“If you’re asking what I think you are, the answer is yes and no. Some of the members are going out of their way not to play with him, but nobody has come right out and disputed a hand or questioned the result of a game. I’d say there’s cautious avoidance of the topic, but also a growing feeling that maybe time is running out for Mr. Sorensen.”
“He’ll be asked to resign?”
“That’s how it’s usually handled.”
“Has anyone ever refused?”
“Not that I know of, and I’ve been steward here since the club was founded, Mr. Hunter.”
“Do you remember when Mr. Sorensen applied for membership?”
“Mr. Buchanan sponsored him about two years ago. It was unusual, because Mr. Sorensen was new to the city and didn’t have any secondary sponsors. In fact, unless I’m misremembering, his letters of recommendation weren’t from Lotos Club members. They were from gentlemen who had known him in other cities. It was the first time I’d known that to happen. I think the membership committee overlooked the usual requirements because he had married Mr. Buchanan’s daughter.”
“On the theory that if there was something wrong with him, Mr. Buchanan would never have allowed the marriage to take place.”
“It was probably as simple as that.” Lionel nodded his head. “Now that I look back, it seems as though it happened more quickly than usual, too. From proposal to acceptance, I mean.”
“I’d like a list of who was sitting on the membership committee then,” Geoffrey requested. “And the names of the current members also.”
“I can have that for you in a few minutes, sir.”
From what the head steward had told him, Geoffrey thought he could construct an accurate picture of Aaron Sorensen’s club life. He won substantial amounts of money as long as he could find a way of making the cards work for him. When he couldn’t, or when he felt the need to be cautious, his luck varied, sometimes running a losing streak that made him desperate and started rumors flying. He got a little careless. Not enough to be exposed as a cheat, but close enough to make other players wonder.
Whether Sorensen was running good or bad luck tonight, Ned Hayes was more than a match for him.
* * *
Five minutes after sitting down at the table where Aaron Sorensen was the next player to deal, Ned Hayes knew what the scam was. One of the oldest, easiest, and still most successful fiddles in the shark’s arsenal. Card marking.
On the little finger of his left hand, Sorensen wore a signet ring whose raised crest was sharply incised and slightly higher than one usually saw. When he fanned out his hand, he pressed the face cards over the surface of the ring to create an indentation that only he would feel and be able to read. By the time he judged enough cards had been marked and it was his turn to deal again, he would know what each man held as surely as if he were looking over his shoulder. Then his winning streak would begin.
Ned wouldn’t know until he received one of the marked cards where Sorensen was putting the indentation for each suit and how he was differentiating among the honor cards. The simplest way to do it was to designate one corner of each card for the suit, and then space along it to distinguish between kings, queens, and jacks. Aces were usually marked in the middle.
Whist is played in silence. No one comments; there is never a conversation between partners. Even when bets are made, words are few and to the point. Fingers aren’t drummed on the table; throats are rarely cleared; the loudest noise is the slap of cards in the shuffle and the deal. It’s a gentlemen’s game.
Sorensen wouldn’t catch on to what was happening until it was too late. Ned marked every face card that came his way. He figured out Aaron’s system by the end of the first two hands, indenting with his own signet ring previously unmarked cards in the wrong place and double marking the ones Sorensen had already singled out.
He and his opponent were the only two at their table not enjoying a good whiskey along with the game. Alcohol and cigars tended to dull the fingertips, so Ned sipped at his cold tea and feigned a slight inebriation. He noted that while Sorensen raised his glass occasionally, the level of whiskey never went down. When Sorensen finally became certain that one of the three other men was attempting the same con he was, he’d toss back his drink and leave the table. Ned gave him an hour, no more than that.
The end came sooner than Ned had foreseen. The elderly gentleman to his left called for a new deck when it came his turn to deal. He knew something was wrong by the feel of the cards, more by instinct than because he could prove tampering. The card room steward quickly supplied what was asked for, and Aaron Sorensen made his excuses moments later and relinquished his seat to one of the waiting players. Ned sat on for one more hand, then also left the table.
