“She was the sweetest child,” Mrs. Linton said so softly that Sarah could hardly hear her. “But slow. Slower than most to do everything—walking and talking. She was almost three before she said more than a few words.”
“We thought it was our fault,” her husband explained. “We thought we must have spoiled her or made things too easy.”
“But after a while we had to accept the truth,” Mrs. Linton said, absently dabbing at a tear that had escaped to run down her cheek. “She never really learned to read properly, and sums are beyond her.”
“She sews beautifully,” Mr. Linton added defensively, as if to say she wasn’t completely worthless.
“Oh, yes, she’s good with her hands. She can draw, too. But we had to take her out of school very early. Since then, she’s led a very sheltered life.”
“We aren’t ashamed of her,” Mr. Linton hastened to explain. “But people can be cruel. We never wanted her to be unhappy, you see, so we kept her at home.”
Sarah knew only too well how people would have shunned a girl who was judged simpleminded or “touched in the head.” She thought of Brian Malloy, the son of her friend Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy. He had been judged simpleminded, too, and kept secreted away so no one could make fun of him. “I’m sure you did the best you could to protect her,” she said.
“Yes, we did,” Mrs. Linton said, pleased that Sarah had understood so easily. “Which is why this is so difficult . . .” Once again she looked down and twisted the handkerchief until Sarah thought it would tear.
“You believe your daughter is with child?” Sarah guessed, trying to help them by saying what they could not bring themselves to admit.
“We aren’t sure,” Mrs. Linton said at the same instant Mr. Linton said, “It’s impossible!”
They exchanged a glance, and Mr. Linton silently agreed to allow his wife to explain.
“As my husband said, it’s impossible, and yet . . . Well, our maid, Barbara, came to me a few days ago to tell me that Grace hasn’t had her . . .” She glanced at her husband apologetically, “her monthly flux in several months. At least four, she thought.”
“That isn’t unusual for young girls,” Sarah said, thinking she could probably put their minds at ease if this was their only cause for concern.
“I knew it,” Mr. Linton said almost hopefully.
“There’s more,” Mrs. Linton said, ignoring him. “Barbara wasn’t concerned at first, either, but then she noticed that Grace is . . . is plumper. Not that she’s getting fat, precisely, but that her stomach is noticeably larger. And so is her . . . her bosom. Grace’s clothes no longer fit her properly.”
“She’s probably still growing,” Mr. Linton insisted, but Sarah could hear the thin thread of fear beneath the words.
“She isn’t growing anywhere else,” Mrs. Linton said, holding her composure with difficulty.
Sarah’s mind was spinning, trying to think of a logical explanation that would reassure these people. “You said you’ve kept her at home,” she tried. A pregnancy would require a male contribution. Where could that have come from?
“Not literally,” Mrs. Linton said. “She goes to church, and I take her visiting with me to close friends who . . . who know her and are kind.”
“But she’s never alone when she’s away from the house,” Mr. Linton insisted. “How could this have happened? As I keep saying, it’s impossible!”
Sarah had to agree, it seemed so. “Perhaps there’s another explanation for Grace’s symptoms,” Sarah said, although the other explanations weren’t likely to be simple or even necessarily good. Ailments that simulated pregnancy were often fatal, even to young girls like Grace. “Have you taken her to a doctor?”
“Of course not,” Mr. Linton said, outraged.
Mrs. Linton gave him a warning look that silenced him again. “We couldn’t allow Grace to be examined by a man. She’s a very sensitive girl, and if . . . if she is with child, that means someone . . . someone . . .”
“It means some man violated my little girl,” Mr. Linton cried, near tears himself.
Mrs. Linton pressed her handkerchief to her lips to stifle a sob, and Mr. Linton covered his face with both hands.
“Of course,” Sarah said in her most professional voice, knowing full well that the least trace of sympathy would completely undo both of them. “You’re absolutely right not to take her to a doctor. If you like, I can examine Grace and see if I can determine her condition. I may be able to put your minds at ease completely. Considering the circumstances, it does seem very unlikely that Grace could be with child.” She didn’t promise that they would have nothing to worry about. The symptoms still concerned Sarah, but perhaps it really was nothing, as Mr. Linton had insisted.
