Murder on Washington Square

by Victoria Thompson

  “No, then I was going to give you some important information about the case.”

  Malloy rubbed the bridge of his nose as if his head was hurting him. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Well, I guess there’s only one way to get you out of here. Do you think you could escort Nelson Ellsworth safely home?”

  Sarah gaped at him. “Home? Are they going to let him go?”

  “For now. And I’m coming with you. Mr. Ellsworth has a lot of questions to answer, and from the look of things, so do you.”

  “You know I’ll do anything I can to help you, Malloy,” Sarah said with as much gratitude as she could muster.

  “Yeah,” he said grimly. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  3

  MAKING THEIR ESCAPE FROM POLICE HEADQUARTERS was far easier than getting in had been for Sarah. Malloy brought Nelson up from the basement where he’d been held since being picked up from his job at the bank. He looked a little worse for wear, but at least he didn’t seem to be bloody or bruised. Malloy led them both to a back door that opened into an alley. Cabs wouldn’t normally be cruising in this neighborhood looking for potential customers, and they couldn’t risk drawing attention to themselves at any rate, so they started out on foot.

  Walking as quickly as Sarah’s skirts would allow, they made their way over to Broadway, where they were soon lost in the crowds of people heading home for their evening meals.

  Only then did Sarah begin to feel safe.

  “How are you?” she asked Nelson when they had reached the corner of Fourth Street and turned toward Washington Square. Now that she had a chance to look at him more closely, she could see that he looked terrible. His face was pale and his tie was askew. He had a streak of dirt on the sleeve of his suit coat, and his eyes were haunted.

  “Anna is dead,” he said, as if that were his only concern.

  “I know, Nelson,” she said kindly, realizing that he was in no condition to discuss this on a public street. She glanced at Malloy, who frowned and shook his head slightly, warning her against saying more.

  None of them spoke again until they’d reached the northeast corner of the Square, where the hanging tree stood. Nelson’s steps slowed, and he stopped completely when they came abreast of the tree.

  “They said they found her there,” he said, gazing at the ground at the foot of the tree. There was no indication someone had died on the spot only a few hours ago. “But what was she doing here in the middle of the night?”

  Sarah looked at Malloy, expecting to see some sign that he recognized this wasn’t the reaction of a guilty man. Instead, she saw that his expression was closed, betraying none of his own opinions.

  “Come on, Ellsworth,” he said. “We need to get you off the street before some of those reporters catch up with us.”

  Nelson acted as if he didn’t even hear Malloy, so Sarah took his arm. “Nelson, your mother will be worried about you. Come along, now.”

  Reluctantly, he allowed Sarah to urge him on his way again. They were now well within a neighborhood where they could have found a cab, but Sarah realized they’d be home sooner if they kept walking. In a cab they would be captives of the traffic that clogged every intersection and often moved at a snail’s pace. Besides, she thought the exercise was probably good for Nelson. If he sat down for a moment, he might fall apart.

  They were almost to Bank Street when Sarah remembered Webster Prescott. “A reporter came to Nelson’s house,” she told Malloy. “That’s how I found out about the murder. There might be more waiting there by now.”

  Malloy nodded. “We’d better go down the alley then. We can go into your house. They won’t expect to find him there.”

  Sarah led the two men into her small rear garden. The flowers were all dead now, but the remaining greenery gave an air of sanctuary to the place. Sarah glanced over the fence to the Ellsworths’ house, hoping Mrs. Ellsworth might be looking out and see them, but all the curtains were tightly drawn. The trio made their way up to her back door. Once inside, she helped Malloy seat Nelson at her kitchen table, then hurried to the front room of the house to peek out at the street. Just as she’d suspected, several men stood on the sidewalk in front of the Ellsworth house, waiting and talking among themselves. At least Mrs. Ellsworth had managed to hold them at bay while Sarah was gone. The poor woman must be nearly frantic by now.

  She turned to find Malloy had followed her. “I’ve got to go over and tell Mrs. Ellsworth that Nelson is here and safe.”