“He was definitely marking the cards,” he told Geoffrey, who had waited in the club bar. “He’s fast and good, but nowhere near the best I’ve seen.”
“Professional?”
“A gifted amateur. Professionals don’t lose their control, no matter how the cards run. Sorensen was miffed that things weren’t going his way, and it showed. I think the gentleman who called for a new deck would have put the finger on him if he’d known exactly what was going on, but he wasn’t certain. My guess is that he wanted to get rid of Sorensen without making a fuss, and that’s how he chose to do it.”
“Your package, sir.” One of the waiters from the card room handed Ned a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.
“The marked cards?” Geoffrey asked.
“I decided it would be a good idea to remove the evidence.” Ned slipped the package into his coat pocket. “We don’t want Sorensen’s world to collapse until we’re the ones who pull it down.”
* * *
“The patterns are obvious,” Geoffrey said. He had filled Prudence in on what he and Ned learned the night before about Sorensen’s gambling habit. Now they were planning the next phase of the investigation. “Both his wives are with child in the early days of their marriages, which prevents them from appearing at most social functions. Isolates them.”
“If they complained of excessive fatigue or lack of appetite, a physician would order them to bed, making the seclusion more pronounced. Visitors would be limited or forbidden altogether.” Prudence spoke with authority. She had read Compton’s Medical Guide on pregnancy.
“Both wives are heiresses,” Geoffrey continued. “Ethel is an only child, while Catherine’s sister was a continent away most of the time. And in each case, there is only one parent alive, a father who is either very ill or on the point of dying.”
“A mother would be more likely to monitor her daughter’s pregnancy, ask questions if she sensed something wrong, but these wives have no mothers, and apparently no other close female relatives nearby.” Prudence ticked off the points on her fingers.
“The fathers have to predecease the daughters so the wives inherit and their fortunes are joined to the husband’s property, or at least come under his control. When Catherine died, Sorensen was her only heir. Even if a separate provision had been made for the child, the infant was also dead. Ethel’s will is probably similar,” Geoffrey said.
“We need a copy of Catherine’s will.”
“It was probated, so it’s a public document now. Josiah can get it from city records.”
“Was a baby nurse hired for Catherine’s child?” Prudence asked. “They usually come to the house to prepare the nursery and lay out the newborn’s routine several weeks before the expected birth, especially if it’s a first child. They are notoriously unpredictable.”
“The children or the nurses?” Geoffrey asked, dark eyes twinkling.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Prudence reprimanded him, tapping the cover of Compton’s.
“The housekeeper would know,” Josiah contributed. “If an agency was used, they’d have records. Your friend Mrs. Langston has five children, Miss Prudence,” he reminded her. “She’s bound to know the best agencies in the city.”
“What excu
se could I give for wanting the information?” Prudence asked. “She’s a terrible gossip, remember.”
“We’ll make up someone,” Geoffrey offered, “an enceinte cousin who may be moving to the city.”
“She’ll want details.”
“What do you hope to find out, Prudence?” Geoffrey asked.
“If Sorensen never intended his wife and child to live longer than a few days after the birth, he might have neglected to make the kind of long-term arrangements or purchases that would be expected. Baby nurses, especially nurses hired through an agency, are paid for a fixed term, whether the child thrives or not. If he negotiated for the shortest period of time the agency allows, I would consider that an indication that he knew the nurse wouldn’t be needed for very long. He had and continues to have gambling debts. He wouldn’t waste any of his hard-gotten fortune paying for services that weren’t needed.
“For whatever time she was there, the nurse would have made it her business to find out everything she could about the household. Nurseries are little kingdoms. Baby nurses and nannies are forces to be reckoned with. No one dares interfere with their regimens or contradict them on matters pertaining to their charge’s well-being. They are tyrants of the worst sort. I remember how strict my nanny was,” Prudence concluded.
