“Did you find out who the killer is?” he asked her.
She glared at him. “That isn’t funny, Malloy.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. I was hoping you had. I’d like to settle this and be done with it. I don’t like these people very much.”
“That just makes you a good judge of character. I was a little surprised to see Calvin here,” she added.
“I guess I should’ve warned him not to come. That snooty butler wasn’t going to let him in,” Malloy reported.
“But you intervened,” she guessed. “I’m sure everyone was wondering who he is. He hardly looks like one of Blackwell’s patients.”
“If they were wondering, they can ask him,” Malloy said. “I sent him to the dining room for some food.”
“Oh, my! We should probably go rescue him. What if Potter starts in on him? Or what if one of the other guests finds out who he is?”
“Potter won’t want to cause a scene, and I doubt these people will give him the time of day, much less start a conversation with him.”
“Nobody ever wants to cause a scene. That’s probably what started this whole mess in the first place.”
“What do you mean?
“I mean everyone always insists that Letitia Blackwell voluntarily spoke at Blackwell’s lectures when she says she hated doing it so much she had to take morphine to get through them. She didn’t want to make a scene, so she put herself through torture! And why didn’t anyone see that and help her?”
“That’s simple,” Malloy assured her. “The men didn’t see it because they probably don’t think they forced her into it at all. They just told her what to do, and she did it. They didn’t particularly care what she had to do to get through it.”
Sarah had to admit he was probably right.
“I suppose you know that Blackwell was still married to Calvin’s mother,” she said.
“Yeah, the boy told me the whole ugly story. Poor kid, he’s got two younger sisters, too.”
“How awful. I suppose Blackwell deserted the family.”
“Brown did, anyway,” he corrected her. “He sent them money at first, but then he stopped. They had a hard time of it, according to Calvin.”
“I’m sure they did,” Sarah said. “Who do you think knew about this other wife? That would certainly be a motive for murdering him, if it was someone who cared about Letitia and her reputation.”
“You think Symington might’ve done it? Or hired it done?”
“Mr. Potter said no one else knew about it but him and Dr. Blackwell,” Sarah said. “Of course, he might not know who else Blackwell had told.”
“Blackwell wasn’t likely to confide in his father-in-law that his marriage was a sham,” Malloy pointed out.
“Could someone else have told him?” Sarah asked.
“Who else knew?”
“Calvin did,” Sarah reminded him.
“How would Calvin meet Symington? And Symington didn’t seem to know who the boy was the other night when Potter and I told him about him.”
“That’s too bad. I don’t like him very much, and I’d like for him to be the killer,” she said.
“Not me. A man that rich and powerful would never spend a day in prison, no matter who he killed.”
“Do you think Calvin did it?” she asked.
“No, but that doesn’t mean he didn’st,” Malloy cautioned her. “I’d better get to the dining room to see what’s going on.”
“We’ll probably need to rescue Calvin, too. I hope Potter isn’t rude to him.”
“Potter will probably pretend he doesn’t see him,” Malloy said. “He won’t want to make a scene.”
Sarah ignored his sarcasm. “Maybe I can strike up a conversation with someone. You’d be surprised what you can learn from funeral gossip.” She pretended not to notice the way Malloy rolled his eyes.
They started down the hallway toward the dining room, but they stopped when they heard Amos Potter apparently arguing with someone just outside the doorway.
“This is hardly the time or the place to discuss such things, Mr. Fitzgerald. I’d be happy to make an appointment with you-”
“You don’t need an appointment. You just need to know that I own this house, and Blackwell was living here rent-free. Now that he’s dead, I don’t see any reason I shouldn’t rent it out to someone who can pay, so you can tell Mrs. Blackwell she’s got until the end of the month to get out.”
6
POTIER LOOKED THUNDERSTRUCK, AND WHEN HE saw that Malloy and Sarah had overheard, he blanched. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Fitzgerald,” he stammered. “Please allow me to make an appointment to speak with you privately about this matter.”
