Murder on Lenox Hill
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Author’s Note
“Victoria Thompson shines . . .
Anne Perry and Caleb Carr fans rejoice!”
—Tamar Myers, author of Thou Shalt Not Grill
Praise for the Edgar® Award-nominated Gaslight Mystery series
MURDER ON LENOX HILL
“If you’re a fan of Agatha Christie or Anne Perry, [this book] is just your cup of tea. A perfect mystery for a dark and stormy night or a summer day, Murder on Lenox Hill is sure to satisfy the most fickle sleuth.”
—Roundtable Reviews
“Well-crafted . . . Good plot twists and a highly satisfactory wrap-up mark this as the work of a master of the period mystery.” —Publishers Weekly
“Transports the reader back in time . . . Victoria Thompson’s Gaslight Mysteries are first-rate, with a vivid historical setting and a hero and heroine that will keep readers eagerly returning to Sarah Brandt’s New York City.”
—The Mystery Reader
“The events of Murder on Lenox Hill could have come out of recent headlines . . . Fast-paced . . . This is a tremendous entry in one of the best historical series.”
—Midwest Book Review
“[An] atmosphere-drenched historical series. The developing relationship between Sarah and Frank . . . adds a new dimension to the series.” —Booklist
“A fine turn-of-the-twentieth-century historical.”
—Library Journal
“A convincing tale of depravity and death among the upper classes of old New York.” —Kirkus Reviews
MURDER ON MARBLE ROW
“Victoria Thompson has crafted another Victorian page-turner.” —Robin Paige, author of Death on the Lizard
“Cleverly plotted . . . provides abundant fair play and plenty of convincing period detail. This light, quick read engages the readers’ emotions.” —Publishers Weekly
“Engaging characters . . . an enjoyable read.”
—Margaret Frazer, author of The Hunter’s Tale
“Victoria Thompson has a knack for putting the reader inside her characters’ heads, and her detailed descriptions of New York at the turn of the century bring the setting vividly to life.”—Kate Kingsbury, author of Paint by Number
“Each novel in the Gaslight Mystery series just keeps getting better . . . [Murder on Marble Row] is well-executed and the ending will come as a complete surprise.”
—Midwest Book Review
MURDER ON MULBERRY BEND
“An exciting intrigue of murder, deception, and bigotry. Gangs of New York eat your heart out—this book is the real thing.” —Mystery Scene
“A thrilling, informative, challenging mystery.”
—The Drood Review of Mystery
“There are few mysteries set back in history that I enjoy reading. This mystery series is one of those. The characters and settings are so real . . . I highly recommend this book and series.” —The Best Reviews
MURDER ON ST. MARK’S PLACE Nominated for the Edgar ® Award
“Lovers of history, mystery, and romance won’t be disappointed. Exciting . . . will hold the reader in thrall.”
—Romantic Times
MURDER ON GRAMERCY PARK
“The inclusions of [historical] facts make this novel . . . superior to most of those found in the subgenre . . . The lead protagonists are a winning combination.”
—BookBrowser
MURDER ON WASHINGTON SQUARE
“Victoria Thompson’s Gaslight Mysteries are always . . . exciting treats to read.” —BookBrowser
MURDER ON ASTOR PLACE Nominated for the Best First Mystery Award by Romantic Times magazine
“Victoria Thompson is off to a blazing start with Sarah Brandt and Frank Malloy in Murder on Astor Place. I do hope she’s starting at the beginning of the alphabet. Don’t miss her first tantalizing mystery.”
—Catherine Coulter, New York Times bestselling author
“A marvelous debut mystery with compelling characters, a fascinating setting, and a stunning resolution. It’s the best mystery I’ve read in ages.”
—Jill Churchill, author of The Merchant of Menace
Gaslight Mysteries by Victoria Thompson
MURDER ON ASTOR PLACE
MURDER ON ST. MARK’S PLACE
MURDER ON GRAMERCY PARK
MURDER ON WASHINGTON SQUARE
MURDER ON MULBERRY BEND
MURDER ON MARBLE ROW
MURDER ON LENOX HILL
MURDER IN LITTLE ITALY
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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MURDER ON LENOX HILL
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2006 by Victoria Thompson.
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To Liam, my
favorite little boy, and his mommy Lisa
who gave me the solution to this one!
