Murder on Waverly Place (3 page)

Maeve made an anguished sound of protest. “That’s horrible!”

“Of course it is,” Sarah agreed bitterly. “Didn’t I tell you we were ashamed?”

“Is that how she died? Having the baby?”

“Not exactly. As you already know, Maggie wasn’t one to meekly go along with our father’s plans. She escaped before the ship set sail, and she found her lover, and they eloped. But they didn’t live happily ever after,” Sarah warned quickly when Maeve’s face lit up again.

“But they were together!” Maeve protested.

“My father is a very powerful man. He had dismissed Maggie’s husband when he found out about the affair, and he’d made sure the man couldn’t get work anywhere else. He had to labor on the docks, when he could find work at all, and when he couldn’t, they went hungry.” Sarah had to close her eyes to shut out the visions that still haunted her.

“That must’ve been awful hard on your sister,” Maeve said. “With her being used to living in that fancy house and all.”

“None of us ever imagined how much they suffered. I tell myself that if we had, my parents would have helped them, but . . . Well, we’ll never know, will we?”

“They would have,” Maeve assured her. “Mrs. Decker is such a nice lady.”

Sarah wished she was as certain. “At any rate, we had no idea where they were. I think my parents believed that if they were truly in need, they would ask for help. In fact, I think that was exactly what my father had planned. They’d come crawling back, he’d make them beg forgiveness for defying him, and then he’d help them.”

“Except your sister would never give in, so they never asked.”

“No, she wouldn’t, not until it was too late.” Sarah drew a deep breath and let it out in a weary sigh. “I was home alone that night when he finally came,” she remembered. “My parents were at some party, and there wasn’t time to find them. Maggie was dying.”

“Oh, no!”

“He took me to the place where they were living. It was a rear tenement, on the fifth floor.” Sarah didn’t have to explain to Maeve that this was the cheapest of lodgings. Rear tenements were built in the spaces behind the buildings that fronted onto the streets. They got little air and less sunshine, and the fifth floor would be the least desirable location in a building where no one ever wanted to live in the first place. “The front room was full of lodgers who rented out floor space at night. That was the only way they could afford the rent.”

Maeve’s eyes were filling with tears. She didn’t want to hear the ending to this story, but she held Sarah’s gaze, determined not to flinch.

“Maggie had given birth with no one to help her, and she was dying. I know now that the afterbirth hadn’t been expelled properly, but I didn’t know anything about childbirth then. She was bleeding and no one could make it stop. She wanted me to take care of her baby.” Sarah’s voice caught on a sob as the horrible memories overcame her.

“You did, didn’t you?” Maeve cried. “Please tell me you didn’t leave him there!”

“He was already dead,” Sarah remembered, wiping the tears from her own face. “Such a tiny little thing and so perfect. I’ll never forget how beautiful he was. But I promised her I’d take care of him, and then . . . then she was gone.”

“And that’s why you became a midwife,” Maeve guessed, her voice filled with wonder.

“Yes,” Sarah said simply. “There were other reasons, too, but that was probably the most important one.”

“And when you married Dr. Brandt, your parents had learned their lesson and didn’t stand in your way.”

“I suppose you could say that. At least they didn’t stop me. I didn’t see them much after I was married, and after Dr. Brandt died, we quarreled and didn’t speak at all for several years.”

“But now you’ve made up.”

“Yes, although none of us can really forget what happened to Maggie.”

“But that wasn’t
your
fault. You were so young, you couldn’t’ve done anything.”

“I knew Maggie wasn’t going to Europe. She told me she was planning to elope. I’ll always wonder what would have happened if I’d told my parents and they’d been able to stop her.”

“You couldn’t do that! She wanted to be with the man she loved!” Maeve protested.

“But if I’d spoken up, she’d still be alive and her baby would, too. Even her husband . . . He hanged himself after Maggie died. Three lives lost, because I kept her secret.”

“That’s foolishness, Mrs. Brandt,” Maeve insisted. “You can’t know what would’ve happened. Maybe Maggie wouldn’t want to be alive like that. Imagine knowing your baby was out there somewhere and you’d never see him again!”

Sarah smiled at the girl. “Thank you, Maeve, for trying to make me feel better.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better,” she protested. “I’m telling the truth!”

