A Sense of Entitlement (22 page)

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that if it had been the murderer she’d seen and they found out, she would indeed be next on the list. As Annie disappeared upstairs, I glanced down to see the laundress climbing up the stairs toward me.

“Delia,” I said. “What luck to cross your path.”

“Lucky for me or for you?”

“For me. I wondered if you’ve come across any beggar’stick seeds on the laundry sent down yesterday, after the ball?”

“What are they?” she said, scowling.

“Prickly seeds that stick to everything. I went hiking the other day and spent half my evening picking them out of my skirt.”

“Lord help me if I did then,” Delia said. “I wouldn’t have the time.” She began to walk away.

“So you haven’t seen any then? Not even a few on a sleeve or a collar?”

“No,” she said, “now if you’ll excuse me, I’m running late already.”

“Of course,” I said, amazed that the woman hadn’t even asked why I wanted to know. “I heard there’s a new housekeeper coming today!” I shouted at her back congenially.

“Now that’s music to my ears,” Delia called back.

Now to find the old one,
I told myself, and bounded upstairs to change.

A
fter meeting with Mrs. Mayhew, updated calendar in hand, and seeing her off to Mrs. Edith Wharton’s breakfast party, I began my search for Mrs. Crankshaw. As an unemployed housekeeper, she would be anxious for similar work. I pored over the
Situation Wanted
advertisements in the local newspapers from the past two days. I read one for a “competent chambermaid, the best Newport and New York references,” “a young man as coachman; first-class city and country reference, disengaged on account of family going to Europe,” several for first-class French cooks, and even one for “an experienced Englishman: expert at silver, salads, etc., thorough valet, competent as butler, luncheons and dinners attended. Good references,” but no one who fit Mrs. Crankshaw’s situation. With no luck from the newspapers, I headed out to visit the employment agencies.

I visited two of the agencies with no luck. The plate next to this second-story office door read:
Peck’s Employment Agency for Governesses & Domestic Servants
. I hoped I’d find a trail of her here. There was only one agency left. I entered the plain, whitewashed office and approached the woman reading behind the only desk. She was tall, thin, with a thick bun of pale yellow hair piled on top of her head. She wore a simple white shirtwaist with puffy sleeves and a plain navy blue, three-pleat skirt. Spectacles stood on the end of her nose as she chewed the end of her pencil.

“Good morning!” the woman said, smiling. She pushed up the spectacles, took the pencil out of her mouth, and began tapping it on her cheek. “My, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Good morning,” I said, surprised by her exuberant greeting. “Mrs. Peck?” I made a guess.

“Oh, yes,” she said, pushing herself back from the desk and standing. She examined me from head to toe as she rounded the desk. “Well groomed, intelligent countenance, respectful manner. Yes, I can find an excellent position for you.” She clapped her hands together. “Too bad the Mayhews already hired Mrs. Ethel Broadbank. I think you’d make them an excellent housekeeper.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m—”

“Not a housekeeper,” Mrs. Peck said, interrupting me. “No, I should’ve guessed you were more cultured than that. A governess, then?” I shook my head. “A lady’s maid?”

“I’m not here looking for work.”

“Oh, you’re not?”

“No, in fact, I already have a position in the Mayhew household. I’m Mrs. Mayhew’s social secretary.”

“I knew it,” Mrs. Peck said. “I can always spot a professional girl when I see one.”

“Thank you,” I said, quite flattered.

“Too bad, though, I would’ve made a substantial commission. Well, what can I do for you, eh . . . I didn’t get your name.”

“Hattie Davish.”

“Yes, well, Miss Davish, since you aren’t here to hire my services, and are therefore obviously here on behalf of Mrs. Mayhew, what can I do for you?” I didn’t correct Mrs. Peck. In some ways I was working on Mrs. Mayhew’s behalf. The more I discovered, the less likely the police would interview anyone at Rose Mont again.

“I’m here to inquire about Mrs. Mayhew’s former housekeeper, Mrs. Crankshaw,” I said.

“Ah, Thelma Crankshaw, yes, well . . . actually, if you’d been here an hour ago . . .”

“She was here?”

“Yes, the delirious creature came in thinking I could help her.”

“But you couldn’t?”

“Oh, dear me, no,” Mrs. Peck said, shaking her head.

“Do you at least know where I can find her?”

“Yes, let me get her file.” She walked across the room to a row of black metal cabinets and bent down to retrieve a file from the bottom drawer of the last one. The drawer was marked
Hopeless
. “Yes, here it is. She’s staying at the Perry House Hotel, room three-seventeen.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Peck,” I said. “May I ask a question?”

