Page 1 of The Gilded Heiress
New York City
Later the police would ask, Why hadn’t anyone heard?
The Fifth Avenue mansion was full of revelry that night. The guests celebrated in elaborate costumes, while toasting with
champagne and eating bluepoints next to dripping ice sculptures. More than three hundred of society’s finest were in attendance,
along with a seventy-five-piece orchestra.
The hosts were none other than the Pendeltons, who possessed a dizzying kind of wealth, the kind that had been unimaginable
before the war. Acceptance into high society hadn’t come easy, yet Mrs. Pendelton was determined to see it through. Her daughter,
Joséphine—named after an empress, naturally—was twenty-two months old, her two-year-old birthday coming soon in December,
and Mrs. Pendelton would not allow the girl to be slighted in the years to come.
Tonight changed the social hierarchy. The coveted invitation had been the talk of the city for the last three months, with
everyone angling to get on the list. The mansion, the size of a full city block, was the draw, but Mrs. Pendelton knew this
was a sign of good things to come.
In the end the evening was a smashing success, with the sun just peeking over the horizon as the last guest departed. Mr.
Pendelton still planned to get in a full day’s work, so he retired immediately. Before seeking her bed, Mrs. Pendelton decided
to go up to see her precious little girl for a few moments.
The nursery was empty, however.
She quickly rang for the sleeping nursemaids, who claimed no knowledge of the baby’s whereabouts. Alarmed, Mrs. Pendelton awoke the entire household to begin a search for Joséphine. Lights were switched on, closets and empty rooms thoroughly investigated.
That was when they discovered the ladder outside the nursery’s window.
An army of blue-coated Metropolitan Police officers swarmed the mansion. There were illustrators and photographers, roundsmen
and detectives. Even several of the police commissioners stopped by. They tromped along the perimeter of the mansion, through
the gardens, and around the ladder. Their muddy footprints soiled the Persian carpets and Italian marble floors as the staff
was questioned again and again.
Why hadn’t anyone seen or heard anything? The staff explained the noise and coal smoke outside required them to keep their
windows closed. Furthermore, most of the maids and footmen had enjoyed extra champagne and food downstairs as the party wound
down, while those not involved, like the nursemaids, were already asleep.
Little Joséphine could not be found.
Hysterical, Mrs. Pendelton took to her bed, while Mr. Pendelton awaited a ransom message. He telephoned the bank and readied
his assets. Whatever these kidnappers demanded, he would pay it.
Except the telephone never rang. A cable never arrived.
It was unbelievable. Unprecedented. As the days wore on, the detectives remained flummoxed, the press agog. Politicians gave
stump speeches that promised to eliminate crime. The public’s appetite for information on the missing baby only seemed to
grow. Headlines updated the city twice a day, until after a few weeks when the story moved from the front page to the inside.
Three months later the story was buried with the adverts and notices in the back.
At this point Mrs. Pendelton demanded that her husband offer up the largest reward in history to get her baby returned. One hundred thousand dollars for any information regarding the whereabouts of little Joséphine Pendelton.
The incentive brought out the worst criminal element imaginable. Every charlatan, confidence man, and huckster presented themselves
at the Pendelton residence with their “evidence,” but none were credible. As the years wore on, the possibility that Joséphine
would be found dwindled to almost nothing. Even Mr. Pendelton gave up hope.
But Mrs. Pendelton knew her little girl was out there somewhere. She could feel it.
And one day they would be reunited...