Away in a Manger

by Rhys Bowen

  “Was he sick when you left Fairview?”

  “He wasn’t well, but nothing like I’ve heard recently. They say he has a full-time nurse.”

  I didn’t share my suspicions about the nurse but instead I said, “The nurse wasn’t there when you were dismissed then? Exactly when was that?”

  “This spring. March, it was. I couldn’t believe it when Mr. Eustace told me. He claimed I’d been disrespectful and he wanted someone with more modern ideas than me. But I think it was on account of the letter.”

  “Letter?” I asked.

  She nodded. “A letter came for Mr. Montague. I saw it on the salver in the front hall, and I thought I recognized Miss Margaret’s handwriting. I was going to take it straight up to the master but Mr. Eustace arrived. ‘I think this might be from Miss Margaret,’ I said. And he said, ‘You know we’ve been forbidden to mention her name again. Give that to me. It would only upset my uncle.’ And he took it and stuffed it into his pocket. And right after that I was told my services were no longer needed.”

  “How sad,” I said. “Margaret wrote to her father. She might have been welcomed back and still been alive now.”

  “You’re sure she’s dead?” Mrs. Braithwaite asked.

  I opened my handbag and took out the photograph. When she saw it she put her hand to her mouth and gave a little cry. “Oh, my poor darling girl,” she said. “Do they know what happened to her? What fiend did this?”

  “She was fished from the East River, but she was already dead when someone threw her body in,” I said. “And between the two of us, Mrs. Braithwaite, I can’t help wondering if Eustace Everett didn’t engineer the whole thing. If he’d retrieved the letter he could have written to Margaret in New York, telling her to meet him, that he’d drive her out to see her father. And on the way he killed her.”

  She looked at me with horror. “Surely not, ma’am? I mean I’ve never really taken to Mr. Eustace, even before I was dismissed without a thank you. But a murderer? He’s family, after all.”

  “Family with a lot to lose,” I said. “Tell me, do you remember a locket that Margaret wore?”

  “Of course.” Her face lit up again. “A pretty little thing with pearls around the outside and her initials on it. Her mother had it made for her christening with a lock of Margaret and David’s baby hair inside. After her mother died she never took it off.”

  “We had that locket until a couple of days ago,” I said, and related the whole interaction with Eustace.

  She gasped with shock. “Then the man is evil incarnate. Make sure you watch over those precious children well, Mrs. Sullivan. Who knows what he’ll do next?”

  Until then it hadn’t actually occurred to me that the children might be in danger. I felt a great urgency to rush home and make sure they were safe. “I should be going,” I said. “I’ve taken enough of your time, and I need to get back to my own family in the city.”

  “You won’t stay and have a bite of pie?” she said. “It will be out of the oven in a minute or two.”

  “As tempting as that is, I really should go,” I said. “I’m so glad we’ve had this talk. It confirmed everything I have suspected.” As I got up I thought of something else. “Margaret’s brother, David. I understand he died in a riding accident?”

  “He did, very tragic. He was a reckless boy, fun-loving, but with such a good heart. There was no malice to him.”

  “It was definitely an accident, was it?”

  “Oh, yes. He fell when his horse was jumping a gate.” Then her expression changed. “There was something strange, now that you mention it,” she said. “One of the grooms. Simpson, his name was. He claimed that he thought the girth had been tampered with—almost cut through. But he liked his tipple and he was dismissed for negligence right away. But after what you’ve told me, he might have been right.”

  “But Mr. Eustace wasn’t there at the time, surely?”

  “Oh, yes he was, ma’am. He came to live at Fairview right after Margaret eloped with the singing teacher. He’d been out riding with David.”

  “I must get back,” I said. “I have to do something before it’s too late.”

  “Do you think you can do anything, Mrs. Sullivan?” she asked.

  “I’ll give it a darned good try,” I replied. “And Mrs. Braithwaite—don’t tell anyone that you had this little talk with me. I wouldn’t want you put into any kind of danger.”

