Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery) (13 page)

“I guess.” He didn’t look like he believed that, though.

“So we’re agreed,” she said briskly, determined not to worry about the future. “We’ll both call on the Livingstons tomorrow. What time shall we go?”

“What time do morning calls start?” he asked with a smile.

“You know very well they start in the afternoon. We should probably give Grace time to sleep late if she can. Come for me around one o’clock.”

He kissed her then, making her forget for a moment all the ugliness in the world.

• • •

F
Rank hired a cab to fetch Sarah for their trip to the Livingston house. They could have walked, but he wanted some privacy so they could talk on the way. In the confines of the cab, he took her hand.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course,” she said. “I can’t say I’m eager to relive Grace’s experiences, but reliving them is nothing compared to what she went through actually living them. I can’t even imagine how horrible it was. What kind of a man does that to helpless women?”

“I hope you never find out. It really irks me that Vernon Neth is getting off scot-free in this. He was definitely planning something for Maeve. Maybe he thought he could set up his own operation, just like Pendergast.”

“I don’t think he’s clever enough to be as successful as Pendergast was, if
successful
is the right word. Besides, I can’t see Joanna allowing it.”

“She was his prisoner, or rather Pendergast’s prisoner. You can’t think Neth would listen to her about anything.”

She gave him a pitying look. “Didn’t you notice? He listens to her about everything. I have no idea what really happened, but I’m guessing that Joanna was more clever than most of the women Pendergast kidnapped. She recognized a potential protector in Neth and somehow convinced him to ‘save’ her from Pendergast.”

“I did ask her why she hadn’t gone back home when Neth took her away from him, and she said her family would be ashamed to take her back if she came home unmarried.”

“That’s probably true. They wouldn’t care that she was kidnapped and held prisoner. They’d just worry about how to answer their friends’ questions about where she’d been all the time she was missing.”

“If she’s got so much control of Neth, I’m surprised she hasn’t gotten him to marry her, then.”

Sarah smiled at that. “Maybe she doesn’t want to marry him.”

Frank had a difficult time believing that, since marriage was the ultimate goal of practically every female alive. “Why wouldn’t she? She could at least see her family again.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to see them. Maybe she wants to be free to make another choice. Who knows? But ask yourself this: Would you want to marry Vernon Neth?”

“He doesn’t really appeal to me,” Frank said to make her smile, “but I see what you mean. As long as she’s not married to him, she can leave if she wants.”

“Marriage can be another kind of bondage, if you’re married to the wrong person. I think Joanna knows this.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes. “What will happen if you figure out who killed Pendergast?” Sarah asked.

“If it’s one of the women, the police should call it self-defense and forget about it.”

“How could they call it anything else?”

He shrugged, wishing he didn’t have to ruin any more of Sarah’s illusions. “Lots of men get upset when a woman kills a man. They think about all the reasons
they’ve
given women to kill
them
, and they start to worry about what the females might do if they know they can get away with it.”

“So they would deny a woman the right to defend herself and her honor?”

“A lot of them would, yes. You’ve seen it yourself.”

She nodded, frowning at the memories. “You’re right, I know, but in this case . . .”

“This case is even worse, because even other women won’t sympathize with the victims.”

“I know. It’s horrible the way females turn on their own. I’ve tried to figure out why, but it just doesn’t make any sense to blame the woman when a man attacks her.”

“I think if they can convince themselves that the woman brought it on herself by doing something stupid—something they would never do—then they can believe they’re safe from whatever happened to her.”

“I’d hate to think that’s true, but you’re probably right, Malloy. But what will happen if this fellow Andy is the killer? Or another man?”

“I hope he confesses, because if he doesn’t and it goes to trial, they’ll call the women to testify.”

“Why would they have to do that?”

“The killer will probably claim he was trying to protect the women, so they’ll have to testify about what Pendergast did to them.”

“Dear heaven!”

“Yes, and every newspaper in town will report every scandalous detail.”

“And make up more. And ruin the women’s lives completely! They’ll never want to show their faces in the city again.”

“And if they decide one of the women did it, she’ll go on trial, and it’ll be even worse.”

“This Broghan, will he find the real killer?”

