Tell Me No Lies Read online

“Thank you, Preswick.” He bowed to Phil, bowed to the Countess of Warwick as if she were a regular visitor, and left the room, swiping up Phil’s hat as he passed by.

  “Is that the Amesbury butler?” Daisy asked.

  “Yes. He was about to retire when I boldly and against everyone’s advice crossed the pond to a new life. He decided I couldn’t go alone, so he came with me.”

  “And your maid? Don’t tell me she is from the Amesbury staff.”

  “No. I picked her up as she was being arrested for trying to stow away on the ship. Since my own maid had refused to leave the country, I snatched her from the jaws of fate and Preswick did the rest.”

  “Good heavens, you put me to shame.”

  “No, my dear, you actually care about the hundreds of poor waifs you clothe, house, and train; this was purely self-interest.”

  “That does help explain her unusual accoutrement. Does she always carry a weapon?”

  “Yes.” A habit Phil had no intention of putting an end to. And one she had been considering adopting for herself.

  “I won’t ask why. Where on earth does she come from?”

  “I haven’t the slightest. Nor her real name, her age, or anything else about her. I tried at first, but she became so reticent that I soon gave up. I call her Lily; have you ever seen a more beautiful complexion?”

  “She is striking. As long as she doesn’t slit your throat while you sleep.”

  “Not Lily. I trust her with my life.”

  “That sounds ominous. What have you been up to?”

  “I’ll tell you,” Phil said, handing the countess a glass and taking hers to sit in the slipper chair across from her. “But first tell me what has brought you to New York.”

  Daisy took a sip of the martini and sighed. “Oh, this is good. First of all, I’m here as ‘Mrs. Greville,’ not the Countess of Warwick, for all the good that did. They were waiting for me at the dock. I had to sneak out from the captain’s cabin while he diverted the newshounds, the dear man.”

  Daisy’s expression became animated as she told Phil of her escape from the ship to the Webster Hotel on West Forty-Fifth Street.

  She was twenty years older than Phil and Phil had to admit still the most beautiful woman in England. Petite and fine-figured. Her hair more simply dressed than in her younger days, which Phil thought was a purely political move on Daisy’s part. She was still a brilliant blonde, though she did look tired. Perhaps the ocean voyage had taken its toll.

  “When did you arrive? What have you been doing? I haven’t heard a word about you being in town.”

  “A few days ago. It took two whole days to recover. And the several times when I did try to leave the hotel, I was hounded to death by those journalists; they’re like jackals.

  “So you live here, Phil?” Daisy asked, slipping into their old casual ways. Though not friends exactly, they had often attended the same balls, soirées, and house parties, especially those of the prince regent, with whom Daisy had carried on a long-term affaire.

  “Yes. The hotel just opened a month ago. I have a butler and a lady’s maid and c’est tout. All our meals are delivered by electric dumbwaiter or there is a Residents Only dining room downstairs. They do everything here. I don’t care if I ever see another drafty castle as long as I live.”

  “Lucky you. I can’t afford mine and yet I’m stuck with it.”

  “Well, I was forced from mine, by Amesbury’s heir.”

  “So I heard. No one likes him. Very stuffy fellow.”

  “And how is Brookie?”

  “Oh, he’s the best of husbands, he’s never in England and is busy when he is. He’s always tolerated my affaires, as I have his, and now he puts up with my flights of do-goodery as he calls them, even puts up with other people’s opinions of me. They all think I’ve lost my mind.”

  Phil had been one of them. Daisy had gone from outrageous to political, taking up the socialist cause and opening schools for poor children and work cooperatives for tradeswomen. Good things to be sure, but it wasn’t until Phil had fallen into her new—dare she say “line of work”—that she began to understand the satisfaction of having a mission.

  “But how came you here?” Daisy asked. “I heard you were staying with Bev Reynolds.”

  “I intended to, but Reggie had the poor taste to get himself murdered, a nasty affair. Bev left for the continent, so I moved here.”

