Murder On Mulberry Bend

10

SARAH HOPED MR. DONATO HAD RETURNED TO HIS home after his encounter with Mrs. Wells. If not, she’d have no idea how to locate him. Searching the saloons in the neighborhood would probably be fruitful, but that was a task Sarah wasn’t prepared to handle.

Mulberry Street was crowded with men returning home after their day’s work. The street vendors were doing their last rush of business, selling what remained of their foodstuffs for the evening meals. Housewives bartered in loud voices for the best deal, and children ran and shouted, glad for a few more moments of freedom before being called in for the evening.

Sarah took the winding alley that led to the rear tenement where the Donatos lived. She looked up, trying to find their windows and judge whether anyone could be at home. It wasn’t dark enough yet for anyone to be wasting a candle or gaslight, so she had no clue. Her only option was to trudge up the stairs and find out for herself. She only hoped Mrs. Donato wasn’t there alone. She wasn’t quite sure what her welcome would be under those circumstances.

When she reached the third-floor landing, she could hear two men arguing in Italian. One of the voices sounded like it might be Mr. Donato’s. Sarah crept up more quietly, in case she decided she didn’t want the men to see her. But when she reached the top of the stairs, she saw that Mr. Donato was arguing with his son, Georgio.

Georgio’s organ rested on the kitchen table, and he sat in one of the chairs, his crutches on the floor beside him. Mr. Donato was pacing the small kitchen, gesturing angrily. Mrs. Donato was nowhere in sight. Sarah took a deep breath, walked up to the open doorway, and knocked loudly on the door frame.

Donato broke off in mid-sentence, and both men turned to her in surprise.

“Excuse me for intruding,” she said with the polite smile her mother had taught her years ago. “I’m Mrs. Brandt, and I was a friend of Emilia’s.”

Both men recognized her from their earlier encounters and pointed, shouting accusations she couldn’t understand. She clutched her medical bag in front of her and kept smiling until they paused for breath.

“I understand you’d like to give Emilia a decent burial,” she said into the first moment of silence. “I thought perhaps I could help.”

“Why you want to help?” Georgio asked suspiciously.

“I told you, I met Emilia at the mission. I was also… well, the police asked me to identify her body.” Sarah’s voice caught at the memory, but she forced herself to go on. “I can’t forget how she looked, lying there, and I’d like to see her put to rest properly.”

“Mission lady no pay,” Mr. Donato reported. “You pay?”

“I’ll certainly help as much as I can. Have you spoken with anyone about making arrangements?”

Mr. Donato exploded into a babble of furious Italian punctuated by violent hand motions. Sarah listened with a frown, trying to pick up a word here and there that might give her a clue as to what had made him so angry, but when he was finished, she was as baffled as ever. She looked at Georgio questioningly.

“Mama go to priest,” he said. He said the word “priest” as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Sarah said. “Maybe the church can help.”

Donato said something in Italian and spit on the floor.

Sarah jumped, unable to check her reaction. This time she looked at Georgio in wide-eyed amazement.

“Priest no bury a Dago whore,” he explained bitterly.

“But Emilia had changed. She wasn’t – ”

“No,” Georgio interrupted her impatiently. “Priest no care. No bury Dago. Hate Dago.”

This didn’t seem right to Sarah. “But you’re Catholics, aren’t you? Wouldn’t the priest do something for you, if not for Emilia?”

“No, he hate Dagos,” Georgio repeated angrily.

“Then why don’t you go to another church?” she asked, horrified.

“All priests Irish. All hate Dagos,” Georgio explained impatiently. “You understand now?”

Sarah was afraid she did, only too well. “Would the priest bury Emilia if he was paid?”

Georgio shrugged. “She still whore,” he reminded her.

“Whore,” his father spat, then muttered something in Italian.

His son’s face grew scarlet with fury, and he lunged to his feet, nearly forgetting he couldn’t support himself. Grasping the table to keep from falling, he shouted something about his mother.

Donato grabbed his head with both hands, babbling something and howling in anguish. His face was almost purple.

