Gaslight Mystery 15 - Murder in Chelsea Read online

  Contents

  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

  Author’s Note

  Murder in Chelsea

  A Gaslight Mystery

  Victoria Thompson

  Berkley Prime Crime titles 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

  MURDER ON BANK STREET

  MURDER ON WAVERLY PLACE

  MURDER ON LEXINGTON AVENUE

  MURDER ON SISTERS’ ROW

  MURDER ON FIFTH AVENUE

  MURDER IN CHELSEA

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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

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

  For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.

  This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  Copyright © 2013 by Victoria Thompson.

  The Edgar® name is a registered service mark of the Mystery Writers of America, Inc.

  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.

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

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  eBook ISBN 978-1-101-62243-8

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Thompson, Victoria (Victoria E.)

  Murder in Chelsea : a gaslight mystery / Victoria Thompson.—First edition.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-0-425-26041-8 (hardback)

  1. Brandt, Sarah (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women detectives—New York (State)—New York—Fiction. 3. Nannies—Crimes against—Fiction. 4. Malloy, Frank (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 5. Police—New York (State)— New York—Fiction. 6. Abandoned children—Fiction. 7. New York (N.Y.)— 19th century—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3570.H6442M863 2013

  813'.54—dc23

  2013000487

  FIRST EDITION: May 2013

  Cover illustration by Karen Chandler.

  Cover design by Rita Frangie.

  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.

  To the real David Wilbanks, thanks for saving the day!

  1

  SARAH HURRIED DOWN MULBERRY STREET, DODGING running children, housewives bartering vigorously with the street vendors, and the occasional stray dog. Mrs. Keller wasn’t expecting her at any particular time, but her note had hinted at something ominous, something to do with Sarah’s daughter, Catherine. And her note had arrived two days ago. Sarah had left the child with her nursemaid, Maeve, and her own sense of urgency spurred her on. She volunteered at the Daughters of Hope Mission as often as her midwife duties allowed, but the trip from her home on Bank Street to the Mission had never seemed longer.

  At last she saw the ramshackle Dutch colonial house and managed not to actually run up the front steps. She knocked on the door and stared at the familiar sign that offered girls in need a chance to seek refuge at the Mission. Maeve had been one of those girls. After what seemed an eternity but was really only a couple of minutes, a girl answered. She wore the plain gingham dress and apron that passed as a uniform for the residents. She smiled in welcome.

  “Mrs. Brandt, how nice to see you.” She stepped back to allow Sarah to enter. “I didn’t know this was your day to come.”

  “It’s not. Mrs. Keller sent for me. Is she here?”

  “Oh, yes, and she’ll be that glad to see you, I’m sure. Do you want to wait in the parlor?”

  “No, I’ll . . . Is she in her office?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then I’ll just go on back. Thank you, Claire.”

  Sarah found Mrs. Keller’s office door open. The woman who served as housemother to the girls had claimed the former butler’s pantry as her own. The tiny room was spotlessly clean and neat as a pin. Mrs. Keller, a widow in her forties, sat at the battered desk. She looked up from a list she was making. “Mrs. Brandt, I’m so glad to finally see you.”

  “I just got your note this morning. I was out on a difficult delivery and was gone for two days.”

  “Oh, yes, I should have guessed that.” She rose and closed the door.

  Sarah’s concern deepened. “Your note frightened me.”

  “I’m sure it did. Please, have a seat.” Sarah perched on one of two mismatched kitchen chairs taking up most of the extra space in the room. Mrs. Keller took the other. “You haven’t been able to adopt Catherine, have you?”

  “No. A single woman can’t adopt.” Sarah’s husband, Tom, had died almost five years earlier.

  “That’s what I thought, which is why I knew I had to contact you immediately. Someone came to the Mission the other day, looking for Catherine.”

  Terror twisted her heart. “Who? Her mother? Her family?”

  “No, a woman named Anne Murphy. She said she was Catherine’s nursemaid.”

  Sarah could only stare back in surprise. “A family who could afford a nursemaid would not have abandoned a child. That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I know, and I . . . Forgive me, I’ve been trying to remember exactly how Catherine came to be at the Mission. It was before my time here, and I’ve forgotten the details.”

  “She’d already arrived when I first discovered this place, but I understand they’d found her sleeping on the doorstep one morning. She had nothing but the clothes on her back.”

  Mrs. Keller nodded. “And of course she couldn’t tell anyone where she came from because she couldn’t speak.”

  “That’s right. She didn’t say more than a word or two until months after she’d come to live with me.”