  “Very posh. And who is the gentleman?” There was a glint in Daisy’s eye from the old days.

  “Gentleman? Oh. All this?” Phil shrugged.

  “It’s outfitted in some lovely furniture. That Louis Quinze chaise, the writing table. It’s Directoire, no? It’s all so lovely and tasteful.”

  “It is,” Phil agreed.

  “Come now, Phil. Fess up. Dunbridge’s estate didn’t pay for it. I have it on authority that we’re both as broke as the proverbial church mice.

  “Though I realize it’s none of my business and I know there are some who are still to this day reluctant to confide in me. Babbling Brooke.” She laughed. “I haven’t used that name since Greville became the earl. And yet it persists. How ridiculous. I know how to hold my tongue when it suits me.”

  Phil laughed and took their glasses to be refilled. “I’m certain of that,” Phil said, though she didn’t plan to say too much. Daisy was perfectly right. She could hold her tongue until it benefited her not to.

  When Phil returned with the new drinks, she sat next to Daisy on the couch. “I’ll tell you, though it really must go no further.”

  Daisy leaned forward. “My lips are sealed.”

  “The fact is … I have absolutely no idea who is paying for the apartment.”

  Daisy’s eyes glinted with speculation. “Phil, don’t be coy.”

  “I’m not. I assure you.”

  “No gentleman? Surely someone has caught your eye.”

  Phil nodded, a gentleman had caught her eye. Two actually. But one was a Puritan. And the other. The other was too elusive for even her machinations.

  “When Bev left town I was sent a letter offering me this apartment.”

  “And you really have no idea?”

  “Well, it could possibly be Daniel Sloane, Bev’s father. In appreciation of me, um, sticking by Bev in her hour of need. They closed up her brownstone and left me a bit stranded.”

  “Oh?”

  “And as you pointed out, I’m quite broke.”

  Daisy looked shocked then broke out with a peal of laughter. “My God, but you’re refreshing. Why did you ever leave London?”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “Oh yes, the earl’s early demise, and there was your last rather brazen affaire de coeur with Claude DeLouche.” Daisy laughed.

  “My father was not amused. Then the newspaper articles—”

  Daisy squealed with delight. “I almost forgot that. You were involved in that murder investigation. That must have been the last straw—” Her eyes popped. “Are you still? Wasn’t Reggie Reynolds killed while you were here?”

  “The day I arrived,” Phil said.

  “Oh Phil, the investigation? You didn’t … did you?”

  Phil shrugged. “I helped in my own little way.”

  “Oh, do tell.”

  She gave Daisy the official story with a few juicy details added to make it seem reasonable. She couldn’t tell what really happened. Her life and the lives of others still depended on it.

  “But tell me about you, what brings you to New York? And incognito.”

  “Business, my dear friend.”

  Phil raised her eyebrows.

  “I kid you not. Brookie had several mines and ranches over here, though God knows we haven’t made a penny from them. I was hoping to sell them and reinvest the money.

  “I got wind of a chance to take advantage of the banking and stock exchange situation here, so I jumped on the next ship over. That’s who I was supposed to be meeting downstairs.

  “I hoped to s
ell him the mines and reinvest that money plus a little I’ve set by to get in on a major steel venture. I had an appointment to meet him at the tearoom at three o’clock. But he didn’t show. I can’t imagine what happened.”

  “Steel?” A frisson of unease sped up Phil’s spine. Fauks Copper, Coal and Steel. Coincidence? “His name wouldn’t happen to be Isaac Sheffield, would it?”

  Daisy shook her head. “No. This gentleman is the head of a large family trust. He’s planning to use his business and other smaller trusts to compete within the growing steel market. It could be very lucrative, and I could finally do some of the projects that I’ve been wanting to do.”

  “His name?”

  “Oh, didn’t I say? A Mr. Perry Fauks.”

  At that moment, the doorbell rang, and a minute after that, the floor waiter rolled a food trolley into the parlor, followed closely by Preswick.

  “Where would you like this, Lady Dunbridge?”

