Victoria Thompson - Murder On Astor Place

Mrs. Elsworth was instantly all sympathy. “Oh, my, do you suppose she’s taken ill? Childbed fever is a horrible thing. I had a sister who-”

“I remember,” Sarah said quickly, recalling all too well the story of the sister who had died of it. Mrs. Elsworth had told her about it at least a dozen times. “I’ve got to see what Mr. Yardley wants. Good morning to you!”

She hurried to meet Will at her front stoop. He nodded, tipping his cap to her before looking around again. Surely, he didn’t think anyone would have followed him to her house. But then, his conscience was probably troubled enough that he was always wary lest one of his past sins catch up with him.

“Are you going out somewheres?” he asked, not bothering with a greeting.

“Just getting home. Are Dolly and the baby all right?”

He blinked in surprise. “Sure. Why wouldn’t they be? I come because of… that other matter.” He glanced around again, as if he were afraid of eavesdroppers. “Could we go inside to talk about it? I feel funny talking on the street like this.”

Sarah hid her smile. “Of course.”

She unlocked the door and led him inside.

He looked around curiously at the room that had once been Tom’s office and which now served as hers. She still had some equipment for which she had little use, since she didn’t practice the advanced forms of medicine that Tom had, but she was loath to get rid of anything he had once owned. She’d lost too much of him already.

Will’s slender hands moved restlessly as he studied the contents of the office, tugging on his earlobe and fingering his chin and massaging his chest, as if he had to keep checking to make sure his physical self was still all there.

“So Dolly and Edith Rose are doing well?” she asked as she set down her bag and removed her hat, hanging it on a peg on the wall.

“Just fine,” he said, his eyes still taking in the curiosities around him. He seemed especially fascinated by the examining table visible behind a screen in the comer. “She said you was to see her and Rosie yesterday.”

Sarah managed not to smile. Dolly had told her he refused to call the baby Edith. “I try to check on the new mothers regularly until they’re back on their feet. Dolly said you were out when I called.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I had a job.”

Sarah could just imagine. She almost said, “In broad daylight?” but managed to restrain herself. Instead she said, “Have you found out where Hamilton Fisher is? Is that why you came?”

Will’s restless gaze touched Sarah for a moment, then darted away again. She realized he wasn’t quite as interested in her office furnishings as she had thought. Instead, he seemed to be avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know where he is, but I found out who he is,” he said. Oddly, he didn’t seem the least bit proud of this admission.

“Who is he?”

Will jammed his wandering hands into his pockets as if trying to confine them. Then he finally turned and faced her, his eyes cold and relentless. “He ain’t no cadet, least not that I could find out. He’s… well, he fancies hisself a detective.”

“He works for the police ?” Sarah exclaimed.

“Not likely,” Will sneered. “He works private. For some big fancy lawyer uptown what takes care of all the nobs. He hires out and spies on folks and finds out their secrets so the lawyer can get the goods on ’em.”

This wasn’t making any sense to Sarah. Why would a lawyer’s detective be spying on Alicia? “Do you know this lawyer’s name? The one he works for, I mean?”

Will nodded once, sharply, and for a second Sarah was afraid that was all the answer she was going to get. Then he said, “Sylvester Mattingly,” through gritted teeth, as if speaking the syllables hurt him somehow.

The name sounded vaguely familiar, and Sarah supposed she had probably read it in the newspaper. “What do you know about this Mattingly?”

Will’s gaze darted away again, this time to inspect the ceiling, and his lips thinned out to a bloodless line.

“Will?” she prodded.

“I don’t know much,” he said, as if he were warning her. “I don’t deal with his kind, you understand. He’s a little above me. But from what I hear, he’s a real dangerous man to cross. Real dangerous. And they say if you’ve got enough money, this Mattingly can get you out of any kind of trouble there is.”

Any kind? Sarah wondered, remembering the kind of trouble Alicia was in, but she asked, “Even murder?”

Will’s gaze was steady and maybe a little frightened. “I wouldn’t know that, Mrs. Brandt. You’ll have to ask Mr. Mattingly.”

FRANK SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED TO DISCOVER that the stables at the VanDamm estate were as neatly kept as the house. He found Harvey mucking out one of the stalls, but the groom wasn’t exactly what Frank had been expecting.

The instant Lizzie had mentioned Harvey, Frank had been fairly certain he’d learned the identity of the father of Alicia’s child. Up until now, he’d been unable to determine how she could ever have been alone with any man long enough to have conceived that child, and then Lizzie had described the perfect opportunity. Alicia wouldn’t have been the first young woman to be seduced by a handsome and charming underling with an eye toward bettering himself, and long horseback rides would have provided the perfect opportunity for such a seduction.

But while he was tall and well built, Harvey wasn’t young, and he certainly wasn’t handsome or charming, not by anyone’s standards. In the dim light of the stable, he appeared to be near forty, and his weathered face showed the effects of a lifetime spent out of doors.

He looked up when he heard Frank outside the door of the stall. Squinting into the shadows, he asked, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I’m Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy from New York, and if you’re Harvey, I’d like to talk to you about Alicia VanDamm.”

A spasm of pain twisted his face. Plainly, he felt the girl’s loss, although he was too manly to give way to tears as Lizzie had.

“I don’t know what I can tell you,” he said, leaning his pitchfork against the wall and taking his time making his way out of the stall. He seemed to need that time to gather himself. “I ain’t seen her for over a month now, not since she left here.”

Frank stepped back to allow him room to come out. Harvey’s black hair was damp and curled where it clung to his forehead and neck, and his workshirt showed rings of sweat. His body was sinewy and strong, and Frank tried to see him as a young girl might. No matter how he tried, though, he couldn’t picture Harvey as the scheming seducer. Then the groom stepped into a shaft of light that illuminated his face. Frank felt the shock of recognition at the sight of the scar running along his jawline.

Harvey was the man who had pawned Alicia’s jewelry.

Now Frank knew that whatever Harvey told him would probably be a lie, a lie designed to protect him and no one else. Armed with that knowledge, Frank grasped his lapels and rocked back on his heels as if every nerve in his body weren’t tingling with the awareness that he might very well be confronting Alicia’s killer.

“I hear you spent a lot of time with Miss Alicia,” Frank ventured.

Harvey nodded. “Yes, sir. She liked to ride more than anything. Loved that little mare of hers. Buttercup’s her name. Miss Alicia named her when she was ten. The mare was a birthday present that year.”

“She rode every day?”

“Except Sunday. It wasn’t proper for her to ride on Sunday.”

Frank pretended to consider this. “I see. And was it proper for her to go out alone with you?”