Murder on Waverly Place

by Victoria Thompson

  Mrs. Decker gasped again. “Is that how you made me think you were talking to my daughter?” she demanded of the girl.

  Serafina’s face looked as if it had turned to stone, but her dark eyes shone with suppressed fury. “I told you, Mrs. Gittings wanted to make a big show. I did not like it. I just wanted to talk with the spirits, but she said no one would come unless we did those other things.”

  Mrs. Decker sank back against the cushioned seat, not certain what to make of it.

  “I will contact your daughter for you, Mrs. Decker,” Serafina said quickly, sensing that she was losing the confidence of one of her benefactors. “Now that Mrs. Gittings . . . She will no longer make me tease people so they will come back again and again. I can find out the truth for you. I will not even charge you a fee.”

  “We’ll see,” Sarah said before her mother could respond. “It might be better if you just use this time to rest. How did you first learn to . . . to contact the spirits?” she asked to change the subject yet again.

  “My mother used to read the cards,” she said. “I learned from her. When she died . . . I had to earn my own living. I am a good girl, Mrs. Brandt. I did not want to go to one of those houses where the men visit women.”

  “Of course not,” Sarah said. Girls like Serafina, left alone in the world with no way to survive, too often ended up selling the only thing they had of value—themselves.

  “I would sit on a street corner. I had a crate with a cloth over it to spread out the cards. I would tell people’s fortunes. I can also read palms. I was . . . very good,” she added, lowering her gaze modestly.

  “It’s a long way from telling fortunes on a street corner to conducting séances on Waverly Place,” Sarah observed.

  “Mrs. Gittings did that,” Serafina said simply. “She came by where I was working one day, and I told her fortune. She said I had a gift. She said I should not be wasting my talents for pennies. She said I could be rich if I would let her help me.”

  “You must have been very excited,” Sarah said.

  “Oh, yes,” Serafina said, remembering that time. “Nicola, he got work whenever he could, and we looked after each other, but we were always very poor. Sometimes we had no place to sleep. Mrs. Gittings said we would live in a big house and have anything we want.”

  “And she brought you to that house?”

  “Yes. She said she owned it, but I found out later she is only renting it. She did not even buy furniture for the rooms we did not use. She said there was no need, because we would be moving to a bigger house soon. We just needed a few more clients.”

  “And did you get rich?” Mrs. Decker asked, having recovered from her shock about the gramophone.

  Serafina looked at her with sad eyes. “She kept all the money for herself. She said she was saving it for our future. She said it was business, that we would need a bigger house, nearer to where rich people lived, and when we got that, we would have many more clients and make much more money and get truly rich.”

  “I’m afraid that gives you and Nicola a very good reason to want Mrs. Gittings dead,” Sarah said.

  Serafina looked up at her in surprise. “But without her, we would have nothing. We could not afford to rent a house ourselves, and we could not support ourselves if we went back to the streets.”

  “Mr. Sharpe would have given you a house,” Sarah recalled, and suddenly realized she hadn’t finished telling Malloy what she knew about Sharpe. She’d gotten distracted by the cabinet when she was telling him about Sharpe’s experiences with the spirits.

  “Mr. Cunningham probably would have, too,” Mrs. Decker added.

  But Serafina was shaking her head. “Neither of them would have allowed Nicola to come with me. Men are too . . . too jealous, and I could not go without him. And if I did want to go with one of them, I did not have to kill Mrs. Gittings. I could just leave her,” she added reasonably.

  Sarah had to admit she was making a good case. “Did Nicola get along with Mrs. Gittings?”

  She lowered her gaze again. “He was angry that she would not give us our part of the money, but he did not kill her,” she added quickly. “She had the money locked in a safe, and if she was dead, we could never get it out.”

  “What about that Professor fellow?” Sarah asked. “How does he fit into all of this?”

  “He is Mrs. Gittings’s lover,” Serafina said baldly.

  “He is?” Mrs. Decker exclaimed in surprise. “How very curious.”

  Serafina seemed surprised at her surprise. “They have known each other for a long time.”

  “How did they make a living before they met you?” Sarah asked.