For the first time, Mrs. Linton smiled. It was a sad thing to behold because it was so full of desperate hope, but Sarah smiled back. “Thank you, Mrs. Brandt. Mrs. Simpson spoke so highly of you and the care you gave her when her last child was born. I just knew you’d be the right one to help us. How would you like to proceed?”
“Why don’t you introduce me to Grace and let us get acquainted a bit first. Then you can explain to her that I’m a nurse, and you’ve asked me to check her to make sure she’s healthy or something. Will she believe that?”
“She’ll believe most anything her mother tells her,” Mr. Linton said unhappily.
“I’ve never lied to her,” Mrs. Linton said. “She’ll trust me.”
“Good,” Sarah said. “May I meet Grace?”
DETECTIVE SERGEANT FRANK MALLOY THANKED THE elevator operator when he opened the door to let him out on the seventh floor of the office building on Fifth Avenue. He’d been here before, and the only thing that would have brought him back was a summons from one of the most powerful men in the city.
Nothing had changed here in the months since his last visit. The same middle-aged man, sitting behind the same desk, looked up when the elevator door opened, and he said, “Detective Sergeant Malloy, Mr. Decker is expecting you. Please have a seat while I see if he’s available.”
As the secretary disappeared into the inner office, Frank sat down to wait. Ever since he’d received the summons from Decker yesterday at Police Headquarters, he’d been trying to decide why Decker wanted to see him. The last time he’d been here, Decker had given him information that helped him solve the murder of one of Decker’s oldest friends. He’d also made it clear at that visit that he didn’t approve of Frank’s friendship with his daughter, Sarah Brandt. Of course, Frank had only seen her once since the case had been solved, when she’d brought that little girl from the mission over to visit his son Brian. Frank had been careful since then to avoid Mrs. Brandt, so he didn’t think Decker had called him in to warn him about seeing her. But what else could it be? Unless he’d found out how his wife had helped Frank and Sarah investigate that murder. Frank winced at the thought.
To Frank’s surprise, Decker didn’t keep him waiting, although he didn’t rise and offer to shake hands this time, either, when the secretary escorted him into the large, airy office. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Malloy,” he said. “Please have a seat.”
Frank chose one of the comfortably worn leather chairs that sat in front of Decker’s large desk. Decker was an imposing man, tall and handsome with the blond hair and blue eyes of his Dutch ancestors who had settled New York City. His expression said he was used to being obeyed and expected his will to be done. Frank hoped he wouldn’t have to disappoint him.
“You’re probably wondering why I sent for you,” Decker said and didn’t wait for an answer. “First of all, I want to tell you how much I appreciate your discretion in handling the Van Dyke case.”
This time Decker did pause, but Frank had nothing to say to this. He hadn’t been discreet for Decker’s benefit. He waited.
Something flickered in Decker’s eyes but was gone before Frank could identify the emotion. He allowed a few more seconds to tick off the clock before he said, “Are you s
till investigating Tom Brandt’s death?”
This wasn’t what Frank had expected, and he wasn’t sure what answer Decker was looking for. “As you pointed out the last time I was here, it’s an old case, and there isn’t too much evidence.” Sarah’s husband had been murdered nearly four years ago. Frank had once imagined he could find Dr. Brandt’s killer and bring Sarah some peace, but what he’d learned since had given him second thoughts.
“You said you had a witness, someone who saw the killer,” Decker reminded him.
“He saw a well-dressed, middle-aged man,” Frank reminded him. “That isn’t much to go on.”
“You said the man mentioned my name that night,” Decker reminded him. “He must be someone who knows me.”
“Lots of people know you, Mr. Decker. That doesn’t mean you know him.”
“But what if I do? What if I can help you find him and bring him to justice?”
