“So that could be what killed her. Did you find out where her purse was?”
“Not for certain, but Miss Biafore said she usually just laid it on the table in the hallway. She wanted the women who lived there to think she trusted them.”
“But you don’t know for sure?”
“No. I’ll have to ask Miss Yingling and Mrs. Spratt-Williams if they remember.”
“Either of them could be the killer, you know.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Miss Yingling is the one who convinced Mr. Van Orner to let you investigate, and I can’t think of any possible reason why Mrs. Spratt-Williams would want to kill her friend.”
“Just because you can’t think of it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. What did that girl Amy have to say for herself?”
“I didn’t see her. She’s gone.”
“What do you mean, she’s gone?”
“I mean she packed up herself and her baby and left this morning.”
“Where did she go?”
“They don’t know. She didn’t even tell anyone she was leaving. Lisa—Miss Biafore—thinks she may have gone back to Mrs. Walker’s house.”
“Why would she go there? Mrs. Walker was going to give her baby away.”
“I didn’t say she did. I said that’s all Lisa could think of. I don’t think Amy had any money of her own, and if she had family, why didn’t she go there before? Nothing else makes sense.”
“What about the other women in the house?”
“I talked to both of them, but they’re too frightened to be much help. They don’t remember anything that happened yesterday or even who was in the house. They never noticed Mrs. Van Orner’s purse or who she talked to. I can’t imagine either of them would want to kill her. Without her, they don’t have any hope at all.”
“You’re probably right, and Amy running away doesn’t look good for her,” Frank said.
“But we still don’t know any reason why she’d want Mrs. Van Orner dead, and if she did have one, wouldn’t she stay around to benefit from it?”
“Maybe she’s afraid of getting caught.”
“When Miss Yingling came over last night to tell them the news, she didn’t say Mrs. Van Orner was murdered, only that she’d died suddenly. It’s possible nobody would have ever figured out she was poisoned. Why run away until there was real danger?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t think we’ll figure out the answer until we find Amy.”
“And if she killed Mrs. Van Orner, we may never find her.” Sarah sighed. “What should we do next?”
Frank flinched inwardly at the “we,” but he had to admit he still needed her help. “Would Mrs. Spratt-Williams see you?”
“I’m sure she would. She may not even know Mrs. Van Orner is dead yet. I think a condolence call would be in order in any case. I can even express concern about the future of Rahab’s Daughters. The women at the rescue house are terrified they’ll be turned out.”
“They probably will be unless this Mrs. Spratt-Williams is willing to keep it going.”
“Even if she’s willing, she may not be able. According to Miss Biafore, Mrs. Van Orner supported it with money of her own, not what she got from her husband, and also some she got from friends. Even still, they were often short of funds.”
“So that’ll give you a reason to call on Mrs. Spratt-Williams. Miss Yingling gave me her address.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll call on those two fellows who helped with the rescues.”
“Potter and what was the other man’s name?”
“Quimby.”
Sarah frowned. “Neither of them were with her at all yesterday. What could they possibly tell you?”
“I won’t know that until I talk to them.
“Where shall we plan to meet later?”
“I’ll come by your house tomorrow.”
Sarah took her leave, so she’d arrive at Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s house in time to make a socially acceptable afternoon visit. Frank watched her go with a sick feeling in his stomach. How the hell did she always mange to get mixed up in his cases?
MRS. SPRATT-WILLIAMS LIVED IN A TOWN HOUSE A FEW blocks from Sarah’s parents’ home on the Upper West Side. It was furnished modestly but in good taste. Mrs. Spratt-Williams received Sarah in the family parlor. She wasn’t dressed for company, and she looked as if she might have been crying.
“What a surprise, Mrs. Brandt. Please excuse my appearance, but I suppose you’ve heard about poor Vivian.”
“Yes, I did. What a shock. I’m so very sorry.”
“You can’t imagine how distraught I am. I’ve known Vivian for years and years. She was like a sister to me.”
“I’m sure she must have felt the same way. I know she appreciated your help with Rahab’s Daughters.”
“Oh, yes. I was the first one she came to when she got the idea for it. She said to me, ‘Tonya’—she always called me Tonya. My real name is Antonia, but she shortened it to Tonya when we were girls—she said, ‘Tonya, we must do something for all these unfortunate women in the city.’ ”
“It seems a very unusual thing for ladies like you to be concerned with,” Sarah observed.
“Vivian was an unusual woman, and . . . well, she had her reasons, I suppose,” she added with what might have been a hint of distaste.
Sarah decided not to mention the rumors about Mr. Van Orner, at least not yet. “I understand she supported the work with her own money.”
“Yes, she had a small inheritance, from an aunt, I think. She used the income from that and some of her allowance, I’m sure.”
“And her friends helped, too, I suppose.”
“Those of us who were involved, of course. I gave her what I could. I’m a widow, you see, and I have limited resources. I believe the gentlemen were more generous.”
Sarah knew what it cost to run a house like this, and she suspected Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s resources were limited only by her own choices. “I was just at the rescue house to see if there was anything I could do to help. Miss Biafore is quite concerned about what will become of Rahab’s Daughters now.”
