Murder on St. Mark's Place (21 page)

“But the boy you heard speaking wasn’t born deaf, was he?”

Frank frowned. How could he have known that? “No.”

Mr. Peet nodded again. “When someone is born deaf and has never heard human speech or sound of any kind, it’s very difficult for them to ever learn to speak clearly. It’s also difficult for them to understand the concept of language, because they have no language of their own.”

Frank wasn’t sure he understood all of this completely, but some of it sounded reasonable. “You do something different here at your school than they do at Lexington Avenue,” Frank said. “You teach them to talk with their hands.”

“Yes, we teach them sign language. You may have seen deaf people using it in the street.”

“The boy outside used it.”

“He always does, if he suspects he might be talking to a deaf person. Sign language is a unique method of communication. Many people assume the signs are letters of the alphabet, spelling out words, but if you think about it, you’ll realize that would be a cumbersome method, and very slow and boring to use for actual communication. Actually, the signs are words, motions representing what we in the hearing world hear as sounds. A skilled signer can speak as quickly as you and I can speak with our voices, and one who understands the signs can comprehend as easily as you understand what I’m saying right now.”

“But how do they talk to people who don’t know the signs?”

“Ah, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Peet said, sitting back in his chair and steepling his hands in front of him. “If we could get everyone in the hearing world to learn sign language, then deaf people could get along just like hearing people. Since that doesn’t seem likely to happen, what does happen is that the deaf develop their own society. They work at trades which don’t require hearing or speech, they marry other deaf people to whom they can speak easily with signs, and they socialize with other deaf people.”

“Which means that the Lexington School has a better solution,” Frank said. “Their students can speak and read lips. They can communicate easily with hearing people and live in their world.”

“Except they don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Peet smiled. “The theory behind the oralist method—that’s the method of teaching speech reading and speaking that the Lexington School uses—is to give the deaf students the skills to allow them to live and work and socialize with hearing people. In practice, however, they don’t do that. In fact, the graduates of the Lexington school have actually organized their own social club, the Deaf-Mutes Union League, which has only deaf members. They have lectures and meetings and dinners and balls for the deaf. They still associate primarily with each other, and work together and marry each other.

“Please understand, Mr. Malloy. I’m not criticizing what they do at the Lexington School. I’m simply pointing out that their results have not been any more successful than ours for most deaf people, especially if your goal is to give your son the skills he will need in life. And for someone like your son, who most probably would never learn to speak clearly enough to be understood or to read lips well enough to truly comprehend, it would be a frustrating and ultimately a fruitless experience.”

“Of course you think I should send Brian here,” Frank said, still trying to judge the validity of the arguments.

Peet smiled. “Your son is too young to send anywhere at the moment. When he’s older, I think he would do very well here, probably better than he would at Lexington Avenue. But you have some time to find out more about both theories of educating the deaf. In the meantime, I would suggest you meet some deaf people and find out their experiences. I’d be happy to introduce you to a family I know who has a boy about Brian’s age.”

“He’s deaf?”

“Oh, no. He can hear perfectly well, but his parents are deaf. However, he uses sign language quite well. He learned it before he learned to talk, to communicate with his parents. Perhaps he could help Brian begin to understand how to communicate.”

“A boy that young?” Frank thought of the intricate motions the clerk outside had used. He himself would have a difficult time learning such a thing, much less a boy of three.

“If Brian could hear, he’d be talking by now,” Mr. Peet pointed out. “I’m sure he’ll have no trouble at all learning to sign once he’s exposed to it. It will be his language. You could learn right along with him. You’d be able to talk to your son, Mr. Malloy.”

To be able to talk to Brian. To have Brain know who he was. The thought was stunning. Frank had long since given up hope of reaching his son. Until recently, he’d believed there was nothing inside of him to reach. But now ...

