Miss Wilson shot her a disapproving glance, but to Sarah’s surprise, Miss Billingsly didn’t wilt under it.
“Well, she could have been. She was young enough.”
For some reason, this angered Miss Wilson, although she was much too well-bred to lose her temper in front of strangers.
“Teaching must be a very rewarding occupation,” Sarah continued as if she didn’t notice the tension between the two women.
“It can be,” Miss Wilson said after a moment.
“But our efforts are wasted on many of the young ladies,” Miss Billingsly said, her grief apparently forgotten.
“Estelle,” Miss Wilson said in warning, but Miss Billingsly ignored her.
“We train them for a vitally important vocation, and then they throw their chances away by getting married.”
“You don’t consider marriage an important vocation for a woman?” Sarah asked with genuine interest.
“Of course—” Miss Wilson tried, but Miss Billingsly cut her off.
“For some women, those who can’t do anything else.”
“Estelle, you’re insulting Mrs. Malloy,” Miss Wilson snapped.
“No, she isn’t,” Malloy said. The twinkle in his eye told Sarah how much he was enjoying this conversation. “Mrs. Malloy is a midwife.”
“Catering to married women,” Miss Billingsly sniffed.
“Not all of my clients are married,” Sarah couldn’t resist saying.
Poor Malloy had to cough to cover a bark of laughter, while the two teachers just gaped.
“And if at least some women didn’t marry and have children, you wouldn’t have any young ladies to teach,” Sarah added, not bothering to hide her own smile.
“I’m sure Estelle didn’t mean to condemn marriage and motherhood as a legitimate calling for women,” Miss Wilson said, giving Miss Billingsly another warning glance.
“Of course not. For some women,” Miss Billingsly repeated, once again refusing to be cautioned.
“And President Hatch himself said he thinks a generation of young men raised by educated mothers would be very good for our country,” Malloy said. Sarah knew he was being deliberately provocative and somehow managed not to grin.
“Of course he would say something like that,” Miss Billingsly said. “He’d see nothing wrong with a woman wasting her education so long as she produced sons.”
Sarah didn’t know if that was a valid assessment of President Hatch’s views or not, so she didn’t bother to argue. “Your efforts weren’t wasted on Abigail, though. You must have been gratified when she was chosen to teach at the college.”
“I’m not sure ‘gratified’ correctly describes my feelings,” Miss Wilson said.
“Doesn’t it?” Sarah asked innocently. “I thought it was your personal efforts that convinced President Hatch to hire her.”
“Who told you that?”
“Professor Pelletier,” Malloy said helpfully. “I had thought maybe . . . But of course I was wrong.”
“What did you think?” Miss Wilson demanded.
He glanced at Sarah, pretending he was too discreet to speak of the matter.
She happily rescued him. “When a man hires an attractive young woman to work with him, people sometimes assume their relationship is . . . close.”
“What nonsense!” Miss Wilson said, flushing with anger. “Professor Pelletier’s reputation is spotless, and Miss Northrup was above reproach.”
“Was she?” Miss Billingsly asked with mock innocence. “How can we be sure after what happened to her?”
“What do you mean by that, Estelle?”
“I mean she was murdered. Violently murdered. One might even say in the heat of passion.”
“You know nothing about it,” Miss Wilson said.
“No, I don’t. Do you?” Miss Billingsly asked.
Miss Wilson flushed scarlet. “Of course not. How can you even suggest such a thing?”
Sarah half expected Miss Billingsly to apologize for her cruel accusation or to at least disclaim it. Instead she simply returned Miss Wilson’s outraged glare with a cool one of her own.
After a long moment, Miss Wilson remembered they were not alone. She turned back to Sarah. “This is hardly an appropriate topic for conversation, under the circumstances. I’m afraid we’re feeling entirely too emotional.”
“That’s understandable,” Sarah said. “A young woman you cared for has died tragically. It would be a wonder if you weren’t emotional.”
“Mr. Malloy,” Miss Billingsly said, “do you think you’ll discover who was responsible for poor Abigail’s death?”
“I hope so,” he said, knowing better than to make promises.
“And what will happen to that person if you do catch him?”
“That depends. If the person confesses, they’ll probably go to prison.”
“For a long time?”
“Considering the violence of the crime, probably.”
“And if they don’t confess?”
“Then they’ll go on trial, and it’ll be up to a jury to decide their guilt or innocence.”
Miss Billingsly frowned. “You mean the killer might get away without punishment?”
“It happens sometimes.”
She glanced at Miss Wilson again. “So there’s hope.”
“Hope for what?” Miss Wilson asked, apparently confused.
If Miss Billingsly heard, she gave no indication. She looked back at Sarah and twisted her face into the semblance of a smile. “Are you really a midwife, Mrs. Malloy?”
“Of course I am.”
“And your husband allows this?”
“So far, but we haven’t been married very long.”
“But you will allow it?” she asked Malloy with apparent interest.
“I don’t think I could stop her,” he admitted with satisfaction, confusing Miss Billingsly and making Miss Wilson frown.
