Murder in Chelsea

by Victoria Thompson

  “What will we do if Ozzie refuses to see us?” Frank asked as they pulled up at their destination.

  “He won’t refuse.”

  Frank was still marveling at his confidence when the driver opened the door and Decker stepped out onto the sidewalk. Frank followed, standing aside as Decker knocked on the door and informed the maid who answered that he needed to see Oswald Wilbanks on an urgent matter of business. Once again they were escorted into the receiving room.

  “What business do you have with Ozzie?” Frank asked when they were alone.

  “None, but I’m sure he’ll be curious enough to see me. Men like him are always looking for the main chance, and the prospect of being sought out by Felix Decker will be too tempting.”

  He was right. The maid returned almost instantly to show them up to the parlor where they had each met with the elder Wilbanks. Today, the fire in this room had not been lit. The man who greeted them appeared to be in his late twenties, although his pale, brown hair had already begun to thin and too many late nights had left his skin sallow and his waistline thick.

  “Mr. Decker, it really is you,” he said, extending his hand. “I confess, I was afraid one of my friends was playing a joke on me. It’s a pleasure, sir.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” Decker said. “I’ve been hearing things about you, young man, and I wanted to see for myself if they are true.”

  While Ozzie basked in the perceived compliment, Frank bit back a smile. Decker had indeed heard things about Ozzie, but none of them were good. As they had agreed, Frank continued to allow Decker to lead the conversation. Frank would step in only if necessary.

  When the two men had finished taking each other’s measure, Decker said, “May I present my associate, Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy of the New York City Police.”

  Ozzie’s surprise was almost comic. His jaw dropped and he did not offer his hand. “The police?”

  “Yes,” Decker said with the same hearty tone, as if he were completely oblivious of Ozzie’s reaction. “We’re here to discuss your family’s situation concerning a young child whom I believe is your father’s daughter by his mistress, a Miss Emma Hardy.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ozzie tried.

  “Nonsense. We’re all men of the world, Mr. Wilbanks. There’s no need to pretend ignorance. We know you’re acquainted with Miss Hardy and understand her situation.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I do.” He was still eyeing Frank with deep suspicion.

  “Perhaps we should sit down,” Decker said.

  This snapped Ozzie back to remembering his responsibilities as host. “Of course, please sit down. May I offer you something? A drink perhaps?”

  “It’s a bit early for me,” Decker said. “Mr. Malloy?”

  Frank shook his head, but Ozzie had already gone to the sideboard, where a collection of crystal decanters sat. “I hope you won’t mind if I do, then. This is something of a shock, you understand.”

  Ozzie poured himself a liberal measure of amber liquor and took a big gulp of it before even moving away from the sideboard. Decker had chosen a grouping of chairs by the front windows, and Ozzie joined them there. Apparently fortified by the drink, he managed an unconvincing smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Decker, but I’m afraid I don’t understand your interest—or the interest of the police—in what is only a family matter.”

  “Well, you see, it’s a family matter for me, too. The child, Catherine, has been living with my daughter for the better part of a year.”

  “Your daughter?”

  “Yes, my daughter does volunteer work at a settlement house that cares for young girls. The child was abandoned there, I understand, but perhaps you already know all this.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. My father told me all about the girl yesterday. Until then, I had no idea.”

  “Don’t be coy,” Decker said. “We know you knew about her long ago, Mr. Wilbanks. We also know you visited Emma Hardy on at least two occasions while she was still under your father’s protection.”

  Ozzie frowned. “So what if I did?”

  “May I ask what you and Miss Hardy discussed?”

  Ozzie needed a minute, during which his gaze darted between Frank and Decker and back again, as if trying to decide which of them was in charge. Even though Frank hadn’t yet uttered a word, Ozzie replied to him.

  “As you can probably understand, I was quite upset to learn my father kept a mistress. I went out to see if I could convince her to . . . to release him.”

  “And you were successful,” Decker said.

