Where the Light Enters

by Sara Donati

  “So I understand.” Hummel smiled at her, pleased with her performance.

  “Miss Miller, you heard Mrs. Smithson claim, just now, that she is your natural mother.”

  The girl’s voice cracked. “Yes, sir.”

  A murmuring in the courtroom rose up.

  “Were you aware of this fact before today?”

  The pale brow wrinkled. “Sir?”

  “Did you know Mrs. Smithson was your mother?”

  “No, sir. I still don’t.”

  There was something of a scuffle around Nora Smithson that was quickly contained. Hummel must have charged Comstock with keeping her silent.

  “There’s a reversal,” Oscar mumbled. “Comstock, keeping the peace in a court of law.”

  Hummel said, “How long have you known Mrs. Smithson?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe it was five years ago that she first came to see Reverend Crowley.”

  “Do you remember any home or family before the Shepherd’s Fold?”

  “No, sir. They took me in as a baby.”

  “And when was this? When were you born?”

  “The month was August 1871, as was just read by the judge.”

  “And what information did they give you about your parents?”

  The question seemed to surprise her. “Why, none. I was left on the doorstep, sir, so they had nothing to tell me.”

  “When you first met Mrs. Smithson, what were the circumstances?”

  “Well, sir, first, she was Miss Graham then. Not yet Mrs. Smithson. This was when the Fold was still uptown, of course. The doctor came to consult when the Reverend Crowley’s mother was unwell, and Miss Graham came along with him, as his nurse, I suppose. They came once or twice a month to see to the Widow Crowley. After Dr. Cameron died, Mrs. Smithson came alone to give the widow her medicines, two or three times a week.”

  “Did she speak to you during those visits?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Any communication at all?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “When did she tell you that you are her daughter?”

  Grace swallowed visibly. “Never. She never said that to me, sir.”

  Hummel paced back and forth, his hands folded behind his back. “Miss Miller, do you know why she hired you away from the Shepherd’s Fold?”

  “Because she needed help, is what I understood.”

  “And why did they let you go?”

  A stain of color washed over the girl’s cheeks. “I only know what the Widow Crowley told me.”

  “And what was that?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Miss Miller?”

  She cleared her throat. “She said, ‘Nobody needs you or wants you here, you might as well go.’”

  Hummel turned and looked at Nora Smithson. “You could say then that Mrs. Smithson came to your rescue.”

  “Objection,” Allen called. “Calls for speculation.”

  “Sustained. You are trying my patience, Mr. Hummel.”

  Hummel inclined his head. “Miss Miller, tell us about the arrangements in the bookshop.”

  “Sir?” A hint of agitation in her voice.

  “What were the arrangements for the two people who were kept in the bookshop? Who took them their meals?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, sir. I could only guess it was Mr. Hobart.”

  “Did you ever enter Mr. Hobart’s apartment?”

  “No, sir. My work was in the apothecary.”

  For five minutes he tried to get the girl to tell him that she was on friendly terms with Hobart. If he was hoping to hang the kidnappings on this young girl working in league with Hobart, it seemed to Jack he had bitten off more than anyone could chew. Finally he changed direction.

  “Did you ever see Mrs. Smithson going into the apartment over the bookstore?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Never?”

  She shook her head. “Not once.”

  “When did you learn about the two people kept prisoner in the bookshop apartment?”

  “I was out at the market,” she said slowly. “And when I came back there was a crowd of people in the street, and police and an ambulance. I couldn’t get to the apothecary or the apartment because it was all blocked off. People were talking about Mr. Hobart, saying he was dead, and he killed himself because he was going to end up in prison for kidnapping.”

  “And before that point you had no idea that there were two people being held against their will in the next building.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you ever see Mrs. Smithson talking to Mr. Hobart?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “After hours, two times I think it was. I was sweeping in the shop and she was putting the displays in order, and he knocked at the front door. She unlocked it to talk to him but she didn’t let him come in. They talked a minute or so and he left.”

  “And how would you characterize those discussions?”

  “Sir?”

  “Were the discussions friendly, neighborly in nature?”

  Grace Miller seemed to consider for a long moment. “No, sir. I couldn’t say that. More like, he was asking for something and she kept shaking her head no. And then he went off, looking downtrodden.”

  “Did you ask Mrs. Smithson about these encounters?”

  Her surprise was genuine. “No, sir. I wouldn’t have the nerve.”

  Hummel nodded at this and took up pacing again until he turned suddenly and came to a dramatic stop directly in front of the witness. “Miss Miller,” he said. “Did Mrs. Smithson ever tell you that she is not your mother?”

  She blinked at him, confused.

  “Did she ever say, ‘Grace Miller, I am not your mother’?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Would you agree that you look alike?”

  For the first time she produced a smile. Small, lopsided, but a smile. “Me, look like Mrs. Smithson?”

  “Your coloring is very similar.”

  “Yes,” said Grace Miller. “I suppose it is. But then my coloring is similar to that lady in the second row, and the man in the third. And to Judge Carruthers, too. I don’t suppose any of them are my mother or father.”