“You are an unusual man, Mr. Malloy,” Miss Wilson said.
He turned to Sarah. “Was that a compliment?”
“I don’t think so,” she replied.
The carriage slowed to turn, and Malloy glanced out the window. Sarah could see they were entering the cemetery.
“Did you find out what you wanted to?” Miss Billingsly asked suddenly.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“You obviously rode in the same carriage so you could question us. Did you find out what you wanted to know?”
“I don’t think we found out anything,” Sarah said.
The carriage stopped, then sagged a bit as the driver climbed down.
“That’s good,” Miss Billingsly said just as the door opened.
The two teachers climbed out without another word. Miss Wilson’s expression was stony. She was probably still angry at all of them for discussing Abigail and her murder. Miss Billingsly seemed thoughtful, or perhaps she was just worried. Sarah wished she knew why she’d be worried.
The driver helped Sarah down and Malloy followed. By then the two teachers had hurried off, following the other mourners to the ragged patch of earth where a hole had been prepared to receive Abigail’s body. The Malloys strolled more slowly, in no hurry to see the end of Abigail’s story.
“You lied to Miss Billingsly. We did learn that Miss Billingsly is worried about something,” Malloy said.
“Something that has to do with Miss Wilson. No question, she’s jealous of Abigail.”
“Even now that she’s dead?”
“Apparently,” Sarah said. “Something happened in that house that ruined their friendship.”
“Ruined?”
“Well, damaged it, at least, and it most certainly involved Abigail.”
“You already knew Miss Billingsly was jealous of her.”
“This is more than just jealousy,” Sarah said. “The problem is, neither one of them is likely to talk about it, especially to us.”
They had almost reached the crowd gathered at the gravesite. “Maybe we should send Gino to talk to Bathsheba again.”
Sarah smiled at that. “Or maybe you should go.”
* * *
The graveside service was brief and heart-wrenching, as Abigail’s casket was lowered into the ground. Stunned and weeping mourners filed back into their various conveyances in silence. Frank and Sarah were not surprised that the two teachers had chosen a different group of people for the return trip to the Northrups’ home, squeezing into a nearly full carriage so Frank and Sarah couldn’t possibly join them.
Back at the house, they decided to split up and wander around in search of anyone behaving strangely or inappropriately. Frank found Gino, who had remained at the house during the graveside service to keep an eye on things there.
“Lots of people walked by,” he reported, “but nobody seemed unnaturally interested and nobody tried to get inside.”
“That’s good. Go get yourself something to eat and keep your eyes open.”
Frank decided to wait awhile before heading to the dining room, where a buffet had been set out. He glanced into the front parlor. The rows of folding chairs had been removed and the furniture arranged back into its normal position by efficient servants. The room was empty now except for one person.
Frank was surprised to see Luther Northrup sitting in there alone on a sofa. He was staring up at Abigail’s portrait again, just as he had during the funeral. Frank walked in and sat down nearby.
“It must be hard to believe she’s gone.”
Luther looked up in surprise, as if he hadn’t realized Frank was there. “Yes, it is.”
Frank waited, but Luther had nothing else to add. He tried again. “Such a tragedy.”
“That’s what everybody says.”
“You don’t agree?”
“Oh, sure. She was . . . She was always the smart one. I guess you know. You’re one of the professors from the school, aren’t you?”
Frank didn’t correct him. “You must be smart, too.”
“Not book smart. I just . . . I prefer action.”
“Are you a sportsman, then?”
His surprise was the first real emotion Frank had seen him display. “How’d you guess?”
Frank decided not to mention that his father had told him. “You look like one.”
This pleased him. “I’m a passable gymnast.”
“That takes a lot of practice.”
“I’ve been doing it for years. I’ve won ribbons for it.”
“You should come to the city. We probably have better equipment there in the athletic clubs.”
“Oh, I already belong to the New York Athletic Club. They . . .” He glanced around to make sure they were still alone. “They’ve offered me a job.”
“That’s very impressive. Congratulations.”
“Don’t say anything to my parents. I don’t . . . They don’t want to think about me at a time like this.” He glanced up at the portrait again.
“I’m sure they’ll be pleased. It might even cheer them up a little.”
But Luther shook his head. “They won’t care. They just care about . . . well, books and things. But words and numbers, they never made much sense to me.” He leaned forward and stared straight into Frank’s eyes, as if determined to make him understand. “They said I was just lazy and didn’t try, but I’m not lazy. I work really hard at gymnastics. I know how to work. But it didn’t matter how hard I tried. I just couldn’t get it. Did you ever hear of anything like that?”
Frank remembered that Luther thought he was a professor. “Lots of people aren’t good in school but are good at other things.”
Luther nodded. “I knew it.”
“Luther!” They both looked up to see Cornelius Raymond standing in the doorway, frowning in disapproval. “Your mother is asking for you.”
Luther winced but he got to his feet. “Excuse me.”
