Victoria Thompson - Murder On Astor Place

“I guess it would be rude to call you a liar in return,” Frank said, thinking she was probably the most interesting woman he’d met in years. Which was why he would be insane to accept this invitation. Allowing Sarah Brandt to become more involved in this murder investigation could be dangerous, and not just because it might get her killed. Frank couldn’t afford any entanglements, and Sarah Brandt was just the kind of woman who caused them.

“Since when are you concerned about being rude? Please, don’t disillusion me by becoming polite so late in our acquaintance, Detective. You can wash up in the sink. Right this way.”

Frank opened his mouth to show her just how impolite he could be, but his stomach growled again, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten since morning. And something did smell awfully good. Well, what could it hurt? He’d eat her food, give her a few unimportant tidbits of information and be on his way. And then he’d never have to see her again.

The middle room of her flat was the kitchen. The light from the front window barely reached here, so.a gas jet on the wall provided most of the illumination. He could see she’d spent some time making the room comfortable. A table and chairs sat on one side, and the stove, sink and icebox took up the other. A picture of a country scene hung on the wall above the table, and a flowered skirt decorated the front of the sink. There was even a bouquet of spring flowers on the table, the kind sold for pennies by ragged, homeless little girls in the street. He could just see Sarah Brandt handing one of them a nickel and telling her to keep the change.

She began to set the table while he washed his hands. At home, he would have removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but he didn’t want to be that informal with Sarah Brandt, so he just pushed his sleeves back as far as he could and was very careful not to get them wet in the spray of water from the pump. Only after he was finished did he realize he hadn’t bothered to remove his hat. She must think him a barbarian, although why he should care what she thought of him, he had no idea.

He pulled off his derby and hung it on the ear of the chair she indicated he should use and sat down. He was thinking this was all a terrible mistake in the instant before she set a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. Then he decided that perhaps it wasn’t quite as big a mistake as all that.

“What did you find out from the VanDamms’s servants?” she asked, setting a plate of bread down on the table. It was bakery bread, but Frank had lost his taste for homemade, hardly ever being home to eat any.

“I found out that when she was sent to the house there, the servants weren’t allowed to speak to her. Nobody was, in fact. The housekeeper kept her pretty much a prisoner in her room.”

“That’s understandable, considering her condition, although I don’t imagine they could’ve kept it a secret for long. But surely her maid told you something.”

“Even her maid wasn’t allowed to speak to her. Only the housekeeper.”

Mrs. Brandt was in the process of taking a seat opposite his, and she stopped halfway down in her chair to consider this for a moment. “How strange,” she said, sinking down into the chair at last.

“The maid thought so. But Alicia did go out riding every day. With a groom,” he added, wondering if she would jump to the same conclusion he had.

“A groom?” A crease formed between her eyes as she considered this information.

“Yes,” he remarked casually. “He seems to be the only man she was ever alone with outside of her own family.”

“He’s young? A boy her own age?” From her expression, she thought he’d solved the mystery.

But Frank shook his head, raising a spoonful of stew to his mouth. It was hot, but he blew on it and tasted. Not as good as his mother’s, but the company was better. Which wasn’t saying much, but at least it was something. “No, he’s older than me, I’d guess. Probably near forty. But he’s a nice looking fellow. And he’s known her all her life. She’d be suggestible. If he wanted to take advantage of her, she wouldn’t know-”

“No,” she said decisively. “The groom isn’t the father of her baby.”

Frank swallowed down the automatic prickle of annoyance at her certainty, even though he was inclined to agree. “Why not?” he challenged.

“Because it wouldn’t take long for her family to figure out. And he wouldn’t still be there if it was true. He’d be… I don’t know, gone. Perhaps even dead. I’m not sure how men like Cornelius VanDamm deal with servants who seduce their daughters, but I don’t imagine they show any mercy.”

“How would he find out, though? If the girl didn’t tell him…”

“She would have told him. He’d browbeat her until she did, and believe me, a girl like Alicia wouldn’t be able to hold out long against a man like her father. And he’d suspect the groom first off, if he is indeed the only man she’s ever alone with. I guarantee that Mr. VanDamm knew who the father of the baby was. And if it was a servant, that servant will have vanished.”

“It’s not a servant, then. Lizzie-that’s her maid-told me they’re all still working there.”

“Well, then, who did this Lizzie think it was?” she asked, her fine eyes lighting with interest.

Frank chose not to notice. “She didn’t even know about… about the girl’s secret. The groom didn’t seem to, either.”

He took a renewed interest in his supper, feeling suddenly awkward to be once again discussing such a delicate subject, this time over dinner, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, which it wasn’t, not to Frank.

She must not have shared his discomfort, however. “Did you find out how she got away from the house without being caught?”

“The groom helped her. Hired a fishing boat. He sold her jewelry for her and found her the room at the Higgins’s house.”

Her lips pursed as she considered this information. “Mr. VanDamm certainly doesn’t know all this or the groom wouldn’t still be there.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

He wasn’t sure if she disapproved or not, but he didn’t really care. “Not unless it serves my purpose.” It was the only answer he could give, and he was oddly gratified by her apparent approval.

“So we still don’t know who the father of her child was,” she mused, and Frank felt his hackles rising again.

“Mrs. Brandt, there is no we in this investigation. I’m the detective. You’re, not.” He’d almost said she was nothing, but he’d thought better of it just in time. He figured Sarah Brandt would take offense, and besides, she wasn’t really nothing, no matter how much he might wish it.

“I did find out who Hamilton Fisher is,” she reminded him.

He had to give her that. “You’d just better hope he doesn’t come looking for you some dark night.”

She seemed amused at the thought. “So if the groom isn’t the father of her child-and I think we can be rather certain of that-then who was?”

Frank thought he had already reminded her this wasn’t her business, but obviously, she didn’t care. She just kept right on, not even waiting for Frank to respond.

“Mina-her sister-insisted that Alicia didn’t have any gentlemen friends. She hadn’t even entered society yet, so that would eliminate possible suitors.”

Frank merely grunted as he continued to devour his stew.

“What is it?” she demanded.

He looked up in surprise and swallowed a mouthful of meat and potatoes. “What is what?”

“What you aren’t telling me. I said Alicia didn’t have any suitors, and you disagreed.”

“I did not!”

She gave him a pitying look. “You know something you haven’t told me. Don’t try to deny it.”