  “I do not know,” Serafina claimed. “But I do not think they are honest people.”

  Sarah couldn’t help thinking that’s how Malloy would have described Serafina and Nicola, too.

  “If Nicola didn’t do it, who do you think did kill Mrs. Gittings?” Sarah asked.

  “I do not know, but it must be one of the clients in the room.”

  “But we were all holding each other’s hands,” Mrs. Decker reminded her.

  “If someone let go of Mrs. Gittings’s hand, she cannot tell us now, can she?” Serafina said grimly.

  Sarah looked at the girl in surprise. Neither she nor Malloy had thought of this. “Who was sitting beside her?”

  Serafina pressed her lips together, but Mrs. Decker said, “Mrs. Burke and Mr. Sharpe.”

  Both of them had reason to wish Mrs. Gittings out of the way, at least, but did they have enough reason to kill her? And even if they did, would they have actually done it?

  “Mr. Cunningham was sitting too far away,” Mrs. Decker was saying, “and I was holding his wrist, so I know he never moved from his chair.”

  “And of course you didn’t kill her, Mother, so you’re a reliable witness.”

  Mrs. Decker blanched. “Don’t even think that! I couldn’t possibly be a witness to anything. Your father would never allow it.”

  “I only meant as far as determining who was where when Mrs. Gittings was killed,” Sarah clarified.

  “No one will be a witness,” Serafina said in despair, her wondrous eyes filling with tears. “They will all say they were not there at all and that Nicola killed her. No one will help us!”

  “Don’t worry,” Sarah said, taking her hand. “Mr. Malloy will find out the truth.”

  But the tears began to stream down Serafina’s face. She knew Sarah was lying to be kind.

  After what seemed like hours, they finally arrived at Sarah’s house. The driver helped them down, but once again, Serafina refused to allow him to carry her bag. She clutched it tightly as they climbed Sarah’s front steps.

  By the time Sarah had unlocked the door and pushed it open, Catherine was already racing down the stairs to greet her. She stopped short when she saw Serafina and stared at the stranger.

  “Catherine,” Sarah said, “I’ve brought a guest home. This is Miss Serafina Straface. She is going to stay with us for a few days.”

  Catherine gave a polite little bob and murmured something that sounded like, “Pleased to meet you,” although Sarah couldn’t have sworn to it. She was still staring with more than polite curiosity at their guest. That was when Sarah realized that Serafina was still wearing the flowing black gown she wore for the séance. She looked like a character in a play who had wandered out of the theater and gotten lost.

  Maeve was coming down the stairs at a much more dignified pace, and she also stopped to stare curiously at the stranger. Sarah introduced the two girls and watched as they eyed each other suspiciously. She could hardly wait to hear what Maeve thought of the spiritualist.

  Sarah turned to her mother, who was hovering anxiously behind them. “You should go on home now, Mother. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

  “No!” Catherine protested, and hurried to greet Sarah’s mother, ducking around the now-forgotten guest.

  Mrs. Decker leaned down to give Catherine a kiss. “I c
an’t stay today, my darling, but I’ll come for a visit tomorrow, I promise.”

  Catherine pretended to pout, and Mrs. Decker promised a gift when she returned, and thus her departure was successfully negotiated.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” she asked Sarah before she left.

  “Oh, yes, and if we need anything, we’ll let you know. Go on now. You’ll want to be home when Father gets there.”

  Reluctantly, Mrs. Decker took her leave.

  When the door had closed behind her, Maeve eyed Serafina up and down and said, “You’re the spiritualist.”

  “What’s a spirit-ist?” Catherine asked, struggling with the unfamiliar word.

  “Someone who tells people stories,” Maeve said before Sarah could think of a suitable answer.

  “I like stories,” Catherine said brightly. “Will you tell me one?”

  “Maybe later,” Sarah said, shooting Maeve a warning look. “Serafina is very tired, and she needs a quiet place to rest. I thought she could share your room, Maeve. Would that be all right?”

  “Oh, yes,” Maeve agreed quickly, almost as if she already understood her role in the drama Sarah had set up. “I’ll take you upstairs and show you where to put your things. Let me take that for you,” she added, reaching for the bag.

