“It wouldn’t be right. What about Mrs. Camden?”
“She felt terrible when the truth came out. She has a larger perspective on what is important. To her, it’s the children. To me, it’s my work. You see, we have never been very happy together. We’ve reached an understanding, you might say.”
“She doesn’t know about me, about us?”
“No. Of course not.”
Sara considered her choices. She could take over Mrs. Haines’s job at the Dakota, but that would be a step backward. Working with Theo on his new projects would be fulfilling. And dangerous.
“We couldn’t ever do what we did that one night.” Her boldness made her turn red, and the heat crawled up the back of her neck.
He looked away. “Of course not. I understand that. But we’d work together well, don’t you think?”
She didn’t respond.
“What about this? What if I got you an apartment at the Dakota? There’s one on the sixth floor that’s vacant, as the tenants both passed away last month.”
“The Rembrandts?” Sara remembered them. A much older couple, devoted to each other, who had taken the adventurous step to move uptown. She was sorry to hear they had died.
“Yes. Once the press gets used to the idea that you are free and taken care of, living in the Dakota and working for me, we’d be able to go on with our lives. It’s an opportunity seized from a tragedy.”
“I can’t imagine living in the Dakota again. It would feel so strange.”
“But you must. They’ll let you live there for a year rent-free. I will insist.”
“You would?”
“Of course. It is the right thing to do. Please say yes, Sara.”
She’d come to America to do better, to improve her lot, and she had been betrayed and abused. But instead of giving in, she’d figured out how to survive under the most atrocious circumstances. Now she would get to work alongside the man she adored, live in a beautiful building befitting an earl’s daughter, and no longer be in service.
An opportunity seized from a tragedy.
His words echoed in her ears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
New York City, September 1985
Theodore Camden’s murder, not surprisingly, had made big news back in 1885. The most sensational articles Bailey found were in the New York World. One stated that Sara Smythe had been incarcerated earlier that year at Blackwell’s Island Insane Asylum and released due to the intervention of a female journalist, Nellie Bly. After Sara got out, she’d been hired as an assistant to Theodore Camden before savagely turning on him and stabbing him in the library of his Dakota apartment.
Bailey spent hours at the public library, reading through Nellie Bly’s accounts of her time at the asylum, which was located right across the East River on what was now known as Roosevelt Island. The graphic descriptions turned her stomach. As did the fact that alcoholics were often locked away in the workhouse on the island. How lucky she’d been to be born a hundred years later.
Sara Smythe, who might very well be her great-grandmother, had been through a terrible ordeal. After all that, Christopher had never received the letter from her confirming that she was indeed his mother. Minnie had hidden it away from him. The injustice of it all left a sour taste in Bailey’s mouth.
But Renzo’s warning stayed with Bailey. Maybe the letter was from Minnie. After all, it was found in her purse. The whole thing made Bailey’s head buzz with confusion. Still, no matter who his mother was, Christopher’s father was Theodore Camden. The letter was proof, proof that Melinda wouldn’t be able to deny.
Melinda had always been vague about the amount of money in her trust fund. But surely, there would be enough for both lines of the family to split the principal and still live well. Bailey would be able to put a security deposit down on a rental apartment and maybe even pay back Tristan for the cost of Silver Hill. The luxury of a financial cushion to break her fall.
Her cousin’s brittle voice rang out as soon as she entered the Dakota apartment. “Where the hell have you been?”
Melinda stood against the library windowpane, smoking a cigarette.
“You really shouldn’t smoke in here.” Bailey had spent longer than she’d meant to at the library, and the doorman had warned her Melinda was upstairs. “It’s a fire hazard, with all the work going on.”
Melinda inhaled again, her mouth forming a perfect pout. “It’s fine. Why aren’t the bamboo poles up yet?”
“Because I have to order them. It’s not like you can go into the bamboo store and just buy them. These things take time.” She studied Melinda closely. “What’s going on with you?”
“I’m hungry and I’ve been waiting for you when I’m supposed to meet Tony for lunch.”
“Okay.” Bailey spoke as if Melinda were a two-year-old on the cusp of a major meltdown. “What can I do for you, then?”
“I’m not sure about the koi pond anymore.”
Thank God, she’d seen the light. “That’s fine. I think we can find a way to incorporate a really cool aquarium, if you need fish.”
A drilling noise threatened to bring down the walls. Melinda shouted above it. “But I don’t want anything that looks like it belongs in the room of a disgruntled teenager. I want something that’s grown up.”
Bailey shouted back. “Of course. Let me work on it.” This was ridiculous. “Hey, I found something out that is amazing. I want to tell you about it. Can we talk outside?”
“I’m late. You can come to lunch with me, though.”
They met Tony at a bistro on Columbus. He was already seated and halfway through a martini. Once they’d ordered, Bailey dove in.
“I found something down in the basement of the Dakota. Something valuable.”
Tony swiveled his head back from watching their young French waitress sashay to the kitchen. “What might that be, a diamond tiara of Melinda’s mum’s?”
“I wish.” Melinda turned to Tony. “No, she’s found some silly photo. Bailey’s been digging around in the family business, trying to stir up trouble.”
She had expected Melinda’s resistance, and pressed on. “Down in the basement, there are three trunks. One belongs to Theodore Camden, one to his wife, Minnie, and one to the person who brutally stabbed him to death, Sara Smythe.”
Tony perked up. She hadn’t meant to be so dramatic, but she hated the way he had dismissed her. Melinda, on the other hand, rolled her eyes.
Bailey ignored her. “In one of the trunks, I found a letter, most likely from Sara Smythe, that was written to the ward of Theodore and Minnie. It says that the ward, who was my grandfather, was her son. Hers and Theodore’s.”
She waited a moment, to let Tony wrap his head around the various branches of the family tree.
Tony squinted. “Back up. Who’s who? How many generations are you going back?”
“Four, if you can believe it. Theodore Camden had Luther Camden, who had Melinda and Manvel’s father. So Theodore Camden is Melinda and Manvel’s great-grandfather. What I’m suggesting is that Theodore Camden and this woman, Sara Smythe, had Christopher Camden, who’s my grandfather.”
“That means . . .” Tony trailed off.
“That I might also be Theodore’s great-granddaughter.”
“Jesus, you’ve got to stop this; you can’t tell anything by old letters. Let it go, already.” Melinda lit another cigarette. “Tony, I was thinking it’d be fun to go up to Saranac, see the leaves changing. Don’t you think? We could do a weekend, just the two of us.”
“Hold on, I want to hear more.” Tony held up his hand. “Do you have the letter?”
Bailey took an envelope from her handbag and opened it up. She pulled out the letter and laid it on the table, smoothing it out with care.
Tony studied it and looked at Bailey. “It’s hard to tell what the signature is. It’s all blurry. Where was it found?”
“In a purse in Minnie’s trunk. But it’s obviously the word Sara. Look, here’s the S.
“Huh.” He didn’t seem convinced. “If it was written by her, how can you believe it? She obviously was a nutjob.”