Murder on Lexington Avenue (14 page)

“We should’ve stayed in White Plains,” Mrs. Wooten said to Minnie as the maid wiped her brow, her tone accusing, as if it was the maid’s fault they hadn’t. “It’s so much cooler there.”

“Miss Electra wanted to come home,” Minnie reminded her patiently. “They’ve got a summer cottage there,” she added to Sarah with a shrug. “But they always come home when school starts up.”

Sarah had fashioned cloth loops and attached them to the headboard for Mrs. Wooten to hang on to when she needed the support. She was holding them constantly now. The contractions were coming so closely, she didn’t have time to work her hands out and back in again between them. Panting, she went limp against the pillows as the latest contraction faded.

“I could die, couldn’t I?” she asked breathlessly.

“You aren’t going to die,” Sarah assured her. “You’re doing fine.”

“I was a fool, a stupid fool. He said he loved me!”

Sarah knew better than to reply to such a statement. She took the damp cloth from the maid’s hand and gently patted Mrs. Wooten’s face with it.

Then Mrs. Wooten groaned as another contraction tightened around her. “I can’t stand this!” she cried. “I’m going to die!”

“No, you’re not,” Sarah said patiently. “You’re going to have a baby, and then you’re going to be fine. It won’t be much longer now.”

“How do you know?” Mrs. Wooten demanded furiously. “You don’t know anything! You’re just a stupid midwife. I should have gotten the doctor. Minnie, call the doctor!”

“You didn’t want him, ma’am,” Minnie reminded her, giving Sarah a desperate look. “You told Mrs. Parmer you didn’t.”

“We can call him if you want,” Sarah said reasonably. “But the baby will be here before he is.”

“No, it won’t! It’s never coming,” she cried. “I’m going to die! Don’t let me die!”

“You aren’t going to die,” Sarah said, lifting her nightdress to check on the baby’s progress. “I promise you won’t. The baby’s crowning. I can see his head. When the next contraction comes, I want you to push as hard as you can.”

“Oh, God, oh, God, I can’t, I can’t,” she moaned. “I can’t do it. I can’t!”

“Yes, you can,” Sarah said. “Just once more. Now push.”

“That son of a bitch! He said he loved me, but he won’t want me now! Not after this!” She made a sound like a growl in her throat as she hunched into the push and bore down with all her strength.

As Sarah had hoped, the baby’s head emerged, all wet and streaked. “Just once more,” Sarah said. “He’s almost out. Just once more!”

“I can’t, I can’t,” she sobbed as the maid wiped the rivulets of sweat and tears from her face.

“Don’t you want to see your baby?” Sarah asked.

“No!” she cried, surprising Sarah. “I never want to see him!” And then she groaned as another contraction clamped down. She bared her teeth and made the growling sound again and this time the little body slipped free.

Sarah caught him—it was a boy—and started wiping the mucus from his mouth.

“It’s a boy,” Sarah told her.

“Is it dead?” Mrs. Wooten asked, her voice shrill. “It isn’t crying. Is it dead?”

“No, it’s just—”

“Then kill it! Smother it! Do something!” she cried.

In all her experience, Sarah had never heard such a request. When she looked at Mrs. Wooten, the eyes staring back at her held cold determination. Before she could think of what to say, the baby in her hands took a breath and released it on a wail. Sarah had always thought that was the most beautiful sound in the world, but Mrs. Wooten winced and fell back against her pillows again, this time in despair.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she murmured as the baby’s wail grew louder.

Sarah worked mechanically, tying off the umbilical cord and cutting it, then wrapping the baby in the clean blanket Minnie handed her. When her gaze met Minnie’s, she saw her own horror reflected there, but Sarah knew better than to say anything and invite a reply from the maid that Mrs. Wooten could hear. Tomorrow, Minnie would still have to work in this house, and Sarah would do nothing to make that more difficult for her. Mrs. Wooten would forget what she herself had said here today, but she would never forget anything she heard from servants.