“Yes, you are,” Sarah said. “And you’re right. We don’t know what would have happened, but now you know what
did
happen and why my mother is so interested in contacting the dead.”

“Does she want to tell your sister she’s sorry for what happened?”

“Yes, she does, and since we both know this spiritualist is a fake, she’s not going to be able to do that.”

“But what if she could?”

Sarah looked at her in surprise. “I thought you didn’t believe.”

“I don’t, but Mrs. Decker does, and that’s all that counts. If she believes this person can talk to your sister, then she can say she’s sorry and she’ll feel better. Would that be wrong?”

A very good question. Sarah considered it.

“Or maybe,” Maeve ventured, “you think she doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.”

“Oh, no! I know how sorry she is. I’ve always known that, but tonight I finally realized how much she’s suffered. I don’t want to see her suffer anymore.”

“Then what harm could it do? So long as you’re there to make sure nobody takes advantage of her, I mean.”

What harm
could
it do? Sarah had no idea. She just hoped she wasn’t going to find out.

2

B
Y THE TIME THE DECKERS’ COACH STOPPED IN FRONT OF Sarah’s house the next day, she was certain she’d made a terrible mistake by agreeing to accompany her mother. Her growing apprehension had infected Catherine, who started crying when Sarah kissed her good-bye and started out the door.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” she assured the child. “I’ll be back in a little while, and when I am, Mrs. Decker will be with me.”

“Hush, now,” Maeve soothed the child. “Mrs. Ellsworth will be here in a minute, and we’ll bake some cookies,” she said, naming Sarah’s next-door neighbor. “You’ll like that, won’t you?”

Catherine shook her head in misery, big tears rolling down her cheeks as Sarah forced herself to turn away and take her leave.

The Deckers’ coachman was holding the door for Sarah, and she climbed inside to find her mother looking pale and drawn.

“Mother, are you ill?” Sarah asked in alarm. “We don’t have to do this if—”

“No, no, I’m not ill. I just couldn’t sleep a wink last night for thinking about Maggie. What if she appears? Oh, Sarah, I don’t think I could bear seeing her again.”

“She’s not going to appear!” Sarah exclaimed, horrified. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. You taught me that yourself.”

“Sometimes there are . . . apparitions at these events,” Mrs. Decker said as if she hadn’t heard. “My friend Mrs. Burke told me.”

From what Maeve had said last night, Sarah felt reasonably certain that any apparitions that appeared would be staged by the spiritualist, and her mother wasn’t likely to see an apparition on her very first visit in any case. She’d have to return several times and pay a large amount of money for such a dramatic display. “Has Mrs. Burke actually seen an apparition?”

“No, not herself,” Mrs. Decker admitted reluctantly. “But she’s heard about it from others. I don’t think I could bear it.”

“Then perhaps we shouldn’t go at all,” Sarah suggested gently.

Sarah could see that her mother’s gloved hands were clenched tightly in her lap, and she really did look as if she might be ill. “I have to go,” she said after a moment. “I’ve got to try, or I’ll never have any peace.”

Sarah sank back against the seat cushions, resigned to enduring whatever the next few hours might bring.

The trip didn’t take long, or at least not long enough for Sarah. If she’d been called to deliver a baby on Waverly Place, just off Washington Square, she would have walked from her house on Bank Street and counted herself lucky she had a delivery so close to home. Women like her mother didn’t walk around the city, however, even though it took longer for the carriage to navigate the heavy traffic than it would have taken Sarah on foot.

The streets in this part of the city were quiet and well kept, inhabited by respectable people who worked hard and took pride in their accomplishments. Maeve would no doubt approve of this location for a spiritualist who wanted to attract a clientele with financial resources.

When the coach finally stopped in front of one of the long row of identical town houses, Sarah looked at her mother one last time. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Her mother refused to meet her eye, but she nodded with just a hint of her normal determination. When the coachman opened the door, Mrs. Decker drew a deep breath before taking his offered hand and climbing out. Sarah followed her across the sidewalk, into the tiny, gated yard and up the small stoop and waited while her mother rang the bell. After a few moments, a well-dressed gentleman with carefully pomaded hair answered the door.

