Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery)

by Victoria Thompson

  “Of course you were. You had no choice, did you?”

  “I could have refused. I knew I could, because . . . But I didn’t want him to put me back in the cellar. I thought I would die if he put me back in that cellar.”

  “So you really had no choice,” Sarah insisted, trying to make Grace believe it.

  She still refused to meet Sarah’s eye, though, and stared at the wall instead. “After a while, he let me have my shift, so I didn’t have to be naked all the time. I was pathetically grateful for that, too.”

  “Of course you were. How could you not be?”

  “I just wanted to go home. I prayed and prayed. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want my father to always wonder what had become of me.”

  “You were strong and brave, Grace. You survived an ordeal that many women could not.”

  She just shook her head, unwilling to accept Sarah’s praise. “It went on and on, day after day. I thought it would never end. I thought I’d always be his prisoner.”

  “What about that last day? Do you remember that morning?”

  “I woke up in the cage, like I said. The one upstairs. Andy came to let me out. He took me to Pendergast and . . . Well, usually Pendergast made me do something to earn my breakfast, but he seemed distracted that morning. He didn’t pay any attention to me, so I just sat down on the floor, in a corner of his bedroom, and waited until he went downstairs. I got very good at that, at sitting quietly and not drawing attention. I think he sometimes forgot I was there, which was fine with me.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I waited and then followed him downstairs. He’d let me eat after he was finished. I had to sit on the floor in the dining room.”

  Sarah managed not to wince. She was beginning to regret the fact that Pendergast was dead. He deserved a far worse fate than that for the way he had dehumanized his victims. “Then what happened?”

  “I . . . I followed him when he went to his study. He wanted me nearby all the time, in case he . . . he wanted me for something. But I was quiet and I just sat out in the hall, praying he would forget I was there. He was working at his desk. He was always reading letters, the letters he got from women. And he’d write letters, too, replies to the ones he got. I wanted to sneak in there and tear them to shreds, but of course I didn’t. I thought he’d kill me if I tried. So I just sat there all morning, not moving, not making a noise.”

  “What was the next thing that he did?”

  She considered the question for a time. “Andy came to tell him it was time to eat. He finished up in his study and put all the letters away. Sometimes he’d have a letter or two with him that he wanted to mail, but I don’t think he had one this time. He went to the dining room, and I followed. I sat in the corner, waiting until he told me I could eat. But he . . . he forgot. He seemed to forget about me completely. When he went out, he didn’t even look at me.”

  “He must have had something on his mind.” Sarah realized he was probably worried about Neth. He’d sent his friend to meet Maeve, so he must have suspected something wasn’t quite right with Maeve’s letter. Why hadn’t he just not met her at all? If he hadn’t, they would have lost the opportunity of tracking the kidnapper back to his lair—even though Neth had led them to the wrong lair—and they might never have found Pendergast at all. The thought chilled her.

  “I didn’t know about your plan, of course,” Grace said. “Father told me all about it in the cab after we left Pendergast’s house. He was so impressed with the way Mr. Malloy had tricked Pendergast into meeting another girl.”

  “Except he wasn’t really tricked, but at least we were able to find you eventually.”

  She nodded, but without much enthusiasm. Being found hadn’t won her the kind of freedom she’d imagined, since she would always carry the memories of her ordeal.

  “So Pendergast seemed preoccupied that day,” Sarah reminded her.

  “Yes, he went back to his office, I think. I grabbed some food and ate it before Andy could take it away. He said some nasty things to me, but I’d learned to ignore him. I just ran out and found a corner to hide in again until Pendergast remembered and called for me.”

  “And did he?”

  “Not for a long time. I . . . I must’ve fallen asleep. I think I was dreaming I was home. I did that a lot. Fall asleep, I mean. At least when I was asleep, I wasn’t afraid. Then something woke me up. Shouting, I think. Someone was shouting.”

  “Pendergast?”

