Murder in Morningside Heights (A Gaslight Mystery) (24 page)

“Ah,” said Madame de Béthune, “and there she learned she does not speak the
français
very well at all.”

“That’s true,” Sarah said, astonished. She hadn’t even thought to mention that detail. “How did you know?”

“Many Americans think they know how to speak the
français
, but . . . I know I speak the English with an accent.”

“But you speak it very well,” Sarah’s mother said.

Madame de Béthune waved away her compliment. “I have had years to practice, but I can hardly make myself understood when I first come to America.”

“So you’re saying that Americans have the same problem when they go to France,” Sarah said.

“
Oui
, and Americans are very patient to those who do not speak their language, but the French are not so kind.”

“Not all Americans are patient,” Sarah’s mother said sadly.

But Sarah was remembering something. “Abigail’s mother told me the people she stayed with in France laughed at her when she first got there, and they could hardly understand her.”

“I had the very same problem when I married Claude and moved to France,” Millicent said. “Sometimes I think people pretended they didn’t understand me, just to be mean.”

Madame de Béthune patted her hand. “This is what
occurs when Americans teach other Americans to speak the
français
. Is this why you have come today?”

“Oh no,” Sarah said. “That has nothing to do with why we’re here. I was just explaining to you how Abigail had happened to visit France and why she knew someone who sent her letters from there.”

“Ah, a romance perhaps?” Madame de Béthune asked hopefully.

Sarah and her mother exchanged a look. “We have no idea. We only know that she received these letters . . .” She waited while her mother pulled the letters from her purse. “We also know that she told a friend of hers she had discovered a scandal at the college.”

Madame de Béthune’s eyes lit up. “A scandal? What kind of a scandal?”

“We don’t know that either,” Sarah said, certain now they had found exactly the right person to help them. “And these letters may have nothing at all to do with the scandal or Abigail’s death.”

“But they may have everything to do with it, and you will not know until you know what they say,” Madame de Béthune said.

“And that is why we need your help,” Sarah said. “I know this is asking a lot of someone we’ve just met—”

“Pas du tout,”
Madame de Béthune said, her delicate hand waving away her concerns.

“Which means ‘not at all,’” Millicent said.

“I will be happy to help you,” Madame de Béthune said. “But I will need a few days.”

“Of course,” Sarah said. “You are doing us a great favor, so take all the time you need. And as I said, it may come to nothing.”

“Or we may find the
scélérat
who killed this poor girl.”

Sarah only hoped she was right.

*   *   *

M
uch to Gino’s disappointment, Frank left him at the club with Luther while Frank found a hansom cab to carry him down to the Tenderloin to find the brothel that Cornelius Raymond frequented. The district was lousy with houses of ill repute that ranged from fairly elegant to sordidly shabby. As he’d expected, Raymond’s favorite was one of the more elegant ones.

The place was locked up tight this early in the day. Frank’s determined knocking finally roused a colored maid who informed him they weren’t yet open for business.

“I’m not here to do business. I need to speak to the madam.”

“She won’t be happy,” the maid informed him.

“I don’t expect her to be.”

She left him standing in the foyer for so long, he finally found himself a seat in the parlor. The room was richly furnished but cluttered now with empty glasses and bottles and a few stray articles of feminine apparel scattered here and there. It reeked of cigar smoke.

After nearly half an hour, a furious middle-aged female appeared. She’d dressed in a perfectly respectable gown that she could have worn to church if she’d been so inclined. He supposed she usually did dress that way. Her hair had been done up in a remarkably elaborate style that looked a little odd. He needed a moment to realize it was a wig, and she’d put it on crooked in her haste.

He rose to his feet, and she eyed him up and down. “You don’t dress like a copper.”

“Detective Frank Malloy, at your service, ma’am.”

“At your service,” she snorted. “That’s what I’m supposed to say to you, you twit. Now what could you possibly want at this ungodly hour of the morning?”

“I’m investigating the murders of two females, and one of the men suspected of the crimes claims he was here when each of the women was murdered.”