“He might, but I think the most we can hope for is that he decides Pendergast deserved what he got and catching his killer isn’t worth the effort.”

“I should probably want to see justice done, but I do think Pendergast got what he deserved.”

“That’s justice,” Frank pointed out.

“I guess it is.”

The cab dropped them at the Livingstons’ brownstone town house, and Sarah took Frank’s arm as they made their way up the steps to the front door. They had to knock several times before a maid, looking harried, opened the door for them. She stared at them blankly for a long moment, as if she had forgotten what she was supposed to do when someone came to the door.

“Daisy? It’s Frank Malloy,” he said. “I’m here to see Mr. Livingston.”

She blinked and her expression hardened. “You’re with the police. We don’t need no more police here. You can be on your way.” With that, she tried to slam the door in their faces, but Frank threw up a hand to stop it.

“Wait! Don’t you remember? I’m the one who helped find Miss Livingston.”

“And now you’re here to take her to jail!” she cried, struggling mightily to close the door.

“Daisy!” Sarah said in the voice Frank had heard rich people use with unruly servants. The girl froze, responding instantly to the tone of authority. “I’m Mrs. Brandt. I’m here to help Miss Livingston, and Mr. Malloy is no longer with the police at all. What’s this you’re saying about her going to jail?”

The girl opened her mouth to reply but burst into tears instead. Frank took the opportunity to ease the door open wide enough for Sarah to slip in, and then he followed, closing the door behind them.

Sarah put her arm around Daisy and started crooning comforting words to her.

“Daisy, what is it? Who’s there?” Mr. Livingston called from upstairs.

“It’s Malloy and Mrs. Brandt,” Frank called back.

“Oh, Mr. Malloy, please come up.”

Daisy recovered herself enough to lead the way, using her apron to wipe her face as she climbed the stairs. Livingston was waiting for them at the top.

“Oh, Mr. Malloy, I’m so glad to see you,” Livingston said. “I had no idea how to reach you.”

“What’s going on?” Sarah said. “Your maid said something about taking Miss Livingston to jail.”

“Mrs. Brandt, it was good of you to come, too,” Livingston said. “Please come into the parlor so I can tell you what’s happened.”

He sent Daisy off to get them some tea, then ushered them into his parlor and closed the door behind them. “Please, sit down,” he said.

Livingston was pale, and his hand shook as he gestured toward the sofa. Frank and Sarah sat down.

“Please, Mr. Livingston, tell us what’s happened,” Sarah said.

Livingston made his way to an armchair opposite where they were sitting and lowered himself carefully. He drew a deep breath, as if he needed to fortify himself for the explanation. “A police detective came here earlier today. He really was an obnoxious fellow, I must say. He wanted to speak with Grace, and he became very belligerent when I told him she wasn’t able to receive visitors yet. He said the most awful things, Mr. Malloy. He said Grace was a cold-blooded killer and she’d cut that man’s throat and that they’d be coming back to arrest her and put her on trial.”

Frank wanted to swear, but he managed to swallow down his fury. “They won’t do that, Mr. Livingston. He was just trying to frighten you.”

“Why would he want to frighten me? My daughter was kidnapped! We’re the victims here.”

“Of course you are,” Sarah said. “I’m sure there’s some misunderstanding, but Mr. Malloy can straighten it out.”

Frank frowned at her hopeful expression. He wasn’t sure he could straighten anything out. “As I told you, I’m no longer working for the police department, but I’ll do everything I can to make sure Miss Livingston isn’t arrested for anything.” If necessary, he’d have Livingston take her someplace out of town to keep her hidden while he got this sorted out. But first: “Do you remember the detective’s name?”

“He said Broghan, I think. Something like that.”

Frank nodded. “Did he speak with Grace?”

“Oh no. I wouldn’t allow it. She’s . . . well, she’s very fragile, I’m afraid. She cries if anyone even looks at her, and she hasn’t left her room since I brought her home. Daisy says she . . . Well, she’s had several baths since she’s gotten home. She says she can’t get the smell of blood off her.”

