Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery) (7 page)

Amazingly, his mother nodded, as if this made perfect sense, although he had a feeling she really had no idea what Sarah was talking about.

“And don’t think we want you to do anything but look after Brian,” Sarah went on. “Mr. Malloy will be able to afford to hire some help.”

“Help?”

“Servants, Ma. She means servants.”

“Servants? You can’t afford servants, Francis.”

“I can now, Ma. I told you, Catherine’s father left me some money.”

She narrowed her eyes and looked at Sarah again. “Where is this house you want to live in?”

“We haven’t found one yet. We haven’t even started looking. I would appreciate your opinion, though. Since you’ll be living there, too, I’d like you to see it before we decide for sure.”

“You’d have to leave here, Ma,” Frank said, wondering if Sarah realized what his mother was really asking. The neighborhoods in New York were like islands divided by streets instead of water. People might live in one neighborhood their entire lives and never even meet people living two blocks away. A person could disappear completely and start a brand-new life simply by moving to a new neighborhood. Leaving the place she’d lived since she’d come to America would literally mean giving up everything and everyone familiar. “You could always come back to visit your friends, though.”

His mother glared at him, and for once he was happy to see the familiar expression on her face. “Francis, exactly how much money did this man leave you?”

“I don’t know
exactly
. They’re still figuring it out.”

“A guess, then. You must have an idea if you’re planning to buy a house with it.”

“Like I said, they don’t know for sure, but they think it’s . . .” Frank could hardly bring himself to say it. “They think it’s around five million dollars.”

This time the blood really did drain from his mother’s face, and from her head, too, because she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.

S
top fussing over me, Francis. You’re scaring the boy.”

Frank glanced at Brian and saw that she was right. He got up from where he’d been kneeling in front of his mother, who now sat in the rocking chair again. Her faint had only lasted a moment before he and Sarah had helped her back into the chair.

Sarah pressed a glass of water into her slightly unsteady hands, and she obediently took a sip. “Thank you,” she said with apparent sincerity.

“I know this has all been a shock to you,” Sarah said, sitting back down on the sofa and gathering an uncertain Brian into her lap. She gave him a reassuring smile, and then he turned to his grandmother and made some signs.

She handed the glass to Frank, who still hovered over her, and signed back to the boy. “He wants to know what we’re talking about. I’ll have to tell him all of this,” she said to them. “About you getting married and about us moving. I don’t know the right signs yet, though.”

“Maybe they can help you at the school,” Frank said.

“Of course they can help me at the school,” she snapped.

Frank gritted his teeth, reminding himself how difficult this must be for his mother. “I know it’ll be hard for you to leave the old neighborhood.”

“No, it won’t. I can’t stay here if my son’s a millionaire. Nobody’ll even speak to me unless they want money. You should know that, Francis.”

He knew that only too well. “They’ll find out pretty soon, too. A reporter from the
Sun
has been snooping around, and it’ll probably be in the newspapers in a day or two.”

She muttered something incomprehensible and turned back to Sarah. “The boy’ll like having the little girl to play with.”

Sarah smiled her rich woman’s smile. “I hope he’ll like everything about his new family.”

“Oh, he already likes you well enough, if that’s what you’re worried about. More women to fuss over him. He’ll be in heaven. Did you say you have a nursemaid for the little girl?”

“Yes, Maeve. And you won’t really have to take care of Brian anymore either, not really. Maeve is certainly capable of looking after both children, especially with Brian in school. We can even get someone to take him and bring him home, if you like.”

“Oh, I’ll keep doing that. They need my help at that school. They’re forever telling me they can’t do without me.”

“I hope you don’t let them take advantage of you,” Sarah said.

His mother smiled. She
smiled
! Frank could hardly believe his eyes. “It’s me taking advantage of them. We pay them to teach the signs to the boy, but I learn for free.”

“I hope you can teach them to all of us, too. We’ll all want to be able to talk to Brian.”

“It won’t be no trouble to teach the young ones. They pick things up so quick.”

“That’s true,” Frank said. “Catherine already knows some just from playing with Brian a few times.”

His mother frowned up at him. “Don’t just stand there, Francis. Get Mrs. Brandt some tea. It’s steeping on the stove.”

Frank didn’t know why she was still annoyed with him. He’d just told her they were millionaires. And sure enough, he found a pot of tea on the stove. He took a few minutes to heat it up a bit while he listened to the two women making plans like they were old friends. What had come over his mother? She’d always hated Sarah Brandt. Or so he’d thought. No, he couldn’t have been mistaken about that. And he would’ve bet a year’s salary she hated the thought of him marrying her. Maybe Sarah could explain it.

Frank carried a cup of tea out to Sarah just as she was saying, “Why don’t all three of you come over on Saturday so you can get to know Maeve?”