“And why should I help you?”

Frank pulled out a five-dollar bill and held it up. She was not impressed. He added a second one to it, and she nodded.

“If your man said he was here, he must’ve been, then. Men don’t usually claim to be in a whorehouse unless they really were.”

She was right, of course. “I don’t suppose you could confirm that Cornelius Raymond was here on Saturday afternoon and on the Wednesday before last.”

She gave him a pitying look. “I don’t normally admit I know any man who might’ve come in here, you realize.”

“Of course. I’m not working on a divorce case, though. This man wants you to say he was here.”

“Then he was here.”

Frank sighed wearily. “Except I only want you to say he was here if he really was.”

“Mr. . . . Malloy, was it? I don’t pay no mind to when customers come and go. Every day is pretty much like another one here. Even the girls couldn’t tell you who they saw when. They don’t pay attention and why should they?”

Why, indeed? Nobody who visited a place like this wanted people to remember. Except Cornelius Raymond, of course. “But he does come here?”

“Corny? Sure. He’s smitten with our little Lila. She has a particular
speciality
that he likes,” she added slyly. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested—”

“I don’t suppose she’d vouch for him,” Frank said gruffly.

“She’ll do anything you want her to if the price is right,” the madam said.

He should’ve known he was wasting his time here. And
his money. He crossed the room and handed the bills to the madam. “Thanks for your help.”

She cackled, stuffing the bills into her bodice. “Anytime.”

*   *   *

H
atch’s secretary looked up in alarm when Frank entered her office. He figured she was even more spooked now that Miss Wilson had been murdered. At least she relaxed a little when she realized who he was.

“Did you have an appointment, Mr. Malloy?”

“No, but I’m sure he’ll see me if he’s in.”

Alice jumped up from her seat. “I’ll check.”

She obviously knew he was in, but she had to ask if he’d see Frank. Frank felt bad that he didn’t really have any news to report, but that couldn’t be helped.

Alice returned in a few moments and escorted him into Hatch’s office. The instant the door closed behind her, Hatch said, “Do you have news already?”

Frank shook his head. “But I did hear something you ought to know, and I have a question for you.”

Hatch’s face fell, but he invited Frank to sit down. “What’s the question?”

“I found out that Miss Wilson and Miss Northrup had an argument the day before Miss Northrup was murdered. It was about something Miss Northrup had learned, some piece of information. She had decided to tell you what it was, and Miss Wilson didn’t want her to.”

“What was it?”

“No one seems to know. My question is, did she meet with you the day she died and did she tell you whatever it was?”

Hatch thought this over for a long moment. “She didn’t meet with me. She may have asked for an appointment. You
can check with Alice about that, but if so, she didn’t keep it. And you don’t have any idea what she wanted to tell me?”

“I don’t know for certain, but I do have a suspicion. She described it as a scandal of some kind.”

“Dear heaven, I hired you to
prevent
a scandal.” Hatch was genuinely distressed, as Frank had expected.

“I’m doing my best, Mr. Hatch, but I have to tell you, we’ve discovered some things about Miss Wilson and Miss Northrup that would be considered, uh, sensational if the press found out about them.”

Hatch frowned, but he seemed more annoyed than alarmed. “Do you mean the romance between them?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Frank said in surprise. “What do you know about it?”

“As little as I have to,” Hatch said. “Oh, everyone knows Abigail had a smash on Miss Wilson. Do you know what a smash is?”

“Yes, it, uh, came up when we were questioning your students.”

“Many of the girls develop strong feelings for the female teachers. They usually outgrow them in time, but Abigail did not. Instead she developed a romantic friendship with Miss Wilson.”

This was something new. “What’s a romantic friendship?”

Hatch shrugged. “Women are highly emotional creatures, as I’m sure you know. They tend to feel things more deeply than we do.”

“Including friendship?”

“Exactly. Some females become as devoted to each other as lovers. These friendships often take the place of romantic relationships with the opposite sex.”

“Especially with women who don’t attract suitors or husbands.”

