Murder on Sisters' Row

by Victoria Thompson

  “You already told us the cause of death!”

  “I told you my theory. Now I have to prove it.” He turned to Frank. “I’ve got an ambulance on the way.”

  “Do you need me anymore?” Frank asked.

  “No, I can handle it from here.”

  Frank thanked him and hurried out. The arrival of the medical examiner had roused the other occupants of the house, and they hovered in the hallway in their silk kimonos, their hair tied up in rags, eyes bleary and heavy with sleep as they whispered to each other. None of them spoke to Frank as he passed by. Whores had no love for cops, he knew.

  Out in the street, he saw the ambulance pulling up. He pointed to the correct house before setting off for Van Orner’s again.

  SARAH HAD A LOT TO THINK ABOUT AS SHE MADE HER way to Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s house. If she was going to be of any help to the women at the rescue house, she’d have to convince Mrs. Spratt-Williams to take a more personal interest in all of them, the way she had in Amy.

  Sarah kept thinking about the fact that Amy’s father had shot himself after losing all his savings and one of the men Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s husband had cheated had also shot himself. If Amy’s father was the man Mr. Spratt-Williams had cheated, his wife’s guilt over the damage that tragedy had done to Amy would certainly explain her special interest in the girl.

  The maid remembered Sarah and admitted her at once. She took her straight to the front parlor, where the tea things had already been laid.

  “Mrs. Brandt, how kind of you to come,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams said, rising to greet her. The room was inviting, furnished in shades of gold and lit by afternoon sunlight. As Sarah took a seat on the sofa, she noticed some things she’d missed on her last visit. While the furniture was of excellent quality and everything was immaculate, the fabric showed wear in spots. Sarah couldn’t help remembering what Lisa had said about Amy thinking everything at the rescue house was “shabby.” Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s home wasn’t shabby but was certainly showing some wear. Maybe she’d been honest when she claimed her resources were limited.

  The two women exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes.

  “Have you heard anything from Amy?” Mrs. Spratt-Williams asked when they had exhausted the topics of each other’s health and the weather.

  “No, not a thing, although I think the nurse was supposed to arrive today. She’ll be a big help, I’m sure.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember Amy mentioned that when we visited her on Saturday, didn’t she?”

  The maid tapped on the door and brought in the teapot. Steam coiled gently from the spout and an exotic aroma filled the room before the maid covered the pot with a padded, brocade tea cozy. No American tea service was complete without the use of this recent British import.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Mrs. Spratt Williams said. “I thought I’d serve you a special blend of tea I’ve discovered. It has an unusual flavor that I thought you’d find appealing.”

  “It smells delicious,” Sarah said.

  “Are you planning to attend Vivian’s funeral tomorrow?” Mrs. Spratt-Williams asked while they were waiting for the tea to steep.

  “I hope to, unless I’m called to a delivery.”

  “Oh, yes, I keep forgetting you’re a midwife. That’s how you met Amy, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.” Sarah silently debated whether to pursue the subject and decided she had nothing to lose. “I appreciate your telling me about Amy’s hardships.”

  Mrs. Spratt-Williams smiled slightly. “I ordinarily wouldn’t have violated a confidence, but I thought if you understood, you might feel kinder toward her.”

  “I’m glad she chose to confide in you. She’d told me a few things about herself, but nothing to hint she’d had such a difficult time of it. For instance, she just told me her father had left them destitute.”

  “I suppose his death did have that effect. And of course she’d be ashamed to admit he’d taken his own life. People often hold the family in contempt after an incident like that, instead of giving them the sympathy they truly deserve.”

  “Did you happen to know Amy’s family?”

  As she’d expected, her question startled Mrs. Spratt-Williams. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “From what you said just now, I thought perhaps you’d known them. I understand she comes from a respectable family, and I thought your paths might have crossed back before . . . before she fell on hard times.”

  Red blotches of color had bloomed on Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s face. “I’m sure I never knew her family. Respectable or not, they were hardly the type of people I would know.”

  “And yet, you were so kind to Amy,” Sarah continued relentlessly.

