Murder on Washington Square Page 3

  Sarah thought that might be stretching the truth a bit, but she said, “Mr. Ellsworth is correct. He asked me to meet you because I’m a midwife, and he thought that I could—”

  “A midwife!” she fairly shrieked, raising her face from her handkerchief and glaring at him in outrage. “Have you no concern for what’s left of my good name? Why don’t you drag me to the village square and have me branded a harlot?”

  “Anna, please, I didn’t mean—”

  “Miss Blake!” Sarah said loudly and firmly in the voice she used to calm hysterical relatives who were upsetting her laboring patients. Both Anna and Nelson looked up at her in surprise, silenced for the moment. Sarah took advantage by saying, “I don’t have the time or the patience to argue with you, Miss Blake. Mr. Ellsworth is my neighbor, and he asked me to visit you because he was concerned for your welfare. He thought perhaps you might have mistaken your condition because of your innocence and inexperience. If that is the case, I can reassure you and there will be no need for you to distress yourself further for no reason. If you are indeed with child, then I can advise you how best to care for yourself.”

  Anna Blake stared at her for a long moment. Sarah thought she was using the time to comprehend what she had said, but Anna surprised her yet again.

  This time her expression was horror when she turned back to Nelson. “You brought this woman here to . . . to murder our child! What kind of a monster are you? If you lack the honor to provide for us, then at least have the decency to let your child live! I’d beg in the streets before I’d kill it! How can you have ever thought less of me?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sarah said in disgust as Nelson sputtered and stammered, trying to reassure her. “I’m a midwife, not an abortionist, Miss Blake,” she said loudly enough to be heard over the wailing and the blandishments, but neither of them seemed inclined to listen. Sarah gave up. “Mr. Ellsworth, this is plainly a waste of time. If Miss Blake wishes to consult with me, you may bring her to my office. Meanwhile, I’ll leave you alone to sort this out between yourselves.”

  “Mrs. Brandt, I’m so sorry,” Nelson began, but he could go no further because Anna was weeping again, sobbing as if her heart would break.

  As she stepped into the foyer, Sarah noticed that Mrs. Walcott was lurking in the shadows, just out of sight, listening to everything that was being said. She stared back at Sarah unrepentantly when caught in the act, and Sarah, more than disgusted with all the inhabitants of this house, let herself out.

  She paused on the stoop to take a deep breath of the crisp autumn air to clear her head. Nelson Ellsworth had gotten himself involved in a real-life melodrama. The only thing lacking was a villain with a handlebar moustache tying poor Anna Blake to the railroad tracks. Furious with herself for being drawn into the mess, she was almost back at Washington Square before she started remembering details of the scene she had just witnessed that she’d been too busy to register before.

  Anna Blake appeared to be the innocent young girl Nelson believed her to be, but Sarah thought back to the moment when their eyes had first met. Anna hadn’t cringed or even seemed the least bit embarrassed, in spite of her protests to the contrary. In fact, she’d seemed almost defiant or . . . Sarah shook her head, certain she must have been mistaken. But no, she recalled clearly the odd impression she’d had that Anna Blake was actually glad to see Sarah, or at least relieved.

  Why she should have been, Sarah had no idea. After all, if Sarah did have a prior claim to Nelson’s affections, as she’d so quaintly phrased it, she should have been as humiliated as she’d claimed to be. In fact, she’d been determined to make Sarah her rival, in spite of all the protests she and Nelson had made. And for all her weeping and protestations, Sarah couldn’t help recalling that Anna’s delicate face hadn’t grown the least bit blotchy, nor had her eyes gotten red or her little, turned-up nose started running.

  Well, it was all beyond her, but since it also wasn’t her problem to solve, she mentally washed her hands of the whole situation. If Anna Blake decided to see her as a patient, she’d deal with her. If not, she’d keep her promise not to mention the situation to Nelson’s mother and let him sort it out himself.

  2

  THE NEXT MORNING, SARAH LEFT THE HOUSE TO FIND Nelson Ellsworth’s mother out sweeping her front porch. This wasn’t particularly surprising, since Mrs. Ellsworth had made sweeping her front porch her life’s work, the better to know everything going on in the neighborhood firsthand. For once, Sarah knew a secret her next-door neighbor didn’t, but she would honor her pledge to keep it.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” Mrs. Ellsworth called when she saw Sarah. “Are you off to deliver a baby?”

