by Anne Perry
The woman looked at her records and told him everything she knew. Maria Cardew had spent quite a lot of money on medicine for Sara.
‘And did she happen to mention her friend’s illness?’ Flannery asked.
‘TB,’ the woman answered. ‘The poor soul. No cure for that, but she made her a lot easier. Had some real good spells, she did.’
‘Thank you.’ Patrick Flannery smiled at her and the woman looked pleased.
Outside on the pavement he stopped, standing closer to the road than Jemima, protecting her from the splashes of passing vehicles.
‘And what did you plan to do next?’ he asked.
‘Food shops,’ she answered. ‘She might have bought special things. Maybe she knew other people and they might give us some names. There might even be a doctor . . .’
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ he said doubtfully. ‘You might find she wasn’t as nice as you think.’
‘Of course,’ Jemima said quickly. ‘If she was a total saint then why did someone kill her?’
‘Well, I suppose there’s the chance she knew something that was dangerous for someone,’ he agreed. ‘She might unintentionally have witnessed an argument or a fight, someone making an illegal deal or . . .’ He stopped abruptly, a faint colour in his cheeks.
She laughed, then instantly wished she had not. It would have been far more ladylike to have affected not to know what he meant. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said contritely.
He blinked and shook his head. ‘Don’t apologise. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said . . .’
‘Of course you should. She may very easily have seen somebody where they should not have been, or with someone. But how do we find out who? And if it really mattered so much.’
‘High society is very proper in New York,’ he told her quickly.
Was he insulted? She had not meant to imply that it was any less ‘high’ than London. How could she undo that impression? She really did not want to hurt him.
‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I am staying with the Albrights, remember? They are more correct than anyone I know at home. But . . .’
‘But what?’ he asked, now watching her very carefully, although she did not know what the intensity in his face meant. She was beginning to feel self-conscious.
‘But very often the higher up in society you get, the less “proper” you are,’ she answered. ‘My great, great aunt, Lady Narraway’s father was an earl, and she is the most outrageous person I know. I was going to say you would like her enormously, but that is a little presumptuous of me. I only think you would. I don’t really know you at all. I apologise.’
‘Do you like her?’ he asked with interest.
‘As much as anyone I’ve ever known,’ she answered without hesitation. ‘When she was young she was said to be the most beautiful woman in Europe. Now she is far older and I think she still is. But she is brave and funny and terribly wise, which is what matters.’
‘What to you is wise?’ He was asking because he wanted to know. There was no challenge in his voice, or in the expression in his eyes.
She thought for a moment. She wanted him to understand what she meant. It mattered to her, but she wanted to do Aunt Vespasia justice as well, and that was not easy.
‘She knows what matters and what doesn’t,’ she answered, choosing her words carefully. ‘She remembers what she receives, but never what she gives. She doesn’t hold grudges, and if she thinks something is funny, she will laugh, whether it is the “done thing” or not. She loves the opera, and gorgeous clothes. She is honest when it is fashionable not to be, but she is never unnecessarily unkind. And she will fight to the death for a cause she believes in.’
‘Do you wish to be like her?’ he said gravely.
She did not have to consider that. ‘Yes,’ she said instantly. ‘Yes, I would like that more than anything else.’
He looked both happy and sad at her answer, as if powerful emotions were in conflict inside him.
‘Then please take care of yourself,’ he said softly, ‘so that you may have the opportunity to do that. You’ve given me many ideas about where to look for whoever killed Maria Cardew. You need to be careful. Whoever it is won’t want to be found.’
‘Of course not,’ Jemima agreed. ‘And I am not at all sure that the Albrights wish the matter given any more coverage in the news than has already been given.’
‘Well, you are not going to wander around the streets in a neighbourhood like this, asking questions about a murdered woman,’ he said sternly. ‘That is the perfect way to get hurt.’
‘I’ll be careful,’ she promised.
‘No you won’t. You’ll follow any clues you find and walk all around here, up back alleys and into places where you won’t be welcome,’ he argued. ‘I can’t let you do that.’
