Murder on Mulberry Bend (30 page)

“I won’t if I fall on my face,” she warned him. “You must promise to stay by my side all evening and hold me upright.”

Richard raised his right hand as if taking an oath. “Nothing could tear me away. Come, my queen, your carriage awaits.”

The Graves family lived in a brownstone near Sarah’s parents. The interior of their home had been furnished in excellent taste, with furniture obviously imported from England but notable for its simplicity. They might be quite wealthy, but they felt no need to make a show of it.

Opal and Charles were dressed as Anthony and Cleopatra. Opal exclaimed over Sarah’s costume, then whispered how very glad she was to see Richard looking so happy again. Sarah ignored the provocation and allowed Opal to continue greeting her guests.

Opal found her later, enjoying a moment of solitude while Richard chatted with some business associates who were dressed as Knights of the Round Table.

“I’ve been dying to ask you how your investigation is going,” she said, taking a seat beside Sarah at the edge of the large ballroom.

“I think we’ve found the killer,” Sarah told her with a sigh.

“You don’t look very happy about it,” Opal said.

“That’s because ... I know it’s hard to believe, but I think it may have been the girl’s own mother.”

“How awful! Of course, considering her background, I guess we shouldn’t be too shocked. Her family are foreigners, aren’t they?”

“Not all foreigners are murderers,” Sarah reminded her sharply.

“Oh, dear, I guess that did sound patronizing, didn’t it?” Opal said, chagrined. “I only meant ... Well, I guess I did mean it badly, but ... I can’t help thinking that people in other countries aren’t raised with the same sensitivities as we are. You must admit the Italians treat each other terribly.”

Sarah had to agree with that when she thought of the Black Hand. “Even still, it’s hard to think of a mother killing her child, although it happens with alarming frequency when people live in poverty.”

Opal patted her hand in a gesture of comfort. “Does Mrs. Wells know yet?”

Sarah nodded. “We haven’t arrested anyone though. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Mr. Malloy since I found out who it was.”

“That means she could escape,” Opal said in horror. “Good heavens, what if she kills someone else?”

“We don’t think that’s likely. She killed Emilia in a fit of passion. She wouldn’t have a reason to kill anyone else. As for escaping, she has no idea anyone even suspects her.”

“Thank heaven for that. But poor Mrs. Wells, this will be so difficult for her, with a trial and all the publicity. She’s already been through so much, and yet she has such strength. Did you know she lost a child in addition to her husband?”

“Yes, she told me.”

“She was such a comfort to me when Hazel died. I know she was to Hazel, too. In fact, she was Hazel’s last visitor. She told me they prayed together and that Hazel had finally found the peace she’d been seeking.”

“That
would
be a comfort,” Sarah agreed, thinking of Tom. How wonderful it would have been to know he’d found peace before he died.

“You ladies look entirely too serious,” Charles Graves informed them. “I’m afraid I must ask Mrs. Brandt to dance to cheer her up.”

“That should do it,” Opal said with a smile. “Dancing with Charles usually makes women laugh out loud.”

Her husband wasn’t the least bit offended. He took Sarah’s hand with as much dignity as he could while dressed like an ancient Roman and led her to the dance floor. With her towering wig, she was even taller than Opal, but he was accustomed to the difference in height. By the time the dance was over, Sarah was indeed laughing at his clever teasing. She would think about killers tomorrow. That would be time enough.

Much later, Sarah turned to Richard as they rode home in his carriage. “I had a lovely time tonight. Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for accompanying me. I wouldn’t have gone alone. I haven’t been to a party like that since Hazel died.”

“Then that explains why Opal was so happy to see me there.”

“She and Charles have been good friends, although I suspect they’ve stuck by me mostly because of guilt.”

“Why should they feel guilty?” Sarah asked.

“Because Opal was the one who got Hazel involved with the mission. I never blamed her,” he hastened to explain. “But I think she may have blamed herself.”

“She did tell me how much Hazel enjoyed working at the mission, and that she’d found the peace she’d been looking for.”

“That’s what Mrs. Wells told me, too. I’m afraid I didn’t take much comfort in that at the time, though. I was too angry.”

“That’s understandable.”

