“Was Alard on the b-board?”
“No, although both he and Zuza donated a good deal of money to several of my charitable enterprises.”
“Was Sealy also active in the school?”
Her lips curved. “Why, Inspector, are you trying to say there is some connection between my school and these murders?”
Jasper returned her smile. “I am a d-detective, Mrs. Dunbarton; that is what I d-do: ask questions.”
“First off, let me tell you this, my lord: I’ve set up seventeen charities.”
“That is a g-great number.”
“It is. So, keep in mind there are, on average, a dozen board members for each venture, and then there are all the donors. While it seems coincidental that some of the men who were involved in the charities were murdered, you must be aware that there are only a few hundred wealthy New Yorkers who can afford to offer such support.” Her gaze turned serious. “I heartily endorse your zeal for apprehending a murderer, but donors are skittish, and they won’t want to be associated with causes if they are tainted with rumors. I won’t suffer, but the women and children we help will. I’d just as soon not have scandalous innuendos inadvertently make their way into the newspaper.”
“I understand.” He not only understood, he respected her concern.
“To answer your question, one of Wilbur Sealy’s construction companies managed the repairs and remodeling of this building. The board engaged him because he and Felix were acquainted—don’t ask me how, because I don’t know.”
“Have you ever heard of a m-man named Amos B-Baker?’
Her smooth forehead wrinkled; after a moment she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“How about B-Benjamin Hoyle?”
“I know who he is, but we are not acquainted.”
“Is he a d-donor?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“Do you k-keep a list of your donors?”
She sighed. “I shall let you look at it, but I keep it in my study at home, not here.” She gave him an appraising look. “I understand you’re considering taking the lease for number sixteen on Union Square.” Jasper stared, and she chuckled. “Why do you look so shocked? You know how servants are; they probably knew you’d be leasing it even before you did. We will be next-door neighbors.” A slow, almost playful smile stretched her lips. “So now you have a connection to me as well. Perhaps somebody should investigate you, my lord.”
Jasper smiled. “I’ll confess the connection to my d-detective. So, if you d-don’t think Miss Grady killed the two men, who d-d-do you believe did?”
“I haven’t a clue. And, to be honest, I don’t really care.” She smirked at his look of surprise. “Come, come, Inspector—I think we both know what kind of man my husband was. If you don’t know, you’re not much of a detective. If I didn’t know, I wouldn’t be much of a wife. I know where my husband spent many of his nights—places like this Solange’s, where Alard’s body was found. I daresay it is no coincidence that both Felix and Wilbur were also found near a brothel.”
Did she know exactly what sort of sexual partner her husband had favored?
Before he could come up with a subtle way of asking, she continued.
“The people of my class raise their daughters to believe in rosy futures in which people wear lovely clothes and live happy lives. The men we marry—our knights in shining armor—are supposed to protect and shelter us from life’s hard realities. From a young age I rebelled against the shackles of ignorance.” She gave a humorless laugh. “I learned firsthand that a rosy future was a mirage. My own father has a second family with his mistress—which my mother pretended to know nothing about. But I was under no illusions. I told Felix I would never interfere with his activities so long as he did not interfere with mine. Our relationship was harmonious, but I did not like my husband, and I refuse to feign sorrow at his demise. Felix engaged in repellent pastimes, and it finally caught up with him.”
Jasper wondered if she wanted to be a suspect in her husband’s murder.
“D-Do Mrs. Sealy and Mrs. J-Janssen know?”
“About Felix’s philanderings—or their husbands’?”
“The l-latter.”
“I should think they do. Do I know for certain? No. Believe it or not, my lord, one’s husband’s infidelities are not a subject a woman wishes to discuss with her friends. Now, as to whether it bothered them if they did? I doubt Zuza minded. As for Emma Sealy, I don’t know her well enough to say. Well, that’s not exactly true—I did get to know her better after Felix was murdered. I’m sure you can imagine how that brought us together. As to her marriage? I saw them often enough at various social gatherings; Wilbur made no effort to hide his disinterest in his wife. I believe Emma is a beautiful person on the inside, but I could not honestly call her pretty. Wilbur Sealy, on the other hand, was a very attractive man—at least on the outside.” Her eyes flickered over Jasper, and her lips curved slightly. “Women will make fools of themselves for such men.”
