Murder on St. Mark's Place

by Victoria Thompson

  “Well, I’m even worse now. I’ve lived on my own far too long to be able to be your daughter again.”

  “But what about your reputation?” His anger was showing again. “How do you ever expect to find a suitable husband if you insist on running around the city like a ... a...”

  “A common trollop?” she supplied helpfully, recalling what he had said to her that awful day after Tom’s funeral.

  His face grew scarlet above his high collar, but he didn’t relent. “Respectable women do not walk the city streets at all hours of the night.”

  “They do if they’re midwives,” Sarah countered.

  “Felix,” her mother said, surprising them both. “Sarah’s profession is perfectly respectable.”

  Her father looked as surprised as if the chair had spoken. Indeed, Sarah could never recall her mother disagreeing with her father, not once in all her life. Before either of them could recover from their shock, her mother continued.

  “I think it’s unreasonable to expect Sarah to come back home to live with us, too. She isn’t a child anymore. And if you ever hope to have her come for another visit, you are going to have to accept that.”

  Sarah’s world had just shifted as profoundly as if an earthquake had shaken the Decker home from its foundations. Her father felt the vibrations to his soul, too, if his expression was any indication. Only her mother seemed unmoved. She sat erect and serene, her lovely face smooth and expressionless. It wouldn’t do to gloat, of course, but Sarah wished she looked a bit more forceful, or at least determined. She couldn’t imagine her father being transformed by such a gentle rebuke, especially when years of her own ranting and raving had accomplished nothing.

  But when her father turned back to her, he looked deeply disturbed. “Would you do that? Would you vanish from our lives again?”

  “I don’t enjoy being insulted and criticized, Father, and browbeating me won’t make me abandon my profession. I won’t come to see you again if that’s what you plan to do.”

  “I only want what’s best for you, Sarah,” he insisted indignantly.

  “No, you want what you think is best for me. I happen to disagree about what that is. You’re going to have to accept me the way I am or not at all.”

  “But what about your future?” he demanded. “Who will marry you?”

  “I don’t want anyone to marry me,” she said, shocking him thoroughly. “I’m perfectly content as I am.”

  “But how will you live? Who will support you?”

  “I’ll support myself!” she said impatiently. “Haven’t you noticed? I’ve been doing so for over three years now, and quite successfully, too. I don’t need a man to take care of me, not even you.”

  She could see his inner struggle. In spite of the facts in front of him, proving that she could be independent, he simply did not want her to be. He could not understand a world in which women made their own way without the help of husband or father. He would never change, and he would never accept that she had.

  Sarah saw her hopes of a reconciliation with her father fading. She was just forming the stiffly polite words she would use to take her leave when her mother spoke.

  “It appears as if the two of you will never agree on this subject, but must we allow that to keep Sarah away? Perhaps we could simply promise never to discuss this topic again instead.”

  It was so eminently reasonable a solution that Sarah and her father gaped at her in astonishment Sarah suddenly realized she had done her mother a great injustice. She had judged her by the wrong standards and found her lacking when she wasn’t lacking at all. She was clever and intelligent, and although she abided by a set of social rules Sarah found ridiculous, Elizabeth Decker did have a mind of her own and knew how to use it. Had she been a man, she might have pursued a successful career in diplomacy, if her work here today was any indication of her abilities. Instead, she had managed to negotiate a peaceful settlement to a family matter. Sarah thought such a success almost equal to an international treaty, and to her, of much more importance.

  Felix Decker said not a word to acknowledge his wife’s suggestion. To do so would have given her more importance than he felt she should have. As if he had thought of it himself, he said, “Sarah, our quarreling upsets your mother. It always has. And your absence from our lives has caused her great pain. I believe we should make every effort to spare her any further pain, even if that means allowing you to continue on the path you have chosen, however much I might disapprove. I am willing to agree not to discuss the subject further, unless, of course, you feel yourself in need of family support once more. In that case, you must not let pride prevent you from seeking help from your family. You must know we would be only too happy to provide you with anything you might need.”

  Sarah knew that only too well, just as she knew she would never ask for such help, certainly not while she was able-bodied and of sound mind. His offer was condescending, to be sure, but coming from her father, also a near miracle of conciliation. She could not refuse it. “Thank you, Father. Our estrangement has caused me pain as well, and I’m perfectly willing to make concessions to ensure it doesn’t happen again. If that means I can’t argue with you anymore, then it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, for Mother’s sake.”

  It took a moment for them to realize she was joking. Her father frowned. He didn’t approve of levity, especially at his expense, but her mother visibly relaxed. With a satisfied smile, she reached for the serving plate. “Try one of these tarts, Sarah. Cook made them especially for you because I told her how fond you are of blueberries.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough. Her father made an effort not to offend her, and she returned the favor. They spoke of friends and relatives and generally caught up on each other’s lives.

  Just before Sarah judged it time to take her leave, her mother said, “I’ve arranged a small dinner party to welcome Sarah back into our social circle, Felix. I had your secretary put it on your schedule.”

