Murder on Washington Square

8

SARAH GOT HOME EARLY THAT MORNING AFTER DELIVERING a baby girl, so she had time for a brief nap before meeting Malloy at the Walcott house. Her nap was cut even shorter when someone knocked on her door. Fearing another delivery would keep her from visiting Mrs. Walcott, she was relieved to find one of her parents’ servants with a message from her mother, inviting her to supper that night to meet Mr. Richard Dennis. Her father had kept his promise!

She was still a little groggy when she left her house, but the combination of her appointment this evening, the prospect of learning more about Anna Blake, and the brisk fall air quickly revived her. She took an umbrella with her because it looked as if a storm was brewing.

By habit she glanced over at the Ellsworth house, expecting to see Mrs. Ellsworth coming out onto her porch, broom in hand, to inquire into her business and warn her about some omen or offer her a good luck charm. But the shades were all pulled tight and the front door remained tightly closed against intruders. She wondered if Malloy had told Nelson about the story in The World that branded him a perfectly justified killer instead of a wanton one. Nelson probably wouldn’t appreciate the difference. She would have to be very convincing with Mr. Dennis if she hoped to save Nelson’s job at the bank. With any luck at all, she’d be able to influence him before he’d had a chance to act on the story.

Washington Square was busy on this cloudy Sabbath afternoon. Families dressed in their Sunday best hurried to their destinations, trying to beat the gathering storm. No one had time to remember a woman had died right here less than a week ago. Sarah hurried past the hanging tree, trying not to look at the place where Anna Blake had lain and trying not to think of the irony that she died beneath a tree of death.

Thompson Street was quieter than the Square, although people were rushing about here, too, on their way to or from Sunday visits. She saw no sign of Malloy when she arrived at the Walcott house, but then she hadn’t heard the city clocks striking the hour yet either. Slowing her step, she looked around, wondering what she should do. Standing on the pavement in front of the house would be a little too obvious and would certainly attract attention, and besides, it might start raining at any moment. Her presence also might warn Mrs. Walcott that trouble was on the way and allow her to make her escape out the back door. She didn’t have time to form a plan, however, because the front door of the Walcott house opened, and Catherine Porter looked out.

“Mrs. Brandt?” she called.

Sarah looked up in surprise. “Yes?”

“That police detective is here. He told me to watch for you.”

So much for needing a plan. Sarah made her way up the front steps with as much dignity as she could manage, considering she was furious with Malloy for not waiting for her. He’d probably been there for an hour and was finished with his questioning. He’d let Sarah examine the dead woman’s room and then they’d leave. She wanted to wring his neck.

Catherine closed the door, not quite meeting Sarah’s eye, as if she knew Sarah wanted to ask her about things she didn’t want to discuss. “They’re in the parlor,” she said, gesturing to the closed doors. “He said to go on in when you got here.”

Sarah would have preferred to be announced, but with a sigh of resignation, she slid open the pocket doors and found Malloy and Mrs. Walcott sociably drinking tea and chatting about the weather.

Malloy’s expression changed at the sight of her. Although it couldn’t exactly be called a smile, he did look somewhat pleased to see her. Mrs. Walcott, however, seemed less so. They both set down their cups and rose to their feet.

“Mrs. Brandt, isn’t it?” Mrs. Walcott said with a practiced smile. “How nice of you to come.” Once again, she was dressed in fashionable good taste, her artificial hair perfectly styled.

“I see Mr. Malloy told you to expect me,” Sarah said, nodding to her hostess and giving Malloy a glare.

“As I explained, Mrs. Brandt has agreed to give me the benefit of her medical knowledge to assist me in this investigation,” Malloy said with a straight face. “I’m told there are some delicate matters about this case that a female could address more easily.”

Mrs. Walcott frowned. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Malloy. Please sit down, Mrs. Brandt. Would you like some tea?”

Sarah allowed that she would, and she took a seat beside Malloy on the sofa. While Mrs. Walcott served her, she tried to catch Malloy’s eye so she could let him know just how unhappy she was with him, but he refused to cooperate.

“I’m very sorry about Miss Blake’s death,” she said finally.

“She was a lovely girl,” Mrs. Walcott said, handing Sarah a fragile China cup and saucer.

“How long had she lived here?” Sarah asked.