  “You can’t go over there. Those reporters will eat you alive.”

  Sarah couldn’t help but smile at the image. “I managed to get through a whole crowd of them on Mulberry Street,” she reminded him.

  “They didn’t know who you were.”

  “Well, I’ve got to tell Mrs. Ellsworth everything is all right, and I don’t want to go sneaking around the back. If those reporters see me, they’ll surround the place, and we’ll never get Nelson out of here. Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

  Malloy made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a groan.

  Frank gave a brief thought to tying Sarah Brandt up. That was probably the only way to keep her from causing trouble. On the other hand, the prospect of having her accosted by a bunch of rabid reporters was enormously entertaining. Of course, there weren’t many reporters out there, only five or six. They’d probably get the worst of it, and Frank certainly had no love for the boys from Newspaper Row. Maybe he should let her go.

  Mrs. Brandt was pulling a lethal-looking pin from her hat and then removed the hat itself. She set it on the desk and hurried back to the kitchen. Frank followed more slowly, and by the time he got there, she’d taken off her jacket and was tying on an apron. At least she’d come to her senses.

  “Can you fix something to eat? Ellsworth hasn’t had anything all day, and I don’t want him fainting on me,” he said.

  She gave him one of her looks. “I’ll take care of it when I get back. Meanwhile”—she reached into the cupboard and pulled out what looked like a bottle of whiskey—“give him a shot of this.”

  It was whiskey, he realized as he took the bottle from her, and by the time that registered, she’d grabbed a teacup and was heading back to the front room. “Where are you going?”

  “To borrow a cup of sugar from my next-door neighbor,” she called back over her shoulder.

  She was out the front door before he could stop her, and when he peeked out the front window, he saw her acting very surprised and indignant at the reporters who instantly converged on her with their questions. It took her only a minute to break away from them and make it up to Mrs. Ellsworth’s front door. In another moment, she was inside. Frank shook his head in admiration. Of course, she’d have to get back again, and that might not be so easy.

  Still holding the bottle of whiskey, Frank returned to the kitchen, where he found Nelson Ellsworth still sitting exactly where he’d left him. He’d better start paying attention to his prisoner. If Ellsworth decided to escape while Frank was busy dealing with Sarah Brandt, he’d never hear the end of it. Taking Mrs. Brandt’s advice, he grabbed a glass off the shelf and poured Ellsworth two fingers’ worth.

  “Here,” he said, thrusting it into Ellsworth’s hand. “Drink it down. You’ll feel better.”

  Ellsworth looked at the glass as if he’d never seen one before. “I don’t drink spirits,” he said faintly.

  “This is the perfect time to start.”

  Ellsworth proved him wrong. He obediently, if gingerly, took a swig of the amber liquid and immediately began to choke. Frank saved him from spilling the rest of the liquor down the front of his suit and pounded him on the back until he stopped coughing.

  When he’d caught his breath, he looked up accusingly with red-rimmed eyes.

  “See, I told you you’d feel better,” Frank said unrepentantly and sat down at the table across from him. “All right, Ellsworth, tell me about Anna Blake.”

  Nelson reached up and rubbed his eyes w
ith his thumb and forefinger. “I can’t believe she’s dead,” he said hoarsely.

  “Believe it. Now talk to me. How did you meet her?”

  He looked like he was going to start crying. “I can’t—”

  “Yes, you can, because I’m the only hope you’ve got, Nelson. I promised Broughan that if he let me take you home, I’d find out who really killed the girl,” he said, naming the detective who’d been assigned to solve Anna Blake’s murder. “If you don’t help me, then I’ll have to turn you back over to him, and you don’t want that. See, Broughan is a lazy drunk, and he’d rather lock up an innocent man than find the guilty one if it means he’s going to have to exert himself. You’re real easy to catch, and I don’t think he’d be able to resist the temptation. If you don’t help me, I can’t help you. Now start talking.”

  Ellsworth had gone chalk white, but he reached for the glass of whiskey and took another swallow. This time he didn’t choke, although it was a near thing. “All right,” he said, clearing his throat. “I met her when she came into the bank . . .”

