Murder on Washington Square

by Victoria Thompson

  Sarah was still not certain what he wanted from her, but she was sure it wasn’t her absolution. “That was very noble of you,” she offered.

  He recoiled as if stung. “Noble!” he scoffed. “I assure you, I was far from noble!”

  “Are you saying you took advantage of her?” Sarah asked, still unable to believe him capable of such a thing.

  “No, not . . . not then, at least. In fact, I never expected to see her again. As I said, I did not believe her capable of repaying the loan, so what other reason would she have for returning except to humiliate herself? Then one evening a week or so later, she was waiting for me on the street when I came out of the bank. She was even more distraught than before. Her mother had died, you see and . . .”

  “And she needed more money,” Sarah guessed.

  “Oh, no, that’s not why she came,” Nelson insisted. “She just wanted to tell me that she couldn’t pay the rent in her rooming house anymore, and she was being evicted, so she wouldn’t be able to repay my loan for a while. She didn’t know where to tell me to find her, since she didn’t know where she would be living and . . .”

  “And you gave her more money.” This time Sarah wasn’t guessing.

  “She didn’t ask for it,” Nelson assured her. “She didn’t even want to take it, but she was penniless. I couldn’t just let her be thrown out into the streets, could I? You know what happens to girls like that when they don’t have any money and no one to take care of them.”

  Sarah knew only too well. “How much did you give her this time?”

  “Not much. Just enough to pay her rent and keep her for a month. She was going to find a job, so she could support herself.”

  This would be highly unlikely. Jobs for young women paid so poorly that the girls could hardly afford to give their own families a pittance for their board, much less provide their own independent accommodations. And a girl who’d lived a sheltered life in a respectable home wouldn’t last a day in one of the sweatshops. “I don’t suppose she was able to find a suitable position,” Sarah said.

  “I had no idea it was so difficult for young women to earn a living!” Nelson said, outraged. “Poor Anna looked everywhere. I called on her several times to make sure she was all right, but she was becoming more and more disheartened. I offered to pay her expenses for another month, but that only distressed her more. I . . . I . . .” His pale face flushed, and he could no longer meet her eye.

  “Am I to assume you gave her more than comfort?” Sarah asked as discreetly as she could.

  “I have no excuse,” Nelson said, covering his face with both hands. “What I did was despicable. To take advantage of someone so helpless and unprotected . . .”

  Sarah would reserve judgment until she’d heard the entire story. “There’s no use flogging yourself over it now. I’m going to assume that your indiscretion has resulted in this Anna being with child. Am I correct?”

  “That’s what she believes,” Nelson confirmed bleakly. “I have offered to marry her. It is the least I can do, but . . .”

  Sarah thought she saw the problem. “I’m sure you want to do the right thing, but marriage is a huge commitment, particularly with someone you hardly know. If there was no child after all, then it wouldn’t be necessary.”

  “I’m not trying to escape my responsibilities, Mrs. Brandt,” Nelson quickly assured her. “I would feel obligated to marry Anna even if there is no child. I dishonored her, after all. But she . . . she refuses to consider it!”

  This was not what Sarah had expected to hear. “Why won’t she marry you?” she asked in amazement.

  “She said she doesn’t want to disgrace me. You see, she assumed from the beginning that I was married, because of my responsible position at the bank and everything. She was shocked to learn I wasn’t, but even then, she said everyone would know why I’d married her, and I would be pitied and tied to a woman who would be of no assistance to me in my ambitions. I won’t deny those things are important to me, Mrs. Brandt, but I can’t—”

  “What does she want from you, then?” Sarah asked, tired of his justifications and trying to make sense of the whole thing.

  He looked ashamed to have to say the words aloud. “She wants a sum of money so she can go away somewhere and raise the child by herself.”

  At last Sarah was beginning to understand. “How much did she want?”

  “A . . . a thousand dollars should be sufficient.” He would not look her in the eye. “Invested properly, it could bring—”

  “Do you even have a thousand dollars?” Sarah asked in amazement.

  “No, but—”

  “And where does she propose you get it?”

