Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery) (23 page)

“Is that possible?” Franchesca asked. “I’d think something so horrible would be burned into your memory.”

“If she says she can’t remember, I don’t think anyone can prove she can,” Sarah pointed out.

Franchesca nodded, understanding immediately. “She’s going to protect”—she glanced at Rose—“whoever killed that horrible man.”

“I can’t speak for her,” Sarah said. “I only know what she told me.”

“But you don’t think that will be enough to keep the police from . . . from bothering Rose,” Franchesca said.

“Mrs. Brandt,” Rose said, startling the other two women, “will you take me to see her?”

“Really, Rose, do you think that’s wise?” Franchesca asked.

“I don’t care if it’s wise or not. I need to speak with her. Will you take me?” she asked Sarah.

“Of course.
She
might not want to see
you
, though,” Sarah said.

“I think she will. Can we go now?”

“Right now?” Francheca echoed.

“I’ll need to change my dress, but yes, as soon as possible.” Rose was already on her feet. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

She left before either of her companions could even think to raise an objection. Franchesca turned to Sarah. “Please, let me help.”

“I’m not sure what you can do, but if there’s anything . . .”

“Will she need an attorney?”

“It’s possible.”

“Then I’ll speak to one. I don’t think she wants me along on this visit, so I can do that this afternoon.”

“What will your husband say about you consulting an attorney?” Sarah asked.

“A lot, I’m sure, but none of it will be of any importance at all. Luckily, he’s in London on business, so he isn’t likely to find out until everything is settled. Oh, I cabled him the minute Rose turned up, and he’s on his way home, but I don’t expect him for days. In any case, he’ll want to protect Rose, too.”

Rose was as good as her word and returned in a few minutes, dressed for the street. Sarah could see traces of the young woman she had been before Pendergast had gotten to her. Her skirt and bolero jacket were simple and plain over her slightly wrinkled shirtwaist, and she’d put on a hat several seasons out of style. Beneath it, her hair was a bit untidy, as if she had more important things to do than worry about her appearance. She looked like hundreds of other maiden aunts who lived off the generosity of their families and tended to other people’s children and lived and died alone because they lacked the beauty and charm to attract a husband. Not for the first time, Sarah felt the urge to cut Pendergast’s throat herself for the crime of betraying such a simple human need as wanting to be loved.

“May we go?” Rose asked, pulling on her gloves. One finger, Sarah noticed, had been mended.

“Of course.” Sarah preceded her out of the room, leaving Franchesca Wolfe to wish them good luck. Sarah resisted the urge to return the wish. Franchesca would be just fine.

Out on the sidewalk, Sarah had to hurry to keep up with Rose’s long strides. She stood nearly a head taller than Sarah and probably taller than many men. Another strike against her. Rose shortened her steps when she noticed Sarah was having difficulty keeping up.

“How are your feet?” Sarah asked, amazed that she seemed little the worse for her ordeal.

“Better, but I probably shouldn’t walk very far.”

“We’ll get a cab, then,” Sarah said as they reached the corner and, without a word, Rose raised her arm and hailed one. Obviously, her height could sometimes be an advantage.

When they were in the cab, moving haltingly through the afternoon traffic, Rose said, “Tell me about Grace Livingston.”

So Sarah told her everything she knew about Grace.

“I hated her,” Rose said when she’d finished.

“Hated her? Why?”

“Because she didn’t stand up to that devil. I wanted her to refuse to . . . to obey him.” She stared out at the street as if trying to catch a glimpse of something not there.

“She said he was punishing you.”

“Yes. I . . . I was like her at first. I thought if I just did what he wanted, he would let me go, but . . . Well, he didn’t let me go, and it got worse and worse. I thought he might kill me if I rebelled, but by then, I didn’t care. I wanted him to kill me.”

“Oh, Rose!”

“I did, because I couldn’t stand the thought of being there for the rest of my life. If it was never going to end, I wanted to end it. Can you understand that?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t think Franchesca would understand. I don’t want her to know I was a coward.”

“You weren’t a coward! You were incredibly brave to defy him like that.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes, I do! Don’t ever think you were a coward. Not many women could have endured what you did and come out stronger.”