‘But you can let me be convicted of something horrible that I didn’t do!’
His face looked pinched. She had hurt him.
‘I’m not going to let that happen either,’ he said rashly. ‘I’m coming with you. I’ll find whoever really killed her, and you’ll be safe.’
For a moment she saw in his eyes something beautiful, and then she looked away. She could not afford such thoughts. The New York police believed she had stuck a knife into the heart of Maria Cardew. If she were to survive, she must prove that she had not, and the only way to do that was to discover who had.
‘Thank you,’ she acknowledged. ‘Where shall we begin?’
He made a sharp little sound that she thought was laughter.
‘Continue,’ he corrected. ‘As you see very logically, it was a crime of deep emotion. Someone either hated her, or was frightened of her. The only reason for fear of an elderly woman in her state of health must have been that she had knowledge that could have ruined them.’
‘She wasn’t ill: that was her friend, Sara Godwin,’ Jemima pointed out. ‘Why can’t we find her? Wouldn’t she know who might have killed Maria?’
‘We’re looking for her, but she was pretty frail. She might be anywhere. Even dead, too. She must have had a hard life. She probably worked too much and didn’t eat very well. Too many nights in the cold.’ There was pity in his voice, and Jemima liked him for that. It made her think for a moment of her father. He was always sympathising with the wrong people – at least wrong as far as both police and society were concerned.
Then she forced that thought out of her mind. If she were to think of home and family at the moment, she would dissolve in tears and that would be both embarrassing and useless.
‘We need to know a lot more about her,’ she agreed. ‘Who did her knowledge threaten so much?’
They were sheltered where they stood, but it was time to move. For a start, walking would get the blood circulating again, and make them warm, even if it took them away from the narrow alley and into the broader, straighter streets where the buildings on either side made them into funnels for the east wind off the water.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked after several minutes.
‘Best local bakery,’ he answered. ‘Then the poulterer. She’ll have made chicken soup, maybe got bits and pieces many folk don’t want. My mother used to do that, when times were harder.’
Jemima kept up with Flannery’s pace with difficulty. He had not stopped to think that she was tall for a woman, but still several inches shorter than he, and wearing heeled boots and a heavy skirt. It was a kind of oblique compliment that she did not want to spoil by lagging behind.
She tried to think what kind of information Maria Cardew could have had that could be so dangerous. At her age and state of health she was hardly having inappropriate relations with anyone. If she knew of anyone else doing so, then they would be the person to kill. And anyone important enough to matter would not be frequenting this area. The locals around here were immigrants, the hard-working poor.
They reached the poultry shop, and yes, the owner knew Maria quite well, kept good pieces for her and occasionally slipped them in wi
th the other bits he sold her cheaply. He was distressed to hear of her death.
‘She was a good woman,’ he said, pulling his mouth into an expression of disgust at such a tragedy. ‘Always got a pleasant word. I don’t know what the world’s coming to.’ He glared at Flannery. ‘And what are you doing about it, eh? Just one poor old woman, no money, no power, so what does it matter?’ He sniffed hard, shaking his head.
‘We’re going to find out who did it,’ Jemima said firmly. ‘But it isn’t easy. For a start, why would anyone do that? She had nothing worth taking.’
The poulterer stared at her. ‘Who are you? You talk funny.’
‘I’m English,’ she explained. ‘I know some of her family, and I liked her. I want to know what happened.’
‘She wasn’t English. She was as American as anyone, more than some. She was born here!’ He made it a challenge.
‘I know. But she lived in England for a while. She was married to an Englishman.’
‘Oh?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘She didn’t say anything about that. Only man I ever saw her with was black!’
There was a moment of total silence, then Flannery spoke.
‘Black? Did you know him?’
The man shook his head. ‘Not from round here. But he spoke regular, so he could have been from anywhere. He didn’t mean her harm. Spoke softly to her, and she to him.’
‘But she knew him?’ Flannery said.
‘Only saw him a couple of times. Like I said, not from round here.’
