“Mrs. Burke told me she’s been doing it since she was a child. It’s something you’re born with, she said.”
“Really?” Sarah couldn’t imagine a child suddenly realizing she could commune with spirits. “That’s amazing.”
“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Decker agreed vaguely. She was looking out the window again, thinking.
Sarah didn’t want her thinking about the séance anymore, but she knew better than to say so. She was wracking her brain for a neutral topic when the carriage came to a stop, and Sarah realized they were in front of her house. “You’re coming in for a while, aren’t you?” Sarah asked. “I told Catherine you would.”
“Oh, dear, I’m sorry, Sarah, but I just can’t. I’m . . . Well, I’m as exhausted as Madame Serafina, I’m afraid. Tell her I’ll come tomorrow and bring her something nice.”
“Perhaps that’s best. You do look worn out. Try to get some rest and put all of this behind you,” Sarah advised.
Mrs. Decker managed a small smile. “Of course I will. Thank you again for coming with me, my dear. I can’t imagine how I would have managed without you.”
“I’m glad you asked me. Get some rest now, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sarah said as the coachman opened the door.
Catherine was disappointed when Mrs. Decker didn’t come in for a visit, but Sarah’s promise that she would come tomorrow and bring a present mollified her a bit. Their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Ellsworth, had spend the morning with the girls, making cookies, and Sarah had to taste them. Eventually, Maeve took Catherine upstairs to play, leaving the two women alone in the kitchen, lingering over their coffee.
“Maeve tells me you went to a séance this morning,” Mrs. Ellsworth said casually, but she didn’t fool Sarah one bit. Mrs. Ellsworth had been the foremost authority on everyone else’s business since long before Sarah had moved to Bank Street. She’d spent many years of her life sweeping her front steps so she could keep her eye on everyone’s comings and goings, and nothing was too insignificant to escape her notice. Her keen observations had saved Sarah from disaster more than once, so she had long since forgiven her for being perhaps a bit too interested in Sarah’s business. And since Sarah had taken Catherine to live with her, Mrs. Ellsworth had proven herself more than a good friend to all of them, turning her full energies to teaching the girls housewifely skills instead of minding other people’s business.
“Have you ever been to a séance?” Sarah asked her.
“Heavens, no!” she exclaimed, surprising Sarah.
“Really? I would have thought . . .” She let her voice trail off awkwardly.
“Because I’m superstitious?” Mrs. Ellsworth guessed slyly. Her superstitions were legendary. “There’s a big difference between throwing salt over your shoulder and talking to the dead.”
“I guess you’re right,” Sarah admitted a bit sheepishly.
“What was it like?” she asked, leaning forward eagerly. “I’ve always wondered.”
Where to begin? “I know it’s all fake, of course, but—”
“Are you sure?” Mrs. Ellsworth challenged, quite seriously.
“Of course it is. Nobody can talk to the dead.”
“Are you sure?” she repeated. “I’ve heard stories from people . . . regular people, not the ones who set themselves up in business, mind you, but people like us. An old friend of mine, her mother who’d been dead more than twenty years appeared one day and warned her that her daughter was involved with a terrible man. She was, too. My friend put a stop to it just in time.”
“I know things sometimes happen that we can’t explain,” Sarah said. “But your friend didn’t try to contact her mother, did she? She didn’t sit down in a dark room with a bunch of strangers and try to summon her spirit.”
Mrs. Ellsworth tapped her upper lip with her finger thoughtfully. “It does sound odd when you say it like that.”
“It was more than odd, I assure you.” She told Mrs. Ellsworth about arriving at the house and meeting the other people gathered there and then seeing Madame Serafina for the first time. “She didn’t look like she was more than twenty.”
“I would’ve expected a much older person.”
“She was a lovely girl, too. I can’t imagine how she became involved in this.”
“How does she contact the spirits?”
Sarah told her about going into the other room and sitting down around the table. “Then we all held hands around the circle, and she turned out the light.”
“You were in total darkness?”
“Oh, yes. I couldn’t see a thing. Then she calls for the spirits.”
“Just like that?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked in surprise.
“Well, I should have said that she calls for her spirit guide, Yellow Feather.”
“Yellow what?”
“Yellow Feather. He’s an Indian warrior who died in battle,” Sarah explained with a smirk.
“How very odd!”
“He’s her spirit contact or something like that. The other spirits speak to him and he passes along what they say and asks them questions.”
“And she’s the only one who can hear him?”
“Oh, no, I forgot to tell you, he speaks through her.”
“How does he do that?”
“I’m not exactly sure how it works, but his voice comes out of her mouth, as if he were using her body.”
“How do you know it’s his voice?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked, thoroughly confused now.
“Oh, it sounds like a man’s voice. I could hardly believe my ears at first. Her voice changed completely. And when it was all over, she claimed she didn’t remember anything he’d said. When he’s speaking through her, she’s not really conscious, I suppose. That’s how she explained it anyway.”
“Good heavens. I never heard of such a thing.”
“Neither had I,” Sarah assured her.
“Why on earth did your mother want to attend this séance in the first place?”