  “No, I’m off to visit Mr. Malloy’s son,” she replied, knowing this would capture Mrs. Ellsworth’s complete attention.

  “How is the sweet little thing doing? Do they know if the surgery was successful yet?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked in concern. She was particularly fond of Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy, although Malloy wasn’t the type of man old ladies were typically fond of. She even seemed to think that Malloy and Sarah would make a good match. Mrs. Ellsworth was probably the only person in New York who believed an Irish Cop and a Knickerbocker Debutante could live happily ever after, but Sarah humored her romantic notions.

  “Mr. Malloy hasn’t seen fit to keep me informed of Brian’s progress, so I’m going to see for myself,” Sarah said.

  “Good for you!” Mrs. Ellsworth said approvingly. “Please tell Mr. Malloy I send my best wishes for the boy.”

  “I doubt I’ll be seeing Mr. Malloy,” Sarah said. “I’m sure he’s working at this time of day.”

  Mrs. Ellsworth’s wrinkles slid into a frown. “You’re going to visit Mr. Malloy’s mother then?”

  “I’m going to visit his son,” Sarah corrected her with a smile, “but I’m afraid his mother will most certainly be there, too.”

  Mrs. Ellsworth shook her head. Sarah had told her that Mrs. Malloy didn’t approve of her son’s acquaintance with Sarah. For some reason, the old woman thought Sarah had set her cap for Frank Malloy, and she disapproved even more than Mrs. Ellsworth approved of such a match. “You must take something along with you for good luck, then,” she said, searching in the pocket of her skirt for what she might have available in the way of good luck charms.

  “I won’t need luck,” Sarah scolded her. “I’m just going for a visit.”

  “That woman might give you the evil eye or something,” Mrs. Ellsworth warned. The old woman was a firm believer in things like the evil eye and good luck charms. “You can’t be too careful. Here, take this.” She came down her porch steps and pressed a shiny new penny into Sarah’s hand.

  Sarah couldn’t help herself. “This will protect me from the evil eye?” she asked skeptically.

  “Pennies are notoriously lucky,” Mrs. Ellsworth assured her. “I’d give you a rabbit’s foot, but I don’t seem to have one with me. The only other thing I have is a nutmeg,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket to prove it. “Nutmegs are also very lucky, but only in protecting you from rheumatism and boils, which won’t be of much use to you with Mrs. Malloy, now will it? But if you’d prefer a rabbit’s foot, I’m sure I can find one in the house if you don’t mind waiting . . .”

  “Oh, no, don’t go to any trouble,” Sarah said, biting back a smile. “I’m sure the penny will do very nicely. Thank you very much.”

  Sarah waved good-bye and was walking away when Mrs. Ellsworth stopped her again.

  “Oh, Mrs. Brandt, I almost forgot. Did you have a visitor last night? Late, I mean. Someone who knocked on your door?” For some reason, Mrs. Ellsworth looked a little anxious.

  “If I did, I slept through it,” Sarah replied, a little worried herself. She would hate to have missed a call to deliver a baby. “Why, did you hear someone knocking?”

  Mrs. Ellsworth frowned, absently fingering her nutmeg, as if for comfort. “Yes, but . . . Well, I’m sure it’s nothing. J
ust an old woman’s fancies. I didn’t mean to keep you. Give Mr. Malloy’s son a kiss for me.”

  “I will,” she promised and walked away shaking her head. Hearing knocking was probably some kind of omen. Mrs. Ellsworth was always seeing omens in everything. Sarah hoped it didn’t portend something evil. Even though Sarah knew it meant nothing, poor Mrs. Ellsworth would worry herself sick over it.

  Frank Malloy’s flat was in the Seventeenth Ward, where the Irish and the German immigrants had settled in adjoining neighborhoods and had now begun to mix. The streets were noisy from the roar of the Second Avenue Elevated Railroad, the clatter of horses and wagons on the cobblestones, the cries of the drivers and the street vendors and ragmen, the squeals of children playing in the gutters, and the shouts of women calling warnings to them and gossip to each other. Sarah absorbed the clamor into her very pores, drawing life from it. This was the city she loved, not the tidy orderliness of the neighborhood where her wealthy parents lived uptown.

