The Magnolia Palace

Chapter Eleven

1966

These were written by someone in love.”

Joshua laid out the notes on a French baroque table in the living hall and stepped back so Veronica could lean in and study them. The logs in the fireplace snapped and hissed quietly in the background.

Veronica agreed. “They’re all quite flirty.”

“ ‘The magnificent magnolia treasure.’ Huh.”

She had to ask. “Do you think it’s referring to that diamond you mentioned before the shoot?”

“The Fricks collected all kinds of objects with magnolias on them—place settings, prints—it could be referring to just about anything.”

“Oh.”

He seemed to register her disappointment. “I mean maybe, but I doubt it. So, we have numbers one through eleven out of twenty, and the first one has a date on it, 1919.”

“Who from the Frick family might have been flirting in 1919?”

“The son, Childs Frick, was married and living on Long Island then. The only family members in the house were Henry and Adelaide Frick, and Helen. I’d have to check, but I think this might be Helen Frick’s handwriting.”

“How old would Helen have been?”

Joshua thought for a moment. “Thirty-one. I remember seeing something in the Fricks’ letters about an engagement around that time, but I’m not sure who the lucky guy was.”

“Maybe we found her version of love letters. But why were they stashed away in the organ chamber room?”

“The tenth clue sent them there.” He pointed to the text. “See, here, about finding the source of the sound of music. That would be the organ chamber room, of course.”

She had been right to reveal her find to Joshua, as he knew every inch of the house, probably better than the Fricks had.

He began gathering the clues into a careful pile. “I’ll bring these to my boss as soon as the building reopens, see what he says.”

It was all she could do to not snatch them back. “Why wait?”

“I’m sorry?”

“We have nothing better to do. Let’s see if we can follow them now.”

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Because it’s dark and cold in here with no electricity.”

“We have a lamp. That’ll give us enough light, I would think. Especially during the day, even if it’s rather gray.”

“I’m really not sure if that’s a good idea. I should check with my supervisor first.”

His tentativeness irritated her. They had a long day ahead of them with nothing to do but stare into the fire, which would mean missing a perfect opportunity to snoop around. She reached down and chose one at random. “Find the rabbit and you’ll be doing your part / The warmth of this painting will cheer my sweetheart. Rabbits? Is there a painting with rabbits?”

“Right in this room.” He pointed to the wall opposite the fireplace, where a large landscape hung. “St. Francis in the Desert, by Bellini. Considered the greatest Renaissance painting in America. It’s so popular, they have to regularly replace the carpet in front of it.”

Veronica walked over, and indeed, the carpet a few feet from the wall was threadbare. The painting showed a man emerging from a cave, with a city looming in the distance. “Where’s the rabbit?” She leaned in close. The head of a furry animal peered out of a hole in a stone wall, just below the main figure’s right hand. “Found him! It’s like he’s hiding. He’s cute, though. What’s it all about?”

Joshua hovered right behind her, as if he was afraid she’d fall headfirst into the canvas. “St. Francis received the stigmata in 1224, and the painting depicts that moment—you can see the holes in his hands there. He’s looking up at the light coming from the sky in the upper left corner. It’s all about revelation and warmth.”

“Which matches the poem. Hey, you’re really good at this, Joshua.”

“Well, thanks.” He beamed at her compliment. This was too easy, really.

“Let’s follow the trail, starting with the very last one we have,” she said. “For the scavenger hunts I did for my sister, I’d leave candy at the very end.”

“You’re hoping we might find some century-old licorice lying around?”

Or even a precious gem. She still held out hope. “What else is there to do?”

“Well, I suppose we could try.” He studied the eleventh clue and recited it out loud. “A natural beauty came from naught / Yet this lady was quite sought / Out. A lover of Horatio / Holding a hound / Off you go / Take a good look around. Huh. That’s a terrible poem. But the answer’s easy, it’s right next door.”

In the library, he led her to the painting of the lady and the dog she’d come upon the day before. “Lady Hamilton as ‘Nature,’ painted by George Romney.”

Veronica studied the woman’s face, with its coy smile and tilted chin, as if she had only just noticed it. “Who was Lady Hamilton?”

