Murder on Mulberry Bend (4 page)

“Oh, my, what a nice thing to do. I do hope you have included some shoes in your donation. Giving someone a pair of shoes is very good luck.”

“I’m afraid I — ”

“No, wait, I’m wrong about that,” Mrs. Ellsworth corrected herself, frowning in concentration. “It may only be new shoes that bring good luck. I’m not sure what old shoes bring. Oh, yes, I am! They’re good luck for the bride and groom, aren’t they? To tie behind their carriage. Yes, so they must be good luck for everyone, don’t you think?” she asked, satisfied she had solved the problem of the value of old shoes.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Sarah said diplomatically. She never bothered to argue with Mrs. Ellsworth’s superstitions. “In any event, I didn’t have any shoes I could donate, so I’m only giving away clothes.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure those poor souls at the mission will appreciate whatever you can spare. And how is Mr. Prescott doing?”

“I saw him yesterday, and he seems to be improving. He’s fortunate his aunt was able to look after him. If I have time, I’ll stop by the hospital again today to check on him after I visit the mission.”

“I’m glad to hear he’s better,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “But you aren’t going down there to that mission alone, are you? An unescorted woman isn’t safe in that part of town.”

Sarah didn’t bother to point out that it was broad daylight, and that as a midwife, she was accustomed to going to all parts of the city unescorted, at all hours of the day and night. “No, I’ll have a gentleman with me.”

“Mr. Malloy?” she asked, brightening instantly. For some reason, Mrs. Ellsworth had developed a fondness for the gruff police detective. Sarah would attribute her warm feelings to Malloy helping clear Mrs. Ellsworth’s son of murder charges, except that the old woman had liked Malloy long before that.

“No, not Mr. Malloy,” Sarah said, disappointing her. “I’m meeting Mr. Dennis.”

“Mr. Richard Dennis?” she asked, instantly wary. “Nelson said he thought it was Mr. Dennis’s carriage that picked you up last evening. We couldn’t help noticing,” she added, lest Sarah think her nosy.

“We went to the opera,” Sarah said, relieving Mrs. Ellsworth of the need to inquire.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” the old woman asked, still not certain how she felt about her friend seeing Nelson’s employer socially.

“Very much.”

“Mr. Dennis is an honorable man,” Mrs. Ellsworth said, although Sarah heard the echo of a question in the words. “He was very kind to Nelson during the ... the unpleasantness.”

Sarah saw no need to mention that Dennis hadn’t
voluntarily
been kind. “He didn’t want to lose a valuable employee,” she said instead, the soul of tact. Dennis
had
done the right thing, after all, no matter what his motivation.

“He certainly won Nelson’s undying loyalty,” Mrs. Ellsworth assured her.

“Then Mr. Dennis is fortunate indeed,” Sarah said.

“And speaking of Mr. Malloy, how is his son doing after the operation?” the old woman asked, returning to a subject nearer to her heart.

“He’ll be getting his cast off on Wednesday. I guess we’ll know then.”

“Please tell Mr. Malloy I’ll be remembering the child in my prayers.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

Mrs. Ellsworth looked around expectantly. “Is Mr. Dennis calling for you?”

“No, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to take his carriage into the Lower East Side. People might get the idea he was trying to flaunt his wealth.”

“Oh, yes,” the old woman agreed. “The poor should be allowed to keep their pride, at least. But how will you get there? A Hansom won’t want to go there, either.”

“I suggested we ride the El,” Sarah said with a smile.

Mrs. Ellsworth smiled back. “Mr. Dennis on the El. That should be an experience.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

Sarah wished her neighbor good morning and set off to the nearest train station at Eighth Street on Sixth Avenue.

She really hadn’t expected Richard Dennis to ride the Elevated Train down from his home on the Upper West Side, but she smiled when she spotted his carriage sitting near the station. Dennis must have been watching for her, because he alighted from the carriage and hurried toward her as she approached.

He really was a fine figure of a man, and his clothes were tailored to accentuate his lean figure and height. He smiled as he reached her and removed his silk top hat. “Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” he said. “You look lovely this morning, as usual.”