Minnie held the baby gingerly, as if afraid to offer it too much of a welcome into the world, and she kept watching Sarah for instruction. But Sarah was busy with the afterbirth and getting Mrs. Wooten cleaned up again. When she’d sponged her off and helped her change into a clean nightdress, she assisted her over to the settee so they could change the sheets.

“If you nurse the baby, even for a day or two, it will help you recover more quickly,” Sarah told her.

“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Wooten said with a shudder of revulsion.

Sarah had encountered reluctant mothers before. She also knew the power of a newborn to charm. “Then perhaps you’d just like to hold the baby while we make up the bed,” she tried.

“No!” Mrs. Wooten said. “I don’t want to hold it. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want it here at all.”

Minnie’s eyes widened in horror, but Sarah had to remain calm. “Minnie, would you take the baby into the other room and ring for one of the other maids to help me with the bed?”

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” Minnie said gratefully, and carried the mewling infant into the other room of Mrs. Wooten’s bedroom suite.

Sarah began to strip the sheets from the bed, giving Mrs. Wooten a few minutes to collect herself.

Another maid appeared, her eyes wide as she glanced around, taking in the scene before her so she could give a full accounting when she returned below stairs to the other servants. All she saw was her mistress, reclining on the settee, and Sarah waiting for her help in remaking the bed with fresh linens. The two worked in silence, and Sarah dismissed her with an armload of soiled sheets when they were finished.

Sarah helped Mrs. Wooten back to her bed. When the woman was comfortable, lying back against the pillows, half-asleep, Sarah said, “Would you like me to find a wet nurse for you?”

Mrs. Wooten’s eyes popped open. “Can’t you take it away? To an orphanage or something? I can pay you whatever you want. No one would ever know.”

Sarah schooled her expression to conceal her true emotions. “Mrs. Wooten, too many people already know about it.”

The woman looked desperate. “Then I could say it died. Babies die all the time. My last baby did!”

“Minnie knows he’s alive. By now, so do the rest of the servants. And your other children, and Mrs. Parmer.”

“Oh, yes, Betty,” Mrs. Wooten said in dismay. Obviously, she had no faith that her sister-in-law would keep her terrible secret.

“There’s no disgrace in a married woman having a baby,” Sarah pointed out. “If anyone asks why you kept your condition a secret, well, that’s easily explained. You were worried, perhaps even superstitious about it, after your last child died and considering your age.” She could see Mrs. Wooten understood what she was saying, but just in case she had missed the underlying message, she added, “And no matter what anyone else might think, only you and your husband would know for sure if he wasn’t the baby’s father.”

And of course that husband was now dead and long past raising any objections.

“Yes, yes,” Mrs. Wooten murmured, closing her eyes again as she contemplated the situation and considered what Sarah had said. It would work. She knew it would.

“He’s a fine boy,” Sarah added idly, smoothing the sheet that covered Mrs. Wooten. “He’ll be getting hungry soon.”

“I suppose I should see him,” Mrs. Wooten said with a sigh. “No use giving the servants any more gossip to spread.”

Sarah gave her an approving nod and went to fetch the baby from Minnie.

“You’re not going to take it away, are you?” the girl asked in alarm when Sarah reached for him.

“Sometimes women say silly things when they’re having a baby, things they don’t really mean,” Sarah said, hoping Minnie would believe her, or at least pretend she did. “Mrs. Wooten would like to see her son now.”

Minnie sighed with relief as she handed the baby over.

“Does the house still have a nursery?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, but it’s been all shut up these ten years or more.”

“Have the servants open it up then, and find some clothes and diapers. Buy some if you have to. We’ll need some right away.”

“What about a wet nurse, ma’am?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Minnie scurried off to do her bidding.

The child looked up at Sarah with the wide blue eyes of total innocence only the newly born possessed. Did he have any idea how close he had come to rejection? Hopefully, not.

Sarah was smiling when she brought the baby back to his mother. Nothing in her expression or manner would betray her disgust for a mother whose initial reaction had been to murder her infant.