“I also thought she was a bit of a ... a fanatic, I guess.”

“She does take her work very seriously.”

“No, not about her work,” Richard said. “It’s the way she seems to think people are better off dead than alive.”

“Where did you get that idea?” Sarah asked in surprise.

“From her.” He sounded a little defensive.

“What did she say to make you think that?”

“She said Hazel was in a better place and she wouldn’t be sad anymore, things like that.”

“I’m sure she was just trying to make you feel better,” Sarah argued. “Opal said Mrs. Wells was a great comfort to her.”

“I’m glad she was a comfort to someone.”

Sarah didn’t know how to respond to that.

Before she could think of anything, he said, “Didn’t you say that one of the girls at the mission was murdered?”

“That’s right.”

“I wonder what she thinks about that.” Sarah heard the bitterness in his voice.

“She did say she thought Emilia was at peace now. The girl had a very unhappy life,” she added.

“Who’s to say the rest of it wouldn’t have been happy if she’d lived, though?” he challenged.

“I suppose we’ll never know,” Sarah said.

“Did they find out who killed her?”

“Yes,” Sarah said reluctantly. “We believe it was her mother.”

“Her
mother?”
he asked in amazement.

“Yes, she ... She never liked the girl, and apparently, they quarreled.”

“So she sent her to a better place?” Richard offered sarcastically when Sarah hesitated. “I suppose that’s what Mrs. Wells thinks, at least.”

“Richard, Mrs. Wells was devastated when Emilia died,” she said gently.

He didn’t seem to hear her. “Sometimes I think ...”

“What do you think?” Sarah prodded, hoping it would help him to speak about the feelings he’d kept inside all these years.

“I think the woman is in love with death.”

 

Richard’s words haunted Sarah all night. She knew he had misinterpreted Mrs. Wells’s faith, but she still couldn’t shake the gloom he had invoked. Probably, she was just depressed because soon she would have to watch Malloy arrest a woman for killing her own daughter.

Wondering what the odds were of catching Malloy at home on a Sunday morning, Sarah was up earlier than was sensible after her late night. Since no trains ran east and west in the city and Hansom cab drivers were still recovering from their Saturday night jobs, Sarah had to walk all the way across town to Malloy’s neighborhood in the Seventeenth Ward.

The streets were busy with the faithful on their way to or from church on this unseasonably warm morning. Everyone wore their finest clothes, and children hadn’t yet had time to wear off the clean from their Saturday night baths. Sarah arrived just in time to see a sight she’d longed for. Mrs. Malloy and Brian were coming down the front stoop of their tenement, also dressed in their Sunday best. Mrs. Malloy held Brian’s hand as he carefully negotiated the steps on his own two feet.

He was wearing obviously new shoes, and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off them. Or else he still felt the need to watch his feet when he walked. Whatever the reason, he didn’t see Sarah until his grandmother yanked him to a stop before he reached the last step.

“Good morning, Mrs. Malloy,” Sarah said with a warm smile, ignoring the old woman’s disapproving glare.

Sensing her presence at last, the boy looked up. His face broke into a glorious smile, and he flung himself into Sarah’s arms. She caught him with difficulty, somehow managing to pull him up so he could wrap his legs around her waist and his arms around her neck. She hugged him fiercely.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed into the sweet curve of the child’s neck. Then she pulled back and looked him in the face. “You’re walking so well!” she exclaimed, freeing one hand and moving her first two fingers in a walking motion to illustrate her words.

He nodded enthusiastically and scrambled back down to his feet so he could show her. In a second he had ascended the front stoop and in another second he was back down again, his new shoes clumsy but effective. Sarah beamed and applauded his efforts when he looked up for her approval.

He started back up the steps again, still showing off, and Sarah looked at Mrs. Malloy to catch a reflection of anxiety in her eyes. Sarah knew what she feared, but reassuring the woman that she had no intention of taking Brian and Frank Malloy away from her wouldn’t help. Instead she said, “You’ve done such a wonderful job with him.”

Mrs. Malloy blinked in surprise. Had she expected to be insulted? “He’s a good boy,” she managed, not taking any credit for herself.