  “Did you ever find out why she wouldn’t speak for so long?”

  “We took her to a doctor, and he believes she’d been badly frightened by something.”

  “And now that she’s started talking again, has she ever told you anything about her past?”

  “She . . . she occasionally has a frightening memory, but nothing that makes any sense. Whatever it was, I don’t think she r
emembers completely, and I’m not sure I want her to.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “So tell me more about this woman who came to see you.”

  “I have to say, I didn’t want to believe her, but she has a very interesting story.”

  Sarah braced herself. “What did she tell you?”

  “She said she lived with Catherine and her mother in a cottage in the country somewhere north of the city. Harlem, I think she said. Catherine’s father would come to visit them from time to time. Miss Murphy knew him only as Mr. Smith, but she understood this was not his real name. He was quite wealthy, and he kept Catherine’s mother as his mistress.”

  Stories like this were much too common, and Sarah knew they rarely ended well for the women involved. “Did she tell you how Catherine ended up here?”

  “She said Catherine’s mother believed her life to be in danger, so she asked Miss Murphy to take Catherine away and keep her safe.”

  Sarah gasped. “So this Anne Murphy abandoned her to strangers?”

  “I was as appalled as you, but Miss Murphy pointed out that she did not know Mr. Smith’s true identity or how extensive his power might be. She didn’t even know if Mr. Smith himself wanted Catherine’s mother dead or if it was someone else. With no idea who her enemies were, she decided to hide Catherine someplace she’d be safe and then disappear herself. She’d hoped to come back for the child later.”

  “It’s been almost a year!”

  “I know. I pointed that out and asked her where she’d been all this time. She said she’d found work and waited for Catherine’s mother to get in touch with her, but she never did. She decided that since no one had come asking about the child in all this time that it must be safe, so she’d returned to claim her.”

  This was the most ridiculous story Sarah had ever heard. “Did you believe her?”

  Mrs. Keller sighed. “Not entirely, no. There may be some truth to her story, but I had no way of judging which part or how much.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her Catherine had left the Mission. That upset her, as you can imagine. She obviously cares for the child.”

  “How much could she really care if she just left her here all this time?”

  “Oddly, that is the one part of the story I did believe. She is still genuinely frightened of something or someone, even now. When I told her Catherine had gone, she feared the people who wanted to kill her mother had somehow gotten the child as well. I assured her that Catherine was safe and sound and very happy, but she refused to believe me. She demanded to see her.”

  “Oh, dear, Catherine is home alone with Maeve. What if she shows up while I’m gone?”

  “I didn’t tell her about you, Mrs. Brandt. You must believe I would never betray your confidence.”

  Relief surged through her. “Thank you, Mrs. Keller. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

  Mrs. Keller waved away her apology. “As I said, I didn’t believe her story, or rather, I didn’t know what part of her story to believe, so I decided I should tell you what happened and let you decide what to do.”

  Sarah had no idea what to do. She had a thousand questions, and she wasn’t sure she wanted any of them answered. Was Catherine’s mother still alive? Still in danger? Who had wanted her dead and why? Was Catherine in danger from the same people? Did her mother want Catherine back? And what about her father, the elusive Mr. Smith? Did he want his child or did he want her dead? Why had this Anne Murphy suddenly come looking for Catherine after all these months? Did she really care for the child or was she working for someone who wished Catherine ill? And if any of these people had a claim on the child, how on God’s green earth could she bear to lose her? Sarah raised a hand to her throbbing temple, surprised to see it tremble. She closed her fingers into a fist.

  “How did you leave matters with this Miss Murphy?” she asked.

  “I told her I would pass her request along to the family who had Catherine. I said ‘family’ so she wouldn’t know you’re a woman alone. She gave me the address of a rooming house in Chelsea. I promised someone would contact her there. If you don’t wish to see her, I’ll send her a note and tell her you refused.”

  “I couldn’t possibly refuse. I can’t imagine she’d give up so easily, and she might cause you trouble here.”

  “I’m sure we could handle anything she might try.”

  Sarah smiled grimly. “I’m sure you could, but you know as well as I that we can’t afford any more scandals here. Our donors have just begun to give again after the last trouble. They might decide to stop supporting us once and for all if there’s more, and heaven knows, you barely make ends meet here as it is.”

  “Do you really think your mother and her friends would stop donating?”

  “Not my mother, but I can’t speak for her friends. Society women are . . . Well, their values are so different than ours.”

  Mrs. Keller smiled. “Ours? Didn’t you used to be one of them?”