Frank nodded, then nodded to Raymond, who glared back. When Luther reached him, he said, “Why were you talking to him?”
Then they walked out and Frank didn’t hear Luther’s reply. Raymond was going to tell Luther who Frank was and make him feel bad for confiding in him. Frank was sorry for that, but not too sorry, because he now understood how frustrated Luther Northrup must have been all of his life to have his little sister excel at all the things he couldn’t do. Could he have become so frustrated a week ago that he’d murdered her in the heat of passion, as Miss Billingsly had said so well?
Frank fervently hoped not.
* * *
Sarah had fixed herself a plate and was nibbling at it in a corner of the dining room when Irene Raymond saw her. She wasn’t happy. “Is it really necessary for you to be here?”
“Is it really any of your business?” Sarah replied as kindly as she could.
Irene flinched in surprise. Obviously, she hadn’t expected a reply like that. “Abigail was my dearest friend.”
“Then you should be glad someone is trying to find out who killed her.”
“I am, of course, but you can’t expect to find that person here. These are all the people who loved her.”
Sarah thought of Miss Billingsly and Professor Pelletier, who certainly hadn’t loved her, but she said, “People are murdered by their loved ones every day.”
“What a terrible thing to say!” she said, trying to keep her voice low but not succeeding very well.
“Terrible but true. Miss Raymond, Mr. Malloy and I are trying very hard not to draw attention to ourselves or cause the Northrups any embarrassment, but you’re making that difficult.”
Irene clapped a hand over her mouth and glanced around. Sure enough, several people were looking at them curiously. “I . . . I’m sorry. It’s just . . . It’s so terrible . . .” Her voice broke and she began to weep.
Sarah hastily found a spot to set down her plate and put her arm around Irene. “It is terrible, and you have every right to be angry.” She guided her out into the hallway, away from the curious onlookers.
Irene had pulled out her handkerchief and was making use of it. Sarah led her to a corner by the stairs, near the kitchen door, away from the crowd. “Do you want me to get someone for you?” Sarah asked.
Irene shook her head and blew her nose. “No, I’ll be fine. I just . . . I’m so frightened.”
“I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. Whoever killed Abigail wouldn’t—”
“I’m not afraid of being murdered,” she snapped, angry again. “I’m afraid to find out who it is. In fact, the more I think about it, the surer I am that I don’t want to know at all.”
“Because you think it’s someone you know?”
“Why can’t it be a stranger? Someone who was trying to rob her or . . . or attack her or something?”
“Because she wasn’t robbed, and she wasn’t attacked, not that way.”
Irene shook her head. “I know. I know all that. It’s just . . .” She looked up at Sarah and grabbed her arm in a painful grip. “Abigail wasn’t always . . . nice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she was rather . . . selfish. Not cruel, not really, but she had a strict idea of the way things should be, and she could be nasty when someone didn’t meet her standards.”
Sarah felt sure Irene had borne the brunt of Abigail’s nastiness a time or two. “And you think she might’ve made someone angry enough to . . . to do what they did?”
“I know she could. She’s made me angry enough to throttle her, and if she did it to the wrong person . . .”
And Sarah was certain she had. “Thank you for telling me this.”
“But if she drove that
person to it . . . It wouldn’t be that person’s fault, would it? Not really.”
“That isn’t my decision to make.”
“Please, Mrs. Malloy . . .”
But Sarah never learned what she was going to ask. Suddenly, her brother loomed over them. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing!” Irene said, and Sarah thought she almost sounded afraid.
“Your sister was upset. I brought her out here so she could compose herself.”
“And you’re probably the one who upset her,” he said.
“No, she wasn’t,” Irene said. “I just started crying, thinking about poor Abigail, and I couldn’t stop. Cory, will you take me home?”
Sarah stepped out of the way, earning a glare from Raymond, but he took his sister’s arm tenderly. “Of course.”
Irene gave her a beseeching glance as she walked away. Sarah only wished she knew what it was for.
* * *
They caught the train back to the city that evening. Taking advantage of a nearly empty car, they flipped a seat back so Gino could sit facing them for the trip.
“I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary,” he reported. “I guess everybody in town knew about the funeral. A lot of folks made a point of walking by the house and some of them even stopped to get a better look, but it was mostly families or couples. Nobody who looked like he escaped from the asylum and was hunting for somebody else to murder.”
“That’s good to know, Gino,” Frank said, not bothering to hide his grin.
“I saw you talking to the brother, though. What’d he have to say for himself?”
“You talked to Luther?” Sarah asked in surprise.
“Yeah. He’s a sad case, I’m afraid.”
“He didn’t look very sad at the funeral,” she said. “He was practically the only one in the room who wasn’t crying.”
“He might be glad she’s gone. From what he said, his family thought he was a lazy bum, so compared to the outstanding Miss Abigail, he looked even worse.”
“He did say he wasn’t a scholar when I saw him at Miss Wilson’s house the other day,” she said.
“From what he told me, he’s dumb as a post, at least when it comes to books and school.”
Murder in Morningside Heights Page 12