“I’m not stronger.”

Sarah looked her straight in the eye. “Yes, you are.”

As usual, they probably could have walked the distance to the hotel faster than the cab carried them, but at least they weren’t tired and Rose’s feet weren’t taxed.

This time, Sarah didn’t stop at the front desk. She did glance over and saw the desk clerk who had challenged her earlier staring at her in surprise, but she spared him only a condescending glance before reaching the elevator.

As they walked down the third floor hallway, Sarah noticed Rose fidgeting. It would be a wonder if she wasn’t nervous. She was about to confront a woman who may have seen her commit murder.

Mr. Livingston answered their knock, obviously surprised to see Sarah back again. “News, Mrs. Brandt?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, no. May we come in?”

Only then did he notice Rose Wolfe standing off to one side. “Oh, yes, of course.”

Sarah introduced him to Rose, and when he realized who she was, he grew a bit flustered. Luckily, Grace emerged from her bedroom to distract him before he made everyone uncomfortable. She’d dressed in the meantime, although Mr. Livingston still wore his dressing gown and slippers. Her outfit was even plainer than Rose’s. She gazed at Rose for a long moment, then said, “You’re very tall.”

“Grace,” her father scolded with a puzzled frown at such an odd remark. “Please come in and sit down.”

Rose and Sarah sat on the sofa, while Grace and her father took the chairs. Grace and Rose never took their eyes off each other. They seemed to be communicating silently in some way, although Sarah couldn’t imagine what could be passing between them.

Then Grace nodded, as if something had been decided between them, and turned to her father. “Papa, would you mind leaving us? Perhaps you’d like to go for a walk or something.”

He started to protest, but something in Grace’s expression stopped him. “Yes, of course. I . . . I’ll just be a few moments.”

He went into the other bedroom and soon emerged wearing shoes and his suit coat. “I . . . I won’t be long,” he said with a worried frown.

When he was gone, Sarah said, “I told Miss Wolfe that you said you couldn’t remember what happened when Pendergast was killed, and she asked me to bring her here so she could speak with you.”

“What
do
you remember?” Rose asked.

“I . . . Nothing,” Grace said firmly.

“I’ll tell you what I remember, then,” Rose said. “I remember the house was quiet all morning. I heard Andy in the kitchen preparing dinner. He left the cellar door open so I would smell the food.”

“Weren’t they feeding you?” Grace asked.

“Of course not. You only got fed if you . . . cooperated.”

Grace winced but said nothing.

“Then it was quiet again. I don’t know how long. You can’t judge time down there in the dark, but a while. Then someone started pounding on the front door. Not knocking, pounding.”

“I remember that, too,” Grace said, straightening in her chair.

“He must have come inside or someone let him inside, because then I heard him shouting.”

“Did you hear Pendergast shouting back?” Sarah asked.

“No,” Grace said, surprising them. “He was . . . trying to calm him down, I think.”

“Did you hear what they were saying?” Sarah asked.

Grace looked at Rose, who said, “They must have gone upstairs. The man stopped shouting and I couldn’t hear them anymore.”

Sarah turned to Grace. “What were they talking about?”

“Me.”

“You?” Rose said.

Grace dropped her gaze to study her hands twisting in her lap.

“The man was angry because Pendergast had tricked him,” Sarah guessed. “He said your father had followed him.”

“Someone’s father. I didn’t know it was
my
father,” Grace said, still not looking up. “But I hoped. I knew he’d look for me when I didn’t come home, but I couldn’t imagine how he’d ever find me.”

“The man was Vernon Neth, then,” Sarah said, glad they could be sure now. “Pendergast sent him to meet Maeve, the girl who supposedly wrote him the letter.”

“What else do you remember?” Rose asked, leaning forward.

Grace shook her head, and for a moment Sarah thought she wouldn’t reply, but she said, “They kept talking, but he wasn’t shouting anymore, the other man, so I couldn’t hear. I was out in the hallway, hiding, trying to keep out of sight so he’d leave me alone.”

Rose nodded. Of course she’d understand.

“I moved closer to the door, hoping to hear something else, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.”

