A New York Christmas (6 page)

Jemima felt a shock of grief. She knew the woman was dead, but what struck her most strongly was the difference between this half-sunken face, the life fled from it, and the one she had seen only yesterday, staring up at the snow-laden trees with such joy.

She stood looking at the woman until she heard a sound behind her and swung around, her throat tight with fear.

“Miss Pitt?” Harley’s voice broke the trance. “Are you in here? A boy downstairs said he saw you …”

Harley appeared and relief overwhelmed her, then vanished again like a huge wave sucking back into itself.

“I think she’s dead,” she whispered. “Poor soul …”

“What!” Harley walked rapidly over to the bed and put his fingers to the skin of the woman’s neck. He looked across at Jemima. “Yes, she is, but she is still warm. It can’t have been long. Maybe only a few minutes.”

She was amazed. “Just a few minutes? If we’d come sooner …”

Harley pulled the covers away from the woman’s chin and shoulders. Suddenly all Jemima could see was scarlet blood, wide-spreading, wet, from a heart only just stopped beating. Dizziness overtook her and she had to fight to keep from fainting.

“We had better call the police,” Harley said grimly, his voice catching in his throat. “It was not a natural death. She’s been stabbed.”

Jemima nodded. She tried to speak but no sound came.

“Come,” Harley ordered. “There’s nothing you can do for her now.”

Jemima coughed and cleared her throat. “Is it … is it Maria Cardew? She looks so ill!”

“Yes, it’s her. Come. We must go and call the police.” He held out his hand and obediently she stumbled the few steps to reach him. He gripped her firmly and guided her to the door and out into the passageway. Almost as if it were an afterthought, he pulled the door closed, but she did not hear the latch turn.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and there was no one in sight. Harley went to the front door and out into the street. He looked one way, then the other, then came back to Jemima.

“I’m going to find the nearest policeman. I don’t think anyone around here will have a telephone. It’s not that sort of area. You stay here and don’t speak to anyone. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Can’t I come with you?” she asked, then heard her own voice and wished she had not sounded so plaintive. No backbone! “No,” she said before he could reply, although the refusal was in his face. “Of course not. You’ll move far faster without me. I understand. Please go.”

He looked immensely relieved and turned quickly, starting to run as soon as he was on the open sidewalk.

Jemima stood in the hallway for what seemed like
forever. A man came out of one of the ground-floor apartments and said something to her, but she did not hear the words, could not find her voice to reply. He went out the door and disappeared. Two more people went by.

Her mind was racing.

Who could have killed Maria Cardew, and why? Had some part of the evil life Harley had hinted at finally caught up with her? Where had Harley been? If he had arrived sooner, they might have saved her! Jemima should have felt outrage, even fear, but thinking of that ravaged face all she could summon was pity. She hoped Phinnie would not have to learn the whole truth. Was there any way they could keep it from her, at least until after the wedding?

She was still busy with that thought when Harley came back in through the front door, followed by a young man easily his height but dark-haired and with startlingly blue eyes. He introduced himself before Harley could do it.

“Miss Pitt? I’m Officer Patrick Flannery. Mr. Albright tells me that you discovered the body of a woman upstairs in apartment 309. Is that true?”

Jemima looked at him. His presence, his dark blue
uniform, made it all suddenly no longer a nightmare but a reality—official, ugly, and dangerous. How could they possibly keep Phinnie from knowing? If this young policeman had any brains at all, he would ask what Harley Albright was doing here in the first place. And she knew from her father’s experience that lies only made everything worse. He had said more than once that the lies a person told gave away more than most truths.

“Yes, sir,” she replied. Another thing her father had said was not to answer more questions than you were asked. It made you appear nervous.

Flannery nodded. “I see. Mr. Albright said that he found you inside the apartment, in the bedroom with the dead woman. Is that right?” He had a nice voice, with a lilt of the Irish in it. “Miss Pitt?” he prompted.

