by Sara Donati
“To Mrs. Louden it was,” Sophie said. “But again, it’s not unusual. Women often have very low spirits after a miscarriage, whether the pregnancy was wanted or not. Especially a late miscarriage is traumatic. In extreme cases there can be dire consequences.”
Anna looked from Oscar to Jack. “It wasn’t an induced abortion, if that’s what you’re thinking. Amelie wouldn’t misrepresent the case in her day-book.”
“Charlotte Louden’s mother told us she was never sick,” Jack said. “But that was clearly a lie.”
Aunt Quinlan frowned at him. “No, not necessarily. I had four miscarriages early in my first marriage. We were living in Europe at the time, but I did not write home to tell Ma. The idea of putting it into words—I couldn’t make myself do it.”
Anna put a gentle hand on her aunt’s shoulder. Jack watched her for some signal that he might go on, but she asked the next question herself.
“Auntie, do you know who this A is, the woman she describes as in decline? She died in January of seventy-one.”
“That must have been Addy,” Aunt Quinlan said. “They were close friends, though I never met her. I had forgotten about Addy, I have to admit.”
“There’s more about her later on,” Oscar said. “Anything else on this page jog a memory?”
“No. And I can’t help with the last two entries for that day,” Aunt Quinlan’s voice was wobbling a bit. “So I suppose we should go on.”
Sophie turned back to the day-book pages. “On January twenty-seventh she attended a stillbirth at a disorderly house belonging to a Mrs. S. She also examined all the women and dispensed medicine. Does that sound familiar, Auntie?”
“There were dozens of disorderly houses in the area,” said Aunt Quinlan. “There are still, as you well know, but whether they are the same ones seems doubtful to me. Margaret should be here, she would know.”
Jack saw the corner of Anna’s mouth jerk at the mention of Aunt Quinlan’s stepdaughter, a woman obsessed with keeping track of crimes in the neighborhood. Just now she was in Europe with her sons. He wondered if she was doing the same there.
“Maybe you can tell me,” Oscar said, leaning over to touch the page. “What is this squiggle?”
Sophie glanced up at him. “℞ is how you start writing a prescription. From the Latin verb recipe. It’s for a salve she made herself, I imagine especially for the prostitutes she saw regularly who were coping with—” Her voice gave a slight crack. “Inflamed skin. Shall we go on?”
“Please,” Jack said, with all the solemnity he could muster. He thought of Sophie as a sister, because she was that much and more to Anna. He liked her tremendously—more than a few of his own sisters—and hated causing her discomfort. He wished he had been quicker in talking to Lambert, and hoped the episode was now at an end.
Sophie was saying, “This three o’clock entry on the same day is probably one you took note of. Amelie went to Gramercy Park to attend Mrs. Louden and mentions a procedure. No specific details.”
“What could that have been, do you think?” Jack asked.
“There’s no way to know from this entry,” Sophie told them. “But let me look at the amount of time that passed between calls—”
Anna stopped her. “I’ve got it. Late June to late January, six months. She counseled three months abstinence, so yes, it might be.”
Oscar looked at her blankly.
“Mrs. Louden could have been pregnant,” Anna explained. “If she was, the procedure might have been an abortion, or she might have miscarried again and required treatment this time. In either case, it would have been very taxing to lose two pregnancies in such a short period of time. Both physically and mentally.”
“That’s certainly true,” Aunt Quinlan said. “But this bit of information doesn’t help the investigation along at all, does it? How could this help you find Mrs. Louden?”
Jack shrugged. “More information is always better than less, and now we have to at least consider that she might have been pregnant.”
They talked about how Charlotte Louden would have gone about looking for Amelie if she needed her, whether she even knew that Amelie was no longer in the city, and where she might have turned, if not to Amelie.
Anna said, “Sophie, what is it? You look stricken.”
In fact Sophie had dropped her head to examine a page more closely, as if she found it hard to make out the handwriting. Or to believe what she was reading.