  “And just who will be attending this dinner party?” her father asked, not certain he could approve of such a thing. Or perhaps he was concerned that it was too soon to draw Sarah back into their social circle or that she might refuse to be drawn. He would have no idea the dinner party was being held at her request, of course.

  “I asked the Walkers. Sarah went to school with Amanda Walker. And the younger Vandekamps. She’s another classmate of Sarah’s. And the Millers. We’ll be an odd number, so I asked Hazel Miller’s brother, Dirk Schyler, as well, to be Sarah’s dinner companion.”

  Her father didn’t approve. “Hardly an appropriate choice. Why not one of the Astors. Surely they have an unattached son about the right age.”

  “You aren’t arranging a marriage for me, Father,” Sarah reminded him. “I just need a dinner companion, and I’ve known Dirk for a long time.”

  “You haven’t known him lately. He hasn’t turned out well. His father despairs of ever making a man of him.”

  This confirmed Sarah’s assessment of Dirk as well. She thought she could lower her father’s opinion of him even more by telling him about Dirk’s excursions to Coney Island, but then she’d have to explain how she knew about them. She’d just made peace with the man, so this wasn’t the moment to inform him she was investigating a murder in her spare time. Their truce hadn’t covered arguing over something like that.

  “Perhaps he just needs to settle down,” Elizabeth Decker suggested. “A good woman can work wonders.” She glanced meaningfully at Sarah, who pretended not to notice.

  “I doubt even Sarah is up to a task like that,” her father said.

  For once they agreed on something.

  9

  FRANK HAD LOCATED THE NEW YORK INSTITUTION for the Deaf and Dumb without too much trouble. It was, he had learned, a much older school than the one on Lexington Avenue. This one had been here over sixty years. A long time, if they were doing something wrong, Frank thought cynically.

  This s
chool was as silent as the other had been. He entered the main office. The young man working there as a clerk looked up. “May I help you?” he asked, moving his hands quickly in a way Frank had never seen before. Frank realized this must be the sign language Mrs. Brandt had told him about.

  “I’m not deaf,” Frank told him, unconsciously speaking too loudly.

  “Neither am I,” the boy replied with a smile, still using his hands. Now Frank was certain it was sign language. “Do you have business with Mr. Peet?”

  “Is he the one in charge?”

  “Yes, sir. His father founded the school.”

  “Then I guess I do have business with him.”

  “I’ll see if he’s free,” the boy said, and disappeared into an inner office.

  Frank didn’t quite know what to expect when he was ushered in to meet Lewis Peet. He was relieved to discover Mr. Peet wasn’t deaf, and he didn’t use his hands when he spoke, the way the boy had.

  Frank told him about Brian, and he listened intently.

  “I went to the Lexington Avenue School first,” he told Peet.

  “An excellent facility,” he said tactfully.

  “They said they could teach my son to speak.”

  Mr. Peet nodded. “I’m sure they did. Did they introduce you to a student who could speech-read and talk?”

  “Yes,” Frank said. “His voice was a little odd, but I could understand him. He could understand me, too. If my son could learn to do that, he would be able to make his way in the world.”

  “But the boy you heard speaking wasn’t born deaf, was he?”

  Frank frowned. How could he have known that? “No.”

  Mr. Peet nodded again. “When someone is born deaf and has never heard human speech or sound of any kind, it’s very difficult for them to ever learn to speak clearly. It’s also difficult for them to understand the concept of language, because they have no language of their own.”

  Frank wasn’t sure he understood all of this completely, but some of it sounded reasonable. “You do something different here at your school than they do at Lexington Avenue,” Frank said. “You teach them to talk with their hands.”

  “Yes, we teach them sign language. You may have seen deaf people using it in the street.”

  “The boy outside used it.”

  “He always does, if he suspects he might be talking to a deaf person. Sign language is a unique method of communication. Many people assume the signs are letters of the alphabet, spelling out words, but if you think about it, you’ll realize that would be a cumbersome method, and very slow and boring to use for actual communication. Actually, the signs are words, motions representing what we in the hearing world hear as sounds. A skilled signer can speak as quickly as you and I can speak with our voices, and one who understands the signs can comprehend as easily as you understand what I’m saying right now.”

  “But how do they talk to people who don’t know the signs?”

  “Ah, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Peet said, sitting back in his chair and steepling his hands in front of him. “If we could get everyone in the hearing world to learn sign language, then deaf people could get along just like hearing people. Since that doesn’t seem likely to happen, what does happen is that the deaf develop their own society. They work at trades which don’t require hearing or speech, they marry other deaf people to whom they can speak easily with signs, and they socialize with other deaf people.”

  “Which means that the Lexington School has a better solution,” Frank said. “Their students can speak and read lips. They can communicate easily with hearing people and live in their world.”

  “Except they don’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Peet smiled. “The theory behind the oralist method—that’s the method of teaching speech reading and speaking that the Lexington School uses—is to give the deaf students the skills to allow them to live and work and socialize with hearing people. In practice, however, they don’t do that. In fact, the graduates of the Lexington school have actually organized their own social club, the Deaf-Mutes Union League, which has only deaf members. They have lectures and meetings and dinners and balls for the deaf. They still associate primarily with each other, and work together and marry each other.