Sarah gently moved Brian from her lap to the seat beside her and took the cup from Frank. “Thank you.” Her blue eyes twinkled with mischief. She must be loving this, Frank thought.

“I can’t speak for Francis, but Brian and I will come. Did you only pour one cup of tea? What’s wrong with you, Francis?” She jumped up and bustled off to the kitchen, leaving Frank to shake his head.

• • •

W
hen they’d covered all the important topics, including Frank and Sarah’s wedding plans (none yet) and Catherine’s attitude toward having a brother (ecstatic), Sarah took her leave. She gave Brian a big hug and a kiss after Mrs. Malloy explained to him that his father had to escort Mrs. Brandt back home. Holding him close, she savored the feel of his tiny arms locked around her neck. She had a son now. What an amazing miracle. Then she took Mrs. Malloy’s work-roughened hand in hers, glad to see her eyes no longer held the slightest hint of the fear she’d always had of Sarah. “Thank you for being willing to come live with us. I know it’s going to be a big adjustment for you, and I appreciate it so much.”

Mrs. Malloy blinked her suspiciously moist eyes. “It’s what’s best for the boy.”

“I think so, too. I’ll tell the girls to expect you on Saturday. I know they’ll be thrilled.”

They were out on the street and lost among the throngs of pedestrians still enjoying the spring evening before Malloy finally exploded. “What did you do to her?”

Sarah couldn’t help laughing at his disgruntled frown. “I didn’t do anything except not steal her son and her grandson away from her.”

“What does that mean?”

Sarah sighed, more than a little relieved that things had gone so well. She’d been hoping their decision to invite Mrs. Malloy to live with them would placate her a bit, but even Sarah had been surprised at Mrs. Malloy’s reaction. “It means that . . . Well, I’ve always suspected that her dislike of me was actually the fear that we would marry and take Brian and leave her all alone.”

“Of course it was. But why does she suddenly . . . ?” He gestured vaguely.

“Like me?”

“It’s more than that. I never saw her be that nice to anybody.”

“Certainly not to you,” Sarah had to admit.

“Oh no. Wouldn’t want me to get a swelled head.”

“In that case, it’s a good thing she’s coming to live with us, because with all the money, you’ll definitely be in danger of that.”

“I just hope it lasts. Her being nice to you, I mean.”

“It will. She knows it was my decision to invite her. But I just realized, we didn’t tell her you’d lost your job.”

“Plenty of time for that.”

“I suppose. Oh dear, I just remembered the poor girl you were looking for. What will happen with her?”

His jaw tightened, and Sarah’s heart sank. “I had to give the case to Broghan.”

“But surely—”

“Surely, they’ll let me keep working on it? No, they won’t. They won’t even think it’s important.”

“Didn’t you tell them Maeve is willing to—”

“I told them everything, but it won’t make any difference.”

“Is it because of you and the inheritance?” she asked, oblivious of the startled looks the word
inheritance
drew from the people walking nearby them.

“Partly, and partly because it isn’t the kind of case anybody cares about.”

“Her father cares!” Sarah said, outraged.

He sighed with what sounded dangerously like despair. “Sarah, these cases never have a happy ending. Her father wants her back. The families always do, but they want the girl they know back. After something like this, the girl is never the same, though. Sometimes the family even blames her for what happened to her and for embarrassing them. And that’s if we find her at all. Sometimes these girls kill themselves because of the shame, or they end up on the street because they think they can’t go home. And that’s if the man doesn’t murder her when he’s done with her. However it ends, no one is happy, and even if we catch the man, the girl never wants to tell anyone what happened to her, so most of the time he isn’t even charged with a crime because the girl and her family don’t want anyone to know about it.”

“That’s horrible!”

“Of course it is, but that’s why the police don’t care about cases like this.” Malloy took her arm to guide her through the crush of wagons clogging the intersection, carefully dodging the piles of horse dung.

“So are you saying
you
don’t care if they find her or not?” she asked when they reached the relative safety of the opposite curb.

“Of course I care. I don’t want to find out she’s dead or selling herself in Hell’s Kitchen, and I’d really like to catch this Milo Pendergast, too. But I know better than to think Pendergast will go to jail or that Grace Livingston will live happily ever after.”

“Will they even let Maeve try to help find her?”

“I don’t know.”

They walked on in silence for a time, and Sarah tried to think of a way to help Grace Livingston. By now she should have been used to the injustice in the world, particularly when it involved females, but she hoped she would never become so jaded.

“Will you at least see her father and let him know what’s happening?”

He sighed again. “First thing tomorrow.”

Sarah tried to imagine what he would tell the poor man and decided she didn’t want to know.