“What could that hurt?” Mrs. Fitzgerald asked her husband pleadingly. “And you can’t throw Mrs. Blackwell out onto the street! She just had a new baby.”
“I’m sure her father will take them both in,” Fitzgerald said coldly.
“Then at least let me meet with you to make the arrangements,” Potter pleaded, glancing nervously at Sarah and Malloy, who were waiting patiently instead of scurrying away, as most people would have done to save themselves the embarrassment of overhearing such an unpleasant conversation.
“Fine. Monday morning at nine at my place of business,” Fitzgerald said, reaching into his inside pocket and pulling out his card.
Potter took it gingerly and quickly tucked it away. “I’m sure we can make arrangements that will suit everyone concerned,” he said with forced heartiness.
Fitzgerald grunted noncommittally and turned away, but to Sarah’s surprise, he entered the dining room, followed by his wife. The man was going to evict a newborn babe and his mother, but he didn’t think twice about enjoying their hospitality. She glanced at Malloy, who apparently shared her thoughts.
“Who is that fellow?” he asked Potter.
“Clarence Fitzgerald,” Potter said, after pulling the man’s card out and examining it. “His wife was a patient of Dr. Blackwell’s. He helped her tremendously. Sciatica, if I recall correctly.”
“And she was so grateful she let Blackwell live in this house rent-free?” Malloy asked with a frown.
“I’m sure I know nothing of any such arrangement. Edmund did not confide in me to that extent.”
“The Fitzgeralds are very generous,” Sarah noted. “The rent for a house like this would be considerable.”
“Oh, no, there was a scandal here, I understand. The Fitzgeralds owned it, but they were having trouble finding a tenant. Edmund said he cared nothing for such things, and he would take the house. He felt Letitia deserved a residence that matched her station in life, and of course he didn’t tell her about the scandal.”
“I guess it also helped that he was getting it for free,” Sarah said.
“If that is indeed the case,” Potter replied stiffly. “I believe Mr. Fitzgerald may be exaggerating his generosity. I haven’t had time to put Edmund’s affairs in order, but when I do, I’m sure I’ll discover the facts of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the comfort of our guests.”
Potter entered the dining room and insinuated himself into the nearest group, rudely interrupting their conversation, while Sarah and Malloy stood watching in amazement.
“What do you think?” Sarah asked Malloy.
He shrugged one of his beefy shoulders. “I think Mrs. Fitzgerald was way too grateful if she gave Blackwell this house to live in.”
“That depends on what services he performed for her,” Sarah said with a smug smile, and was gratified to see Malloy’s jaw drop in surprise. She loved to shock him. “Why don’t you take care of Calvin? I think I’ll go make Mrs. Fitzgerald’s acquaintance and see what I can learn.”
Without waiting for Malloy’s reply, she moved into the room, carefully stepping around the small groups that had formed for conversational purposes and looking for the Fitzgeralds. To her alarm, she found her quarry engaged in conversation with Calvin Brown!
Or at least Mrs. Fitzgerald was. Her husband was merely standing by, glaring in disapproval. Sarah slowly made her way through the crush of the crowd to the comer where they were standing.
“I knew you must be some relation to Dr. Blackwell,” Mrs. Fitzgerald was saying. “The resemblance is striking. How long have you been in the city?”
“A week or so,” Calvin mumbled, plainly awed by people of their social status and unsure whether to answer their questions or not.
“You must have been impressed to find your father living in such a grand house,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. “Which room have you been staying in?”
“I… I ain’t been staying here,” he said, looking more and more uncomfortable.
Sarah excused herself and elbowed her way around the last person separating her from them.
“You weren’t staying with your father? Where on earth have you been staying, then?” Mrs. Fitzgerald asked, a little shocked.
“A lodging house on Essex Street,” he said.
“And Edmund allowed that?” Mrs. Fitzgerald couldn’t believe such a thing.
At last Sarah was close enough to intervene. “Calvin, there you are,” she said with a smile.
The look he gave her showed desperation. She offered him hope.