He’d have to tell his mother, of course. He tried to imagine her learning to sign, but the idea was too ridiculous even to consider. She’d continued to pretend Brian was a normal child, totally ignoring all evidence to the contrary. Being deaf was almost as shameful as being feebleminded, at least by her standards, so she simply denied it.

“Maybe you’d tell me more about these people with the boy Brian’s age,” he said.

 

S
ARAH HAD FORGOTTEN how interminably dull society dinner parties could be. No one talked about politics or philosophy or literature or anything even remotely interesting. Sarah did learn more than she ever wanted to know about her old friend Amanda’s trip to Europe and Hazel’s twin daughters. She also learned what had happened to most of the friends she had had as young woman, before she’d decided not to follow the course her father had set for her and gone into nurses’ training. Unfortunately, none of them was doing anything Sarah found interesting.

After dinner, as custom dictated, the women withdrew while the men smoked their cigars and took their brandy. Sarah could have used some brandy herself. She needed fortification to get through the rest of the evening.

To make matters worse, Sarah had begun to realize that having a private word with Dirk Schyler, which had been the entire purpose of organizing the evening in the first place, was going to be practically impossible. They would certainly never be alone at all, and the chances of them having a moment when no one could overhear them was unlikely, particularly when everyone seemed intent on watching the two of them closely for any signs that they were interested in one another.

Her mother could have done a better job of disguising the fact that Sarah had merely wanted the dinner party as an excuse for seeing Dirk. As it was, everyone present was aware of it, since they were the only two unattached people in the party. To make matters worse, they had also come to the conclusion that Sarah had set her cap for him. If it hadn’t been so frustrating, Sarah might have been amused.

Amanda Walker had just asked where she had gotten her gown—a purely idle question since Amanda could have no interest whatever in such an unstylish creation—when the door opened and the men came into the parlor, saving her from admitting it had come from Lord & Taylor. Sarah’s mother had insisted she buy a new frock for the occasion, but Sarah had seen no need to pay a dressmaker for an ensemble she might never wear again.

Instantly, Amanda and all the other women lost interest in her, to her great relief. The men filled the room with their energy, loud voices, and booming laughter. Sarah watched in growing frustration as Dirk Schyler spoke to his sister and then wandered away, off to a far comer of the room. She was just hatching a plan to get herself near enough to him to ask for his help when he called out to her.

“Sarah, would you be so kind as to identify the people in this photograph for me?” he asked.

Sarah gaped at him in surprise. Could he possibly know she wanted a private word with him? Or did he want one with her? Perhaps he was simply afraid she would reveal that she had seen him at Coney Island in the company of a working-class girl and wanted to beg her discretion. Or perhaps he understood that he’d been invited for a reason, and that reason involved Sarah. Whatever it was, Sarah was simply glad for the excuse to confer with him.

“Certainly,” Sarah said, trying not to appear too eager to answer his summons.

As she crossed the room, she heard a stifled giggle and realized that everyone was watching her. Well, what had she expected? They were all waiting for the two of them to show some signs of interest in each other. They would imagine such interest no matter what really happened. Sarah Decker Brandt’s desperate ploy to land herself a rich husband would probably be the talk of visiting rooms for the next month.

Dirk had picked up a photograph of her father’s college rowing team and pointed at one of the men. Sarah, of course, had no idea who any of them were. In fact, she would have been hard-pressed to identify her own father, and she was certain Dirk had no true interest in their identities, either. He proved it instantly.

“Now tell me, Sarah, why on earth have you gone to all this trouble to encounter me again?” he asked in a whisper, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He held the photograph up for her to see, as if it were the true subject of their conversation.

“Why, Dirk,” she replied, unable to resist, “isn’t it obvious ? I developed an instant passion for you, and I couldn’t wait to see you again.”

He gave her a look of feigned shock. “Does Mr. Malloy know about this?”

“He wouldn’t be likely to care if he did,” she replied. It was the first word of truth she’d spoken in this conversation.

