Gaslight Mystery 04 - Murder on Washington Square Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Author’s Note

  Teaser chapter

  Praise for national bestselling author VICTORIA THOMPSON

  and her Edgar Award-nominated

  Gaslight Mystery series . . .

  “Fascinating . . . Sarah and Frank are appealing characters . . . Thompson vividly recreates the gas-lit world of old New York.”—Publishers Weekly

  “A series which will appeal to Anne Perry fans.”

  —Mystery Scene

  MURDER ON ASTOR PLACE

  Nominated for the Best First Mystery Award

  by Romantic Times magazine

  “Victoria Thompson is off to a blazing start with Sarah Brandt and Frank Malloy in Murder on Astor Place. I do hope she’s starting at the beginning of the alphabet. Don’t miss her first tantalizing mystery.”

  —Catherine Coulter, New York Times bestselling author

  “A marvelous debut mystery with compelling characters, a fascinating setting, and a stunning resolution. It’s the best mystery I’ve read in ages.”

  —Jill Churchill, author of The Merchant of Menace

  “Spellbinding. A bravura performance that will leave you impatient for the next installment.”—Romantic Times

  continued on the next page . . .

  MURDER ON ST. MARK’S PLACE

  Nominated for the Edgar® Award

  “Lovers of history, mystery and romance won’t be disappointed. Exciting . . . will hold the reader in thrall.”

  —Romantic Times

  “As Victoria Thompson colorfully demonstrates in her latest Gaslight Mystery, New York City at the beginning of the twentieth century is a dangerous place for its melting pot immigrants . . .[She] weaves a fine mystery for readers who enjoy solving a difficult puzzler.”—Harriet Klausner

  MURDER ON GRAMERCY PARK

  “The inclusions of genuine facts make this novel much more superior to most of those found in the subgenre . . . The lead protagonists are a winning combination.”

  —Harriet Klausner

  “Gripping—satisfying in its twists and turns under the gaslight” —KLIATT

  Gaslight Mysteries by Victoria Thompson

  MURDER ON ASTOR PLACE

  MURDER ON ST. MARK’S PLACE

  MURDER ON GRAMERCY PARK

  MURDER ON WASHINGTON SQUARE

  MURDER ON MULBERRY BEND

  MURDER ON MARBLE ROW

  MURDER ON LENOX HILL

  MURDER IN LITTLE ITALY

  MURDER IN CHINATOWN

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—l10 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  MURDER ON WASHINGTON SQUARE

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / April 2002

  Copyright © 2002 by Victoria Thompson.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-04359-2

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks

  belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  To my beautiful daughter Ellen and her new husband Dave.

  May all your dreams come true.

  1

  SARAH OPENED THE DOOR TO FIND A RAGGED LITTLE BOY on her front stoop. He was fidgeting from one grubby bare foot to the other, either impatient or nervous. He clutched a folded piece of paper to his sunken chest and glared up at her suspiciously.

  “You Mrs. Brandt?” he demanded.

  “Yes, I am,” she replied, eyeing him cautiously. He might be young in years, but she knew he was as dangerous as a serpent. Obviously, he was a street Arab, one of the hundreds of homeless children who lived on the streets, doing whatever was necessary to stay alive. What on earth did he want and how did he know her name?

  “Here,” he said, thrusting the paper at her.

  She took it gingerly, still watching him with one eye while she unfolded it. Someone needing her services as a midwife must have hired the boy to fetch her. Usually a family member or a neighbor came to tell her a woman’s time had come, but perhaps they’d had no one to send.

  “Dear Mrs. Brandt,” the note read in a careful, masculine hand. “I find myself in need of some professional advice from you on behalf of a lady of my acquaintance. However, this is a matter of some delicacy, and I would prefer that my mother not be made aware of it. Would you be so kind as to meet me this evening at five o’clock in Washington Square near the hanging tree?” The note was signed, “Your obedient servant, Nelson Ellsworth.”

  Nelson lived next door to her with his elderly mother. Mrs. Ellsworth had become one of Sarah’s dearest friends, in spite of the difference in their ages. She hardly knew Nelson, however, since he was so seldom at home. According to Mrs. Ellsworth, he spent long hours working at the bank. He hoped to become a vice president soon.

