Murder on Fifth Avenue: A Gaslight Mystery

by Victoria Thompson

  “I’d like to see Roderick again, if he’s available.”

  “If he’s available,” the cook mocked. “He’s always available now that Old Devries is dead.”

  The girl smirked and stepped aside to admit him. He wiped his feet ostentatiously before entering, showing consideration for those who’d have to clean up after him if he didn’t.

  “Tess, go fetch Roderick,” Mrs. O’Brien said. She was sitting at the kitchen table, her feet up on another chair and a plate with the remnants of her own dinner in front of her. “Have you eaten, Mr. Malloy?”

  “Yes, thank you, although I’m sure it wasn’t as good as I’d have gotten here.”

  “You’re right about that,” she said. “Sit yourself down. Roderick won’t be in no hurry to see you, I’m sure. Tell me, do you think he’s the one what did for Old Devries?”

  Frank pulled out a chair and sat. “I doubt it. I’m thinking the old man would’ve raised an alarm if his valet stuck him with something.”

  “You’re right there. He’d have called the coppers if Roderick had nicked him shaving.”

  They both laughed at that.

  “Who do you think might’ve done it?” he asked.

  She sobered instantly. “I wouldn’t like to guess.”

  “I understand. You don’t want to get anybody in trouble.”

  “No, I don’t want to see no one punished for it. Whoever stuck the old man done us all a service.”

  Before Frank could manage a reply, the sound of running feet on the back stairs distracted them.

  The scullery maid burst out of the stairway, breathless. “Roderick’s taken sick. We’d best send for a doctor!”

  “He couldn’t be that sick,” the cook said, swinging her feet to the floor. “He was just fine at supper.”

  “He’s taken real bad, I tell you!”

  “Let me see him,” Frank said.

  At a nod from the cook, the girl started up the stairs again, with Frank at her heels. The servants’ rooms were on the top floor, and Frank was panting by the time they reached it. The warmth of the other floors had only seeped up here and could barely cut the winter chill. The girl stopped outside an opened door and gestured helplessly. Frank could hear the man moaning before he even reached the door.

  Roderick lay on his bed, fully clothed and curled in a ball, writhing in pain. The chamber pot held a malodorous stew of vomit and excrement.

  “How long since he ate supper?” he asked the girl.

  “I don’t know!” she cried.

  “Think! It’s important.”

  “I…an hour maybe. No more than that.”

  “Did he come straight upstairs after that?”

  “I…I think so.”

  Frank glanced around the Spartan room. Besides the plain iron bedstead, there was a wooden chair, a washstand with an enamel bowl and pitcher, and a small table. On the table sat a crystal decanter nearly full of amber liquid and an empty glass tumbler. Frank picked up the decanter and sniffed. Whiskey.

  “Where’d this come from?” he asked.

  “It was Mr. Devries’s,” the girl said. “He must’ve pinched it.”

  “No!” Roderick cried between groans.

  “Where’d you get it then?”

  “Gave it …”

  “When?” Frank asked.

  “Tonight,” he gasped as another spasm shook him.

  “What in heaven’s name?” Mrs. O’Brien cried, having just arrived.

  “Get a doctor here, right away,” Frank said. “Tell them he might’ve been poisoned.”

  “Poisoned! I won’t say no such thing!”

  “Do you want him to die?”

  The girl cried out. Other doors in the hallway were opening as the rest of the servants came to see what the commotion was.

  “Somebody send for a doctor,” Frank said. “Tell him Roderick will need his stomach pumped.”

  “I’ll go,” a young man said and hurried off.

  “I never heard of such a thing,” Mrs. O’Brien muttered.

  “Get rid of this and bring in a clean one,” Frank said, gesturing to the chamber pot. “And tell everybody to get back to their rooms.”

  The scullery maid reluctantly took charge of the chamber pot, and the cook started ushering the rest of the staff downstairs as they muttered and murmured their many questions.

  When they were gone, Frank stood over the writhing man. “Who gave you the whiskey?”