Sarah glanced at Rose, whose expression was either eager or anxious. Sarah couldn’t be sure which. “What do you remember, Rose? What were you doing?”

“I . . . I was listening, trying to figure out what was happening. I . . . Then, right after the shouting stopped, I heard the back door.”

“The back door?” Sarah echoed.

“Yes, it . . . it opened and closed. I waited, but it got very quiet, so I knew Andy had gone out.”

“Yes,” Grace said almost eagerly. “He wouldn’t have stayed around if there was trouble.”

Sarah watched Rose’s face, trying to read her expression and wondering what she was thinking and what she knew and was holding back. “That’s when you left your cell and went upstairs, isn’t it?”

Rose looked up in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“What did you see?” Sarah asked, ignoring her question.

Rose frowned. “Not much. I got to the top of the stairs, but I still couldn’t hear anything.”

“So you went on upstairs,” Sarah said.

But Rose shook her head. “No, I . . . I couldn’t.”

“She was naked,” Grace explained. “She didn’t want anyone to see her.”

The two women exchanged a look of complete understanding that made Sarah want to weep. “So you just stood there at the top of the stairs?”

“Until I heard him leave,” Rose said. “The man who’d been shouting, I mean.”

Sarah turned to Grace. “When he left, was Pendergast still alive?”

She smiled bitterly. “Oh, yes. He walked the man out, patting him on the back and telling him not to worry. As if he had anything to worry about.”

“And then?”

“Then he came looking for me,” Grace said. “He was furious. I tried to hide.”

“You did hide,” Rose said, nodding. “I heard him banging around, looking for you.”

“But I couldn’t leave the house, not in just my shift, and he knew that. So he found me.” Grace closed her eyes, squeezing out a tear.

“Don’t cry,” Rose said. “He’s dead. Don’t forget that!”

Grace raised her chin and dashed the tear from her face. “Yes, he is.”

“So he found you,” Sarah prodded. “What did he say to you?”

“He was furious, like I said. I guess he was pretty sure it was my father who had followed that other man.”

“My father is dead,” Rose said. “I told him that in my letters.”

“I’m sorry,” Grace said automatically, good manners demanding the response.

Rose waved away her concern. “What did he do when he found you?”

“He . . . he slapped me. More than once, I think. He . . .” She shook her head.

“I know,” Rose said. “You don’t want to remember, but I can guess. He told you how ugly you are and how grateful you should be that any man looked at you.”

Grace nodded miserably. “I wanted to cover my ears, but he pulled my hands away, and he just kept talking, saying the most horrible things about me and how it was all my fault that he was going to have to get rid of me.” She looked up, her eyes wide. “I thought he was going to kill me.”

Her eyes filled, but this time she pressed her fingers against them, stopping the tears before they could fall.

“But that’s not all, is it, Grace?” Sarah said.

Grace lowered her hands and stared back warily. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Pendergast had opened his trousers. That’s how we found him. He was going to assault you, wasn’t he?”

Grace looked down at her hands again. This time they were closed into fists.

Sarah turned back to Rose. “And that’s when you went upstairs, isn’t it?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Sarah blinked in surprise. “You didn’t? What did you do, then?”

“I went back to the cellar because I heard someone coming.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see because I ran back downstairs when I heard someone at the back door. I thought it was Andy returning.”

“Someone came in the back door?” Sarah asked, trying to make sense of this.

“Yes, while Pendergast was looking for Grace. I heard footsteps on the porch and I ran, so I didn’t see who it was.”

“And you didn’t go upstairs?” Sarah asked again.

“No, not at all. I went back into the cell.”

Sarah believed her. “So, if you didn’t go upstairs, it must have been the person who came in the back door who killed Pendergast.”

“It must have been, because I didn’t remember you being so tall,” Grace said again.

The other two women stared at her for a long moment.

“What do you mean?” Sarah asked.

“Just that. I remember . . . I remember someone standing behind Pendergast and a flash of light and then the blood. So much blood.” She shuddered.

“But the person standing behind Pendergast wasn’t tall?”

“No. I couldn’t see her face.”

“Because she was behind him,” Sarah said. “And she wasn’t tall enough, so you couldn’t see her face.”