  “I’m kind to all the women we rescue.”

  That was, of course, a lie. “I’m sure you are, but with Amy . . . Well, I couldn’t help noticing that no one else found it easy to be kind to her.”

  “She was . . . Oh, perhaps you’re right, Mrs. Brandt. Amy was difficult, to be sure, but she isn’t like the other women we rescue. She was well bred and used to finer things, and she found life at the rescue house very confining. I suppose I couldn’t help thinking that there but for the grace of God go I.”

  “I know what you mean. We aren’t shocked when a woman from a poor family is forced to sell herself to survive, but we never expect a girl from a good family to be reduced to such circumstances.”

  “Yes, it was . . . tragic.” She reached over and lifted the tea cozy and peeked under the lid of the teapot to check on its strength. Apparently not satisfied yet, she replaced the cozy. “What else did Amy tell you about herself?” she asked, elaborately casual.

  “Several things, but I’m not sure how much of it was true.”

  “Such as?”

  Sarah got the feeling Mrs. Spratt-Williams was testing her in some way. If Sarah’s suspicions about her husband having been the one who cheated Amy’s father were true, perhaps she wondered if Sarah knew the whole story. Mrs. Spratt-Williams had denied a connection, but she must be wondering why Sarah had asked in the first place. “Oh, she told me her baby’s father was named Gregory, but you knew that already.”

  Mrs. Spratt-Williams squeezed her lips together in distaste. “I was hoping Miss Yingling was right, that the baby had been fathered by another man named Gregory.”

  “I think we all were.”

  “Yes, well, I suppose we must face the truth now, in light of Amy moving in with Mr. Van Orner.”

  “Yes, we must.”

  “What else did Amy tell you about herself?”

  Sarah hesitated, carefully sorting out what Amy had actually told her and what she’d learned since. “She told me her lover had taken her to Mrs. Walker for safekeeping until her baby was born,” she recalled.

  “Did she? How extraordinary.”

  “I thought so, too. Mrs. Walker doesn’t run a refuge, after all.”

  “Certainly not!”

  “She also claimed that she wasn’t a prostitute—”

  “Oh, yes, I remember that. She said it the first day she was at the rescue house.”

  “Yet she’d told me before how much she hated what she had to do with the customers at the brothel.”

  Mrs. Spratt-Williams nodded. “I suppose it would be difficult for a young woman to admit to having been a prostitute. As soon as she got away, she’d want to pretend it had never happened.”

  “I imagine you’re right.”

  “Did she say anything . . . ?” Her voice trailed off as if she realized she’d already questioned Sarah far more than good manners allowed.

  “I visited the rescue house today,” Sarah said, hoping a change of topic now might allow her to return to the subject of Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s connection with Amy later.

  She didn’t seem pleased. “Did you?”

  “Yes, my neighbor had brought over a cake, and I thought the women there might enjoy it, so I stopped on my way over here today.”

  Mrs. Spratt-Willi
ams didn’t say a word, leaving Sarah to continue on her own.

  “Miss Biafore told me she hasn’t seen you since Mrs. Van Orner passed away. I thought you said you were going to visit there yesterday.”

  Plainly, Mrs. Spratt-Williams thought Sarah had overstepped. “I had other obligations yesterday,” she informed her coldly.

  “Miss Biafore is getting quite worried about what will become of them. She’s running out of supplies and—”

  “She needn’t worry. I’ll see they’re taken care of.”

  “I know she would appreciate hearing that from you.”

  “She will, in due time.”

  Sarah didn’t like her attitude. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but I thought you’d invited me here today to talk about the rescue house.”

  “Yes, I did, and I’m glad you mentioned the needs there. I’d hoped you would approach your mother about supporting it,” she said. “I didn’t expect to be interrogated about my oversight of the house, though.”

  “I certainly didn’t intend to interrogate you. I was just trying to remind you of their needs.”

  “We all have needs, Mrs. Brandt. Charity can extend only so far.”

  This was just the opening Sarah had been looking for. “This is true, and I know you’ve always resisted the restrictions of the Charity Organization Society.”

