was dying of curiosity to find out why the runaway actress had now run away again and shown up at the door without her valise. Or even a hairbrush.

“Laurette,” Gran Gwen said, “please come down when our guest has been safely bestowed with Deanna.”

Laurette hesitated, then nodded slightly, and with Deanna's assistance helped Amabelle from the room. Deanna glanced at Gran Gwen, wondering what had just happened, and Gran Gwen returned her look with one so intent that Deanna knew she had just been given a command. The whole Ballard-Manon family were very good at giving silent orders. Now Deanna just needed to figure out what she was supposed to do.

Elspeth led the way and straightened the covers of the bed Deanna had just vacated, while Deanna and Laurette settled Amabelle in a slipper chair. Elspeth went into the dressing room to find her something to wear.

She'd barely gone before there was a light tap at the door.

For a tiny second no one moved, but since Elspeth was in the dressing room, Deanna answered it.

Minerva stepped just inside. “Madame, you're wanted downstairs. Miss Deanna, Madame said for you to call me when the young lady is ready to be shown to her chamber.”

“Thank you, Minerva. Please tell my mother I'll be down shortly.” Laurette stood until Minerva reluctantly left the room.

Deanna thought Minerva was showing just a bit too much attitude, but Laurette laughed. “Those two—you'd think Bonheur was their house instead of Lionel's. Though I suppose we're so infrequently here that it must feel that way.

“Well, it seems I must go see to
la grande maman
,” Laurette said. “If you need anything more, just ask Deanna or Elspeth. And please feel free to stay as long as you like.”

She smiled and left the room.

Amabelle relaxed as soon as the door closed. And so did Deanna. She knew what Gran Gwen wanted her to do.

“Is that old gorgon downstairs Mrs. Ballard's mother or mother-in-law?”

“Mother,” Deanna said. “And she isn't a gorgon, she's just . . .” She searched for a word. “Majestic.”

“Well, I'll give you that.”

Deanna was confused by this sudden change in Amabelle. One minute she was a terrified child depending on the mercy of a family she barely knew. Now she acted like an ordinary guest who belonged there.

Which Deanna guessed she did. She came from a good family and was probably used to the opulence of her surroundings.

Then she shuddered violently, and Deanna felt contrite. She was obviously just trying to put on a strong front.

“Are you cold?”

Amabelle shook her head, but she was clutching the tapestry around her shoulders as if expecting a storm. It was a mild night and the windows in Deanna's room were open to let in the sea air.

“I can close the windows.”

“No, please, leave them open. It's so calming to hear the sea. It's so beautiful here in Newport.”

“Yes, it is,” Deanna agreed.

“I wish I could stay here forever.”

“But then you couldn't be an actress.”

Amabelle smiled a little sadly. “True.”

“It must be exciting to be an actress,” Deanna said.

“I suppose, but it isn't easy. You have to work every night. And days, we have to rehearse, you know. It's long hours and you get tired.”

“It sounds hard, but exciting to have freedom. To be in charge of your own life.”

“I guess.”

Deanna thought people who were lucky enough to have adventures should at least appreciate them. “So why don't you go home?”

She hadn't meant to speak so harshly, and when tears filled Amabelle's eyes she rushed to make amends.

“Amabelle, I didn't mean it that way. Won't they take you back? Mrs. Ballard said your mother asked her to make sure you were all right.”

“I can't go back.” She broke down into sobs. “I won't go back.”

“Amabelle,” Deanna said, alarmed.

Amabelle said something, but her hands were covering her face, and Deanna couldn't make out the words—word—it sounded like “hell.”

“What?”

Amabelle looked up. “Belle. Call me Belle.”

Deanna pulled a footstool up and sat facing her. “Belle. Is there any way in which we—I—can help you?”

Amabelle gave her a tentative smile. “I'm not sure anyone can help me.”

“Well, we won't be able to help if we don't even know what's bothering you.”

From the corner of her eye, Deanna saw Elspeth, carrying one of Deanna's white nightgowns, step out of the dressing room. She stopped, then melted back into the dressing room, where, Deanna didn't doubt for a second, she was all ears.

“It isn't me.” Amabelle stood suddenly and walked to the table next to Deanna's bed. She picked up the copy of Loveday Brooke Deanna and Elspeth had been reading before bed.

“I liked this one,” Amabelle said, beginning to recover. But I like Kate Goelet better.”

“Me, too,” Deanna agreed.

“Your mama lets you read them? And with your maid?”

“No. I have to hide them at home. . . . But not here.”

“My mama would never let me have any fun.”

Deanna bet she wasn't any stricter than her own mother was. Not only did she have to hide her reading material, but every idea, plan, opinion, or desire she ever had. Until her mother had been forced to take Deanna's sister to Switzerland for the cure.

Since coming to stay with Gran Gwen, she'd been part of conversations that her mother would never have allowed. Learning about things a young lady shouldn't know. Wore clothes she would consider unacceptable, like the new lighter, more comfortable tennis outfits and the scandalous bathing costumes.
She'd even bought a bicycle, against her mother's express wishes, though fortunately, the letter forbidding her to buy one had come too late. She'd even joined a bicycling club that met every Saturday afternoon. Cycling was all the rage among the more modern cottagers.