  Sarah’s plan to get into the Ellsworth house was perfect, she realized, unless Webster Prescott was one of the reporters. He’d know she wasn’t just an innocent neighbor coming over to borrow a cup of sugar. Fortunately, he wasn’t among the men who surrounded her the instant she started next door.

  “Hey, miss—”

  “Who are you?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Do you know Nelson Ellsworth?”

  The questions came simultaneously, so Sarah didn’t have to feign confusion. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” she demanded with an outrage that wasn’t the least feigned.

  A chorus of voices answered her, naming the Sun, the Commercial Advertiser, the Evening Post, the Mail and Express, the Daily Graphic, the Herald, the Examiner, and even the Times, virtually all of the newspapers being published in the city. If one of them was, like Webster Prescott, from the World, she didn’t hear.

  “I only read the News,” she said haughtily, naming the penny scandal sheet that circulated mainly in the tenements, and tried to force her way past them.

  She got a few steps farther when someone called, “Nelson Ellsworth killed a woman last night. What do you have to say about that?”

  Sarah gave him her most withering glare. “I say that’s preposterous! Now get out of my way before I start screaming. I assure you there are many people on this street who will immediately come to my rescue.”

  She didn’t know if it was her tone or her threat that moved them, but they let her pass, although they kept close, hovering at the foot of the porch steps. Sarah pounded on the front door and called, “Mrs. Ellsworth, it’s Sarah! Let me in!”

  The door opened almost instantly, telling Sarah that her neighbor had witnessed her approach. By the time she had slipped inside and Mrs. Ellsworth had slammed the door shut, the reporters were on the porch, screaming their questions. The old woman drove home the bolt an instant before they started pounding on the door.

  Mrs. Ellsworth looked as if she were ready to collapse, and Sarah took her arm and led her through the house to the kitchen in the rear, as far from the front door as they could get. The pounding lasted only another minute or two before the reporters gave up and went back to their vigil. They probably thought they’d lie in wait for Sarah to come out again. She’d worry about that later.

  “Nelson?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked weakly when Sarah had seated her at her kitchen table.

  “He’s sitting at my kitchen table at this very moment. Malloy is with him.”

  She covered her face with both hands. “Thank God! I’ve been so frightened. I should have known Mr. Malloy would help us, though. He’ll straighten everything out.” Then she dropped her hands and turned her moist gaze to Sarah. “Why didn’t you bring him here, though?”

  “Because of the reporters,” Sarah said. “We came in the back door so they wouldn’t see us. We’ll bring him over when it gets dark,” she added rashly. She’d have to get Malloy to agree to that first, but what other choice did he have? The two men could hardly stay at her house all night. Of course, Malloy might also decide to lock Nelson up again.

  “How could this have happened?” Mrs. Ellsworth was saying. “Nelson doesn’t even know this woman—what was her name?”

  “Anna Blake,” Sarah supplied, “and I’m afraid he did know her, very well, in fact.”

  “That’s impossible! He never said a thing to me!” she insisted. “I know all of Nelson’s friends.”

  “I don’t know why he didn’t introduce her to you,” Sarah said, although she had a very good idea. “But I met her.”

  “You? Why?” Mrs. Ellsworth was obviously overwhelmed by all of this and now she was also offended by what Sarah was telling her.

  “You’ll have to discuss that with Nelson. He asked for my . . . discretion.”

  “He didn’t want me to know about her?” The old woman was incredulous. “What kind of a woman was she?”

  “The kind who gets murdered in Washington Square in the middle of the night,” Sarah said baldly.

  “Oh, my poor Nelson!” she wailed. “What has he done?”

  Sarah wished she could answer “nothing,” but instead she took the old woman in her arms and offered what comfort she could.

  “So when Anna told me about . . . about the child . . . I . . . I . . .”

  Frank signed impatiently. Nelson was making the whole sordid story even worse with his delicacy. He wasn’t sure why Nelson should care about protecting Anna Blake’s good name now that she was dead, but he supposed that’s what a gentleman might do.