  “No. Wait, yes. They were arguing. Pendergast and someone else.”

  “Do you know who?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to remember. “I . . . I didn’t know him.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “I . . . Yes. Pendergast called me and I went in. They were in the parlor.”

  “Do you know what they were arguing about? Can you remember what they said?”

  She shook her head as if trying to dislodge the memories. “Something about Pendergast tricking him, I think. It didn’t make sense that he’d tricked a man. I thought that was strange.”

  Could it have been Neth? Could he have run to Pendergast when he escaped them the first time? He’d certainly had time to run to Pendergast’s house, and he would’ve been angry. “Then what happened?”

  “Pendergast was so angry with me. He said it was my fault.”

  “What was your fault?”

  “I didn’t know. I remember him shouting at me. He hit me, I think, at least once.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I . . . That’s where it all gets fuzzy. After he hit me, I mean. I see figures, but not clearly. I don’t know who they are. People were shouting, but I’m not sure who or what they were saying. And I remember Pendergast grabbing me by the arms and shaking me, and the blood—” She gagged at the memory and clamped both hands over her mouth.

  “Take a deep breath,” Sarah said. “There, that’s right.” She waited until Grace was calm again. “What’s the next thing you remember?”

  She frowned in concentration. “You, I think. You helping me up and taking me upstairs. I didn’t think you were real at first. I thought I was dreaming.”

  Sarah squeezed her hand again. “Do you still think you killed Pendergast?”

  She concentrated some more. “Someone else was there. I remember that now.”

  “A man, you said.”

  “The man he was arguing with, yes.”

  “Was he still there when Pendergast grabbed you that final time? When you saw the blood?”

  Grace stared back at her for a long moment, her forehead furrowed as she tried to recall. “I don’t know. All I can see is his face. Pendergast, I mean. He was furious, screaming at me. I thought he was going to kill me. I . . . I’m not sure if anyone else was there or not.”

  “That’s all right. You may remember more later.”

  Someone tapped on the door. Sarah got up to answer it and found Daisy, the maid, standing there, wringing her hands anxiously.

  “Mr. Livingston said we was to pack up Miss Grace’s things. He’s taking her away to the shore, he said.”

  Sarah nodded. Of course. Malloy had probably advised taking her out of the city, beyond the reach of the police if they intended to arrest her. “I’ll tell Miss Livingston.”

  At first Grace balked at the idea of even leaving her bed, but after Sarah explained they were trying to hide her so the police couldn’t arrest her for Pendergast’s murder, she reluctantly agreed. Barely an hour later, she was dressed and packed, and the Livingstons were in a cab heading for the train station.

  “How will they know when it’s safe to come back?” Sarah asked when the cab had turned the corner out of sight.

  “Livingston is going to send you a telegram telling you where they are once they get settled.”

  “Me?�
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  “I didn’t think it was a good idea for him to tell me. That way I don’t have to lie to Broghan, if it comes to that.”

  Sarah nodded. “Very clever. Now what do we do?”

  “We take a cab back to your house, and on the way you can tell me what you found out from Grace.”

  • • •

  Frank listened with growing fury to Grace Livingston’s story.

  “I hate the thought that you had to hear all that,” he said when Sarah had finished.

  “And I hate the thought that Grace and those other women had to endure it. Do you realize how methodical Pendergast was? He must have experimented with his captives to figure out the best way—or I guess I should say the worst way—to ensure they would become completely subservient.”

  “I wish we’d found this Andy character. He might be able to answer some questions for us, like what became of the other women.”

  “He might have been the man Grace heard Pendergast arguing with, too. And if he was . . .”

  “He might also be the one who killed him,” Frank said, thinking how convenient that would be, if they could only prove it.

  “Are the police looking for him?”

  Frank shrugged. “Did you ask Grace about the woman we found in the cellar?”