Sarah sighed wearily. “She wanted to contact my sister.”
“Your sister? I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“She died long before I met you,” Sarah said, wishing she hadn’t mentioned Maggie. She hated telling her story, even to kindly Mrs. Ellsworth. “She . . . she married a man my parents didn’t approve of,” she said, keeping to the bare facts.
“Just as you did,” Mrs. Ellsworth reminded her with a puzzled frown.
“She did it long before I did, and they disowned her for it,” Sarah said, the words paining her even now. “And then she died in childbirth. My mother has carried that guilt all this time.”
“And I suppose she wanted to ask for forgiveness,” Mrs.
Ellsworth said. “Poor thing. We tend to think that people who have a lot of money don’t have any troubles, but that isn’t true, is it?”
“No, it isn’t,” Sarah confirmed, remembering all the wealthy people who had been involved in murders that she had investigated with her friend Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy of the New York City Police. “They don’t have to worry about putting food on the table or keeping a roof over their heads, but they have the same kinds of losses and disappointments that everyone else has.”
“I guess that explains why your parents didn’t protest too much when you married Dr. Brandt.”
“They weren’t happy about it,” Sarah recalled with a pang, “but they accepted it, just as they accepted my becoming a midwife.”
“Even though they would have been much happier if you’d given it up and returned to your rightful place in society after Dr. Brandt died,” Mrs. Ellsworth guessed. Sarah’s husband, Tom, had been murdered four years earlier.
“I think they’ve finally accepted the fact that I never will.”
“And do you think your mother was satisfied with the séance?”
Sarah had almost forgotten the original subject of their conversation. “I hope so. I reminded her that she’s wanted to apologize to Maggie and she did that at the séance. I
don’t believe for a moment that Maggie’s spirit was there to hear it, but my mother believes it was, and so she thinks she accomplished her purpose. I hope that will satisfy her.”
“You don’t sound very sure,” Mrs. Ellsworth said.
“Those other people at the séance, they’ve all been to see Madame Serafina more than once. They seemed well acquainted with each other, and I got the impression this was a regular event in their lives.”
Mrs. Ellsworth frowned. “I guess I could understand that, if I believed this Madame what’s her name could contact my dead loved ones. I’ve always wanted to ask my husband where he put his pocket watch. I wanted to give it to Nelson after he died, but I never found it.”
Sarah smiled in spite of herself. “Maybe you should go see Madame.”
“I can’t imagine what else I’d ask him, though,” she mused. “I’d think one visit would be enough.”
Sarah tried to recall what the others had been asking. “They seemed to want guidance about making decisions. As if they came back regularly to ask about something new.”
“Oh, dear, how tiresome,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “Why can’t they just make up their own minds? Or at least ask somebody who’s easier to contact, like a living relative, for instance?”
This really made Sarah smile. “I’m sure I don’t know. But some people just don’t seem to be able to stop. I don’t want my mother to become one of them.”
“Oh, I’m sure your father would soon put a stop to it if she did,” Mrs. Ellsworth said.
Sarah wasn’t so sure. Felix Decker was one of the richest, most powerful men in the city, but he was completely powerless to manage his wife, particularly if he had no idea what she was doing. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Sarah said and tried to change the subject. “Is that the newspaper?”
Mrs. Ellsworth glanced over to where the paper lay folded on the end of the table. “Oh, yes, I brought it over for you to see. I don’t suppose you’ve heard the news yet,” she added with a frown.
“What news?”
“About Mr. Roosevelt.”
“Oh, dear,” Sarah said, reaching for the paper. She unfolded it to reveal the headline, ROOSEVELT RESIGNS. She quickly scanned the story. Her old friend Theodore Roosevelt had resigned as police commissioner to accept a job in Washington, D.C. “Just as my father predicted.”
“Your father knew that President McKinley was going to offer him a position in Washington?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked in amazement.
“I’m sure he didn’t know exactly what it would be, but politicians always pay their debts, and Mr. Roosevelt campaigned very vigorously for McKinley. The president will be giving out hundreds of political patronage jobs to his supporters to reward them.”
“Assistant secretary of the Navy doesn’t sound like a very important job,” Mrs. Ellsworth observed.
“I’m sure Theodore will make the most of it,” Sarah said, recalling her old friend’s ambition fondly, “although this probably isn’t good news for the police department.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Roosevelt made a lot of changes in the department. He hired men on merit instead of political patronage. He promoted men who were good at their jobs instead of those who could afford to pay a bribe to get a better position. He even hired officers who weren’t Irish.”
“But surely they won’t go back to the way things were before just because Mr. Roosevelt leaves,” Mrs. Ellsworth protested.
“Mr. Malloy is afraid they will,” Sarah said, recalling what he had told her. “That’s why he was in such a hurry to solve Tom’s murder. He knew Roosevelt was going to resign soon, and then he might not be allowed to work on the case anymore.”
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Ellsworth said with a frown. “Is he afraid he might lose his job?”
Sarah knew that was a possibility. Roosevelt had singled Malloy out several times to work on cases involving wealthy murder victims. Some in the department would be envious of that special treatment, and they could hold it against him. But Sarah thought that wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen. “He might be, but I think he’s more afraid of having to go back to the way things were before all the reforms.”