1
THE WEATHER WAS SO MISERABLE, EVEN MRS. ELLSWORTH was indoors, Sarah Brandt noted as she hurried down the windy street to her house. Her next-door neighbor could nearly always be found sweeping her front stoop in order to keep track of the comings and goings of the other residents of Bank Street. Today Sarah passed unnoticed, hurrying up her front steps and fumbling with her key before finally finding refuge inside.
Slamming the front door against the cold, Sarah immediately dropped her medical bag, the one that still bore the brass plate with the inscription “Dr. Thomas Brandt.” Her husband had been dead nearly four years, but she still used his bag. It was the one tangible reminder she had left of him.
She stood still for a moment, chafing the feeling back into her gloved hands before removing her cape. Then, just as she had expected, she heard the clatter of running feet across the floor above and down the uncarpeted steps into the foyer where she waited. Her heart lifted with joy at the sound.
“Be careful!” she cried instinctively, half-expecting to hear a small body start to tumble down the stairs.
But the footsteps were as sure as they were swift, and in another instant, that small body emerged from the stairwell and launched itself at Sarah, wrapping surprisingly strong arms around her knees through the thickness of her skirts.
“Don’t knock her over, Aggie!” a warning voice called from the stairway, and then Maeve appeared, moving more sedately but equally happy to see Sarah, if her smile was any indication.
Sarah reached down and pulled Aggie up into her arms. “How’s my girl today?” she asked, knowing she wouldn’t receive a reply. Although Sarah estimated that Aggie had to be at least four years old, she hadn’t uttered a word since the day she’d been found sleeping on the doorstep of the Prodigal Son Mission last spring. No one knew where she’d come from or even what her real name was.
“She’s been good,” Maeve reported. “Ate two pieces of butter bread for breakfast, and let me braid her hair, she did.” Maeve was another refugee from the mission, a girl whose family had turned her out to fend for herself in the streets because they could no longer afford to feed her. She was proving to be a very satisfactory nanny for Aggie.
“That explains why she’s getting so heavy,” Sarah said, playfully bouncing the child in her arms. “Do you like your braids?”
Aggie grinned and shook her head vigorously, making the neat, brown braids whip around the sides of her head and forcing Sarah to draw her own head back to keep from getting slapped, too.
“I think she means yes,” Maeve said, unable to conceal her pride. “She’s been doing that all morning. Come along now, Aggie, and let Mrs. Brandt get her coat off.”
Aggie let Maeve take her from Sarah’s arms and set her on the floor, but her shining brown eyes never left Sarah’s face as she removed her cloak and hat and hung them on the rack by the door. Sarah reached for her medical bag, but Aggie beat her to it. Using both hands and a great deal of effort, she half-carried, half-dragged the heavy bag into the adjoining room, which served as Sarah’s office, and set it beside her desk.
“Is . . . was everything all right?” Maeve asked hesitantly as she and Sarah followed Aggie into the room.
“Oh, yes,” Sarah said. “A healthy baby boy, and the mother is doing fine.”
In the weeks that Maeve and Aggie had been living with Sarah, Maeve had learned that Sarah’s job as a midwife didn’t always result in healthy mothers and babies.
Aggie looked up curiously at the mention of a baby. “That’s right, Aggie,” Sarah explained. “I helped a lady with her new baby today. It was a little boy, and they named him Jacob.”
Aggie smiled with pleasure.
“You must be so tired, Mrs. Brandt,” Maeve said. Sarah had been summoned to the delivery just after supper last night, and it had been a very long night. “Are you hungry? I can make you some eggs or something before you go to sleep.”
Sarah was perfectly capable of making her own eggs, but she said, “That would be wonderful. I’m starving.” She knew how eager Maeve was to demonstrate her new cooking skills. “Did the mail come?” she added.
“Not yet, but I almost forgot, a man left a note for you. It’s there on the desk.”
“A man?” Sarah asked, picking up the envelope. The paper was good quality, and the handwriting a woman’s.
“Nice-looking gent, for all he was kind of old. Clean and polite, and not in a hurry either,” she reported as she headed for the kitchen. “I told him you was out, in case it was a baby being born, but he said it wasn’t no emergency,” she added over her shoulder.
