“I can’t understand why he allowed someone to injure him so badly and then never even mentioned it to anyone.”
“He probably didn’t know how badly he was hurt. He might’ve thought somebody just punched him or hit him. If it was somebody in his family—”
“Or his mistress,” Maeve added.
“Or his mistress,” Malloy continued, “he probably wouldn’t imagine they were trying to kill him. He argued with his wife and son that morning. If one of them hit him, he wouldn’t call for help or raise any kind of alarm.”
Maeve straightened in her chair. “Why ever not?”
Malloy deferred to Sarah with a nod, picking up his cup again. “He wouldn’t want the servants to know his wife or his son had struck him. Rich people like to pretend they’re better than other people.”
Maeve nodded. “I should’ve figured that out myself.”
“Yes, you should,” Malloy said.
“He must’ve been pretty mean to his daughter-in-law, then,” Maeve said.
“Why do you say that?” Sarah asked.
“I can’t imagine laughing when I heard somebody died unless I really hated him.”
“His wife and son didn’t act like they even cared,” Malloy said.
“Father said Mrs. Devries seemed to be put out by the news.”
“I guess that’s pretty close to how she reacted,” Malloy said. “She sure wasn’t happy about having to wear black now that she’s a widow.”
“Some women just don’t look good in black,” Sarah said, earning a scowl for her sarcasm.
“Have you met the mistress yet?” Maeve asked.
“No. It was too late to call on her when I finished up with the servants. That’s what I’ll be doing tomorrow, that and trying to find this Salvatore Angotti.”
“The Italian,” Maeve said.
“What kind of business would Mr. Devries have with an Italian?” Sarah asked.
“The valet didn’t know, and he made it clear Devries didn’t socialize with people like that.”
“Of course not, but…I wonder if my father would know this…What was his name again?”
“Angotti. How would your father know somebody like that?”
“If Devries did, maybe he’s involved in some business in the city.”
Malloy’s expression told her how unlikely he thought this was.
Sarah shrugged. “Maybe he owns a restaurant or something. What other explanation can you think of for why Devries would be meeting with him?”
“Maybe Mr. Devries wanted him to kill someone for him,” Maeve said.
They gaped at her.
“Don’t look at me like that. You know about the Black Hand. That’s what they do, isn’t it?”
Sarah knew it very well. They’d encountered the secret group before. “The Black Hand usually only preys on other Italians, though.”
“Things are changing,” Malloy said. “Maeve may be right, but even if she is, you aren’t going to even mention Angotti’s name to anybody at the Devrieses’ house or anywhere else. All you have to do is find out what you can about his family. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“What do you want us to find out exactly?” Sarah asked.
“Why he was arguing with his wife and son on the morning he died, but most of all, why Garnet Devries laughed when she heard he was dead.”
FRANK WONDERED IF ANYONE HAD TOLD MISS NORAH English that her protector was dead. He couldn’t imagine the Devries family thinking of it or doing it if they had. They might not even know she existed. Did Felix Decker know about Miss English? And if so, would he have taken it upon himself to inform her? Frank couldn’t imagine that either. So the chances were good he would be the one to break the news and find out just what Miss English thought of Devries.
Although the city had been bustling busily for several hours, Frank’s visit was still extremely early for a social call. The window shades on the small house on Mercer Street had not yet been raised, giving the impression the house was still asleep.
A maid answered his thundering knock. The stout woman, past middle-aged, seemed harried and not at all pleased to see him. She adjusted her cap, cheeks red from exertion. Or something. She looked him over with a critical—and disapproving—eye. “Who’re you?”
“Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy with the New York City Police. I need to see Miss English right away.”
Her eyes widened when he said police, but then her face settled back into a scowl. “Miss English ain’t receiving visitors.”
“I’m not a visitor. This is police business. Tell her I need to speak to her about Mr. Devries.”
“You can’t scare me. I know the police don’t have no business with Mr. Devries.”
“They do if he’s been murdered.”
Her red face went slack. “The devil, you say!”
Frank slapped the partially opened door and gave it a shove, sending her staggering back, then stepped into the tiny foyer. “Go tell Miss English I need to see her.”
“She ain’t even awake yet!”
“Then wake her up and get her down here.”
He could see she was starting to realize the ramifications to her and her mistress. “I ain’t gonna tell her he’s dead.”
“Please don’t. Just tell here there’s been some trouble. I’ll be happy to break the news to her myself.”
“Dear God in heaven, what’ll become of us now?” she muttered.
Frank had no answer for that.
She shut the door behind him. “You can wait in the parlor.” She nodded toward the doorway to his left and trudged off to the back of the house.
Frank removed his hat and coat and hung them on the coat tree by the door. Then he took the opportunity to look around. Devries hadn’t spent a lot of money fixing up the house. Judging from the style and condition of the furnishings, they were leftover from a previous resident who had died of old age. The wallpaper in the hallway and the parlor had faded until the original design was little more than a suggestion. The sofa sagged more than a bit. Only the draperies appeared to be new, probably because the old ones had disintegrated from dry rot.