“Thank you,” she replied, wondering how many times he’d said this meaningless phrase to women who looked far from lovely.

“I’ve been thinking about your plan to take the El and then walk over to Mulberry Street, but I really don’t see any reason why we can’t go in my carriage. You have this bundle, after all, and — ”

“I really think we should arrive unannounced, Mr. Dennis,” she reminded him. “Your carriage would attract a crowd, and believe me, we’d make very slow progress surrounded by hundreds of curious children.” Besides, she thought, I want you to walk through the neighborhood and see for yourself “How the Other Half Lives,” as the reporter Jacob Riis had tried to do for the entire city in his book by that name.

“But I’m not sure it will be entirely safe,” he protested. “While you’re under my protection — ”

“I don’t need your protection, Richard,” she said kindly. “I travel the city every day without it. But if you prefer, you can go in your carriage, and I will meet you there.”

“Certainly not!” He was outraged at the very suggestion. “I will, of course, do whatever you think is best.” He glanced uncertainly at the driver, who was watching for a signal. After a slight hesitation, he waved the man on. Then he turned back to Sarah with a strained smile. “Allow me to take your ... your package.” Plainly, he thought it odd she’d chosen to carry such a thing as a bundle of clothing on a public street, but he was too gentlemanly to mention it.

Sarah surrendered her burden, then took the arm he offered her.

“I’m afraid you will have to instruct me,” he said, looking uneasily at the tracks that ran over their heads. “I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve never ridden on the Elevated.”

“I’m sure you’ll find it a superior method of transportation,” Sarah assured him, and led him to the covered stairway that would take them to the station, two stories above the street.

“The stations have always reminded me of the chalets in Switzerland,” he remarked as they climbed the stairs amid the crowd of other travelers.

“Many other people have noticed the same thing,” Sarah said. “I’m sure they were designed to be as attractive as possible.”

“It’s a pity the trains themselves can’t be more attractive.”

He was right. The trains rattling overhead sent a shower of dirt and debris down on the streets — and pedestrians — below, and the noise rattled the windows, making everyday life a strain on the four avenues where the trains ran. On the other hand, they were the only means of speedy and reliable transportation in the city.

They waited only a few minutes for a train to arrive. Dennis quickly figured out how to pay the fare, and they settled into their seats. Fortunately, Sunday morning was not a busy time for the trains, so the car wasn’t even quite full. During busier times of the day, Sarah had seen the conductors cram the cars so tightly that passengers could hardly move before allowing the train to leave the station.

Dennis had settled her bundle on his lap. “What have you brought?”

“Some clothing I no longer need. I thought perhaps someone at the mission might be able to use it.”

He frowned. “I hadn’t thought. You’re right, of course. I should have my man check my own wardrobe and see to it.”

Sarah figured his “man” probably appropriated all of Richard’s castoffs for himself, but she didn’t say so. The train was pulling out of the station, and Dennis glanced around a little apprehensively. She had to admit the crowd was of a much lower social class than Dennis would be accustomed to, although no one appeared to be truly disreputable. Then the train cleared the station, and Dennis was distracted by something else entirely.

“Good heavens!” he cried before catching himself. Lowering his voice, he leaned closer to Sarah and whispered, “You can see right into those people’s rooms!”

The train tracks had been built over the sidewalks on either side of Sixth Avenue, within a few feet of the tenement buildings that lined the street and on the same level as the third-floor windows. If the train had stopped, the passengers were close enough to reach out and shake hands with the residents of those third-floor flats.

“Sometimes I’ll catch a glimpse of someone and try to imagine a life for them,” Sarah said. “It helps pass the time.”

“But ... but ...” He was speechless with horror. Finally, he managed, “They have no privacy!”

“That’s why the rent for those flats is lower than for those on other floors. Many people gratefully sacrifice their privacy for the economy.”

Plainly, he could not imagine such a thing.