  The train ride back to the Long Island terminus seemed to drag on forever. I was impatient to make sure the children were safe, and to bring Eustace Everett to justice. In my mind I saw how he orchestrated the whole thing since coming to his uncle’s house. First by planning the death of David, the heir, then by firing all the old retainers and bringing in new servants. And finally by putting Mr. Montague’s care in the hands of a nurse whom I suspected of gradually killing him. I realized that none of this could be proven unless the sample of medicine I had concealed in my handkerchief was indeed some kind of drug or poison.

  I was never more relieved to be walking up Patchin Place. The family was assembled in the kitchen, eating some of the fruits of my mother-in-law’s latest baking. The aromas of cinnamon and spice and freshly baked bread were intoxicating. Daniel was sitting at the table with a pillow in his back. “Well, there you all are,” I said, beaming at them as I took off my scarf and gloves.

  “I hope you told them we wanted a big plump one,” Daniel’s mother said, looking up from the stove.

  I had no idea what she was saying, until she added. “The turkey. You went out to order the turkey from the butcher, if I remember rightly. And to do some shopping, but I don’t see any packages.”

  “I might not want you to see any packages,” I said, smiling mysteriously. “I might have left them across the street.”

  “Those street children have been over here for most of the day,” Daniel said. “They’ve played very nicely, I must say. Good kids.”

  “But they are safely back with Sid and Gus now, are they?” I asked, terrified that something might have happened to them. It was only as I said it that I realized I might have given myself away, having claimed to have dropped off packages there. But nobody seemed to notice anything amiss.

  “Only left maybe fifteen minutes ago,” Daniel’s mother said. “Miss Walcott came to fetch them.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. They were safe. And I reminded myself that Eustace Everett would be on his way out to Long Island for his engagement party. He’d have no time to kidnap his little cousins.

  “And Daniel had a visitor today, didn’t you, boy?” his mother said. “Such a strange-looking man. Almost comical.”

  I turned to Daniel. “Someone connected with a case I’ve been working on,” he said, but I saw in his eyes that I should leave the subject alone. “Perhaps you’d help me back to the front parlor,” he said. “I think I’ve been sitting up long enough.”

  I took his arm and walked him back down the hall, made him comfortable on the sofa, then put more coal on the fire. He waited until I’d done this before he said in a low voice, “You’ll never guess who came to visit me today. Monk Eastman, no less.”

  “Monk Eastman?” I couldn’t have been more surprised. “What did he want?”

  “A favor, actually,” he said. “He’s out on bail on a robbery charge. Small potatoes compared to most of the things he’s done. But they’ve been able to pin this one on him. He won’t get off.”

  “So he’ll go to jail?”

  “I fear so. But he wanted me to put in a good word for him and make sure it’s not for too long.”

  “Will you do that? He’s a ruthless gang leader, after all.”

  “But I can deal with him, Molly. We understand each other. Not like these Italians.” He looked at me and grinned. “Monk was horrified I’d been shot and asked me if I’d like his boys to teach those Italians who shot me a lesson they wouldn’t forget in a hurry. I told him no fighting between gangs, if he wants me to smooth things over fo
r him.”

  “Quite right,” I said.

  “And I also told him I’d heard he was using Junior Eastmans as pickpockets. That had to stop right away. He claimed to know nothing about it, of course, but he said if he heard any of his boys were pickpocketing there would be all hell to pay.”

  “So I don’t have to go and see Nuala to make sure Malachy behaves himself,” I said, relieved that there was one chore less in my future. I sat on the sofa beside Daniel. “But I do have something I want you to do for me, Daniel.” And I told him exactly what I’d been doing all day.

  He looked shocked, annoyed. “This isn’t your business, Molly,” he said.

  “Of course it is. Those children are being kept from their grandfather by a man who probably killed their mother.”

  “You can’t prove that.”

