Murder on Sisters' Row gm-13

by Victoria Thompson

  “I don’t know, but she was here again yesterday,” Miss Yingling said uncertainly.

  “Who?”

  “Mrs. Spratt-Williams. She visited Amy.”

  “What did they talk about?”

  “I wasn’t with them. Amy saw her alone, but . . . Oh, wait, I know something that . . . Oh, my, I know how she killed her!”

  “How?” Frank demanded.

  “Gregory had hired a nurse to take care of the baby, and Amy wouldn’t have to feed him herself anymore. She’d even asked Mrs. Brandt on Saturday about how to stop her . . . her milk,” she said, flushing slightly at the delicate nature of the conversation.

  “For God’s sake, do we have to hear this?” Van Orner asked.

  “Go on,” Frank said.

  “Mrs. Brandt told her what to do and warned her she’d be very uncomfortable for a few days. Amy never liked to be uncomfortable. This morning, Amy told me that Mrs. Spratt-Williams had brought her a potion to take that would dry up her milk instantly, and she wouldn’t have a moment of discomfort.”

  “What kind of potion?”

  “I have no idea, but she was bragging about it to me in the carriage this morning. She said Mrs. Spratt-Williams told her not to take it until the nurse arrived, in case she was delayed or something and Amy had to keep feeding the baby for another day or two. She said it worked very quickly, so Amy had waited until the nurse came this morning.” She looked up at Frank, her eyes wide. “She must have taken it just before we left the house.”

  Frank felt the hair on the back of his neck rising. “Where would she have put the empty bottle?”

  “Probably in her room.”

  “Show me,” Frank said.

  “This is outrageous,” Van Orner protested, but Miss Yingling was already across the room with Frank at her heels.

  She led him upstairs and down a hallway to one of the closed doors. She threw it open and stopped, taking stock. The bed was unmade, and Amy’s few belongings were strewn around. Some toiletries sat on the dressing table. Miss Yingling went straight to it, looking over the bottles. Frank was right behind her. He saw it first.

  “This is it.” He picked up the small brown bottle. The cork that had stoppered it lay nearby. It was empty except for a drop or two in the bottom. He sniffed. “Laudanum.”

  “Dear God. But why kill Amy? She actually seemed partial to her. She’d even tried to convince Vivian not to turn her out of the rescue house.”

  “She must have been worried that Amy would tell what she knew about her argument with Mrs. Van Orner. Did Mrs. Spratt-Williams know Mrs. Walker?”

  “She’d never met her, but she knew all about her from helping to plan Amy’s rescue. I know this sounds like I’m just trying to throw suspicion from myself onto Mrs. Spratt-Williams, and you don’t have any reason to believe me, but Mrs. Brandt can tell you all this is true. You said she’s helping you, so I know you’ll believe what she says. She was there when they planned the rescue, and she was here when Amy told Mrs. Spratt-Williams that she knew all about her argument with Vivian. Mrs. Brandt knows everything I just told you except about the potion.”

  Frank felt the truth like a blow to the stomach. Mrs. Spratt-Williams was the killer, Sarah knew all the damming evidence, and she was having tea with her this afternoon!

  SARAH STARED AT MRS. SPRATT-WILLIAMS, WHO WAS looking back at her with the oddest expression on her face, almost as if she were expecting something from her. Sarah thought she knew what it was. She’d said she was impressed by Sarah’s perception, and now she expected Sarah to understand something. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out what it might be.

  Mrs. Spratt-Williams had seemed upset after Vivian Van Orner’s death. She’d lost her closest—and only—friend. But Mrs. Van Orner’s death meant she need no longer fear exposure and expulsion by the Charity Organization Society. It also meant she could take over Rahab’s Daughters herself, giving her a higher position in the charitable community.

  Sarah felt almost guilty thinking it, but Mrs. Spratt-Williams had good reason for being glad her friend was dead. Not only would she avoid exposure, but she would also benefit.

  Yes, she would actually benefit from Mrs. Van Orner’s death.

  The realization must have shown on her face. Mrs. Spratt-Williams smiled. “You know the truth now, don’t you?”