“Oh, four or five months, I believe. Time passes so quickly, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Walcott had a sweet, well-modulated voice. She could have passed herself off as a society matron in the right venue. Today she wore black, probably for mourning. She had a cameo brooch pinned at her throat, and black lace mitts on her hands once again. At least she looked the part of lady of the manor.

Sarah glanced at Malloy again, waiting for a cue. Had he already finished questioning her? “Have you been here long, Mr. Malloy?” she asked.

“Just a few minutes,” he replied smugly, recognizing her annoyance and enjoying it. “I was waiting for your arrival. Mrs. Walcott, I’d like you to tell me exactly what happened the night Anna Blake died.”

Mrs. Walcott’s cup rattled in the saucer, and she quickly set it down. “Forgive me,” she said, folding her hands tightly in her lap and lowering her head for a moment to regain her composure. “It’s still very difficult to discuss this.”

“I’m sure it is,” Malloy agreed sympathetically, “but if we hope to find out who killed her, we have to know where she went and who she saw.”

“Of course, although I don’t believe I’ll be much help to you.”

“Just tell us what you know,” Sarah said.

Mrs. Walcott nodded, took a deep breath, and began. “Anna had seemed distressed about something. Even more distressed than she had been ever since she discovered that… Well, I think you know her situation.”

“I know what she said her situation was,” Malloy corrected her. “She’d told two different men that they’d gotten her with child, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

Mrs. Walcott registered her surprise, but she continued resolutely. “I’m sure I don’t know any more than that some man had taken advantage of her and she was distraught, as anyone would be. I had begun to worry that she might harm herself. Many young women in her position do, you know.”

“So she was unusually upset that night,” Malloy prodded.

“All day, in fact. She hardly left her room.”

“Did she have any callers?” Malloy asked.

Mrs. Walcott considered for a moment. “I’m sure this had nothing to do with her death, but…”

“Someone came to see her?”

“Yes, a… a young man,” she admitted with apparent reluctance.

“Who was he?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t give his name, and she didn’t reveal it. He wasn’t here long, and Anna left the house shortly after he did.”

“Did he go upstairs with her?”

Mrs. Walcott looked shocked. “Certainly not! I run a respectable house here.”

Sarah knew Malloy could have disputed that, but instead he asked, “Was she happy to see this young man?”

“Not particularly. And while I didn’t listen at the door or anything like that, I couldn’t help but hear that their voices were raised at one point.”

“They were arguing?”

“That was my assumption,” Mrs. Walcott said primly.

“Where did Anna go when she left the house?”

“I’m not sure. She didn’t confide in me, but I did gather she was meeting someone.”

“Any idea who it was?”

Mrs. Walcott shook her head gently. Sarah observed that she took care not to disturb her elaborately coiffed wig. “I can’t imagine she was meeting a woman,” she said reluctantly. “She didn’t know any other females that I’m aware of, and a woman would probably not be out herself in the evening like that.”

“What time did she leave?”

“I didn’t pay attention to the exact time,” she said apologetically. “I had no idea it would be important.”

“How long was it after the young man left?”

“Not long,” she said, wrinkling her forehead as she tried to recall. “Not more than half an hour, I’d guess, although I can’t be perfectly sure.”

“Was it dark out when she left?”

“Certainly not. I never would have permitted her to go out after dark.”

“How was she dressed?” Sarah asked, earning a frown from Malloy for interrupting.

Mrs. Walcott looked surprised at the question. “I don’t think I noticed.”

“If you saw the clothes in her room, could you tell which ones are missing?” Sarah asked.

Mrs. Walcott considered. “Probably.”

“What difference does it make what she was wearing?” Malloy asked irritably.

Sarah ignored him. “Could we go up to her room to look?”

Mrs. Walcott looked to Malloy for his approval, irritating Sarah in turn, but she supposed he was in charge. He nodded grudgingly, and they all rose. Mrs. Walcott led the way out into the hall and up the stairs.

Malloy grabbed Sarah’s arm, holding her back. “What difference does it make what she was wearing?” he asked in a whisper. “We could ask the coroner that.”

“Isn’t this a better way to get into her room than asking permission to search it?” she asked sweetly.

All she got in reply was a grunt, but he released her arm and allowed her to follow the landlady.