  “I know. But I can prove that he took the locket and then denied ever meeting me before. And he’s hired a nurse who puts something into his uncle’s milk. I’ve brought a sample home in my handkerchief. You have chemists working for the police who could analyze this, don’t you?”

  He frowned. “Yes, but it could take some time, and it is the weekend before Christmas tomorrow. I don’t know whether folks will be working as usual. And the case isn’t even in our jurisdiction. It would be for the county sheriffs out on Long Island to investigate.”

  I had had a long and strenuous day. I had taken risks, walked through the snow, and I had reached the limits of my patience. “Dammit, Daniel,” I snapped. “It’s a man’s life that’s at stake here. If you’ll not help me, I’ll do it on my own. The Northern Dispensary on Christopher Street will have a druggist working there. Maybe he’ll know how to analyze it for me, or can suggest someone who can do it. I’ll go right now.”

  “Molly, calm down.” Daniel grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. “All right. I’ll try to think of someone. We usually use a Dr. Harrington at the university, but they will be away for their winter recess, won’t they? I suppose a porter or someone will be on duty and might know where Dr. Harrington lives. Apart from that I’m not sure. I can’t send the sample to headquarters to go through the usual channels because it’s not my case. It’s not even the NYPD’s case. It would only get me into more hot water…” He paused and gave an apologetic shrug.

  “Write me a note to give Dr. Harrington,” I said testily. “I’ll go out immediately and try to track him down before he escapes for the holiday.”

  I brought him ink and notepaper and then set off for the university. I did find a porter who informed me he was sure he’d overheard Dr. Harrington saying that he was going to his family in Massachusetts for a well-earned rest. I bit back my frustration as I walked away. Would there be somebody at the Northern Dispensary who might have the skills? I wondered. But they were always so busy as they were the main outpatient facility for this whole area of the city. Then it hit me—I did know a compounding chemist. I had once helped in a case involving a Vassar friend of Sid and Gus who worked for a pharmacist. Mr. McPherson was not the most pleasant of men but probably competent enough. Unfortunately his pharmacy was on the Upper West Side. I had already traveled more than I wanted to today. But a man’s life was at stake. I sighed as I made for the El station and took the train uptown.

  The Upper West Side was in full festive mood as I came down from the El onto Broadway. A brass band was playing “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.” Hawkers were selling toys and knickknacks. Young girls carried trays of holly and mistletoe sprigs and the butcher’s window was full of plump chickens, turkeys, and geese. The scent of roasting chestnuts made my mouth water. As I approached the pharmacy I saw to my dismay that the blinds were in the process of being pulled down. The door was locked. I rattled the handle and knocked loudly. After a moment the door was unlocked and Mr. McPherson himself glared at me.

  “We’re already closed,” he said. Then he studied my face. “I know you,” he said.

  “You do,” I said. “It was Miss Murphy then. Now it’s Mrs. Sullivan. I helped Emily when she was involved in that unpleasant business with your assistant.”

  “So you did.” His harsh expression softened a little. “But she’s not here today. She’s spending Christmas with her father. Getting along like a house on fire, those two.”

  “I’m so glad,” I said. “And so pleased she’s still working for you.”

  “Turning out to have a fine head on her shoulders,” he said grudgingly. “Will make a good pharmacist one day.”

  So he was finally letting her train in his profession. At any other time I’d have been pleased to chat, but the pressure of time was overwhelming. “Please give her my best when you see her,” I said. “And I’m so sorry to intrude like this just before Christmas. But it’s really another matter of life or death and I didn’t know who I could turn to.” I took a deep breath while he glared at me suspiciously.

  “I have reason to believe that a man is being poisoned and I wondered if you have the means to analyze what is in a medication that is being administered to him.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Being poisoned, you say?”

  “Or at least being drugged,” I said, and related how his nurse had added some of the powder to his hot milk and not allowed me to touch the empty cup.

  “I managed to take away a sample,” I said, and produced my handkerchief.

  “I’ll do what I can.” He took it gingerly. “I can’t promise anything, mind you, but I do know that you’re not some hysterical female prone to fancies. If you think foul play is involved, then it might well be.”

