Where the Light Enters

by Sara Donati

  Elise said, “Mrs. Smithson, if you could please raise your hips so I can loosen your undergarments—”

  Her fingers were trembling. Sophie caught her gaze and nodded, closed her eyes for a count of three. It was a reminder and an encouragement without words. Steady. Focus. Breathe.

  * * *

  • • •

  ELISE STAYED WITH Mrs. Smithson when the examination had come to its end, but Sophie went straight to the kitchen, where she washed her hands for far longer than necessary. The whole time she was aware of Oscar and Jack watching her.

  “It’s not a cushion or pillow or anything artificial,” she said, turning to them as she dried her hands with a tea towel.

  “So she is pregnant.” Oscar frowned. “How far along?”

  “She’s not pregnant,” Sophie said. “She has a growth of some kind. A very large cyst, or a fibroid. Or a tumor. It’s difficult to be sure. Certainly it needs to come out. Or it could be that her body has created the illusion because her mind is so determined on pregnancy. The technical term for that condition is pseudocyesis. But it’s far more likely that she has a growth of some kind. She needs to see a surgeon, without delay.”

  Jack closed his jaw with a clicking sound and cleared his throat before he could speak. “Did you tell her that?”

  Sophie lifted a shoulder. “Elise took the lead to avoid—complications. I told her what to say—in French, and she did a good job of explaining. But Mrs. Smithson rejected the suggestion out of hand. Oscar, you’re making sounds. You doubt my diagnosis?”

  “Of course not,” he said. “I take you at your word. I’m confused, is all.”

  “What you need to understand is that she believes she’s pregnant. She has convinced herself of that,” Sophie said. “She is sitting at the table in her room as we speak, writing a letter to Anthony Comstock—she calls him Uncle Tony, you should realize—to accuse me of being an abortionist because I said she needs to see a surgeon. So if you have no more need of us, we’re leaving.”

  * * *

  • • •

  JACK HAD WATCHED Nora Smithson go off to her room quietly, with all the airs of a woman weighed down by tribulation. A woman struggling to maintain her considerable dignity in the face of unfair treatment, sorely put upon.

  There was no sign of that woman when she came marching back into the parlor.

  “Who was that black woman? She claimed to be a doctor, but I don’t believe it. Was that a midwife? The things she said to me—and the two of them were speaking French. It was the younger one with the mop of red hair who did the talking, but the other one was telling her what to say. The mulatto. Where did you find those midwives?”

  Oscar gave her his hardest stare. “They are both doctors.”

  Color shot into Nora Smithson’s face, as if she had been slapped. “A female physician is an abomination. They said I need an illegal operation.”

  “No,” Jack said firmly. “They advised you to consult a surgeon. A surgeon of your choice, someone you trust. Your brother, for example. Your brother would be a logical person to consult about your health. And your husband should be here, too. Which brings me to another question. I see no trace of Mr. Smithson here in the apartment. No clothing, for example. No razor in the bathroom.”

  It took some effort for her to conquer her anger. She turned away, her arms crossed over the shelf of her abdomen, and paced the room.

  “I will not answer any more questions.”

  “You must answer our questions,” Jack said. “Or we will take you into custody as a material witness.”

  Hatred was something he saw regularly; criminals were rarely sanguine about being arrested. Now he saw pure loathing in the way she regarded him.

  “I told you,” she said, biting off each word. “He is visiting his brother in Chicago.”

  “But you don’t have an address,” Oscar said. “That is, at the very least, odd.”

  Jack decided to approach from another direction.

  “We have reason to believe that you consulted a midwife called Amelie Savard at some point in the past,” Jack said. “Did you ask her to restore or regulate your monthly cycle?”

  She rounded on him like a rabid dog. “You dare to say that name to me?”

  “Answer the question,” Oscar said.

  “Never,” she bit out, her voice cracking. “I would never ask for such a thing.” She was perspiring now, faint droplets on her brow, and her whole body shook.

  “Where did you hear of Amelie Savard? Has she been arrested, finally?”

  “The subject at hand is your medical history,” Jack said.

  From a folded newspaper Oscar had tucked under his arm he extracted the tea tin Elise had left with them and held it up for her to see. “This is the tea given to you to stop your pregnancy in the year eighteen seventy-one, is it not?”

  Nora Smithson withdrew as if he had waved a knife in her face.

  He held the tin away to read it, eyes squinted. A fine bit of playacting, and Oscar in his element. “‘Pennyroyal and Blue Cohosh,’ it says here.”

  “Where did you get that?” Each word snapped.

  “You recognize the tin?” Jack asked.

  She stared at it, her mouth contorting with something close to revulsion.

  “Someone gave you tea like this to drink. Who was it?”

  She whispered, “You know who gave me that tea.”

  “We understand it was your grandfather,” Jack said, evenly. “Dr. Cameron. And if you are claiming it was someone other than your grandfather, you will need proof of that.”

  They waited in silence for a very long time. It was an impossibility, of course, but Jack had the impression that she never blinked. Through the trouble to come, Jack would always think of Nora Smithson like this, her eyes almost bulging from her face in hatred and fear. An animal trapped once again, despite all cunning and careful planning, in that merciless fist she had escaped at such cost.