“Mr. Donato, you must calm down,” Sarah cried in alarm.

Neither man even seemed aware of her presence. Donato was frantically trying to explain something to his furious son, who was screaming invectives at him. Then, as Sarah had feared, Donato made a strangled sound and pitched over. Georgio instinctively reached out to grab him, but with only one foot to balance him, he merely succeeded in breaking his father’s fall as they both collapsed onto the floor.

Sarah was beside them in an instant, rolling Mr. Donato on his back and helping Georgio untangle himself from his father.

“What is wrong?” Georgio demanded as Sarah checked the older man’s pulse.

“I don’t know yet. It could be anything.” She threw open her medical bag and dragged out the stethoscope.

“What is that?” Georgio demanded, but Sarah didn’t take time to explain.

She fitted in the ear pieces and pressed the bell to Donato’s chest. Miraculously, his heartbeat was strong and regular, although much too rapid. “His heart seems fine,” she reported, then lifted his eyelids to check his eyes. Before she could do more, he moaned and his eyes fluttered open.

“Papa?” Georgio asked, leaning closer from where he knelt beside Sarah.

“Georgio?” Donato replied weakly and tried to push himself up.

“Don’t move,” Sarah warned him. “Lie still for a few minutes.”

Donato looked at her as if he’d never seen her before.

“You had a fall,” Sarah explained. “I’m a nurse. You need to rest for a while, until we’re sure you’re all right.” She looked at Georgio. “Make sure he understands what I’m saying.”

Georgio translated, and the older man groaned again and closed his eyes. He was only resting this time, though.

“Did he hurt you when he fell?” she asked Georgio.

He shook his head, not taking his eyes off his father.

“What was he saying when he collapsed?”

Georgio gave her a look that said it was none of her business.

“I need to know if he was…” She’d started to say incoherent, but realized Georgio probably wouldn’t recognize the word. “Was he talking crazy? I need to know if something is wrong with his brain… his head,” she added, pointing to her own.

Georgio’s frown was puzzled. “He say Mama is a whore, too, and this is why Emilia is bad.”

This obviously made no sense to Georgio, but Sarah understood it. Somehow Mr. Donato had guessed that he wasn’t Emilia’s father and he had decided his wife had been unfaithful. Or so she assumed, but Mr. Donato was groaning again and muttering, “No, no.”

“Not Mama,” he insisted. “Emilia’s mama.”

Now Sarah was growing more alarmed. The man may have had a stroke. She’d have to get him to a hospital right away, although even that wouldn’t help him very much if he was paralyzed. She took his hands in hers. “Can you squeeze my hands, Mr. Donato?”

He did, with a grip so powerful it made her cry out. “Emilia’s mama is whore!” he cried, his gaze boring into hers, desperate to make her understand he wasn’t crazy.

She exchanged a glace with Georgio, who only shrugged.

“Mr. Donato, don’t excite yourself. I’ll send for a – ”

“No, Emilia not our baby. Midwife bring. Our baby die.”

Now she was sure he was confused. “I didn’t bring a baby,” she told him gently, thinking he was talking about her.

“No, when Emilia born! Our baby born, but he die. Mama so sad, all a time, sad. I think she die if baby die. Midwife have baby of whore. No want baby. She take away. I tell her we keep baby. She take dead baby away. Mama never know.”

“Are you saying Emilia wasn’t your child at all?” Sarah asked incredulously.

“Child of whore. She whore, like mother. No good.”

“She have yellow hair,” Georgio murmured, as if finally solving an old mystery.

“Sì,” his father confirmed. “Yellow hair, like whore.”

All these years, Mrs. Donato had thought her daughter was the child of her rapist. Sarah finally understood. Mrs. Donato hadn’t been able to love her daughter because she’d believed her to be the result of her greatest shame. Mr. Donato had carried the guilt of an act of kindness that still hadn’t made his wife happy. Emilia had known only that she wasn’t loved and had sought that love from men who destroyed her.

Mr. Donato was weeping, and Sarah and Georgio helped him sit up. After determining that he was recovered from his faint, they got him into a chair. Sarah checked his pulse and his heart again, and found them normal. His color was good, and he seemed no worse for his experience.