Upstairs, Mrs. Walcott was waiting for them outside the closed door, as if reluctant to enter without them. “I haven’t disturbed anything in here. It… it didn’t seem right. I’d be happy to send her things to her family, but I don’t believe she had any.”

She pushed open the door to the room and stepped aside for Sarah to enter. Malloy stood in the open doorway with Mrs. Walcott, watching her.

The room looked like thousands of others just like it all over the city. The furniture was cheap and worn. A metal bedstead dominated the small space. It had been carelessly made, the coverlet lying crooked. Some clothes hung on pegs along one wall. A dresser stood nearby, and a wash-stand occupied the opposite corner. A small, battered trunk sat at the foot of the bed.

Sarah began by examining the garments hanging on the pegs.

“Did you know that Nelson Ellsworth was paying Anna’s rent?” Malloy asked the landlady while they watched Sarah.

“Good heavens, no!” She sounded thoroughly shocked.

“How did you think she managed, since she didn’t have a job?” he asked curiously.

“She had an inheritance,” Mrs. Walcott said. “At least, that’s what she gave me to believe. Mr. Ellsworth was managing it for her. He worked at a bank, I believe. That’s why he’d taken an interest in her.”

“And what about Mr. Giddings?” Malloy asked.

“What about him?”

“He was giving her money, too. Who did you think he was, her rich uncle?”

Mrs. Walcott took offense at his tone. “He was her attorney,” she sniffed indignantly. “They had matters of business to discuss about her mother’s estate.”

Mrs. Walcott was either stupid or lying, Sarah thought as she took a mental inventory of Anna Blake’s wardrobe. Sarah saw the girlish gingham dress Anna had been wearing the one time they had met and another that was apparently her “good” dress, the one she would have saved for special occasions. She also had a black bombazine skirt and matching jacket, which would have done for almost any occasion. A fringed paisley shawl hung on one of the hooks, and Sarah fingered it, impressed by its quality. Probably a gift from a besotted admirer, she thought. Beside it hung a fancy hat, probably the one she saved for “good,” and another, less ornate one, for everyday wear. What hat would she have been wearing when she went out? It seemed unlikely she’d own more than two.

The dresser drawers held extra pairs of undergarments and stockings, two waists, and a nightdress. A comb and brush lay on the dresser, and a glass bowl held extra hairpins. Oddly enough, the bottom drawer of the dresser held a case of some kind. Sarah glanced at Mrs. Walcott to see how closely she was being watched and if the other woman would offer some objection to her examining it.

Mrs. Walcott frowned when Sarah drew the case out of the drawer, but she didn’t object when she opened it. To her surprise, Sarah discovered it contained a wide variety of face paint, far more than a respectable woman would ever need to own. Anna Blake had a more interesting background than she had led anyone to believe. She glanced at Malloy to make sure he’d seen the contents of the case before closing it and returning it to its proper place.

Lastly, she opened the trunk. As she had suspected, this contained Anna’s winter clothing. A heavy wool cape and a rabbit fur muff lay on top. Beneath them were several woolen skirts and some jackets, a flannel petticoat, and a knitted scarf, nothing very intriguing.

Sarah caught Malloy’s eye again. “Would you like to look around?”

He did, of course, and he was less discreet. Without asking for leave, he took the corner of the mattress and lifted it up to peer underneath. Then he picked up the pillows and pulled back the covers. He pulled out the drawers again and felt beneath them, in case something had been stuck to the bottoms. With calm efficiency, he searched all remaining crannies of the room and found nothing.

Except for the face paint, the room contained not one hint that Anna Blake was anything other than she had appeared to be. And of course, there were no letters or diaries giving more insight into her background or helpfully naming her killer.

Sarah turned to Mrs. Walcott. “Can you tell what she was wearing that night?”

The landlady looked at the clothing again. “She had a brown dress, I think. Yes, I believe that’s what she was wearing. At least, that’s all I can tell is missing.”

Something had been bothering Sarah about Anna’s wardrobe. Now she realized what it was, but she said nothing. Her theory could wait until she and Malloy were alone.

“What did this young man look like?” Malloy asked Mrs. Walcott. “The one who called on Anna the night she died.”

“Very ordinary. Tall and thin, the way boys are before they mature.”

“How was he dressed?”

“He looked like a laborer. His clothes were coarse and dirty, although his manners were good. He was very polite to me, although he was impatient to see Anna.”