  On such a lovely day, she had expected to find Mrs. Malloy outside with the other women who had gathered on the stoop to visit and gossip and escape the confines of their small, dingy flats. But the old woman wasn’t there, nor was Brian. Sarah suspected Mrs. Malloy’s habit had been to keep him inside, hidden away. For the first three years of his life, she had believed him to be a simple-minded cripple. Now she knew he was deaf, and his club foot had been surgically repaired, or at least it had been operated on. Of course, Mrs. Malloy would consider his deafness equally as shameful as being feebleminded, so Sarah shouldn’t be surprised he was still being hidden away.

  Although Sarah had never met any of the neighbors, they obviously knew who she was and greeted her with knowing smiles.

  “You’ll be looking for the Malloys, now won’t you?” one of the women asked with a grin that revealed several missing molars. “Francis isn’t home, though. He works for a living, he does.”

  Sarah managed not to look embarrassed or annoyed. “Is Mrs. Malloy at home?” she asked pointedly.

  “She usually is,” another woman said sourly. Her pinched expression revealed either a dislike for Mrs. Malloy or for the entire world in general. “Keeps that boy locked up so nobody’ll know what’s wrong with him. As if we don’t all know just the same.”

  Sarah bit her tongue to keep from replying. “Thank you,” she said, making her way past them up the front stairs and into the tenement building.

  The front door stood open to allow both light and air into the passageway and up the stairs. In the winter and at night, when the door was closed, the area would be pitch dark except for what little light might escape beneath the doors to the various flats. The hallway smelled like cabbage, but it probably always did, from years of people cooking cabbage here. The floors were relatively clean, though, evidence that the tenants took pride in their home, no matter how they might struggle otherwise.

  On the second floor, Sarah found the correct door and knocked. In a few moments, it opened a crack and one suspicious eye peered out.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Malloy,” Sarah said with determined cheerfulness. “Mr. Malloy told me I might find you and Brian home today,” she lied. “I’d like to see how Brian’s doing since the surgery, and I’ve brought him a small gift.”

  Now she was at the woman’s mercy. She only hoped that her mention of Malloy’s name had served as a warning that her son would not be pleased if she turned Sarah away. Of course, he knew nothing of this visit, and when he found out, he might well be angry that she’d come, but Sarah would deal with that later.

  “The boy has enough toys,” the old woman said. “We don’t need no charity from the likes of you.”

  “I know Brian has plenty of toys,” Sarah said, keeping her tone pleasant. “But I saw this, and I couldn’t resist. I wanted to see how his foot is doing, so I used that as an excuse to bring him something.”

  The eye kept peering at her, and for a moment Sarah was afraid Mrs. Malloy was going to slam the door in her face. But then Sarah heard a scuffling sound, and the door jerked open far enough for her to see Brian had crawled over to see for himself who had come to call. At the sight of Sarah, he started jumping up and down on his knees and reaching out for her.

  She hoped Mrs. Malloy couldn’t disappoint him, not even to spite Sarah, and she was right. Grudgingly, the woman opened the door wide enough for her to enter. Sarah reached down and picked the boy up, settling him on her hip so his cast was in front of her and she could examine it.

  “Oh, my, you’re getting so big,” she exclaimed, smiling into his face.

  He returned her smile, his sky blue eyes glittering with happiness. He was, she had to admit, one of the most beautiful children she had ever seen. She thought of Malloy’s dark, scowling features and realized Brian must take after his deceased mother.

  “Soon you’ll be too big for me to lift,” she told him.

  “He can’t hear you, you know,” Mrs. Malloy said, closing the door behind her. “You’re wasting your breath.”

  Sarah ignored her and carried Brian over to the sofa. She sat down and settled him on her lap.

  “Can I look at your foot?” she asked, pointing to the cast, and he obligingly held it up for her, beaming with pride. He might not understand the words, but he had no trouble discerning what she wanted. Unfortunately, seeing the cast told her nothing, since nothing was visible except the tips of his tiny toes. “Does he have much pain?” she asked the old woman.

