Murder on Lexington Avenue (18 page)

“I thought your students didn’t learn to sign,” Frank said.

“Only a few of them do,” Higginbotham said. “The ones who can’t master speaking and speechreading. It’s very difficult, you see, and a few of them just aren’t able. So we teach them what we can, and we teach them a trade.”

“So Electra was signing to one of these students, and then she lied about it,” Frank said.

“That’s right. Miss Dunham said she acted very strangely, and so Miss Dunham watched her when she left the school and was alarmed to see her going in the wrong direction, so naturally, she followed her.”

“Naturally,” Frank said, although it wasn’t natural at all. Miss Dunham would have had to be very alarmed to do something so drastic. And following someone in the city wasn’t as easy as it sounded. The Astor Library was a long walk from the Lexington Avenue School. She could have easily lost her in the crowd unless she’d known ahead of time where Electra was going. But who could have told her? And why? More questions for Miss Dunham, who would probably lie or at least refuse to answer. “What did Electra have to say for herself when Miss Dunham brought her back here?”

“She begged me not to tell her parents, of course. She knew how angry her father would be about her learning to sign, although I would have expected him to be much more concerned about his daughter meeting with a strange man. She didn’t seem concerned about that, however. She seemed to think they’d be getting married and everything would be fine.”

“If you weren’t going to see Mr. Wooten until Saturday, how did he find out what had happened?”

“I wrote him a letter and had a student deliver it to him that evening. His reply asked me to meet him at his office on Saturday afternoon.”

“Who else did you tell about this?”

“No one! I was naturally concerned for Electra’s reputation.”

“But Miss Dunham told people.”

“If she did, I have no knowledge of it.”

Frank sighed. He wasn’t getting anywhere with this. He had so much information, but none of it seemed to fit together. He was missing something. Maybe Sarah Brandt had learned something helpful by now. He wondered if he could call on her at the Wooten house without causing too much of an uproar.

 

 

“W
HEN WILL THE WET NURSE BE HERE?” MRS. WOOTEN asked irritably.

“I’m sure they’ll try to find someone as soon as possible, but it may take a day or two,” Sarah replied, taking the sleeping baby from her arms. At least Mrs. Wooten hadn’t refused to nurse him, so far.

“A day or two?” Mrs. Wooten echoed in dismay. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime? I’m already exhausted. I need my rest.”

Sarah bit back the reply she really wanted to make. “You have to understand that they don’t have wet nurses just sitting in their office, waiting for someone to request their services. If you’d given them some notice, they could have already arranged for someone, but under the circumstances . . .” Sarah shrugged eloquently before checking to make sure the baby was truly sleeping before placing him into the newly prepared cradle that the maids had brought in a few minutes ago.

Mrs. Wooten sighed dramatically. “Couldn’t we feed him with a bottle until they send someone? I know that’s possible.”

“If there’s no other alternative, a bottle is better than nothing,” Sarah said, trying to sound patient and understanding, “but babies who are fed with bottles aren’t as healthy as those who are breastfed.”

“But they have those new, scientific formulas,” Mrs. Wooten argued.

“And babies who drink them get sick more often, and they can get rickets and other diseases.”

Mrs. Wooten sighed again. “But it would just be for a few days. I can’t think what my friends will say if they find out I’m nursing a baby.”

“Don’t tell them,” Sarah suggested. “Would you like to see your son now?”

She looked up, her dismay even greater now. “Oh, dear, I’d almost forgotten. Can’t you tell him I’m too tired or something?”

“I could, but he’s very concerned about you. I’m sure he just wants to see for himself that you’re all right. I’ll tell him he can only stay for a few minutes.”

“Oh, all right, but
just
for a few minutes. Wait, give me my mirror first. And ring for Minnie. I want her to do something with my hair. It’s a rat’s nest.”

Sarah pulled the bell rope, and a few minutes later, Minnie came in. She worked her magic with a comb and brush and some hairpins, and soon Mrs. Wooten looked more presentable, at least in her own mind. Then she sent Minnie to fetch Leander.