“She was born Amy Lyon, the daughter of a blacksmith, and became the mistress to a series of wealthy English aristocrats, eventually catching Lord Nelson’s eye. She was incredibly famous and widely celebrated, but after Nelson died, she lost everything and died in poverty.”

The story aggravated Veronica. When she’d first studied the portrait, she’d assumed this was a woman whose life was light and airy, without a care in the world other than the happiness of her pooch. But of course Veronica was looking at the artist’s depiction of the woman, not the actual woman. She grunted in response.

“What?” said Joshua. “Don’t you like it?”

“The painting’s lovely, but I’m annoyed that Lady Hamilton’s only means of success depended on being attractive to powerful men.” She pointed to the painting above the fireplace. “Mr. Frick wasn’t handsome, but that didn’t matter one whit because he was a man. It’s not fair.”

“I suppose it’s not.”

“So I guess now we look for the clue.” She glanced down at the bookcase.

Joshua froze. “Wait a minute. When I first found you, you were sitting on the floor, looking at a book. You read this clue and figured it out and were looking for the next one.”

She knew better than to deny it. “Yes, you’re right. I was curious if I could find it.”

“So why all the pretending?” A coldness had crept into his voice.

“I’m so sorry,” she offered. “That was wrong of me. You see, yesterday, I tried to follow the clues to distract myself from freaking out at the thought of being trapped in the dark, and then you showed up. I knew the models and the film shoot had disrupted things here, and I thought you’d be mad that I’d nosed about. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

He frowned, but then something in him seemed to relent. “Did you find it?”

“The fifth volume from the left.” She waited as he opened the book and drew out the clue.

He read it silently, and then, almost in spite of himself, looked up in triumph. He knew the answer. “This one’s in the art gallery, right next door.”

The twelfth clue referred to a solemn self-portrait by Rembrandt that indeed hung in the art gallery. The gold-and-red costume the painter wore belied his bankrupt state, Joshua explained as they studied it. “The head of an old lion at bay, worn and melancholy.”

“That describes it exactly. Did you make that up?”

“Nope. That’s how the Met described it in an exhibit in 1909, three years after Frick purchased it. Helen Frick’s clue referenced a ‘red-sashed lion.’ ”

“Well done. What do you think, shall we continue?” she asked.

“I suppose we should.”

The tension between Veronica and Joshua melted away as they worked together. The clues tended to be found within close proximity to the painting or object described, tucked under the edge of a rug or taped to the underside of nearby furniture, and the next several hours were surprisingly enjoyable, if at times frustrating, as not all of the clues were as obvious as the ones for Lady Hamilton or the Rembrandt. Joshua was an able guide, and whenever he figured out the answer to a riddle, his eyes grew wide with excitement. Studying the paintings and sculptures in the soft glow of the lamplight made them even more intriguing, as if the figures were moving slightly in their frames, as if they were alive. They took a quick break to eat when they were hungry before eagerly carrying on.

The nineteenth clue directed them back to the art gallery, to a work by Goya called The Forge. The painting depicted three blacksmiths arranged around a sheet of red-hot steel, and stood out from the others around it—which tended toward passive-looking aristocrats or pretty landscapes—with its rawness. Muscular arms, a sledgehammer caught in mid-raise: it spoke of man’s power.

“This one is so different from the others,” she said.

“How do you mean?”

“It’s not as pretty, I guess.”

“Henry Frick was a steel magnate, that’s how he got his riches,” said Joshua. “Maybe this reminded him of those early days.”

Veronica looked closer. One of the smiths—the one holding the sheet of metal—had gray hair and was stooped almost all the way over, his face precariously close to the fire. “I wonder if he identified with the young men or that older one.”

“It might have changed as he aged. Paintings tend to do that.”

“Like books.”

“That’s right.” He glanced over at her with a look of surprise.

“Models can read, you know.” She threw him a crooked grin. “Hey, you could write a paper on these clues and how they connect to the artwork here. I bet you’d get high marks.”

“You know, that’s a great idea.”