“You seem familiar with the concept, Mr. Malloy.”

“I told you, we’ve learned a lot about Miss Northrup and Miss Wilson.”

“And you said what you’d learned might be considered sensational.”

“Yes. You mentioned romance and—”

“Mr. Malloy, I hope you aren’t going to suggest there might be something improper about the relationship between Miss Wilson and Miss Northrup,” Hatch said coldly.

“And what would you say if I did?” Frank said, fascinated by the turn of the conversation.

“I would say you would be doing a disservice to two ladies of spotless reputation who did not deserve to have their good names slandered. No one wants that, I’m sure.”

“Not even if the stories are true?”

“Not even then. You see, Mr. Malloy, this matter was settled long ago in a very public way.”

“The matter of Miss Wilson and Miss Northrup’s friendship?” Frank asked, confused.

“No, the question of possible impropriety between ladies who are intimate friends. You see, there was a legal case in England about forty years ago. It was a girls’ boarding school, not so very different from our situation here at the Normal School. One of the students accused the two ladies who ran the school of engaging in improper behavior with each other. It seems they would share a bed late at night, when all the students were asleep, and they were overheard to say some, uh, questionable things to each other that indicated . . . well, improprieties. As you can imagine, the parents withdrew the students immediately. All of them. The school closed and the reputation of the two ladies was ruined, so they sued the accusing parent for slander.”

“They did?” Frank asked in amazement.

“Of course. And they won, in spite of testimony from several of the older girls about their behavior. The judges, you see, knew perfectly well that respectable females experience no desire for sexual relations and submit to them in marriage merely as a means of procreating. And to please their husbands, of course. That being true, it’s difficult to understand why either of these ladies would have been interested in such activities at all. In addition,” he continued, stopping Frank’s interruption with a raised hand, “sexual relations can only be conducted if one of the participants has a male member in order to complete the act. In the case of two ladies, there is no male member, and therefore, there can be no act of sexual congress.”

Frank stared at Hatch, trying to judge whether he was serious or not. “Do you really believe all that?”

“I have chosen to believe it, because if a parent asks me a question about the subject, this is what I will tell him. You see, Mr. Malloy, I am determined to avoid even the faintest suspicion of improprieties. Even though the English ladies won their lawsuit, their school was ruined and no parents would ever entrust their daughters to them again. That will not happen here.”

Frank saw it very well. Hatch was prepared to do anything necessary to save his school. “You understand that if these women were murdered because of their . . . their romantic friendship, and the killer goes on trial—”

“—the newspapers will turn it into a circus. I can understand that very well. Your job is to prevent that.”

“Prevent what, exactly?” Frank asked, growing more and more annoyed with Hatch with every word he spoke. “Prevent word of their romantic friendship from getting out or prevent the killer from being caught?”

“I thought you understood that I want the killer caught so he cannot harm anyone else.”

“Anyone else at the school, in particular,” Frank said.

“I’m most concerned about our staff and students, of course, but I’m willing to protect the general population as well,” Hatch allowed.

“That’s generous of you.”

Hatch ignored his sarcasm. “I thought I made it clear to you that I wanted to avoid a scandal of any kind as well. I’m sure the Northrups share my concern. They won’t want their daughter’s good name tarnished in any way.”

“So I’m back to my original question: What if the women were killed because of their romantic friendship?”

“When you find out who killed them and why, I think you will need to consult with me and the Northrups to determine what action we should take.”

“And are you prepared to let the killer go free in order to protect the school from scandal?”

“You are ahead of yourself, Mr. Malloy. That is a decision I cannot possibly make at this time. And please, don’t bother me again until you have something to report.”

Frank thought he’d bother Hatch whenever he needed to, but he wasn’t going to give the man warning, so he took his leave without another word. In the outer office, he found Alice had been waiting for his return. She jumped up again and closed Mr. Hatch’s office door. At first, Frank thought she was simply being considerate of her employer’s privacy, but then she came up to him and whispered, “Did you find out who did it?”