  This time the color staining his face was more than embarrassment. “She doesn’t know a lot about business, Mrs. Brandt, and she believes I am very successful. I work in a bank, you see, and many people believe bankers own the money in their institutions. I’m sure she has no idea that I couldn’t simply write a check for that amount.”

  Sarah no longer believed this Anna was the innocent Nelson thought her. Anna’s refusal to marry him made no sense at all for a respectable girl, and Sarah was growing more concerned for Nelson every moment. “You still haven’t told me why you invited me to meet you,” she reminded him.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! I thought it would be clear. I was hoping . . . that is, if you would be so kind, could you speak with Anna? She may not even be . . . uh . . . I mean, if there is no child, if that is the case, she would be under no obligation to marry me. But if she is, then . . . Well, I would certainly take care of her and the child, but I couldn’t possibly send her away.”

  He looked so distressed that Sarah had an urge to hug him. Or slap him. How could he have gotten himself into such a predicament? She tried to imagine what his mother would say to all this. Mrs. Ellsworth had confided in Sarah many times that she wished her son would marry and have a family. She dearly wanted grandchildren to spoil before she died. Would she mind that the first of them had been conceived in such a shameful way? And what about this Anna herself? What kind of person was she to have gotten herself into such a predicament? She might be truly innocent as Nelson believed, but Sarah seriously doubted it. Most women in her position would be pathetically grateful for an offer of marriage, and many would even plead for it. Some women had been known to marry men who had raped them just to preserve their good name. In fact, men less honorable than Nelson sometimes used rape to force otherwise unwilling women to marry them. This knowledge made Sarah doubly skeptical of Anna’s protests.

  Although she wasn’t certain how much assistance she could offer to either of them, she couldn’t refuse Nelson’s request. She owed it to his mother. “Where can I find Anna to speak with her?” she asked with resignation.

  “Oh, Mrs. Brandt, I shall be forever in your debt!” Nelson exclaimed.

  “Don’t thank me until I’ve actually done something,” she warned, knowing full well that settling this matter might take far more than her own intervention. “Where is she?”

  “Her rooming house is only a block away. I can take you there right now.”

  “Is she expecting you?”

  Nelson flushed again. “Yes, I . . . that is, I often stop on my way home from work to see how she’s doing.”

  Sarah refrained from complimenting him on his solicitousness. His visits to Anna were probably amply rewarded. “Let’s not keep her waiting then,” Sarah said, rising from the bench.

  They walked toward the south side of the Square, where the dwellings were still small and wooden. The contrast between them and the mansions sitting on the north side was stark, clearly illustrating how the Square seemed to serve as a dividing line of sorts between rich and poor. Some of these smaller buildings dated back a hundred years, including the shack said to have sheltered Daniel Megie, the hangman who had used the famous hanging tree at the Northwest corner of the Square. Behind these buildings the streets stretched away toward the tip of Manhattan Island. House
s that had formerly been family homes were now boarding houses and tenements and brothels. Sarah reserved her comments and even her speculations until Nelson stopped before one of the smaller homes on Thompson Street.

  “This is where she lives,” Nelson said. “She’s been fortunate to have such understanding landlords.”

  “I thought you were paying her rent,” Sarah said, thinking they didn’t have to be understanding so much as broadminded to accept such an arrangement.

  “I am,” Nelson said sheepishly, “but they could have still thrown her out and found a more reliable tenant, one who didn’t have to depend on . . . on the charity of others.”

  “Charity” was an interesting description of Nelson’s assistance. The landlords could also have thrown her out for immoral behavior. Sarah had to assume that Nelson’s assignations with this Anna had taken place here, since he couldn’t have taken her to his own home, and renting a hotel room for such activities was probably much too daring and scandalous for Nelson even to consider. If that was the case, the landlords were broadminded indeed. Or else they were less than respectable themselves.

  Sarah preceded Nelson up the steps of the stoop and allowed him to ring the bell. In a few moments a slender woman laced very tightly into a very fashionable gown of blue and silver plaid opened the front door. Her first reaction was a slight frown when she saw Sarah and didn’t recognize her. Then she noticed Nelson, and the frown become a worried scowl.