  She had some spine, after all. Jack was glad to see it. Then he glanced at Oscar, whose expression was not what he would have expected.

  “What?”

  Oscar shook his head. “Wait and see.”

  Jack thought Allen had shown himself to be competent as a prosecutor, but little more than that. The way he approached Grace Miller did nothing to change Jack’s mind.

  He started off with a long series of questions about her time at the Shepherd’s Fold. There were yawns in the audience, whispered discussions, shifting and tapping feet.

  “That morning when you found you couldn’t get back into the apothecary, Miss Miller, what did you do?”

  Grace Miller squinted at him, as if an explanation were there on his face. “Sir?”

  “It was still early. Where did you spend the rest of the day?”

  “I watched with the crowd.”

  “The crowd dispersed by noon. What did you do then?”

  “I sat on a bench in the park for a long time. I don’t really know how long.”

  “And where did you sleep that night? Where have you slept any of the nights since that day?”

  She cleared her throat. “I went back to the Shepherd’s Fold.”

  There was a sudden shift of attention in the room, all eyes now on the girl in the witness stand.

  “After they treated you so poorly?”

  “I had nowhere else to go.”

  “I see.” He gave a small, almost sorrowful shake of the head, as a father might when a child was being less than truthful. “Do y
ou know a Mrs. Dayton?”

  The slightest hesitation. “Mr. Dayton is the bookkeeper, I’ve met Mrs. Dayton.”

  “Didn’t Mrs. Dayton offer you a place to stay?”

  She glanced away. “It was very kind, but I didn’t want to impose.”

  “So you went back to the Shepherd’s Fold, where they worked you like a slave and turned you out without a kind word.”

  Hummel didn’t object, because, Jack supposed, he liked any avenue of questioning that took the attention away from his client.

  Grace Miller took a deep breath. “I had nowhere else to go.”

  “So really, the discovery in the bookshop has caused a worsening of your situation.”

  She swallowed, visibly. “You could say that, I suppose.”

  “It would have been better if things had gone on as they were, for you at least. Would you call your situation desperate?”

  The small mouth tightened. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “It’s a simple question, Miss Miller. If the apothecary must close, your choices are few and unpleasant. Is that true?”

  “I will survive at the Fold, if I must. Reverend Crowley is not a cruel man.”

  “And his mother?”

  She shrugged, began to say something, and stopped herself.

  “All in all, it would be best for you if Mrs. Smithson were found to be innocent of all wrongdoing. Is that not true?”

  She raised her head and looked him directly in the eye. A coldness had come over her, devoid of anger or distress or confusion. “Yes,” she said. “That is true.”

  In a flurry of movement Nora Smithson was on her feet. She raised her voice so it filled the room.

  “Grace Miller,” she said. “You know I am your mother. Why are you lying?”

  Comstock and Hummel each took one of her arms and forced her back to her seat, but short of gagging her they could do nothing to stop her from voicing her opinion.

  “I will not allow her to lie in a court of law!”

  “We will break for lunch,” Carruthers said dryly. “Mr. Hummel, use this time to instruct your client on proper courtroom decorum.”

  People were on their feet and moving, but Nora Smithson’s scolding tones were still filling the room. “I will take a switch to that girl,” she was shouting. “Wait and see if I don’t.”

  She had the attention of the entire courtroom, but Jack found himself watching Grace Miller, who was sitting still in the witness box. Like everyone else her entire attention was on Nora Smithson, who was struggling to free herself from the men who surrounded her.

  “So what do you make of that?” Oscar said, lifting his chin toward the Miller girl.

  It was an excellent question, but not one that Jack could answer. Grace Miller was watching Nora Smithson with unabashed loathing writ plain on her face.

  Oscar poked him. “Anna coming this way.”

  She was moving as quickly as the crowd would allow her, and reached out as soon as she was able to clutch Jack’s arm with one hand, and Oscar’s with the other.

  “Come away,” she said. “Right now. We have to go to St. Luke’s without delay. Neill Graham is asking to see Aunt Amelie.”

  * * *

  • • •

  ANNA AND AMELIE took one cab, leaving Sophie to ride with Jack and Oscar so that she could tell them about her visit at St. Luke’s.

  “We wondered what you were up to when Amelie told us about you taking off,” Jack said.

  Oscar pulled out a handkerchief and sneezed into it. “Damn pollen. So what’s this all about, him asking to see Amelie? Did you cast a spell on him?”

  Sophie said, “I can’t take much of the credit. The doctor treating him has known Amelie since he was a boy. Vincent Maxwell, by name. From your neighborhood, Oscar.”

  “There’s a family on Charles Street by that name,” Oscar said. “Jamie and Maggie Maxwell, two sons. I knew one of them went off to study medicine, but I didn’t know where he landed.”

  By the time they reached St. Luke’s, Sophie had related the story of Vincent Maxwell’s history and the fact that he had succeeded with Neill Graham where everyone else had failed.

  There would have to be more to this story than met the eye, but if in fact Neill Graham was willing to talk to Amelie Savard, that was the place to start.