  “What?” she asked, the color draining from her face.

  Sarah wasn’t sure what she’d said to cause her such a shock. “I know you don’t agree with their rules about not allowing people to obtain charity from more than one group, and I think you’re absolutely right.”

  “Did Amy tell you that?”

  “Tell me what?” Sarah asked, confused.

  “What else did she tell you about me?”

  Amy hadn’t told her any of this, but Sarah wasn’t going to betray Lisa Biafore. “I know you changed the names of the women you had helped when you wrote up the reports, so they wouldn’t be forbidden from getting help if they needed it again. I think that’s . . . commendable.” She really did, but Mrs. Spratt-Williams didn’t respond. Instead she checked the teapot again.

  “Well, it looks as if the tea is finally ready.”

  THE MAID AT VAN ORNER’S HOUSE ADMITTED FRANK without a word and took him straight upstairs to where Van Orner and Miss Yingling still waited in the parlor. Miss Yingling was drinking a cup of tea while Van Orner paced. They both froze when he stepped into the room.

  Van Orner waited a moment then stepped forward and craned his neck to look past Frank into the hallway. “Where is she?”

  “Mr. Van Orner, I’m very sorry to tell you this, but Amy is dead.”

  Miss Yingling gasped and nearly dropped her teacup, but Van Orner just stared at him stupidly. “What?”

  “She’s dead, Mr. Van Orner. She was poisoned.”

  “That . . . that’s impossible,” he said, his face crinkling in confusion. “She was just here.”

  “Maybe you should sit down,” Frank suggested. “Miss Yingling, can you get him some brandy?”

  Miss Yingling set down her cup very carefully and went to the sideboard, where Van Orner had gone earlier to get her a stimulant. She poured a generous amount of whiskey into a lead crystal glass and brought it to where Frank had helped Van Orner sit in one of the wing chairs beside the fireplace. Whiskey wasn’t as calming as brandy, but he had to assume Miss Yingling knew Van Orner’s tastes.

  Van Orner took the glass and drank deeply. When he looked up, he was still confused. “What happened to her?”

  Frank glanced at Miss Yingling, but she didn’t seem the least bit apprehensive. All her attention was on Van Orner as she stood at his elbow, ready should he need anything. “Like Miss Yingling said, Mrs. Walker was the one who took Amy this morning. The man with her probably put a rag soaked with chloroform over her face. That’s why she went limp and didn’t resist. She was unconscious until she got to Mrs. Walker’s house. When she came to, she was furious.”

  “Of course she was!” Van Orner said. “Who wouldn’t be? Imagine being snatched off the street like a . . . like a bag of laundry.” He looked to Miss Yingling for confirmation, and she nodded dutifully.

  “Mrs. Walker said she started screaming and carrying on when she saw where she was, just like you’d expect. But then she started feeling faint, and she collapsed.”

  Frank watched Miss Yingling, but she seemed as mystified by all this as Van Orner.

  “She’s probably just sleeping, from the chloroform,” Van Orner said.

  “Mrs. Walker called a doctor, but by the time he got there, Amy was dead.”

  Van Orner’s eyes showed no sign of comprehension. “You say she was poisoned?”

  “Yes.”

  Van Orner glanced at Miss Yingling, who still looked as bewildered as he was, then back at Frank. “It’s the Walker woman, then. She did it. She poisoned Amy.”

  “I don’t think she did.”

  “Are you crazy?” Van Orner snapped. The color rose in his face as fury replace the confusion. “Who else would have killed her? Rowena Walker did it out of revenge because Amy left her, but if she thinks she’ll get away with it, she’s a bigger fool than I thought!”

  “Mrs. Walker didn’t kill her.”

  “Why did she kidnap her, then?” Van Orner demanded.

  “She wanted revenge, I tell you. She’d know I’d never stand for her taking Amy. I would’ve torn her house down brick by brick if I had to! She couldn’t hope to keep her, so she must’ve intended to kill her all along. It’s the only explanation.”