“You should rest for a day or two, just to be sure you’re all right,” Sarah suggested.

He waved away the idea. “I work tomorrow, same as always.”

She glanced at Georgio, who shrugged again, promising nothing.

“I’ll go down to the morgue and see what I can find out about burying Emilia. I won’t let them put her into a pauper’s grave,” she promised. From the look Georgio was giving her, Sarah figured he felt no further obligation toward the woman he’d believed to be his sister. From what Sarah knew, Mrs. Donato probably wouldn’t either when she found out the truth about Emilia’s birth. “Do you want me to let you know…?” she began, but Georgio was already shaking his head.

“You go,” he said. “No come back.”

Sarah was only too glad to oblige.

By the time Sarah got home, she had decided what she must do for Emilia, but she didn’t have a chance to act on that decision. A message awaited her that one of her patients had gone into labor. The baby, the first for this mother, took his time arriving, and she didn’t get back home until almost noon the next day. Since she had to attend the party at her mother’s house that evening, she spent the rest of the afternoon napping.

Sarah wasn’t to learn which girls Mrs. Wells had chosen to accompany her to the party until the event itself. Perhaps the woman just had difficulty making the decision. Sarah hoped that was the reason. Or perhaps Mrs. Wells understood the intense rivalry among the girls and didn’t want to give anyone a reason to gloat any sooner than necessary. The only other possibility was that she was making the girls compete for the honor up to the very last minute. Whatever her real reason, Sarah was afraid the effect was the latter. She could just imagine how the girls would be preening and fawning, not to mention undermining each other, to win attention.

“You’re very quiet, my dear,” her mother observed as they checked the third-floor ballroom one last time. The gaslights cast the room in a warm glow that was reflected in the large mirrors, and vases of fresh flowers filled it with a sweet perfume. The wooden floor shone like glass, and the gilt chairs were grouped conveniently around the room for those who wanted to sit and chat or those who were too old or too fat to do anything but sit and chat. At one end of the room, a “light” buffet supper was being laid, which included enough food to feed the entire population of Mulberry Bend for a week. At the other end, a piano player and harpist were tuning up. “Are you worried about how the evening will go?”

Sarah gave her mother a reassuring smile. “How could I be? You’re the perfect hostess, Mother.”

“I don’t have any control over this Mrs. Wells, however,” she said. “Are you sure she’ll give a good account of herself?”

“I’m certain of it. She’s the most self-possessed female I’ve ever met.”

“In her own world, she may be, but what will happen when she’s faced with a crowd of her…” She caught herself just in time. She’d almost said “her betters,” and Sarah would have had to reprove her for it. Chagrined by Sarah’s frown, she said, “You know what I mean, dear. Our friends can be very intimidating to others who are… less fortunate.”

“I doubt that Mrs. Wells considers herself less fortunate than your friends, Mother. She may not be wealthy in worldly terms, but she believes herself the equal of anyone on this earth.”

Her mother was not reassured by this information. “We should go downstairs. Our guests will be arriving soon.”

When they reached the front foyer, they found Felix Decker talking with Richard Dennis, who had just arrived. He greeted Sarah warmly, although she could see he was a bit nervous.

“I’m sure your wife would have been pleased at what you’re doing this evening,” she said to him when her parents were distracted by a question from one of the servants.

Richard’s smile was wan. “I hope so. I never really concerned myself with what would please her when she was alive, so I can’t be sure.”

“You must stop feeling guilty, Richard. We can’t change the past. We can only do better in the future.”

Was that what she was trying to do herself? Was that what had motivated her work at the mission? She hadn’t been aware of any guilt, but perhaps she felt some for her privileged upbringing. Did she feel some sort of debt that must be repaid? Or was it all about Emilia and her senseless death?

She didn’t have time to figure it out just then, because her mother was giving them instructions. “Your father and I will greet people here at the door. Why don’t you and Richard go upstairs and circulate among the guests?”