  “Mr. Ellsworth, what a surprise,” she said, glancing uneasily at Sarah and back to Nelson again. “What brings you here this lovely evening?”

  “Mrs. Walcott, this is Mrs. Brandt, a friend of mine whom I’ve brought to meet Miss Blake. We were hoping she would be available,” Nelson explained.

  Mrs. Walcott hardly looked reassured. “A friend, you say? I’m sure I can’t imagine why you’ve brought her here to meet Miss Blake.” Mrs. Walcott was taking Sarah’s measure and apparently trying to figure out her relationship to Nelson. Sarah offered her no assistance and merely smiled sweetly. “I’m afraid Miss Blake really isn’t up to meeting anyone right now, though. She isn’t feeling well.”

  Sarah thought it was very presumptuous of the landlady to make this decision for Miss Blake, but it was Nelson who replied. “Then all the more reason for her to see us. Mrs. Brandt is a trained nurse.”

  Now Mrs. Walcott really was at a loss. If Anna Blake was ill, how could she turn away a nurse who might help her? But plainly, she was loath to admit Sarah to the house under any circumstances. “I . . . I’ll have to ask Miss Blake if she . . . Well, I can’t make decisions for her, now can I?” she concluded somewhat belatedly, satisfied that she had struck the proper note between concern and caution.

  “We’ll be happy to wait inside while you consult with her,” Sarah said, still smiling sweetly but moving determinedly forward across the doorsill and forcing Mrs. Walcott to make way or be trampled.

  Her eyes widened in surprise, but she stepped back and allowed them to enter without making a fuss. Once inside, Sarah noted that Mrs. Walcott was a woman of at least thirty years whose hair was still a rich brown color and styled rather elaborately for a woman who kept a boarding house. A style like that usually required the assistance of a lady’s maid and several hours of preparation, neither of which someone of Mrs. Walcott’s situation in life was likely to have. Then it dawned on her: the landlady was wearing a wig. It was, Sarah had to concede, a clever compromise for a woman vain enough to want to look her best but who had neither the time nor the resources to accomplish it naturally.

  Sarah and Nelson paused in the foyer, waiting for instructions, and Mrs. Walcott straightened, or rather stiffened, to her full height. Sarah noticed the woman was several inches taller than she’d realized, as tall as Nelson Ellsworth, in fact, yet still very feminine in spite of her modest curves. “Please, have a seat in the parlor,” she said, gesturing gracefully toward the doorway to their right. Sarah admired the lace mitts she wore. Another affectation assumed to suggest wealth, she guessed. Surely she didn’t wear lace like that all the time. It could hardly survive the labors of normal life. “I’ll see if Miss Blake can receive you.”

  She turned and started up the stairs, her back ramrod straight and her stiff skirts rustling discreetly. Even Sarah had to admit she made an impressive picture.

  Left to themselves, Nelson motioned for Sarah to enter the parlor. He was familiar with the place—too familiar, Sarah knew. She entered the modestly furnished room and looked around, seeking some clue as to the true character of the occupants of this house. Mrs. Walcott had taken great pains to be as simple yet elegant as she could in her decor as well as in her dress. This could have been a parlor in any middle-class family home. A pair of shepherd girl figurines adorned the mantelpiece along with some silverplated candlesticks and a few other knickknacks. The piecrust table beside the sofa held an painted glass lamp and several more inexpensive ornaments, all sitting on a lace doily. Crocheted antimacassars protected the back and arms of the sofa and chairs. The entire effect was fussy but not overly so. In short, just the impression every respectable family wanted to give.

  “Do you think she’ll see me?” Sarah asked when she’d learned all she could from the room itself.

  Nelson had already begun to pace. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine why she’s ill. She was perfectly fine yesterday,” he said with a worried frown.

  Sarah could imagine many reasons why she might be ill, particularly if she were truly with child, but she said, “Perhaps the landlady was just making a polite excuse for her, in case she didn’t want to meet your friend.”