Miss English had made an effort at personalizing the place with some cheap knickknacks, notable for their tackiness, that cluttered the mantel and a tabletop. Frank had plenty of time to admire them. Miss English did not appear for almost an hour.
He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but Norah English looked much too young and innocent to be anyone’s mistress. A plump girl with apple cheeks, she wore her dark brown hair in an elaborate style that explained why she had taken so long to get dressed. Her dress had probably cost a small fortune, but it didn’t flatter her at all. The multitude of ruffles and flounces only made her look plumper. Or maybe that’s what Devries liked.
“Lizzie said you’re with the police,” she said, her brow furrowed with either uncertainty or concern. “I don’t know why you’re here. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Frank could’ve argued with her, but he said, “Maybe you should sit down. I have some bad news for you.”
“I don’t think I should talk to you. Mr. Devries doesn’t like me to talk to strange men. If you have bad news for me, you should tell him. Mr. Devries is my protector. He’ll tell me anything he thinks I need to know.” She folded her hands in front of her and nodded once, as if satisfied at the way she had handled this difficult situation.
He should be kind to this girl who would need all the kindness she could get. “Miss English, I’m very sorry to inform you that Mr. Chilton Devries died yesterday.”
She stared at him for a long moment, blinking furiously. “That’s impossible,” she finally said. “Mr. Devries was here yesterday morning, and he was perfectly fine then.”
“I’m sure he was. He was perfectly fine until yesterday afternoon when he died at his club.”
“He…he died?” The color drained from her apple cheeks. “You’re sure?”
“I’m afraid so, Mi
ss English. Would you like to sit down?”
She didn’t reply. She just kept staring at him. At first he didn’t know where the sound was coming from, and then he realized she was making it, a high-pitched keening just short of a wail. Then she swayed, and he caught her and managed to get her to one of the armchairs before her knees gave way.
“What’ve you done to her?” the maid Lizzie demanded, appearing in the doorway like an avenging angel. “Miss Norah, are you all right?”
Miss English just kept wailing, rocking from side to side in her chair.
“Do you have any brandy?” The maid ignored him. Instead, she strode over to Miss English and slapped her in the face.
Miss English instantly stopped keening. “Chilton is dead,” Miss English said, without so much as a complaint about getting slapped. “What’ll become of us, Lizzie? What will we do?”
“We’ll manage. We always do.” Lizzie turned to Frank. “You can leave now. You’ve done enough damage for one day.”
“I need to ask Miss English some questions first.”
“What kind of questions?”
“That’s none of your business,” Frank said.
“Everything about Miss Norah is my business.”
He considered reminding her she was just the maid, but the way she’d slapped the girl made him wonder. “Fine. You’ll hear the questions when I ask them, then. Miss English?”
The girl looked up at him, rubbing her cheek absently. Her eyes were moist, but he didn’t think she was crying over Devries. “Yes?”
“Can you tell me what happened with Mr. Devries yesterday morning?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can you just tell me what he did and what he said from the time he woke up until he left here? I know he’d spent the night.”
The color rose in her face and her expression hardened. “You don’t have any right to judge me.”
“I’m not judging you. I know how hard it can be for a young woman alone.”
“What does it matter what he did here anyway?” Lizzie asked. “You said he died at his club in the afternoon.”
Frank ignored her. “Did you have an argument with Mr. Devries?” he asked the girl.
Her eyes widened. “Do you think it was my fault? That he died, I mean? Is that why? He got upset and had a heart attack or apoplexy or something?”
“So you did have an argument that morning.”
“They just had words,” Lizzie said. “Mr. Devries, he never wanted Lizzie to leave the house, but she’s a young girl. She needs to have some fun once in a while, doesn’t she? He never would take her anywhere, either. That’s all. He wasn’t even mad. Besides, he was fine when he left here.”
Frank kept his gaze on the girl, but she kept glancing from him to the maid. “That’s right. He never got mad at me, you know. He was always very nice, wasn’t he, Lizzie?”
“That’s right, miss. Always.”
“Did you hit him?” Frank asked.
The girl blinked. “What?”
Lizzie was beet red now. “Of course she never hit him! What kind of a girl do you think she is?”
Frank knew exactly what kind of a girl she was. “Sometimes people get so angry they do foolish things. I was just wondering if Miss English had ever hit Mr. Devries in frustration.”
“I—”
“Don’t say a word!” Lizzie snapped, then turned to Frank. “I told you to get out of here. You can’t come in here and bully us.”
Of course he could, but that would be a waste of time. The girl wasn’t going to admit anything now. “Mr. Devries didn’t have a heart attack.”
“How did he die, then?” the girl asked.
He couldn’t tell her the truth, not if he ever expected to find out if she’d done it. “We don’t know yet.”
“Why not?”
“The medical examiner is doing an autopsy to find out what killed him.”
“Then why are you bothering us?” Lizzie asked. “Miss English has enough problems without the likes of you getting her all upset.”
“Miss English, do you know a man named Salvatore Angotti?”
The girl’s eyes widened again.
“Of course she don’t. How would she know somebody like that? A foreigner, of all people. Miss English don’t know people like that.”
