Murder on Fifth Avenue: A Gaslight Mystery

by Victoria Thompson

  “This doesn’t concern you, Mother,” Paul said.

  “If it’s happening in my house, it concerns me. What are you doing to my son?”

  “I was only asking him some questions.”

  “Then why were you shouting?”

  “I was shouting, Mother. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

  Mrs. Devries glared at Frank. “I want you to leave my house this instant.”

  “I believe it’s your son’s house now,” Frank said.

  She turned to Paul. “Are you going to allow him to speak to me like that?”

  “If you leave, he won’t be able to speak to you at all.”

  She gasped in outrage. “Is this the way you treat your mother after all I’ve done for you?”

  “Mother, please, this is between me and Mr. Malloy.”

  “I won’t have it, I tell you. I won’t have him coming here and upsetting you.”

  “I’m not trying to upset him,” Frank said, hoping if he remained calm, she would calm down as well. “I just needed to ask him some questions about Roderick.”

  “Roderick? What could he possibly know about Roderick?”

  “He was the last person to speak with him before he died.”

  “Of course he was! I told him to dismiss the worthless idiot. I was tired of paying him a salary for sitting around and doing nothing.”

  “Mr. Malloy thinks someone poisoned Roderick because he knew who stabbed Father.”

  “That’s absurd! I told you before, Roderick committed suicide.”

  “Why would he do a thing like that?”

  “How should I know? And why should anyone care? He was just a servant.”

  “Mother, please!”

  Frank didn’t know how much longer he could be civil to this horrible woman, but before he could completely lose his temper, Garnet appeared in the open doorway.

  “Paul! Don’t say anything to him!” she cried and ran to him.

  “Garnet, what…?” He looked up and said, “Sarah?”

  Sarah had followed Garnet into the room. She cast Frank an apologetic look.

  “Garnet, what are you thinking?” Mrs. Devries said. “You aren’t even dressed. Go back to your room at once!”

  Garnet seemed not to have heard. She had grabbed Paul by the lapels. “Don’t say anything to them!”

  “Don’t say anything about what?” Paul asked in exasperation.

  “About Roderick,” Sarah said. “We know what you did.”

  Frank stepped over to her and said very quietly, “I’m not sure we do.”

  She looked at him in surprise, but no one was paying any attention to them.

  “I didn’t do anything to Roderick, as I was just explaining to Mr. Malloy,” Paul said.

  “Of course you didn’t. The man killed himself,” Mrs. Devries said.

  “That seems unlikely,” Frank said, “since he knew who had stabbed Mr. Devries.”

  Everyone turned to him in surprise.

  “If he did, why didn’t he say so?” Mrs. Devries scoffed.

  “I think he was hoping to blackmail Paul into keeping him on,” Frank said.

  “But now we know who did it, too,” Sarah said.

  Frank blinked. “We do?”

  “Yes,” she told him. “I found it under her bed.” Sarah looked at Garnet. “I know you stabbed Mr. Devries.”

  Garnet stared back at her blankly, but Paul said, “No! She didn’t! I’m the one who stabbed him!”

  Garnet and his mother both cried, “Paul!” but he ignored them.

  “I did it. He was saying awful things to me, and I stabbed him. I didn’t mean to kill him, and he hardly flinched. In fact, he laughed at me. Yes, that’s right, he laughed at me, and called me a…Well, he called me a terrible name, and I ran out of the room. I had no idea how badly he was hurt.”

  “Paul!” his mother screamed in anguish, clapping her hands to her ears as if trying to block out his words.

  “He’s lying!” Garnet said. “He’s trying to protect me. I’m the one who stabbed him. You were right,” she told Sarah. “Devries came into my room to attack me, and I fought him off!”

  “You lying little tart!” Mrs. Devries cried. “How dare you accuse my husband of such a thing!”

  “I dare because it’s true!”

  “It is true, Mother. He as much as admitted it to me. That’s why I stabbed him.”

