Murder in Morningside Heights (A Gaslight Mystery) (6 page)

“That’s a very good question, Malloy. But we only have Miss Wilson’s word that people don’t kill teachers for giving them a bad grade or getting a teaching position they wanted, so those could be reasons, too.”

“That’s true. I’ve seen people get killed over a glass of beer, so being jealous of Abigail for getting the job at the Normal School seems like a pretty good motive to me.”

“Well, maybe when we’ve read these letters, we’ll know more.”

*   *   *

R
eading the letters had to wait, however. When they arrived back home, not only were their children eager for their attention, but Gino Donatelli had decided to pay them a visit.

“Just wanted to see if you had anything to tell me about the case,” Gino whispered to Frank when he and Sarah had gotten their coats off.

But Frank wasn’t fooled. Gino was far more interested in their nursemaid, Maeve, than he was in Abigail Northrup’s murder.

Sarah’s daughter, Catherine, and Frank’s son, Brian, had been playing in his mother’s private parlor while Gino and Maeve chatted in the formal parlor. Or at least Frank hoped they’d only been chatting. To Frank’s relief, they’d looked perfectly innocent when they came out to greet Frank and Sarah.

“The girls are fixing lunch for everybody,” Frank’s mother informed them, referring to their cook and maid, who were relatively new additions to the household. Mrs. Malloy had never had servants before and insisted on referring to them as “the girls.”

“And Gino can stay,” Catherine reported. “We already asked him.”

“How lovely,” Sarah said with only a trace of irony.

Hattie, the maid, came to tell them lunch was ready, so they all trooped into the dining room and enjoyed a fine meal. When they were done, Mrs. Malloy said, “I’ll take the children so you can go with them, Maeve.”

For once Maeve looked a little disconcerted. She glanced at Sarah and then at Frank. “Is that all right?”

Frank grinned at her uncertainty. “Well, you did say you wanted to keep on being Catherine’s nursemaid instead of coming to work for the agency, but I wouldn’t mind hearing a young woman’s opinion of all of this.”

Maeve smiled radiantly and jumped up to help Mrs. Malloy wrangle the children before joining them in the parlor.

The parlor was a large, comfortable room that Frank had insisted not be so formal that the family couldn’t enjoy it. Frank told Gino and Maeve what they’d learned while Sarah sorted the small stack of letters into order by date. When Frank had finished, she pulled the letter out of the first envelope, prepared to read it and pass it along so the rest of them could see it, but she stopped the instant she saw the letter itself.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The handwriting is different,” she said, holding up the envelope to compare them. Then she turned the pages to look at the signature. She looked up and grinned. “It’s not from Irene Raymond at all. It’s from Cornelius Raymond.”

“Who’s Cornelius?” Maeve asked.

“Let’s find out,” Sarah said and started reading.

They soon had a system, based on the “ladies first” principle. Sarah read without betraying much in the way of judgment, but Maeve saw no reason not to reveal her feelings with exaggerated facial expressions before passing each missive on to Gino, who read with avid interest and usually just rolled his eyes when passing each one along to Frank.

“Poor Cornelius sounds like a desperate man,” Frank said when he’d finished the last letter and placed it on top of the stack in his lap.

“I’m sorry I never got to meet Miss Northrup,” Gino said, earning a scowl from Maeve.

“She was probably one of those stuck-up society girls who thinks she’s too good for the likes of you,” Maeve said.

“But not for Cornelius,” Sarah said quickly. “She was plainly leading him on, making him think she would consider marrying him.”

“Do you think she was just leading him on or could she have really been considering it?” Frank asked.

“We may never know for sure,” Sarah said, “but I can’t believe she wasn’t at least considering it. Cornelius promises her a very comfortable life.”

“But why go to all the trouble of hiding the fact that he was writing to her?” Gino asked.

“Malloy didn’t mention the fact that the women Abigail lived with wouldn’t have been happy to find out she had a suitor,” Sarah said.

“Why not?” Maeve asked.

“Because married women can’t be teachers,” Malloy said, “so if she got married, she’d have to leave her job.”

“But isn’t that her business?” Maeve asked.