  * * *

  • • •

  AT ST. LUKE’S Sophie took Amelie’s arm as they made their way to a private ward. She was relieved to see that Dr. Maxwell stood at the nurse’s station, going over a patient history. He looked up and smiled when he saw Amelie.

  “Vincent,” Amelie said as he came toward them. She held out both hands, and he took them.

  “It has been too long,” he said. “You have been very much missed. In medical school I thought of you all the time. Now I’m wondering if I should apologize for intruding into this business.”

  Amelie took his hand again and squeezed it. “Just the opposite. I’m glad to have the chance to talk to him.”

  * * *

  • • •

  ANNA HAD HER doubts about what would come of this interview, but she trusted Amelie’s instincts and Vincent Maxwell struck her as earnest. Still she had to draw in a deep breath to make herself follow them into the private room.

  It was very crowded with all of them around the bed, but Neill Graham’s gaze fixed on Amelie alone as she took a chair beside him. Sweat soaked his pillow and the bed linens.

  Dr. Maxwell said, “Dr. Graham, do you feel up to talking to the midwife?”

  “Yes.” The muscles in Graham’s jaws and cheeks were restricting how well he could open his mouth, and his voice had a strained quality.

  “Then tell me why you’ve asked for me,” Amelie said. “I’ll help you if I can.”

  His facial muscles contorted and relaxed, once, twice, three times and then he spoke again. “Tell me what my grandfather Cameron did to my sister. It’s the only explanation for—what she is.”

  “And what is she?”

  He swallowed, visibly. “Tell me about my grandfather.”

  Hospitals were noisy places, but just now the room seemed utterly still.

  Amelie hesitated only for the barest moment. “I can tell you what I know, and what I surmise.”

  With one hand he made a gesture that asked for her to continue.

  “I know that after your grandmother died, he began to beat Nora. At first it was just a slap when she didn’t move quickly enough. Later he used a strap.

  “At some point he began to use her for sex.”

  The nurse who had come into the room after them drew in a sharp breath.

  “When your grandmother was dying she told me that she feared it would happen, that he would take an interest in Nora. She asked if I would keep an eye on her, but it was impossible, once Addy was gone. He forbade Nora from visiting me.”

  “Why?”

  The question seemed to surprise her. “Look at me.”

  After a moment he nodded.

  “In the end she came to me, I think because of Addy. Because she knew Addy trusted me.”

  Amelie had a particular way of talking to the very sick that Anna had seen many times but still did not quite understand. Empathy was a part of it, but Anna suspected that it had more to do with the fact that Amelie did not fear death.

  “Go on,” said Neill Graham.

  “Your grandfather realized she was pregnant before she did. He gave her pennyroyal tea and told her it was for her digestive troubles.”

  “She didn’t know?”

  Amelie shook her head. “But she realized something was very wrong when the cramping started. She lost the baby and kept bleeding. She turned to your grandfather but he offered her nothing, and so she came to me bleeding, fevered, on the verge of shock.”

&nb
sp; “He wanted her to die,” Graham said. “Is that it? He wanted her to die?”

  “That would be my guess,” Amelie told him. “But she wanted to live, at least until I told her that she had been with child but was no longer.”

  Amelie described the events of that day as she would to any other midwife or to a doctor, relating facts and observations in a clear, unemotional way. Even Oscar, who had no stomach for discussion of medical procedures, seemed to relax.

  She was saying, “I did what I could for her, but that night was very difficult. At one point the fever was so high that she convulsed. I called for Davvy and sent a note to your grandfather to say that she was in a bad way. He never responded.

  “When her fever was at its worst she hallucinated on and off, mistook me for your grandmother and wept so, it was heartbreaking. She spoke of you.”

  Graham started. “Me? She wouldn’t even look at me when I came to visit.”

  “But your grandfather did, didn’t he? Your grandfather was generous with you, and encouraged you. Isn’t that so?”

  “He paid for my tuition at school,” Graham said, his voice raw. “He talked to me about my education and his research.”

  “And you inherited his entire estate,” Oscar added.

  Amelie took a moment to think about that. “You got everything, but your sister he gave nothing except a child. And then he took that away too.”

  A simple truth, but it struck at Graham like a fist. He swallowed visibly, and nodded. “Go on.”

  “In the end her youth and good health pulled her through. Her fever broke and she fell into a deep sleep, and the next day she rallied. I knew she wouldn’t want to come back to see me and so I referred her to Seth Channing. I was very worried, but I didn’t dare call at the house. I didn’t hear anything back until months later, when she came to accuse me of forcing an abortion on her. I assume that’s what she told you.”

  His voice was thick. “Yes.”

  She turned a palm up in her lap and studied it for a moment. “Many times since that last day when she came to warn me I have thought of her. I can see her in my mind’s eye as she looked, sitting across from me. Pale, withdrawn, but still so resolute. So sure of what she was telling me. She convinced herself that her grandfather had no part in what she had suffered. The news that she wouldn’t be able to bear children was especially hard, and she blamed me.