  Sarah couldn’t believe it. Mrs. Spratt-Williams was so much like her mother and all the other women she’d known growing up as the daughter of one of the oldest families in the city. How could a woman like that become a killer? “I’m afraid you’ve given me the impression that you had something to do with Mrs. Van Orner’s death,” she said carefully, trying not to show her growing alarm.

  “I knew you would figure it out eventually. I just wanted to make sure I was with you when you did.”

  None of this was making any sense. “Why did you want me to figure it out at all?”

  “I didn’t, of course, but after what Amy said the other day, I knew it was just a matter of time until you did. I knew Amy wouldn’t actually betray me. She was going to blackmail me instead. But you were a different matter. I couldn’t have overcome your sense of duty.”

  “My duty to do what?”

  “To report me to the COS.”

  “But I don’t think what you did was wrong,” Sarah said. “I have no intention of reporting you to anyone.”

  She sighed. “I wish I could believe that, but we’ll never know now, will we?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’re going to die, just as Vivian did.”

  For some reason, Malloy’s warning flashed through her mind. He’d told her not to eat or drink anything at the rescue house, for fear she might be poisoned. She looked down at the cup she held in horror.

  “Don’t worry, it will be painless,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to keep you here for an hour or so, just to make sure it’s too late for you to get help.”

  She rose from her seat and started toward Sarah, but Sarah held out the cup for her to see.

  “I didn’t drink it.”

  “What?” she asked stupidly, looking down at the nearly full cup.

  “I didn’t drink it. I only pretended, because it tasted so bad. I’m not going to die.”

  She blinked, momentarily at a loss. “But you have to drink it,” she said. She snatched the cup from the saucer and thrust it at Sarah’s mouth.

  Instinctively, Sarah threw up her arm and sent the cup flying, the deadly liquid spilling out in an arc and falling harmlessly to the floor. The cup bounced silently onto the carpet.

  Mrs. Spratt-Williams gave a strangled cry and lunged for Sarah. Sarah jumped to her feet and caught the older woman by the shoulders, shoving her away.

  “What are you doing?” Sarah cried into the woman’s angry face. She peered into her eyes, and that’s when she realized that Mrs. Spratt-Williams was no longer in her right mind.

  Her eyes blazed with an unnatural fury as she cast about for a weapon. She grabbed the teapot by the handle and flung it. Tea streamed from the spout, falling to the carpet with a dull thudding sound, but the pot flew harmlessly past as Sarah dodged. It smashed to the floor, at last making the kind of noise that would cause the servants to come running.

  “Stop it!” Sarah screamed, but Mrs. Spratt-Williams was beyond reason.

  Her wild eyes saw the fireplace tools, and she raced toward them with Sarah at her heels. She yanked the brass poker out of the stand, toppling it with a violent crash, and spun around to face her adversary. She raised the poker over her head, but Sarah rushed in and grabbed her hands where they clutched the handle.

  Locked together, face to face, she could feel the other woman’s hot breath on her face and see the madness shining in her eyes. Mrs. Spratt-Williams clenched her teeth in the silent, desperate standoff as each woman strained against the strength of the other. Some part of Sarah’s mind registered pounding and raised voices, but she couldn�
�t wait for help. She gathered her strength, and with a roar, she threw her weight against her adversary, sending them both crashing to the floor.

  The poker went flying, and Mrs. Spratt-Williams cried out—in pain or anguish, Sarah could only guess. Tangled in the weight of her skirts, Sarah kicked her feet in a frantic effort to free them while Mrs. Spratt-Williams thrashed and bucked beneath her.

  “Stop it!” Sarah cried again, but her adversary was past reason.

  Sarah’s hat had slid down, almost covering her eyes, and Mrs. Spratt-Williams grabbed for it, finding the hatpin and jerking it free before Sarah could guess her intent. Sarah caught her wrist as she thrust with it, stopping her just before the lethal tip plunged into her eye.