  Mrs. Devries glared at him, breathless in her fury. “Well, he’s dead now, so what does it matter? What matters is you, and you’re not going to take the blame for stabbing your father, not after all I’ve done to protect you!”

  “What have you done?” he asked.

  “I think I know,” Frank said, as the picture suddenly became clear to him. All of them turned to him. “You poisoned Roderick, didn’t you?”

  She glared murderously at him. “Get out of my house, you worthless scum!”

  “I think I already reminded you that this isn’t your house anymore. You’re the one who poisoned Roderick, though. Now it all makes sense. You must’ve known how he liked to sample his master’s whiskey. Maybe your husband had complained about it to you, or one of the servants had mentioned it.”

  “They did no such thing!”

  “He’d already emptied the decanter in Devries’s bedroom, so you refilled it for him. You knew he’d be upset after his conversation with your son, the conversation you ordered your son to have with him. Maybe you even called out to him as he was going up to his room and suggested he take the decanter with him.”

  “I never!”

  “Oh, yes,” Frank continued, warming to the tale. “That’s why he said someone had given it to him.”

  “I thought he said I’d given it to him,” Paul said.

  “I lied to you,” Frank said. “He didn’t actually say who it was.”

  “There, you see,” Mrs. Devries said. “He lied to you. None of this is true!”

  But Paul was looking at his mother as if he’d never seen her before, and Garnet’s lips had curled into a smile of triumph.

  “You killed Roderick,” she said.

  “Don’t be absurd!” Mrs. Devries tried, looking a little desperate now.

  “And for nothing,” Frank said.

  Once again they all turned to him.

  “That’s right,” Frank said to Mrs. Devries. “You didn’t need to kill him at all.”

  She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She turned to Paul in silent appeal.

  “She thinks you stabbed your father,” Frank told him.

  “I did!” Paul insisted.

  “What did you stab him with?”

  “Stop torturing him!” Garnet cried. “I already told you, I did it.”

  Frank was willing to play along. “And what did you stab him with?” Sarah would have spoken, but he silenced her with a gesture. “Mrs. Brandt thinks she found the weapon you used under your bed. All you have to do is tell us what it is.”

  “It’s a knife,” Garnet said.

  “Where did you get a knife?”

  “I…I…From my breakfast tray.”

  “She’s lying!” Paul said. “I stabbed him.”

  “With what?” Frank asked, pretending to be very interested.

  “A knife, of course.”

  “And where did you get a knife?”

  “From his breakfast tray.”

  “Which didn’t arrive until after you left him.”

  “That’s not true!”

  “Yes, it is. The maid will confirm it.”

  Sarah was staring at him with a gratifying amount of admiration. “Neither one of them did it,” she marveled.

  “What?” Paul said.

  “I know you’re trying to protect each other,” Frank said, “but it’s not necessary, because neither of you did it. I was sure one of you had, so I was glad when you started arguing about it. I figured the guilty one would be only too willing to confess, but neither one of you knows what he was stabbed with.”
>
  “What was he stabbed with, if not a knife?” Garnet asked.

  Frank deferred to Sarah.

  “Something the size and shape of an ice pick. We thought it was a nut pick.”

  “Those things Father was always using on his walnuts?” Paul asked.

  “Yes. One is missing from the set in his room.”

  “He had one when he came into my room that morning,” Garnet said. “He was eating one of his cursed walnuts and grinning at me—” She clamped a hand over her mouth as if she was going to be sick again, and Sarah rushed to her side.

  “She needs to sit down,” Sarah told Paul.

  “You aren’t going to fall for that again, are you?” his mother said. “She’s just pretending she’s ill to get your sympathy.”

  “She’s not pretending. She’s with child,” Sarah said, as she and Paul helped Garnet to a chair.

  “Good God!” Paul cried in horror. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because she’s a devious little trollop, that’s why. What other reason could she have for not telling you about your own child?”

  “Because your son isn’t the father,” Frank said, watching for her reaction. “Your husband is.”

  Frank had the satisfaction of seeing the blood drain from her face as she realized the truth.