  “You gotta answer,” the boy informed her, still dancing from one dirty foot to the other. His clothes were filthy, too, an
d his body was skeletally thin. Every instinct demanded that she take him inside and give him a hot meal and clean clothes and a warm bed. She’d be a fool to do so, though. Once in her house, he’d probably steal everything of value and vanish.

  “Please tell the gentleman that I said yes,” she told the boy.

  “No, you gotta write it! He won’t pay if you don’t write it, and he promised me a nickel!” he cried, his small body fairly quivering with urgency.

  She should have known Nelson would be careful. He wasn’t one to take chances, even with five cents. The boy could simply throw the paper away and return whatever message he wanted to if Nelson hadn’t required a written reply.

  “Just a moment.” Sarah carefully closed the door, resisting the urge to lock it. She couldn’t bring herself to insult the boy that much, no matter how little she trusted him.

  Her front room had been converted into a medical office when her physician husband had conducted his practice there. Since his death, Sarah used it to see the patients who were able to come to her. She went to her desk and found a pencil.

  “I would be happy to meet with you, unless I am on a call,” she wrote and signed her name. Babies arrived when they wished, and Sarah could never make a firm appointment with anyone.

  She folded the paper again as she made her way back to the front door. This whole thing was very puzzling. There was only one reason someone would require her professional opinion, and Nelson Ellsworth was not only a male but a bachelor, too. In fact, according to his mother, he did not even have any lady friends. Which meant that his mother probably didn’t know him nearly as well as she thought!

  The boy still stood on the porch, looking even more unhappy than he had before. She held out the paper, and he snatched it from her fingers. In that instant, their eyes met, and Sarah saw him for the child that he was. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, and she wondered what evil things he had been forced to do to stay alive this long. Her heart ached with a longing she refused to identify.

  “If you ever need help . . .” she began, ignoring all common sense. But her effort was wasted. The boy was gone, running down the street as fast as his skinny legs could carry him, off to find Nelson Ellsworth and earn his nickel.

  Sarah sighed. It was just as well. What had she been thinking to invite a child like that to visit her? She smiled at the thought of what her friend Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy would have to say about her sentimental feelings for a street urchin. He would be horrified and wouldn’t hesitate to let her know it. When she might have an opportunity to share those feelings, however, she couldn’t imagine. She hadn’t seen Malloy for several weeks, not since he’d taken his son Brian home from the hospital.

  Brian had been born with a club foot, but a surgeon Sarah knew had operated on him to correct it. The cast might even be off by now. Sarah decided she might actually be brazen enough to pay the child a visit, just to see how he was doing. She’d have to be careful not to go when Malloy might be home, of course. She wouldn’t want him or Malloy’s mother to think she was using his child as an excuse to see him. Especially Malloy’s mother, who hated the sight of her. Besides, she knew if she visited Brian, Malloy would feel obligated to come by and thank her later.

  Washington Square was quiet that evening as Sarah made her way through the Greenwich Village streets toward it. The nurses with their baby buggies were gone, the old men playing chess and checkers and the respectable ladies taking the air had all retired to their homes for supper. Soon night would fall, and the Square would fill again, but with an entirely different class of people. In the darkness, prostitutes would ply their trade, and pickpockets and other thieves would gather to prey on the customers the women would attract. This time was the twilight of the Square, between the respectable and the dissolute, when a gentleman and a lady could meet without attracting too much attention.

  As always when she was here, Sarah’s gaze instinctively found the house where she had been raised. It sat on the east side of the Square, perched like a middle-aged woman who still bore signs of her previous beauty but who was beginning to show the inevitable effects of age. Sarah knew the place had become a boardinghouse after her parents sold it. The Deckers had moved uptown to escape the rising tide of immigrants whose lodgings were encroaching the Square on the south side. But it would always be her home, and she felt a twinge of sadness for happy times now gone forever.

  Nelson Ellsworth sat stiffly on a bench near the giant elm tree that was said to have been used as a hanging tree in the early part of the century. Beyond him, across the expanse of green grass, the large fountain sparkled in the fading sunlight. Put there to provide water for thirsty horses, it also provided an oasis of beauty amid the harsh brick and mortar of the city. Sarah’s bedroom window had looked out on the fountain, and she’d spent many hours as a young girl watching it.