Ordinarily, Sarah would have corrected her grammar, but she was too interested in opening the note. Inside was a request for her to call at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Wilfred Linton at her earliest convenience for a consultation. The address was on the Upper East Side in the Lenox Hill neighborhood. That told her the Lintons were comfortably middle class. They could most likely afford a doctor to attend Mrs. Linton’s pregnancy, but perhaps they preferred a midwife because of Mrs. Linton’s delicate sensibilities. Whatever the case, Sarah could at least expect to collect her full fee from this family. That didn’t always happen when she delivered a baby on the Lower East Side of the city.
Sarah was pleased that someone as respectable as the Lintons had sought her out, because they must have been referred by one of her other patients. “Isn’t that nice?” she asked Aggie, not expecting a reply. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve been doing this morning while Maeve cooks my breakfast?”
The small girl grinned hugely, grabbed Sarah’s hand, and began dragging her back toward the stairs to the floor above. Those upstairs rooms had been originally intended for the children Sarah had never been able to bear Tom. Long empty, now they finally held the family Sarah had longed for.
AFTER A NICE, LONG NAP, SARAH FELT RECOVERED enough to call on the Lintons late that afternoon, when she expected Mrs. Linton would be “at home” for visitors. She walked up to Fourteenth Street and took the Ninth Avenue elevated train to Fifty-ninth Street and then took a streetcar across town to the Lenox Hill area. The afternoon sun had warmed the winter chill somewhat, but Sarah was still glad to be admitted to the comfortable warmth of the Linton home.
A young Irish girl took her wrap and showed her into the fashionably furnished parlor where Mrs. Linton had just put aside some needlework and her husband laid down a book. They both rose somewhat anxiously when Sarah was announced, and she was a little surprised to see how old they were, at least in their fifties. If Mrs. Linton were indeed pregnant, it would be somewhat of a miracle and certainly a cause for concern.
“Mrs. Brandt, how good of you to come so quickly,” Mrs. Linton said after she’d introduced herself and her husband. “Please sit down. Kathleen, would you bring Mrs. Brandt some fresh tea?”
While they waited for the maid to return with Sarah’s tea, the two women engaged in polite small talk while Mr. Linton sat in strained silence, as if too shy to participate but too polite to walk out. Mrs. Linton was small with fine features and neat, ash-brown hair that was nearly half-gray. She’d been a pretty girl who had matured into a handsome woman. Mr. Linton was balding and his waist had thickened with age, but he carried himself with an air of confidence that told even a casual observer that he considered himself a successful man and was proud of his accomplishments.
Sarah and Mrs. Linton complained about the weather and hoped spring would be early this year. Mrs. Linton told Sarah the name of the lady who had referred her to Sarah and reported that she and her child were still doing nicely. No one wanted to discuss delicate matters until they could be sure the serving girl would not accidentally overhear.
Finally, Kathleen delivered the tea things, and Mrs. Linton informed her they were not to be disturbed again. Mrs. Linton waited until the doors had closed behind her, and then another few moments, to be sure she
was well away.
“I’m sure you must be wondering why we needed to see you, Mrs. Brandt,” Mrs. Linton began, folding her hands tightly in her lap, as if to steady herself.
Sarah tried a reassuring smile. “I assumed that you needed my professional services.”
To Sarah’s surprise, Mrs. Linton’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes, we . . .” Her voice broke, and she looked at her husband helplessly.
“Now, Mother,” he said more kindly than Sarah could have imagined. “We must be brave.” But Sarah saw his eyes were moist, too.
“Yes, dear, of course,” Mrs. Linton said, dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief and stiffening her back purposefully. “I’m sorry, but when you know, you’ll understand. You see, it’s our daughter . . .”
“Grace,” Mr. Linton supplied when his wife nearly lost her composure again. “Our little Gracie,” he said more softly and with a tenderness that touched Sarah’s heart. “She’s seventeen.”
“She’s our only child,” Mrs. Linton quickly explained. “We’d given up all hope of ever having a family. I was one week shy of turning forty when she was born. We were so happy . . .”
Sarah could see something had marred that happiness, and she could guess what. “Was something wrong?”
“We never guessed, not at first,” Mrs. Linton assured her anxiously.
“She’s a beautiful girl,” Mr. Linton said with a combination of sadness and pride. “Perfect in every way.”
“Except . . .” Mrs. Linton dropped her gaze to the handkerchief she clutched in her lap.
Sarah waited, giving them time to tell her in their own way what she already knew.