“I believe Mr. Malloy was looking for you,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the dining-room door.
“Thank you, ma’ am,” he said, and made his escape with unseemly haste.
“Hello,” Sarah said to Mrs. Fitzgerald when he was safely away. “It was a lovely service, wasn’t it?”
Mrs. Fitzgerald looked surprised and a little annoyed that Sarah had sent the boy away, but she was too well-bred to be rude. “Oh, yes. I do wish they’d had a minister, though. It doesn’t seem like a funeral without a minister.” Sarah noticed that her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot and her nose was red on the tip, as if she’d cried quite a bit today.
“I know,” Sarah replied. “I wondered at that myself. Perhaps Dr. Blackwell didn’t hold with organized religion.”
As she’d hoped, Mr. Fitzgerald finally started drifting away, bored by what promised to be nothing more than female chitchat and looking for something more interesting to amuse himself.
“Oh, Dr. Blackwell was a deeply spiritual man, I know,” Mrs. Fitzgerald assured Sarah, apparently not caring where her husband went.
“I’m sure he was,” Sarah replied. “Were you one of his patients?”
“Yes, although he didn’t like to call us that. He preferred to call us clients. You see, he treated more than aches and pains. He wasn’t like an ordinary physician at all. Didn’t you know the doctor?” she asked, suddenly growing suspicious.
“Not very well,” Sarah said, stretching the truth a bit. “I’m a friend of Mrs. Blackwell’s, and I felt it was my duty to attend the service, since she couldn’t.”
“I see,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said, suddenly cold. Sarah wondered if it was the mention of Mrs. Blackwell or the fact that she, Sarah, didn’t know the doctor that the woman had found offensive. The first was the far more intriguing possibility, but Sarah didn’t want to waste precious time finding out. She decided to win Mrs. Fitzgerald back immediately.
“My name is Sarah Brandt. My father is Felix Decker,” she said, knowing both that it would gain her instant respect with Mrs. Fitzgerald and how annoyed her father would be to have his name used to gather clues in a murder investigation. Fortunately, he would most likely never learn of it.
The Decker name had the desired effect on Mrs. Fitzgerald. The Deckers were one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the city. Mrs. Fitzgerald need not know that Sarah had long ago turned her back on their way of life to become a common midwife.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brandt,” the woman said, so obviously impressed at meeting her that Sarah was almost ashamed. Almost. “I’m Martha Fitzgerald. That’s my husband, Clarence,” she added, gesturing vaguely to where Clarence had formerly stood.
“Could you tell me more about Dr. Blackwell’s form of treatment and how it worked? I’m fascinated by what I’ve heard, but I can hardly credit the successes that are attributed to him.”
“You may believe whatever you have heard, Mrs. Brandt. Dr. Blackwell could perform veritable miracles. Surely you know what he was able to do for his own wife.”
“Yes, Letitia shared with me how he cured her, but I can’t help believing that was some sort of fluke. Perhaps she was ready to get well and would have recovered without any treatment at all.”
“I’m sure I can’t speak for Mrs. Blackwell’s case,” she said with just a hint of disapproval, “but I know about my own. I had suffered for many years and was growing worse. I had such pain I could sometimes hardly move from my bed. Most days I couldn’t walk more than a few steps at a time. Some of the physicians who had treated me had the nerve to hint that my suffering was imaginary! Can you believe it?”
“Unfortunately I can,” Sarah said, knowing that many people’s pain and suffering were brought on by their own determination to be miserable. She didn’t dare suggest that she also believed this to be true of her companion, however, not if she wanted to hear what Mrs. Fitzgerald had to say.
“I think I would know the difference between real pain and imaginary pain, don’t you?” she asked indignantly.
“Absolutely,” Sarah agreed, less than truthfully.
“In any case, Dr. Blackwell took my case very seriously. He spent a long time discussing it with me, determining when the pain had started and exactly when and how often it occurred. None of the other doctors had cared to even ask such questions!”