  48

  THE NEW YORK TIMES

  Thursday, May 15, 1884

  MYSTERY AT SMITHSON’S APOTHECARY

  Police detectives have called on Mrs. Nora Smithson of Smithson’s Apothecary at Sixth-ave. and Clinton-str. in the first stages of a new investigation into the suspicious disappearance of two men. They are Mrs. Smithson’s brother, Dr. Neill Graham, and her husband, Mr. Geoffrey Smithson.

  As a result of at least one interview, Mrs. Smithson is now being held as a material witness, restricted to the Smithson family apartment above the apothecary, under guard.

  According to apothecary employees, in early January Mrs. Smithson announced that her husband would be away on family business for an extended period. She then hired two men to take over responsibilities in the compounding laboratory during her husband’s absence, and assumed all other responsibilities herself.

  Mr. Smithson has not been seen in the apothecary or the neighborhood since January.

  While a trip of such duration might seem unusual, it did not cause concern until police determined that Mrs. Smithson does not know or chooses not to say exactly where her husband might be. At one point she spoke of a visit to his brother, George Smithson, in Chicago, but inquiries indicate that the younger Mr. Smithson is resident in Buffalo and has never lived in Chicago. Further, he denies seeing his brother or having any communication with him since the fall of last year, following from an acrimonious family disagreement.

  Inquiries to the Chicago Police Department have provided no evidence to the contrary and no hint as to Mr. Smithson’s whereabouts.

  In April Dr. Neill Graham, Mrs. Smithson’s brother, abruptly left his staff position at Woman’s Hospital. In his letter to the hospital administration he stated that he would be gone no longer than ten days in order to attend to a family emergency. That time has elapsed, but they have had no further word from h
im. Police inquiries have failed to uncover any trace of Dr. Graham.

  Foul play is suspected in both cases.

  * * *

  • • •

  THE NEW YORK WORLD

  EVENING EDITION

  ANTHONY COMSTOCK TO INVESTIGATE MULATTO DOCTRESS

  The World has learned that Anthony Comstock, secretary of the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice and vigilant defender of our most vulnerable women and innocent children, has begun an investigation of the physician Sophie Savard Verhoeven of Stuyvesant Square, a name familiar to our readers.

  Inspector Comstock tells us that he received a complaint about Dr. Savard Verhoeven from Mrs. Nora Smithson of Smithson’s Apothecary, who is currently in police custody as a material witness in the disappearance of her husband and brother.

  “I have known Mrs. Smithson since she was a girl, when she came into the custody of her grandparents, Dr. Cameron and his wife. Nora has always been a responsible, modest, devout young woman, dedicated to her family’s well-being. She is determined that when her husband returns from his travels he will find his apothecary as he left it: a model of good business practice.”

  Inspector Comstock went on to explain. “Mrs. Smithson has made a serious accusation, and given the history of the persons she names, it must be investigated. Dr. Savard Verhoeven stands accused, as do two Detective Sergeants of the city’s police department.”

  While Mr. Comstock would not comment further, our reporters were able to call on anonymous sources and have uncovered more of the story. Mrs. Smithson’s claims include the following:

  First, that Detective Sergeants Oscar Maroney and Jack Mezzanotte interrogated Mrs. Smithson alone in her home for many hours, though she is in the family way and protested on the basis of her health. Further, she claims that she provided them with the information they sought in as far as she had any to share, and that she is being held as a material witness under false pretenses.

  Second, that the Detective Sergeants summoned a woman Mrs. Smithson only later learned was Dr. Savard Verhoeven in order to examine her, without her own or her husband’s permission. She endured this examination with Christian fortitude, while under severe duress.

  Third, that Dr. Savard Verhoeven is the niece of a midwife, once resident in this city, who was an infamous abortionist. Midwife Savard escaped criminal prosecution by fleeing in the middle of the night.

  Fourth, that Dr. Savard Verhoeven suggested that Mrs. Smithson submit to an illegal operation, and that the Detective Sergeants argued forcefully for this as well.

  Upon receipt of this written complaint this morning, Inspector Comstock visited Mrs. Smithson at her home for an hour, with Detective Sergeant Maroney also in attendance. The inspector then called on Dr. Savard Verhoeven and was refused entrance to her home. Through an intermediary she has agreed to attend a hearing tomorrow in the chambers of Judge John Clarke.

  We at the New York World are watching events unfold, and will bring our readers news as it becomes available.

  49

  SOPHIE SAT DOWN in her parlor, dragged her bonnet from her head, and dropped it on the side table. Pip, dancing around her in hopeful anticipation, jumped into her lap as soon as she gave him the signal. He put his paws on her shoulder, looked into her face, and then settled just there, his soft fur against her throat.

  And she breathed a little easier.

  Across from her Conrad Belmont sat straight-backed, his hands folded on one knee, head turned toward the front hall, where Jack and Oscar had just come in with Elise.