  “What did you do?” he prompted with more patience than he felt.

  “I . . . You aren’t going to like this part,” he warned nervously.

  Frank hadn’t liked any of it so far. Ellsworth had pretty much given him more than enough reason to suspect him of murdering Anna Blake. Broughan would’ve had him locked in a cell down at The Tombs by now. “Tell me anyway,” he said, not bothering to sound patient.

  “I . . . Well, naturally, when Anna told me there might be a child, I . . . I went to Mrs. Brandt.”

  “You what?” Frank nearly shouted.

  Ellsworth flinched. “She’s a midwife,” he reminded Frank unnecessarily. “I thought . . . Well, Anna was an innocent girl. How could she be sure? I don’t know much about these things, but I do know . . . I mean, I’ve heard my friends talk. The ones who are married. Sometimes a woman thinks . . . but then she finds out she’s wrong. I would’ve married her either way, of course,” he added hastily, “but she was so frightened. And she had this idea that she wasn’t good enough for me, or at least that’s what she said. I know, it doesn’t make any sense,” he said to Frank’s skepticism, “but I thought maybe she just couldn’t stand the thought of being married to a man like me. I’m not very exciting or romantic. Not at all the sort of man a young woman would be interested in.”

  Frank was hardly listening to his protests because something suddenly didn’t make any sense at all. “She didn’t want to marry you? Even after you’d seduced her?”

  A pained expression twisted his face. “I can’t blame her, of course, and as much as I would have gladly taken her as my wife, I didn’t want to force her. If she married me and then found out there wasn’t a . . . a necessity for it, well, she’d hate me, don’t you think? How could I live with myself?”

  “So you told Mrs. Brandt your problem. What did she do?” Frank prodded, hoping that if he heard more, the story would start to make sense again.

  “She accompanied me to Anna’s rooming house. I thought perhaps she could . . . well, make sure of Anna’s condition.”

  Ellsworth was right. Frank really didn’t like this part. “And did she?”

  “She didn’t have a chance. Anna was terribly upset when I introduced her. She thought . . .”

  “She thought what?” Frank was very much afraid he was going to have to get rough with
Ellsworth after all, just to hurry things along.

  “I know this will sound ridiculous to you, but Anna thought that Mrs. Brandt and I were . . . romantically involved.”

  Frank did think it sounded ridiculous. “Why would she think that?”

  “I told you, she’s very innocent,” Nelson said, unconsciously using the present tense. “She couldn’t imagine any other reason why another woman would have accompanied me there. And nothing I said would reassure her, so Mrs. Brandt didn’t get to speak with her at all.”

  “If this woman didn’t marry you, what was she going to do?” Frank asked, wondering if Sarah Brandt had been as suspicious of this story as Frank was becoming.

  “She . . . well, you understand her parents were dead. Her mother had just passed away, of course, and she had no one to turn to.”

  Which was a very good reason to marry someone like Nelson, who had a steady job and a comfortable income. And an even better reason to trick him into marriage with an imaginary pregnancy, if necessary. “She had you to turn to,” Frank reminded him.

  “She was an honorable woman, Mr. Malloy,” Nelson said defensively. “She felt unworthy, after what had happened between us. She was even too embarrassed to meet my mother. She just wanted to go away where no one knew her.”

  “So she and the baby could starve to death?” Frank suggested curiously.

  A scarlet flush flooded Nelson’s face. “I would have helped her financially, of course. In fact, that’s all she wanted of me. I told you she was honorable.”

  Or crazy, Frank thought. Why take money to raise an illegitimate child alone when you could be married? What was wrong with the woman? Could she possibly have been so stupid? He’d have to find out more about this Anna Blake. Maybe when he had, he’d be able to make sense of this. Meanwhile, he’d break one of his cardinal rules and have a taste of Sarah Brandt’s whiskey. After this, he’d earned it.

  He and Nelson sat in silence for what seemed a long time until they heard a commotion at the front door.