  Nelson looked up in surprise. “I should have phrased that differently, shouldn’t I?” he asked with some concern. “I mean, we are friends, at least I hope we are, but that might have sounded—”

  “It sounded perfectly fine,” Sarah assured him, “and it was perfectly correct. I’m just suggesting that perhaps Anna would like to know more about me before we meet. Or rather, before she decides if she wants us to meet.”

  This prospect worried Nelson even more, but Sarah was weary of reassuring him. She took a seat on the wine-colored horsehair sofa to wait while he continued to pace restlessly. After a few moments, the front door opened, and a young woman came into the house. Dressed for the street in a navy blue serge suit and a lovely little hat that Sarah couldn’t help admiring, she had raven black hair and porcelain skin, a classic Irish lass. Not traditionally beautiful or even particularly pretty, she nevertheless was appealing with her youth and blooming health. She seemed surprised to see someone in the parlor and stepped into the doorway, peering at them curiously,

  “Oh, hello, Mr. Ellsworth,” she said, her face not quite smiling as she stared beyond him at Sarah.

  “Hello, Miss Porter,” he replied with the ease of familiarity. “How are you today?”

  “Very well, thank you,” she said, still looking at Sarah expectantly.

  Nelson reluctantly obliged her by introducing them. Sarah found she was still his “friend,” and Miss Porter, she learned, was another boarder. She seemed just as suspicious of Sarah as the landlady had been.

  “Mrs. Walcott said that Miss Blake isn’t feeling well,” Nelson said, a question in his tone.

  “She was fine when I went out this morning,” Miss Porter reported reassuringly, “so I’m sure it isn’t anything serious.”

  Before Nelson could reply, they heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Miss Porter looked back over her shoulder and said, “Here she is now.”

  Nelson hurried out into the foyer, brushing unceremoniously past Miss Porter, who gave Sarah one last curious look before nodding her head, murmuring how nice it was to have met her and politely withdrawing.

  “Anna,” Sarah heard Nelson saying, “Mrs. Walcott said you were ill. Are you sure you’re well enough to receive us?”

  Sarah didn’t catch the softly spoken reply, and then the mysterious Anna appeared in the doorway, clutching Nelson’s arm
as if for support.

  Well, Sarah couldn’t help thinking. Now she understood a lot. Anna Blake was a disturbing mixture of innocence and alluring sensuality. Dressed in a simple gingham gown, with her light brown hair tied back from her face with a ribbon and falling to her shoulders, she gave the impression of pure innocence. Yet the gingham dress clung faithfully, if modestly, to very womanly curves, and the face framed by the girlish curls wore a full-lipped, pouty frown guaranteed to stir more than protective feelings in the male breast.

  Sarah rose from the sofa, feeling the need to meet Anna Blake on her own level. She tried a small smile to reassure the girl. It had exactly the opposite effect.

  She turned on Nelson, her cheeks flaming. “What have I done to be humiliated like this, Mr. Ellsworth?” Without giving him a chance to reply, she turned back to Sarah. “I know why you’ve come here, but you’re wasting your time. I have no intention of forcing Mr. Ellsworth into marriage when someone else has a prior claim to his affections.”

  For a moment Sarah had no idea what she was talking about, and from Nelson’s expression, he didn’t either. But then the meaning of her words sank in. “Do you think that Mr. Ellsworth and I are . . . are . . .” Sarah searched for the proper word. “Betrothed?”

  From the way her expression tightened and her lovely brown eyes filled with tears, Sarah knew she was correct.

  “Let me assure you that we are not engaged,” Sarah said quickly, but again her assurance had exactly the opposite effect she’d intended.

  This time Anna Blake’s face crumbled in despair. “Oh, Mr. Ellsworth, you swore to me that you were a free man, and now you bring your wife here to shame me!” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and began to weep piteously into it, her round shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.

  “Anna, please,” Nelson begged, wanting to take her in his arms but aware of the impropriety of it with Sarah watching. “I told you the truth! Mrs. Brandt isn’t my wife or my fiancée either! Don’t cry, please. There’s no reason to cry. Mrs. Brandt is only a friend of mine, and she came here to help you.”