  They all seemed to have survived the hearing in Judge Clarke’s chambers without ill effect, but Sophie would have gladly gone to sleep where she sat. Instead she listened to the conversation about the trip from the courthouse, answered Laura Lee’s questions and agreed that coffee, tea, and sandwiches would be welcome, and let the others decide to stay in the parlor rather than sitting on the terrace.

  Elise jumped up to help Laura Lee, was shooed back to the parlor, sat, and jumped up again to examine a small ivory sculpture of a tiny man riding a carp, its tail curved up and over to form a canopy over its rider’s head. She studied it with such concentration that Sophie was drawn into her own consideration of the small figure.

  “Cap’s father brought that home from a trip to Japan,” she said.

  Elise almost leapt back, as if she had been caught committing larceny.

  Sophie tried not to smile. “You’re as jumpy as a flea, Elise.”

  “No surprise,” Oscar said. “Being questioned by a judge in chambers will rattle anybody’s nerves.”

  Elise said, “I only hope I handled it well. Sophie, there was a question I thought the judge would ask, but didn’t. If it is a cancer Mrs. Smithson has, what is the prognosis?”

  Sophie held out a hand, palm up, and swept the fingers closed. “I couldn’t even guess without a more thorough examination. And really, it’s none of my business. She made that clear enough.”

  Oscar made a low noise, disapproval and agreement at once.

  Conrad said, “It is her choice, of course. If her husband were here—”

  “—or her brother—” Oscar added.

  “Either of them could have her committed,” Jack finished. “And force her to submit to medical treatment.”

  There was a short silence, in which Sophie could almost hear the words spoken: and maybe that is why they are both missing, because they tried to interfere. At the same time, the idea that a woman could be locked away because her husband disliked the way she conducted herself was just as disturbing.

  “Do you really have no idea where the husband might be?” Conrad asked.

  Jack shrugged. “I have an idea,” he said. “But absolutely no way to prove it.”

  “Most likely he’s dead,” Oscar said. “But the law can be simple minded.”

  Conrad shrugged. “Yes, that’s true. No body, no murder.”

  “So she just goes on,” Elise said. “Pretending. Until her medical condition becomes critical and she can’t pretend anymore.”

  “Or until she shows up one day with a baby in her arms,” Oscar said.

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  “I know,” he said. “She’s not expecting, she just thinks she is. Maybe she has a line on an infant that she intends to pass off as her own.”

  “Anna has had the same thought,” Jack said. “Based on the Visser case.”

  Sophie could not keep her irritation to herself. “Her health may not support whatever plans she has made. Not if that growth in her abdomen is cancer, and that is likely. She admitted during the examination that she’s in pain already.”

  Jack cleared his throat. “The woman is delusional, I think that we can agree on that. In her delusion she may be doing herself real harm. She might also be criminally insane. In fact I think that’s likely. But she has allies who can’t be ignored and who are supporting her in her delusions. Or helping her evade punishment. Or both.”

  “So what now?” Conrad said. “Have you worked that out?”

  Oscar put back his head and looked at the ceiling. “We search the Shepherd’s Fold, as she has been spending so much time there. Clarke will give us a warrant, after what he heard from us today. And we have to interview all the clerks from the apothecary. We’ll have Nora Smithson under surveillance for as long as the captain will bankroll it. And that’s just the start.”

  * * *

  • • •

  JACK PICKED UP his coffee cup and considered Elise Mercier, who had surprised him today. She had surprised everyone, including John Clarke, a cynical but fair-minded man who had been on the bench for a good thirty years.

  Young women were often timid in legal settings, unwilling to speak freely or voice an opinion. A hearing in a judge’s chambers was sometimes worse than an open courtroom. Sitting in close qu
arters with Nora Smithson and Anthony Comstock had pushed Jack to the edge, but Elise had not allowed them to rattle her. She refused to grant Comstock the authority he claimed for himself, but she did it in a way that could hardly be criticized; she had simply overlooked him. Jack wondered if she realized how much he hated being ignored. Maybe she had set out to do just that.

  Clarke had also seemed determined to antagonize Comstock, by calling first on Elise in the matter of charges pending against Dr. Sophie Savard Verhoeven.

  Her answers were exactly as she had been advised by Conrad: brief but thorough. More crucially, she had never volunteered anything outside the scope of the question put to her. She was polite, respectful, and above all else, calm even when the questions were delicate in nature.

  “Miss Mercier,” John Clarke had said, looking at her directly from his spot at the head of the table where they all sat. “What exactly did Dr. Savard say to Mrs. Smithson about her condition?”

  Elise answered without hesitation. “She didn’t say anything. In French she told me what to say, and I translated. I said, ‘I am very sorry to have to tell you that you are not with child. My strong suggestion is that you consult a surgeon on your condition.’”

  “Outrageous,” Nora Smithson hissed. “Liar.”

  “Mrs. Smithson.” Clarke had leveled his gaze at her. “You may not speak unless I address you directly.”

  He returned to Elise. “You were in the room for the entire examination?”

  “I was, yes.”

  “And Dr. Savard never raised the subject of an illegal operation?”

  “Sir, by illegal operation, do you mean abortion?”

  Her willingness to speak plainly had impressed him. “That is what I mean. Did Dr. Savard mention or refer to abortion in any way?”