  Nelson rose as soon as he saw Sarah. He wore a tailored suit that was still neat even after a day of work, and his shirt and tie were immaculate. Still a young man, he was already beginning to stoop from hours spent over a ledger, and his face was pale from too little sun. Like the boy who had brought her the note, he seemed anxious, but he was too well mannered to bounce from one foot to the other or to rush to meet her. Yet even from yards away, she could sense his tension.

  “Mrs. Brandt,” he said when she was close enough that he didn’t have to shout. “How good of you to come.”

  “I must admit I was intrigued by your note,” she said, giving him her hand when she reached him.

  “I’m sure you were more than intrigued,” he said, his face fixed in a smile that did not reach his eyes. He took out his handkerchief and dusted the bench for her to sit. “I’m sorry I had to ask you to keep this meeting a secret from my mother,” he said when they were settled.

  “Your mother doesn’t have to know everything I do, Mr. Ellsworth,” Sarah told him with a smile.

  “I’m sure she would disagree with that sentiment,” Nelson said, returning her smile ruefully. Mrs. Ellsworth considered it her duty to learn the intimate details of everyone else’s lives, and she devoted herself to the task.

  “Now you must tell me what delicate matter has driven you to seek advice from a midwife,” Sarah said encouragingly.

  His smile vanished instantly. “This is most embarrassing,” he said. “And please believe that I would not have involved you in this matter if I had any other resources, but—”

  “Please don’t apologize,” Sarah said, hoping to relieve some of his social agonies. “I’m flattered that you felt you could safely confide in me. But I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the situation—and believe me, you needn’t stand on ceremony.”

  Some of the stiffness went out of him, and he rubbed his forehead, as if it ached. “All right, although I’m not certain exactly where to begin.”

  “This involves a young lady, I gather?”

  Nelson nodded miserably.

  “Then tell me how you met her.”

  He drew his breath and let it out in a long sigh of resignation. “She came into the bank one day. She was so very frightened and obviously desperate. She wanted to make a loan, and she asked for the manager. He wasn’t in, so the clerk sent her to me. We don’t make loans to young women with no means of support,” he told Sarah, as if he were offering an excuse.

  “No one would expect you to,” Sarah assured him. “But I’m sure you don’t make loans to young women under any circumstances.”

  This was so obvious, it didn’t merit a response. “Her mother was ill and needed medical care,” he continued, “but they hardly had enough to live on. She was hoping to borrow some money from the bank, but I had to disappoint her. She was very upset. She was afraid her mother was going to die.”

  “That would be upsetting,” Sarah agreed, still wondering how this encounter led to Nelson needing the services of a midwife.

  “The bank couldn’t lend her the money, of course, but I . . . Well, I couldn’t
just turn her away, could I? There’s no telling what a young woman will do if she feels desperate enough. She even hinted that she . . . that she might have to . . . to . . .”

  “To compromise her virtue?” Sarah supplied helpfully.

  “Yes, yes,” Nelson agreed gratefully. “She was so innocent and sweet, I couldn’t bear the thought of her degrading herself. She only needed a hundred dollars, so I . . .” His voice trailed off, and he looked away in embarrassment.

  Sarah’s imagination conjured several possible things Nelson could have done, but she doubted he was capable of any of them, although the fact that he needed her services proved she was at least partially mistaken in his character. “You didn’t take money from the bank, did you?” she asked, offering the only criminal possibility she could think of.

  “Oh, no!” Nelson cried, horrified at the thought. “Nothing like that! I . . . I loaned her the money myself from my own funds.”

  Although he had said she “only” needed a hundred dollars, that was still a lot of money. More than three months’ wages for a laborer. “You were very generous, especially when she probably had no hope of being able to repay you.” Unless, of course, she became Nelson’s mistress. Perhaps that would explain why Mrs. Ellsworth thought Nelson had been working such late hours.

  “I had no illusions she would repay me, Mrs. Brandt. I was giving her the money out of Christian charity.” Nelson’s pale blue eyes were tortured, and his smooth banker’s hands made a pleading gesture as he silently begged for her understanding.