After his early disapproval of her, it was nice to hear praise. A pleasant silence hung between them as they regarded the painting. “Do you like working here?” she asked.

“I like the research part of the job. Although at times I feel like I’m out of my element, surrounded by all these paintings of rich white folks, purchased by rich white folks. My father says it’s a good place to start, and he’s right. He’s always right.”

“You mentioned your mother is an artist. What does she think?”

“She understands my irritability—I guess that’s the word I’d use, though it’s not quite right. Impatience is better. But I’ve always been destined to work in the arts, I suppose. When I was born, she insisted I be named after the first documented Black artist in America, Joshua Johnson.”

“What’s his story?”

“He lived in Baltimore around the late 1700s and early 1800s. Made his living by painting portraits of affluent whites. He was most likely self-taught.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“That’s it exactly.” His nose wrinkled as he waved his hands in the air. “Why not? I mean, other than the fact that you’re from England. But still, that’s no excuse.”

“I don’t know if I could recognize many other artworks, to be honest. It’s not like I go to museums often. I like Van Gogh.”

From the curve to Joshua’s lips, that was not something to brag about. Veronica didn’t know this world, and had no idea how to talk about it, other than listing the things she liked (the Renoir in the hallway, of the little girls in fur) and the ones that she didn’t (Goya’s Forge). For the second time in two days, she was made to feel like a fool, and she resented it. “I take it from your silence you don’t like Van Gogh. Too mainstream for you?”

“No. I love him, I consider him one of the top Postimpressionists. It’s just the way you say it, makes me laugh. Van Goff.” He stressed the last word. “In America, we say Van Go.”

She grinned with relief that he wasn’t making fun of her. At least he didn’t think she was an idiot. “Right, sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“That’s just what we do.”

“Who?”

“The British. We apologize. But usually we don’t mean it, it’s more of a way to keep the conversation going.”

“I’m sorry you feel the need to do that.” He flashed a quick smile.

She laughed in spite of herself. “I’ve been trying to kick the habit. Tell me, what was Joshua Johnson’s artwork like?”

“The portraits are odd, slightly stiff. But with kind eyes. And he had an attention to detail that’s extraordinary. Like a piece of lace that looks like it might flutter off the canvas.”

“I’d love to see his work.”

“You won’t find it in this building, for sure.”

“I suppose not.” She waited a moment, but he didn’t continue. “So, let’s move on to the final clue, shall we?”

Joshua turned over the seat cushion of a wooden chair stationed beneath the painting. “There’s something here,” he said, peeling off a piece of paper. “Number twenty of twenty.” They both leaned in close; she could feel his breath on her neck as she read aloud. “Your prize is in the room where all this began / Find the right panel and voilà, thank me / You can.”

Joshua shuffled through the clues, back to the very first one. “I’m pretty sure I know where to go. The first clue refers to what’s now the enamels room, where Mr. Frick used to have his study. Right over here.” He pointed to a doorway at the end of the room closest to Fifth Avenue.

Inside, glazed earthenware and brilliantly colored ceramics were on display. Joshua circled the perimeter, ignoring the art objects and instead staring intently at the dark wood walls, which were broken up into square panels. “It would make sense that there might be some storage space behind the panels, back when Mr. Frick worked in here.”

They each took a wall, tapping and closely examining each panel. Veronica ran her fingers over the wood, not trusting her eyes in the faint light. They both ended up near the northeast corner of the room. Just as Veronica’s fingers ran over a tiny imperfection on the side of a panel, Joshua gave a shout.

“There’s a hole in this one, like there might have once been a knob or something in it.” He inserted a pen from his shirt pocket into the hole and, with some effort, gently pulled it open.

Inside was a deep pocket of darkness.

He reached in and very slowly lifted out a short, narrow ribbon of silk, about five inches long, with a delicate chain attached to the top. The bottom was cut into an inverted V, and in the middle hung a gold-plated charm.

“What is it?” Veronica asked. Whatever it was, it was not a pink diamond.

“An old-fashioned watch fob, I believe.” He held it closer to the light. “They made it easier to pull a watch out of a waistcoat pocket. The initials on the charm are RJD.”