  “Then that wasn’t the first time,” Paul was saying to his wife. “You should have told me.”

  “Why?” she asked with a sad smile. “So we could both be miserable? You couldn’t have stopped him.”

  He took her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “He’s dead now. That’s all that matters.”

  Sarah discreetly moved away from them and said to Frank, “Except we still don’t know who killed him.”

  “No, but the list of possible killers has gotten much shorter.”

  “You don’t think she did it?” Sarah nodded at Mrs. Devries.

  “No, she was too anxious to protect Paul. If she’d done it, she would’ve known he didn’t.”

  “Paul?” Mrs. Devries said. “I’m feeling very unwell.”

  She looked it, too.

  “Ring for the maid, Mother. I have to look after Garnet.” Paul turned to Frank. “If it’s true that she killed Roderick, what will you do with her?”

  Frank honestly didn’t know. He couldn’t imagine the New York City justice system bringing a wealthy woman to trial for poisoning a servant. Money would change hands, and the case would simply go away. “I’ll talk to you about it later. You need to take care of your wife now.”

  Sarah followed him out into the hallway. “What will you do now?”

  “I need to pay Miss English a visit. Devries had a set of nut picks at his mistress’s house, too.”

  THE HOUSE ON MERCER STREET LOOKED MORE FORLORN than ever. Frank wouldn’t have been surprised to find Norah English and her stepmother gone, but Lizzie answered the door with her usual reluctance.

  “Can’t you leave us alone?”

  “No.” Frank didn’t have to push his way inside. She stepped back, resigned. “Is Miss English receiving visitors?”

  “Don’t you go scaring her now. She’s been nervous as a cat since you come around with the news about Mr. Devries.”

  “Has anyone from his company been to see you?”

  “Not yet, but we ain’t waiting to get kicked out.”

  Frank noticed immediately that most of the furniture was gone. A sagging sofa was the only thing left in the parlor. “I see you took my advice.”

  “We didn’t hardly get nothing for that stuff, either. Everybody’s out to cheat you.”

  Frank had to agree with that. “Did you contact her uncle?”

  “Yeah, but we haven’t heard back from him.”

  “You might need to encourage him a bit. Try telling him if he doesn’t help, you’ll have to go back and live with him again. That should get him moving. And don’t let him know you’ve got any money.”

  “I do know better than that.”

  “I’ll wait in here while you go get Miss English.”

  Frank strolled around the nearly empty parlor while Lizzie clomped up the stairs and did whatever was necessary to get Miss English prepared for his visit. She only kept him waiting a few minutes this time.

  Today she looked like a schoolgirl in her simple shirtwaist and skirt with her hair in a plain bun. Lizzie hovered protectively, but Frank had no wish to harm or frighten her, unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “Let’s sit down,” he said, indicating the sofa.

  She took one end, and he lowered himself carefully onto the other, hoping he’d be able to get back up from its sagging depths without losing too much of his dignity. Lizzie stood at Miss English’s elbow.

  “I see you’ve sold the nut bowl,” he said.

  “You told us to,” Miss English reminded him.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “It wasn’t solid silver. Nothing he had here was solid silver.”

  Frank figured Devries was a careful man who wouldn’t leave anything valuable where someone else might get it. “He had another bowl of nuts upstairs, didn’t he?”

  “What difference does that make?” Lizzie asked.

  Frank shot her a look, but she didn’t seem intimidated.

  “He liked walnuts,” Miss English said. “He ate them all the time.”

  “I don’t think I told you how Mr. Devries died.”

  “Did he choke on a walnut?” Lizzie asked with a smirk.

  Miss English started to giggle, then caught herself. “Oh, my, did he?”

  “No, he didn’t. He was stabbed.”

  “Oh, well, then.”

  “Didn’t you say he died at his club?” Lizzie asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you mean to say somebody there stabbed him?”

  “No. It’s kind of funny how it happened. See, he got to his club and sat down to read the newspapers or something, and they thought he fell asleep in his chair, but it turns out he was dead.”