  “I didn’t have a chance. I didn’t want to interrupt her story, and then the maid came and we had to pack. She didn’t mention her, but it seems unlikely they could be held prisoner in the same house and not at least be aware of it.”

  “That woman in the cellar—”

  “Rose.”

  “Rose,” he repeated obediently. “She kept saying she wasn’t going to, uh, cooperate anymore.”

  “I got the idea she was being punished in some way, too. Grace said that she got rewards for being ‘good,’ like coming upstairs and getting to wear some clothing. I’m guessing Rose had not been ‘good,’ and Pendergast was trying to break her will. Oh, wait. I almost forgot. At one point Grace said she knew it was possible to rebel, but she couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the cage in the cellar.”

  “So maybe she was aware of the woman down there and why she was down there.”

  Sarah sighed in discouragement. Frank hated that sound. “I wish I knew what happened to Rose,” she said. “I hate to think of her alone on the streets.”

  “We could check with her family to see if she turned up.”

  She widened her eyes at him. “How could we do that?”

  “I think I have her address.” He pulled out the little notebook in which he’d copied the addresses from the letters in Pendergast’s desk. “Rose Wolfe. She’s the only Rose, so it must be her.”

  “What’s the address?”

  Frank pointed.

  “Can we go there? Right now?”

  “What are you going to say when they ask you what you want?”

  He loved watching her expressions when she was trying to figure something out. After a few moments, she said, “I’ll just ask for Miss Rose Wolfe. If they want to know anything else, I’ll just say I’m a friend of hers. If she got home, she may be willing to see me. If she’s still missing, maybe her family will want to talk to me. I can probably convince them to search for her, too.”

  This sounded reasonable to Frank, or at least as reasonable as anything about this case could be. He banged on the top of the cab, signaling for the driver to stop, and gave him their new destination.

  The house wasn’t too far from the Livingstons’ home in Murray Hill. The quiet street was home to successful men who had provided well for their families. Frank dismissed the cab, and they climbed the front steps and rang the bell. As they had expected, a maid answered, and her eyes widened when Sarah asked to see Miss Rose Wolfe. She looked them over as if trying to judge whether they were worthy of being invited inside.

  “Is Miss Wolfe at home?” Sarah asked when the maid hesitated a bit too long, using that tone servants instinctively obeyed.

  “I . . . I couldn’t say, I’m sure. Would you . . . ? Would you come inside and wait while I see?”

  Frank didn’t know a lot about being rich, but he knew that if you had servants, you could pretend you weren’t home if someone you didn’t want to see came to visit. The Wolfe family wasn’t as rich as some. They didn’t have a whole room where uninvited guests could sit while the maid asked if she should admit them or send them on their way. Instead, she left them standing in the front hall after getting their names to announce to her mistress or whoever really was at home. So they were rich enough, Frank judged.

  A few minutes later, the maid returned, and although she was obviously still suspicious, she said, “Mrs. Wolfe will see you.”

  Frank exchanged a glance with Sarah, whose frown told him she was also intrigued. Was Mrs. Wolfe Rose’s mother? The maid escorted them to the formal parlor, a room furnished with amazing restraint. Frank had never been fond of the currently fashionable “overstuffed” method of decorating, which required cramming as much furniture, drapery, and knickknacks into a room as possible. This room had an airy feel to it, with natural sunlight filtering through the sheer drapes. The furniture curved gracefully instead of squatting, as the horsehair-stuffed chairs and sofas he saw so often seemed to do. The only thing unwelcoming here was the beautiful woman standing in the center of it.

  • • •

  Sarah had no idea who the woman might be, but she recognized the fierce determination in her eyes. If she was a member of Rose’s family, Rose would be well defended.

  Mrs. Wolfe looked them over without bothering to hide her suspicion. She wore her honey brown hair in the latest fashion, and her dress had been custom-made to fit her figure perfectly. She had also been trained from birth how to handle any social situation except, probably, this one. “Mrs. Brandt, is it?”