• • •

S
aturday morning finally arrived, and Catherine woke up before dawn, too excited over the pending visit from the Malloy family to remain in bed. Sarah had spent two sleepless nights with a mother whose baby had been reluctant to enter the world, and she had been hoping to sleep in a bit. Maeve, bless her, had spirited Catherine off to the kitchen to keep her busy, but after what seemed only a few minutes of respite, someone again tapped on her bedroom door. Maeve stuck her head in.

“Mrs. Brandt? So sorry to bother you, but Mrs. Ellsworth is here. She got a letter from that Pendergast fellow.”

Instantly awake, Sarah threw off the bedclothes and snatched up her robe. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she padded barefoot after Maeve. Mrs. Ellsworth and Catherine sat at the kitchen table, chatting about the menu for the day’s planned festivities. Catherine was reminding their neighbor of all the things they’d been baking the past few days, even though Mrs. Ellsworth had been present for all the preparations.

The letter lay on the table between them, giving no indication that it might mean life or death to a young woman.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ellsworth.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” she said with barely suppressed excitement. “This letter came for you in this morning’s mail.”

“Why did you get a letter for my mama?” Catherine asked.

“It came to me by mistake, my darling.” She glanced back at Sarah. “I thought you’d want to see it at once.”

“Thank you so much.” Sarah picked it up, noting the neat handwriting. Milo Pendergast had learned penmanship in school. “Catherine, would you keep Mrs. Ellsworth company for a few minutes while I read my letter?”

Using the last reserves of her restraint, Sarah walked out into the front room, when she really wanted to rip the envelope open instantly. Maeve followed, her hands clutching each other anxiously until they reached Sarah’s desk. Sarah found her letter opener and slit the envelope. The cheap paper yielded easily to the blade, and inside Sarah found one sheet of matching letter paper. She unfolded it with unsteady hands and read with Maeve looking over her shoulder.

My dear Miss Smith
, it began.
I am most grateful for your prompt reply to my advertisement. I am flattered that you feel I might make you a suitable life mate. I understand your desire for haste, but even a man as anxious as I am for a suitable wife would find it difficult to woo and win a bride in a fortnight. I do enjoy a challenge, however, and I must confess I am curious to meet you and to learn if we might suit. If you are agreeable, may I suggest we meet on Sunday afternoon at two o’clock?
He went on to describe the location of the park where he had met Grace Livingston. He had signed it
Milo Pendergast
.

“It worked,” Maeve said in wonder.

Sarah could hardly believe it herself. She actually felt a little breathless. “He must have picked up your letter not long after Malloy left it. I guess no one bothered to let him know.”

“And the fellow didn’t waste any time getting back to me. I knew it was a good idea to mention my inheritance.” Maeve took the letter and reread it, excitement bringing color to her cheeks. “Mr. Malloy has got to let me go meet him tomorrow.”

“It isn’t up to him anymore,” Sarah reminded her.

“But surely . . .”

“There is no
surely
about it. Mr. Malloy doesn’t work for the police department anymore, remember?”

Maeve’s sigh echoed Sarah’s own disgust. She only hoped Malloy could assure them someone who still did work for the police would be following up on Grace Livingston’s disappearance.

• • •

B
y the time the Malloy family arrived a few hours later, Catherine had practically worn a path from the kitchen to the front window while watching for their approach and dutifully reporting back to Maeve and Sarah every five minutes that she’d seen no sign of them yet.

The girl had thrown open the front door before they’d had a chance to knock or even mount the front steps, and Brian broke into a run and raced up onto the porch to hug her, heedless of his grandmother’s efforts to restrain him.

By the time Sarah and Maeve had reached the front hall, they were inside. Mrs. Malloy had worn her Sunday best, a black bombazine gown at least a decade out of style but whose condition was so good, she had clearly given it impeccable care and saved it only for special occasions. Her hat appeared to have recently been spruced up with new flowers. Sarah felt oddly touched that she had taken so much care with her appearance.

“Mrs. Malloy, I’m so glad you could come,” Sarah said, taking her hand.

Mrs. Malloy’s faded blue eyes had been taking in every detail of Sarah’s modest home, and she seemed to relax just slightly at the sight of the utilitarian office area. “Thank you for having us.”

Only when she was sure Mrs. Malloy felt adequately greeted did Sarah turn to Malloy, who gave her a tentative smile. “Malloy,” she said, returning it. She gave him both her hands, which he squeezed reassuringly. Or at least she thought that was what the squeeze meant.

She glanced down at Catherine and Brian, who were communicating in some mysterious way that seemed to make them both very happy. It made Sarah very happy, too. Then she noticed Maeve hovering expectantly. “Mrs. Malloy, may I present Maeve Smith, the young lady I told you about?”