“Do you think she’d see me?” Sarah asked. “I’d like to see for myself how she’s doing and, well, I’m a nurse. I’d like to make sure she wasn’t injured. She might be too embarrassed to say so if it means you would send for a doctor.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Livingston said. “You are one of the few people I think she would agree to see. I hate for her to be all alone up there, but she says she can’t bear how sad I am, so she always sends me away. I’ll go up and ask her, if you’ll excuse me.”

He hurried out, leaving them to kick their heels in the stiffly formal parlor.

“Do you really think she’s injured?” Frank asked.

Sarah’s lovely face hardened. “I hope not, but I wouldn’t be surprised, and she wouldn’t want to explain to a doctor that she’d been assaulted.”

Frank wanted to punch someone, and for the first time, he regretted that Milo Pendergast was beyond his grasp.

Mr. Livingston was smiling when he returned. “She’ll see you, Mrs. Brandt. I told her you’re a nurse and that you want to make sure she’s all right. That persuaded her, I think.”

“Thank you, Mr. Livingston,” she said, rising from her seat. “If you’ll tell me where her room is . . .”

“Daisy will take you,” he said as Daisy followed him into the room with the tea tray.

Leaving the two men to manage for themselves, Sarah followed Daisy up the stairs to the floor above. The girl hesitated outside one of the doors.

She turned to Sarah, a desperate look in her eyes. “You can’t let them take her to jail. She’ll die if they take her. I know it!”

“I’ll do everything I can for her,” Sarah promised, wondering exactly what that might be if Broghan made good on his threat to come for Grace. Malloy would know what to do, though. They’d keep her safe.

Daisy knocked, and a faint murmur bid them enter. Daisy gave Sarah a last, pleading look and scurried away, leaving Sarah to open the door herself.

“Miss Livingston?” Sarah said, sticking her head in to test the waters.

“Mrs. Brandt, I’m so glad you’ve come,” Grace said. She was in her narrow bed, propped up on an elbow.

Sarah came in and closed the door. “How are you feeling, Grace?”

“I . . . I don’t really know,” she said, her red-rimmed eyes filling with tears. “I thought I’d be happy to escape from that horrible place, but I don’t feel happy at all.” From what Sarah could see, she wore a plain nightdress, and she had a freshly scrubbed look about her. Her hair, still damp, had been braided and lay over her shoulder.

“Of course you don’t feel happy. You’ve been through a terrible experience. It’ll take a while before you feel normal again.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel normal again,” she said, her voice breaking on a sob.

Sarah hurried over to her, perching on the edge of her bed and taking the girl in her arms. Grace wept for a while, great racking sobs, as she clung to Sarah like a lifeline. When she was too exhausted to weep anymore, Sarah laid her gently back against the pillows and poured her a glass of water from a carafe on the bedside table. Grace drank it gratefully, then sank back into her pillows.

Sarah took a moment to look around the room. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a girl’s bedroom so plainly furnished. The lack of color and feminine touches disturbed her. Why would a young woman deny herself even the slightest trace of female indulgence?

Before she could do more than just wonder, Grace said, “Are they really going to put me in jail for killing that man?”

“Who told you a thing like that?” Sarah asked in outrage.

“My maid. She overheard the policeman who came here telling Father. Can they really put me in jail?”

“Mr. Malloy and your father are discussing how to keep you safely at home,” Sarah said with as much truth as she could manage. “It would certainly help if you could tell us what happened, though.”

“What happened?” she asked in alarm. “You mean all of it? I couldn’t possibly! I don’t want anyone to know what happened to me in that place.”

“I’m sure you don’t. You’d never want your father to know, for example. You don’t want to see how much it would hurt him.”

“Exactly!”

“But what I’ve learned from living through some tragedies myself is that when you keep them inside of you, they just get bigger and more awful until they take over your thoughts and your emotions. But if you talk about them, if you let them out, every time you do, they get smaller and weaker and lose their power to hurt you anymore.”

“But I couldn’t! Who would I tell? No one wants to hear things like that.”

“You’re right, no one does, but some of us are willing to hear them if it helps someone else. I’m willing to hear your story—as much of it as you want to tell me. If you tell me, I promise I won’t judge you or blame you or even be shocked. I’ll be angry, I’m sure, at the man who hurt you, but not at you. You couldn’t help what happened to you.”