“Who could that be?”

He ran his thumb over the engraving. “Not sure. It’s embroidered with a flower. A magnolia.”

“Let me see.” He was right. A delicate pale pink magnolia bloom had been sewn into the silk.

Veronica was overcome by a wave of dismay. All of their poring through books and lifting up chairs and peering behind paintings had come to naught. The magnolia treasure referred to a silk watch fob, not a shiny gem.

“Is it worth a lot?” asked Veronica, still hopeful.

“I sort of doubt it. But it will be a great addition to the family’s archives. My boss is going to be over the moon.”

Veronica leaned in and ran her hand inside the opening, checking just in case. The space was empty. The watch fob was the only treasure inside, and not even a treasure at that.

She stepped back and eyed the panel she’d been examining before Joshua had cried out. It would make sense that there might be more than one storage space, if this had been an office. As she ran her index finger along the grain of wood, she came upon another hole.

“I think we have another secret panel here, Joshua.”

She scooted out of the way while he did his trick with the pen again, carefully guiding it open. This time, though, she was the one who reached inside, unable to wait a moment longer. Her fingers touched something hard and cold.

She pulled out the object. It was an old-fashioned cameo brooch with an ivory profile of a little girl with delicate features and curls. Veronica’s mother had a cameo, similar to this, that had been left to her by her grandmother. Trish had brought it to Uncle Donny after her husband’s death, hoping for a decent return, but it wasn’t worth very much, even after Uncle Donny’s overly generous valuation.

“Is this the same girl as the one in the portrait upstairs in the bedroom?” she asked.

“It could be.” He squinted down at it. “Martha.”

“Who’s Martha?”

“The Fricks’ other daughter. I need to go through the papers in the basement, see if there’s any connection to what we’ve discovered. I have a vague recollection of one, I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“What should we do with the cameo and fob?”

He considered the question. “Put them back into their respective compartments, for now. Better not to move things around too much; we should treat them like we’re like archeologists on a dig. The notes, though, definitely bring along, we’ll need those for reference.”

After the fob and cameo were secured, Joshua motioned to Veronica.

“Follow me.”

“You weren’t kidding. It’s a real bowling alley.”

Veronica stared at two long, gleaming lanes.

“The wood is pine and maple, and the gravity-fed ball return really works,” said Joshua. “Do you want to try it?”

She looked at him. “Is that allowed?”

“Hold on a minute.”

He placed the lamp near the center of the room and turned the flame all the way up so that almost the entire alley was lit. “Go for it.”

She picked a ball off the feeder and kicked off her shoes. Now that the treasure hunt had fallen short of her expectations, just as Joshua had predicted, she wouldn’t mind throwing something heavy around. “I’ve only watched this in movies. Are you sure it’s all right?”

“As long as the ball lands in the lane, you’re good.”

She lifted the ball under her chin, then let her arm drop back and swing forward, letting go at the apex. The ball landed with a thud and she cringed, then watched as it slowly made its way down the entire lane and, to her surprise, knocked into the very center pin, which knocked all of the ones around it, like dominoes.

“Strike!” called out Joshua. “Well done!”

“Now I know what my next career move will be.”

“Pro bowler slash model. Love it.”

For the past couple of hours, she hadn’t thought once about yesterday’s debacle, but his comment brought it all back. Her modeling career was probably over, and her deep dread for what the future held made her stomach ache like it was full of jagged stones. Polly would be stuck in Kent House forever, with Veronica and her mum toiling away at jobs that hardly paid the bills. God, how she’d bungled it all. In contrast, Joshua appeared so accomplished and smart. She was pathetic, really.

Joshua was looking at her oddly. She fixed her face into a neutral expression. “How does the ball return work?” she asked.

He walked to the very end, where the pins had fallen, and picked the ball up. “Typically, there would be a servant boy here to do this.”

“Typically. Of course.”

He placed it on a narrow runner that ran the length of the lane, and let go. It gently rolled all the way toward her, stopping by her knees, ready to be hefted up and tossed once more.

“Do you want a go as well?” she asked. “We have all night.”