  Roderick looked up, his face twisted in agony. His lips moved, trying to form words, but no sound came out.

  Frank leaned closer. “Tell me, man. Who gave it to you?”

  Roderick’s eyes glittered with rage, but as Frank waited, silently willing him to speak the name of his killer, the glitter faded and flickered out. The eyes rolled back. Roderick was dead.

  FRANK USED THE DEVRIESES’ TELEPHONE TO CALL THE medical examiner and Felix Decker. Decker arrived first. By then, Frank had enlisted the cooperation of all the servants to keep the death a secret from the Devrieses for the time being, and the maid showed Decker into the receiving room where Frank was waiting for him, without announcing his arrival to the family.

  “How in God’s name did something like this happen?” Decker demanded as soon as the door closed behind him.

  “This afternoon, Mrs. Brandt let it slip to Mrs. Devries that I knew her husband was naked when he was stabbed.”

  “How would that result in a servant getting poisoned?”

  “The three people who were with Devries when he was undressed were the valet, Paul, and Mrs. Devries. She would know that, too, which means either Paul or his mother stabbed him, and they must have been afraid Roderick knew it.”

  Decker scowled. Frank could see how little he liked this. “But didn’t you also think the mistress might have done it?”

  “I did, but if she was the killer, why would anyone need to get rid of Roderick?”

  Decker muttered a very ungentlemanly curse. “But are you absolutely sure he was poisoned? Could it have been unintentional?”

  “You mean something he ate? Not likely. All the other servants ate the same food he did for supper, and none of them are sick.”

  “Then how…?”

  “I found a decanter of whiskey in his room, and he’d apparently been drinking out of it. He could barely speak when I found him, but he managed to say someone had given it to him.”

  “No servant would have done that.”

  “No.”

  Decker sighed. “How did Paul and Lucretia behave when you told them?”

  “I haven’t told them yet. In fact, they don’t even know I’m here or that Roderick is dead.”

  “You were waiting for me, I assume.”

  Frank hated himself for having to say it. “I need to know how you want this handled.”

  The muscles in Decker’s jaw flexed. “You must have a low opinion of me, Mr. Malloy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean because you felt you needed to ask that question. Yes, I wanted Chilton’s death handled discreetly, but only because it might have been unintentional. This servant’s death, however, is no accident. Someone killed the poor man with calculated cunning to cover their own guilt. I can’t allow something like that to pass.”

  The knot of tension in Frank’s belly loosened. He nodded. “I’m waiting for the medical examiner, and I’ll need to tell the family. You don’t have to stay for that.”

  Decker studied Frank for a long moment. “I won’t have you think me a coward, either, Mr. Malloy. We’ll tell them together.”

  The medical examiner arrived a few minutes later, and the noise of the man and his orderlies clomping up the stairs alerted the family that something was wrong, leaving Frank no choice but to go to them at once. He gave Doc Haynes his instructions, then followed Decker and the maid into the back parlor, where Mrs. Devries and her son had been spending a quiet evening.

  “Felix, what on earth is going on?” she asked. “And
what is that policeman doing here at this hour?”

  “I’m afraid I have some more unpleasant news, Lucretia,” Decker said.

  “About my father’s death?” Paul asked. He stood behind his mother’s chair, as if they had determined to present a united front against the intruders.

  “No, about someone else’s death,” Decker said.

  “Someone else?” Paul said. “Don’t tell me there’s been another unfortunate accident.”

  “I’m not so sure it was an accident, but your father’s valet is dead.”

  Paul seemed genuinely shocked. “Roderick? But that’s impossible. I saw him just after supper, and he was perfectly fine.”

  “Be quiet, Paul,” his mother said. “Don’t say another word. What happened to him?”

  “We aren’t sure yet,” Frank said, according to the plan he and Decker had made. “I came here tonight to ask him some more questions and found him very ill with gastric fever. We sent for the doctor, but Roderick died before he arrived.”

