Murder on St. Mark's Place (20 page)

“Yes, but it’s less ... acceptable in a female.”

“To some people,” Sarah allowed, proving his point by arguing with it.

“And always to a father,” he countered.

She conceded. “I never intended to let so much time pass with matters unsettled between us, but before I knew it, three years had gone by. I don’t know how it happened.”

“Nor I,” he agreed. Did he look relieved at her willingness to take the blame? She hoped so.

“I should have been more understanding,” she allowed, taking even more blame. “I realize now that you were only concerned about my well-being.”

Her father was prepared to be equally gracious. “And we probably should have given you some time to get over Dr. Brandt’s death before discussing the future with you.”

“If you had, you might have understood that no discussion was necessary. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Or you might simply be too proud to accept the help we were offering you,” he suggested.

She was right. He hadn’t changed a bit. “I didn’t need help then, and I don’t need it now, Father. I know it’s difficuft for you to imagine, but I manage my own life quite well. Not every woman needs a man to take care of her.”

Instantly, she regretted her hasty words. With them, she had insulted her mother. Fortunately, her mother didn’t seem to realize it.

“I’m sure your father was only trying to protect you from any more unpleasantness,” she said.

“But I don’t want to be protected from it,” Sarah explained, hoping she could maintain her reasonable tone in the face of such ignorance. “I want to face it head-on and do something to change it.”

Her mother glanced at her father apprehensively, obviously afraid Sarah had incensed him. In times past, she had done so with far less provocation. But her father was no longer so quick to anger. Or at least he was trying harder to be reasonable today than ever before.

“That’s foolish idealism, Sarah. You can’t change the way things are, no matter how much you might wish to. The world has been a wicked place since Cain killed Abel, and since then people have simply refined the ways in which they harm each other. One woman can’t possibly make a difference.”

Sarah could have told him how she had made a difference by solving the murder of Alicia VanDamm. She could have told him of the lives she had saved, mothers and babies who would never have survived without her skill. Instead she said, “Are you suggesting I should stop trying?”

She could see the battle he fought with himself. He was used to ordering and demanding and being obeyed instantly. No one challenged him, no one questioned him, not the people who worked for him or the people with whom he did business or anyone in his household. No one except Sarah, that is.

Her mother placed a hand on his sleeve, as if the gesture would restrain him. But he didn’t even seem to notice. He was too intent on Sarah, who met his gaze levelly, without flinching.

“I am suggesting,” he said when he was in control of his temper again, “that there is no need for a woman of your position in life to waste that life toiling for common people.”

She could have said many things. She could have pointed out that women of the upper class wasted their lives every day, squandering their talents and intelligence on visits and gossip and parties and balls. But saying so would not have convinced her father and would have hurt her mother. Her father believed that women should engage only in socially acceptable activities, and he wasn’t going to change his mind in one afternoon.

“Father, I know you don’t approve of how I spend my life, but you must also know I have no intention of doing anything else. If we are going to make peace between us, we are each going to have to respect the other’s opinions, whether we agree or not.”

Her father stared at her for a long moment, his eyes sad. “This is what it’s come to, is it? You’ve lost all trace of femininity, Sarah. You reason just like a man now.”

He hadn’t meant to compliment her, but Sarah felt flattered all the same. “Men have all the advantages in life, Father. If I’ve adopted masculine ways, it’s only because I had no choice.”

“You have a choice. You can come home and let us take care of you again.”

Now it was Sarah’s turn to be sad. “I’m afraid you’d regret your invitation very quickly if I took you up on it, Father. I’m not the biddable young girl you remember.”

“You were never biddable, Sarah,” he reminded her sharply.

“Well, I’m even worse now. I’ve lived on my own far too long to be able to be your daughter again.”

“But what about your reputation?” His anger was showing again. “How do you ever expect to find a suitable husband if you insist on running around the city like a ... a...”

“A common trollop?” she supplied helpfully, recalling what he had said to her that awful day after Tom’s funeral.

His face grew scarlet above his high collar, but he didn’t relent. “Respectable women do not walk the city streets at all hours of the night.”

“They do if they’re midwives,” Sarah countered.

“Felix,” her mother said, surprising them both. “Sarah’s profession is perfectly respectable.”

Her father looked as surprised as if the chair had spoken. Indeed, Sarah could never recall her mother disagreeing with her father, not once in all her life. Before either of them could recover from their shock, her mother continued.

“I think it’s unreasonable to expect Sarah to come back home to live with us, too. She isn’t a child anymore. And if you ever hope to have her come for another visit, you are going to have to accept that.”

Sarah’s world had just shifted as profoundly as if an earthquake had shaken the Decker home from its foundations. Her father felt the vibrations to his soul, too, if his expression was any indication. Only her mother seemed unmoved. She sat erect and serene, her lovely face smooth and expressionless. It wouldn’t do to gloat, of course, but Sarah wished she looked a bit more forceful, or at least determined. She couldn’t imagine her father being transformed by such a gentle rebuke, especially when years of her own ranting and raving had accomplished nothing.

But when her father turned back to her, he looked deeply disturbed. “Would you do that? Would you vanish from our lives again?”

“I don’t enjoy being insulted and criticized, Father, and browbeating me won’t make me abandon my profession. I won’t come to see you again if that’s what you plan to do.”

“I only want what’s best for you, Sarah,” he insisted indignantly.

“No, you want what you
think
is best for me. I happen to disagree about what that is. You’re going to have to accept me the way I am or not at all.”

“But what about your future?” he demanded. “Who will marry you?”

“I don’t want anyone to marry me,” she said, shocking him thoroughly. “I’m perfectly content as I am.”

“But how will you live? Who will support you?”