  I handed him my card and begged him to send a message to my husband as soon as he discovered anything. On my way to the El station I stopped to buy two small wooden toys for Tig and Emmy—a puppet on a stick and pecking ducks. Then I faced the long ride back home, aboard a train that had once almost killed me. I felt completely exhausted by the time I came down to Greenwich Avenue and just remembered at the last minute that I hadn’t yet ordered the turkey. I was in luck and the butcher still had some fine plump ones. I paid for a fourteen-pounder and asked that it be delivered to us the next day. My feet would hardly obey me as I trudged up Patchin Place.

  “My goodness, girl, you look all in,” Daniel’s mother said as I came into the kitchen. “But never mind. There’s a fish pie in the oven, seeing that it’s Friday, and the tea is still hot.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve left you with so much to do,” I said, and decided to come clean with her—well, almost clean. “As well as the Christmas shopping I’ve been trying to reunite those children with their family and it hasn’t been easy.”

  “Family? Here?” She looked up sharply. “I thought they came from England. At least judging by their accents.”

  “Their mother was from here originally.”

  “And you’ve located their kinfolk?”

  “I have, but they might not be welcome, so I’m having to tread carefully.”

  She shook her head. “Molly Murphy Sullivan, you take on too much. You’ve a family of your own. You don’t need the cares of the world on your shoulders or you’ll run yourself into an early grave.”

  “But those poor little orphans,” I said. “You’ve seen them yourself. If you had a chance to help them, wouldn’t you do it?”

  She sighed. “I suppose so. Now go and see if your man wants to join us for supper.”

  Twenty-four

  Saturday, December 23

  The next day I waited impatiently for news from my chemist. My first task was to seek out a new tobacco jar for Daniel’s Christmas present. I found a splendid one in polished cherry wood. Then, pleased with myself, I went to the market for vegetables for the holiday, since tomorrow was Sunday and everything would be closed. Then I stopped at the candy shop for Christmas treats. When I came home, my conscience was nagging me that it was about time I did some Christmas baking. Apart from the Christmas pudding, Daniel’s mother had done it all so far. I tried to think what we still needed that might be w
ithin the realm of my cooking skills. “What do we still need for Christmas?” I asked. “Gingerbread? Cookies?”

  “I think we already have enough food to feed an army,” Daniel’s mother commented. “I’ve the last of the mince pies in the oven now.”

  “I feel badly that you have done all the work,” I said.

  “Not at all. It’s good to be able to cook for the family again. And at my house Martha always does the cooking. I’ve enjoyed myself.”

  “And I’m extremely grateful,” I said. “Your baking is so much better than mine.”

  “You’ll get better as you go along and you’ve a bigger family to feed,” she said. “I wasn’t so hot myself in the first years of marriage.”

  I paced the house, waiting for word from the chemist, wanting to be useful, picking up toys, dusting surfaces that didn’t need dusting. I felt frustration boiling over. If no poisonous substance could be found in that powder then I’d be powerless. The old man would die and Eustace would inherit the estate. And the children would never meet their grandfather.

  In the afternoon Tig and Emmy came over to our house again, as Sid and Gus were preparing the house to entertain friends. The children had a merry time together. Watching Emmy dancing around and singing with Bridie, it was hard to picture her as the pathetic little waif huddled in the doorway. Her cheeks were now rosy and there was a sparkle in her eyes.

  As I watched her I was trying to think how I could possibly catch out Eustace Everett. I was convinced he had killed his cousin Margaret, but I couldn’t come up with any way I’d be able to prove it, given that she could have been thrown into the river anywhere along its length and carried by the current for miles. If only my chemist Mr. McPherson could find some kind of poison or drug …

  At last I could stand it no longer. There was something I could do. I would go and talk to Hettie Jenkins. I put on my overcoat and scarf.

  “You’re going out again?” Mrs. Sullivan asked.