Frank didn’t trust him. The last time they’d discussed Brandt’s murder, Decker had been adamant he didn’t want it solved. “If you know who the killer is, why don’t you tell your friend Mr. Roosevelt?” Teddy Roosevelt was, for the time being at least, one of the Police Commissioners, although rumors swirled that newly elected President McKinley was going to appoint him to some federal government job as soon as he was inaugurated in March.
“Because I don’t know who the killer is, not yet anyway. I have some information that might help you find him, though.”
“I thought you didn’t want to find him,” Frank said. “You were afraid it would hurt your daughter if she knew what kind of a man her husband was.”
Decker’s finely boned face darkened with an emotion that might have been anger, and Frank expected him to unleash it on him. He probably wasn’t used to being thwarted.
Instead, Decker simply waited a moment until he had full control of himself again. “Hurting her might also free her from the memory of a man who wasn’t worthy of her.”
Frank felt the sting of the silent rebuke. Decker wouldn’t think Frank worthy of Sarah, either. That was at least one thing they could agree on, although Frank wasn’t going to admit it. “Brandt has been dead a long time. She seems pretty free of his memory already.”
“She still feels obligated to continue his work,” Decker said with distaste. “As long as she regards him as a saintly figure who was ministering to the poor, she’ll continue in this ridiculous quest of hers to save the world.”
“What do you expect her to do if she finds out he wasn’t a saint?”
Plainly, Decker considered this none of his business, but he needed Frank’s help. “She will leave this midwife nonsense and take her rightful place in society again.”
Frank doubted that Sarah would do any such thing, no matter what she found out about Tom Brandt, but he also knew he wasn’t going to convince Decker. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“I want Brandt’s killer found and the truth of his death revealed. I’m prepared to tell you everything I know about him. Combined with the information you already have, you may be able to solve his murder. I’m also prepared to pay you handsomely . . . to cover your expenses,” he added tactfully when Frank visibly flinched.
They both knew the police only solved cases that involved “rewards,” mostly because they needed the money, so this was a logical offer. Frank resented it all the same. He could feel his face burning with a combination of fury and shame. “It wasn’t my case.”
“I could ask Commissioner Roosevelt to assign it to you.”
“Mr. Decker,” Frank said, gritting his teeth to keep from raising his voice, “the last time I was here, I wanted to solve Dr. Brandt’s murder because I thought it would give his widow some peace. You didn’t want it solved because she would find out he wasn’t the man she thought he was. It looks like we’ve both changed our minds, and now you’re willing to hurt her, but I won’t.”
Decker raised his fair eyebrows in feigned surprise. “But Mr. Malloy, freeing Sarah from Tom Brandt’s memory will surely be to your advantage.”
Frank felt the rage boiling up inside of him, but he could hold his temper as well as Felix Decker. “Why would you want to give me an advantage with her?”
“I don’t, of course, but I assumed you would.”
Frank stared at Decker, trying in vain to read the expression in his eyes. He was very good indeed. “Hire a Pinkerton detective and give him your information, Mr. Decker. He’ll have a much better chance at finding the killer than I would, because he’ll have a lot more time to work on it.”
“But you have the witness,” Decker reminded him.
“He only saw the man once, and that was four years ago.” Frank didn’t mention that his witness might also be difficult to locate and reluctant to cooperate if they did find him.
“But if I find the man who did it?”
“I’ll see if the witness can identify him. The police are always willing to help solve a crime,” he added acidly.
“That’s good to know,” Decker replied with just a hint of sarcasm.
SARAH AND MRS. LINTON FOUND GRACE IN THE NURSERY, a large room that had served as her playroom for her entire life. She sat on the floor having a tea party for several dolls that were seated in chairs around a small table. The dolls had obviously been well-loved for many years, and their relatively new dresses could not disguise their worn condition. Grace was serving them tea in miniature china cups from a miniature china pot. She looked up and smiled when the two women entered.