Oscar said, “You just got to the part about the new patient, I take it.”
“Yes,” Sophie said. “Why this page?”
Oscar raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
“There’s nothing about Mrs. Louden on this page. Why did she include it?”
Oscar sat back, folded his hands over his middle, and spoke to Jack directly. “Told you we were missing something obvious.”
“She must have meant you to read it,” Sophie said.
“Then tell us,” Aunt Quinlan said. “What does it say?”
“I’ll try to summarize.” Sophie paused, and began slowly. “The date is July of seventy-one.” She looked up at Oscar, who had made a sound in his throat. “Is that significant?”
“You’re too young to remember,” he said. “But it was about then that Jennings of the Times was pushing hard for tougher abortion laws. There was something in the papers every day.”
Sophie went on. “A young woman with the initials N.G. came to Amelie in critical condition. She diagnosed an incomplete abortion, but this woman hadn’t quickened and she didn’t even realize she was pregnant. She came to Amelie because she had uncontrollable bleeding and cramping, and rejected the suggestion that she might be pregnant because she had no husband. Amelie came to the conclusion that this N.G. had been given an abortifacient without warning, probably pennyroyal and blue cohosh tea.”
“Pennyroyal?” Oscar asked.
Sophie said, “Pennyroyal and blue cohosh are herbs that can put an end to a pregnancy if they are taken early enough, in the right strengths. It is a delicate business, getting the balance and timing right. Whoever gave this young woman the tea—without her knowledge—didn’t manage it.”
“And what would that mean?” Jack asked, though he was fairly certain he knew.
Sophie spread a hand over the day-book pages, smoothing them. “I can only conjecture, but I would guess that the placenta wasn’t passed, and that would mean infection. There would be fever, nausea, hemorrhage. She would have been in pain.”
“Severe pain and cramping,” Anna amended.
“Yes,” Sophie agreed. “If she hadn’t sought out treatment, the infection would have likely developed into septicemia. Her death would have been excruciating and drawn out.”
“Much like the multipara murders,” Anna said. “But this young woman didn’t die, because she went to Amelie.”
“Yes,” Sophie agreed. “Amelie’s treatment saved her life. She survived the procedure—the removal of the placental tissue—but it was a close thing. The next day Amelie sent her to see a Dr. Channing for further treatment. I don’t know that name. I wonder if he’s still practicing in the city.”
“But who gave her the tea without her knowledge?” Aunt Quinlan asked. “Is there no discussion of who would do such a thing?”
Sophie looked up. “Her grandfather. Amelie writes here that he deserved to be horse-whipped. A sanctimonious hypocrite, she calls him. And she wrote, ‘A. used to wish him dead. I see now what she feared most.’ That could be her friend Addy.”
Aunt Quinlan drew in a sharp breath and with that, Jack knew that the thing he had been at pains to keep to himself for fear he was imagining it was, in fact, true.
Anna said, “Auntie, what is it? Do you know who this N.G. is?”
The older woman touched a handkerchief to her face, and Jack saw she had broken out in a fine sweat.<
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“Auntie?” Sophie leaned in.
“Yes, I fear so,” her aunt said. “This N.G. must be Addy’s granddaughter, the one Amelie mentioned earlier. The granddaughter who was looking after Addy before her death.”
Sophie scanned the pages. “Without naming her, yes. Who was she?”
“I never made the connection, but now I see that Addy must be Adele Cameron. The Camerons had a daughter called Ruth who married against Dr. Cameron’s wishes. He turned Ruth out but at some point years later they took in her daughter to raise. I don’t know what Ruth’s married name was, but I have to believe that N.G. is the woman you know now as Nora Smithson.”
After a few moments of shocked silence, Anna spoke up. “Adele Cameron was James McGrath Cameron’s wife and Nora Smithson’s grandmother.” A fact rather than a question, one she spoke out loud to test its weight.
“Cameron forced an abortion on his own granddaughter.” Oscar, who normally held his temper in the company of women he respected, had gone pale in his fury.
