A New York Christmas (11 page)

Flannery leaned forward a little. “Help me to find who killed her, sir. I need to know about her for that. It wasn’t any passing robbery. Whoever did it did it violently, and there was hatred in it.”

The man winced. “You could try Dr. Vine, down the road a couple of blocks, number 416. His real name is something longer, Russian or Polish, that sort of thing. Everyone calls him Dr. Vine. She went to him for her friend.”

“Thank you.” Flannery accepted the advice and took Jemima by the arm, guiding her out into the windy street.

Dr. Vine was as much help as he could be. He too was distressed to hear of Maria Cardew’s death.

“Can’t tell you much, except that Sara Godwin could not have managed without Maria’s care.” He shook his head. “Great shame. Don’t know how the poor soul will get on now. Have you seen her?”

“No,” Flannery said quickly. “We thought she’d gone before Mrs. Cardew was killed.” Now he looked anxious.
“There was no sign of her in the apartment, and she doesn’t appear to have returned since. I’ve been keeping an eye on the place.”

“Could be she died anyway, before Maria was killed,” Dr. Vine said unhappily.

“I’ll check the city records,” Flannery promised. “If she died, somebody will know. Thank you, Dr. Vine.”

But no city records of recent deaths showed any sign of Sara Godwin. The following day, Jemima and Officer Flannery looked at the residential records. The clerk stood beside the bench with the ledger in his arms.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to find,” he said as if he were afraid of being overheard. “But you should be careful, sir.” He spoke only to Flannery. “I suppose you already know it, but the woman who was murdered in that building was related to Miss Delphinia Cardew, her that’s getting married to Mr. Brent Albright.”

“Yes, I know,” Flannery answered. “Nobody seems to know much about her.”

“No, sir, I suppose they don’t. But we know a lot about the Albright family, and most of us know enough not to upset them by asking a whole lot of personal questions. Do a very great deal for this city, they do. And
doesn’t do to fall out with people with that kind of power, if you get my meaning?”

Jemima started to speak, but Flannery put his hand on her arm, closing his grasp firmly enough for her to fall silent.

“Better to clear this up now, rather than later, don’t you think?” he said politely to the clerk. “I’m sure Mr. Albright would like to have the matter settled, and then not raised again. Over with, if you see what I mean?”

“Ah!” The clerk nodded and a smile spread slowly across his face. He touched one finger to the side of his nose in a gesture of understanding. “Then I’ll just leave these with you, sir.” He looked at Jemima. “Ma’am.”

Jemima realized with horror that the clerk thought Flannery was here to serve the Albright family, not Maria Cardew. He had assumed that even the police were bought, one way or another.

“Don’t look like that!” Flannery let go of her arm. “Your face gives you away!”

She could not think of anything to say. He had read her thoughts perfectly, and it was at once frightening and comforting. She wanted him to understand her. It was the end of a kind of loneliness, and yet it was the
beginning of a new experience that could be too enormous to handle.

She swallowed. “Are the Albrights really so important?”

“Yes. Didn’t you know that?” He put his hand back on her arm, but this time lightly. She could see his fingers on her coat sleeve rather than feel them. “Albright and Cardew make millions of dollars. All the power rests in the two families. When the present generation dies, or retires, it will all pass to Mr. Albright’s sons.”

“And Phinnie,” Jemima added. “I wonder why Maria Cardew came back to New York. Was it really to try to see her daughter? She must have known the Albrights would not want her here. Was she hiding so close to them with the hope that they would never look for her on their own doorstep?”

Patrick was looking through the ledger as he spoke. “Could be. America is a huge country, thousands of miles across. She could have gone West and disappeared if she had truly wanted to.” He went on leafing through the pages.

“Then she had a reason to be here,” Jemima concluded. “It must have been a very strong one, Officer Flannery …”

He looked up. “You are not under arrest, Jemima. Do you think you could call me Patrick?”

She felt the color burn up her face, but she liked the idea. In fact, it had been in her mind when she thought of him, and she had had to remind herself not to use it.

“Patrick,” she began again, a little self-consciously. “She must have had a very important reason for coming back here.”

“Perhaps she knew that Harley Albright would pay her well to stay away from the wedding.”

“Then who killed her? Did he?” It seemed far-fetched, but it wasn’t impossible. she asked him.

“Or Delphinia herself,” he replied. “I know you hate the thought, but she’s a healthy young woman. It wouldn’t be out of the question for her to have driven that knife through her mother’s chest, especially since she would be the last one Maria would suspect. Face it, Jemima, she had the best motive of all. She’s in love with Brent. She might have convinced herself she was protecting him.”

“If she were really protecting him, she would have told him about Maria and let him make his own decision,” she said hotly. “Or had a smaller wedding privately
somewhere where Maria wouldn’t have known about it! I think she’s in love with being in love!”

“Most of us would like to be in love,” he said very gently. “Wouldn’t you, one day?”

She did not dare meet his eyes in case she gave herself away. “Oh, I expect so,” she said as lightly as she could. “But I hope it would never bring me to a point where I could consider doing something so …”

“Crazy?” he suggested. “Probably not. But love can be pretty overwhelming. It can make you take risks you wouldn’t normally even think of.” Then he looked a little uncomfortable, as if he had said more than he meant to. He turned away from her, facing along the street into the wind and snow.

For a wild moment Jemima wondered if the reason he was so determined to find Maria’s killer and save her from suspicion was that he cared for her. Then she dismissed it as a daydream she couldn’t afford to indulge. If they didn’t find the real killer, then the police were left with her. She was the one who had found Maria’s body, and she had been alone.