“I sent Minnie to get some diapers and clothes,” Sarah said. “In the meantime, here is your son.”

She placed the baby into Mrs. Wooten’s arms and was gratified to see the woman’s expression turn instantly tender. “He looks just like Leander did at that age,” she marveled.

A few minutes later, Sarah had convinced her to nurse the child for her own benefit, after promising to arrange for a wet nurse as soon as possible. His belly full, the baby fell asleep, and Sarah tucked him in beside his mother for the moment.

“I’m glad he’s a boy,” Mrs. Wooten remarked, glancing down fondly at the child she’d wished dead only a short hour ago. “Females have a difficult lot in this world.”

Sarah had to agree. “Beginning with the weakness of our own bodies,” she said, thinking of how men’s physical strength alone gave them such an advantage.

“Yes,” Mrs. Wooten agreed eagerly. “A man can take his pleasure, and what are the consequences? Nothing for him and everything for the woman.” She placed a hand over her belly, probably recalling her recent ordeal. “How fortunate that my husband . . .” She caught herself just in time, and her face registered the shock she felt at realizing she had almost said how fortunate that her husband had been murdered so he couldn’t expose her adultery.

“Yes,” Sarah said helpfully, deliberately misunderstanding. “How
unfortunate
your husband never got to see his new son. Have you thought what you will name him?” she added to distract them both from the woman’s awkward slip.

“I haven’t allowed myself to,” she said. “I was so afraid he wouldn’t survive, I haven’t thought of anything beyond his birth.”

Managing not to smile at how easily Mrs. Wooten had adopted her suggested lie, Sarah said, “I believe you can safely begin to think about it now. Will you choose another reference to Greek mythology?”

“Heavens, no,” Mrs. Wooten exclaimed in disgust. “That was my husband’s idea. I always thought it was ridiculously pompous. No, I’ll choose something more sensible this time.”

“Perhaps you could name him after his father,” Sarah suggested, unable to resist.

Mrs. Wooten’s head jerked up, her eyes glittering with fury. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it would be a nice tribute to your late husband to have the child named for him,” she said innocently.

Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Yes, it would indeed.”

F
RANK WAS ONLY TOO GLAD TO ESCAPE THE WOOTEN home before Mrs. Brandt was finished with her assigned task. The idea of being nearby when a baby was born had turned his blood cold ever since he’d lost Kathleen after Brian’s birth. He truly hoped he’d never have to return to the Wootens’, too, although he knew that was unlikely. Someone in that house could lead him to Nehemiah Wooten’s killer. So far the only person there who didn’t seem glad—or at least relieved—that he was dead was his sister, Mrs. Parmer, and even she had information that might help him.

Of course, he’d never be allowed to arrest any of them, even if they were guilty. Rich people were never tried for murder in New York City. The best he could do was to privately identify the killer and proclaim the case unsolved. But more importantly, he could make sure an innocent person didn’t hang because it would be easier to accuse somebody poor and powerless of the crime.

Energized by that thought, he went to Brian’s school, grabbing a meat pie from a street vendor for a hasty lunch along the way. The next person he needed to confront was Uriah Rossiter. His name had been mentioned by three different people so far in the investigation, and Frank had a few questions for him.

Mr. Rossiter was teaching when Frank arrived, but because Frank’s son was a student at the school, he agreed to allow someone else to monitor his class while he spoke with Frank. At least that was the story he gave when he got the summons, and his manner was pleasant and accommodating when he met Frank in the empty classroom to which Frank had been conducted so they could speak privately.

“I’m very happy to meet you, Mr. Malloy,” Rossiter said, shaking Frank’s hand firmly with his bone-dry palm. Rossiter was a stump of a man, short and stocky and running to fat in his middle years. He didn’t seem at all concerned about being summoned by a police detective. “We’re very happy you chose to send Brian here to school. He’s a delightful lad and quite bright for his age.”