“But he shouldn’t go to trial at all!” Sarah fairly shouted. “He didn’t kill her!”
Prescott opened his mouth, no doubt intending to say something even more infuriating, but Malloy interrupted him.
“Anna Blake was not expecting a child,” he said.
“She wasn’t? How do you know?” Prescott asked in amazement.
“The coroner told me, and he should know. She was only pretending to be distraught about her condition, but that was pretty easy for her, because she also happened to be an actress.”
Sarah wanted to slap him. Why was he telling this traitorous reporter anything at all, much less information they’d gathered with such difficulty?
“An actress?” Prescott repeated, pulling a notebook out of his pocket. He snatched the pencil from behind his ear and had to remove his hat and tuck it under his arm because he no longer had a free hand with which to hold it while he wrote. “Where did she perform?”
“I don’t know. That’s up to you to find out, but it shouldn’t be too hard. You probably have a lot of friends in the theater.”
“Was Anna Blake her stage name?” Prescott asked, scribbling furiously in his notebook.
“That’s something else you’ll have to find out on your own.”
“How did you discover that she was an actress?” Prescott asked.
“I’m a detective,” Malloy reminded him with only a trace of irony. “Finding things out is my job.”
“What else do you know about her that you’re not telling?” Prescott asked, including Sarah in the inquiry.
She almost told him what she thought of his cheekiness, but Malloy grabbed her elbow in a bruising grip to silence her.
“I know I’m going to start telling any other reporters who ask me everything I just told you, so if you want to scoop them, you’d better get busy.”
Prescott’s pink face split into a triumphant grin. “Thanks, Malloy. Mrs. Brandt,” he added with another quick tip of his hat as he placed it back on his head, and he vanished into the crowd of people leaning against the wind while they waited to cross the street.
“Why did you tell him about Anna being an actress?” Sarah demanded, now almost as angry with Malloy as she was with Prescott.
“To get rid of him. We don’t want him following us around. He might tip off the real killer once we start getting closer. And if he and the rest of the press are nosing around the theaters, they won’t be bothering the Ellsworths.”
“But what if Anna’s killer is someone she knew at the theater?” Sarah asked indignantly.
“Then maybe he’ll get frightened and make a mistake, and I’ll catch him. But chances are it was somebody from Anna’s present life who killed her. She was living very dangerously, after all. When you start ruining men’s lives, you make people desperate. One of those people got desperate enough to kill her.”
Suddenly, there was a break in the traffic, and Malloy fairly dragged her across the street, somehow managing to dodge the piles of horse droppings that had accumulated since the street cleaners had finished their duties early that morning. When they had arrived safely on the other side, in the Square, they paused for breath, turning their backs to the wind, and Malloy released her arm. Sarah rubbed her elbow and glared at him, but he wasn’t paying attention.
“Someday somebody’s going to figure out a way to control that mess,” Malloy said, frowning back at the sweating, swearing drivers and their rigs that had once again closed ranks behind them.
“Are you going to see Giddings now?” she asked.
He gave her one of his looks. “Even God got a day off,” he repeated.
She felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you should take some time and spend it with Brian. How much longer until he gets the cast off?”
“Week after next.”
She could see the worry deep in his dark eyes. “He’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’ll go with you to the doctor’s if you’d like. And if I don’t have a delivery,” she added.
He looked uncomfortable with her offer. She supposed he wanted her to go with him but didn’t want to admit it. “Are you going home now?” he asked instead.
“For a while. I’m having supper with my parents this evening.”
He glanced up at the threatening sky. “Better leave early if you want to get there. And remind Nelson not to leave the house yet. I’ll be over to see him after I’ve talked to Giddings.”
They parted company, and Sarah again walked past the spot where Anna Blake had died. But not where she had been attacked, she reminded herself. That had happened somewhere else. She couldn’t help thinking that if she could discover where, she’d also know who the killer was.