“Yes,” Sophie said. “But when it went wrong he did nothing for her and called no one in to consult. Probably he was afraid of seeing his name show up in the newspapers. Do you think he suggested she go to Amelie, Auntie?”
“I doubt that. She knew Amelie through Addy, after all.”
“Did Cameron mean her to die?” Jack asked.
There was a stunned silence around the table while they considered this.
“Thank goodness she went to Amelie. Is there more about what happened in the pages?” Aunt Quinlan said.
“Yes,” Jack said. “But Oscar should tell you what came next before we get to the conclusion.”
* * *
• • •
ANNA SOMETIMES TEASED Oscar about the tight hold he kept on his best stories. He doled them out like gold coins, and never on demand unless he had made too free with the ale. This situation was a dire one, however, and he gave in with good grace.
“So.” He had taken off his jacket and sat in his shirtsleeves in the shade of the tall hedges that framed the garden. The sun had given him a rosy complexion, but to Anna’s eye he looked not quite well.
In the time it took Oscar to swallow the last of his ale, Anna’s mind jumped wildly, from the state of his liver to Amelie’s day-book, to Nora Smithson and what it meant that her grandfather had forced an abortion on her without her knowledge, beyond the obvious: the man was a tyrant and a hypocrite. Just before her patience ran out and she was about to poke Oscar, he cleared his throat and put both hands flat on the table, as he usually did when he had something important to say.
“I can’t add much more than what Amelie wrote,” he started. “She sent Davvy for me, and when I came the next morning she told me a patient of hers was about to go to Comstock to have her arrested for malpractice.”
“But—” Sophie began. Faces turned toward her.
“Let me be clear,” Oscar said. “Amelie never said she had or hadn’t committed malpractice. Just that she was going to be charged with it. Given the color of her skin, that was enough. A fair hearing would have made it clear that Nora came to her after the procedure, but we both knew she couldn’t count on that. She didn’t give me any more detail, and I didn’t ask. I wondered, but there were subjects we never spoke about directly.”
He pulled on the corner of his mustache, twisting it to a point and then letting it go.
“I’ve read those pages she gave us fifty times but I didn’t see the significance. Now I think I’ve got it. The operation Amelie did was to fix the trouble started by somebody else. By Cameron.”
“That’s right,” Sophie said. “Amelie did operate, but to stop the spread of an infection. She had to clean out the uterus.”
All Oscar’s features clenched into a fist of pure discomfort. Anna felt a little sympathy for him, a man who had never wanted a wife and saw women as foreign creatures. Some were his friends; all of them were mysteries.
“So,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I borrowed a wagon and a team, helped her get packed up, and drove her to a friend of hers who lived in Harlem. Another midwife, called—”
More torturing of his mustache while he considered.
“Victoria? Regina? Something regal. It doesn’t matter. Amelie stayed there for a couple weeks until she found the farm where she is now. I only knew that because she sent me a note saying she was squared away safe, but not exactly where. She didn’t think I’d sell her out but cautiousness was called for. Because in fact Comstock did come looking for her, and he stuck his nose in everywhere, asking questions and trying to track her down.
“That’s the end of my part of the story. The question to my mind is, did Cameron fool his granddaughter into thinking it was Amelie who did the damage, or did she convince herself of that?”
Aunt Quinlan’s expression was grim. “Her grandfather was all she had at that point. Her parents were dead, her grandmother too. Even a cruel grandfather is better than no one at all, and he was a persuasive man. I can imagine the things he said to her about her immortal soul and hellfire.”
“On top of that,” Anna continued, “Dr. Channing told her she would never have a family of her own. She must have felt desperately alone and confused and angry. What is that quote from Macbeth, Auntie?”
“‘Let grief convert to anger; blunt not the heart, enrage it.’ My ma was full of quotations, and that was one she used often.”
