When the petit fours were gone and Catherine had tired of the tea party and moved off to play with something else, Mrs. Decker came back downstairs to drink coffee with her daughter. After some polite inquiries after her father’s health and her mother’s activities, Sarah finally asked the question she’d been longing to ask.
“Do you know Vivian Van Orner?”
“Gregory Van Orner’s wife? Of course I do. Why?”
“She died yesterday.”
“Good heavens! I hadn’t heard a thing about it.”
“It happened late yesterday afternoon. I don’t suppose they’ve had much time to tell people.”
“What happened to her?”
“They aren’t sure yet. She was alone in her carriage, and when they got to her house, the driver opened the door to let her out and she was dead.”
“She was so young.” Mrs. Decker shook her head in dismay. She was still an attractive woman, although her blond hair was threaded with silver, and fine lines had begun to form around her eyes. “Oh, dear!”
“What?” Sarah asked.
“Was she murdered? Oh, my, of course she was. That’s why you’re interested in her.”
Sarah had to admit it was a logical conclusion, considering how many murders she’d helped Frank Malloy investigate. “I told you, they aren’t sure yet.”
“But if you’re involved . . . You are involved, aren’t you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Mr. Malloy told her she better not be either,” Maeve offered as she came into the kitchen. She’d brought the dirty plates and cups from upstairs to be washed.
Mrs. Decker’s face lit with interest when she looked at Sarah again. “You must tell me everything.”
“It started when Mrs. Brandt delivered a baby in a brothel,” Maeve said, carefully setting the fragile dishes down in the sink.
Mrs. Decker pretended to be scandalized. “A brothel! Sarah, how could you!”
Sarah glared at Maeve, who ignored her and started to tell Mrs. Decker the story, forcing Sarah to interrupt and tell her own version. After a few confusing minutes, Mrs. Decker had a condensed version of everything that had happened.
“How did she die?” Mrs. Decker asked when they were finished.
“Mr. Malloy thinks she was poisoned,” Maeve said. At some point during the narrative, she had taken a seat at the kitchen table with them.
“That’s what Malloy suspects,” Sarah corrected her. “She could have died of natural causes for all we know.”
“Did you know her, Mrs. Decker?”
“Not well, but all of the old Knickerbocker families know each other,” she said, referring to the original Dutch families who had settled the city of New York. “I knew Gregory’s mother very well, but she died last year, and I didn’t know Vivian’s family at all. In fact, I didn’t meet her until she married Gregory.”
“Did you know about her charity work?” Sarah asked.
“Oh, yes. I’m afraid not many people admired her for it either.”
“I’m sure her husband’s friends teased her about it,” Sarah said.
“Yes, but the women were worse. Women can be very . . . judgmental about others of their sex who have fallen. They didn’t believe women like that really wanted to be rescued, you see.”
“They should have seen the girl whose baby I delivered. She was desperate to get out of there.”
“I’m sure she was. What a horrible life that must be.” Mrs. Decker shuddered.
“Mrs. Van Orner did have some friends who helped her. Two gentlemen named Porter and Quimby and a Mrs. Spratt-Williams.”
“I never heard of them, but I’m not surprised she found helpers. All the causes with offices in the United Charities Building have dedicated followers. They’re extremely organized, too, I understand.”
“Organized?” Sarah asked.
“They have to be, so people don’t take advantage of them.”
“How would people take advantage of them?” Maeve asked.
“By getting help from one charity until it was worn out and then moving on to a new one. Too much charity encourages sloth. People must learn to make their own way in the world.”
“Mother! Do you really believe people are poor because they’re lazy?”
Her mother looked at her with a puzzled frown. “What other explanation could there be? If they’d just get jobs, they wouldn’t be poor.”
“Oh, Mother, most poor people in the city do have jobs, but they don’t earn enough to support a family, not even when everyone in the family works. In the tenements, little children roll cigars and make paper flowers and do all kinds of piecework for the sweatshops, working twelve hours a day, because everyone has to contribute to supporting the family.”
“That’s outrageous!”
“Yes, it is, but it’s true. The poor in New York are the least lazy people on earth!”
“I had no idea . . . Or I suppose I should say, I never really thought about it.”
“Very few rich people do,” Sarah said.
Mrs. Decker sat back in her chair, considering what her daughter had just told her. “I suppose you’re going to say the women who work in brothels aren’t really depraved creatures who have chosen their lot in life either.”
“Actually, they often do choose that life, but not because they’re depraved.”
“Why then?”
“Because they’re starving.”
“Starving? But what about their families?”
“Most of them don’t have families or their families can’t afford to keep them.”
“But I know hundreds of young women work in those sewing factories. Surely a woman can earn an honest living if she wants to.”
“The girls who work in those factories don’t earn enough to keep a roof over their heads. They live with their families, and they’re working to contribute to their support. They could never afford even a room in a boardinghouse on what they earn, though. If a girl is alone in the world, she has a very hard life.”
“That’s horrible,” Mrs. Decker said, obviously moved, “but still, to sell yourself... Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that in front of Maeve.”