  “Over by the window, please. Is that good with you, Daisy? The view is delightful.”

  Daisy smiled, distracted.

  The waiter lifted the covers of platters of salads and cold meats and cheese.

  “Shall I serve, my lady?”

  “No, thank you, Preswick, we’ll fend for ourselves.”

  Daisy waited until both men were gone, then leaned over the table. “What’s the matter, Phil? Why do you look so odd? Do you know Mr. Fauks?”

  “Not really,” Phil said, choosing her words carefully and thinking, the plot thickens. “Actually I danced with him at a ball just the other evening. You came all the way to New York from London to discuss selling your mines to him?”

  “Well, not just that, but as I said, he had a venture I wanted to invest in. You know the king has always been helpful in guiding my investments.

  “Well, I heard about this on my own. Lord Fitzgerald had just returned from a meeting with him, and was quite excited. He gave me the tip, all on the Q.T., you understand.”

  Phil breathed out slowly. Daisy was in for a rude awakening.

  “I can’t imagine why he was absent today. I know he was planning to return to Pittsburgh, is it? In a few days. That’s why I took the fast ship here. We telegraphed several times. I’m sure the meeting was for today. I would have telephoned his office downstairs, but for those odious men. Do you have a telephone here?”

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t call his office,” Phil began, setting down the canapé she had just picked up. “I’m afraid Mr. Fauks won’t be able to meet you.”

  “What? Don’t tell me I’m too late.”

  “In a manner of speaking. Mr. Fauks is dead.”

  “Dead? He can’t be. Lord Fitzgerald said he was quite young.”

  “He was murdered. And Daisy, this is just between you and me, though I expect you’ll be able to read about it in the papers tomorrow or the next day.”

  “Murdered? He can’t be. I came all this way.”

  “It’s true. I saw him myself. He was stabbed to death.”

  Daisy’s eyes widened. “Good heavens. Don’t tell me you’re involved in another investigation.”

  “Just an innocent bystander,” Phil lied. “He was staying with, uh, friends of mine. I just happened to be calling the morning after the daughter’s debut ball to offer my congratulations and to tell them how much I enjoyed the evening. And he had just been discovered.”

  “In the house?”

  Phil nodded. “We believe he was killed during or shortly after the ball.”

  Daisy knit her brows. “What a terrible way to make one’s come-out.”

  “Yes,” Phil said. “It’s the daughter of one of the big banking families in town. I believe there were expectations in that direction.”

  “Oh dear. Now the poor child is without a prospect.” Daisy sighed. “And unfortunately so am I.”

  “It can’t be as bad as that.”

  “It is.” Daisy leaned back in her chair, her plate of food forgotten. “I’ve made this trip for naught. And am thoroughly undone.”

  Phil understood Daisy’s desperation. Keeping an estate was difficult at the best of times. Living a lavish life and keeping up estates were nigh impossible. And philanthropy was generally the first to go.

  “Oh, I know that sounds selfish, but I had set my hopes on this scheme. Not just for me. I had plans for the money. Real plans, not just for my frivolous life. Actually, I no longer go out in society very often.”

  “So I’ve heard. They say you’ve taken up the socialist cause.”

  “I have. I’ve wasted so much of my life, going blissfully from one entertainment to another, causing trouble and relishing in the scandal. But there are so many people who have nothing. Nothing, Phil. I just couldn’t ignore it any longer. People on our own estates who are close to starving just because of one dry season.

  “Brookie is always off on his soldiering, and the estate manager doesn’t care as long as his books are correct. And suddenly I just woke up.

  “You probably think I’m crazy. But one day you’ll get sick of it all, Phil, long for something more, want to leave your mark on the world, leave it a better place. I don’t mean handing toothbrushes to soldiers going off to war, or knitting socks for African children who have no shoes. But teaching people the skills that can lead to a better life—something that we’ve always enjoyed by chance of birth. I just want to do something useful.”

  “You have, Daisy.”