Sophie closed her eyes for a long moment. “Yes,” she said. “That makes sense. She couldn’t allow herself to be angry at her grandfather. Amelie was the safer alternative.”
Jack looked up from his notes. “We’ll never know for sure how it all came together unless Nora Smithson tells us herself. My guess is that Cameron was responsible for the damage, but he encouraged Nora to put the blame on Amelie for fear of prosecution. That’s how he repaid her for caring for his wife in her final illness.”
“Cameron is dead,” Oscar said, bluntly. “He can’t be brought to justice for what he did to his wife or granddaughter or anyone else. So why did Amelie want us to know about this? Why point us in this direction at this moment?”
“She wants you to look at Nora Smithson more closely,” Anna said.
“That damn apothecary,” Oscar muttered.
“So we go back to talk to the Smithsons,” Jack said.
Oscar huffed a laugh. “If we can find her. The last few times I stopped by she was away, according to her clerks.”
Sophie said, “But Nora Smithson is pregnant.”
* * *
• • •
IT TOOK SOPHIE a few minutes to give them the whole story: she was having coffee with Elise across from the apothecary when Nora Smithson walked by, clearly with child. At least seven or eight months along.
After a long moment Oscar said, “Is it possible that this Channing was wrong, that she isn’t barren?”
“Yes,” Anna said. “That is possible.”
“It is possible,” Sophie agreed. “But I would guess unlikely. Given Amelie’s description of the damage done.”
“Or she might have convinced herself that she is with child,” Aunt Quinlan said. “I have seen that happen before.”
“Maybe she’s trying to pull the wool over her husband’s eyes,” Oscar said. “She might be carrying a pillow around tucked into her chemise. The question is, to what end?”
Anna remembered Nicola Visser’s husband, torn apart by grief and wanting to know if there might be a child, somewhere. If someone had stolen his wife’s newborn child to sell. The advertisements he had collected to show her hadn’t been a surprise; Anna knew that such cases happened often enough.
A child left with a wet nurse would not be kept for long if the mother disappeared and stopped paying a maintenance fee, and that same wet nurse was within her rights to try to reclaim some of the money that w
as owed her. It was her right, but it was not easily accomplished. If she could find the right people who were able and willing to pay for a child, she would consider that good luck. A blond, fair-skinned, healthy newborn could command a significant amount of money.
She could understand how poverty drove people to drastic measures. Anna understood, too, how a woman desperate for a child might see such an advertisement as an answer to her prayers. But she could not imagine Nora Smithson selling an infant. If she had a hand in Mrs. Visser’s death, it had been because she wanted the child to claim as her own. That scheme had failed, but if presented with a woman in a family way, she might try again.
Jack said, “Anna, you are very pale. What is it?”
But she wasn’t ready to put this jumble of thoughts into words. She shook her head.
Aunt Quinlan said, “Maybe I’ve missed something obvious but I’m not sure I understand the connections. Is this about Mrs. Louden’s disappearance, or is it about poor Mrs. Visser? Or the multipara cases?”
Oscar said, “All of that, or none of it. All we know for sure is that both Mrs. Louden and Mrs. Smithson are connected to Amelie. We don’t know that Mrs. Visser fits into this anywhere at all.”
“So we have to approach this from a different angle,” Jack said. “How do we get Nora Smithson to reveal her role in all of this?”
Anna took a deep breath, glanced at Jack, and said what she could no longer keep to herself.
“We give her what she wants.”
Jack touched her shoulder. “Go on.”
“We give her the possibility of a child she can claim. We give her a pregnant woman who is looking for an abortion—”
“—and thus doesn’t deserve to live,” her aunt finished for her when Anna paused.
Sophie drew in an audible breath. “You want to send an innocent woman into that situation, to set a trap? Tell me you’re not thinking of Elise.”
Oscar’s whole face lit up. “By God!” He raised both fists and let them fall again to his knees. “I think that could work! A young woman approaches Nora Smithson, says the things we believe will trigger her worst instincts, and then we step in.”