Flannery leaned forward a little. ‘Help me to find who killed her, sir. I need to know about her for that. It wasn’t any passing robbery. They did it violently and there was hatred in it.’
The man winced. ‘You could try Dr Vine, down the road a couple of blocks, number 416. His real name is something you can’t say, Russian or Polish, that sort of thing. She went to him for her friend.’
‘Thank you.’ Flannery accepted the advice and took Jemima by the arm, guiding her out into the windy street.
Dr Vine was as much help as he could be. He too was distressed to hear of Maria Cardew’s death.
‘Can’t tell you much, except that Sara Godwin would have died a lot sooner without Maria’s care.’ He shook his head. ‘Great shame. Don’t know how the poor soul will get on now. Have you seen her?’
‘No,’ Flannery said quickly. ‘We thought she’d gone before Mrs Cardew was killed.’ Now he looked anxious. ‘There was no sign of her in the apartment.’
‘Could be she died anyway, before Maria was killed,’ Dr Vine said unhappily.
‘I’ll check the city records,’ Flannery promised. ‘If she died, somebody will know. Thank you, Dr Vine.’
But no city records of recent deaths showed any sign of Sara Godwin. The following day, Jemima and Officer Flannery looked at the residential records. The clerk stood beside the bench with the ledger in his arms.
‘I don’t know what you’re trying to find,’ he said as if he were afraid of being overheard. ‘But you should be careful, sir.’ He spoke only to Flannery. ‘I suppose you already know it, but the woman who was murdered in that building was related to Miss Delphinia Cardew, her that’s getting married to Mr Albright.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Flannery answered. ‘Nobody seems to know much about her.’
‘No, sir, I suppose they don’t. But we know a lot about the Albright family, and most of us know enough not to upset them by asking a whole lot of personal questions. Do a very great deal for this city, they do. And doesn’t do to fall out with people with that kind of power, if you get my meaning?’
Jemima started to speak, but Flannery put his hand on her arm, closing his grasp firmly enough for her to fall silent.
‘Better to clear this up now, rather than later, don’t you think?’ he said politely to the clerk. ‘I’m sure he would like to have the matter settled, and then not raised again. Over with, if you see what I mean?’
‘Ah!’ The clerk nodded and the smile spread slowly across his face. He touched one finger to the side of his nose in a gesture of understanding. ‘Then I’ll just leave these with you, sir.’ He looked at Jemima. ‘Ma’am.’
Jemima realised with horror that the clerk thought Flannery was here to serve Harley Albright, not Maria Cardew. He had assumed that even the police were bought, one way or another.
‘Don’t look like that!’ Flannery let go of her arm. ‘Your face gives you away!’
She could not think of anything to say. He had read her thoughts perfectly, and it was at once both frightening and comforting. She wanted him to understand her. It was the end of a kind of loneliness, and yet it was the beginning of a new experience that could be too enormous to handle.
She swallowed. ‘Are the Albrights really so important?’
‘Yes. Didn’t you know that?’ He put his hand back on her arm, but this time lightly, with only a touch. She could see it on her coat sleeve rather than feel it. ‘Albright and Cardew makes millions of dollars. All the power rests in the two families. When the present generation dies, or retires, then it will pass to Mr Albright’s sons, Harley and Brent.’
‘And Phinnie,’ Jemima added. ‘I wonder what on earth happened to Maria Cardew.’
‘Somebody murdered her,’ Flannery replied. ‘And the Albright family, who found her an embarrassment, would like to have a quick and satisfactory solution to it, one that does not involve them.’
‘Why do you suppose she came back to New York?’ Jemima said thoughtfully. ‘She must have known they would not want her here. Was she hiding so close to them with the hope that they would never look for her on their own doorstep?’
He was looking through the ledger as he spoke. ‘I doubt it. America is a huge country, thousands of miles across. She could have gone west and disappeared. They wouldn’t ever have looked for her.’ He went on leafing through the pages.