The girl had been very quiet during Sarah’s explanations, sitting with her hands folded and staring at the table. She looked up now. “Don’t worry about me. Lots of the girls at the Mission had been whores. I was lucky I had my grandfather to look after me, and when he died, I found the Mission. Otherwise . . .”
“Oh, Maeve!” Mrs. Decker laid her hand over Maeve’s where they were folded on the table. Maeve looked up in surprise, and Mrs. Decker smiled warmly. “We’re very glad you came to us.”
“I . . . I’m very glad, too.”
“I thank God every day that we have her,” Sarah said, “but Maeve is only one of thousands of girls in the city. The woman who runs the house where I delivered the baby claims that dozens of them come knocking on her door every week, begging her to let them work for her.”
“I had no idea.” Mrs. Decker shook her head again. “I was unkind to Vivian. Not to her face, but I laughed at her behind her back. We all did. We made ugly jokes about her dedication to eliminating all the prostitutes in New York. They said her husband . . .” She glanced at Maeve and bit her lip, obviously loath to say whatever she’d been going to say in front of the girl.
“Maeve,” Sarah began, but the girl was already rising from her chair.
“I’ll go check on Catherine,” she said. “I enjoyed the little cakes, Mrs. Decker. Thank you for bringing them.”
“My pleasure, my dear.”
They waited until Maeve was truly gone before continuing the conversation.
“What about her husband?” Sarah asked, afraid she already knew the answer.
“I don’t know for sure, of course, but the gossip . . . there’s always been gossip about him, about how he preferred the company of ladies of the evening.”
“If we can judge by the number of brothels in
the city, many men do.”
“It was an ugly thing to talk about, and I’m ashamed now.”
Sarah considered what her mother had told her. “I didn’t tell you everything that happened after Amy was rescued. I didn’t tell you what Amy named her baby.”
“Is this something I would be happier not knowing?”
“She didn’t name him Felix,” Sarah said wryly. Felix was, of course, her father’s name.
“Let me guess. She did name him Gregory.”
“And she told Mrs. Van Orner she was naming him after his father.”
Mrs. Decker sighed. “How cruel of her. But the girl was a prostitute. How could she possibly know who the father was?”
“According to Mrs. Walker, the woman who ran the house where she worked, Amy had been a rich man’s mistress. He’d brought her to Mrs. Walker when he got tired of her. Mrs. Walker said Amy must have already been pregnant when she arrived there.”
Mrs. Decker stared at Sarah for a long moment.
“What is it?” Sarah asked finally.
“Sounds like this Amy person had a very good reason for wanting Vivian Van Orner dead.”
MRS. DECKER HAD TO LEAVE TO HAVE LUNCH WITH SOME friends. Sarah and the girls were preparing their own meal when the front bell rang. Sarah went to answer it, with Catherine at her heels, eager to see who their visitor might be. Thinking it was probably someone summoning her to a birth, Sarah felt a stab of pleasure to see Frank Malloy standing on her doorstep.
“Malloy,” she said in greeting, unable to stop the smile that formed on her lips.
Catherine gave a squeal of joy and threw herself into his arms. He picked her up and returned her hug, but when he looked back at Sarah, he wasn’t smiling.
“Catherine, will you go ask Maeve to set an extra place at the table for Mr. Malloy?”
Malloy set the child on her feet, and she scampered off back to the kitchen.
“I haven’t done a single thing about Mrs. Van Orner’s death except gossip with my mother,” she assured him.
“I know,” he said grimly.
“Then why do you look the way you always look when you’re going to yell at me for doing something you didn’t want me to do?”
“I never yell at you,” he protested.
She crossed her arms. “All right, if you aren’t here to yell at me, then why are you here?”
His expression was pained, as if he’d had a hard time at the dentist’s office, and the words sounded as if they were being pulled from him like a bad tooth. “I came because I need your help investigating Mrs. Van Orner’s murder.”
Sarah couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she knew better than to tease him about it. He wouldn’t be here if he weren’t desperate. “You know I’d be happy to help in any way I can. Do you have time for some lunch first? We were just going to eat.”
“I’d be honored,” he said with just the slightest trace of irony.
The girls were both thrilled to have him, and Catherine told him all about the tiny cakes Mrs. Decker had brought for her tea party—she called them “patty fours”—and Malloy pretended to be mightily impressed. Sarah didn’t want to talk about the murder in front of the child, so she waited until they’d eaten and she’d changed her clothes and allowed Malloy to escort her from the house.
This was going to be a very interesting afternoon.
MALLOY COULDN’T BELIEVE HE WAS DOING THIS. HOW many times had he sworn he’d never let Sarah Brandt get involved in another murder investigation, and here he was, asking for her help.
“Where are we going?” she asked as they made their way down Bank Street. He always forgot how good hearing her voice made him feel, even when she was saying something that completely infuriated him.
“To the rescue house.”
“Do you know where it is?” she asked in surprise.
“I was there this morning.” He had to swallow down his frustration. “They wouldn’t let me in.”