  And Phil, though she couldn’t explain it to Daisy, felt the same way. She was doing something useful. Not to mention she was having more, not exactly fun, but more stimulation than any of her life in England had given her.

  Daisy sniffed and reached for a sandwich. “Society laughs at me behind my back.

  “It wouldn’t be so bad if the socialists accepted me. They don’t even laugh at me; they despise me, because I haven’t given everything I own away, but they don’t even want what I have. They just don’t want me to have it.”

  “Surely they understand that most of everything you have is owned by Brookie.”

  “Including my children.”

  Even though they aren’t all his, Phil thought. “Well, if you gave it away you couldn’t do all the things you do for anyone else.”

  “True. It’s a paradox, isn’t it?”

  “Well, all may not be lost. Isaac Sheffield actually runs the company. Perry would not have taken over until his thirtieth birthday.” Phil wondered who would take over now, or if this had secured Isaac Sheffield’s place in the company. But in that case, this was the least appropriate time to disappear.

  “I’ll go to visit Mr. Sheffield at his company tomorrow.” The glint was back in Daisy’s eye. “Did you say banking family?”

  “Yes. The Luther Pratts. If you tell me what you know about Mr. Fauks’s scheme, I may just introduce you.”

  * * *

  When Daisy left a half hour later, Phil knew more about stock trading than she’d ever thought she would need to know. She’d finally had to stop Daisy long enough to get paper and pen and write everything down.

  She still didn’t understand the half of it, but she had no doubt that she could find out.

  “Madam,” Lily said, coming up behind her as Phil looked out the window to the street below. A horse-drawn carriage turned into the park. People hurried along the sidewalk, the wind whipping at their coats and hats. The little newsboy stood at the stone entrance, hawking his papers, wearing a jacket too little and too thin for this weather.

  Winter was upon them. Soon the holidays would be here. It would be a cozy holiday with only her and her two servants. Their first in their new home. They would get a tree and buy presents.

  She might even send gifts to her family. If she bought them gifts. She hadn’t heard anything from any of them, which she supposed was a good thing. Still, talking to Daisy made her a tiny bit wistful … until she remembered why she left.

  No, she had too much important work to do before she thought of Christmas.


  “Madam?”

  Phil came back to the present. “Yes, Lily?”

  “Are you going out tonight?”

  “Not tonight. It’s a good thing it’s the beginning of the season and I have a few free evenings still. I’d forgotten how exhausting investigation can be. I think I’ll have a nice long soak and a quiet evening at home. Then we’ll exchange notes tomorrow over breakfast. I’m sure there’s something I’m missing. I have a feeling this is going to take all our wits.”

  “Very well. Shall I draw your bath?”

  “Yes please, then you and Preswick can have the evening off. Maybe there is something playing down at the Nickelodeon that you would both like to see.”

  * * *

  Phil meant to take her notebook to bed and organize all the things she’d learned in the past two days, but between Daisy, the martinis, and the bath, she found that her eyes insisted on closing. She yawned, stretched, tried to remember what she’d been thinking, something about trust companies. That was it … what was the difference … between …

  The next thing Phil remembered was opening her eyes to darkness. Lily must have returned and turned out the lights. She must have been tired, for she hadn’t even heard them return home.

  She nestled down in the soft comforter. But something wasn’t right.

  “Lily?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, Countess, but not Lily. She and Preswick are safely in their beds.”

  She stilled.

  “Don’t scream,” he said.

  She had been about to do just that. But it had been purely reflex. She wasn’t afraid. There was no mistaking her visitor now.

  “How did you get in?” She looked automatically to the window, where a sliver of moon cast the only light into the room. The window was closed.

  “Really, Countess, do you really expect me to scale the Plaza façade to reach you? It’s five flights straight up.” His voice was smooth, not too deep, but rich, an American accent. Tonight anyway. He did several accents very well. Well enough to fool her. “I wouldn’t want to attract a crowd.”

  “Come closer so I can see you.”

  She felt him move, but he skirted the window, staying to the corners of the room where the moonlight didn’t penetrate.