“Of course, but I gather it’s rare to have an opening for a teacher at the school, and being hired is a great honor,
especially for somebody who just graduated herself,” Sarah said. “The women she lived with have dedicated their lives to teaching, so they’d be very put out with her if she threw it all away to get married.”

“I thought all women wanted to get married,” Gino said.

Maeve gave him another scowl, but Frank had come to understand that was the main reason Gino said such outrageous things.

“Getting married is one of the few ways for a woman to obtain security in this world, Gino, but a teaching job in a college would certainly be another,” Sarah said.

“And maybe even a better one,” Maeve said. “A teaching job isn’t going to die or desert you, like a husband might.”

“And the old maids might just be jealous because they never had a suitor themselves,” Frank said, earning a scowl from Sarah, which he didn’t enjoy at all. “Well, it’s true.”

“It might be,” Sarah said. “At any rate, Abigail obviously understood her hostess wouldn’t be happy to learn she was receiving letters from a young man, so she and Cornelius went to great lengths to conceal that information. According to Miss Wilson, this Irene Raymond was an old friend of Abigail’s from home who also attended the Normal School.”

“And from the letters, it appears Cornelius was her brother,” Maeve said. “He must’ve had Irene address the envelopes. That’s kind of romantic, I guess, getting your sister to keep your romance a secret. But do we think Abigail was going to leave the school and marry him?”

Frank shook his head. “From Cornelius’s last letter, it sounds to me like she still hadn’t made up her mind.”

“And since it was dated a week ago, she probably had time to reply to it,” Sarah said. “So if she said no, maybe he came to New York to see if he could change her mind. If he was very unhappy with her, well . . .”

“Do you want me to go to Tarrytown and find him?” Gino asked, obviously ready to leave immediately.

“Let’s wait,” Frank said. “If he did kill her, he can’t imagine we even know about him, so he’s not going anywhere. In the meantime, I’d like you to drop by Miss Wilson’s house on Monday morning, when she and Miss Billingsly are at school, and talk to their maid, Bathsheba.”

“Bathsheba? Is that really her name?” Gino asked.

“Do you think that’s wise?” Sarah asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be wise?” Gino asked.

“Sarah’s afraid this Bathsheba will eat you alive,” Frank said. “But I have confidence in your boyish charm.”

“Boyish?” Gino echoed, insulted.

“Definitely boyish,” Maeve said, earning a scowl from Gino, which she obviously savored.

“But the important part is ‘charm,’” Sarah said, trying not to grin. “Bathsheba is a tough lady, and I get the impression she isn’t too impressed with her employers. She might be willing to gossip a bit if you show her some attention and flatter her.”

“All right,” Gino said, obviously feeling put-upon.

“And then I’d like you to interview the girls in Abigail’s classes,” Frank said, having saved the best for last.

He perked right up at that, although Frank saw at once that Maeve was none too pleased. “Do you think one of them did it?”

“I doubt it, but they might know something or have an idea about who didn’t like Abigail.”

“What do you want me to do?” Sarah asked.

“I’d like you to talk with Miss Billingsly, but I’m not sure how to do that without Miss Wilson knowing.”

Sarah glanced at Gino. “Maybe you could find out from Bathsheba how we could arrange it.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“And what will you do, Malloy?” Sarah asked.

“I’m going to take a look at Abigail’s office and talk to the French professor she worked for, Mr. Pelletier.”

“It doesn’t sound as if we can do any of this until Monday, though,” Sarah said. “Which means we should plan to do something with the children on Sunday afternoon. How about ice-skating in Central Park?”

*   *   *

G
ino easily found the redbrick house where the lady professors lived. The neighborhood was peaceful early on a Monday morning. The men—and the single ladies who had careers—would have already left for the day. Monday was washday, as everyone knew, so wives and servants would be busy with that. He rounded the corner and found the alley running behind the house.

Counting the houses, he located the right gate and stepped inside the fence to find the woman he’d come to interview hanging wash on a clothesline strung the length of the yard. She was just as formidable as Malloy had described, although her turban was plain calico today, and the look she was giving him could’ve drawn blood on a boot.

“Good morning, miss,” he said, pulling off his bowler hat.