Except Frank would’ve bet a month’s pay she knew him very well or had at least heard his name before. He needed to get Miss English alone, without the meddling older woman. But since she was here, he would have to give up for now. He looked around the sad little room. “Do you own the house, Miss English?”
“I—”
“What business is it of yours?” Lizzie asked.
“Just curious. I hope she got him to give her a financial settlement at least. The family won’t waste any time putting her out if she doesn’t own it.”
Fear flashed across the girl’s face. “How long do you think I have?”
So she didn’t own the house. “That depends on whether someone in the family knows about you or not. It might take some time for them to find out if they don’t. If I were you, I’d start making other plans, though. You can’t stay here forever.”
The girl’s eyes filled with tears, and Frank had to look away. He saw plenty of human misery every day. This girl’s situation wasn’t even particularly bleak. She’d probably find another protector, and next time she’d be smarter and ask for the house. In any case, he could do nothing for her. He gave her his card. “I may be back again if I have more questions.”
“More questions about what?” she asked.
Frank didn’t answer. He just walked out of the room with Lizzie on his heels. As if suddenly remembering her duties, she helped Frank on with his coat and handed him his hat.
“How did he die?” she asked in a whisper.
“I told you, I don’t know yet.”
“But you think somebody did him in, don’t you? Was it poison?”
“Maybe. Any idea who might’ve wanted him dead?”
“Anybody that knew him, I’d guess.”
Not a very nice epitaph. “Do you know this Salvatore Angotti?”
“How would I?” She was lying. Frank was sure of it. “But if Devries was poisoned, I’d say he done it. You can’t trust those foreigners.”
Frank figured that’s what everyone would tell him.
MIRACULOUSLY, NO ONE SUMMONED SARAH TO A BIRTH the next day, so she was ready when her mother’s carriage stopped in front of her house on Bank Street that afternoon. Sarah kissed Catherine good-bye and promised that Mrs. Decker would come in to see her when they returned.
Her mother smiled a greeting when Sarah climbed into the carriage. She wore a dove gray suit beneath her fur-lined cape. “I could hardly sleep last night,” she confessed as Sarah settled on the seat beside her.
“Did you find out anything new from Father last night?”
“No, he went back to the club and didn’t come in until late. He felt he should be there in case any of the members wanted to know what had happened to poor Chilton. Then he went back today. Why are mourning calls made in the afternoon? This has been the slowest day of my life.”
Sarah smiled. “I don’t know who created the rules for proper behavior, but I imagine women decided that having mourning callers in the morning didn’t give them enough time to dress properly or something.”
“Don’t make fun, Sarah. These things are very important to many people.”
“I’m not making fun, Mother, but I must say, I’m thankful I don’t have to worry about these things much anymore. By the way, Malloy came by last night.”
“He did? I’m so sorry I missed him. Did you tell him about our plans?”
“Yes, and he was just as shocked as we were that Father wanted me to go with you.”
“I’m sure he was. Oh, dear, I suppose he came to warn you not to get involved. I know how he feels about you putting yourself in danger.”
“That’s what I expected
, too, but no, he also asked me to go with you today. So we have his blessing, too.”
Mrs. Decker frowned. “I’m not sure I like this. Having permission takes away a lot of the excitement, doesn’t it?”
“Mother.”
“Well, it does. So tell me what Mr. Malloy had to say so we can plan what we’re going to do when we get to Lucretia’s house.”
City traffic slowed their progress to a crawl, so Sarah had plenty of time to relay what Malloy had shared with her. By the time they were escorted into the Devrieses’ parlor, they both felt confident of their mission.
“Elizabeth, thank you so much for coming,” Lucretia Devries said, ensconced in an overstuffed chair, her feet resting demurely on a needlepoint footstool. She offered a limp hand, wrist to ankle encased in the unrelieved black taffeta of a recent widow.
“I’m so very sorry to hear about Chilton,” Elizabeth said, taking the offered hand.
“Oh, yes, such a terrible shock. I don’t know what I would do without Paul. Children can be such a comfort during a time like this.”
“I’m sure they can. Lucretia, you remember my daughter, Sarah Brandt, don’t you?”
Sarah watched the older woman’s gaze sharpen as she turned, perhaps remembering Sarah’s rebellious elopement and the resulting rift with her family. “My condolences, Mrs. Devries.”
“Thank you, my dear. Please, sit down. I’ve rung for some tea. You must be frozen. How troublesome to have to bury Chilton when the weather is so bad.”
Sarah seated herself on a sofa across from Mrs. Devries. “I’m sure he never thought of the inconvenience when he died,” her mother said with a perfectly straight face as she joined her.
“How like him.”
Sarah coughed to cover a laugh.
“Oh, dear, I hope you’re not ill. I’m very susceptible to illness.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” Sarah said.
“I don’t believe I’ve met your daughter-in-law, Lucretia,” Mrs. Decker said. “Will she be joining us?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. I sent the maid to tell her we have visitors, but that girl does only what she wants.”
“How long have she and Paul been married now?”
“Almost two years, and no sign of a child yet. Young women today have no sense of responsibility. I was already expecting my second child when I’d been married for two years.”
Murder on Fifth Avenue: A Gaslight Mystery Page 5