“Was he polite to Anna?” Malloy inquired.

Mrs. Walcott looked away. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but…”

“Anna wasn’t polite to him?” Malloy guessed.

“She was angry with him for some reason, from the instant she saw him. As I said, they argued, and he left rather quickly after that, slamming the door behind him. And then, as I said, Anna left also.” She seemed to realize something suddenly. “Oh, dear, do you suppose…?”

“Suppose what?” Malloy asked with interest.

“That young man, he could have waited for her or seen her leaving. He could have followed her and started quarreling with her again,” she said, shaking her head. “I never should have let her leave the house that night.” With a graceful gesture, she pulled a lace-trimmed handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes, even though Sarah saw no visible tears.

Malloy ushered Sarah out of Anna’s room, and Mrs. Walcott closed the door behind them.

“Is there any other way I can assist you?” Mrs. Walcott asked as they made their way down the stairs.

Malloy waited until they had reached the front hallway before replying. “I can’t think of anything… Oh, wait, there was something. One of your neighbors said she heard your cellar door opening late that night. Could you explain that?”

Mrs. Walcott blinked in surprise and looked a bit nonplussed. “Yes, I can, although it’s a bit embarrassing. And it can’t have anything at all to do with Anna’s death. You see, my maid has been complaining about an odor in the cellar. She thought some small animal had died down there, although we couldn’t find anything. I opened the cellar door in an attempt to air it out.”

“In the middle of the night?” Malloy asked skeptically.

“It wasn’t the middle of the night,” she said, waving such a thought away with her handkerchief. “I did wait until full dark, though. Leaving one’s cellar door open in the daylight is simply inviting someone to sneak in and steal something. I didn’t think anyone would see that it was open in the dark, though.”

Malloy nodded. “Did the odor go away?”

“No, but I asked my husband to spread some lime, and that helped. I’m afraid the poor dead creature is in one of the walls. We’re just going to have to wait for nature to take its course, I suppose.”

Sarah and Malloy took their leave, although Sarah was loath to go out. The sky looked even more threatening than before, and the wind was picking up. She hoped she could get home before the storm broke. And how would she get to her parents’ house tonight without getting soaked? She didn’t want to look like a drowned rat when she was trying to convince Mr. Dennis not to dismiss Nelson Ellsworth from the bank. But of course, she had no choice about going out. Mrs. Walcott certainly wasn’t going to invite her to stay.

As soon as they were safely away from the house, Sarah let Malloy know how displeased she was. “How long were you questioning her before I arrived?”

He gave her a measuring look, although she could see the amused glimmer in his dark eyes. “I’d only just gotten there myself. Do you think I’d presume to do my job without your assistance, Mrs. Brandt?”

She decided not to press the issue, since they both knew she had no right to assist him at all. “Did you see that case of face paint in Anna’s room?”

“Yes. What would she have done with something like that?”

“Painted her face, obviously,” Sarah said, “although she wasn’t painted when I saw her, at least not noticeably. I doubt someone who was would have appealed to Nelson, in any case. Anna’s allure was her apparent youthful innocence and helplessness. Only a prostitute would need that kind of paint for her face.”

“Do you think she was a prostitute before she met Nelson?”

Sarah considered. “If she was, she must have been a high-class one. She had a gentility about her that you don’t see in street walkers.”

“High-class whores don’t paint their faces like the street walkers do, either,” Malloy informed her, “for the same reason Anna Blake didn’t.”

“I bow to your more extensive experience in such matters,” Sarah couldn’t resist saying. “But then why would she need so much paint? It had obviously been used a lot, so she must have needed it at some time in her life.”

“What other kind of women paint their faces?” Malloy asked, thinking aloud.

The answer was so obvious, Sarah felt foolish. “Actresses!”

“Stage actresses,” Malloy agreed. “Could she have been an actress?”

“Of course, it makes perfect sense!” Sarah cried in triumph. “And I’d forgotten, Catherine Porter was an actress, too. The maid mentioned it, and she admitted it. Anna-and probably Catherine, too-was pretending to be an innocent girl, telling Nelson and Giddings outrageous lies but making them believe her stories. She was so convincing, they never doubted her for a moment, either!”

“To the point where Giddings was willing to jeopardize everything he had to take care of her.”