“Maybe after we take a look at those letters, try to figure this out. I’ll let you enjoy your brief moment of victory.”

He led the way to a line of tables set up in the corridor that ran parallel to the bowling alley, separated by grand arched columns.

Boxes stood on one of the tables; the other was cleared as a work space, with a chair pulled up to it. She imagined Joshua asleep on the table, how sweet he must’ve looked with his head lying on his arms, glasses off. Down here, deep underground, it wasn’t surprising he’d crashed and not heard her earlier cries for help. No noise penetrated this far.

“This is what you’ve been working on?” she asked.

“It is. The alarm installers found all these boxes in a cupboard at the very end of this corridor. When Helen Frick started planning her library, she worked out of this space, so it’s not surprising.”

“You said she hasn’t been told of the find yet?”

He gave a quick shake of his head. “She’s very private. But these aren’t just about her, they’re about the entire family, and so the archives department wants the opportunity to study them first.”

“Do you think she’ll be angry? I’d be quite upset if someone found my letters and didn’t tell me.”

“Most likely, yes, which is why I’m stuck down here until they’re ready to approach her.”

“Like a secret mission.”

“Only if you care about sickeningly polite thank-you letters and six-course dinner party menus. I haven’t seen anything of all that much interest.” He gently leafed through a file of delicate, tea-colored paper. “But I remember a letter from Miss Helen to her private secretary about some kind of game. It was sent from their home in Massachusetts back in November 1919.” He pulled it out with a flourish. “Here.”

Veronica read it aloud: “Miss Lilly, I hope all is going well in my absence. I leave it in your capable hands to pull off the Frick House Folly I’ve arranged for Mr. Danforth. Please make sure he understands how vital the success is to our future union.”

“Frick House Folly.” Joshua repeated, rolling the words around on his tongue. “I wonder if she’s referring to the scavenger hunt.”

“Who was Mr. Danforth?”

“I don’t know for sure, but maybe it’s no coincidence that his last name begins with a D. I have a pile of correspondence here. Do you want to split it up, see if anything jumps out at us?”

“You’d like me to help?” she asked.

“Or would you rather bowl?” he answered with a smirk.

“Hand them over.”

He pulled up one of the chairs from the billiard room, and they sat side by side at the table. Veronica wasn’t certain as to what exactly she was looking for, but after a short while her worrying fell away as she became lost in the work. Marvelous details emerged about life in the house, from the polite notes to Mr. Frick from the organ player, a Mr. Archer Graham, writing to confirm another “pleasant season making music for you and your family,” to a six-page dispatch written in 1914 from a fired cook who had been wrongfully accused of breaking the family’s good china, lamenting that the Fricks’ “orders are so unreasonable that it is impossible for anyone to carry them out.”

Reading through the recently discovered documents brought the silent, empty house above Veronica’s head to life, and almost made up for the fact that the quest for the Magnolia diamond had been a bust. She could almost hear the sound of the cook swearing after breaking another plate, or the droning of the organ while Mr. Frick read his newspapers in the library. If only she’d had the chance to study history at university, maybe she could have gotten a job like Joshua’s, going through old letters and solving puzzles. It would have made her father so proud.

Dinner Party Preparations, October 29th, 1919, Eight o’clock, read one document. It included a six-course menu, followed by a guest list. She let out a soft cry.

“What is it?” asked Joshua, leaning over to see.

“A guest list for a dinner party in late October 1919. Including a Mr. Richard J. Danforth.” She pointed to his name.

“RJD. That has to be him. Well done.”

She flushed with pride. “I wonder why he never found his watch fob?”

“That scavenger hunt was fairly difficult, so maybe he never made it that far.”

They continued back at their work, and this time it was Joshua’s turn to call out. “Here’s something curious.” The page he held still bore the indentations from having been folded in thirds. “It’s a letter from Helen Frick to her brother, Childs, a couple of months later: For all I know, you and Dixie stole our dear Martha right out of his cold hands. How could you? You knew what the brooch meant to me, what it was worth. Your jealousy is an evil thing, brother.”

