Murder in Morningside Heights

by Victoria Thompson

  “That’s all right, Matilda. Lots of people are still getting used to my new name, including me.” As Sarah stepped into the entry, she saw several other girls peeking out from the various rooms that lined the hallway. Of course they’d be curious about any visitors. Sarah smiled at them. “Is Mrs. Keller busy?”

  “She’s always busy, but she’ll have time for you,” Matilda said.

  Sarah was pleased to see the change in this girl who had come to them one dark night, starving and covered with bruises. The bruises had healed and regular meals had restored her health. More important, her time at the Mission had given her confidence and courage. She led Sarah back to the former butler’s pantry, where Mrs. Keller had her office.

  Mrs. Keller greeted her warmly. Sarah noticed her dress was a bit faded and frayed around the edges, even though the middle-aged matron was scrupulously neat and tidy. Sarah suspected she was spending her own meager salary on the girls instead of herself. She’d have to arrange for a new dress or two to be delivered anonymously to this wonderful lady.

  Mrs. Keller urged Sarah to take a seat in one of the mismatched chairs crowded into the space in front of her cluttered desk. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Malloy, but this is a unique situation for me.”

  “From what you said in your note, you didn’t know this girl was expecting until yesterday.”

  “That’s right. Hannah is a large girl. Not fat, of course. She was nearly starved when she arrived, like most of the others. But she’s large boned and tall. Her clothes fit loosely, so no one noticed anything out of the ordinary for almost two months. Then yesterday, two of the girls came to me with their suspicions. I questioned Hannah privately, and she finally confessed that she is with child. She apparently suspected this when she came to us, but lied about it so we would take her in.”

  “I don’t suppose we can blame her for that.” Sarah sighed. “Do you have any idea how far along she is?”

  “Not more than six months, I’d guess, from what she told me.”

  “And the father?”

  “Was a man who lived in the same building. He raped her, apparently.”

  “Oh dear, so that’s another reason she came to us, I guess.”

  “Combined with the fact that her mother had just been evicted and told her she’d have to make her own way from now on. There were several younger children as well, I gather, and she couldn’t feed them all.”

  It was an all-too-familiar story. “I suppose you explained to her that we don’t usually accept girls who are expecting.”

  “Yes, but she . . .” Mrs. Keller frowned and shook her head as if silently chastening herself. When she met Sarah’s gaze again, she looked almost angry. “You should have seen her, Mrs. Malloy. She was terrified. She must have gone to one of the charities that helps girls in her situation. They wouldn’t take her in, of course, because she wasn’t far enough along. That meant she’d have to live on the street for months, making money however she could in the meantime. We both know what she would have had to do to survive, and if she somehow managed to do that and didn’t lose the baby and finally found a place that wasn’t already full and would take her when her time came, they would probably pressure her to give her child up to an orphanage. So she came here and hid her condition for as long as she could.”

  “I guess she hoped to keep her secret at least until she was far enough along to be accepted into a maternity home,” Sarah said.

  “Yes, and if what she told me is true, that will just be another month or so. She’s a good girl, Mrs. Malloy. She works hard and never complains or fights with the other girls, no matter how they provoke her, and heaven knows, the girls do provoke each other.”

  Sarah felt like the wicked stepmother in a fairy tale, but she had to say, “We have these rules for good reasons. You know that even better than I.”

  “Yes, I do.” Mrs. Keller was even more angry now. “I know if our girls began producing babies, it would cause all kinds of rumors about this place. Our perfect reputation would be tarnished, and people would begin to wonder if we were a brothel in disguise, luring unsuspecting young women with false promises of protection.”

  “And as a result, the girls who leave here would always be under a shadow,” Sarah said gently. “We’ve worked very hard to protect them up to now. I would hate to see that ruined.”

  This time Mrs. Keller sighed. “I know all that, and you’re right, I know it even better than you do, because I see these girls every day. If only I didn’t also know Hannah so well. It’s much easier to turn away a stranger, isn’t it? And she’s right, she would have no place to go if we turn her out. I’m not suggesting that we change our rules, but just this one time, couldn’t we let her stay a little longer so she doesn’t end up on the streets?”

  Sarah really hated sounding like the wicked stepmother in a fairy tale, so she decided not to. “I certainly don’t want her to end up on the streets. How about if we let her stay for now, and in the meantime, I try to find a place for her at a maternity home? There might be someplace outside the city that would take her immediately.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Malloy, would you? That would be so kind.”

  “Letting her stay a week or two longer won’t hurt anything, I’m sure. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to meet Hannah and examine her to make sure she’s in good health.”

  “Of course. I was hoping you would.”

  Just as Mrs. Keller had said, Hannah was a large girl. She’d probably filled out some since arriving at the Mission. The food here was plain but nourishing and regular, and Hannah had obviously thrived. She didn’t smile when Mrs. Keller introduced her, and her brown eyes were wary. At Sarah’s invitation, she sat down in the other “guest” chair and stared at Sarah.

  “I’m a midwife, Hannah,” Sarah explained gently. “I’d like to ask you a few questions and examine you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Examine?” she echoed in alarm, instinctively laying a hand protectively on her stomach. Mrs. Keller had been correct. Sarah probably wouldn’t have even guessed Hannah was with child yet. She wondered what had given the girl away.

