Mr. Robinson leaned back against the fine leather upholstery of his luxurious carriage and gave the matter some thought. “Do we know where the wagons go?”
“Toward the river.”
“Milk wagons,” he mused. “How clever.”
“Then you have an idea.”
“A theory, although I’m willing to bet I’m correct. You see, stealing merchandise is only the beginning of the process. A thief who hopes to profit from stealing it must transport the merchandise from its original location to a place where it can be safely stored and then disposed of—all without being caught.”
“By disposed of, I assume you mean sold to someone else.”
“Exactly. It may be sold many times after that, but moving it the first time is the most dangerous part of the process. Someone is always going to notice merchandise moving through the city at odd times.”
“Unless it’s in a milk wagon,” Sarah guessed.
“My thought exactly,” Mr. Robinson said.
“Because no one notices milk wagons,” Maeve added.
“Except to curse them for blocking traffic,” Mr. Robinson said. “They can also hold a lot of merchandise.”
“And no one can see what’s inside them,” Maeve said.
“Another advantage. I could be wrong, of course. Do you think this Pritchard was operating his dairy to cover up his real business?”
“Oh no,” Sarah said. “Mr. Pritchard was far too honest and upright to be involved in anything illegal.”
“But someone may have been taking advantage of him,” Maeve said.
“I see,” Mr. Robinson said. “And he wouldn’t have allowed it if he knew, so . . .”
“Yes,” Sarah said. “If he found out, someone may have killed him.”
“So you are investigating something interesting. Why did you think I might be offended?”
Sarah shrugged. “My question implied that you would have knowledge about illegal activities.”
“But I do have such knowledge, even though I can assure you moving stolen merchandise is not one of my business interests. And I’m happy to help, after the, uh, kindness you and your husband once performed for me.” Jack had once loved a young woman named Estelle whose privileged upbringing had masked a horrible secret. Sarah wasn’t sure she considered solving Estelle’s murder a kindness, but she was glad Jack did.
“I think Mrs. Malloy would like to perform another kindness for you,” Maeve said slyly.
Sarah glared at her, but she grinned back, unrepentant, and once again Mr. Robinson was amused.
“Would she?” he asked. “And what kindness do you think I need?”
Sarah managed not to sigh. At least she didn’t have to worry any longer about how to broach the subject. “From what you said the last time I saw you, I gathered that you are still interested in . . . shall we say, becoming more respectable?”
His amusement vanished. “Of course I am, but you know how difficult that would be without . . .”
“Yes, without a wife to lend you some respectability,” she said, thinking of how he had lost the young woman he had once planned to marry, the woman who might have given him entrée into that world. “Mr. Robinson, I know you are a practical man.”
“I believe I am.”
“And your original plan was very practical.”
“I thought so.”
“What if I suggested it might still work?”
Robinson frowned. “But . . .”
“With a different young lady,” Sarah hastily added. “I don’t for a moment suggest that another young woman could take her place in your heart, but perhaps she could help you achieve your goals.”
Mr. Robinson considered her through narrowed eyes. “Did you have a particular young lady in mind?”
He glanced speculatively at Maeve, who shook her head decisively. “I’m really just a nanny. I wouldn’t be any help at all.”
“I do know another young lady who would be, however,” Sarah said.
“And what makes you think she would be interested in a man like me?”
Sarah turned to Maeve. “Perhaps you should tell Mr. Robinson what you learned today.”
Maeve straightened importantly. “Mrs. Malloy asked me to speak with Miss Vane to see if she might be willing to consider an arrangement that could be mutually beneficial.”
“Miss Vane?” he asked Sarah.
“You asked me about her the last time you met me at the clinic.”
“The young lady who answered the door?” he remembered with obvious pleasure. He would also remember he had recognized her good breeding.
“Yes, the one you thought must be one of the midwives, but she is not.”
“Then what . . . ?”
They gave him a moment to figure it out.
“She’s confined there, then,” he said thoughtfully.
“Yes. She comes from a socially prominent family, and her condition would be an embarrassment to them.”
“And it would ruin her reputation forever if it became known,” Maeve added. “So her father sent her to the clinic to hide her away.”
“Which would seem to solve her problem,” Mr. Robinson said. “No one is likely to recognize her here and her secret will remain undiscovered.”
“Perhaps,” Sarah said, “although there is no guarantee. People talk, and gossip like that might find its way out. In any case, Miss Vane would have to give up her child, and she cannot bear the thought of it.”
“Then she must be attached to the child’s father, which makes me wonder why he has not taken responsibility.”
“I can assure you she is not attached to the child’s father,” Maeve said. “In fact, she loathes him.”
“He forced her, then,” Robinson guessed.
“No, he tricked her,” Maeve said, her own loathing obvious. “It’s an old story: an innocent girl flattered by the attentions of a man from a family with far greater wealth and social position. After he’d taken advantage of her, she learned he had become engaged to someone else.”