  “Please understand, Mr. Malloy. I’m not criticizing what they do at the Lexington School. I’m simply pointing out that their results have not been any more successful than ours for most deaf people, especially if your goal is to give your son the skills he will need in life. And for someone like your son, who most probably would never learn to speak clearly enough to be understood or to read lips well enough to truly comprehend, it would be a frustrating and ultimately a fruitless experience.”

  “Of course you think I should send Brian here,” Frank said, still trying to judge the validity of the arguments.

  Peet smiled. “Your son is too young to send anywhere at the moment. When he’s older, I think he would do very well here, probably better than he would at Lexington Avenue. But you have some time to find out more about both theories of educating the deaf. In the meantime, I would suggest you meet some deaf people and find out their experiences. I’d be happy to introduce you to a family I know who has a boy about Brian’s age.”

  “He’s deaf?”

  “Oh, no. He can hear perfectly well, but his parents are deaf. However, he uses sign language quite well. He learned it before he learned to talk, to communicate with his parents. Perhaps he could help Brian begin to understand how to communicate.”

  “A boy that young?” Frank thought of the intricate motions the clerk outside had used. He himself would have a difficult time learning such a thing, much less a boy of three.

  “If Brian could hear, he’d be talking by now,” Mr. Peet pointed out. “I’m sure he’ll have no trouble at all learning to sign once he’s exposed to it. It will be his language. You could learn right along with him. You’d be able to talk to your son, Mr. Malloy.”

  To be able to talk to Brian. To have Brain know who he was. The thought was stunning. Frank had long since given up hope of reaching his son. Until recently, he’d believed there was nothing inside of him to reach. But now ...

  He’d have to tell his mother, of course. He tried to imagine her learning to sign, but the idea was too ridiculous even to consider. She’d continued to pretend Brian was a normal child, totally ignoring all evidence to the contrary. Being deaf was almost as shameful as being feebleminded, at least by her standards, so she simply denied it.

  “Maybe you’d tell me more about these people with the boy Brian’s age,” he said.

  SARAH HAD FORGOTTEN how interminably dull society dinner parties could be. No one talked about politics or philosophy or literature or anything even remotely interesting. Sarah did learn more than she ever wanted to know about her old friend Amanda’s trip to Europe and Hazel’s twin daughters. She also learned what had happened to most of the friends she had had as young woman, before she’d decided not to follow the course her father had set for her and gone into nurses’ training. Unfortunately, none of them was doing anything Sarah found interesting.

  After dinner, as custom dictated, the women withdrew while the men smoked their cigars and took their brandy. Sarah could have used some brandy herself. She needed fortification to get through the rest of the evening.

  To make matters worse, Sarah had begun to realize that having a private word with Dirk Schyler, which had been the entire purpose of organizing the evening in the first place, was going to be practically impossible. They would certainly never be alone at all, and the chances of them having a moment when no one could overhear them was unlikely, particularly when everyone seemed intent on watching the two of them closely for any signs that they were interested in one another.

  Her mother could have done a better job of disguising the fact that Sarah had merely wanted the dinner party as an excuse for seeing Dirk. As it was, everyone present was aware of it, since they were the only
two unattached people in the party. To make matters worse, they had also come to the conclusion that Sarah had set her cap for him. If it hadn’t been so frustrating, Sarah might have been amused.

  Amanda Walker had just asked where she had gotten her gown—a purely idle question since Amanda could have no interest whatever in such an unstylish creation—when the door opened and the men came into the parlor, saving her from admitting it had come from Lord & Taylor. Sarah’s mother had insisted she buy a new frock for the occasion, but Sarah had seen no need to pay a dressmaker for an ensemble she might never wear again.

  Instantly, Amanda and all the other women lost interest in her, to her great relief. The men filled the room with their energy, loud voices, and booming laughter. Sarah watched in growing frustration as Dirk Schyler spoke to his sister and then wandered away, off to a far comer of the room. She was just hatching a plan to get herself near enough to him to ask for his help when he called out to her.

  “Sarah, would you be so kind as to identify the people in this photograph for me?” he asked.

  Sarah gaped at him in surprise. Could he possibly know she wanted a private word with him? Or did he want one with her? Perhaps he was simply afraid she would reveal that she had seen him at Coney Island in the company of a working-class girl and wanted to beg her discretion. Or perhaps he understood that he’d been invited for a reason, and that reason involved Sarah. Whatever it was, Sarah was simply glad for the excuse to confer with him.

  “Certainly,” Sarah said, trying not to appear too eager to answer his summons.

  As she crossed the room, she heard a stifled giggle and realized that everyone was watching her. Well, what had she expected? They were all waiting for the two of them to show some signs of interest in each other. They would imagine such interest no matter what really happened. Sarah Decker Brandt’s desperate ploy to land herself a rich husband would probably be the talk of visiting rooms for the next month.

  Dirk had picked up a photograph of her father’s college rowing team and pointed at one of the men. Sarah, of course, had no idea who any of them were. In fact, she would have been hard-pressed to identify her own father, and she was certain Dirk had no true interest in their identities, either. He proved it instantly.