The rain started long before Sarah was ready to go uptown, and when she had an opportunity to check the newspaper, she discovered that the storm was actually a hurricane that had moved up the coast. The winds were howling, but Sarah’s mother had sent word that their carriage would come to fetch her and that she should come prepared to stay the night if necessary. Plainly, her mother wasn’t going to let a mere act of God cheat her out of her daughter’s company!
Sarah dressed carefully for the evening. She didn’t care about trying to impress Mr. Dennis, but she didn’t want to embarrass her mother. Elizabeth Decker placed great importance on appearances, and for all Sarah knew, so did Richard Dennis. The suit she’d bought this past summer at Lord and Taylor wasn’t the height of fashion, but at least it was presentable.
When she was satisfied that she wouldn’t shame the Decker family name, Sarah wrapped herself in a cape to ward off the rain that had begun and stole over to the Ellsworths’ house for a brief word with Mrs. Ellsworth.
“What are you doing out in this weather?” the old woman scolded Sarah when she opened her back door to admit her. “And I can see you have an engagement! Is it with Mr. Malloy?”
Sarah couldn’t help smiling at the thought. “No, I’m going to visit my parents this evening.” She decided not to mention the purpose of that visit so they wouldn’t be disappointed if she wasn’t successful in saving Nelson’s job. “I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Malloy is still working hard on the case. He asked me to remind Nelson not to leave the house, and to tell you he’d be stopping by as soon as he spoke to one of the suspects tomorrow.”
“Oh, dear, I’ve had a tingling in my left eye all day today. That’s not a good sign, you know. The right eye means good fortune, but the left eye . . . Well, I don’t know how much more bad news I can bear.”
She looked as if she might weep, and Sarah wanted to offer at least some sort of comfort. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any to offer, and if Mrs. Ellsworth knew what Webster Prescott had written about Nelson lately, more than her eye would be twitching. “Just stay out of sight. You know Mr. Malloy will take care of everything,” she promised rashly. “It won’t be much longer.”
Mrs. Ellsworth let her go without any protests, which worried Sarah more than anything else. Ordinarily, the old woman liked nothing better than company, Sarah’s in particular. She only hoped that when she returned home again, she’d be able to assure the Ellsworths that Nelson’s job was secure. It wouldn’t solve all their problems, but it would remove at least one worry.
Sarah’s mother greeted her with concern. “I had no idea the storm would get so bad,” she said when Sarah entered. The maid had taken her cloak, although she was hardly wet, having spent so little time out in the rain. “I hope you’re planning to stay the night.”
“I’ll have to. I couldn’t bear to make your driver and horses go out again in this weather,” Sarah said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Dennis decides not to come out at all.”
“He’ll be here,” her father said, confident of his power to influence. He seemed pleased to see her. With her father, it wasn’t always easy to tell, but he did kiss her forehead and refrained from saying anything remotely critical during the half-hour they sat in the back parlor and chatted before
Mr. Dennis arrived. Sarah had visions of her mother lecturing him earlier today on being nice to her so she’d come back to visit more often.
Finally, and against all odds, the maid announced Mr. Dennis. Her father rose to greet him, and as soon as he entered the room, Sarah understood exactly why her parents had been so cooperative in arranging for her to meet him. Unfortunately, it had nothing at all to do with helping Nelson Ellsworth.
9
“RICHARD, MY BOY, HOW ARE YOU?” HER FATHER ASKED, shaking his hand.
Sarah didn’t like the sound of that “my boy,” especially when she saw that Dennis was just as surprised by the familiarity as she. Felix Decker was never effusive.
“We were afraid you might not make it because of the storm,” her father continued.
“I couldn’t allow you to think I was afraid of a little rain, could I?” Dennis replied. He did look amazingly dry, considering how the wind was howling outside. Sarah couldn’t help wondering how his driver had fared and if he’d agree on the assessment that they were having “a little rain.”