“I ain’t nobody’s miss, and put your hat back on, boy. Your head’ll freeze.”

He resettled his hat but didn’t let his smile fade. “I’m Gino Donatelli, and I work for Mr. Frank Malloy. I was wondering if I might ask you a few questions about Miss Northrup.”

“I’m busy.” She pulled the last garment from the laundry basket, a pair of ladies’ drawers, and clothespinned them to the line.

“I can see that. I don’t expect you to stop what you’re
doing just for me.” Before she could move, he scooped up the basket in a silent offer to carry it inside for her.

She was still frowning, not sure what to make of him, but she let him carry the basket and follow her back into the steamy warmth of the kitchen, where a huge pot of water simmered, ready for the next load of wash.

He wiped his feet carefully before entering, knowing this would please his hostess.

“Put that basket down anywhere,” she snapped as she pulled off her coat. “And close the door if you’re staying.”

He shut the back door against the wintry weather and set the basket down nearby.

“Ain’t you a little young to be a detective?” she asked, eyeing him shrewdly.

“I’m young, but I was a police officer for almost two years, and I fought in Cuba with the Rough Riders.”

She brightened slightly at this news. “My nephew Thomas fought in Cuba with the colored troops.”

“They were very brave. They were right with us when we charged up San Juan Hill.”

She sniffed at this, and Gino wasn’t sure if she approved or not, but at least she hadn’t asked him to leave yet.

“Take off your coat and sit yourself down. I gotta get this next load finished and on the line.”

Gino made himself useful, carrying the hot water from the stove to the washer for her before finally taking a seat at the kitchen table while she churned the clothes in the wooden tub and then started fishing each piece out with a stick and running it through the mangle to squeeze out the excess water. He knew better than to offer to help with that. He didn’t want to handle the ladies’ clothes, but he also didn’t want to get a finger crushed in the wringer.

Bathsheba cranked the first few items through before she said, “Why didn’t that Malloy fellow come himself?”

“He thought you’d rather talk to me.”

She grinned at that, showing a gold canine. “He was right about that. So what did you want to know? I ain’t sayin’ I’ll answer, but you can ask whatever you want.”

“Fair enough. I don’t want to ask you to gossip about your employers—”

“Oh, of course you do. Don’t lie, boy.”

“All right, then,” Gino said with a grin. “Seems kind of funny, three ladies living together in one house. Did they get along all right?”

“It ain’t funny at all. It’s necessary. A female can’t live in a house by herself. It ain’t proper and it ain’t safe, not in a city like this.”

“I didn’t think of it that way.”

“Of course not. You can live wherever you want and ain’t nobody gonna bother you. A female alone, she gonna attract all kinda the wrong attention.”

Gino supposed she was right.

“They also can’t afford to live by themselves,” she added without even being prodded.

“But aren’t they all professors at that college?” Gino said, playing dumb.

“Only Miss Wilson is a full professor, and that just come real recent. Even still, they don’t pay her the same salary they pay to the mens. She shares a house to save money.”

Gino blinked at her honesty and stored that tidbit of information away for future reference. Of course, he knew that women usually got paid less than men, but that was because men had to support their families. Unmarried women had to support only themselves. It was only fair.

“I guess they were all good friends, then,” Gino said, since she hadn’t yet answered the part of the question he really cared about.

“Miss Wilson and Miss Billingsly, they lived here real nice for almost eighteen years now,” she said, paying particular attention to the piece of clothing she was running through the mangle.

Gino didn’t miss the implication. “I guess Miss Northrup coming kind of changed things.”

Bathsheba made a rude noise.

“You didn’t like her,” he said.

“Ain’t my place to like her or not.”

“You’re still entitled to your opinion. Why didn’t you like her?”

Bathsheba turned her dark gaze on Gino. “Not for the reason you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking of any reasons at all,” he claimed. “The only things I know about Miss Northrup are that she was real smart and got herself hired on at the college when nobody else could.”

“That’s true enough. She was pretty, too, which made it strange. Pretty girls don’t have to work as hard as the rest of us, you know, but she always wanted to be the best. Pretty girls can usually get themselves a husband, too, so why did she want to teach school instead?”