Victoria Thompson: Murder on Washington Square

Anna Blake stared at her for a long moment. Sarah thought she was using the time to comprehend what she had said, but Anna surprised her yet again.

This time her expression was horror when she turned back to Nelson. “You brought this woman here to… to murder our child! What kind of a monster are you? If you lack the honor to provide for us, then at least have the decency to let your child live! I’d beg in the streets before I’d kill it! How can you have ever thought less of me?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sarah said in disgust as Nelson sputtered and stammered, trying to reassure her. “I’m a midwife, not an abortionist, Miss Blake,” she said loudly enough to be heard over the wailing and the blandishments, but neither of them seemed inclined to listen. Sarah gave up. “Mr. Ellsworth, this is plainly a waste of time. If Miss Blake wishes to consult with me, you may bring her to my office. Meanwhile, I’ll leave you alone to sort this out between yourselves.”

“Mrs. Brandt, I’m so sorry,” Nelson began, but he could go no further because Anna was weeping again, sobbing as if her heart would break.

As she stepped into the foyer, Sarah noticed that Mrs. Walcott was lurking in the shadows, just out of sight, listening to everything that was being said. She stared back at Sarah unrepentantly when caught in the act, and Sarah, more than disgusted with all the inhabitants of this house, let herself out.

She paused on the stoop to take a deep breath of the crisp autumn air to clear her head. Nelson Ellsworth had gotten himself involved in a real-life melodrama. The only thing lacking was a villain with a handlebar moustache tying poor Anna Blake to the railroad tracks. Furious with herself for being drawn into the mess, she was almost back at Washington Square before she started remembering details of the scene she had just witnessed that she’d been too busy to register before.

Anna Blake appeared to be the innocent young girl Nelson believed her to be, but Sarah thought back to the moment when their eyes had first met. Anna hadn’t cringed or even seemed the least bit embarrassed, in spite of her protests to the contrary. In fact, she’d seemed almost defiant or… Sarah shook her head, certain she must have been mistaken. But no, she recalled clearly the odd impression she’d had that Anna Blake was actually glad to see Sarah, or at least relieved.

Why she should have been, Sarah had no idea. After all, if Sarah did have a prior claim to Nelson’s affections, as she’d so quaintly phrased it, she should have been as humiliated as she’d claimed to be. In fact, she’d been determined to make Sarah her rival, in spite of all the protests she and Nelson had made. And for all her weeping and protestations, Sarah couldn’t help recalling that Anna’s delicate face hadn’t grown the least bit blotchy, nor had her eyes gotten red or her little, turned-up nose started running.

Well, it was all beyond her, but since it also wasn’t her problem to solve, she mentally washed her hands of the whole situation. If Anna Blake decided to see her as a patient, she’d deal with her. If not, she’d keep her promise not to mention the situation to Nelson’s mother and let him sort it out himself.

THE NEXT MORNING, SARAH LEFT THE HOUSE TO FIND Nelson Ellsworth’s mother out sweeping her front porch. This wasn’t particularly surprising, since Mrs. Ellsworth had made sweeping her front porch her life’s work, the better to know everything going on in the neighborhood firsthand. For once, Sarah knew a secret her next-door neighbor didn’t, but she would honor her pledge to keep it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” Mrs. Ellsworth called when she saw Sarah. “Are you off to deliver a baby?”

“No, I’m off to visit Mr. Malloy’s son,” she replied, knowing this would capture Mrs. Ellsworth’s complete attention.

“How is the sweet little thing doing? Do they know if the surgery was successful yet?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked in concern. She was particularly fond of Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy, although Malloy wasn’t the type of man old ladies were typically fond of. She even seemed to think that Malloy and Sarah would make a good match. Mrs. Ellsworth was probably the only person in New York who believed an Irish Cop and a Knickerbocker Debutante could live happily ever after, but Sarah humored her romantic notions.

“Mr. Malloy hasn’t seen fit to keep me informed of Brian’s progress, so I’m going to see for myself,” Sarah said.

“Good for you!” Mrs. Ellsworth said approvingly. “Please tell Mr. Malloy I send my best wishes for the boy.”

“I doubt I’ll be seeing Mr. Malloy,” Sarah said. “I’m sure he’s working at this time of day.”

Mrs. Ellsworth’s wrinkles slid into a frown. “You’re going to visit Mr. Malloy’s mother then?”

“I’m going to visit his son ,” Sarah corrected her with a smile, “but I’m afraid his mother will most certainly be there, too.”

Mrs. Ellsworth shook her head. Sarah had told her that Mrs. Malloy didn’t approve of her son’s acquaintance with Sarah. For some reason, the old woman thought Sarah had set her cap for Frank Malloy, and she disapproved even more than Mrs. Ellsworth approved of such a match. “You must take something along with you for good luck, then,” she said, searching in the pocket of her skirt for what she might have available in the way of good luck charms.

“I won’t need luck,” Sarah scolded her. “I’m just going for a visit.”

“That woman might give you the evil eye or something,” Mrs. Ellsworth warned. The old woman was a firm believer in things like the evil eye and good luck charms. “You can’t be too careful. Here, take this.” She came down her porch steps and pressed a shiny new penny into Sarah’s hand.

Sarah couldn’t help herself. “This will protect me from the evil eye?” she asked skeptically.

“Pennies are notoriously lucky,” Mrs. Ellsworth assured her. “I’d give you a rabbit’s foot, but I don’t seem to have one with me. The only other thing I have is a nutmeg,” she said, pulling it out of her pocket to prove it. “Nutmegs are also very lucky, but only in protecting you from rheumatism and boils, which won’t be of much use to you with Mrs. Malloy, now will it? But if you’d prefer a rabbit’s foot, I’m sure I can find one in the house if you don’t mind waiting…”

“Oh, no, don’t go to any trouble,” Sarah said, biting back a smile. “I’m sure the penny will do very nicely. Thank you very much.”

Sarah waved good-bye and was walking away when Mrs. Ellsworth stopped her again.

“Oh, Mrs. Brandt, I almost forgot. Did you have a visitor last night? Late, I mean. Someone who knocked on your door?” For some reason, Mrs. Ellsworth looked a little anxious.

“If I did, I slept through it,” Sarah replied, a little worried herself. She would hate to have missed a call to deliver a baby. “Why, did you hear someone knocking?”

Mrs. Ellsworth frowned, absently fingering her nutmeg, as if for comfort. “Yes, but… Well, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just an old woman’s fancies. I didn’t mean to keep you. Give Mr. Malloy’s son a kiss for me.”

“I will,” she promised and walked away shaking her head. Hearing knocking was probably some kind of omen. Mrs. Ellsworth was always seeing omens in everything. Sarah hoped it didn’t portend something evil. Even though Sarah knew it meant nothing, poor Mrs. Ellsworth would worry herself sick over it.

Frank Malloy’s flat was in the Seventeenth Ward, where the Irish and the German immigrants had settled in adjoining neighborhoods and had now begun to mix. The streets were noisy from the roar of the Second Avenue Elevated Railroad, the clatter of horses and wagons on the cobblestones, the cries of the drivers and the street vendors and ragmen, the squeals of children playing in the gutters, and the shouts of women calling warnings to them and gossip to each other. Sarah absorbed the clamor into her very pores, drawing life from it. This was the city she loved, not the tidy orderliness of the neighborhood where her wealthy parents lived uptown.