  “No!” Serafina said, surprising them all with her vehemence. She caught herself instantly. “I mean, that is kind of you, but I can manage. I would like to lie down for a little while, if I could. My head hurts so . . .”

  “Would you like something to eat first?” Sarah asked.

  “No, no, I could not eat at all,” the girl assured her. “I just need to rest.”

  “Come on upstairs, then,” Maeve said, taking the other girl’s arm and gently leading her to the stairway.

  “Is Mrs. Ellsworth here?” Sarah asked as the girls started up.

  “No,” Maeve reported over her shoulder with a sly grin, “but I’m sure she’ll be here very soon.”

  Mrs. Ellsworth would have noted the arrival of Mrs. Decker’s carriage and seen Serafina alighting. Wild horses couldn’t keep her from coming over to investigate.

  Catherine started up the stairs after the other girls, but Sarah called her back. “Come and help me in the kitchen, sweetheart, and tell me what you and Maeve have been doing all day.”

  Sarah, realizing she was famished, had made herself a sandwich and found some cookies for Catherine by the time Maeve returned.

  “She’s already asleep or at least pretending to be,” Maeve reported, taking a seat opposite Sarah at the kitchen table. “Who was it who . . . ? She glanced at Catherine, who was listening avidly to every word. “Who got sick?”

  “Mrs. Gittings,” Sarah said. “She was Serafina’s . . . I’m not sure what the correct term would be, but she was in charge of the whole thing. It was her house and she was the one who set up the séances.”

  “I figured she must’ve had somebody helping her. She’s young to be so successful, with so many rich clients and all.”

  “Mrs. Gittings found her telling fortunes on street corners.”

  “Did she read palms or cards?” Maeve asked with interest. Plainly, she had more than a passing knowledge of such things.

  “Both, she told me. She also said she was very good at it.”

  Maeve grinned. “I’m sure she was. So why is she here?”

  Sarah looked at Catherine, who was eating a cookie and still listening intently to every word. “Mr. Malloy agreed with me that she would be better off here. Her fiancé, a fellow named Nicola, he’s . . . Well, he seems to have wandered off, and Mr. Malloy thought it would be a good idea to keep an eye on her until he turns up again.”

  “Will he turn up here, do you think?”

  “I doubt it. He won’t know Serafina is here,” Sarah said, “and he won’t want to show his face anyplace where he might be recognized.”

  “Why won’t he want to show his face?” Catherine asked, her eyes wide with interest.

  Sarah gave her a reassuring smile. “Because he’s hiding, the way you and Maeve play hide and seek sometimes. He doesn’t want anyone to find him.”

  “So he’s the one?” Maeve asked cryptically.

  “Serafina swears he isn’t,” Sarah replied just as cryptically. “But Mr. Malloy suspects him.”

  Maeve nodded wisely.

  “Is Mr. Malloy coming to visit, too?” Catherine asked.

  “As a matter of fact, he is,” Sarah said. “But not until tomorrow. You’ll have lots of company tomorrow.”

  Catherine clapped her hands, sending cookie crumbs flying, which made her giggle in delight.

  Maeve would have asked another question, but just then, Mrs. Ellsworth knocked on the back door. Catherine let her in, and they spent a few minutes in greetings.

  “I had some bread in the oven and had to wait until it was done before I could come over,” she explained, her well-lined face alight with curiosity. Sarah could imagine how impatient she must have been to get over here and find out what had happened. She was looking around, obviously expecting to see the strange woman who had arrived with Sarah in her mother’s carriage.

  “Come along, Catherine,” Maeve said, taking the child by the hand. “Mrs. Ellsworth and your mama want to talk. But we have to be very quiet upstairs, so we don’t wake our guest.”

  “Why is she sleeping in the daytime?” Catherine asked as they disappeared into the next room.

  When the girls were gone, Mrs. Ellsworth, who had taken a seat at the kitchen table, asked, “Who on earth was that woman you brought home?”

  “That was Madame Serafina.”