  With a roar of fury, Sarah pulled her knees under her and slammed Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s hand into the floor. In a frantic flurry, she captured her other wrist and held it down, pulling herself up so she was straddling her adversary, with both of her hands pinned to the floor. At that moment, the parlor door burst open, and Frank Malloy shouted her name.

  Sarah looked over her shoulder, glaring at him under the cockeyed brim of her hat. “It’s about time you got here.”

  “What in God’s name is going on?” he thundered, scrambling over to where she was perched on top of Mrs. Spratt-Williams.

  “She was trying to kill me.”

  Malloy glared down at the woman and all the fight drained out of her. Sarah felt her go limp except for her heaving chest as she struggled for air.

  The maid had followed Malloy into the room, and now she was weeping hysterically at the sight of her mistress being manhandled.

  “Help Mrs. Brandt up,” he told her sharply, startling her into action.

  She took Sarah’s arm and helped her up. Sarah managed to catch her hat before it fell completely off. Malloy reached down and hauled Mrs. Spratt-Williams unceremoniously to her feet, holding on to her arm in case she tried to flee.

  “Killing Mrs. Brandt won’t help you,” he nearly shouted, speaking right into her face as Sarah had seen him do to intimidate people. “I know everything you did and why, and so does Van Orner and Miss Yingling.”

  She cringed, wrapping her arms around herself as if for protection.

  Malloy looked at Sarah. “Are you all right? Did you eat or drink anything?”

  “No. I think she poisoned the tea, but I didn’t drink it.”

  Mrs. Spratt-Williams straightened abruptly, lifting her chin in a pathetic effort at outrage. “That’s preposterous! How dare you accuse me of something like that!”

  “Amy’s dead,” Malloy said.

  Sarah gasped. “How on earth . . . ?”

  “Mrs. Spratt-Williams gave her some medicine she said would help Amy’s milk dry up faster,” Malloy said. “She drank it this morning, and now she’s dead.”

  “How can you possibly think I killed her?” Mrs. Spratt-Williams asked. “It was that woman, Mrs. Walker. She did it!”

  “Mrs. Walker?” Sarah echoed, totally confused.

  But Malloy apparently understood. He just stared at Mrs. Spratt-Williams for a long moment, considering her. Then he said, “How did you know that Amy was with Mrs. Walker when she died?”

  She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her eyes were terrible.

  “Dear heaven,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “You killed Mrs. Van Orner, who was your only friend in the world, and then you killed Amy, and you were going to kill me. Who was next? Miss Yingling? She knew about you, too.”

  “No one would have believed her over me. I would have said she was the one who changed the names. They’d never take the word of a prostitute over a respectable woman.”

  She was right, of course. “How were you going to explain my death, though?”

  “I was going to wait until you started to get groggy, then turn you out into the street. I would tell them you had some sherry and weren’t yourself. Bad things happen in the streets to women who are intoxicated.”

  Malloy released her arm as if he could no longer stand to touch her.

  “Abigail, I’m feeling faint,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams said to the maid. “Could you get me some salts?”

  The maid, whose hysteria had turned to shock, nodded and fled the room.

  Sarah took a breath, realizing she felt a little faint herself and sank down into a chair. For just a moment, Malloy glanced at her. In that one second of inattention, Mrs. Spratt-Williams grabbed up her skirts and ran from the room.

  Malloy cursed and started after her, but she pulled the door shut behind her, costing him precious seconds. He threw the door open and bolted out after her, racing to the stairs and down, to catch her before she reached the front door.

  Sarah was right behind him, and she happened to glance up as Malloy ran down and saw Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s figure disappearing down the upstairs hall.

  “She’s gone upstairs!” she called to Malloy and ran after her.

  Just as she reached the top of the stairs, she heard a door slam.

  The maid came running up the stairs, clutching a vial of smelling salts in one hand.

  “Which one is her room?” Sarah asked the girl as Malloy came bounding up the stairs behind them, taking them two at a time.

  The maid pointed at one of the closed doors.

  Sarah strode over and tried the handle, but it was locked. “Mrs. Spratt-Williams,” she called through the door. “It’s no use trying to hide.”

  “Get out of the way,” Malloy gasped. “I’ll kick it down.”