  “Yes,” Sarah said. “Thank you for receiving us, Mrs. Wolfe. May I present my fiancé, Frank Malloy?”

  This information only made Mrs. Wolfe more suspicious. “May I ask why you are here?”

  Sarah gave Malloy a warning glance, in case he felt he should reply. Luckily, he looked less likely to speak than the table standing nearby. “I’m hoping to speak with Miss Rose Wolfe.”

  “And how are you acquainted with her?”

  “We met recently. I was able to offer her some assistance, and I was hoping to find her here.”

  “And how did you know where she lives?”

  “I . . .” She glanced at Malloy, but he obviously couldn’t think of a logical explanation that wouldn’t reveal the details of Rose’s ordeal either. “Mrs. Wolfe, we know that Rose was missing from her home for a period of time. Where she was during that time is her story to tell, and I will not betray her confidence. The only reason we are here is to find out if she arrived here safely and if we can be of any further assistance to her.”

  “Who are you?” Mrs. Wolfe demanded, not bothering to conceal her fury any longer.

  Sarah hesitated, not quite sure how to reply, but Malloy had the perfect response. “I’m a private investigator. I was hired to find a young woman who had gone missing, and in the process, we located Miss Wolfe as well.”

  It wasn’t the exact truth, but close enough. Even better, it was just the right information to allay Mrs. Wolfe’s fears, if not her anger. “You found her, but you abandoned her to the streets? Do you have any idea the condition she was in when she arrived here yesterday?”

  “So she is here?” Sarah cried, relief flooding her. “Thank heaven.” For a second, she thought her knees might buckle, but Malloy grabbed her arm and supported her.

  “Could we sit down?” he asked.

  Seeing Sarah’s distress, Mrs. Wolfe said, “Of course. I’m sorry. I should have . . .” Plainly, she wasn’t at all sure she should have done anything, but Malloy helped Sarah to a sofa and helped her sit.

 
Sarah looked up to see Mrs. Wolfe still glaring at her. “We wanted to help Miss Wolfe, but she was so eager to get home, she left before we could do anything for her.”

  “You’ll forgive me if I’m not entirely grateful,” Mrs. Wolfe said. “I’m still not certain what your role was in Rose’s disappearance.”

  “We weren’t involved with that at all, I can assure you.”

  “And since Rose hasn’t told us where she’s been these weeks, I can’t even be sure she needed rescuing, if that is what you’re claiming to have done.”

  “We aren’t claiming anything,” Malloy said, letting his own irritation show.

  “And when Rose arrived here, she was filthy,” Mrs. Wolfe said, unconcerned about Malloy’s annoyance. “She’d run through the streets in her stocking feet. Her stockings were in ribbons, and her feet were cut and bleeding. Besides that, she looked like she’d been starved. Her hair was a mess and hanging in her face. She came to the back door and scared the servants half to death. They thought she was a madwoman and almost didn’t let her in.”

  “I’m sure it was distressing to see her in that condition,” Sarah said, having no trouble at all sympathizing.

  “Particularly when we thought she had eloped.” Mrs. Wolfe glared at them as if they were personally responsible for Rose’s behavior. Perhaps she thought they were.

  “Has she told you anything at all?”

  “Just that she—” Her voice broke and along with it her composure. Tears flooded her eyes. “We were so afraid we’d never see her again!”

  Sarah jumped up and went to comfort her. “I know. You must have been terrified when she disappeared.” She took Mrs. Wolfe’s arm and led her to the sofa where she’d been sitting.

  “Can I get you something?” Sarah asked.

  Mrs. Wolfe sighed as Sarah sat down beside her. “I think we could all do with some refreshment. Mr. . . . Malloy, is it? Would you pull the bell cord, please?”

  Malloy did as he’d been bid, and in a moment a maid came in. Mrs. Wolfe ordered a tea tray. Before dismissing the maid, she turned to Sarah. “Do you think Rose would want to see you?”