  Ozzie seemed surprised at this. “Oh, no, not at all. I didn’t know about the child, you see, not until I went out there the first time. I thought her hold on him was purely sexual, but when I saw the child, I knew it was more than that. Father might allow a mistress to leave him, but he would never shirk his responsibilities to a child.”

  “And what would he think his responsibilities were to this child?” Frank asked, since Ozzie was still addressing him.

  Ozzie took another gulp of his drink to cover his unease, then tried to sound casual as he said, “To support her, of course.”

  “And that’s all?” Frank asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, did your father intend to do more than just support the child?”

  Ozzie gave them another unconvincing smile. “What else could he have done?”

  Decker returned the smile. “He could have married Miss Hardy after your mother died.”

  Color blossomed in Ozzie’s cheeks. “That’s absurd!”

  “Is it?” Frank asked. “Your father told me that’s exactly what he intended to do.”

  “That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “And what would you have done if you’d heard of it last year?” Decker asked, surprising Frank.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do,” Frank said. “You knew your father intended to marry Emma Hardy, and you went out there to threaten her, to tell her what would happen to her if she did agree to marry your father.”

  To Frank’s surprise, Ozzie’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Is that what she told you? That lying little bitch, of course she did! Well, that’s not what happened at all.”

  “What did happen then?” Frank asked.

  Ozzie sank back in the chair, obviously comfortable now with their conversation and no longer feeling threatened. “I guess maybe I did think I’d threaten her that first time I went to see her. I didn’t know about the child yet, as I said. All I knew was my father was keeping a woman, and I wanted to see her for myself. My mother was still alive then, although she died soon after, but I didn’t know how little time she had left. I wanted to defend our family’s honor, I think, and see if I couldn’t convince her to release my father from her clutches.”

  “So you did threaten her that first time?” Frank asked.

  “No. Well, maybe. She might think so. I was angry, of course. Then I saw the child, and I was even angrier. How dare he do that to my mother? I don’t even remember what I said to her, but I do remember she laughed at me. She said if I so much as laid a hand on her, my father would cut me off without a cent.” Plainly, the memory still rankled, and a flush rose up his neck.

  “Did you believe her?” Frank asked.

  “My father is a very . . . Well, under the circumstances, I hate to say he’s a ‘moral’ man, but he has his own standards, and he obeys them. Harming a female, even a lying, scheming little piece of trash like Emma Harding, would violate his standards.”

  “So you were afraid your father would disinherit you, his only son, for interfering with his mistress?” Decker asked skeptically.

  “He’s threatened to before, for far less serious offenses,” he said, not bothering to hide his bitterness.

  “All right,” Frank said, “so you were afraid to threaten her the first time. Why did you go back to see her again?”

  This t
ime Ozzie drained his glass, then cast a longing look at the decanter across the room before replying. “I had to protect my father.”

  “From what?”

  “From her,” he snapped. “My mother died, and Michael told me Father was going to marry that whore.”

  “Michael Hicks?” Frank asked.

  “Yes, of course. Who else? He tells Michael everything.”

  “Is Michael the one who told you about Miss Hardy in the first place?” Frank asked.

  “Uh, no, he wasn’t.”

  “Who was?”

  “My, uh, my wife.”

  “Your wife? How did she find out?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Decker made an impatient sound. “Come now, Wilbanks. You can’t expect us to believe you didn’t ask your wife how she came by such scandalous information. Is it common gossip?”

  “Not common, no. I mean, my father was very discreet. He had no wish to embarrass my mother or us.”

  “Then how did she learn of it?”

  “She . . . Well, she suspected something. Father would leave town quite regularly with no explanation, so she had him followed.”

  “She hired a private investigator?” Decker asked, exchanging a knowing glance with Frank.

  “Heavens, no, nothing so elaborate. She asked her cousin to see what he could find out, and he was the one who discovered my father’s little hideaway.”