His knock was tentative, but perhaps he was afraid of waking the baby, Sarah told herself. She opened the door for him, and stepped back as he entered.

“Your mother is very tired, so you shouldn’t stay very long,” she said softly.

He gave a small sniff that told her he didn’t believe that for a moment, but he said, “Mother, how are you feeling?” and walked over to stand beside her bed.

She moaned softly, as if even opening her eyes was an effort. “Not very well, but I’m sure I’ll be myself again in a few weeks,” she allowed.

“This was quite a surprise,” he said, unmoved. “Why didn’t you tell us we were going to have a new brother?”

Sarah decided her presence could only be an embarrassment. “I’ll wait in the other room,” she said, moving toward the door to Mrs. Wooten’s sitting room.

“Oh, no, please stay,” Mrs. Wooten said. “I . . . I might need you,” she added faintly.

Mrs. Wooten probably thought Leander wouldn’t speak of anything unpleasant with a stranger in the room, Sarah decided, and moved discretely to the far corner and sat down to wait.

Leander had noticed the cradle, and he went over and looked down at the sleeping infant. “So that’s him,” he said to no one in particular. “He’s awfully small.”

“Babies usually are,” Mrs. Wooten said, showing a trace of her true spirit before remembering she was pretending to be ill.

“What are you going to call him?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Leander turned back to her. “Surely, you and Father discussed names. He certainly had very strong opinions about what his other children should be called.”

“I’m afraid I don’t like your tone, Leander.”

“What’s wrong with it?” the young man asked, feigning innocence.

“It’s . . . disrespectful,” she decided.

“Oh, pardon me, Mother. I’m not exactly sure what tone I should be using with a woman who betrayed her husband with a man half her age and bore her bastard child in his very house.”

Mrs. Wooten gasped. So much for her hope that he wouldn’t say anything unpleasant in front of Sarah! “Leander! How dare you say such a thing to your mother!”

“How dare you
do
such a thing, Mother!” he replied. “And don’t think that just because Father died so conveniently that your secret won’t be found out.”

“I have no secret,” Mrs. Wooten insisted. “I have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But you have a very good reason for wanting Father dead,” he said. “And so does Terry Young.”

“How can you say such a thing to me! I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Aunt Betty does, though,” Leander said. “And she has no reason to keep your secrets for you, especially not if Terry killed Father.”

“Terry did no such thing, and please remember that any scandal that touches this family will ruin whatever chances Electra might have to make a suitable marriage. Heaven knows, she had little enough chance as it was, so before you decide to take some kind of petty revenge on me, think what it will mean to your sister.”

Leander stiffened, fury radiating through him as the truth of her warning sank in. “I’ll take care of Electra,” he said.

“Do you think that’s what she wants? To be someone’s poor maiden aunt and live on your charity for the rest of her life?”

“And what makes you think that
you
know what she wants?” he demanded.

“Oh, I know what she
thinks
she wants,” Mrs. Wooten said, abandoning all pretense of weakness. “She thinks she wants to marry that deaf teacher and live happily ever after! She has no idea what it’s really like to live in this city without money or connections and to be deaf on top of it.”

“Oh, no, far better that she marry someone she doesn’t love who can take care of her, like you did,” Leander snapped.

“That’s enough!” Mrs. Wooten said. “Get out of here. I’m ill, and I need my rest.”

“I just want you to know that Terry Young will never set foot in this house again,” he said.

“That’s not for you to say,” Mrs. Wooten reminded him.

“Isn’t it?” he replied confidently. “Let’s wait and see what Father’s will says, shall we?”

“What do you mean?” she asked in alarm.

“I mean Father had a talk with me several months ago. He told me that since I’m a man now, he was writing a new will leaving everything to me and charging me with taking care of you and Electra as I see fit.”

“That’s outrageous!” Mrs. Wooten cried, sitting bolt upright in bed. “You aren’t even of age yet!”

Sarah knew this had gone too far, and she jumped up and hurried over to the bed. “Mrs. Wooten, you shouldn’t be upset. Please, lie back down.” She helped the other woman do just that, then turned to Leander. “I must ask you to leave. Your mother needs her rest. Really, it’s not safe for her to be so upset.”