  Frank glanced at Miss Yingling. She still don’t look worried. “Mrs. Walker kidnapped Amy because she thought you wanted her to,” he said.

  Now Van Orner was confused again. “How could she think that?”

  Frank reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the note Mrs. Walker had received, and handed it to Van Orner.

  “What the hell is this?” he demanded when he’d read it. He seemed completely baffled.

  “She thought it was from you, telling her you were tired of Amy and wanted her to take the girl back.”

  “I can see that! But I didn’t write it!”

  “I know you didn’t. You wouldn’t have sent me to get Amy away from her if you did.”

  Van Orner looked at the note again. “She probably wrote it up herself, to throw you off the scent.”

  “I thought of that, too, but she wouldn’t have known I’d be coming after Amy. And besides, how would she have known exactly where Amy was going to be this morning?” Frank looked at Miss Yingling, and this time she took offense.

  “Why do you keep looking at me? I didn’t tell her where Amy was going to be!”

  “Someone did. Someone who knew. Someone who wanted to get rid of Amy because she was causing too many problems.”

  “Amy always caused problems,” Van Orner said wearily.

  “But she’d never caused problems for anyone close to you because she’d always been someplace else. First she was in the house you’d provided for her,” he reminded Van Orner. “Then she was at Mrs. Walker’s house. Then she was at the rescue house. But when she showed up on your doorstep with her baby in her arms, suddenly she was causing problems for someone new.”

  “Who?” Van Orner demanded.

  Once again Frank looked at Miss Yingling, and this time she took a step back. “Stop looking at me! I didn’t have anything to do with this!”

  “Didn’t you?” Frank asked gently, the way he did when he wanted to disarm a suspect. “You’ve been waiting a long time to get Mr. Van Orner all to yourself, haven’t you?”

  Van Orner had been staring at her, too, and now he jumped to his feet. “Tamar? What’s he talking about?”

  “I have no idea!” she claimed.

  “Mr. Van Orner, did you know that Tamar Yingling was the first prostitute your wife ever rescued?”

  Miss Yingling winced, but Van Orner wasn’t shocked. “Of course I knew. Vivian brought her he
re so she could keep her under my nose, a constant reminder.”

  “A reminder of what?”

  “Of my weakness, or what she considered my weakness. She thought it abominable that I enjoy the pleasures of the flesh, Mr. Malloy. She thought having a reformed harlot in our house would torment and shame me.”

  “And did it?” Frank asked, beginning to feel disgust.

  “What do you think, Tamar?” he asked her with a sly grin.

  She grinned a little herself. “You didn’t seem ashamed, although I think I managed to torment you.”

  Now Frank really was disgusted. “You betrayed your wife under your own roof with a woman she was trying to save?”

  “Yes, and it was quite enjoyable for a while, wasn’t it, Tamar?”

  Tamar Yingling smiled. “Yes, it was, especially when Vivian would lecture me on how I had to conduct myself properly to avoid any suspicion of immorality. She never suspected a thing.”

  Frank’s mind was racing. “You said it was enjoyable for a time . . .”

  “Yes, but like everything else in life, it ceased to be a novelty. That’s when I met Amy, and I turned my attentions to her, leaving Tamar to become the respectable young woman Vivian believed her to be.”

  Miss Yingling stared back at Frank serenely, as if she’d felt no pain at being rejected for a younger woman. But if she’d thought to convince him of her innocence, she was wrong.

  “You must’ve despised Mrs. Van Orner,” he said to her.

  He saw the emotions flicker across her face. “She was always very good to me,” she said, belying what Frank saw in her eyes.

  “I’m sure she was, but that kind of goodness has a price, doesn’t it? You always have to earn it, and you never can be quite worthy enough, can you, no matter how hard you try?”

  “What does any of this have to do with Amy’s death?” she asked, angry now.

  “I’m coming to that, but first we have to think about Mrs. Van Orner’s death. She was poisoned, too, remember?”

  “What does that have to do with this?” Van Orner asked.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences, Mr. Van Orner, especially when two women living in the same house turn up dead from drinking the same poison.”