“I’ll support myself!” she said impatiently. “Haven’t you noticed? I’ve been doing so for over three years now, and quite successfully, too. I don’t need a man to take care of me, not even you.”

She could see his inner struggle. In spite of the facts in front of him, proving that she could be independent, he simply did not want her to be. He could not understand a world in which women made their own way without the help of husband or father. He would never change, and he would never accept that she had.

Sarah saw her hopes of a reconciliation with her father fading. She was just forming the stiffly polite words she would use to take her leave when her mother spoke.

“It appears as if the two of you will never agree on this subject, but must we allow that to keep Sarah away? Perhaps we could simply promise never to discuss this topic again instead.”

It was so eminently reasonable a solution that Sarah and her father gaped at her in astonishment Sarah suddenly realized she had done her mother a great injustice. She had judged her by the wrong standards and found her lacking when she wasn’t lacking at all. She was clever and intelligent, and although she abided by a set of social rules Sarah found ridiculous, Elizabeth Decker did have a mind of her own and knew how to use it. Had she been a man, she might have pursued a successful career in diplomacy, if her work here today was any indication of her abilities. Instead, she had managed to negotiate a peaceful settlement to a family matter. Sarah thought such a success almost equal to an international treaty, and to her, of much more importance.

Felix Decker said not a word to acknowledge his wife’s suggestion. To do so would have given her more importance than he felt she should have. As if he had thought of it himself, he said, “Sarah, our quarreling upsets your mother. It always has. And your absence from our lives has caused her great pain. I believe we should make every effort to spare her any further pain, even if that means allowing you to continue on the path you have chosen, however much I might disapprove. I am willing to agree not to discuss the subject further, unless, of course, you feel yourself in need of family support once more. In that case, you must not let pride prevent you from seeking help from your family. You must know we would be only too happy to provide you with anything you might need.”

Sarah knew that only too well, just as she knew she would never ask for such help, certainly not while she was able-bodied and of sound mind. His offer was condescending, to be sure, but coming from her father, also a near miracle of conciliation. She could not refuse it. “Thank you, Father. Our estrangement has caused me pain as well, and I’m perfectly willing to make concessions to ensure it doesn’t happen again. If that means I can’t argue with you anymore, then it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, for Mother’s sake.”

It took a moment for them to realize she was joking. Her father frowned. He didn’t approve of levity, especially at his expense, but her mother visibly relaxed. With a satisfied smile, she reached for the serving plate. “Try one of these tarts, Sarah. Cook made them especially for you because I told her how fond you are of blueberries.”

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough. Her father made an effort not to offend her, and she returned the favor. They spoke of friends and relatives and generally caught up on each other’s lives.

Just before Sarah judged it time to take her leave, her mother said, “I’ve arranged a small dinner party to welcome Sarah back into our social circle, Felix. I had your secretary put it on your schedule.”

“And just who will be attending this dinner party?” her father asked, not certain he could approve of such a thing. Or perhaps he was concerned that it was too soon to draw Sarah back into their social circle or that she might refuse to be drawn. He would have no idea the dinner party was being held at her request, of course.

“I asked the Walkers. Sarah went to school with Amanda Walker. And the younger Vandekamps. She’s another classmate of Sarah’s. And the Millers. We’ll be an odd number, so I asked Hazel Miller’s brother, Dirk Schyler, as well, to be Sarah’s dinner companion.”

Her father didn’t approve. “Hardly an appropriate choice. Why not one of the Astors. Surely they have an unattached son about the right age.”

“You aren’t arranging a marriage for me, Father,” Sarah reminded him. “I just need a dinner companion, and I’ve known Dirk for a long time.”

“You haven’t known him lately. He hasn’t turned out well. His father despairs of ever making a man of him.”

This confirmed Sarah’s assessment of Dirk as well. She thought she could lower her father’s opinion of him even more by telling him about Dirk’s excursions to Coney Island, but then she’d have to explain how she knew about them. She’d just made peace with the man, so this wasn’t the moment to inform him she was investigating a murder in her spare time. Their truce hadn’t covered arguing over something like that.

“Perhaps he just needs to settle down,” Elizabeth Decker suggested. “A good woman can work wonders.” She glanced meaningfully at Sarah, who pretended not to notice.

“I doubt even Sarah is up to a task like that,” her father said.

For once they agreed on something.

F
RANK HAD LOCATED THE NEW YORK INSTITUTION for the Deaf and Dumb without too much trouble. It was, he had learned, a much older school than the one on Lexington Avenue. This one had been here over sixty years. A long time, if they were doing something wrong, Frank thought cynically.

This school was as silent as the other had been. He entered the main office. The young man working there as a clerk looked up. “May I help you?” he asked, moving his hands quickly in a way Frank had never seen before. Frank realized this must be the sign language Mrs. Brandt had told him about.

“I’m not deaf,” Frank told him, unconsciously speaking too loudly.

“Neither am I,” the boy replied with a smile, still using his hands. Now Frank was certain it was sign language. “Do you have business with Mr. Peet?”

“Is he the one in charge?”

“Yes, sir. His father founded the school.”

“Then I guess I do have business with him.”

“I’ll see if he’s free,” the boy said, and disappeared into an inner office.

Frank didn’t quite know what to expect when he was ushered in to meet Lewis Peet. He was relieved to discover Mr. Peet wasn’t deaf, and he didn’t use his hands when he spoke, the way the boy had.

Frank told him about Brian, and he listened intently.

“I went to the Lexington Avenue School first,” he told Peet.

“An excellent facility,” he said tactfully.

“They said they could teach my son to speak.”

Mr. Peet nodded. “I’m sure they did. Did they introduce you to a student who could speech-read and talk?”

“Yes,” Frank said. “His voice was a little odd, but I could understand him. He could understand me, too. If my son could learn to do that, he would be able to make his way in the world.”