“She should have thought of that before she took Terry Young to her bed,” he said bitterly. “Her whole life is going to be upset now.” He turned and started toward the door, then paused just as he reached it. “Oh, by the way, the funeral is tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow! It can’t be. I haven’t made any of the arrangements,” Mrs. Wooten protested.

“Don’t worry, Aunt Betty took care of everything.”

“Betty! What does she know about what I want!”

“Probably nothing,” Leander said with a smirk and stepped out of the room, closing the door with a rude slam.

“I don’t know what has gotten into that boy,” Mrs. Wooten said, outraged. “Saying such horrible things to his own mother!”

“I’m sure he’s not himself,” Sarah said helpfully. “He did just lose his father.”

“Which is no excuse to insult his mother. I hope I can trust your discretion, Mrs. Brandt. As I reminded Leander, any rumors about me will hurt Electra far more than anyone else.”

Sarah knew that only too well.

 

 

T
HIS TIME FRANK USED THE TRADESMAN’S ENTRANCE. He didn’t want anybody in the Wooten family to know he had returned, and even if they found out, they’d know he hadn’t bothered any of them this time.

He’d been sent to the servants’ dining room to wait, and a maid soon ushered Sarah Brandt in.

“Malloy,” she said with the smile she always gave him.

“Mrs. Brandt,” he replied with a smile of his own. He was ridiculously glad to see her.

He pulled out a chair for her at the table, and when she was seated, he pulled out the one next to it, turning it at an angle so they could speak more easily.

“How is your patient doing?” he asked.

“She’s doing very well, although I’m going to stay at least another day to make sure. Lots of things can still go wrong, especially when the mother is as old as Mrs. Wooten. And the funeral is tomorrow, so someone will need to stay with Mrs. Wooten while the family goes to the service.”

“I hadn’t heard that. Thanks for telling me. I’ll need to go to the service.”

“Why?” she asked in surprise.

“To pay my respects,” he said with a grin, “and to see if anybody acts strangely.”

“All these people act strangely,” she said, not grinning at all.

“Could you manage to mingle with the guests that come back here after the funeral and eavesdrop to see if anybody says anything interesting?”

“I certainly cannot! I’ve got a patient to take care of.”

“Just for a little while,” he said. “You could tell Mrs. Wooten you were keeping an eye on Electra or something.”

She glared at him, or pretended to. He didn’t think she really meant it, but he decided to change the subject just in case.

“Have you found out anything about where that baby came from yet?” he asked.

“I found out where Leander Wooten thinks it came from. He thinks Terry Young is the father.”

“So I gathered. Has Mrs. Wooten given you any reason to think so, too?”

“Yes, she has,” she said. “She was quite apprehensive about the baby at first. She actually asked me to . . .”

“To what?” Frank prodded when she hesitated.

“To kill it,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Good God.”

“Exactly. I was horrified, and so was her poor maid, but I managed to convince the girl that women often say crazy things during labor.”

“Did she believe you?”

“I don’t know. She pretended to, at least. And when Mrs. Wooten realized I wasn’t going to do the baby any harm, she asked me to take it away to an orphanage or something.”

“What kind of a woman would ask a thing like that?” Frank asked, horrified himself.

“A desperate woman,” she said. “I’m not excusing her, but you have no idea how terrifying it is to be carrying an unwanted child.”

Frank frowned. He didn’t want to feel sorry for Mrs. Wooten. “She’s not some shirt factory girl who’s going to lose her job and be thrown out by her family to starve in the streets,” he reminded her.

“No, but if her husband had realized the baby wasn’t his, he could have divorced her and left her without a penny to her name. She also wouldn’t have been allowed to see her children again. Her husband could even have kept the baby if he wanted to punish her more. She would have been just as desperate as the shirt factory girl, except she wouldn’t know the first thing of how to take care of herself. I doubt she can comb her own hair.”

Frank still didn’t want to feel sorry for Mrs. Wooten. “She brought it all on herself,” he reminded Sarah.