  “Which cousin is this?” Decker asked, probably thinking his wife would want to know exactly how he fit into the family tree.

  “Terrance. Terrance Udall. You can ask him yourself. We did nothing wrong. He was with me the second time I went to see the whore.”

  But Frank remembered what Anne Murphy had told Sarah about that visit. Emma had been badly frightened. “Exactly what did you say to Miss Hardy that time?”

  “Me? Not much. Terrance did most of the talking. He’s a bit hotheaded, I’m afraid. He may have even raised his voice to her, but she gave it right back to him. She’s a harridan, that one. I don’t know what my father sees in her.”

  “Did Terrance threaten her?” Decker asked.

  “Not really.”

  Frank had had enough of Ozzie Wilbanks. He gave him a look that made him squirm in his chair. “Then what did he really say to her?”

  “I, well, she might have considered it a threat, although that’s not how we meant it.”

  “You’d best not try Mr. Malloy’s patience, Mr. Wilbanks,” Decker said mildly. “What did he say to her?”

  Ozzie cleared his throat. “Well, he said something to the effect . . . I mean, I don’t remember the exact words but something like, if she married my father, she would regret it for the rest of her life.”

  “And did he indicate the rest of her life might not be very long?” Frank asked.

  “I think he may have,” Ozzie said unsteadily, then tried to take another drink from his empty glass. “You understand that I didn’t approve of his actions, but there’s no controlling Terrance when he sets his mind to something. We just meant to save my father from himself. Nobody marries his mistress. He’d be a laughingstock.”

  “But rich men have been known to marry chorus girls,” Decker said.

  “Nobody in the Van Horn family has,” Ozzie said.

  And that was when Frank really understood the problem. “Your wife didn’t want a chorus girl in the family.”

  “And especially not her bastard child,” Ozzie said. “You should understand, Mr. Decker. My wife comes from an old, respected family. She simply couldn’t bear the thought.”

  Frank wondered how she bore the thought of marrying into the Wilbanks family, but maybe their money had helped ease the pain. “So Cousin Terrance . . . he’s not a Van Horn?”

  “On his mother’s side.”

  Frank nodded as if that explained everything. “So Cousin Terrance threatened Emma and she left town.”

  “Oh, no, not at all.”

  “But you said he threatened her,” Decker said.

  “He did, or at least he tried, but Emma just laughed at him the same way she’d laughed at me. Then she called us names and told us to get out of her house or she’d tell my father we tried to rape her and then we’d find out what he was capable of, so we left.”

  “But she did leave town shortly after that,” Decker said.

  “I don’t know what she did after that. All I know is my father stopped going to see her, and then he got ill, and that’s the last I heard of Emma Hardy and her brat until Michael told me the other day that she was back in the city.”

  “And when did he tell you that?” Frank asked, as if the answer didn’t matter.

  “I don’t know. A few days ago, I guess. Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have an appointment, and I’m afraid I’m already late.”

  When they were back in the carriage, Decker said, “How much of that do you believe?”

  “Most of it. Ozzie Wilbanks is a terrible liar, so it’s easy to tell what’s true and what’s not.”

  “But?”

  Frank smiled in approval at Decker’s perception. “But he told me some things he didn’t realize.”

  “For instance?”

  “For instance, Michael Hicks was apparently keeping much closer tabs on Emma Hardy than David Wilbanks knew.”

  “So you think it really was Wilbanks’s investigator who found Emma when she was on tour?”

  “Yes, and for some reason Hicks didn’t tell Wilbanks.”

  Decker frowned. “And Hicks apparently knew Emma was back in the city, but he didn’t tell Wilbanks that either. I wonder why.”

  “Why don’t we ask him?”

  * * *

  SARAH WENT EARLY TO HER MOTHER’S HOUSE SO SHE could visit with Catherine and have the noon meal with her before she and her mother left for their “morning” visit with Gilda Wilbanks. Sarah was both pleased and dismayed to hear what a wonderful time Catherine was having in the Decker household, where every servant doted on her and her every wish was instantly granted. Leaving her was difficult but at least she knew Catherine was safe and in good hands, even if she was being hopelessly spoiled.