“Yes,” she said quickly, trying to keep her composure. Of course Harley had had to say that. She was there already when he arrived. “I didn’t touch her,” she added, then wished she hadn’t. Was she so rattled that she was going to forget all her father’s advice already? If only he were here now!

“Mr. Albright says you’re English. Is that right?” Flannery asked.

“Yes. I’ve been here just a few days. I came over for the wedding of a friend.”

“I see. That would be Mr. Albright’s brother’s fiancée?”

Jemima nodded. “Yes, Phinnie—Delphinia—Cardew.”

“And do you know the dead woman, Miss Pitt?”

“No. Mr. Albright says she is Maria Cardew.”

Harley stiffened, but he did not interrupt.

“The mother of Mr. Brent Albright’s fiancée,” Flannery said. “He mentioned that. Perhaps we had better go up to see her. I’ve sent for the police surgeon to take a look at her.” He glanced at Harley.

“The family asks for your discretion and will deeply appreciate it,” Harley said. “I will personally pay for a decent burial for the woman.”

“Yes, sir.” Flannery nodded. “I’ll do what I can. If you would lead the way upstairs, please …?”

Harley moved, and Jemima followed him, with Officer Flannery after her. It was then that she realized how much the whole affair had distressed her. She had expected an unpleasant scene, but not death; certainly not violence, blood, then the police. And now there was the fear that she would not be able to protect Phinnie from
a grief, or at least a shock, that would deeply overshadow all happiness at the prospect of her upcoming wedding day.

Harley pushed open the apartment door. The latch was broken and had not locked behind them.

“Did you find it like this, sir?” Flannery asked.

“Yes. Miss Pitt was already inside. I told you.”

Flannery turned to Jemima, his black eyebrows raised.

Jemima felt a prickle of fear. “Yes. It was open when I pushed it.”

“So you went in?”

“Yes.”

Flannery looked unhappy. “Did you know Mrs. Cardew?”

“No. But I’ve known her daughter, Delphinia Cardew, for …” It was not so very long, but she must finish the train of thought. “I am here with her for the wedding, to look after her until then. She is only nineteen. Her father is ill and cannot travel. She is … estranged from Mrs. Cardew. She has no one else … except the Albright family, of course.” Was she talking too much and making it even worse?

“So you were trying to bring about a reconciliation with her mother?” Flannery looked dubious. This was plainly at odds with what Harley had implied.

“No. I wished to persuade Mrs. Cardew …” She realized with horror what she was about to say, and how it would sound.

“Not to appear at the wedding and cause distress and embarrassment,” Harley finished for her.

Flannery shot him a sharp look that was close to dislike, then turned back to Jemima.

“Is that correct, Miss Pitt?” he said gently.

There was no escape.

“Yes.” Her voice was hollow, as if she had no air in her lungs. “We hoped she would realize that it would be far better, if she wished to meet with Phinnie again, to do it privately.” Should she add that Harley had been willing to pay her not to cause a scandal? No. It sounded desperate.

Flannery nodded, then led the way to the bedroom. The dead woman was lying on the bed exactly as Jemima had left her, the sheet still pulled back to expose the terrible wound. She heard Flannery’s sharp intake of breath. He must have seen dead bodies before, but there
was something horribly tragic about this elderly woman, so frail-looking, perhaps even dying anyway, who lay alone, soaked in her own blood, her graying hair spread across the pillow, her features etched with pain.

Flannery looked at her closely without touching her, except to place one strong hand briefly on her pulse point. He must have felt that she was still warm. He turned to Jemima, his face filled with pity.

“Did you see any weapon, Miss Pitt? Did you move it?”

“No! Of course not!”

“It would be a natural thing to do.”

“My father is a policeman, Officer Flannery. In fact, he is head of Special Branch in England. I know better than to move a weapon from the scene of a death.”

He looked grim. “So you know quite a lot about crime?”