  “I’d like to listen to your heart, and to your baby’s heart.” Luckily, Sarah had thought to bring her medical bag with her.

  “How do you do that?”

  Sarah pulled her stethoscope from the bag and held up the little bell-shaped end. “I just put this against your stomach. I’ll let you listen to it, too, if you like.”

  The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded eagerly.

  Sarah asked the girl the usual questions about her menses and when she thought she had conceived and a few more about her general health. Then she looked in her mouth and ears and listened to her heart and lungs. Luckily, she found nothing amiss. Even the baby’s heartbeat was strong and regular.

  Hannah gasped in amazement when Sarah let her listen to it. “That’s the babe?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  The girl smiled for the first time, turning her broad, plain face almost beautiful.

  “Do you mind if I touch your stomach?” Sarah asked when they’d both finished listening.

  “What for?” Hannah asked, wary again.

  “To see how big the baby is and what position he’s in.”

  “Do you know it’s a boy?” she asked in surprise.

  “Of course not. I just don’t like calling unborn babies ‘it,’ so I sometimes call them ‘he’ and other times ‘she.’ So, can I touch you?” Sarah held up her hand as if to lay it on the girl’s stomach.

  “I guess.”

  Sarah found the baby head down. He seemed a bit large for six months, but Hannah was a big girl, so Sarah would expect her child to be larger than average. “Everything seems fine. Mrs. Keller will explain what we have decided, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything. We won’t leave you on your own. Whatever happens, you and your baby
will be safe.”

  “And I’ll be able to keep him? Or her?”

  “Yes, if that’s what you decide.”

  “I’ve already decided. This baby is all I’ve got in the whole world.”

  Sarah nodded, not because she agreed with this decision but because she understood. The need for someone to love was strong, especially when a girl had been abandoned by her family. But if a pregnant girl found life in this city difficult, an unmarried mother with a tiny baby would find it even harder. She might be all right, though, if she found a job that could support them. She could leave her baby at the Salvation Army’s crèche during the day, and then . . . Well, Sarah didn’t want to look too far into the future.

  * * *

  Frank and Sarah set out for Morningside Heights the next morning. Miss Wilson lived a short distance from the college, so they decided to take the elevated train and then get a cab the rest of the way.

  “This isn’t a very elegant way to travel,” Frank remarked as the train lurched to a stop at the next station. He was standing in the crowded car, holding on to the bar, while Sarah had perched on the last available seat.

  “It’s the fastest, though,” she reminded him. “And you don’t want to keep a carriage.”

  “If we had our own carriage, at least we could be warmer.”

  She smiled at that. The only advantage of the unheated El cars was that they were out of the wind. “You know what Gino would say.”

  Frank frowned. “I do. He wants me to get one of those motorcars.”

  “It would be a lot easier to keep than horses and a carriage.”

  “But then we’d need someone to drive it.” Frank thought they already had enough servants with a maid and a cook.

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “Who would drive it, then?”

  “You would.”

  The very thought of driving one of those mechanical monsters terrified him, but he couldn’t admit that to Sarah. “I don’t think you’re supposed to drive your own motorcar.”

  “Gino could drive it, then. In fact, I’m sure that’s his real plan in convincing you to buy one. I wouldn’t mind learning to drive it myself.”

  “You? A woman could never drive one of those things.”

  He knew instantly from her expression that he’d made a mistake. “A woman can drive a team of horses. You see them all the time in Central Park. I don’t know why she couldn’t drive a motorcar.”

  This conversation was not going well at all. Fortunately, not many people had gotten off at this stop and a lot had gotten on, so Frank was squeezed down the aisle, too far away to continue their discussion.

  At the 118th Street station, they found a cab that carried them to the pleasant street in Morningside Heights where Abigail Northrup had rented a room from the first lady professor the Normal School had ever had. Last night, in the privacy of their own sitting room, Frank had told Sarah everything he’d learned yesterday. Now, in the cab, they discussed the approach they were going to take with the two women they were about to visit. Frank was happy to let Sarah take the lead, since they were far more likely to be open with her than with him. He would be content to sit back and try not to remind them he was there so he could watch their reactions.

  A mulatto maid, wearing a brightly colored turban in contrast to her severe black dress and white apron, answered the bell at the neat brick town house. She looked the Malloys up and down as if judging their worthiness. Before she could decide whether to admit them, Frank held out his card. “Mr. and Mrs. Malloy are here to see Miss Wilson. President Hatch sent us.”

  She examined the card closely, making Frank glad he’d given her one of the expensive ones. “Mr. Hatch didn’t say nothing about no lady coming with you.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” Sarah said before he could give an answer he’d probably regret. “But I hope you aren’t going to keep me standing on the front porch as a consequence.” Her tone held a note of warning that her words did not.

  The maid’s eyes widened. Plainly, she hadn’t expected a challenge from the wife of a lowly detective. “Of course not. Please come in.” If she sounded less than welcoming, they pretended not to notice. “Miss Wilson said for you to join her in the living room.”