Richard followed her upstairs, his step heavy and his shoulders hunched against some invisible burden. She began to regret asking him to participate, but then the guests began to arrive, and she forgot to feel sorry for him. To his credit, he quickly assumed the role of host with the ease of long practice, and no one would have suspected he had any qualms about the event.

Sarah greeted many of her old friends and people she hadn’t seen in many years. The crowd included a sprinkling of Astors and Vanderbilts, along with some of the less famous but no less wealthy names from the social register. Then a tall woman came in whom Sarah didn’t recognize.

For all her expensive finery, she was very plain and somewhat awkward, as if uncomfortable in her own body. She looked as if she might be much more at home on horseback, riding with the hunt, than mingling with the idle rich. The man with her was a head shorter than she and almost as round as he was tall. His bald head shone in the reflected gaslight. Richard Dennis greeted them both with genuine affection and motioned Sarah over to meet them.

“Sarah, this is Opal and Charles Graves. Opal was Hazel’s dearest friend.” Sarah remembered that Richard had given her mother their names to add to the guest list.

“Oh, yes,” Sarah said, shaking both their hands. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“And we’re glad you’ve agreed to accompany Richard to our party on Saturday night,” Opal Graves said. “I hope he warned you that you must wear a costume.”

Sarah managed not to wince. Richard had said nothing about a costume, although she should have guessed it would be expected at a Halloween party. “I’m looking forward to it,” she managed.

“So are we.” Mrs. Graves gave Richard a glance that said her true enjoyment would be seeing him with a female.

Sarah decided a change of subject was in order. “I suppose you already know all about the work of the mission.”

“Yes,” Opal Graves agreed. “I’ve supported their work for many years, since they first began in fact.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Wells will be happy to see a familiar face in the crowd,” Sarah said.

Mrs. Graves frowned ever so slightly. “I’m afraid I’m not well acquainted with Mrs. Wells. Her late husband was the one who first approached Charles and me about his dreams of starting a ministry.”

“He must have been an extraordinary man,” Sarah said.

“Hardly,” Charles Graves said with a chuckle. “He’d still be preaching on street corners if his wife hadn’t pushed him.”

“Now, darling, you mustn’t speak ill of the dead,” his wife chided him fondly. “Reverend Wells was a dedicated man of God. What he lacked in ambition, he more than made up for in his zeal to minister to others.”

“And his wife more than made up for his lack of ambition,” he chided right back, looking up at her with an adoring twinkle in his eyes. For all the difference in their physical appearances, they obviously shared a mutual affection that Sarah couldn’t help but envy.

“I understand you were the one who first introduced Mrs. Dennis to the work at the mission,” Sarah said, deciding she’d ask Mrs. Graves some more about Mrs. Wells when she could get her alone.

“Yes, I was,” she said with a rueful glance at Richard.

“She did enjoy her work there,” Richard assured her quickly. However much he might blame the mission for Hazel’s death, he held no grudge against his friends.

“And she is very kindly remembered there,” Sarah added.

“I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Graves said. “Hazel was an exceptional person.”

Some more guests were arriving who needed Sarah’s attention, but she said to Mrs. Graves, “I’d love to hear more about how you became involved with the mission. Could we talk later?”

“Certainly,” Mrs. Graves said. “I’d be happy to tell you everything I know about it.”

Mr. and Mrs. Graves went off to mingle and greet acquaintances while Sarah and Richard finished their duties. A short time later, Sarah’s parents joined the party, which meant that all the guests had arrived. Mrs. Wells was scheduled to make her appearance a little later in the evening, after the guests had a chance to sample the food and wine the Deckers had provided for them and were in a more generous mood.

Sarah found Opal Graves sitting in a corner, entertaining an elderly lady who could hardly hear a word she was saying. Sarah rescued her, taking her out into the corridor where they could speak without being overheard.

“I wanted to thank you for coming,” Sarah began.

“And I wanted to thank you for inviting us. It’s good to see Richard taking an interest in society again. He’s been far too solitary since Hazel died. I suppose we have you to thank for that, Mrs. Brandt,” she added with a twinkle.