Jasper ignored the dig. “You s-say he was attractive on the outside; d-did you not care for him?”
“I actively despised the little I knew of him. He married Emma only for her connections; her father shoved Emma into the marriage because he’d fiddled away all the family’s money. It was a similar arrangement to my marriage, but Wilbur made no secret of his disdain for poor Emma. At least Felix always treated me with respect in public.”
“Mrs. Janssen said you might know where Mrs. Sealy is now.”
She stared at him for a long moment, weighing something. “Don’t make me regret telling you this, my lord. Emma is in a facility here in the city.”
“A f-facility?”
“Yes, a sanatorium. I’m afraid Emma is not well.”
“What ails her?”
“You’d need to ask her that.”
There were only a few ailments that people did not speak of publicly: insanity, opium or laudanum addiction, and sexual diseases.
“Is she still helping you with your ch-charitable ventures?”
“She still donates, but she hasn’t been able to help as much—even before Wilbur’s death. I tried to convince her that she needn’t hide herself away.” She gave an uncharacteristically helpless shrug. “But she refused my assistance.”
Jasper hadn’t believed Mrs. Dunbarton was the sort of woman to take no for an answer.
“She’s fragile, my lord. I do hope you’ll exhibit a little mercy when it comes to your dealings with her.”
Jasper thought it was an odd word to choose—mercy.
“You’ll find her at the Acton Institute.” Her lips curved into a bitter smile. “It is straight up Broadway, not even a mile away but a different world.”
* * *
A different world turned out to be the perfect phrase for it.
“If you’ll wait here, my lord, I’ll see if Mrs. Sealy is available.”
Jasper took a seat in a waiting room decorated in muted shades of brown and gray, with touches of green here and there. He had to admit it was a soothing environment and didn’t feel at all like a hospital or asylum. At least not the sort he’d seen in Paris, the Crimea, or London.
The door opened, and a tall, well-dressed man entered, gripping Jasper’s card. “Lord Jasper?” he asked, grinning like a man who’d just received excellent news. “I’m Dr. Acton.” Jasper endured the obligatory, bone-crushing handshake. “I understand you’re here to see Mrs. Sealy?”
“If she is available.”
Acton rubbed his hands together in an eager handwashing gesture. “Well, it depends.”
“On?” Jasper prodded when the man seemed to have stalled.
“What this is pertaining to.”
Jasper frowned. “Is she b-being kept here against her w-w-will?”
The doctor’s lips parted, and he stared at Jasper, arrested. “That’s quite a stammer you have, my lord.”
Jasper sighed, resignation rather than irritation flaring as he rea
lized he couldn’t deal with this particular situation with his cane and fists. Still, he’d be damned if he’d listen to whatever quackery Acton was hoping to peddle before getting what he wanted.
“It just so happens stammering is one of the afflictions we treat at the Acton Institute.”
“I’m n-not intere—”
“It’s a revolutionary treatment,” Acton continued, warming to his topic. “What we do is—”
“Have the s-subject stuff their m-mouth with pebbles?” Jasper asked.
Acton frowned. “No. Actually—”
“Make a h-horizontal cut at the base of the t-tongue and remove a triangular-shaped p-p-piece of flesh?”
Acton recoiled. “Goodness, no. We advocate—”
“Declaiming poetry while running up hills? Placing a c-c-cork between teeth and cheek? Sp-Sp-Speaking only while lifting dumbbells? Trunc-cating the uvula? A d-diet of unleavened bread and ewe’s m-m-milk? Removing m-molars? Ins-serting a golden f-f-fork under the tongue? F-F-Fasting? Public humiliation?” Jasper smiled at Acton, who was wide-eyed and openmouthed. “I th-thank you for your offer, but I d-don’t wish to be cured, Doctor; I’m happy as I am. Aristotle and N-Newton stammered; that is g-good enough company for me. Now, may I sp-speak to Mrs. Sealy?”