  How modern, Frank thought. Some people were starting to call their parlors “living rooms,” although he’d noticed none of the old New York families had made the change yet. He supposed lady professors liked to be up to date, though.

  A handsome woman, who looked to be about forty, stood when they entered. She wore a dark green dress, but no jewelry except a watch pinned to her bodice, much like the teacher he’d encountered at the college yesterday. He wondered if the teachers were required to wear watches.

  The maid handed her Frank’s card. “Mr. Malloy,” she read.

  “Thank you for seeing us, Miss Wilson. This is my wife. She sometimes assists me in investigations, and I thought you might prefer talking to a female.”

  “Why would you think that, Mr. Malloy?”

  Frank needed a moment to think of an answer that didn’t sound condescending. He’d expected Miss Wilson to be upset, if not hysterical, over the violent murder of a young woman whom she had taken into her own home. True, she’d had a few days to get used to the idea, but he hadn’t expected her to be defensive.

  Once again, Sarah rescued him. “Mr. Malloy was a police detective, Miss Wilson. He is more accustomed to questioning criminals than college professors, and he thought you would appreciate a gentler touch.”

  Now Miss Wilson was looking at Sarah the way the maid had a minute ago. “Then I suppose I should thank him for bringing you along, Mrs. Malloy. Won’t you sit down? Bathsheba, please bring us some coffee.”

  Frank managed not to show his surprise at the maid’s name, although he thought it probably fit. She did look like a sly one, and even though servants weren’t supposed to have an opinion about whom their employers entertained, Bathsheba seemed to be muttering to herself as she set off for the kitchen.

  The room was comfortably furnished with an overstuffed plush sofa and chairs. Delicate tables sat around, their tops cluttered with doilies and various figurines. Over the fireplace, which had been converted to a gas grate, hung a large painting of some Greek goddess in flowing robes that didn’t really conceal much. He managed not to stare.

  “We’re so very sorry to hear about Miss Northrup’s death,” Sarah was saying. “It must have been a terrible shock.”

  For just a second, Miss Wilson’s stoic façade cracked a bit, but only a bit. “Thank you. It was, of course. A shock, I mean. For everyone.”

  “Had you known her long?” Sarah asked.

  Miss Wilson visibly gathered herself again. “Almost five years now, I suppose. She was a student at the college, you know.”

  “Was she one of your students?”

  “Oh yes. I had her for several classes.”

  “And she was a good student?”

  “One of the best I’ve ever had. Teaching her was a joy. She simply loved learning and couldn’t get enough.”

  The sound of someone clattering down the stairway in the hall startled the three of them, and they all looked up as another woman appeared in the doorway that Bathsheba had left open. This woman was like a faded version of Miss Wilson, light brown hair where Miss Wilson’s was dark, and pale, white skin while Miss Wilson’s had a healthy glow. She also looked as if she’d just climbed out of bed, even though she was fully dressed. Her hair was half-down, with some of the pins sticking out at odd angles, and her eyes held the unfocused look of the newly awakened.

  “Are you talking about her?” the woman demanded.

  “Estelle,” Miss Wilson said sharply, rising to her feet with conscious dignity. “We have guests.”

  “I can see that! And they’re talking about her, aren’t they?”

&
nbsp; “This is Miss Billingsly,” Miss Wilson said. “She also teaches at the college.”

  “And you,” Miss Billingsly said to Frank. “You’re the detective, aren’t you?”

  Frank was already on his feet, since a lady had entered the room, and he sketched her a little bow. “Frank Malloy. And my wife.”

  Miss Billingsly spared not a glance for Sarah. She had trained her unfocused gaze on Frank. “Do you want to know who killed her?” She took a step toward him, and then another. “Is that why you’re here? Well, I’ll tell you who killed her.”

  Frank watched in horrified fascination as Miss Billingsly took one last step toward him, tripped, and went crashing to the floor.

  3

  Sarah jumped up and hurried to where Miss Billingsly lay sprawled on the floor. Malloy was closer and had already knelt down beside her, but seemed reluctant to take any action.

  “Miss Billingsly, are you hurt?” Sarah asked.

  The woman’s eyes fluttered and she frowned up at Sarah. “What happened?”

  That’s when Sarah smelled the alcohol and realized Miss Billingsly was drunk. “You fell. Are you hurt?”

  “I . . . I don’t think so.” She pushed up on one elbow. “Who are you?”

  “Bathsheba!” Miss Wilson called. She had made no move to help Miss Billingsly.

  Sarah helped Miss Billingsly sit up, being careful not to look at Malloy, because she was afraid if she did, she’d see her own amazement of the absurdity of this situation reflected back, and neither of them would be able to keep their composure.

  The maid had come running at the urgency of Miss Wilson’s summons, but she stopped dead when she saw Miss Billingsly sitting on the floor with their guests hovering over her.

  “Bathsheba, Miss Billingsly is ill. Would you help her back upstairs, please?”

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Bathsheba said, shouldering Sarah out of the way so she could help Miss Billingsly to her feet.

  “I fell down,” Miss Billingsly told her with a drunkard’s honesty.