“Exactly! That’s how she could be so convincing. In fact, I remember thinking the first time I met her that Nelson had gotten himself into a melodrama.”

“Actresses aren’t generally known for their strict moral standards, either,” Malloy remarked.

“So they wouldn’t mind the necessary seduction,” Sarah said, deciding she’d better get hold of her hat before it blew right off her head.

“Or the lying,” Malloy said, holding on to his own hat. “And in Nelson’s case, at least, I don’t think the seduction even happened.”

“What?”

Malloy gave her a sideways glance. “There was only one… uh, incident. Nelson was overcome by drink at the time, and he doesn’t actually remember what happened.”

“If he was overcome with drink, nothing could have happened,” Sarah pointed out indignantly.

Malloy frowned in disapproval. She supposed he didn’t think she should know such an obviously masculine secret. “Our Mr. Ellsworth doesn’t seem to be aware of that.”

“If he doesn’t remember, then what makes him think he did anything?” Sarah demanded.

“Miss Blake told him all about it. Tearfully.”

Sarah groaned. “How could he be so stupid?”

“I’m afraid that’s a mystery I don’t have any hope of solving, so I’m going to content myself with just trying to figure out who killed her.”

“If she was an actress, at least we can find out some more about her. Someone will know her at the theaters. We could ask around.”

“Why?” Malloy asked with another frown.

“She might have had enemies before she ever met Nelson,” Sarah suggested hopefully. “There might be dozens of people she knew before who wanted her dead.”

Malloy gave her a pitying look.

“But it’s not very likely, is it?” Sarah admitted.

Malloy shrugged. “There’s always a chance. But I think Giddings is a better chance. He had very good reason to want Anna Blake dead.”

“Except he didn’t act like a killer that day he came to the house looking for her. He was genuinely distraught when he found out she was dead.”

“Or maybe he’s as good an actor as Anna Blake. He wasn’t home when I went to his house, so I didn’t get a chance to question him any more. I’ll try again tomorrow, and if he’s not home, I’ll find him this time.”

Sarah remembered something else. “Who do you think the young man was who visited Anna that night?”

“I think it was Giddings’s son, Harold. He knew about Anna, and he wasn’t happy about her. His family lost everything because of her. When Giddings got caught stealing from his law firm, he had to sell everything he owned to repay the debt, including their furniture.”

Sarah winced. “How humiliating. His wife must be devastated.”

“She’s hiding it pretty well, trying to keep up a good front for the boy, I guess. But she’s got to hate Anna Blake, too.”

“Oh, my, do you think Mrs. Giddings could be the killer?” Sarah asked with genuine interest.

“Women commit murder, too,” he reminded her.

She knew that only too well. “Did Mrs. Giddings strike you as a murderess?”

“Not really, but you can never tell about that kind of woman. They’re good at hiding their real feelings.”

Sarah could have given him a thousand examples of women of all kinds who were good at that, but she didn’t bother. “Mrs. Giddings probably wouldn’t have been out in the evening alone, though,” Sarah said, “and certainly not in Washington Square.”

“Anna wasn’t killed in the Square.”

“What do you mean? That’s where she was found,” Sarah reminded him.

“The coroner also told me that she walked a ways after she was stabbed. He could tell by the way she’d bled on her dress. She was stabbed somewhere else and was probably trying to get back home to get help when she collapsed in the Square.”

“So she could have been stabbed anywhere,” Sarah said, trying to figure out what this might mean. “Even someplace where she might have met Mrs. Giddings.”

“Or her son,” Malloy said.

Washington Square was just across the street, but they had to wait for a break in the steady stream of carriages and wagons to give them an opportunity to cross. The wind had started to stir up clouds of dust and dirt, and Sarah began to think this might not be an ordinary storm. While they stood there, squinting their eyes against the gritty wind, they heard someone calling Malloy’s name.

Malloy muttered something under his breath that might have been a curse when he turned and saw who was running toward them. “Even God took a day of rest, Prescott,” he grumbled when the gangly reporter reached them.

“I went to the boarding house where Miss Blake lived, and they said you’d just been there,” Webster Prescott said. He was breathless from running, and his fair face had pinkened from the exertion. He looked like a very tall child who had been chasing his hoop in the street. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Brandt,” he added with a gesture that might have been a tip of his straw hat if he hadn’t been struggling to hold it on his head. “How nice to see you again.”