“Mama,” she said with pleasure and scrambled to her feet. She was delicately made, like her mother, and slender as a reed except for a small bulge in her belly and the budding breasts stretching the fabric of her dress. She wasn’t strikingly pretty, but her bright blue eyes glowed with a guileless joy that made her a delight to behold. She wore her corn-silk hair down in curls and her skirts short, as if she were still young enough to play with dolls, and Sarah would have guessed her age at closer to twelve than seventeen.
“We have a visitor, Grace,” Mrs. Linton explained. “Mrs. Brandt, this is my daughter Grace.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brandt,” Grace said brightly, proud of her good manners.
“I’m pleased to meet you, too, Grace. Would you let me join your tea party?”
“Do you really want to?” the girl asked in delight. “That would be fun!”
Grace led her over to the table. “You’ll have to sit on the floor,” she explained very seriously, “because you’re too big to sit on the chairs. I tried it once, and the chair broke. Papa had to fix it.”
“I’ll be happy to sit on the floor,” Sarah said, gathering her skirts and settling down near the table.
Grace took another cup and saucer from a box nearby and placed them on the table. Then she carefully poured some water from the pot into the cup, concentrating intently, her tongue sticking out from between her teeth from the effort, so she wouldn’t spill a drop. “It’s not really tea,” Grace confided when she’d finished. “Tea can stain your clothes, so we just pretend.”
“I like to pretend,” Sarah said, taking the offered cup and pretending to drink. “What are your dolls’ names?”
Grace introduced her to the group and added, “I’m glad you came today. You’re very nice.”
“Mrs. Brandt is a nurse,” Mrs. Linton said. She’d taken a seat nearby to observe them.
“I had a nurse when I was little,” Grace informed her. “Do you take care of a little girl, too?”
“No, I’m a different kind of nurse,” Sarah said.
“Mrs. Brandt takes care of sick people. She’s the kind of nurse who helps doctors,” Mrs. Linton explained patiently. “Do you remember when Mrs. York was sick?”
“Oh, yes,” Grace said proudly. “She’s my friend Percy’s mother,” she explained to Sarah. “When her husband died, she got sick, and the doctor had to come and give her medicine, and then a lady took care of her for a while.”
“That lady
was a nurse, Grace,” her mother said.
Grace looked at Sarah, then turned to her mother with a worried frown. “Are you sick, Mama?”
“Oh, no, dear. Mrs. Brandt is here to see you.”
Now Grace was more confused. “I’m not sick. Why do I need a nurse?”
Mrs. Linton opened her mouth, but she couldn’t think of a logical explanation, and quickly closed it again, casting Sarah a desperate glance.
“Sometimes nurses visit people who aren’t sick,” Sarah said. “One thing I do is help people keep from getting sick. Your parents asked me to visit you, to make sure you stay healthy.”
“I don’t want to be sick,” Grace said. “I don’t like it.”
“I know you don’t, dear, so I know you’ll talk to Mrs. Brandt and answer her questions and let her examine you.”
“What does ‘examine’ mean?” she asked suspiciously.
“I’ll look in your eyes and your ears and your mouth and listen to your heart and . . . Well, why don’t I just show you?”
“Will it hurt?”
“Absolutely not.” Sarah glanced at the dolls sitting primly in their tiny chairs. “You can even bring one of your babies along. I’ll show you what I’m going to do on the baby first, before I do it to you.”
“Can Mama be there?”
“Of course.”
“We can do it in my bedroom,” Mrs. Linton said. “You like being in there, don’t you, Grace?”
“Yes, I do. Mama’s room is very pretty,” Grace told Sarah as she rose. “It’s my very favorite place.”
A short time later, Sarah had looked in Grace’s eyes and ears and throat, taken her pulse, and demonstrated the stethoscope with which she would listen to Grace’s heart.
“Would you unbutton your bodice for me, Grace?” Sarah asked. She could’ve listened through Grace’s clothing, but she wanted to see the girl’s breasts. Changes in them would tell her almost certainly if Grace were pregnant.
“Mama says it isn’t proper to take your clothes off in front of other people,” Grace said. “Except Barbara, of course, because she helps me get dressed.”
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