“Of course,” the employment woman said, slipping the file back into the drawer and closing it with her foot.

“Why is that drawer labeled
Hopeless
?”

“Because, Miss Davish, there are certain individuals I cannot and will never be able to find employment for.”

“And Mrs. Crankshaw is such a person?” I was shocked. “I grant you she’s gruff and strict with her staff, but she must’ve been an excellent housekeeper. She worked for the Mayhews for seven years.”

“Yes, all of that is true,” Mrs. Peck said, sitting back down behind her desk. “But Mrs. Crankshaw is as well-known for her temper as she is for her work. Now she’s been tainted by her association with strikers and was dismissed without a reference from her employer of seven years. And this time, from what I hear, her temper got the best of her. She burned her bridges, or should I say sliced up her lady’s linen, when she left. No potential employer is going to risk taking a vengeful troublemaker such as Thelma Crankshaw on. I told her that in no uncertain terms when she came in. I do think she was quite upset by it, but it’s the truth. How could I tell her otherwise?”

I pitied Mrs. Crankshaw and shuddered at the thought of being in her position. Without the possibility of employment, what would she do? Where would she go? How could this woman sit there with so little compassion? Didn’t she know that single women with little or no family, women like Mrs. Crankshaw, women like me, might be destitute without work?

“So as I say, Miss Davish,” she said, pointing to the filing drawer, “she’s hopeless.” Mrs. Peck suddenly smiled broadly. Her odd reaction, after proclaiming the tragic end to someone’s life in service, startled me. “But you, on the other hand—”

“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Peck,” I said, having the urge to distance myself from this woman.

“Please tell Mrs. Mayhew how helpful I was.”

“Of course,” I said, putting my hand on the doorknob.

“And Miss Davish,” she said, still grinning, as I opened the door to leave, “if you are ever in need of a position, my door’s always open for you, my dear.” I nodded but fled her office as fast as I could. God help me if I was ever in need of going through her door again!

The address Mrs. Peck had given me, the Perry House Hotel, was a respectable four-story stone building with second- and third-story balconies and a predominant square cupola, attached to the Opera House on Washington Square. I inquired at the desk and was directed to a room on the hotel’s top floor. I knocked. I waited a few moments and knocked again. No answer. I pressed my ear to the door and heard movement inside.

“Mrs. Crankshaw, it’s Hattie Davish. May I speak to you?”

No response. “Please, Mrs. Crankshaw. I need to speak to you.” I was poised to knock again when the door opened slightly.

“What’s all the fuss?” the housekeeper hissed through the crack in the door. “I don’t take well to someone pounding on my door.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Crankshaw,” I said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“May I come in?”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve done nothing more terrible than slice up some linen,” I said. “Please.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I never spoke of striking. As you know, I don’t take well to people who complain, especially when there’s nothing to complain about. We earned a good, respectable living working for the Mayhews. Not one of my staff had reason to mutter the word
strike
. Mr. Mayhew was wrong to dismiss me. I never encouraged Lester to come here. That was all his doing. I told Lester—”

“And you didn’t kill him either,” I said, interrupting her.

The door flew open. I gasped. The room behind the former housekeeper, simply furnished with a single iron bed, a walnut dresser with a thin white lace runner, a small side table, and a chair, was dark and in shambles. The curtains were pulled shut, the counterpane was crumpled at the end of the bed, the table was covered with dirty coffee cups, plates of partially eaten food, and a bottle of whiskey more than half-empty, and pages of a newspaper were scattered across the floor. But that didn’t compare to the state of the woman before me. Her eyes were bloodshot, most of her hair had fallen from its bun and lay haphazard about her shoulders, and she was still wearing her housekeeper’s uniform, now wrinkled and covered with dark stains. From the scent emanating from her, both the uniform and the woman had not been washed in days.

“Who says I did?” Mrs. Crankshaw demanded.

“You were seen threatening him.”

She nodded. “Yes, I cursed him and spit on him, but I didn’t kill that idiot Lester, rest his soul. Plenty of enough others wanted to see that done. My poor sister will miss him, of course, but I think in the end she might be better off. Lester wasn’t much of a provider and he was always making trouble. No, I didn’t wish him well, but I certainly didn’t kill him. James, on the other hand, that was my fault. I did get James discharged. That was wrong of me. I see that now.”

“And James already has a new, respectable position,” I said, taking advantage of her pause for breath.
Astounding,
I thought. Even in her condition Mrs. Crankshaw was wont to talk interminably. “You need not fret on his account.”