Sarah could see the speculation in his eyes, but she wasn’t about to confirm or deny anything about her relationship with Malloy, especially when she had no idea in what direction he might be speculating. “It’s nice to see you, too, Mr. Prescott. I’ve been wanting to have a word with you about that story you wrote about Mr. Ellsworth,” she added grimly.

He didn’t seem to sense her anger. “My editor was very pleased with it, too. We sold out of last night’s edition, and I ran a longer piece this morning. Now I need some more information, and I thought I might get it from Miss Blake’s landlady.”

“But she sent you packing,” Malloy guessed.

Prescott wouldn’t admit such a thing. “She said you had just questioned her and warned her against speaking to the press.” He managed to appear offended.

“And you thought you’d get some information out of me?” Malloy asked incredulously.

Prescott smiled guilelessly. “No, but I thought Mrs. Brandt might be willing to share some with me.”

“I certainly am not!” Sarah informed him. “I told you Nelson Ellsworth was innocent, and you twisted everything I said to make him sound guiltier than ever!”

“But after what I revealed about Anna Blake, he’ll never be convicted,” Prescott argued. “Most of the other papers have also started reporting that Anna Blake was a seductress who tried to ruin Ellsworth. By the time he goes to trial, there won’t be a man in the city who’d judge him guilty.”

“But he shouldn’t go to trial at all!” Sarah fairly shouted. “He didn’t kill her!”

Prescott opened his mouth, no doubt intending to say something even more infuriating, but Malloy interrupted him.

“Anna Blake was not expecting a child,” he said.

“She wasn’t? How do you know?” Prescott asked in amazement.

“The coroner told me, and he should know. She was only pretending to be distraught about her condition, but that was pretty easy for her, because she also happened to be an actress.”

Sarah wanted to slap him. Why was he telling this traitorous reporter anything at all, much less information they’d gathered with such difficulty?

“An actress?” Prescott repeated, pulling a notebook out of his pocket. He snatched the pencil from behind his ear and had to remove his hat and tuck it under his arm because he no longer had a free hand with which to hold it while he wrote. “Where did she perform?”

“I don’t know. That’s up to you to find out, but it shouldn’t be too hard. You probably have a lot of friends in the theater.”

“Was Anna Blake her stage name?” Prescott asked, scribbling furiously in his notebook.

“That’s something else you’ll have to find out on your own.”

“How did you discover that she was an actress?” Prescott asked.

“I’m a detective,” Malloy reminded him with only a trace of irony. “Finding things out is my job.”

“What else do you know about her that you’re not telling?” Prescott asked, including Sarah in the inquiry.

She almost told him what she thought of his cheekiness, but Malloy grabbed her elbow in a bruising grip to silence her.

“I know I’m going to start telling any other reporters who ask me everything I just told you, so if you want to scoop them, you’d better get busy.”

Prescott’s pink face split into a triumphant grin. “Thanks, Malloy. Mrs. Brandt,” he added with another quick tip of his hat as he placed it back on his head, and he vanished into the crowd of people leaning against the wind while they waited to cross the street.

“Why did you tell him about Anna being an actress?” Sarah demanded, now almost as angry with Malloy as she was with Prescott.

“To get rid of him. We don’t want him following us around. He might tip off the real killer once we start getting closer. And if he and the rest of the press are nosing around the theaters, they won’t be bothering the Ellsworths.”

“But what if Anna’s killer is someone she knew at the theater?” Sarah asked indignantly.

“Then maybe he’ll get frightened and make a mistake, and I’ll catch him. But chances are it was somebody from Anna’s present life who killed her. She was living very dangerously, after all. When you start ruining men’s lives, you make people desperate. One of those people got desperate enough to kill her.”

Suddenly, there was a break in the traffic, and Malloy fairly dragged her across the street, somehow managing to dodge the piles of horse droppings that had accumulated since the street cleaners had finished their duties early that morning. When they had arrived safely on the other side, in the Square, they paused for breath, turning their backs to the wind, and Malloy released her arm. Sarah rubbed her elbow and glared at him, but he wasn’t paying attention.

“Someday somebody’s going to figure out a way to control that mess,” Malloy said, frowning back at the sweating, swearing drivers and their rigs that had once again closed ranks behind them.