‘Then she had a reason to be here,’ Jemima concluded. ‘It must have been a very strong one, Officer Flannery . . .’
He looked up. ‘You are not under arrest, Jemima. Do you think you could call me Patrick?’
She felt the colour burn up her face, but she liked the idea. In fact, it had been in her mind when she thought of him and she had had to remind herself not to use it.
‘Patrick,’ she began again, a little self-consciously. ‘She must have had a very important reason for coming back here.’
‘Perhaps she knew that Harley Albright would pay her well to stay away from the wedding.’
Jemima had not thought of that, and she liked him the better because he did not protect her from the truth, even though it was ugly. It was clear in his face that it hurt him, as it did her.
‘Then who killed her? Did he?’ she asked him.
‘Or Brent?’ he replied. ‘Or Delphinia herself? I know you hate the thought, but she’s a strong young woman. It wouldn’t be impossible for her to have driven that knife through her mother’s chest, especially since she would be the last one Maria would suspect. Face it, Jemima, she had the best motive of all. She’s in love with Brent. She might have convinced herself she was protecting him.’
‘If she were really protecting him she would have told him about Maria and let him make his own decision,’ she said hotly. ‘Or had a smaller wedding privately somewhere where Maria wouldn’t have known about it! She’s in love with being in love!’
‘Most of us would like to be in love,’ he said very gently. ‘Wouldn’t you, one day?’
She did not dare meet his eyes in case she gave herself away. ‘Oh, I expect so,’ she said as lightly as she could. ‘But I hope I wouldn’t ever think of doing anything so . . .’
‘Crazy?’ he suggested. ‘Probably not. But love can be pretty overwhelming. It can make you take risks you wouldn’t normally even think of.’ Then he looked a little uncomfortable, as if he had said more than he meant to. He turned away from her, facing along the street into the wind and snow.
For a wild moment Jemima wondered if he was
still looking for who killed Maria in order to save her from suspicion because he cared for her. Then she dismissed it as a daydream she couldn’t afford right now. If they didn’t find the real killer, then the police were left with her. She was the one who had found Maria’s body. They certainly would not suspect any of the Albright family, unless they were absolutely forced to.
‘Do you think anyone is that much in love, in this case?’ she asked as sensibly as she could. ‘Brent, maybe?’
‘I doubt it,’ he replied, still facing down the street. ‘We need to know more about Maria. Her murder might be something to do with her own life, and it is only chance that it happened right now. Come on.’ He took her arm and started to walk along the pavement briskly, as if he had a specific destination in mind.
Jemima spent the rest of the day with Patrick. They learned more about Maria Cardew, but it was incidental to their search for Sara Godwin. They met many people who knew Sara and spoke well of her. She was quiet and kept to herself, but was willing to help anyone. Lately she had been increasingly ill. No one had seen her for several weeks, and frankly, they assumed she had died.
Jemima and Patrick arranged to meet next morning at the coffee shop to which Ellie Shultz had taken Jemima the previous day. Then Jemima went back to the Albright house feeling both tired and disappointed. She had not said so to Patrick – and she had learned rather too quickly to be comfortable using his name – but she was very much aware that they had little time before she would be arrested again, and tried for murder. It was only the closeness of Christmas that was allowing her even this long.
She hated going back to the Albright mansion, but she had nowhere else to stay. She certainly had not sufficient funds to find herself a room at a hotel of even modest comfort or safety. Added to which it was Celia who had paid her bail, but it was conditional upon her staying where the police could find her at any time.
She had taken off her heavy outdoor coat and was walking across the hall when one of the maids told her that Miss Celia would like to speak with her.
‘Thank you,’ Jemima said with a sinking heart. She had intended speaking with Celia anyway. She owed it to her to keep her apprised even of the little she had learned. When she went over it in her mind, it amounted to nothing that would help. Rather the opposite! Maria Cardew seemed to have been a good woman who was well liked, even respected. Only the Albright family, and Phinnie, had any reason to fear her. And now it looked as if Sara Godwin was also dead.