“He has?” she said with a slight sense of hope in her voice.

“Yes. May I come in?”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“I need your help in solving your brother-in-law’s murder.”

“You?” She started to laugh, a strangled cackle deep in her throat.

Her reaction alarmed me. I’d never heard Mrs. Crankshaw laugh before. Was she intoxicated? Was she of sound mind? Was she truly as hopeless as she seemed?

“Yes.”

“But why you?”

“Mrs. Mayhew has charged me with assisting the police,” I said.

Mrs. Crankshaw turned to stare at the drawn drapes as if she could see the view. “Because the truth may be too close to Rose Mont?” she said cryptically.

“Yes, something like that,” I said.

“How can I help?” The former housekeeper held up a hand to stop me from saying anything. “Before you ask, I’m only answering your questions because I don’t want anyone to think I killed Lester. I wouldn’t take well to people gossiping about me and saying I killed him when I didn’t. Lester was a troublemaker, stirring up a hornet’s nest for no good reason, but I can’t say he got what he deserved. His heart was in the right place. But he went about it the wrong way. And my sister would be alone in the world now without me and of course I couldn’t give satisfaction to those who think ill of me already.”

“When was the last time you saw your brother-in-law?”

“After that fool disrupted Mrs. Mayhew’s ball,” she said, shaking her head. “What did she do without linen, by the way?”

“She borrowed some from Mrs. Whitwell.”

Mrs. Crankshaw nodded in approval. “Right! Good thinking. That lady won’t be using it for months. I’m surprised Mrs. Mayhew thought of it, though.” I didn’t enlighten her of the truth. She sighed. “I let my temper get the best of me there.”

“Yes, you could say that,” I said.

“What? Are you implying something?” My attempt to lighten the mood was ineffective. Mrs. Crankshaw was defensive and unpredictable. I returned to my task of getting answers.

“No, Mrs. Crankshaw. I was simply agreeing with you. Could you tell me where you were the night and morning after your brother-in-law was killed?” I asked.

“I was here,” she said absentmindedly.

“Alone? Or can someone corroborate your whereabouts?” She didn’t seem to hear me.

“I’ve always wanted to be a housekeeper,” she said. “You should be able to understand, if you’re as good at your job as they say.” I nearly blushed hearing this unexpected compliment. “I wanted to be the best. And I was. I worked for one of the richest, most powerful families in America. I ran two households, never complaining, never demanding anything more than loyalty, respect, and a hard day’s work from my girls. And now . . .” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the door. “And now I’m branded a troublemaker, an anarchist, when the truth is that I don’t take well to rule breakers and troublemakers.”

“I don’t know about those labels, Mrs. Crankshaw, but I may be able to eliminate ‘killer’ from the list, if you’ll let me.” She looked at me. “Will you answer a few more questions?”

“Right,” she said, focusing once again. “I didn’t kill him.”

“I believe you,” I said, not knowing why I did, but I did. “Were you here alone?”

She chuckled. “If I had had a man in my bed, I wouldn’t have to worry where my next meal is going to come from.”

I blushed again. “I didn’t mean to imply . . .” She smiled for the first time. I was relieved, even if it was at my expense. “Did anyone see you?”

“No, I haven’t left the room since I saw Lester after the ball.”

“Would you mind if I inspected your clothes?” I said, indicating her housekeeper’s dress, a separate skirt and bodice of plain black cotton. She frowned.

“Why?”

“Please?”

She looked down at herself. “I haven’t had a chance to launder it yet,” she said quietly.

“That’s a good thing,” I said, stepping closer. I walked around her, inspecting the dress as she watched me with suspicion.

“What are you looking for?”

“Evidence that will convict Lester’s killer,” I said.

“And?”

“And I didn’t find anything.”

“Right! Now what?”

“Maybe now you can find a way back to your sister in Queens and start over? She needs you now as much as you need her.” The former housekeeper nodded and then burst into tears. I was speechless.

“Get out of here,” she said, suddenly shooing me away from the door with her hands. “I don’t take well to people who gawk at those less fortunate. You’ll not get satisfaction from pitying me.” Her comment stung. We were two workingwomen who could relate to each other’s plight. I thought we had made a connection. Somehow I had expected more.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Crankshaw,” I said cheerlessly. “I wish you the best of luck.”

“Right!” she said, slamming the door in my face.

“He’s no longer in Newport. I sent a wire to the Pinkerton detective agency. I’m waiting for the reply. Maybe then we’ll know whom he’s working for and why he was in Newport.”