“Wouldn’t she have reported any irregularities to her agency?” Josiah asked.
“I doubt it. Not if she wants to continue working for the best families. Anyone who complains becomes suspect herself. It’s the client who’s paying the bill,” Geoffrey reminded him.
“I wonder if Ethel Sorensen has engaged her baby nurse yet?” Prudence asked. She had a look in her eye that spoke volumes.
“You don’t know anything about taking care of an infant,” Geoffrey said. He knew immediately where this was heading.
“There’s always Compton’s,” Prudence answered.
CHAPTER 14
“I’ll never get away with pretending to be a baby nurse.” Prudence closed Compton’s Medical Guide with an exasperated thump. “Just reading about infant care gives me a headache. I certainly won’t be able to answer the interview questions with any pretense of expertise. Do you know, Geoffrey, I’ve just realized that I’ve never held a baby, let alone diapered or fed one.”
Josiah and Geoffrey exchanged relieved glances. Neither of them had felt comfortable with Prudence’s announced intention of penetrating the Sorensen household in the capacity of hired help.
“But I do think I’d make a very decent lady’s companion,” she mused, smoothing her face into the agreeably bland expression paid companions typically wore.
“Lady’s companion?” Josiah tried to keep the dismay out of his voice.
“I don’t think Ethel Sorensen needs a lady’s companion,” Geoffrey said.
“Of course she does. Her husband is frequently out of town on those mysterious trips of his, and she’s without family in the city. She’s alone too much. According to Compton’s, expectant mothers are particularly susceptible to spells of despondency, which can affect the unborn child.”
“You can’t just appear on her doorstep,” Josiah said.
“I’ll pay another call on Georgina Langston and tell her that I’ve had the most wonderful idea.”
“Which is?” Geoffrey asked.
“I’ll tell her that a dear widowed friend of mind is reducing her household staff and that the situation of her lady’s companion is quite urgent. This young woman would be the perfect antidote to Ethel Sorensen’s loneliness and melancholy. I give Georgina a name and an address to which a note can be sent. She persuades Ethel to follow through, and voilà, I’m hired.”
“I think it’s risky,” Geoffrey said. He wondered why he was bothering to try to argue her out of the scheme; once his partner made up her mind, there was no changing it.
“We have to move quickly.” Prudence ignored his objection. “I’ll need a name I won’t forget to answer to, but nothing traceable or too memorable. Josiah, you’re good with things like that.”
“I’ll think of one, miss.”
“I think it’s a very bad idea, Prudence. All kinds of things could go wrong.”
“How else are we going to find out what we need to know about Sorensen?” Prudence reasoned. “We may not be running out of time, but his wife is. As soon as her father dies, she becomes vulnerable.”
“If he did, in fact, murder his first wife. We have no proof of that,” Geoffrey reminded her. “Our case is the investigation of Catherine Sorensen’s death.”
“Which is exactly what I’ll be doing.”
“He’s had more than enough time to destroy incriminating documents, if there ever were any.”
“I’ve made up my mind on this,” Prudence said. She knew why Geoffrey was objecting so strongly to her incognito presence in the Sorensen house, and she was determined not to give in. She had skirted precariously close to death twice before, when the cases they were investigating turned ugly and dangerous. If she allowed him to warn her off whenever a threat loomed, she might as well lock herself in her parlor and throw away the key. That was not the kind of life Prudence was determined to live.
“If I can’t persuade you not to do this, Prudence, at least get yourself a good disguise,” Geoffrey said, surrendering to the inevitable. “Go to that R.H. Macy and Company on Sixth Avenue and buy yourself a plain, serviceable wardrobe suitable for the daughter of a deceased Episcopal priest or Presbyterian minister.”
“Is that who I’m to be?”
“A clergyman’s daughter is always respectable and usually genteelly impoverished, which should explain why you’re earning your livelihood as a paid lady’s companion.”