  “No!” the maid cried. “Please wait! I’ll get the key!”

  She scurried away, leaving Sarah and Malloy staring at the locked door.

  “Are you sure you didn’t eat or drink anything?” he asked again.

  “I’m positive, except for a sip of the tea. It tasted awful, so I just pretended to drink it, figuring she’d never notice if my cup was still full when I left.”

  “I think she would’ve noticed.”

  “Actually, she was so insistent, I had to tell her. She got very upset. That’s how we ended up on the floor.”

  Malloy ran a hand over his face. “How does this keep happening?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He turned to the door. “Mrs. Spratt-Williams, you need to open the door, or I’m going to have to kick it in.”

  At Sarah’s surprise, he shrugged, “It frightened the maid. I thought it might scare her into opening it.”

  But it didn’t, and they had to wait until the maid came running back with a large ring of keys. After some fumbling, she found the right one and handed the ring to Malloy. He unlocked the door and shoved it open.

  Malloy went first, and Sarah followed, leaving the maid out in the hallway, wringing her hands. Mrs. Spratt-Williams lay on her chaise. She turned her head to look at them when they entered the room but made no other move.

  “I’m going to have to take you down to Police Headquarters,” he told her.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said, her voice flat and defeated. “By the time you get me there, I’ll be dead.”

  Sarah pushed past Malloy and went to her. Three empty bottles of laudanum sat on the table beside the chaise. “Did you drink all of this?”

  “Yes, three times as much as I gave Vivian and Amy and . . . and you. I’ll be asleep in a few more moments, I think.”

  “Call a doctor,” Malloy shouted at the maid. She darted away.

  “I’ll probably be dead before he gets here,” she said calmly. She looked up at Sarah. “I thought I wanted to live. I thought if Harold were dead, people would forget what he’d done and everything would be like it was before. He was the first, you know. I think he was glad to go, though. He was so miserable. But people didn’t forget, and they didn’t forgive. Even though I was completely innocent, they kept punishing me.” Tears flooded her eyes, but Sarah couldn’t feel sorry for her.

  Malloy shook his head in wonder. “Did you really kill Mrs. Van Orner just because she was goin
g to tell the COS you gave them false names?”

  “I couldn’t let her take away my last remaining purpose for living,” she said. Her eyes were growing heavy, her speech slurred.

  “And Amy was going to blackmail you,” Sarah said, watching her eyes close. “And she was afraid I would figure out what she’d done and tell the COS myself,” she added to Malloy.

  Malloy stared down at the sleeping woman in dismay. “Shouldn’t you do something for her?”

  “Why? So she can spend the rest of her life in prison?”

  “Yes,” he said. “She killed three people, and she tried to kill you.”

  This last, Sarah realized, was the real source of his outrage. Touched, she laid a hand on his arm. “I couldn’t save her, no matter what I did. She took too much.”

  Mrs. Spratt-Williams was unconscious now, her breath slow and labored. Soon it would stop altogether.

  “Let’s wait downstairs,” she said.

  They did.

  15

  WHEN SARAH FINALLY GOT HOME THAT NIGHT, SHE WAS summoned to a birth. When she returned from that, she had some business to take care of, so several days passed before she had an opportunity to find out how Malloy had fared with Mr. Van Orner. He finally found her at home on Friday evening. They’d just put Catherine to bed. Sarah assumed he’d waited until late to call because she wouldn’t want the child to overhear them talking about the case.

  She, Maeve, and Malloy had no more than gotten settled around the kitchen table than a knock at the back door told them Mrs. Ellsworth had noted Malloy’s arrival.

  “Please excuse the lateness of the hour,” she said, breathless from her rush to get there. “I just thought I’d save Mrs. Brandt the trouble of having to tell me the whole story again tomorrow. Mr. Malloy, how very nice to see you. How is that darling little boy of yours?”

  Sarah noticed that Malloy covered his mouth to hide a smile. She invited her neighbor in, hurrying to shut the door against the cold night air, and in a few minutes, everyone had been served some coffee and the cookies Mrs. Ellsworth had helped the girls bake that afternoon.