“I don’t want to disappoint you, but Richard and I are merely friends,” Sarah said. “He knew that my work often takes me to the Lower East Side, and he asked me to go with him to the mission so he could find out what his wife had done there.”

“Forgive me if I sound like a hopeless romantic, but love has grown in rockier soil than that,” she said. “Now don’t look so panicked,” she added with a large grin. “I’m only teasing you.”

Sarah managed a smile in return. “It would take more than that to panic me,” she assured her companion. “I am grateful to Richard for introducing me to the mission, however. I’ve started volunteering there myself.”

“You mentioned your work takes you to that neighborhood. What type of work do you do?”

“I’m a midwife,” she said, fully expecting to see the frown of disapproval or even distaste that usually followed this admission, but Mrs. Graves simply looked intrigued. “Of course I don’t deliver babies at the mission,” Sarah assured her. “I’ve begun teaching the girls about hygiene and how to protect themselves against disease.”

“Mrs. Brandt, you astonish me! How did you ever escape the clutches of your adoring family to pursue such a career?”

“I married well,” Sarah said, her smile genuine this time. “And when my husband died, I continued his work. He was a physician.”

“I see. So you’ve decided to help Mrs. Wells save the souls of those poor, miserable girls.”

“I don’t know about their souls. That’s Mrs. Wells’s job. I’m only trying to save their bodies.”

“A worthy goal, and one that is far easier to attain,” Mrs. Graves said with sincere approval.

“You said you didn’t know Mrs. Wells very well, but I was wondering what you thought of her,” Sarah asked.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I’m not asking you to gossip,” Sarah hastily assured her. “I’d just like your opinion on her methods. Have they been successful? I saw a few things at the mission that concerned me, and I’d like to have someone else’s view of the situation.”

“As I told you, I don’t know Mrs. Wells very well. We’ve continued to support the mission out of respect for Mr. Wells and his vision, and because we honestly believe it serves a useful purpose. I’m ashamed to admit we haven’t been as involved as we should have been, however, since Hazel died. I’ve been – well, going there brought back too many memories of her. What have you seen that disturbed you?”

“Nothing untoward,” Sarah said. “I’m sure Mrs. Wells isn’t even aware of it, but I saw a lot of rivalry among the girls for her affections.”

“I would expect them to be jealous of each other, under the circumstances. Our children are jealous of each other. It’s only natural for them to want all the attention for themselves.”

“I wish it were that type of jealousy, but I had a sister, and I know the difference,” Sarah said. “At the mission, they are much more fierce.”

“Don’t forget you aren’t dealing with a finishing school here, Mrs. Brandt,” Mrs. Graves reminded her. “You would know even better than I what those girls have been through. They may have seen people beaten to death out of jealousy or stabbed for a scrap of food. They’ve probably never even seen friendly competition.”

“I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I still don’t think it’s a good situation. The girls behave almost as if they were romantic rivals.”

Mrs. Graves raised her eyebrows as the meaning of Sarah’s words sank in. “I suppose they are, in a way,” she agreed. “They must be desperate for love, and Mrs. Wells offers them the promise of unconditional acceptance – from God but mostly from herself, as his messenger on earth.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know her well,” Sarah said.

“I don’t, but this seems like the approach she would take,” she explained. “And it would certainly be effective. The girls know they must repent their evil ways in order to win Mrs. Wells’s acceptance, and along the way, they seek God’s acceptance as well.”

“That seems almost… dishonest,” Sarah admitted reluctantly.

“Tricking someone into the Kingdom of God? Perhaps you’re right, but who are we to judge?”

Sarah had no answer to that question.

“Mrs. Brandt, although I haven’t been to the mission in a long time, I do know how much Hazel loved her work there,” Mrs. Graves said. “She found… I’m not sure how to describe it. Perhaps it was peace she found. I’d never seen her so contented, and she credited Mrs. Wells for helping her achieve that peace. This is why we’ve continued to support the work there.”

“Would you like to go down with me sometime to see it again?”

Mrs. Graves considered the offer for a moment. “Yes, after what you’ve told me, I think I’d like to see what’s going on there.”