  Since her father hadn’t returned the carriage yet and the day was fine, Sarah and her mother decided to walk the few blocks to the Wilbanks home. Sarah’s mother presented her card to the maid and asked to see Mrs. Wilbanks on an important family matter. They weren’t sure Gilda knew who they were, but the maid came back and escorted them upstairs to the rear parlor.

  This room was the less formal parlor the family would use every day, although the furnishings were still expensive and elegant. A lovely young woman in a becoming bottle– green gown came forward to meet them. She wore her golden hair in a Gibson Girl knot. Artfully arranged stray curls bobbed against her cheeks and her long, graceful neck. Her smile was practiced and slightly guarded.

  “Mrs. Decker, how kind of you to come.”

  “Yes, kind,” a male voice mocked.

  Sarah and her mother looked over in surprise to see a young man standing in the corner. His golden good looks mirrored Gilda’s, and his smile was even less sincere.

  “May I present my cousin, Terrance Udall. He has been offering me his support during this difficult time. I’m sure you understand.”

  Sarah didn’t understand at all, but she decided not to mention that as her mother was introducing her to Gilda and Terrance.

  “Yes, Mrs. Brandt,” Gilda said. “You’re the one who has the little girl, if I’m not mistaken.” So she knew exactly who they were.

  Sarah was glad she had taken pains with her appearance today. Her clothes weren’t the latest fashion, but at least she didn’t look like the poor relation that she was. “Her name is Catherine.”

  Gilda raised her perfectly arched eyebrows but only said, “Please sit down. I’ve ordered some tea to be brought up.”

  Sarah and her mother chose the sofa while Gilda and Terrance chose chairs opposite them. When they were settled, Gilda said, “Ma
y I ask what brings you here today?”

  “Of course you may,” Mrs. Decker said. “I gather that you know all about Catherine.”

  “Yes, and you can imagine what a shock it was to us.”

  “You had no idea?” Sarah asked.

  “Not in the slightest. Mr. Wilbanks is not the sort of man one would suspect of keeping a mistress.”

  “What about you, Mr. Udall?” Sarah said. “Did you suspect?”

  Udall, who had been observing the proceedings with a smirk, sobered instantly. “I have learned never to be surprised by anything, Mrs. Decker.”

  Which, of course, didn’t answer her question. “As I’m sure you know, Mr. Wilbanks would like for me to return his daughter to him.”

  Gilda and Terrance exchanged a glance. “Are you aware that Mr. Wilbanks is gravely ill?”

  “Yes, we are,” Sarah said, “which is why we are here.”

  “My daughter has grown very fond of Catherine,” her mother said. “We believed her to be an orphan when Sarah took her in.”

  “A natural assumption,” Gilda said. “I understand she was abandoned at some charitable institution.”

  “But of course she isn’t an orphan,” Udall said. “And she belongs with her family.”

  Sarah and her mother looked at him in surprise. Her mother was the first to recover. “We only want what’s best for the child, and certainly, she should be with her father.”

  Sarah didn’t have to feign her pain at this statement. “He does have a legal right to her, and I couldn’t in good conscience keep her from him, no matter how much it hurts me to give her up.”

  Her mother nodded. “But as you pointed out, Mr. Wilbanks may not be with us much longer, and Catherine is very young. We wanted to meet you and determine that you are willing to take over the responsibility of raising her.”

  “And if she’s not,” Udall said, his smirk firmly back in place, “you would be happy to take her yourself, I’m sure.”

  Sarah wasn’t exactly sure how to answer him, but she said, “Of course I would.”

  Udall’s smirk widened. “And I suppose Mr. Wilbanks has told you that he intends to provide for her quite generously in his estate, which will greatly ease the burden of raising a child not your own.”