  Sarah smiled back. “No. I fought them every step of the way, and then I eloped with a poor doctor and never looked back.”

  Mrs. Keller’s smile faded. “This isn’t getting us any closer to a decision, is it?”

  “Yes, it is. I can’t allow this Miss Murphy to cause trouble for the Mission, so I will go to see her and find out what she really wants.”

  “Do you think that’s wise? Or even safe? Perhaps you should ask Mr. Malloy to go with you.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I can just imagine what he would say if I asked him.”

  “And he would be right. But if he knows you’re going to meet with this woman no matter what he says, he’d accompany you, I’m sure.”

  He would, too. Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy of the New York City Police would insist on accompanying her. So she wasn’t going to tell him anything at all.

  * * *

  WHAT’S WRONG, MAMA?” CATHERINE ASKED. Sarah had just tucked her into bed, glad beyond reason that no one had summoned her to a birth today so she could spend the whole evening with the little girl who had become so precious to her. “Nothing’s wrong, my darling.” She tried to smile.

  Catherine’s big, brown eyes missed nothing. “You look sad.”

  “How could I be sad when I’m with you?” She stroked the fine wisps of hair from the child’s forehead and kissed her. She smelled sweet. Sarah fought the urge to wrap her arms around her and never let go. “I love you very much.”

  Catherine smiled. “I love you, too. I’m glad you’re my mama.”

  Sarah blinked hard to keep her tears at bay. “I’m glad I am, too. Catherine, do you remember anything about where you lived before you came to the Mission?”

  Catherine’s smile vanished, and her chocolate eyes clouded. She shook her head.

  “It’s all right if you don’t,” Sarah said quickly. “I was just wondering.”

  “I want to stay with you.”

  This time Sarah did wrap her arms around her and held her close, burying her face in Catherine’s gossamer hair and inhaling her little-girl scent. “That’s what I want, too.”

  This was all she could promise at the moment.

  A few minutes and many kisses later, the clouds had passed from Catherine’s eyes and Sarah could finally leave her to fall peacefully asleep.

  She went downstairs to Maeve, who had waited for her in the kitchen through the bedtime routine. Sarah watched the lamplight play on her coppery hair as she told her everything Mrs. Keller had said.

  “I’m going with you,” Maeve said, her dark eyes as clouded as Catherine’s had been.

  “You can’t go with me. Who will stay with Catherine?”

  “Mrs. Ellsworth would be thrilled to take her for a few hours, and you know it.”

  “We can’t take advantage of her,” Sarah tried, but Maeve rol
led her eyes at such a ridiculous excuse. They both knew Sarah’s neighbor would love having Catherine all to herself for a few hours.

  “Tomorrow is Sunday, and she’ll be over here right after Sunday dinner anyway. We’ll ask her to take Catherine home with her. If you won’t tell Mr. Malloy about this and something happens, I’m not going to be left behind to explain why I let you go off by yourself.”

  Sarah couldn’t help smiling at that. Besides, deep down, she knew Maeve was right. She shouldn’t see Miss Murphy alone. Most people wouldn’t consider a seventeen-year-old girl a suitable companion for a potentially dangerous task, but Maeve was no ordinary girl. Only a few months ago, she’d helped find the man who had murdered Sarah’s husband, Tom. “All right, but you have to promise to let me do all the talking.”

  She half expected Maeve to roll her eyes again, but she just grinned, pleased with her victory. “You know she’s lying, don’t you?”

  “Of course she is, but at least some of her story may be true. Mrs. Keller thought so, at least.”

  “Mrs. Keller is a nice lady, but she doesn’t know about people like this Anne Murphy. Everything she said could be a lie.”

  Sarah knew Maeve’s grifter grandfather had trained her to recognize the weaknesses of others. “I know it’s hard for you to trust people, Maeve, but not everyone is a liar.”

  “I know that!” she said. “I may come from a long line of liars and thieves, but I’ve learned there are some good people in the world, like you and Mr. Malloy and Mrs. Ellsworth.”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “But I also know there aren’t many of you. This Anne Murphy, she might never have even set eyes on Catherine. Maybe somebody hired her to make up a story to get her away from the Mission.”

  “Mrs. Keller said she seemed genuinely frightened of something.”

  “Maybe she’s afraid whoever hired her will hurt her if she fails. You can’t be too trusting, Mrs. Brandt.”

  “I hope nobody can ever say I was too trusting.”

  “My grandfather would’ve eaten you for breakfast,” Maeve said in dismay. “And I can’t promise not to say a word. What if I need to warn you about something?”