Sarah smiled, glad that she would have an unbiased observer to help her make sense of what she’d seen there. “I’ll be going tomorrow, if you’re free.”

“I’ll make a point of it,” she said thoughtfully.

Someone touched Sarah’s arm. She turned to see one of the maids, who said, “Mrs. Wells is here, ma’am.”

Frank was getting tired of searching through the rat holes of the slums in the dark of night, but he supposed if he was hunting rats, he’d have to go where they were. He and his cohorts had spent the better part of two days seeking out the locations Billy had given him. Finding Danny during the daylight hours was more than he’d hoped for, and his expectations had been met. The young man was most likely out keeping an eye on his young charges while they worked the streets. The children who stole for him would require constant supervision, Frank supposed. Children could be unreliable.

Of all the places Billy had mentioned, Frank had thought the shanty under the bridge would be their best bet, and he’d been right. The earlier rain shower had driven everyone to shelter, and when they arrived after full dark, a fire still smoldered in front of the open doorway. A small child was making his way through the trash and debris carrying a growler of beer toward it. He would have purchased the tin pail of liquid refreshment at a nearby stale beer dive for a few cents. Children wouldn’t be welcome to remain in such places, so one of them would make a purchase and bring it back for the rest of them to share. When their weariness and loneliness and fear had been deadened by the alcohol, the children would sleep under the protection of their mentor.

A shout from the hovel announced the arrival of the child with the beer, and those inside spilled out to meet him, waving their tin cups eagerly. Frank watched from the shadows, waiting for the tallest figure to emerge. From this distance, Frank could tell only that the figure was the right size to be Danny. He couldn’t hear what was said, but the children fell silent and waited while he took the first ration from the growler. When he’d finished, the rest of them crowded around, jostling to be next and hardly bothering to step away before downing their portions.

Frank felt a pain and realized he was clenching his jaws in anger at the spectacle. He couldn’t have said at whom his anger was directed. Not Danny, for all he might deserve it. The boy did protect the children as well as he could, Frank supposed. And the lot of them were merely trying to survive in a world where the adults who should have cherished them had abandoned them to die. Maybe he was angry at a world where children must seek help and comfort from each other because no one cared for or about them.

“Let’s go,” he told the cops with him. He’d brought four this time, taking no chances of losing his quarry. As previously arranged, they stole away into the darkness to make a circle around the hovel. Whichever way Danny ran, someone would be there to intercept him.

The children were quarreling now over who got the dregs of beer. Some were coming to blows, while others were shrieking and pushing. The taller figure merely stood by, looking on but taking no part in the squabbling. Frank could imagine he was smiling at the confusion. He wouldn’t be smiling for long.

When he judged the other cops had had time to reach their positions, he gave the signal. “Police!” he shouted.

The children needed no other warning. Without a second’s hesitation, they fled into the night. Frank kept his eye on the tall figure, who ducked and ran in the opposite direction from his voice. Frank hurried after him, taking care not to fall over the rubble in the darkness. “He’s heading uptown,” he shouted, in case the others hadn’t seen him. The river on one side would limit the directions he could go.

“I see him!” someone shouted, and Frank turned toward the voice. By the time he got to the other side of the shanty, he could hear the sounds of a scuffle and then the familiar thump of locust wood against human flesh. The scuffle ceased.

Now, if Danny’s brains hadn’t been knocked loose, Frank would finally get some answers.

Sarah went downstairs to greet her guest. Mrs. Wells was waiting in the foyer with two girls. Sarah wasn’t surprised to see the glow of Maeve’s red hair in the light from the chandelier. She recognized the other girl, Gina, from her class. Both of them were dressed in white with pale blue sashes tied around their waists, making Sarah think of sacrificial virgins. They were looking around wide-eyed and slack-jawed, taking in the luxury of the Deckers’ home with an air of disbelief.

Mrs. Wells betrayed no hint that she was impressed by her surroundings. She simply waited patiently, her expression serene. Apparently, Sarah’s mother’s theory that Mrs. Wells would be intimidated by her “betters” was unfounded.