“Don’t be too sure about that. I’m quite certain Mr. Malloy wouldn’t approve of your consorting with me.”

“Fortunately, I don’t need his approval.”

“What do you need, then?” Dirk asked. His face was still handsome, Sarah noticed, although the signs of dissipation were starting to show. The flesh beneath his attractive blue eyes was pouched from too many late-night drinking parties, and his skin was sallow and unhealthy. He was even developing a slight thickening around the waist that would turn to fat in a few years if he wasn’t careful.

“I need to go back to Coney Island with someone who is familiar with the place.”

He seemed surprised. Fortunately, he was also intrigued. “What on earth for?”

“Because I’m looking for a murderer.”

Dirk looked even more shocked than she would have expected. His face actually paled, and he stared at her for a long moment, as if looking for the answer to some question he dared not ask aloud. Most likely, he had never heard a well-bred woman even utter the word “murderer,” which would more than account for his reaction.

Thus far, their whispered conversation had the attention of everyone in the room, and clearly, they would need more privacy to continue. Dirk visibly collected himself. “It’s awfully warm in here,” he said so everyone could hear, setting the photograph back on the sideboard. “Perhaps you’ll stroll with me in the garden for a bit, Sarah.”

“That sounds lovely,” Sarah agreed. “If you’ll excuse us,” she added to her mother, who nodded her consent. She looked so pleased that Dirk was performing to her expectations that Sarah actually felt guilty for deceiving her.

Dirk offered his arm, and they stepped out through the French doors leading to the fenced enclosure that passed for a “garden” in the city. It was much larger than Sarah’s small backyard, and the flowers had been professionally tended. The shade was cool, and the scents fragrant, but most important, no one could overhear them.

They’d walked a ways from the house before Dirk spoke. “Surely, I misunderstood you, Sarah. You could not possibly have said you were looking for a murderer.”

“But I did. I know it’s hard for you to understand how I could be involved in such a thing, but a young girl I know was murdered recently. Her family has asked me to help in the investigation,” she explained, stretching the truth a bit.

“Why would they ask
you
to do such a thing?” He looked horrified, or at least that’s how Sarah read his expression. He certainly seemed upset, although he was using all his formal training to conceal any unseemly emotions.

“As you know, I have a friend who is a police detective.”

“Ah, yes, the charming Mr. Malloy. Surely, he doesn’t need your help finding criminals, though. Why, the police hardly bother doing that themselves!”

Sarah ignored the insulting remark. It was, unfortunately, too true. “I have been of some use to him in that respect in the past,” she admitted with a trace of pride.

Plainly, Dirk didn’t believe that for a moment. “Sarah, I’m afraid you haven’t learned much of the world, for all your independence from your family, if you believe for one moment this Malloy fellow has any interest in you aside from seduction.”

Sarah was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud at such a ridiculous notion. If Malloy wanted to seduce her, he was certainly adept at concealing his intentions. He was also the world’s most patient—and inept!-seducer. “Is it so difficult to believe a woman could help solve a crime?”

“Quite frankly, yes,” Dirk said, his smile condescending.

Sarah wanted to wipe that smile off his face. She wanted to tell him she had helped solve a murder only a few short months ago. She had been of so much help that Malloy had told her she would have made a good detective, if the police hired women, which they didn’t. But she really wasn’t at liberty to reveal the details of the case, and besides, she doubted Dirk would believe her anyway.

“Well, then,” she tried, “perhaps you will indulge me in my delusions. I would dearly love to return to Coney Island and learn more about it, but Mr. Malloy refuses to accompany me.”

“More fool he,” Dirk said, his grin flirtatious. Sarah wondered who might be watching them from the house. She hoped it looked as if they were having a romantic
tête-à-tête.
Her mother would be pleased.

“Since you obviously know a lot about the area, I was hoping I could convince you to escort me and show me some things I might have missed on my first visit there.”