  “Oh, dear!” Miss English said.

  “They thought he had a heart attack, but when the undertaker comes for him, he finds out he’d been stabbed, but it happened before he got to the club.”

  “How could that be?” Lizzie asked. “If he got himself stabbed, wouldn’t he go to a doctor or something?”

  “That’s just it. The way it happened, he probably didn’t know, or at least he didn’t know how bad it was.”

  Miss English stared at him with her big, brown eyes. “How did it happen?”

  “We think somebody close to him got angry and accidentally stuck him with something.”

  “Nobody gets accidentally stuck with a knife,” Lizzie said.

  “I didn’t say it was a knife.”

  “What was it then?”

  “Something long and thin, like an ice pick.”

  “You don’t get accidentally stabbed with no ice pick, neither,” Lizzie said.

  “And wouldn’t it bleed?” Miss English asked.

  “It was on his back, and it didn’t bleed much. His clothes soaked up most of it.”

  “This don’t make sense. If it was just a little stick like you say, how could he die from it?”

  “It was small, but it went deep. It hit his kidney.” Frank reached around his own back to indicate the spot. “It didn’t bleed much on the outside, but it did on the inside, and it killed him.”

  “Didn’t it hurt?”

  “Maybe, but I figure he thought whoever did it had punched him or something. Maybe he thought it was a bruise.”

  “Even if somebody hit him, Devries wasn’t one to let it pass,” Lizzie said.

  Frank nodded. “Unless it was a woman who did it.”

  Miss English’s puzzled expression didn’t change, but Lizzie’s did. “What’re you saying?”

  “I’m not saying anything. I’m asking. If it was an accident, and Devries didn’t report it—”

  “He didn’t report it because it n
ever happened!” Lizzie said.

  “Why are you getting so mad, Lizzie?” Miss English asked.

  “Because he thinks you stuck something in the old bugger, that’s why!”

  Miss English gaped at him. “Do you?”

  “I’m asking if you maybe got mad at him and picked up something that was laying around and—”

  “Oh, no, I never! I’d never raise a hand to him. I’d be afraid to, you see.”

  “She learned that pretty quick,” Lizzie said, outraged. “First time she tried to complain about something, he hit her good, with a closed fist. What kind of a man does that, I ask you?”

  The kind of man who deserves to get stabbed in the back.

  “I couldn’t chew anything for a week,” Miss English said, touching her jaw. “If I’d hit him or stabbed him, he would’ve killed me, I’ll bet.”

  “No doubt about it,” Lizzie said.

  Just like with a servant, Frank thought. He wouldn’t have tolerated anything from anyone over whom he held power.

  “Oh, I see now why you wanted his clothes,” Lizzie said. “You wanted to know did he get stuck while he was here.”

  “How would his clothes tell him that?” Miss English asked.

  “If there was a hole or some blood, I’d guess.”

  “That’s right, but it’s possible he wasn’t wearing any clothes when he got stuck.”

  “Oh! That’s why you thought it might be me,” Miss English said. Lizzie gave her a poke. “I’m sorry. Wasn’t that a proper thing to say?”

  Frank wasn’t going to reply to that. “Devries’s son knows about you, Miss English. I don’t know how long it will be until he thinks about doing something about you living here, but you should know.”

  “I don’t suppose he’d like Miss English for himself, would he?” Lizzie asked.

  “No, he wouldn’t.” Frank suddenly recalled something Sarah had said. “There’s a settlement house on Mulberry Street that takes young women. It’s near Police Headquarters. They’d take you in.” He glanced at Lizzie. “They might even have a job for you there.”

  “What’s a settlement house?” Miss English asked.

  “It’s a place where they give you charity,” Lizzie said. “We’ll wait to hear from your uncle.”

  “At least think about it.” He pushed himself up off the sofa, thinking he’d accomplished all he could here. He was just going to take his leave when he remembered a suspicion he’d had the first time he’d visited here. “You might also ask Mr. Angotti for help if your uncle doesn’t reply.”