“Mrs. Wells, I’m so glad you’re here,” Sarah said. “Maeve and Gina, you both look lovely.”

The girls smiled tentatively, gratified at the compliment but still nervous and unsure of themselves.

“We appreciate your invitation, Mrs. Brandt,” Mrs. Wells said. “Although you didn’t have to send a carriage for us.”

“My mother insisted,” Sarah said. “The weather forecast was for showers, and besides, she doesn’t like the idea of ladies traveling unaccompanied in the city at night.” Sarah was aware of the irony, since she herself frequently traveled unaccompanied in the city at night. “Please come upstairs. Everyone is anxious to meet you.”

“Come along, girls,” Mrs. Wells said encouragingly when they hesitated to follow her and Sarah up the grand staircase. They exchanged an anxious glance before obeying.

When they reached the ballroom, Sarah’s parents greeted them. After introductions had been made, Mrs. Decker took charge of Mrs. Wells and proceeded to introduce her to other guests, leaving the two girls standing alone in stunned silence as they took in the grand room and the sumptuously clad guests.

“Would you girls like something to eat?” Sarah asked.

They nodded, perhaps too frightened to speak aloud, and Sarah escorted them over to the buffet table. Gina came eagerly, but Maeve displayed her usual reluctance to trust Sarah.

“Who is all this food for?” Gina asked in a whisper.

Sarah realized they’d probably never seen this much food all in one place in their lives. “It’s for the guests,” Sarah explained.

Gina glanced at the crowd and back at the table again. “They must be real hungry.”

Sarah bit back a smile and handed each of the girls a plate. “Just tell the servers what you’d like and they’ll put it on your plate for you,” she instructed.

By the time the girls had reached the end of the table, their plates were heaping with far more food than they could ever hope to eat. The servants were frowning in disapproval, but they didn’t say anything because Sarah kept giving them warning looks behind the girls’ backs. Sarah seated them at one of the small tables that had been set up at the end of the room, and took the liberty of joining them while they ate.

Mrs. Wells had taught them table manners, if not restraint, so at least they didn’t disgrace themselves. Sarah gave them a few minutes to sample their delicacies before striking up a conversation.

“Did you enjoy the carriage ride?” she asked.

Maeve looked at her suspiciously. Plainly, she was remembering how she’d snubbed Sarah at the mission, but she knew she needed to be polite to her here. She was probably trying to decide if Sarah’s friendliness was genuine or a ploy to get her in some kind of trouble as revenge.

Gina didn’t have any reason to be suspicious. “It was fancy,” she said. “And so big!” Her thick, dark hair hung in a single braid down her back, and her dark eyes were lovely in her olive-skinned face. While Maeve was bony and angular, Gina’s curves were soft and rounded.

“The driver wasn’t very nice,” Maeve reported sourly.

“He was, too!” Gina said. “He opened the door for us!”

“He kept his nose up in the air,” Maeve said. “You could see he didn’t like us.”

“Coachmen are trained to act like that,” Sarah explained. “They’re not supposed to stare at their passengers.”

“He helped us down when we got out, too,” Gina reminded Maeve. “He took my hand so I wouldn’t fall. I thought he was handsome.”

“He was ugly as a toad,” Maeve insisted.

Since the Deckers’ coachman was neither, Sarah had to smile.

“I’m just glad we come in a coach,” Gina said. “I never was in one before, and neither was you, Maeve, so don’t pretend you was!”

Maeve wasn’t going to argue the point, especially in front of Sarah, so she just glared at Gina. Sarah remembered what Opal Graves had said about sisters arguing, and had to agree the girls were behaving just like siblings. Perhaps she’d been mistaken in thinking the rivalry at the mission was more than that.

“We wanted to be sure you were safe coming here tonight,” Sarah said, deciding to raise the subject she really wanted to discuss, “after what happened to Emilia.”

Gina frowned and glanced around uneasily, as if checking to make sure no one had overheard this reference to the dead girl.

Maeve didn’t seem the least bit disturbed, however. “That won’t happen to us,” she said confidently.