“Are you going to see Giddings now?” she asked.

He gave her one of his looks. “Even God got a day off,” he repeated.

She felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you should take some time and spend it with Brian. How much longer until he gets the cast off?”

“Week after next.”

She could see the worry deep in his dark eyes. “He’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’ll go with you to the doctor’s if you’d like. And if I don’t have a delivery,” she added.

He looked uncomfortable with her offer. She supposed he wanted her to go with him but didn’t want to admit it. “Are you going home now?” he asked instead.

“For a while. I’m having supper with my parents this evening.”

He glanced up at the threatening sky. “Better leave early if you want to get there. And remind Nelson not to leave the house yet. I’ll be over to see him after I’ve talked to Giddings.”

They parted company, and Sarah again walked past the spot where Anna Blake had died. But not where she had been attacked, she reminded herself. That had happened somewhere else. She couldn’t help thinking that if she could discover where, she’d also know who the killer was.

The rain started long before Sarah was ready to go uptown, and when she had an opportunity to check the newspaper, she discovered that the storm was actually a hurricane that had moved up the coast. The winds were howling, but Sarah’s mother had sent word that their carriage would come to fetch her and that she should come prepared to stay the night if necessary. Plainly, her mother wasn’t going to let a mere act of God cheat her out of her daughter’s company!

Sarah dressed carefully for the evening. She didn’t care about trying to impress Mr. Dennis, but she didn’t want to embarrass her mother. Elizabeth Decker placed great importance on appearances, and for all Sarah knew, so did Richard Dennis. The suit she’d bought this past summer at Lord and Taylor wasn’t the height of fashion, but at least it was presentable.

When she was satisfied that she wouldn’t shame the Decker family name, Sarah wrapped herself in a cape to ward off the rain that had begun and stole over to the Ellsworths’ house for a brief word with Mrs. Ellsworth.

“What are you doing out in this weather?” the old woman scolded Sarah when she opened her back door to admit her. “And I can see you have an engagement! Is it with Mr. Malloy?”

Sarah couldn’t help smiling at the thought. “No, I’m going to visit my parents this evening.” She decided not to mention the purpose of that visit so they wouldn’t be disappointed if she wasn’t successful in saving Nelson’s job. “I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Malloy is still working hard on the case. He asked me to remind Nelson not to leave the house, and to tell you he’d be stopping by as soon as he spoke to one of the suspects tomorrow.”

“Oh, dear, I’ve had a tingling in my left eye all day today. That’s not a good sign, you know. The right eye means good fortune, but the left eye… Well, I don’t know how much more bad news I can bear.”

She looked as if she might weep, and Sarah wanted to offer at least some sort of comfort. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any to offer, and if Mrs. Ellsworth knew what Webster Prescott had written about Nelson lately, more than her eye would be twitching. “Just stay out of sight. You know Mr. Malloy will take care of everything,” she promised rashly. “It won’t be much longer.”

Mrs. Ellsworth let her go without any protests, which worried Sarah more than anything else. Ordinarily, the old woman liked nothing better than company, Sarah’s in particular. She only hoped that when she returned home again, she’d be able to assure the Ellsworths that Nelson’s job was secure. It wouldn’t solve all their problems, but it would remove at least one worry.

Sarah’s mother greeted her with concern. “I had no idea the storm would get so bad,” she said when Sarah entered. The maid had taken her cloak, although she was hardly wet, having spent so little time out in the rain. “I hope you’re planning to stay the night.”

“I’ll have to. I couldn’t bear to make your driver and horses go out again in this weather,” Sarah said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Dennis decides not to come out at all.”

“He’ll be here,” her father said, confident of his power to influence. He seemed pleased to see her. With her father, it wasn’t always easy to tell, but he did kiss her forehead and refrained from saying anything remotely critical during the half-hour they sat in the back parlor and chatted before Mr. Dennis arrived. Sarah had visions of her mother lecturing him earlier today on being nice to her so she’d come back to visit more often.

Finally, and against all odds, the maid announced Mr. Dennis. Her father rose to greet him, and as soon as he entered the room, Sarah understood exactly why her parents had been so cooperative in arranging for her to meet him. Unfortunately, it had nothing at all to do with helping Nelson Ellsworth.