Another mistake. “No!” she said hotly. “Only what I have overheard now and then. But if you think about it, it’s common sense.” She must stop talking, stop telling him too much. She sounded guilty, when really she was only grieved and afraid for Phinnie.

“I see,” he acknowledged. He appeared increasingly
unhappy. He looked back at Harley. “You said, sir, that you arrived here later than Miss Pitt and found her standing beside the body, which you identified as that of Mrs. Maria Cardew.”

“Yes,” Harley answered quietly. “I’m sorry, but that is so.”

“Where were you, sir?” Flannery met his eyes squarely.

“I didn’t see anyone come in here, if that’s what you mean?” Harley replied.

“It’s part of what I mean. If you weren’t in the street outside, where were you?” Flannery insisted.

“Someone stopped me to ask directions, and I ended up having to take them part of the way,” Harley replied a little sharply. “When Miss Pitt wasn’t in the coffee shop where I left her, I assumed she must have come here. A boy on the street told me he had seen her, and that she had gone to room 309.”

“When did you last see Mrs. Cardew alive, sir?”

“About twenty years ago, when she first met Mr. Cardew. It was through my family that they became acquainted. My father and Mr. Cardew are partners in business.”

“Yes, sir, you mentioned that.” Flannery’s face was
pinched, his eyes bleak. It seemed he did not like Harley, for whatever reason. He looked at Jemima again. “Is this all true, Miss Pitt?”

Jemima realized with a chill that made her feel sick exactly how it looked. There was nothing she could deny.

“Yes …” she admitted.

Harley spoke before Flannery could. “Miss Pitt, if you moved the knife, however well you meant it, it would be a good thing if you told me. I know your devotion to Miss Cardew, but this is extremely serious. I will do my best to protect you, but really, only the truth will serve now.”

He was making it worse, making it sound as if he thought she could have killed the poor woman! Why? It would hardly protect Phinnie. The scandal of having her mother turn up at the wedding would be small compared with that of a murder. Did he really think she was so stupid, so impetuous and hysterical as not to know that? She stared at him, and the answer was clear in the sad, puzzled expression in his eyes.

“I did not touch her!” Her voice sounded frightened, as if she were close to losing control. “I did not touch anything. I didn’t even know for certain that she was Maria Cardew.”

“Yes, you did,” Harley contradicted her. “We saw her in Central Park yesterday evening. We followed her.”

“We were fifty yards away!” she protested. “She looks quite different close-up.”

“But it is the same woman, Mr. Albright?” Flannery said. “You are quite certain?”

“Yes,” Harley said decisively. “There is no doubt. I’m sorry. I … I understand your devotion to Phinnie,” he said to Jemima. “I believe you did this to protect her. It is my duty to my family now to see that you don’t in any way suggest that she had any part in this. I know how intensely she is looking forward to—”

Flannery cut him off with a glance. “If you are looking to protect your family, sir, you would not serve that purpose by suggesting that anyone in your household had a part in this.”

A dull color swept up Harley’s face, but he did not answer.

Flannery turned to Jemima. “I’m sorry, Miss Pitt, but I have no choice but to take you to the station for further questions.”

“But I have no blood on me!” Jemima protested. “I would have … if I had done that!” She indicated the body on the bed, but could scarcely look at it.

Flannery swiveled round to look at the kitchen, where the corner of a wet towel was visible in the sink. He looked back at Jemima.

“Please, Miss Pitt,” Flannery said quietly as another policeman came in through the door, followed by a third.

“I’ll do what I can,” Harley said to Jemima, then turned on his heel and left without looking at Flannery or speaking to him.

T
he next few hours passed in a daze of misery. Jemima was taken in a closed carriage, her hands manacled together, down to the center of the city, where she was asked questions about her identity, her nationality, and her purpose here in New York. She was finally charged with the murder of Maria Cardew, and her belongings were taken from her, except the clothes she stood up in, and a small handkerchief. She was then placed in a cell and left alone, trembling and queasy with fear and shock.