“Heavens no. She was perfectly normal, at least as far as anyone knew, until . . . let me see, I suppose she must’ve been around twenty when her brother died.”
“How did he die?”
“Oh, it was the most horrible thing. He was riding one of those bicycle contraptions, and a carriage ran him over. Broke his neck, they said. They should be outlawed, if you ask me. The bicycles, I mean. I can’t imagine why any sane person would get on one in the first place.”
Frank didn’t point out that the police department had found them so useful that they’d started a bicycle squad. “Was it her brother’s death that, uh . . .” He struggled to find the right words, but she was ahead of him.
“That unhinged her?” she supplied helpfully. “Oh, my, yes. They were twins, you see, so they’d always been close. She took to her bed for weeks afterwards, her mother told me. No one could console her, and then she started acting so strangely. She thought people were talking to her when no one was there, and she decided everyone was lying to her and her brother was still alive.”
“I suppose they called in some doctors,” Frank said.
“For what little good it did. They said to keep her locked in a dark, quiet room and make sure her life was as calm as possible. As if they had any choice. They certainly couldn’t let her out of the house in her condition.”
“You said ‘they.’ How much family did she have left? Were both her parents still alive?”
“They were the last time I heard anything about them.”
“What sort of man was her father?” Frank asked, finishing off the last of his cake and hoping Mrs. Peabody would offer him some more.
She seemed puzzled by the question. “He was a business-man. I’m not quite sure what business he was in, but they were quite comfortable, if that’s what you mean.”
“Did he have a temper?”
“Not that I ever saw, but then, I wouldn’t, would I? He was devoted to his children, though. I do know that. They both were. Losing the boy was terrible, but then they lost their daughter, too, in a way. I don’t know how they bore it.”
“When did they move away?”
“Oh, dear, let me think. Two years ago at least. Yes, it was before my last grandchild was born, and he’ll be two in May. I remember because I’d just told Mrs. Alberton we were expecting him when she told me they were moving out of the city. They hoped Christina would improve if they lived in the country, you see.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“Yonkers, I believe. Mr. Alberton still works in the city, so they couldn’t go far. Would you like some more cake, Mr. Malloy? You seemed to enjoy it so much.”
“Yes, I believe I will, Mrs. Peabody,” he said, holding out his plate. “You wouldn’t know their current address, would you?”
“I don’t think so, I’m sorry to say, but they shouldn’t be too difficult to find. Alberton isn’t a common name.”
Frank accepted the second helping of cake and tried to think of something else she might know that could help him. “I don’t suppose you know if the move to the country helped the girl or not.”
“Not for certain, of course, but I did hear through some mutual friends that they finally had to put her into a sanitarium. For her own safety, you understand.”
Frank winced inwardly. Under those circumstances, the Albertons weren’t going to be eager to speak to a policeman. If Mr. Alberton had killed Tom Brandt, he’d avoid the police like the plague, and even if he hadn’t, he wasn’t likely to want to talk about his poor daughter’s tragedy.
He had to face it: he wasn’t going to be able to get any further on this case. He was the wrong social class, the wrong nationality, and the wrong religion, and as if that weren’t enough, he was a policeman. No respectable Protestant family in the city would allow an Irish Catholic cop into their home unless compelled by some horrible event that had made them the victim of a crime. Even then, their cooperation would likely be perfunctory and reluctant. He’d just been reminded of that when dealing with the members of the Church of the Good Shepherd.
As Mrs. Peabody chattered on about inconsequential things, Frank thought about going back to Felix Decker to tell him he’d failed. The prospect turned the cake he was eating into sawdust in his mouth. No, he’d rather be horse-whipped than do that, but what else could he do?
SARAH WAS HELPING AGGIE PUT TOGETHER A PUZZLE UPSTAIRS in the playroom the following Sunday afternoon when the doorbell rang. Aggie frowned, knowing it was probably someone summoning Sarah to a delivery. Sarah felt a stab of disappointment herself. She’d been looking forward to spending this gloomy winter afternoon with Aggie.
The girl followed her down the stairs, clinging to her skirt as if she could keep her from going, but Sarah’s mood lifted instantly when she saw a familiar silhouette on the frosted glass of the front door.
She was already smiling when she opened it to admit Malloy and Brian, who was fairly bouncing with anticipation. When everyone had been properly greeted and coats removed and hung up, Aggie and Brian raced upstairs to the playroom.
“Where’s Maeve?” Malloy asked, chafing his hands to warm them.
“She has the day off. Come into the kitchen.”
He glanced up the stairs. “Do we dare leave them alone?”
“Not for long. We’ll check on them in a few minutes.”
When they were settled at the kitchen table with coffee and some of Mrs. Ellsworth’s apple pie, Sarah told him what she’d heard from Mrs. Linton.
“Mrs. Linton is taking Grace to stay with some friends in New Jersey, and she’ll have the baby there. They’re going to bring it back and announce that they’ve adopted it. There may be some gossip, but they plan to ignore it and stick to their story.”