“I can buy my wardrobe this afternoon,” Prudence said.
“If I may make a suggestion, miss?” Josiah scribbled a list of items he thought Miss Prudence would need. “New gowns and boots are bound to be noticed and remarked on by the staff. Perhaps even Mrs. Sorensen herself. You’ll need items that are a bit worn, but still suitable for your station in life. There are secondhand clothing stores farther downtown that can provide exactly what you require.”
“I had no idea, Josiah.”
“Your maid will know the best of them, and she’ll also be able to bargain to get a decent price for what you want.”
“He’s right, Prudence,” Geoffrey said. “You’d stick out like a sore thumb in one of those places. Better to send Colleen.”
“How long do you plan to stay at the Sorensen house, miss?” Josiah asked.
“Just a few days, I think. Definitely no longer than a week. No more time than it takes to gain Ethel’s confidence, get a sense of the atmosphere of the house, and search Sorensen’s study.”
“The servants aren’t likely to be of much use,” Geoffrey warned. “They’ll consider you not quite part of the family, but not domestic help, either. And you can’t disappear without an explanation when you’ve gotten the information we want. That would put Sorensen on his guard.”
“I’ll leave because of a death in the family. My sister’s husband. Also a man of the cloth, like our father. When I’m ready to go, I’ll tell Ethel that my unexpectedly widowed sister is distraught. I’m urgently needed to help with the children. Clergymen always have large families. Ethel is sure to ask about my relatives when she interviews me. I can lay the groundwork then.”
“I think you should write romances, Miss Prudence.” Josiah’s comment was frankly admiring.
“I’d rather live them,” she said, pointedly ignoring the pained expression on Geoffrey’s face.
* * *
Prudence’s room in the Sorensen mansion was in the family wing, but at the opposite end of the corridor from the suites occupied by Aaron and Ethel. It had been one of several guest rooms that had gone largely unused since the death of the first Mrs. Sorensen’s father several years ago, the housekeeper explained. A small sitting room adjoined the bedroom, with a desk suitable for letter writing and a comfortable chair
close to the fireplace for reading. Mrs. Hopkins hoped that Miss Mason would find everything satisfactory. Prudence assured her that she would, smiling triumphantly to herself as the housekeeper led her back downstairs to the parlor, where a slightly overwhelmed and very pregnant Mrs. Sorensen was waiting.
Ethel wasn’t quite sure how Georgina Langston had managed to make it all come together so quickly. She was more than a little concerned about what Aaron would say when he returned, but she was so grateful for the company of another woman of her own age and background that she determined to put the worries out of her mind.
Not that Miss Penelope Mason came from the kind of wealth that had always cushioned Ethel’s life; she did not. But she was the well-educated daughter of a clergyman, which made her almost a social equal. She was widely read, a pleasant conversationalist, and as disinclined to needlework as her employer. All of this Ethel discovered in a few short hours. By the end of her first full day in the Sorensen household, it was as though Penelope Mason had always been a part of it.
“I would so like to see the nursery,” Prudence told Ethel as they sat over afternoon tea and sandwiches. The wig Josiah had suggested itched, and the spectacles he’d provided pinched her nose, but she was definitely unrecognizable as Judge MacKenzie’s daughter. “It will be wonderful to be in a home with a child in it again.”
Ethel looked confused.
“My dear sister has six children,” Prudence continued, reading the relief on Ethel’s face as she realized that her new companion was not referring to the infant who had died in this house so soon after birth. “I made my home with them after our father departed this life.” Unspoken was the obvious inference that the family had run out of room for a spinster aunt. “I would feel obliged to assist in any way, should she ever need me.” There. The stage had been set for the lie to come; Ethel seemed to have understood that Penelope’s stay might not be a permanent one.
Ethel inched forward on her chair, preparatory to heaving herself awkwardly to her feet. She was three or four weeks away from her accouchement; but to Prudence’s inexperienced eye she looked ready to deliver at any moment.
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