“You seem very sure,” Sarah said.

“Emilia was stupid,” Maeve said.

“You just didn’t like her because she was Mrs. Wells’s favorite,” Gina accused.

“No, she wasn’t,” Maeve insisted. “Mrs. Wells just felt sorry for her!”

“Then she must feel sorry for you, too, because she gave you all of her jobs!”

“You’re just jealous because she didn’t give them to you!”

“I don’t want to watch Aggie,” Gina claimed disdainfully. “That little brat can run out in the street and get herself trampled to a lump for all I care!”

“I guess Mrs. Wells don’t know how much you hate Aggie,” Maeve observed with a sly grin, and Gina blushed scarlet.

“Everybody hates Aggie, and that includes you!” Gina claimed.

“What other jobs did Emilia have?” Sarah asked quickly, before the two girls came to blows. “Besides watching Aggie, that is.”

Maeve obviously had no intention of answering, but Gina said, “She was in charge of making all the girls get up and dressed in the morning, then she looked after them all day, so they went to their classes and to meals and didn’t sneak out. Then she checked to make sure everybody was in bed at night.”

“All that in addition to looking after Aggie,” Sarah said in amazement. “That’s a lot of responsibility. And now you do it all, Maeve?”

Somewhat mollified by the implied respect, Maeve said, “Yes, ma’am, I do everything.”

“So now all the girls hate her instead of Emilia,” Gina said smugly.

Wanting to head off another argument, Sarah said, “You said Emilia was stupid, Maeve. It sounds like she had to be smart to do all those jobs, though.”

“She went places she shouldn’t go,” Maeve said. “Like that park where she got killed. That was stupid.”

“City Hall Park isn’t really a bad place,” Sarah said. “In fact, it’s a very nice park. Courting couples meet there all the time. But of course we don’t know why she went there that morning. Did she say anything to either of you about it?”

“She was always doing things she shouldn’t do,” Maeve insisted. Her eyes narrowed. “And she was stupid with men. That’s why she got herself killed.”

“Was she going to meet a man that morning?” Sarah asked, remembering Mrs. Wells had said one of the girls heard Emilia say she wanted Ugo to see how nice she looked. Perhaps Emilia had said more than that.

“No, she was going to get a job,” Gina said. “She told everybody who would listen. We was sick of hearing about it.”

“That and her new dress,” Maeve recalled with a frown. “It wasn’t new at all. Somebody gave it for charity, and it was an ugly old thing! Mrs. Wells offered it to me first, but I wouldn’t take it.”

“She did not,” Gina said. “You’re a liar! Everybody knows she always gave the best things to Emilia. And I heard you begging Mrs. Wells for that hat Emilia was wearing.”

“So you don’t think Emilia was going to meet a lover that morning?” Sarah pressed, trying not to remember the hat and dress in question had been hers.

“Not likely,” Gina said, taking a bite of caviar then quickly spitting it out. “Ew, what was that awful stuff?”

“Fish eggs,” Sarah said with a smile. “I’ve never cared for them either.”

Gina looked more closely at the brown glop. “Fish don’t lay eggs,” she informed Sarah. “Chickens lay eggs. You’re teasing me.”

Sarah could have argued, but she didn’t want to get distracted. “You’re right, I am,” she agreed. “Why wouldn’t Emilia have been meeting a lover?”

“She said she didn’t have no use for men after what happened to her,” Gina said. “She swore she’d never so much as speak to one again.”

“She must’ve changed her mind,” Maeve said with an unpleasant grin, “or she wouldn’t be dead, would she?”

“Did either of you hear her say she wished Ugo could see her in her new outfit?” Sarah asked.

Both girls just gave her a blank look.

Sarah opened her mouth to ask another question when she heard her father calling for everyone’s attention.

“Is it time for Mrs. Wells?” Maeve asked in alarm.

“I guess it is,” Sarah replied, and the girls were gone in an instant, hurrying to take their places beside her. Sarah rose and made her way more slowly to the other end of the ballroom so she could have a good view of the proceedings.