Sarah started coughing, and he knew it was to keep from laughing out loud. “I see,” she finally managed.
“I’m sure you do. I believe you were the first person who warned me about that.”
“But not the last?”
“No, Miss Yingling did, too. She did give me the address, though.”
“I suppose you thought the power of your office would overcome their objections.” She was smirking.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” he warned her, only half joking. “I’ve had a pretty bad morning.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Tell me all about it.”
Frank sighed. “Well, I guess it started last night, when I went over to the Van Orner house.”
“I’m sure they were happy to see you.”
“Oh, yes. Van Orner was drinking himself into a stupor, but he gave me permission to investigate his wife’s death. He even offered me a fee.”
“Oh, dear.” She knew how sensitive he was on that subject. “But at least he wants it solved. That probably means he didn’t do it.”
“Probably. And I found out Mrs. Van Orner’s dirty little secret.”
“Dirty?” Sarah asked uneasily.
He wondered what she was imagining. “She drank.”
“She what?”
“She drank. Miss Yingling—that’s her secretary—”
“I know Miss Yingling.”
“Miss Yingling explained how Mrs. Van Orner didn’t like to let other people see her when she’s mad or upset, so she carried a flask around with her. When she started feeling out of sorts, she’d take a little swig or two to make herself calm again.”
He waited, but she didn’t say anything. “You don’t seem real surprised. Did you know she was a drinker?”
“No, I didn’t even suspect, but I’m afraid it’s far too common among women who have too much time and too much money to spend.”
“How can you have too much time?”
“When you have days and days to fill and nothing meaningful to do except visit with other women just like you who also don’t have anything meaningful to do except gossip about the women they know who aren’t with them at the moment.”
“I always thought it would be fun to be rich.”
“Maybe it is for men. They can get into politics or business or whatever interests them. Women have to sit at home and plan parties and knit socks for the poor. I might’ve taken up drinking myself if I hadn’t managed to escape.”
“So that’s why Mrs. Van Orner started rescuing whores.”
He’d expected to get a rise out of her with that, but she just looked unhappy.
“What is it now?” he asked.
“Mrs. Van Orner may have had another reason for her charity work.”
Frank remembered she said she’d been gossiping with Mrs. Decker. “What did your mother tell you?”
“She didn’t know Mrs. Van Orner drank, but she did say that their friends always claimed Mrs. Van Orner tried to rescue prostitutes because her husband was so fond of them.”
Frank overcame the strong urge to swear.
“I suppose this means you’re sure Mrs. Van Orner was murdered,” she said after a moment.
“Yes. The medical examiner said she was poisoned, and they found laudanum in her flask.”
“Laudanum? Oh, dear.”
“What is it?”
“It’s probably nothing, but when Amy arrived at the rescue house, she was nearly hysterical, and Mrs. Van Orner suggested giving her laudanum to calm her down, so they must keep some on hand.”
“That’s pretty common.” Almost every home in New York would have a bottle of laudanum handy to treat everything from headaches to tuberculosis.
“Laudanum is awfully bitter,” she said suddenly. “Why didn’t Mrs. Van Orner notice the taste?”
“Probably because it was mixed in with her favorite drink, crème de menthe. It’s a liqueur,” he added when she gave him a puzzled look.
“I know what it is. It just seems like a
n odd choice for secret drinking.”
“According to the medical examiner, it’s popular with ladies because it tastes so good, unlike whiskey and its near relatives.”
“I just remembered, she always carried peppermints with her. That would account for the minty smell of it on her breath, too.”
“And the strong flavor would’ve covered up the bitterness of the laudanum. Doc Haynes said it only takes two or three spoonfuls of the stuff to kill you.”
“It’s very dangerous. Suicides often use it because it’s cheap and easy to find and works so quickly and painlessly. Could Mrs. Van Orner have committed suicide?”
“I guess it’s possible,” Frank said, “but I don’t have any reason to think so yet. I have to find out what happened at the rescue house that day.”
“Which is why you need me to go with you.” He could tell she was trying not to gloat, but he guessed she couldn’t help it.
Frank swallowed down his frustration again. “Tell me what you know about the women in this house.”
“I don’t know much. I told you about Amy. She’s the girl whose baby I delivered. An Italian girl named Lisa manages the place. I didn’t meet anyone else who lives there.”
“What about a Mrs. Spratt-Williams?”
“She’s one of Mrs. Van Orner’s followers, I guess you could say. She helps with the rescues. Was she at the house yesterday?”
“Yes, and according to Miss Yingling, she met with Mrs. Van Orner right before she left.”
“She’s a friend of hers, I believe. My mother didn’t know her, but she’s a respectable matron, just like Mrs. Van Orner.”
“Whose husband also likes prostitutes?” Frank guessed.
“You’ll have to ask her about that,” Sarah replied with a knowing smile.
“What do you know about Miss Yingling?”
“Nothing except that she was Mrs. Van Orner’s secretary. She worked in her offices at the United Charities Building.”
“And she lives with the Van Orners.”
“She does? How odd.”
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