Victoria Thompson: Murder On Fifth Avenue

“Felix, what on earth brings you here at this ungodly hour? I hope the girl told you Chilton isn’t at home, and I have no idea when he’ll return. He never confides in me, you know. You have no idea how I suffer.”

Decker took her hand in both of his. “Lucretia, I know very well how you suffer. You tell me every time I set eyes on you. Please, come in and sit down. Is Paul here?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. Paul never confides in me either. I’m always the last to know everything that goes on in my own house.”

This was going to be horrible, Frank decided. The wife would dissolve into hysterics and he wouldn’t be able to get a thing out of her. Then her doctor would come and give her laudanum, and he’d never be allowed back in the house again.

Mrs. Devries jabbered on about something or other that had caused her distress as Decker escorted her to a sofa. He had no sooner seated her than a young man appeared, still smoothing his suit coat as he strode into the room. “Mr. Decker, what a pleasant surprise.”

Paul Devries resembled his mother. A small man with delicate features and her fair coloring, he seemed nervous and uncertain as he ran a hand over his thinning hair. Frank wondered if this was his usual temperament or if Decker’s arrival had upset him.

“I’m very sorry to burst in on you like this, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Something that might have been alarm flickered over Paul Devries’s face but was gone before Frank could be sure.

“I’m sure I don’t want to hear bad news, whatever it might be,” Mrs. Devries was saying. “I have a very nervous disposition, you know. I cannot abide unpleasantness.”

“You will have to abide this, I’m afraid,” Decker said, plainly unmoved by her protests. “Chilton is dead.”

Both mother and son stared at him in what appeared to be genuine shock.

“Dead?” Paul echoed, as if he’d never heard the word be-fore.

“That’s impossible,” his mother said. “He was perfectly fine when he left the house this morning.”

“What time was that?” Frank asked from where he stood beside the cold fireplace.

Both Devrieses looked at him in surprise.

“I’m very sorry. I should have introduced you,” Decker said. “Lucretia, Paul, this is Detective Sergeant Malloy of the New York City Police Department.”

If anything, they looked even more surprised.

Paul blinked first. “Police? Why are the police here?”

“Because it appears your father was murdered.”

Frank braced himself for screaming, but to his surprise, the widow seemed more annoyed than upset.

“What on earth are you talking about, Felix? None of this makes any sense at all!”

“I’m afraid I’ve made a botch of this, although I’m sure you can understand I have never had occasion to notify a family that one of their members has been…killed.”

“Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” Paul said, moving somewhat awkwardly to the nearest chair and lowering himself into it.

To Frank’s surprise, Decker looked over at him, as if to get his approval. Frank nodded, then watched carefully for their reactions.

“Chilly came to the Knickerbocker this afternoon.”

“As was his habit,” Mrs. Devries said. “But surely you know that.”

“Yes, well, in any case, he went to the library to read the newspapers. The staff noticed he seemed to have dozed off, but eventually, when he did not respond to a disturbance, they realized he had passed away.”

“In his sleep? Just like that?” Mrs. Devries said.

“That hardly sounds like murder,” Paul said with a trace of outrage.

“We sent for an undertaker, and when he moved the body, he discovered some blood. The source of the blood was a wound on Chilly’s back. Someone had stabbed him.”

“Are you saying someone at the club stabbed him?” Mrs. Devries asked. “How could such a thing happen?”

“We believe someone stabbed him before he arrived at the club.”

“Are you saying my father was fatally stabbed, and yet he walked away, went to his club, and sat down to read the newspapers without saying a word to anyone?”

“The wound itself is quite small and on his back, and it bled very little. He probably had no idea how seriously he had been injured. It may even have been an accident,” Decker added, with a glance at Frank, who chose not to contradict him. Maybe it had been an accident.

“How could such a small injury have killed him, then?” Mrs. Devries seemed offended at the thought.

“I am sure the medical examiner will be able to explain that after the autopsy.”

Paul jumped to his feet. “Good God, they’re not doing an autopsy!”

“I’m afraid they must. We have to be sure what killed him, you see.”

“So there is still some doubt?” Mrs. Devries said. “He may not have been murdered at all?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Decker said.

Frank caught his imploring glance and took a seat near Paul Devries. When Frank sat down, Paul resumed his seat as well. “When did you last see your husband, Mrs. Devries?”

She widened her eyes at him, then looked him over with disdain. “Felix, really, is this necessary?”

“I’m afraid it is. If someone murdered Chilly, you want them found, don’t you?”

Mrs. Devries seemed to consider her answer carefully, but before she replied, her son said, “Of course we do. I saw my father this morning, before he left the house. He was perfectly fine, and I saw no one attack him.”

“It must have happened after he left home. There can be no other explanation,” his mother confirmed. “No one here would have stabbed him, I can assure you of that.”

Frank looked from mother to son and back again. Had either of them realized they had not expressed the least bit of anguish or grief at hearing the head of their family was dead? “As Mr. Decker said, it may have been an accident, but we need to be sure. Who else lives here?”

“The servants, of course, and my wife,” Paul said.

“Your wife?”

Paul bristled. “You can’t think she stabbed my father in the back.”

Frank had to admit it sounded unlikely, but he hadn’t met her yet, so he would reserve judgment. “Any other family members?”

“My two daughters are married, so of course they don’t live here.”

“Can you tell me what time Mr. Devries left the house today?”

“I certainly cannot,” his wife said. “Mr. Devries comes and goes as he pleases without consulting me.”

“Do you know what his plans were for the day?”

Mrs. Devries glared at him. “I told you, Mr. Devries does as he pleases.”

Frank was starting to wish she’d gotten hysterical.

“Roderick will know. That’s his valet,” Paul said.

“I’ll need to talk with him and with your other servants, too,” Frank said.

“Is this necessary? I don’t want the household upset,” Mrs. Devries said. “My nerves won’t stand it.”

“Mother, there’s no help for it. With Papa dead-”

“Dead?” a new voice said.

They all looked up. A young woman had entered the room. She wore a simple gown, and her rich, dark hair had been brushed into an ordinary bun, but her unadorned beauty far outshone Mrs. Devries’s frippery. This must be the other Mrs. Devries.

The men rose instantly to their feet.

“Who’s dead?” she asked.

“Oh, Garnet,” Mrs. Devries said, her voice rising into a wail. “Mr. Decker has come to tell us poor Papa is dead.” The tears Frank had expected earlier began to flow, making him wonder if she’d just been waiting for the right audience.

Paul immediately went to comfort his mother, leaving his wife to her own devices. She looked at Felix Decker. “Is it true? Is the old man really dead?”