Sarah was beginning to understand some of Blackwell’s appeal. He took time to listen to his patients. Or rather, his clients. And, most likely, to humor them as well. This must have been a form of therapy in and of itself. Remembering Dr. Blackwell’s tender care was bringing fresh tears to Mrs. Fitzgerald’s eyes.
“He sounds like a wonderful man,” Sarah tried.
“Oh, he was!” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. “And so gentle…” She quickly pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her cheeks.
“I’m sure he would be touched by your grief,” Sarah went on. “You must have been very grateful to him. I couldn’t help overhearing your husband say that he owns this house and allowed Dr. Blackwell to live here rent-free.”
“Well, actually,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper and glancing around to see if anyone was listening, “I own the house. My father willed it to me. We had no need of it, of course, and it wasn’t grand enough for Clarence, in any case, so I let it out. It would provide a nice income for me, but I really don’t need the money, so when I learned that Dr. Blackwell was in need of a home…”
She let Sarah guess the rest. It wasn’t difficult. Her only real question was why Mr. Fitzgerald had allowed it. Perhaps he hadn’t known until Blackwell died. “That was extremely generous of you. Dr. Blackwell must have been remarkably talented. Could you explain to me exactly what he did in his treatments that was different from other physicians? I can’t seem to understand it.”
“Oh, my, I can’t understand it either. In fact, I hardly remember most of it myself. The doctor speaks to you until you drift into a sort of sleep. Then he does things that feel absolutely wonderful, and when you come back to yourself, you feel like a new person. The pain is gone, and you can forget you ever had it!”
“Oh,” was all Sarah could think to say. Mrs. Fitzgerald was hardly enlightening, but Sarah had learned something valuable just the same: the true secret to Blackwell’s success! She couldn’t let on how excited she was without alarming Mrs. Fitzgerald, though. She had to change the subject. “Would your husband really put poor Letitia and the baby out at the end of the month?”
Mrs. Fitzgerald blinked in surprise at the abruptness of the topic change, and then her expression hardened. She didn’t like discussing Letitia. “Well, we’d heard nothing about a baby, of course,” she said, not quit
e answering the question. “Dear heavens, when did she have it?”
“The morning after Dr. Blackwell was killed.”
“I see. The shock must have brought it on, I suppose. I know I was prostrate myself when I heard the news. And then to learn today that Dr. Blackwell had not one but two sons! I had no idea he had been married before, either.” This fact did not please her at all. “There must be some unpleasantness between them or else why wasn’t the older boy staying here with his father?”
She was obviously hoping that Sarah would give her some answers, but she had no intention of filling Mrs. Fitzgerald in on the doctor’s scandalous past.
“I’m sure Dr. Blackwell would have confided in you if he’d felt the need,” Sarah said tactfully.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said, considering this, and her eyes filled with tears again. “He was such a dear, dear man. However shall I go on without him?”
That seemed an odd thing to say about one’s physician, no matter what wonders of healing he might have worked, but Sarah wasn’t going to question her about it. Besides, she still hadn’t answered the question about throwing Letitia and the baby out of the house. “Did you say you hadn’t heard that Dr. Blackwell’s son had been born?”
“Not only that, I hadn’t known he was even expected! Dr. Blackwell hadn’t mentioned it to me, and we were very close. He always said I was one of his favorite clients.”
Sarah thought that an odd statement, but she let it pass.
“Of course,” Mrs. Fitzgerald continued, “we knew she’d stopped appearing at his lectures, but no one thought anything of it. It was obvious she was desperately afraid of speaking before a crowd, so I’m sure we all assumed that was why. She certainly was never very effective. If you ask me, Mr. Symington does much better.”
This woman had no sympathy at all for poor Letitia, and her spite sounded remarkably like jealousy to Sarah. “I heard someone say that the speech he gave this morning is the same one he uses at the lectures,” Sarah said.
“Hmm, I suppose it was very similar,” Mrs. Fitzgerald allowed, “but it certainly applied, didn’t it? I mean, all the things he said about Edmund were true, regardless of when or where he said them.”
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