“That’s ominous,” said Veronica. “Do you think ‘the brooch’ refers to our cameo?” Maybe they had found something valuable after all. Valuable enough to be worthy of a reward.

The lamp gave a final sputter and blew out, plunging the basement into darkness. Veronica reached out and touched Joshua’s sleeve, and in response, he put his hand over hers. “Don’t worry. It’s all right. The lamp oil must be all used up. Hold on to me and I’ll guide you up the stairs.”

Joshua and Veronica took one careful step at a time in the inky darkness, like an ancient couple maneuvering along a cobblestone street. Once they reached the stairs, he guided her hand to the metal railing, and she emerged onto the main floor, surprised to find that it was long past dusk. The day had gone much faster than she’d expected.

“I’ll look around for another lamp,” Joshua said. “Why don’t you wait in the gallery? The skylights will make it less scary.”

She straightened up, mock-defiant. “I’m not scared.”

“Sure. That’s why you had a death grip on me up the stairs.”

“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t trip, that’s all.”

The gallery was even more cavernous in the darkness. Instead of waiting for Joshua, she headed right back into the enamels room, Mr. Frick’s former study.

She ran her hand down the edge of the panel door where the cameo was stored. It hadn’t quite shut all the way, and she used her fingernail to carefully pull it open and lift out the brooch, moving closer to the window where the light was slightly better. Down in the basement, Joshua had shown Veronica a black-and-white photograph of Mrs. Frick from the last century, wearing a pearl pendant the size of an eyeball, her dark hair held back by a jeweled barrette. As her daughter, Helen Frick must have owned enough rubies and emeralds to fill a treasure chest, far more expensive than the cameo, yet the way she’d worded her letter to her brother was strange. You knew what it was worth, Miss Helen had written.

Maybe she was referring to its sentimental value. But what if she wasn’t?

Without warning, the back of the cameo came loose. Veronica cried out in dismay as part of it rolled along the floor at her feet. Now she was done for. The brooch was an ancient, delicate thing, and in her excitement she’d handled it too roughly.

Miss Helen would be furious, as would Joshua. But as Veronica examined the cameo closely, with shaking hands, she realized that, no, it wasn’t broken. A tiny button on the side had popped it open, revealing a space inside for a keepsake.

A keepsake that had fallen out. She got down on her knees and felt along the floor with her fingertips. It couldn’t have gone far, whatever it was; the sound of the rolling hadn’t lasted long. She touched something hard and picked it up.

Rising back to her feet, she held it up to the window.

A large blush-colored stone gleamed brightly in spite of the darkness, as if it were a source of light itself. The brilliance was undeniable. This was the item of value that Miss Helen had referred to, not the cameo itself. A pink diamond, a very large one.

The Magnolia diamond.

She’d found it.

The diamond had lain inside the cameo, tucked away in a secret compartment, for almost fifty years.

Veronica heard Joshua’s tread. The doorway to the gallery filled with a dim glow—he’d been successful in his hunt for another lamp. She imagined showing the diamond to him, the joyful expression on his face when he realized what they’d stumbled upon.

But after that, what?

Veronica thought of Polly, waiting for her return to London, waiting for her to fulfill her promise to break her out of Kent House. This diamond could solve all of Veronica’s problems: she could bring Polly home and hire an aide to care for her, Veronica could go to university instead of going back to work at the pawnshop, her mother could stop having to worry about every small expense. Uncle Donny would know how to handle this sort of transaction, how to discreetly arrange for it to be broken down so the stones could be recut and sold without raising suspicion. She could tell her mother that the money came from her photo shoot.

It would be easy enough to hide.

She clicked the cameo closed and placed it back in its secret compartment. As Joshua grew nearer, she rolled the stone between her thumb and index finger, unsure. In the pawnshop, Uncle Donny would sometimes touch his tongue to a diamond to test it. “It’ll feel cold,” he’d said. Veronica lifted the stone to the tip of her tongue. It was like tasting an ice cube. Then again, it was freezing inside the Frick mansion, so no surprise there. Maybe it was a fake. Maybe the last laugh would be on her.

But right before Joshua entered the room, she tucked it deep into the front pocket of her jeans.