  “He cried a lot with it at first,” Mrs. Malloy admitted grudgingly after a moment’s hesitation. She didn’t want to tell Sarah a thing, but she also must be anxious for a professional opinion on the boy’s progress. Anxious enough that she’d even seek it from Sarah. “Francis said that was normal, but he kept trying to kick the thing off his leg. Must’ve thought that was what was making it hurt.”

  “It’s hard when you can’t explain things to him,” Sarah said. “You can’t even tell him it’s going to make his foot better.”

  “How do we know that it will?” Mrs. Malloy asked, the fear in her voice unmistakable.

  “The doctor couldn’t promise a miracle, but he did think Brian would be able to walk when his foot has healed,” Sarah assured her. “He might have to wear a special shoe, but that’s a small thing when it means he’ll be able to walk.”

  “Doctors,” Mrs. Malloy grunted. “What do they know?” She walked over and sat down on the chair opposite, still scowling at Sarah with disapproval.

  Sarah had no answer for that. The truth was that doctors knew very little about many things, and medicine was as much intuition and guesswork and luck as it was skill and knowledge. Still, her friend, Dr. David Newton, had performed many such operations on feet even more deformed than Brian’s. If anyone could repair Brian’s foot, he had done it.

  Sarah turned her attention back to Brian. “Look what I brought you,” she said, speaking to the boy even though she knew he had no idea what she was saying. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small wooden trolley car with wheels that really turned.

  His face lit up, and he snatched the toy out of Sarah’s hand, simultaneously sliding off her lap so he could try out his new toy. His cast clunked on the bare wood floor, but he hardly noticed. Apparently, he wasn’t feeling much pain anymore. Sarah watched him pushing the car across the floor, trying out the wheels. Seeing his happiness and energy, she felt a familiar ache deep inside of her.

  She and her husband Tom had wanted children. Sarah had wanted a house full of them, but they had never been blessed. Then Tom had died and with him all hope that she would ever hold a child of her own. She wasn’t old, of course, and if she remarried, there was still a chance . . . but she wasn’t planning to remarry. What man could take Tom’s place? So she would spend the rest of her life delivering other women’s babies instead. That wouldn’t fill the empty ache in her heart, but it would help.

  “Is Francis coming home?” Mrs. Malloy asked out of the blue.

  Sarah wa
sn’t sure how to answer that. “I suppose he will. I really have no idea.”

  “You ain’t planning to meet him here?” She seemed surprised.

  “No, I told you, I just wanted to see Brian.”

  Mrs. Malloy sniffed. “I guess you see enough of Francis other places.”

  Now Sarah understood the purpose of the questions. “Actually, I haven’t seen him since the day of Brian’s operation,” she assured the old woman.

  “Then when did he ask you to come by and check on the boy?” Mrs. Malloy asked triumphantly.

  Oops, she’d been caught in a lie, but Sarah wasn’t going to squirm. “At the hospital. He asked me to stop by whenever I had a chance,” Sarah lied again. “I would have been here sooner, but I’ve been very busy with my work.”

  “Your work,” the old woman scoffed. “A woman should be home caring for her own babies, not out at all hours with someone else’s.”

  Her careless words had touched a raw nerve, but Sarah only winced inwardly. “Do you know when the cast will come off?” she asked to change the subject.

  Mrs. Malloy glanced down at Brian, as if she’d almost forgotten he was there. He was terribly quiet, and Sarah saw to her surprise that he’d taken a toy horse and attached it to the front of the trolley with some string. The horse was now pulling the trolley, just the way horses pulled the ones that hadn’t been electrified yet in the streets outside. Once again she marveled at how clever he was. If only he could speak and understand. If only he weren’t deaf.

  “It’ll come off in a couple more weeks, Francis says,” Mrs. Malloy replied to her question about Brian’s cast. “Then we’ll know if all this cutting did the poor boy any good.”

  She didn’t sound like she was holding out any hope. That would be her way of protecting herself, of course. Don’t hope for anything good, and you’ll never be disappointed. Or don’t give the Devil a chance to crush your hopes. Or don’t tempt the fates. Whatever her reason, she’d never be optimistic about anything, least of all a loved one.