“How are your parents?” her father asked, escorting him into the room.
“Very well, thank you,” Mr. Dennis replied, recovering quickly. “They asked to be remembered to you both.”
While Dennis greeted her mother, Sarah studied him, taking in the details of his appearance with a growing sense of dread. When her father had referred to him as “young” Dennis, she had pictured someone barely old enough to shave. Richard Dennis, however, was at least thirty. While he couldn’t be called conventionally handsome, he was certainly appealing in a well-kept, well-bred sort of way. He carried his rather tallish figure easily beneath his tailor-made suit, and he effortlessly exchanged pleasantries with Elizabeth Decker. Sarah knew beyond the slightest doubt that Richard Dennis would prove to be what her mother considered a very eligible bachelor, which explained her parents’ willingness to help her in this matter. They had eagerly arranged this meeting in hopes of making a suitable match for Sarah.
“And this is my daughter, Mrs. Sarah Brandt,” her father was saying, turning Dennis’s attention to her.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs. Brandt,” he said with a genuine, if slightly bemused, smile, as he took her offered hand in his. “You misled me, sir,” he said, turning back to her father when he’d released Sarah’s hand. “I thought this would be a dry business discussion, and here you have provided the company of two very lovely ladies instead.”
“Oh, we will be discussing business,” Mr. Decker assured him, “but it’s Sarah who wished to consult with you, not I.”
“And my father was gracious enough to arrange for us to meet,” Sarah supplied, trying to keep any hint of annoyance out of her voice. It wasn’t Mr. Dennis’s fault that her parents wanted to find her a socially acceptable husband. “I hope you will forgive him for misleading you and indulging me.”
Now Dennis looked intrigued. “I’m rarely called upon to discuss business with charming females, Mrs. Brandt. For that alone, I would forgive him.”
Sarah would have quickly made her case for Nelson Ellsworth, but her parents weren’t accustomed to doing things hastily. Getting right down to the issue would be considered bad taste and worse manners. They’d set out to entertain Mr. Dennis, and they would. Her father offered him a drink to ward off the harrowing effects of the storm, and her mother made small talk while Sarah tried to be pleasant. Pouting wouldn’t endear her to Richard Dennis, and she needed his help desperately.
Fortunately, Sarah had spent her youth learning just how to conduct herself in social situations, and she called upon all of those skills now. After a few awkward moments, she found herself slipping naturally into the conversation. She hadn’t seen most of the people about whom they spoke for many years, but she did remember most of them.
“Surely, we must have encountered one another at dancing classes at some time or another, Mrs. Brandt,” Dennis said after a few minutes.
“Sarah is several years younger than you, Richard,” her mother explained. “She wasn’t even out yet when you married Hazel.”
Richard Dennis was married. For one second, Sarah thought she’d been horribly mistaken and that her parents hadn’t arranged this little party to introduce her to a potential husband. But then she saw the shadow pass across Richard Dennis’s finely boned face. She recognized that flash of pain, the same one she felt whenever someone mentioned Tom, and she understood why her parents had considered Richard Dennis so perfect for her.
The shadow passed quickly, however. He was accustomed to dealing with his pain, which mean he’d lost his wife some time ago. “So that explains why I don’t recall ever stepping on your toes while trying to master the waltz, Mrs. Brandt,” he said with a smile.
“I’m sure you never could have done such a thing, even in your youth, Mr. Dennis,” she replied as expected, returning his smile and pleasing her mother enormously.
The maid summoned them to supper, and Mr. Dennis offered his arm. Sarah took it and continued to smile, reminding herself that he was just as much an innocent victim here as she. She only hoped she could lead him to understand that she’d had no part in the planning of this, either. On the other hand, he might be flattered if he thought she was attracted to him or had asked to meet him. If she decided that was the best course of action, she was more than willing to flatter him to gain his cooperation.