Acton nodded, his cheeks scarlet. “Of course, sir. I never intended to deny you access to Mrs. Sealy. I only came to warn you that she’s been quite ill these past few months and she tires easily. Also, she doesn’t have access to a mirror.” His expression turned grim. “Please remember to moderate your expression when you meet her.”
CHAPTER 15
One of the memories he’d been unfortunate enough to retain from his time in Paris was that of patients with gummatous syphilis. Comparatively speaking, Mrs. Sealy was not badly off. Yet.
She offered him a white-gloved hand when he entered her private sitting room, and Jasper bowed over it.
“Th-Thank you f-for seeing me.”
Her misshapen cheeks pinkened. “Oh, it’s a pleasure, Lord Jasper. Besides, I was expecting you—Hetty said you would likely visit.”
“But I just—”
“She told me yesterday when she came to inform me about poor Alard.” She smiled, the expression very sweet for all that her features were disfigured by a half dozen gummas, one of which had begun to weep.
“Ah, I see.”
“I was just about to have my tea. Would you join me?”
He looked into her soft brown eyes, which held the eager expression of a person who didn’t get many visitors. “That would be l-lovely.”
“Put the tray on the table, Martha,” she said to a hovering maid. Once the girl left, she turned to Jasper. “You’re surprised that Hetty anticipated your visit.”
“I shouldn’t b-be. She is a clever lady.”
“Yes, one of the smartest people I know. And also one of the kindest.”
Kind wasn’t the word Jasper would have used, but he thought he understood what she meant.
She began to prepare the tea, and Jasper noticed she didn’t remove her gloves. There were spots of blood showing through the white cotton, especially on her left hand, which appeared to be dominant. He suspected there were other gummas and that even this minor activity caused her pain.
“Hetty said you asked Zuza about Alard’s business dealings?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about Wilbur’s business.” Her eyes teared as she spoke her dead husband’s name, and she pulled a handkerchief from her right sleeve. “I need to apologize in advance for being so emotional, but I’m afraid I feel his loss most keenly.” One tear broke away and trickled down her cheek, stopped by the shilling-sized gumma beside her mouth. She dabbed it carefully with her handkerchief and gave him a tremulous smile. “Hetty said you were curious about a man named Amos Baker?”
Jasper had a brief urge to muzzle Hetty. “Have you heard of him?”
“I’m afraid not. Wilbur believed a woman had no place in business. He didn’t approve of Hetty and wasn’t one of her admirers.”
Jasper could understand not liking the woman, but he couldn’t see not admiring her.
“Mrs. D-Dunbarton is a woman of b-business?”
“Oh, well, you know—all her interests. Even though the schools, libraries, and other charities don’t earn a profit, they require a great deal of management, which Wilbur viewed as a masculine pursuit.”
“D-Did your husband know Mr. Dunbarton?”
“They were acquainted, but I shouldn’t think they knew each other well. I didn’t really become close to dear Hetty until after Wilbur was—” She broke off and dabbed at her eyes.
“C-Can you think of anyone who didn’t like your h-husband or b-bore him a grudge?”
“Oh, no! Wilbur was just lovely—everyone liked him. He was very warm—very gregarious. He came from New Orleans, and he always said the hotter climate burnt away a person’s reservations.”
Jasper was trying to come up with an inoffensive way to ask her about the disease her husband must have given her when she solved the problem for him.
“Wilbur had been married before.” Her eyes lost their luster and became as hard as stone. “It was his first wife who gave him this.” She gestured to her face. “She was not a woman of virtue. But she came from a wealthy family, and they threatened Wilbur if he sought a divorce for her infidelity. He had no idea that he was sick when we married.” She cut him a quick, almost nervous glance—as if daring him to disagree. “He was devastated when he learned he’d been the one to pass this curse along to me.”