  “I knew it,” Mrs. Devries said.

  Frank and Decker gaped at her.

  “What did you know?” Decker asked.

  “Roderick. I knew he was the one who stabbed Chilly. I told Elizabeth exactly that this afternoon when she came to see me.”

  Her son looked down at her as if he thought she was insane. “Why would Roderick have stabbed Father?”

  “Your father was a difficult man, my dear. You must know that. I confess, I can’t blame the poor fellow for wanting to put an end to his misery.”

  “You can’t really believe that,” Paul said.

  “Paul, didn’t I ask you not to say another word?” She looked at Decker again. “I’m afraid Paul was often blind to his father’s faults, but we know, don’t we?”

  “Mother!”

  She silenced him with a gesture. “He was poisoned, wasn’t he?”

  “That is what Mr. Malloy suspects,” Decker said. “How did you know?”

  “What else could it be? He must have been unable to bear the guilt for what he’d done to Chilly, and he took his own life. I’m surprised your Mr. Malloy hasn’t figured that out himself.”

  11

  FRANK COULD HARDLY BELIEVE IT. DID SHE REALLY THINK anyone would accept such a ridiculous story?

  “Mother, that hardly seems—”

  “Enough, Paul. No one is interested in your opinion. Felix, I’m afraid I’m going to have to instruct the staff to stop admitting you. Every time you come, something awful has happened.” She smiled as if to show she was joking, but Decker did not return it.

  “So it seems. Mr. Malloy will need to question the staff before he leaves tonight.”

  “Is that really necessary? I won’t have them upset. The house has been in an uproar for a week already.”

  “They will probably feel better if they think the police are going to sort it all out.”

  “Is that what you do, Mr. Malloy? Sort things out?” she asked.

  “I try.”

  “I can’t imagine what good it will do, but I don’t suppose that will stop you, will it?”

  She could have stopped him, but Frank chose not to inform her of that. “If Roderick killed himself, maybe he said something to one of the other servants or maybe one of them noticed something.”

  He didn’t think she could argue with that, and apparently, she agreed. “I doubt a man intent on killing himself would confide in someone else, but I suppose anything is possible. Lord, such a fuss. I don’t know how I can bear it. Paul, will you help me upstairs to my room?”

  “Of course, Mother. I’ll ring for someone to see you out, Mr. Decker.”

  “Don’t bother. I know the way. Don’t worry about a thing, Lucretia. Mr. Malloy will take care of everything.”

  The look she gave Frank didn’t seem very appreciative.

  “WHAT DO YOU THINK?” FRANK ASKED DOC HAYNES.

  The two men stepped aside as the orderlies carried Roderick’s body out of his room on a stretcher. “From what you describe, it does sound like poison, probably arsenic. I’ll have them test the whiskey, of course.”

  “It would be arsenic.”

  “I know. Common as dishwater. Every house in the city has a box of rat poison in a cupboard somewhere. Do you know where he got the whiskey?”

  “The scullery maid thought he’d stolen it, but he managed to say somebody gave it to him. He died before he could tell me who, though.”

  “Worst luck.”

  “How soon will you know?”

  “Tomorrow is Sunday. Come see me Monday afternoon.”

  Frank swore. Monday was Devries’s funeral. He was starting to feel like he might not be able to bear it either.

  As he had before, Frank spoke with each of the servants one by one, hoping Roderick might have bragged to one of them about the gift someone had given him. This time the young man who had offered to summon the doctor took charge of organizing the interviews. As it turned out, young Winston was Paul’s valet.

  None of the other servants knew anything about the mysterious decanter of whiskey, although one or two of them wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Roderick had stolen it from Devries’s room. He did like a nip now and then, although Devries didn’t allow his servants to drink in the house. Frank had given up hope of learning anything important long before young Winston sat down with him in the receiving room, the last one to be questioned.

  He lacked Roderick’s air of confidence, but Frank figured time would take care of that. Paul was the master of the house now, and his valet would soon start to feel the importance of his position.