“You must be Mrs. Decker,” he said in a deep, reassuring voice. “I am Professor Rogers. Please come in. Your friend Mrs. Burke is already here.” He stepped back to allow Mrs. Decker to enter, and only then did he notice Sarah. “Is this lady your guest?” he asked with just the slightest hint of disapproval.

Her mother had heard the disapproval, too. Although Sarah couldn’t see her face, she saw the slight stiffening of her mother’s spine as she squared her shoulders in silent resistance, in case the man intended to deny Sarah entrance. “Yes, my daughter, Mrs. Brandt.” No one could mistake the tiny thread of steel that ran through the words. Every trace of the uncertainty Mrs. Decker had felt mere moments ago was gone.

The gentleman was suddenly uncertain. “Madame Serafina was not expecting
two
new clients today.”

“Then perhaps you will ask her if it would be all right for my daughter to join the sitting today as well,” Mrs. Decker said in a tone that brooked no argument. “I have included an additional fee for my daughter,” she added, starting to hand the Professor an envelope but stopping just short of actually doing so. “But if my daughter is not welcome, I will have to leave with her.”

The poor man was caught between following what were obviously his instructions to admit only invited guests and the prospect of losing Mrs. Felix Decker as a client. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Mrs. Decker,” he said, instantly contrite. “I’ll speak with Madame Serafina. These matters are very sensitive, you know. Madame Serafina must maintain a delicate balance.”

“We will most certainly be guided by her wishes,” Mrs. Decker said, although her tone implied that Madame Serafina’s wishes would doubtless coincide with Mrs. Decker’s. She allowed the Professor to have the envelope.

Professor Rogers—Sarah wondered just what kind of a professor he was—guided them inside, took their wraps, and escorted them into the parlor before disappearing, presumably to ask Madame Serafina’s permission for Sarah to attend the séance. A large silver tray had been set on a low table in the middle of the modestly furnished room. On it were a tea service and an assortment of small cakes. Two people had already arrived. A woman sat on the sofa and a man stood on the other side of the room, staring out a window.

“Elizabeth,” the woman said, nearly upsetting her teacup in her haste to put it down and rise from where she was sitting. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.” The woman hurried over and took Mrs. Decker’s hands in her own, as if to reassure her.

“Kathy, you’ll remember my daughter, Sarah Brandt,” Mrs. Decker said. “Sarah, Mrs. Burke.”

“So nice to see you again, Mrs. Burke,” Sarah said politely. Mrs. Burke looked vaguely familiar, although Sarah probably wouldn’t have recognized her under other circumstances. Her clothes marked her as a member of the wealthier members of society, and she had the well-tended look of a hothouse flower. Is that how her mother appeared to others? Sarah wondered fleetingly before Mrs. Burke returned her greeting.

“So nice to see you again,” she said. Her tone was too hearty, and now that Sarah had an opportunity to look into her eyes, she saw a strange anxiety reflected there. What did Mrs. Burke have to be anxious about? She’d already made contact with her dead sister and made up their quarrel.

“I’m glad I was able to come,” Sarah replied noncommittally.

Mrs. Burke turned back to Mrs. Decker. “I didn’t know you were bringing someone else.” Now the strain in her voice was unmistakable.

“I only decided last night,” Mrs. Decker replied with a frown. “The gentleman who answered the door seemed to think it would be all right.”

“He did?” she replied uncertainly, with a nervous glance toward the doorway. “Then perhaps it is. Mr. Sharpe, do you know how Madame feels about unexpected visitors?” She turned slightly toward the older gentleman who had been standing by one of the long windows that overlooked the street. He must have been listening to their conversation, because he looked up and came forward as if on cue.

“I’m afraid I can’t speak for Madame Serafina,” he said to Mrs. Burke. “Perhaps Mrs. Gittings can tell you.”

Mrs. Burke glanced uncertainly at the doorway again, as if expecting the answer to her question to appear there, before remembering her manners. “Oh, may I present Mr. John Sharpe?” she asked Mrs. Decker.

He was impeccably dressed, and his clothes fit without the slightest wrinkle, as only a skilled tailor could manage. His hand, when he took Sarah’s, was smooth, but his eyes were razor sharp.