“When d-did you find out?”
“It’s been almost three years now.” Again she gestured to the gummas. “These had been forming for some time, but only recently—” Her face spasmed. “Only in the past six months or so did this happen.” By this she meant that the gummas had begun to suppurate. “I looked fine for ages after the first, er, well …”
That was the nature of syphilis. For some people there were no initial symptoms; for others there were sores and lesions. For the fortunate, the tertiary stage would never manifest, but a person would live in fear, wondering.
Jasper studied her ruined face, wondering how she could credit her husband’s cock-and-bull story. Sealy mightn’t have known he had syphilis when he married her, but he would have known after her symptoms manifested, and yet—according to Solange, his procurer—until about six months ago he’d gone on having sexual relations with children. How many girls had he raped and infected?
He deserved to die, Jasper.
Jasper recoiled from the vicious thought, stunned that it could originate in his head.
For once, he engaged the voice: It’s not my role to judge; it’s for the courts to determine guilt or innocence.
How very noble of you, Jasper. I’m sure all Sealy’s victims would appreciate your nobility.
As Jasper looked across at one of Sealy’s victims, he lost the strength to argue.
* * *
Hy was beginning to think fondly of the Tombs.
“She belongs to me!” the Frenchwoman screamed again, clawing and fighting like a wild animal as Hy led the little girl away.
Hy had found her when he’d requested the key to search a locked room. The employees claimed that only Solange had the keys.
Wherever Solange had gone—likely to complain to whoever took care of police difficulties for her—she’d taken three hours to return. And then Hy had argued with her for another half hour to get the bloody key, until finally he’d told her he’d kick down the door.
And then he’d found this.
“Gimme your coat, O’Malley.” The girl wore only a chemise.
“My coat? But—”
“Goddammit, just give it to me! She can’t go out like this,” Hy yelled at the gaping young patrolman.
“She can’t go anywhere!” Solange hollered right back.
With only one patrolman to hold her while O’Mal
ley shrugged out of his coat, the Frenchwoman broke free, got her hand around a vase full of flowers, and hurled it.
Hy stepped in front of the girl and ended up covered in water and flowers. “That’s it!” He grabbed the madam by her shoulders, not bothering to be gentle about it. “You’re goin’ to spend some time calmin’ down.” He turned to O’Malley, who’d finally given the scantily clad girl his coat. “Take her down to the station and lock her up until she quits screamin’.”
“Er, what for?”
“Detention on suspicion,” Hy snapped.
Solange was yelling in French so loudly that Hy didn’t hear the door open.
“You!” Solange shrieked at the new arrival, almost breaking free of O’Malley and Markham in her fury to get to Lightner.
Hy was so grateful to see the Englishman that he wanted to hug him.
Lightner took in the scene and then cocked one of his eyebrows. “Is aught amiss, D-Detective?”
A bubble of hysterical laughter tickled his throat. “Er, you could say that, sir.” They both winced at a particularly piercing shriek as the two patrolmen hauled Solange out of the room.
Lightner gestured to the girl.
“I found her chained.” He jabbed a finger toward a bed that was visible in the next room. He lifted her skinny arm to show the raw wounds made by the manacle. “That witch had her locked in here.” He glanced down at the girl, who’d followed him around as docilely as a lamb. “I think she’s drugged.”
Other than a slight tick in his jaw, Lightner gave no sign of what he was thinking.
Hy began to feel a bit frantic. “I ain’t leavin’ her here, sir. Solange claims she owns her, but I—”
“No,” Lightner agreed, as mildly as ever. “We c-couldn’t do that.” He turned to the girl. “What’s your name, Miss?”
“She don’t speak English.” Hy’s head was getting hotter as he realized how hysterical he sounded.
The Englishman said something to the girl in several languages and shook his head when he got no response. “She’s not French, Prussian, Italian, or Russian.”
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