“But surely . . . Doesn’t he know about the child?” Robinson asked, as outraged as Sarah could have hoped.
“He denies everything and says he refuses to be coerced into marrying a harlot and giving his name to some other man’s by-blow.”
Sarah winced at Maeve’s frankness, but Maeve only shrugged by way of apology.
“If she chooses to keep her child,” Sarah said, “her family will disown her. She might find some kind of work, but trying to support herself and take care of a baby is extremely difficult for a woman alone. Besides, as she pointed out, the only job she is trained for is to be the wife of a wealthy man.”
“I certainly qualify as wealthy,” Mr. Robinson said with a frown, “but . . . her family is hardly likely to approve a match with a man whose fortune comes from saloons and gambling dens.”
“Her family is hardly in a position to be particular,” Sarah said.
“And she is perfectly willing to overlook any objections they might have,” Maeve said with a grin.
“You’ve already approached her about this?” Mr. Robinson seemed shocked by the very idea.
“There was no point in discussing it with you if she wasn’t willing to consider it,” Sarah said.
“Oh yes, I suppose I can see that,” he admitted reluctantly.
“And if you do marry, there will be a scandal, of course,” Sarah continued, as if such a thing were commonplace. “You’ll have to elope so the exact date of the marriage will forever be in question, but when the baby is born, everyone will assume you seduced poor Miss Vane to force her into a marriage that gave you every advantage and her none at all.”
But Mr. Robinson smiled at that. “Which will only enhance my reputation as a man to be reckoned with, Mrs. Malloy.”
“I’m glad you find that an appealing prospect. And of course Miss Vane herself will enhance your reputation in other ways. She will be the perfect hostess, and many of her old friends will want to meet her notorious husband, giving you entrée into that world.”
“But,” Maeve said, “she must be allowed to keep her child. That is the only reason she would consider this at all.”
“That speaks well of her, don’t you think?” he said. “Most women would be happy to walk away from a child in these circumstances. My own mother did,” he added with more than a trace of bitterness.
“Don’t judge her too harshly, Mr. Robinson,” Sarah said. “Life can be cruel to a woman alone.”
“Yes, I suppose it can,” he said. “So now that you’ve spoken to both of us, what are you planning to do next?”
Sarah blinked in surprise. Had he just agreed to consider taking Jocelyn Vane as his wife? “I thought I would host a small dinner party where you and Miss Vane could meet.”
“How very respectable,” he said, amused again.
“I thought so. Are you by chance free on Sunday?”
* * *
• • •
Maeve and I can pick her up in the motorcar,” Gino said when Sarah had explained to him and Frank what she and Maeve had accomplished that morning. They had found her at home when they returned from Brooklyn.
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Sarah said.
“Don’t you think you’d better ask Maeve first?” Frank asked, thinking she was brave indeed to speak for the girl, who was not present because she’d gone to fetch Catherine from school.
“She’ll see the wisdom of it. She’ll tell them at the clinic that Miss Vane’s family wants her to come home for a visit, and she was sent to escort her.”
“Why not just say she’s coming to your house?” Gino asked.
“Because that would look like favoritism,” Sarah explained. “And poor Jocelyn is already finding it difficult to fit in with the other women because of her privileged background. We don’t want to make things worse by having the other women think I show her special attention.”
“But you are showing her special attention by trying to find her a husband,” Frank pointed out.
“Believe me, I would do the same for every unmarried woman at the clinic if I could, but I fear there is a limited supply of suitable men. And don’t forget that we already do whatever we can to help every unmarried woman find work and a safe place to live and whatever help she needs when she leaves the clinic. This is actually just another form of making provisions for one of our patients.”
“I guess it is,” Frank said. “I just find it difficult to believe Black Jack Robinson would agree to something like this.”
“You told me yourself that he once said he wouldn’t mind marrying another young woman under similar circumstances. He actually told me he admires Miss Vane’s determination to keep her child, since his mother apparently gave him up.”
“Yes, but claiming another man’s child as your own . . .” Frank said, shaking his head at the very thought.
“Catherine is another man’s child,” she reminded him with a smug smile. “She’s another woman’s child, too, and yet we both love her as our own.”
“And Brian isn’t Mrs. Frank’s son, but she loves him, too,” Gino reminded them both.
Frank found he had no arguments left. “When you put it that way . . .”
“Exactly,” Sarah said. “And Mr. Robinson would be getting a wife with many accomplishments who can repay his kindness by introducing him to society, which is his fondest wish.”
“Although I can’t imagine why he’d want that,” Frank said with a shudder.
“Neither can I,” Sarah said, “and he may change his mind later, but at least it will be his decision. Now, did the two of you learn anything interesting in Brooklyn?”
Frank told her about his conversation with Wolinski and the man’s suspicions about Harvey.
“Which reminds me,” she said. “I asked Mr. Robinson if he had any idea why the milk wagons would be out at the wrong time of night.”
“And did he?” Frank prodded when she hesitated.
“As you already guessed, he thought they might be being used to transport stolen merchandise.”