“Oh, dear, I’m sure no one has given that a moment’s thought. I know I just heard about Mrs. Van Orner this morning.”
“How did you hear?”
“Miss Yingling sent me a note. I assume she notified the others as well. Isn’t that how you heard?”
Sarah chose to ignore the question. “I believe you were with Mrs. Van Orner just before she died.”
“Was I? I had no idea. I didn’t know when it happened. Or even where. Was it at the rescue house?”
“No, shortly after she left, I believe. In her carriage.”
“In her carriage? How horrible. But of course, Miss Yingling was with her, so at least she wasn’t alone.”
“Miss Yingling wasn’t with her.”
“She wasn’t? How strange.”
“Why was it strange?”
“I . . .” She had to think about that. “Wasn’t Vivian going home? Miss Yingling lives with the Van Orners, so naturally I assumed she was with her. They always leave together.”
“Not that day. After she spoke with you, Mrs. Van Orner was upset about something, and she didn’t wait for Miss Yingling. Do you have any idea what she was upset about?”
The color rose in Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s face. “I hope you aren’t accusing any of us of causing her to have apoplexy or something.”
“Apoplexy?” Sarah asked in confusion.
“Or heart failure or whatever she died of. I assume from your questions that they believe something that happened that day caused her to die very suddenly. A shock of some kind, perhaps.”
“Did she have a shock that day?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she insisted, even though her face was scarlet.
“You were one of the last people to speak with her before she died,” Sarah reminded her. “Did she seem to be in shock?”
“I . . .
I have no idea. Vivian was . . . She wasn’t one to let her emotions show.”
“Did she seem out of sorts? Not herself?”
“I don’t remember.”
Sarah took a chance. “Was she drinking more than usual?”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face. “Drinking? What are you talking about?”
“Everyone knows about the flask she carried with her,” Sarah lied. “And how she would take a sip or two to calm herself.”
“You’re mistaken!”
“Drinking alcohol when you’ve had a shock can sometimes cause a . . . an unfortunate reaction,” she tried. “If that’s what happened to Mrs. Van Orner, then it’s no one’s fault, is it?”
There, she’d given Mrs. Spratt-Williams a chance to clear her conscience, if she’d been blaming herself.
“Do you think that’s what happened?” she asked, almost hopefully.
“It would make sense.”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams closed her eyes and sighed, as if a weight had been lifted from her. “I’m afraid that Vivian and I did have words yesterday. I’ll never forgive myself if that caused her death.”
“What did you discuss? Maybe it wasn’t really that upsetting to her,” she added, lest she be thought simply nosy.
“Oh, dear, I don’t know if it was or not. With Vivian, it was so hard to tell. She never allowed her true feelings to show. Her mother always taught her it was unladylike.”
“I’d be happy to give you my opinion,” Sarah said, fighting the urge to shake the story out of her.
“Oh, I don’t suppose it could matter now. I was only trying to help, you see. She wanted to put Amy out of the house. She was so unpleasant, and the other girls hated her. She even refused to look after her baby, but . . . Well, Amy has had a difficult time of it. I know because she told me her story. When you know what she’s been through, you can understand why she’s so angry. I’m afraid I’ve become quite fond of the girl and her darling little boy.”
“Did Mrs. Van Orner argue with you?”
“No, not really. She just . . . She simply refused to discuss it. I tried every argument I could think of, but she wouldn’t budge.”
“And did you see her with her . . . her flask?”
“No, I didn’t. I never saw her actually drink from it, not once in all the years I’ve known her. I could smell it on her, though. She used those peppermints, and they fooled most people, I suppose, but not those of us who knew.”
“And who else knew?” Because, Sarah realized, only someone who knew about the flask would have thought to poison it.
Mrs. Spratt-Williams stiffened at the question, offended in some way Sarah certainly hadn’t intended. “I thought you said everyone knew.”
Lying always got her in trouble. “I was guessing. As far as I know, only one other person knew.”
“Poor Vivian. She’d be mortified to know people were talking about her this way. What difference could that possibly make now anyway?”
Malloy would be furious, but Sarah knew instinctively that she must tell Mrs. Spratt-Williams the truth if she hoped to get any more useful information out of her. “Because Mrs. Van Orner didn’t die of shock or apoplexy or heart failure. She was poisoned.”
“Poisoned!” The hand Mrs. Spratt-Williams lifted to her heart trembled. “How on earth could she have been poisoned?”
“Someone put the poison in her flask, and when she got into her carriage, she took a drink from it, as she often did when she was upset. By the time she arrived home, she was dead.”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams went white to her lips and her eyes rolled back in her head. Sarah was beside her at once, chaffing her wrists and lightly slapping her cheeks to keep her from losing consciousness.
“Some . . . brandy . . .” the poor woman managed, indicting a sideboard.
Sarah hurried over, found the right bottle, and poured her a medicinal dose. She held the glass to Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s lips, and after a few sips and a round of coughing, the woman no longer looked as if she was going to faint.