  “When did you last see Roderick?” Frank asked, the same question he had asked all the others before him.

  “At supper.” The same answer the others had given.

  “Did he seem ill or complain about not feeling well?”

  “No, in fact …”

  Frank’s weariness evaporated. “In fact what?”

  Plainly, Winston had been taught not to speak ill of the dead, so he hesitated diplomatically before saying, “He seemed rather jolly.”

  “Jolly?” No one else had mentioned this.

  “Well, cheerful at least.”

  “Do you know why?”

  Winston shifted uneasily in his chair. “He said…He said Mr. Paul had asked to see him.”

  “Why would that make him happy?”

  “I don’t know. See, we’ve all been talking, ever since Mr. Devries died. The servants, I mean. We’ve been wondering how long they’d keep Roderick, what with Mr. Devries being dead and not needing a valet anymore. We thought maybe they’d keep him until after the funeral, in case they needed him to choose his clothes or something, but Roderick thought different.”

  “What did he think?”

  “I’m not sure, but he didn’t think Mr. Paul was going to let him go.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  Winston shifted again. “He said…Well, not in so many words, but he thought Mr. Paul was going to take him on and let me go.”

  “Exactly what did he tell you?”

  Winston sighed. “He said, Winston, old sport, we’ll be sorry to see you go.”

  “He said this before he met with Paul Devries?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “What could I say? I know Mr. Paul has been very happy with my service, but I didn’t know. Maybe Mr. Paul thought he should keep Roderick because he’d served his father or something. I was nervous, I can tell you.”

  “What did he say afterwards?”

  “Nothing. I mean, I didn’t see him again. I waited down in the kitchen for a while. I thought he would come and tell me I was out—he would’ve liked lording it over me—but he didn’t. He just went right up to his room. That made me think Mr. Paul told him some bad news. Next thing I knew, I heard you yelling for somebody to call a doctor.”

  “Did you see the decanter we found in Roderick’s room?”

 
“Yes.”

  “Do you know where it came from?”

  “Mr. Devries had one like it in his room. I’ve seen it there. He likes his walnuts and his whiskey.”

  “Would Roderick have taken the decanter on his own? Without permission?”

  “I couldn’t say for sure, but I’d have to say no. Mrs. Devries, she’d be real hard on anybody who stole something.”

  “But if Paul Devries had just told him they were letting him go, maybe he didn’t care.”

  “Oh, he’d need a reference from the family if he wanted to get another job. He wouldn’t dare do anything to make them mad, even if they’d just turned him out.”

  “Winston, do you know what Paul and his father argued about the day Mr. Devries died?”

  To Frank’s surprise, the color drained from Winston’s face. “Uh, no, I don’t. Mr. Devries, he was always finding fault with Mr. Paul. It could’ve been anything at all.”

  “Roderick said they argued because Mr. Devries had been cruel to Garnet Devries.”

  He blinked. “Did he? Well, then, that must be it.”

  “What did Mr. Devries do that was cruel?”

  He had to think about this for a moment. “He was always saying hurtful things to people. Yes, that’s probably what it was. He’d said something to her and hurt her feelings.”

  Winston was a terrible liar, Frank noted. “Did he hurt Mr. Paul’s feelings, too?”

  Winston’s expression hardened. “He’d say terrible things to him.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Accuse him of not being a real man. Of being soft and weak.”

  “Did he ever talk about Mr. Paul’s friend, Hugh Zeller?”

  Winston blanched at that, silently confessing that he knew about Paul’s secret. “He…he didn’t approve of Mr. Paul’s friendship with Mr. Zeller.”

  “How does Mr. Paul get along with his wife?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do they argue a lot?”

  “Oh, no! They’re right fond of each other. That’s why Mr. Paul was so mad about his father not treating her well.”

  Which confirmed one of Frank’s suspicions. “Did Mr. Paul think his father took an improper interest in his wife?”

  Winston’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t know what you mean.”