“Yes, but who at the dairy would have been involved? We’re pretty sure it wasn’t Pritchard himself, but it had to be someone with enough authority to convince the other employees to ignore what was going on.”
“And now we think that’s Harvey,” Gino said.
“But how would he get involved in something like that?” Sarah asked.
“And even if he did, does it have anything to do with why Pritchard was killed?” Frank added. “I don’t think Harvey would tell me if he’s involved with a ring of thieves, and if his mother or sister know anything, would they tell us if it implicates Harvey?”
“I know who would tell us, if she knows,” Gino said with a sly grin.
“Mrs. Ellsworth,” Sarah guessed. “I should probably call on her, but that’s going to have to wait now. The funeral is tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” Frank said. “Everyone will be at the church for the service, won’t they?”
“I’m sure they will, except the servants who’ll be setting up the repast for afterward,” Sarah said.
“Which will give Gino a perfect opportunity to pay the servants a visit to find out if Mrs. Pritchard really was at home on New Year’s Eve.”
“You don’t really imagine she followed her husband down to Trinity Church and strangled him, do you?” Sarah asked, obviously skeptical.
Frank was skeptical himself. “Stranger things have happened, but what I really want to know is if she was with Bergman that night.”
“Oh, I see. That would give her an alibi,” Sarah said. “Him, too, I suppose.”
“Or maybe she and Bergman went down to Trinity Church together,” Gino said.
Sarah was spared replying because Mrs. Malloy arrived home just then with Brian, who wanted to tell them all about his day at school. While Mrs. Malloy was interpreting the new signs he’d learned that day, Maeve also arrived home with Catherine, who had stories of her own to tell. All discussion of murder had to wait.
* * *
• • •
Gino didn’t bother going to the front door at the Pritchard house. He wasn’t a visitor or a mourner come to pay respects. He knocked on the kitchen door and was admitted by a young maid who smiled flirtatiously. “And what would you be wanting?”
“I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired to investigate Mr. Pritchard’s murder.”
He handed her one of his cards and was gratified to see she was impressed.
“The family isn’t here. The funeral is today, you see, and they’ve all gone to the church.”
“I know. That’s why I came. I wanted to ask the staff a few questions when the family wasn’t around.”
“But we’re busy getting ready for the funeral dinner,” she protested.
Gino glanced past her into the kitchen, where an older woman, another maid, and a middle-aged man sat around the table, obviously not working very hard at getting anything ready. “I only need to ask a few questions.”
“What’s he want?” the older woman called. Gino figured she was probably the cook.
“Says he’s an investigator,” the maid called back. “He’s got a card and everything.”
“What’re you investigating, young fellow?” the older woman demanded.
“Mr. Pritchard’s death. I hate to bother you at this sad time, but my boss told me I had to come see you when the mistress isn’t here,” he added quickly before she could dismiss him out of hand.
“And why would you need to see the likes of us?” she asked with a frown.
Should he be hone
st or lie? She didn’t look like the kind of woman who enjoyed being lied to. “Because my boss says the servants always know everything that’s going on in the house.”
That made the old woman laugh, and the others joined her. “Bring him on in, Daisy. We’ve got everything ready, and we were getting bored just sitting around waiting.”
Daisy took his coat and Gino thanked them as he took a seat at the table.
“Daisy, bring the boy some coffee. He looks froze clean through,” the old woman said.
Daisy brought him coffee and some fruitcake while they introduced themselves. Mrs. Young was indeed the cook, and she’d been with the Pritchard family long before the current Mrs. Pritchard had come along. Mr. Zachary had served Mr. Pritchard and Harvey as a valet and sometime butler. The other maid was Penny.
“I don’t know if Mr. Harvey will keep me on now,” Zachary said with a sigh. “He thinks I’m too old-fashioned.”
“I guess Harvey doesn’t like anything that’s old-fashioned,” Gino tried.
“Oh no, not Mr. Harvey.”
“He and his father disagreed a lot, I hear,” Gino said, dropping the pebble in the water to see where the ripples would go.
“Where’d you hear that?” Mrs. Young asked.
“Here and there, but I actually saw them going at it last week. I was at a dinner party at Nelson Ellsworth’s house—”
“You went to a party at Miss Theda’s house?” Daisy asked, wide-eyed.
“She’s Mrs. Nelson now,” Mrs. Young said. “And why would you be invited there, young man?”
“My boss is a good friend of Mrs. Ellsworth’s. They’re neighbors. Anyway, Mr. Pritchard got mad at something Harvey said and stormed out of the house.”
The servants exchanged uneasy glances, but said nothing.
“Look, I’m not here to gossip,” Gino said, trying out his abashed smile on the ladies. He figured Zachary would be immune. “But I need to ask you a few things.”
“What things?” Mrs. Young snapped. “And don’t go asking us if somebody in this house killed Mr. Pritchard because we won’t believe it.”
Murder on Trinity Place Page 12