“What about Percy? Does he know he’s going to be a father?”
“They aren’t going to tell him until he’s older. I imagine he’ll eventually figure it out for himself, even if they don’t. Mrs. Evans and Mrs. York have promised that they will help support the child in case . . . well, in case it’s like Grace and needs that support.”
“Any word on the Widow Upchurch?” Malloy asked sarcastically.
“None at all! Apparently, she just packed up her things and disappeared. No one even knows where she went, although she told me she had an uncle in Albany who would take her in.”
“Young Isaiah must be heartbroken,” he observed.
“I suspect he is,” Sarah said, “but he’ll get over losing her soon enough, I imagine. Someday, he’ll even count his blessings.”
They sipped their coffee in companionable silence for a few minutes, and then he said, “Remember when I told you about those women your husband treated?”
“The ones who were . . . deluded?” she asked, not pleased with the word she’d chosen, but knowing it made sense to him.
“That’s right. I found out at least one of them is in a sanitarium.”
“How awful,” she said. “Do you still think they have something to do with Tom’s death?”
“It’s possible, but I can’t find out for sure.”
“Why not?” she asked, feeling a stab of disappointment.
“Because none of their families will talk to a cop.”
“But you’re investigating a murder,” she argued.
“Not officially,” he said. “And if I offend these people, and they didn’t have anything to do with your husband’s murder . . .”
“They’ll complain about you,” she supplied. “Maybe even get you fired.”
He hadn’t wanted to tell her that, but she certainly didn’t think any less of him for it. He had a son to support, and he needed his job.
“Is there something I can do?” she asked. “Could I talk to the families? Surely they’d speak to me,” she argued.
He fairly cringed at the prospect. “No, you can’t,” he informed her. “If one of them killed your husband, he might decide to kill you, too, if you come snooping around.”
Sarah hadn’t considered that possibility, and it sobered her. “Then what can I do?”
She could see he’d thought this through carefully, but he still hated to ask her. “If I was officially assigned to the case, I wouldn’t have to worry about offending anybody.”
She understood instantly. “I could ask Teddy to reopen the investigation and assign you,” she said, referring to her old friend Teddy Roosevelt. “He’d be happy to do it, I’m sure.”
He didn’t seem as pleased by her offer as she’d expected. “Think about this before you make any offers. Don’t forget that solving a murder isn’t always good. Sometimes people find out things they didn’t want to know.”
“You mean like with Upchurch.”
“Exactly like that.”
She stared at him, trying to see behind his neutral cop’s expression. “Tom was a good man, Malloy. You won’t find anything I don’t want to know.”
“But if I do . . .”
“You won’t. I just want to find his killer. I need to know why he died.”
“It won’t change anything,” he warned her. “He’ll still be dead.”
She hadn’t thought of it that way. Was that what she wanted? Of course it was. She wanted Tom back, alive, and everything the way it had been. But that would never happen. He was gone forever. “The man who killed Tom robbed me of my husband and robbed the world of a great doctor and a wonderful person,” she said. “He has no right to be walking around free. I want him punished.”
He stared back at her for a long moment, as if judging her resolve. Then, as if satisfied, he nodded once. “Talk to Roosevelt, then.”
Just then they heard a loud thump from upstairs, reminding them they’d left the children alone too long.
“I guess we’d better check on them,” Sarah said, glad to change the subject.
Malloy followed her through the house to the stairway. From above, she could hear someone talking, and for an instant she simply wondered whose voice it was. In the next instant she realized whose it had to be.
It was Aggie’s voice. She was talking to Brian. Sarah stopped dead, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up the stairs toward the sound.
Behind her, Malloy started to speak, but she hushed him, putting a finger to her lips. From above, the tiny sounds floated down to them.
“I know you can’t hear me, Brian, and that’s why I’m telling you. Everybody thinks my name is Aggie, but it’s not. My name is Catherine.”
Sarah turned to Malloy as tears flooded her eyes. She saw her own wonder reflected on his face. “She can talk,” she whispered.
She never knew which of them moved first, but in the next second she was in his arms, clinging to him as she sobbed against his chest. She wept out her joy for the child that was now her daughter, her grief for the husband she had lost, her sorrow for the pain she’d seen so many innocents suffer these past weeks, and her gratitude that she had Malloy to share it with.
As he crushed her to him, she knew that no matter what happened, they would be all right.
Author’s Note
I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK. YOUR SUPPORT HAS made the Gaslight Mysteries a success and helped ensure there will be more books to come! I’ve heard from some fans who were interested to know why I chose to have Brian learn American Sign Language instead of attending a school where he would learn to speak. After researching the various schools of thought about teaching the deaf, I came to the same conclusion that Frank Malloy did. If Brian had lost his hearing after he had learned to speak, I would have sent him to a school where he would learn to speak. Since he has never heard the spoken word, and my research indicated that those who are born deaf have a difficult time learning to speak, I chose to have him learn to sign.
Please let me know how you enjoyed this latest installment of the Gaslight Series. You may contact me through my web page at victoriathompson.com.
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