The train picked up speed, but it would be stopping again soon, so it never went very fast. The people at home on this Sunday morning presented a tableau to the train passengers.

“Shocking,” Dennis murmured, unable to turn his gaze from the passing scenes.

“The poor endure much more shocking indignities every day,” Sarah said. “I’m sure your wife understood this and wanted to help.”

Dennis only shook his head in amazement. This trip was supposed to help him understand his wife better. Sarah began to wonder if he would be able to absorb all the lessons he would learn today.

They left the train at Bleeker Street, the next stop. Dennis protested that his carriage could have come this far, at least, and saved them this much of the journey. Sarah ignored him and led the way out of the station and down the steps to the street.

Sunday morning on Bleeker Street was little different than any other day, except perhaps to be busier. Because the men who would normally be at work the other six days of the week were home, their voices and bodies were added to the bustle and the din. The cobbled street was clogged with the carts of the street vendors who were hawking their wares.

“Don’t those people have any regard for the Sabbath?” Dennis asked, nodding toward a cart loaded with shoes of every size and description.

“They’re Jews,” Sarah said. “Their Sabbath was yesterday.”

Although the air was still cool, the sky had cleared after an early morning shower, and many of the windows in the tenement buildings were open so women could lean out and talk to their neighbors. Never mind that the neighbor with whom they were conversing lived on the other side of the street. Shouted conversations in several languages went on over their heads as children, still barefoot even in the chill of October, darted in every direction, heedless of their elders or their right of way. Some of the children played a game of stick ball in the street, using piles of horse manure for bases. Others chased each other in tag, while still others jumped rope or played hop-scotch on a pattern scratched into the sidewalk.

Young men clustered on comers, passing a bottle while they ogled young girls who passed in pairs or small groups, dressed in their Sunday finery and pretending to ignore them. Old men squatted on stoops and complained to each other in their native tongues. Old women bartered with the vendors, scolding and screeching incomprehensibly.

At night these streets were deserted and the buildings were packed with humanity crammed into every comer to find rest. During the day, the life could not be contained, and it spilled out into the streets and onto the fire escapes, exploding with an energy that made the very air electric.

Could Dennis feel it? She glanced up at him, but he simply looked bewildered and anxious. He was probably worried someone would pick his pocket.

They were certainly attracting more than their share of attention. Dennis’s tailor-made clothing and aristocratic bearing set him apart. The only reason they hadn’t been approached or intimidated yet is because so many people knew Sarah. Several in every block greeted her by name, and when anyone made a move toward them, either to beg or to steal, someone else would warn them away with shouts and curses.

“That’s Mrs. Brandt, the midwife! She saved my daughter’s life!” was a common theme, repeated in many languages.

“You have a lot of friends here,” Dennis marveled after they’d gone several blocks.

“The poor are very sensitive. They know when someone is patronizing them and when someone treats them with genuine respect.”

“Respect?” he repeated as if he’d never heard the word. Plainly, he could not imagine having such a feeling for these people.

“Yes, and their loyalty is the reward for that respect.”

At last they reached Mulberry Street. Police Headquarters sat on the block between Bleeker and Houston, and Sarah thought of Malloy as they passed. He would be at home today, spending time with his son. She’d see them both on Wednesday, when Brian went to the doctor’s office to get his cast off. Malloy had invited Sarah to be there, and she would be. She told herself the thought of seeing them made her stomach flutter only because she was excited for the boy.

The buildings across the street from Headquarters were quiet today. The rooms there were rented by newspaper reporters who spent their time watching to see who came and went at Headquarters in hopes of getting a story. Only a few cub reporters would be on duty on a Sunday, and they were probably sleeping until the next Black Maria full of prisoners arrived.

“Is that a saloon?” Dennis asked in surprise, pointing to a building located half a block away. “It’s practically next door to the police station!”

“I’ve heard that the owner justifies it by saying ‘the nearer the church, the closer to God.’ ”

Dennis frowned in disapproval. Sarah wondered if he disapproved the sentiment or of hearing her express it. “That’s blasphemy.”