  “The spiritualist?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked in amazement. “What is she doing here?”

  “A woman was murdered at her séance today.”

  “Is that where you were today? When I stopped by earlier, Maeve just said you’d been called out, so naturally, I thought you were at a delivery.”

  “That is where I went when they sent for me, but I wasn’t there when it happened,” Sarah explained. “My mother was, though.”

  “I thought she was finished with all of that!”

  “So did I.” Sarah sighed. “She went back today, however, and one of the people at the séance was murdered. Naturally, my mother wanted to keep her name out of it if she could, so she sent for Mr. Malloy.”

  “How very sensible of her. And he naturally sent for you. Please, tell me everything that happened,” she pleaded.

  Sarah did so, answering Mrs. Ellsworth’s many questions as she went along.

  “Oh, my,” Mrs. Ellsworth exclaimed when Sarah was finished. “I can’t believe Mr. Malloy agreed to allow Madame Serafina to come here. Isn’t he worried that the killer will show up?”

  “We aren’t sure that Nicola really is the killer,” Sarah reminded her. “Serafina swears he isn’t.”

  “Of course she does, but what if he is and what if he shows up on your doorstep?”

  “There’s no reason why he should,” Sarah said. “And even if he does, there’s no reason for him to harm any of us.”

  “I certainly hope you’re right. But how long do you intend to keep the girl here? They might well never locate this Nicola fellow. What will you do then?”

  “I guess we’ll decide when the time comes. Meanwhile, we’re going to see if we can find out what Serafina really knows about the murder and if there’s anything else she hasn’t told us yet.”

  “Oh, how very clever of you!”

  “Yes, it is,” a voice behind Sarah said. She turned to see Serafina standing there.

  “Oh,” Sarah exclaimed, wondering how much the girl had overheard and trying to recall what she had been saying. Nothing too insulting to her guest, she hoped. “How are you feeling?”

  “I am hungry now,” Serafina admitted, eyeing Mrs. Ellsworth suspiciously.

  “Sit down and I’ll fix you something to eat.” Sarah introduced the two women, then started making a sandwich for Serafina and boiling wat
er for tea.

  Serafina sat down across from Mrs. Ellsworth, who was studying her with an intensity that was almost rude.

  “Do you believe in the spirit world, Mrs. Ellsworth?” Serafina asked in a voice Sarah recognized as that of the professional spiritualist she had met that first day and not the frightened young woman she had brought home with her this afternoon. Her nap had restored her self-confidence.

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Ellsworth assured her. “If you mean do I believe in heaven and hell, that is.”

  The girl reached across the table and laid her hand over Mrs. Ellsworth’s and closed her eyes for a long moment. Mrs. Ellsworth watched her in silent fascination. “I see a father figure. You have been thinking about him.”

  “That must be my late husband,” Mrs. Ellsworth said in surprise. “I was just thinking about him the other day.”

  “I sense that you have a question, something you would like to have answered.”

  Sarah’s instinct was to interrupt, but held her tongue, curious to see what would happen.

  “I do!” Mrs. Ellsworth exclaimed. “I was telling Mrs. Brandt about it not too long ago. I was wondering where he had put his pocket watch. I never found it after he died.”

  “Yes, that is what I am seeing. A gold pocket watch. It was very important to him.”

  “Yes, his father gave it to him. He was very ill before he died, and he started hiding things. I found most of the things, but not the watch.”

  “You are right, he did hide it.” She closed her eyes again. “I see a dark place, small and dark. And the letter B.”

  “The letter B?” Mrs. Ellsworth echoed uncertainly.

  Serafina opened her eyes again. “Yes, something starts with the letter B. He wanted to keep the watch safe.”

  “Oh, yes, he always said it should go to our son, Nelson,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “That’s why I was so upset when I couldn’t find it.”

  “He did not want it to be lost, so he hid it very well. You will find it soon.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Ellsworth said.

  Sarah set the plate down in front of Serafina with a deliberate clunk. “Let’s let Serafina eat now,” she suggested.

  “Thank you,” Serafina said with sincere gratitude and began to devour the sandwich Sarah had made her.