Mrs. Ellsworth nodded. “He’s changed a lot since he met you.”
Yes, he had, Sarah thought, and she had changed, too. She’d never thought she’d be able to love again after losing Tom, and she’d certainly never thought she could love a policeman.
MAEVE HAD OBVIOUSLY WANTED TO HEAR ALL ABOUT THE séance the moment Sarah had walked in the door, but she knew better than to discuss it in front of Catherine. She had to wait until Catherine was tucked snuggly into bed and she could slip downstairs to find Sarah in the kitchen, still cleaning up after supper.
“I’ll do that,” Maeve said, taking the dishtowel from Sarah’s hand. “Sit yourself down and tell me everything that happened!”
Sarah did. Maeve listened attentively, asking only the occasional clarifying question. When Sarah was finished, Maeve sat down across from her at the kitchen table and considered what she had heard for several moments.
“Well?” Sarah prodded after a while.
“Well, what?” Maeve asked in surprise.
“What do you think? Was any of it real?”
Maeve shrugged. “It’s easy enough to change your voice and pretend you’re somebody else.”
“But she sounded like a man,” Sarah protested.
“Like I said, actors change their voices all the time.”
“What about the baby crying?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to see the room. There’s ways to do that, though. Have you ever seen a magician?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Do you think he really makes things appear out of thin air?”
“Of course not. It’s a trick.”
“Madame Serafina probably knows some tricks, too.”
Sarah frowned. “I’m sure she does. The truly amazing thing wasn’t that we heard a baby cry but that she knew about the baby in the first place, or rather that Yellow Feather or whoever it was knew about it.”
“Did you talk about Maggie and her baby while you were waiting with the other people?”
“No, I’m sure we didn’t. Why would that matter?”
“She might be able to overhear what people are talking about while they’re waiting. That would be a good way to get private information about them.”
“She wouldn’t have heard us talking about Maggie. In fact, my mother even asked Madame Serafina if she needed to know who we wanted to contact. Madame said no, so she knew nothing about us before we arrived.”
“I doubt that,” Maeve scoffed. “People know a lot about Mrs. Felix Decker.”
Sarah hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose that’s true.”
“And didn’t you say your mother’s friend was the one who told her about this and invited her to come? She probably told Madame everything she knew.”
“But she didn’t know about Maggie’s baby. Nobody knows that except our family.”
“I know,” Maeve reminded her.
Sarah laid a hand on Maeve’s arm where it rested on the table. “You’re family,” she said, remembering how Maeve had recently risked her life to help solve the mystery of Tom Brandt’s murder.
Maeve blinked at her in surprise. “Oh,” was all she could manage for several seconds.
Sarah hurried on before Maeve’s emotions got the better of her. “So you see, Madame couldn’t have known about Maggie’s baby.”
“Maybe it was a lucky guess. Lots of babies die. I’m sure somebody else in the room could’ve thought it was a baby in their family, too, if your mother hadn’t spoken up first.”
Sarah hadn’t thought of that. “You’re probably right.”
“I wish I knew more about this séance business. I could explain to Mrs. Decker how they do it, and she’d be cured of ever wanting to go back.”
“I’m hoping she’s already cured.”
“I could’ve pretended I believed in it if I’d wanted to,” Sarah protested, pretending to be insulted.
But Maeve was shaking her head. “You’re an awful liar, Mrs. Brandt.”
“Some people would consider that a compliment,” Sarah reminded her.
“Yes,” Maeve agreed with a grin. “Some people would.”
MRS. DECKER ARRIVED THE NEXT DAY WITH A NEW PICTURE book for Catherine. She didn’t mention Maggie or the séance, and Sarah believed she had put it all behind her. The next two weeks passed uneventfully. Sarah delivered a few babies, and her mother chanced to visit when she was out, so they hadn’t seen each other again. Then one day, her doorbell rang.
Catherine and Maeve hurried to answer it. Sarah thought it would be a summons to another delivery until she heard Maeve call.
“Mrs. Brandt, there’s a policeman here to see you.”
She didn’t sound alarmed, but Sarah knew this couldn’t be good news. She hurried out of the kitchen and through the front room that served as her medical office into the entry hall. She found the girls staring at a handsome young man in a blue uniform. He held his hat in both hands in front of his chest, and he was staring at Maeve with more than a little interest.
“Officer Donatelli?” Sarah asked in surprise.
He looked up. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Brandt,” he said, suddenly all business. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Detective Sergeant Malloy sent me to fetch you.”
“What for?” she asked in surprise. She hadn’t heard from Malloy for weeks and she knew he’d never send for her unless it was something very serious.
“There’s been some trouble . . .” He glanced meaningfully at Catherine, who was listening intently to every word.
“Maeve, would you take Catherine upstairs?” Sarah asked, worried herself now.
Plainly, neither girl wanted to miss hearing Officer Donatelli’s news, but they obediently marched up the stairs. When they were safely out of earshot, Sarah asked urgently, “Is Malloy all right?”
Murder on Waverly Place Page 5