Brian had reached the bottom step again, and Sarah dutifully applauded him as required. When he turned to repeat his efforts, Sarah said to Mrs. Malloy, “I don’t suppose your son is at home.”

Mrs. Malloy didn’t approve of Sarah chasing after her son, which was how she saw their relationship. “He never come home last night. Probably slept down at Mulberry Street, like he does when he works late,” she informed Sarah with some satisfaction.

Sarah nodded, relieved. This meant he’d probably already gotten the message she’d left for him there. She had to stop and applaud Brian again. When he started back up the steps, she turned back to Mrs. Malloy. “When he gets home, would you tell him I called to say I got the information he wanted?”

The old woman wanted to ask what that information was, but she didn’t want to look curious or nosy. She also didn’t agree to Sarah’s request, which would have given Sarah more respect than she thought she deserved. “I can’t invite you in,” she said instead. “We’re on our way to Mass.”

“Does Brian like church?” she asked, applauding yet another of his efforts on the steps.

“He can’t hear it,” she reminded Sarah unnecessarily. “He likes the candles and the windows, though. And seeing all the people.”

“I’m sure he does.” She waited until he reached the bottom step and clapped again.

“He’ll keep that up till he drops if you let him,” Mrs. Malloy said. “We’re going to be late.”

The next time Brian reached the bottom step, Sarah stooped down and gave him a big hug. “It was so nice to see you,” she said with a smile. He couldn’t understand the words, but he knew what the smile meant.

She looked up at Mrs. Malloy. “He’ll start to cry if I leave now. Could I walk along with you to the church?”

Even Mrs. Malloy could see the wisdom of that. Brian was too big to drag, resisting, down the street. “If it suits you,” she said.

They each took one of Brian’s hands and directed him down the street. He looked up at both of them, beaming with pleasure.

“I can’t believe how quickly he learned to walk,” Sarah marveled.

“He’s always been clever,” Mrs. Malloy reminded her curtly.

They walked for a block in silence while Sarah tried to think of something to say that the other woman wouldn’t interpret as an insult. Before she could think of anything, Mrs. Malloy spoke.

“Frances said I should thank you for helping Brian.” She sounded like a child who had been ordered to apologize when she wasn’t sorry.

Sarah managed not to smile at the thought. “I didn’t do anything except tell Mr. Malloy about Dr. Newton. He’s the one who does the miracles, not I.”

Mrs. Malloy crossed herself quickly, as if Sarah had blasphemed, and gave her a black look. Sarah had a fleeting memory of Mrs. Ellsworth warning her about the evil eye. “Only God does miracles,” the old woman informed her.

“Of course,” Sarah agreed. “I didn’t mean it that way. It does seem miraculous that Brian can walk, though, doesn’t it? He must be wearing you out.”

“I can manage,” she said defensively, almost desperately.

Sarah had unwittingly touched another nerve, and she sighed in exasperation. “Mrs. Malloy, I have great respect for your son and great affection for your grandson, but surely Mr. Malloy has told you that he and I are merely friends and nothing more.”

Mrs. Malloy looked over at Sarah. “I have eyes, don’t I?” was all she said. Sarah had no idea what she meant by that and decided it would be foolish to ask.

Luckily, the church was on the next corner, and Mrs. Malloy managed to distract Brian while Sarah slipped away. She realized her trip here had been wasted if Malloy was at Police Headquarters. Or he might already be waiting for her at her house. But at least she’d gotten to see Brian and judge the progress he was making for herself.

As for seeing Malloy, she certainly hoped he would have a good idea for how to get Mrs. Donato to confess — an idea that didn’t involve taking her down to Police Headquarters and giving her the third degree. If he could get a confession, maybe there wouldn’t be a trial and all the accompanying scandal. The girls at the mission certainly didn’t need any more trauma in their lives.

 

When Sarah turned the corner onto Bank Street, she saw a man sitting on her doorstep. For an instant, she thought it was Malloy and her heart leaped with an excitement she felt for nothing else in her life. Then the man stood up, and she realized it wasn’t Malloy at all. She told herself not to be disappointed. A millionaire was waiting for her, after all, and he’d brought her a bouquet of flowers.