“Do you think it could’ve been the other way around? Brent killed her, out of love for Phinnie?” she asked as sensibly as she could.

“That is possible,” he answered slowly, still facing down the street. “We need to know more about Maria. Her murder might be something to do with her own life, something we missed entirely. Maybe it is only chance that it happened now, so close to the wedding. Come on.” He took her arm and started to walk along the pavement briskly, as if he had a specific destination in mind.

J
emima spent the rest of the day with Patrick. They learned more about Maria Cardew, but it was incidental to their search for Sara Godwin. They met many people who knew Sara and spoke well of her. It seemed she was quiet and kept to herself, but was willing to help anyone. But her illness had steadily been getting worse. No one had seen her for several weeks, and frankly, they assumed she had died.

Jemima and Patrick arranged to meet next the morning at the coffee shop to which Ellie Shultz had taken Jemima the previous day. Then Jemima went back to the Albright house feeling both tired and disappointed.
She had not said so to Patrick—she had learned rather too quickly to be comfortable using his name—but she was very much aware that they had little time before she would be arrested again, and tried for murder. Only the closeness of Christmas had allowed her even this reprieve.

She hated going back to the Albright mansion, but she had nowhere else to stay. She certainly had not sufficient funds to find herself a room at a hotel of even modest comfort or safety. Added to which her bail was conditional upon her staying where the police could find her at any time.

She had taken off her heavy outdoor coat and was walking across the hall when one of the maids told her that Miss Celia would like to speak with her.

“Thank you,” Jemima said with a sinking heart. She had intended to speak with Celia anyway. She owed it to her to keep her apprised of what she had learned, little as it may be. When she went over it in her mind, the information she and Patrick had gathered amounted to nothing that would help. Rather the opposite! Maria Cardew seemed to have been a good woman who was well liked, even respected. Only the Albright family, and Phinnie, had any reason to fear her. And now it looked
as if Sara Godwin, the only person who might’ve been able to shed some light on the matter, was also dead.

She went upstairs to her bedroom, washed, put on dry boots, and then presented herself at Celia’s sitting-room door.

The room was warm, both literally from the fire in the hearth and figuratively from the rich colors, the sheen on the polished wood of the furniture, and the wealth of books on the shelves. At any other time, Jemima would have taken great pleasure in being there.

Celia was sitting in one of the armchairs. A piece of embroidery, half finished, lay on top of a sewing basket next to her.

Celia smiled and gestured for her to sit. Jemima accepted gratefully, glad of the warmth, and also very happy to be still at last.

“How are you, Miss Pitt?” Celia said with apparent concern. “I hear from Farrell that you have been out all day. Is that so? The weather is bitter.”

Jemima wanted to scream at the banality of the question, but she forced herself to keep calm and respond courteously. “Very well, thank you. I have been outside, but I am fine.”

“Cold, tired, no doubt.” Celia smiled. “I have sent for
tea. It should be here any moment. I shall not ask you where you went. It is possible I prefer not to know.”

Jemima drew in her breath to say something, and no sensible answer occurred to her. She was saved from silence by the arrival of the maid with a heavy tray of tea, milk, hot water, and two plates of food: one of delicate savory sandwiches cut as fine as any she had seen in the high society of London; the other of little cakes of several sorts, some filled with whipped cream.

Celia thanked the maid and dismissed her, then without asking poured the tea for each of them.

Jemima accepted a sandwich, for the sake of good manners, and found it delicious. This whole performance was absurd, yet there was nothing remotely funny about it.

“I still can’t believe Maria is gone,” Celia said conversationally. “I was very fond of her.”

“People speak well of her,” Jemima replied. She wondered if Celia would tell her anything more about Maria, if she asked. Yet she could not work out if the woman had been completely honest with her or was playing some game of her own. Looking at her thin, intelligent face, with its almost hidden humor, she had an urgent feeling that it was the latter. But what was at the heart
of it? Fear of losing her position in the Albright mansion? Jemima loved her brother, Daniel, but she had no intention whatever of being beholden to him for the rest of her life.

Celia was nodding. “They would do. She had a considerable charm.”

What did that mean? Was “charm” a way of saying Maria was manipulative? Even dishonest?

“Did you know her well?” Jemima asked. What had she to lose? The police were going to charge her if they didn’t have anyone else, no matter what Patrick did.

“I believed so,” Celia answered. Now she was smiling sadly, her thoughts clearly turned inward.

Jemima could not afford diplomacy. “But you had cause to reverse your opinion?”

Celia gave a slight shrug of her thin shoulders. “I was surprised that she abandoned her husband and child. But I never had the opportunity to ask her why. How well does one ever know another person? You have to love without knowing, don’t you think?” She looked at Jemima very directly, her gaze probing. “There are always things that are private, and should remain so.” She was waiting for a reply.

“Yes, I suppose there are,” Jemima agreed.

“When you are older, you will have secrets,” Celia promised her. “That is one of the great burdens of a public life. Too many people know too much. One lives like a fish in an ornamental bowl.”

“Goldfish …” Jemima was struggling to understand the obliqueness of the conversation. She took another sandwich to give herself time to think.

Celia moved the plate a little nearer her.

“It is the great drawback to political office, I think,” she remarked.

Jemima was lost. “Political office? Has that something to do with Maria Cardew’s death?”

Celia’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, I hope not. I was merely making conversation. I wish I could offer you greater comfort. You came all this way from your own family, and now you seem to be caught up in our troubles, and I confess, I see no way out for you.”

Jemima felt the panic well up inside her. She was stupid to have imagined Celia was going to be any help. The poor woman was facing the end of her own manner of living.