“I’m very sorry,” Sarah said. “I shouldn’t have been so blunt, but we need your help if we’re going to find out who killed Mrs. Van Orner.”
This only distressed her more. “Who is this ‘we’ you’re talking about?”
“The police. They’re investigating. I’ve helped them before, and we thought it would be more acceptable to you to answer questions from me than from them.”
“It may be more acceptable, but I can hardly imagine it being any more shocking,” she said, prompting Sarah to apologize all over again.
“But you can see how important it is to find out who knew about Mrs. Van Orner’s flask. Only someone who did could have killed her.”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams considered this very carefully, leaning back in her chair and watching Sarah closely as she thought it over. Finally, she said, “It was a well-guarded secret, as you can imagine. Only two others knew of it—her husband and Tamar Yingling.”
9
FRANK WAITED A FEW MINUTES LONGER AT THE COFFEE shop before heading out to visit the two gentlemen. The police didn’t have to worry about formal visiting times, and he thought the closer to dinner he arrived, the more likely he was to find them at home. From Sarah’s description, they sounded as if they didn’t need to work, but they might have other reasons to be out of the house during the day.
He went to Mr. Quimby’s first. He lived in one of those apartment buildings on Marble Row, a section of Fifth Avenue where all the buildings were fronted with marble. The doorman didn’t want a policeman to enter the building, so Frank had to threaten to come back with a gang of uniformed cops to search the place. After that, the doorman decided Mr. Quimby would be happy to see Frank.
Mr. Quimby had not been consulted, however, and he was actually somewhat less than happy.
“I can’t imagine why the police are involved in this. Does Mr. Van Orner know you’re questioning his wife’s friends?”
They were sitting in a large room with twelve-foot ceilings. Windows stretched up two walls, giving a magnificent view of the city in all its tawdry beauty. The furnishings were heavy and masculine, mostly leather and brass in shades of brown and gold. Frank determined from this that Quimby was a bachelor. He wondered idly if Quimby had ever used a prostitute. He decided not to ask.
“Mr. Van Orner has asked me to investigate his wife’s death,” Frank said, surprising Quimby. “He believes foul play might be involved.”
“Foul play! Miss Yingling’s note gave no indication of any such thing.”
“Did you think a perfectly healthy woman just dropped over dead for no reason?” Frank asked curiously.
Quimby found the question offensive. He was the sort of man who was easily offended, dignified and quietly respectable, well-groomed and well-mannered. “Of course not. I assumed she had taken ill or that she’d had some sort of attack.”
“She died in her carriage on the way home from the rescue house yesterday.”
“Then Miss Yingling will know what happened.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they were always together. Vivian never went anywhere without that girl. I always said I thought she knew more about Vivian’s business than Vivian did.”
“Miss Yingling wasn’t with her.”
“She wasn’t? That’s odd. Where was Mrs. Van Orner going?”
“Home, I understand.”
“Then that doesn’t make any sense at all. Miss Yingling lived with the Van Orners. Why wouldn’t she have gone home with Vivian?”
“Miss Yingling said Mrs. Van Orner was upset and left without her.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That Mrs. Van Orner would leave without her?”
“No, that Mrs. Van Orner would be upset. I’ve known her for ten years, and I’ve never seen her anything other than completely calm and in control of her emotions.”
“She’d had a convers
ation with that woman Amy, the one with the baby that you rescued a few weeks ago, and another with Mrs. Spratt-Williams. Can you think of anything she might have talked to them about that would have upset her?”
“Of course not. Well, I can’t actually speak for the girl, I’m afraid. I only saw her very briefly the day we rescued her from that house where she worked. I haven’t seen her since, although Mrs. Spratt-Williams mentioned the other day when I saw her at church that she wasn’t doing very well. Many of them don’t, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” Frank said. “Why is that?”
“I’ve never understood it myself,” he admitted. “You’d think they’d be so glad to be freed from their horrible bondage that they’d be grateful for whatever they received. Not all of them are, though. They don’t like wearing cast-off clothes, and they get bored with the simple pleasures of ordinary life. Some of them are addicted to drink or opiates, and they get surly when we don’t allow them to indulge anymore. But the worst trouble comes when we tell them they must find a job and learn to support themselves.”
“Are they lazy?”
“Oh, no, it’s not that. They just can’t be satisfied with the frugal lives they must lead. Jobs for women don’t pay very well, I’m afraid. Most employers assume the girls live with their families and are just helping out until they find husbands. As soon as they marry, they have to quit their jobs and make room for the next batch of girls. No one expects them to support themselves on what they can earn in a factory, but these girls have to.”
“I see. That would be discouraging.”
“You have no idea. The work is hard, too, which is another deterrent. After a few months, many of the girls are back on the street, trying to supplement their meager incomes. Word always gets back to their employers, and they lose the factory job, and then . . . Well, they must go back to their old lives or starve. I don’t know what the answer is.”
“Better-paying jobs for women would help,” Frank said.
Quimby must not have heard him. “So you see, Vivian was used to the girls at the house complaining. She wouldn’t have been surprised by that, much less upset by it.”
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