She tried not to think how similar that would be to what Anna Blake had done to Nelson Ellsworth and Mr. Giddings.
Supper was a simple affair with fried oysters, cold chicken, Welsh rarebit, preserved fruit, stewed tomatoes, roasted potatoes, Charlotte Russe, ice cream, and cake.
As they made their way through the various courses, Mr. Dennis eventually had to express some interest in Sarah.
“I’m surprised our paths haven’t crossed as adults, Mrs. Brandt,” he said.
“We don’t keep the same society,” Sarah said with a smile. “I live down in Greenwich Village.”
He obviously found that odd but was too polite to say so. “It’s a very picturesque part of the city,” he said diplomatically.
“My husband’s work was there, and we enjoyed living in the neighborhood.”
“Sarah’s husband was a physician,” her mother hastily—and somewhat apologetically—explained. “He passed away several years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Mr. Dennis said. “I lost my wife, too. I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t have a high opinion of the medical profession as a result.” His smile was infinitely sad.
“I understand,” she said. “I also wish that medical science could do more to save lives, but even after centuries of study, we still know very little about the causes of death and disease. It’s very difficult for me in my own work that I simply can’t save everyone.”
Sarah ignored the warning look her mother was giving her. She wanted to disenchant Mr. Dennis as quickly as she could and confessing her profession seemed the simplest way to do it.
“Are you a physician as well?” he asked in disbelief.
“A midwife,” she said.
“Sarah was always independent,” her father explained, with only a hint of disapproval.
“An admirable quality,” Dennis said, skillfully concealing whatever his true feelings on the matter might be. “Your life must be very interesting.”
Sarah could have shocked him right out of his chair, but she said, “I’d be bored without my work. I need to feel I’m being useful.”
Mr. Dennis had most certainly never imagined that a woman might be bored with the life of a society matron. To give him credit, however, he seemed at least willing to consider the possibility. “But surely, you must attend only women of your own class.”
“I attend whoever needs my services,” Sarah replied. “I don’t work to amuse myself, Mr. Dennis. I work to make my own living.”
He looked at her as if she were an entirely new kind of creature, but amazingly, she saw no disgu
st, or even disapproval, in his light eyes. “Hazel, my wife, she sometimes visited a Settlement House on the Lower East Side. I thought she did it because it was fashionable among her friends to play Lady Bountiful to the poor.”
“The Settlement Houses provide valuable services to the women and children in that part of the city,” Sarah said. “Your wife was also helping save lives, in her own way,” she added generously, without any real knowledge of what actual services Mrs. Dennis might have performed.
Sarah’s parents were listening to this conversation with growing discomfort. They knew such things weren’t suitable topics for discussion at table or between members of the opposite sex at any time. On the other hand, Mr. Dennis didn’t seem shocked or even put off by Sarah’s unorthodox vocation or her outspoken opinions. They hardly knew what to think.
But Sarah’s mother couldn’t abide any more of this. “How did your parents enjoy their trip to Europe this summer?” she asked Mr. Dennis, effectively changing the subject for the remainder of the meal.
When the ladies withdrew so the men could smoke their cigars, Sarah steeled herself for her mother’s indignation.
“Really, Sarah, must you inform everyone you meet that you are employed as a midwife? Some people might find that distasteful,” she said when they were alone.
“I’m not ashamed of my life, Mother, and I hope you aren’t ashamed of me.”
Her mother frowned, not pleased by Sarah’s attempt to make her feel guilty. “It’s not a matter of shame. It’s a matter of good taste. I thought you wanted Richard’s help for your friend. He’s much more likely to help you if you excite his chivalrous feelings.”
“Instead of putting him off with my independence?” she asked with just a trace of irony.
Somehow her mother managed to resist the temptation to argue with her. “I’m simply reminding you that men like to feel superior to women. If we let them believe we are helpless, they will gladly do whatever we require of them and consider themselves honored to have been of service.”
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