Victoria Thompson - Murder On GramercyPark

It could be simple colic, of course, but usually that didn’t begin quite so soon. Her mind racing with possibilities-none of them pleasant-Sarah hurried upstairs. When she reached the landing, she could hear the faint sound of an infant crying. It was a hollow sound, one Sarah had heard before, but she knew she must be mistaken in what she was thinking. The cries came from farther down the hall than Mrs. Blackwell’s room, which meant the child was probably in the nursery. When she reached the door, she didn’t bother to knock.

She found the nurse walking the floor with the infant, vainly trying to comfort him. She looked exhausted and at her wit’s end, and she seemed infinitely relieved to see Sarah.

“Oh, Mrs. Brandt, thank heaven you’re here! I don’t know what come over him,” she exclaimed, absently patting the screaming child. “At first I thought he might be scared of the storm last night. It was so loud! Then I thought it was the colic, but don’t nothing work for it. Seems like he don’t even want to be touched, which ain’t natural at all!”

It was true. Usually, a fretful baby could be stilled by a soothing touch or rocking or walking, even one with colic. Sarah reached out, and the nurse surrendered the child gratefully. As soon as she took the baby from the nurse, however, she understood what the woman meant. The child stiffened in her arms, resisting her embrace. She took him to the nurse’s bed and laid him down, unwrapping his swaddling so she could examine him for possible injuries or defects she’d failed to notice yesterday.

His limbs were twitching, and his skin was pale and cool to the touch. He arched his little body as if in pain.

“Have you given him anything?” Sarah asked.

“Just my milk, and I never ate nothing that could upset him. I’m that careful with my milk, I am.”

Sarah knew this was far more than an upset stomach, however. “I need to speak with Mrs. Blackwell,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

The nurse nodded, not really understanding, and took the baby when Sarah had wrapped him up again.

Sarah went to Mrs. Blackwell’s room and knocked on the door.

“Come,” she called weakly, and Sarah stepped into the room.

The drapes were drawn against the morning sunlight, but Mrs. Blackwell wasn’t trying to sleep. She sat up in bed, propped by a stack of pillows, and she looked just as frazzled as the nurse. “Thank heaven you’ve come! Can you make him stop?” she asked Sarah. “He’s been doing this all night. Between the crying and the storm, I haven’t had a wink of sleep!”

Sarah didn’t like the way Mrs. Blackwell seemed more concerned for her own welfare than for her child’s, which may have put a little edge in her voice when she asked, “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with your baby?”

Mrs. Blackwell’s eyes grew large. “Certainly not! How could I?”

“I think you could. When you were in labor, I asked if you regularly took those patent medicines I found in your dressing room, and you said you didn’t.”

“I don’st! Hardly ever! I just… After finding Edmund…” Her lovely blue eyes filled with tears. “I was so distressed! I needed something for my nerves, so I… I hardly ever use them. Only when I… when I get nervous.”

A tear slid down her smooth cheek, and Sarah had the uneasy feeling the woman had practiced looking lovely when she wept. She didn’t crinkle up her face or make unladylike sounds. She simply allowed her crystal tears to slip silently down her face in a most becoming manner.

“Mrs. Blackwell, your baby is very ill. He seems to be suffering from the effects of some narcotic substance, or rather from the lack of such a substance in his system. If his mother regularly used such a substance during her pregnancy, he would be just as dependent on it as she is, except he has no way to obtain it unless someone gives it to him.”

“That’s impossible!”

“Is it? Mrs. Blackwell, I’ve seen cases like this before. If this is indeed what’s wrong with your baby, he will die unless he receives treatment, so unless you want your baby to die, you must be honest with me.”

“Die?” she echoed incredulously. “He can’t die, not from that! I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

“You may not have heard of it, but I assure you, it is very possible. Now you must tell me the truth. Tell me what medicines you take and how frequently.”

“I… I tried to stop!” she exclaimed, forgetting to look attractive. Now she just looked frightened. “They said the baby would die if I stopped ! ”

“Who said that?”

“Mr. Fong. He’s…” She caught herself and slapped one slender hand over her lips, knowing she had revealed too much.

“Mr. Fong?” Sarah repeated. This was worse than she’d even imagined. “A Chinese man? Why were you discussing this with a Chinese man?”

“I wasn’st! I can’t tell you!” she cried, contradicting herself. Her hands were fluttering around her face now, and her eyes were more than frightened. Unfortunately, Sarah had begun to put the clues together, and now she had a pretty good idea why.

“Mrs. Blackwell, have you been visiting an opium den?” she asked, trying to keep the horror out of her voice.

The woman looked as if she might faint. “I can’t help myself! You don’t know what it’s like, the hunger and the craving! I thought I would die without it, and Edmund wouldn’t… And then the baby… I could feel him fluttering inside me every time I started needing more. He was frantic for it, too, as frantic as I! They said the baby would die if I didn’t take the morphine, so I had to do it! I didn’t have any choice!”

Unfortunately, she was probably right. Sarah had a few unkind things to say to Mrs. Blackwell, but she would save them for later. Without another word, she went into Mrs. Blackwell’s dressing room.

“What are you doing?” the woman demanded.

“I’m going to save your baby’s life,” Sarah said, yanking open the drawer she had discovered the day before. She noticed another bottle seemed to have been emptied. Since Mrs. Blackwell was unable to visit Mr. Fong, the opium content of the patent medicines would help ease her cravings until she was able to obtain a new supply of morphine. Sarah rummaged through the bottles until she found what she was looking for. Pure laudanum.

When Mrs. Blackwell saw her with the bottle, she cried out in protest. “They said the baby would be fine when he was born! They said he wouldn’t need the drug anymore!”

“They lied,” Sarah told her without apology.

She hurried down the hall, back toward the sound of the crying child. The nurse looked up hopefully when she entered. “Do you…?” she began, and then she saw the bottle in Sarah’s hand. “What on earth…?”

Sarah didn’t waste any time. She found her bag where she’d set it when she came in and rummaged inside until she located an eyedropper. Carefully, she drew a small amount of the amber liquid from the bottle and said, “Lay him on the bed, please.”

“Oh, dear heaven,” the nurse muttered, carefully laying the squalling child on the bed. “What is it? Can you give that to a tiny babe? Oh, dear, oh, dear, that’s not the right thing to be doing! I never heard of such a thing!”

She stood wringing her hands as Sarah carefully dropped some of the liquid into the child’s mouth. The baby started and made a face at the taste, and for a moment he was still. Then the crying started again.

“This should quiet him in a minute,” Sarah said.

“Of course it should!” the nurse said indignantly. “That’s what it’s supposed to do. Does his mother know what poison you’re giving him? I’m going to tell her if she doesn’st! This ain’t right!”