SARAH HAD TO LEAVE YET ANOTHER MESSAGE FOR Malloy at Headquarters, but this time, at least, he wouldn’t be angry. He wasn’t likely to get it until Monday, though, so she would have to go to his flat tomorrow and leave one for him there, too. That would give her a good reason to visit Brian, which she’d been wanting to do anyway. She would’ve gone there right away except she had to get home to dress for the Halloween party she was attending with Richard Dennis. Why had she agreed to that? Probably, because she hadn’t realized she would be so close to solving a murder at this particular time.
As it was, Sarah couldn’t have felt less like socializing. She hadn’t liked Mrs. Donato very much, but she didn’t like learning she was a murderer, either. No matter how many times she was faced with evidence to the contrary, Sarah still wanted to believe mothers loved their children.
Sarah had to ask for Mrs. Ellsworth’s help in getting into the costume her mother had loaned her. She’d thought modern clothes were cumbersome, but the French Queen Marie Antoinette had borne the added burden of an enormously elaborate hairstyle.
“My goodness,” Mrs. Ellsworth exclaimed when she saw the wig. “Did women really put battle scenes in their hair back then?”
“The French had an odd notion of style, I suppose,” Sarah said, examining the miniature naval battle depicted in a cavern constructed in the foot-high mound of the wig. The dress itself was bizarre enough, with its full skirt, tight lacing, and décolleté neckline. Her mother had also insisted she wear the beauty patch on her cheek.
Sarah picked up a comb to part her hair so she could start wrapping it tightly around her head to go under the wig, but Mrs. Ellsworth cried out a warning that startled her into dropping it on the floor.
“Good heavens,” the old woman said, picking up the comb and placing it out of Sarah’s reach. “You can’t comb your hair at night. It’s bad luck!”
Wasn’t anything safe to do around Mrs. Ellsworth? “How am I supposed to get this wig on then?” Sarah asked in exasperation.
“You can use a brush, of course,” Mrs. Ellsworth assured her. “That’s why women only brush their hair at night: Here, let me help you.”
Sarah agreed with a sigh, telling herself she was irritable only because she didn’t want to go to a party.
By the time Mrs. Ellsworth had placed the wig on her head and helped her fasten it securely in place, she looked as if she’d escaped from a museum painting.
“I certainly hope Richard appreciates this,” Sarah said in disgust.
“I’m sure you’ll be the most beautiful lady at the party,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “You really should try to smile, though.”
That did make Sarah smile. “Have I been terribly grumpy?”
“Just a bit,” the old woman said tactfully. “If you really don’t want to go, I’m sure Mr. Dennis would understand.”
“It’s not that. I’m just… Well, I’ve discovered who killed that girl, the one who was wearing my clothes.”
“I’d expect that to make you happy,” Mrs. Ellsworth said with a puzzled frown.
“I’d expect it, too,” Sarah said with a sigh.
She was saved from explaining by a knock on the door.
“That will be Mr. Dennis,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “I’ll let myself out the back door. Have a wonderful time!”
After thanking her neighbor for her help, Sarah carefully made her way to her front door, learning how to balance the contraption on her head and not knock anything over with her skirts at the same time. She opened the door to a tall Napoleon. He grinned broadly when he saw her. “You look magnificent.”
“I won’t if I fall on my face,” she warned him. “You must promise to stay by my side all evening and hold me upright.”
Richard raised his right hand as if taking an oath. “Nothing could tear me away. Come, my queen, your carriage awaits.”
The Graves family lived in a brownstone near Sarah’s parents. The interior of their home had been furnished in excellent taste, with furniture obviously imported from England but notable for its simplicity. They might be quite wealthy, but they felt no need to make a show of it.
Opal and Charles were dressed as Anthony and Cleopatra. Opal exclaimed over Sarah’s costume, then whispered how very glad she was to see Richard looking so happy again. Sarah ignored the provocation and allowed Opal to continue greeting her guests.
Opal found her later, enjoying a moment of solitude while Richard chatted with some business associates who were dressed as Knights of the Round Table.
“I’ve been dying to ask you how your investigation is going,” she said, taking a seat beside Sarah at the edge of the large ballroom.
“I think we’ve found the killer,” Sarah told her with a sigh.
“You don’t look very happy about it,” Opal said.
“That’s because… I know it’s hard to believe, but I think it may have been the girl’s own mother.”
“How awful! Of course, considering her background, I guess we shouldn’t be too shocked. Her family are foreigners, aren’t they?”
“Not all foreigners are murderers,” Sarah reminded her sharply.
“Oh, dear, I guess that did sound patronizing, didn’t it?” Opal said, chagrined. “I only meant… Well, I guess I did mean it badly, but… I can’t help thinking that people in other countries aren’t raised with the same sensitivities as we are. You must admit the Italians treat each other terribly.”
Sarah had to agree with that when she thought of the Black Hand. “Even still, it’s hard to think of a mother killing her child, although it happens with alarming frequency when people live in poverty.”
Opal patted her hand in a gesture of comfort. “Does Mrs. Wells know yet?”
Sarah nodded. “We haven’t arrested anyone though. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Mr. Malloy since I found out who it was.”
“That means she could escape,” Opal said in horror. “Good heavens, what if she kills someone else?”
“We don’t think that’s likely. She killed Emilia in a fit of passion. She wouldn’t have a reason to kill anyone else. As for escaping, she has no idea anyone even suspects her.”
“Thank heaven for that. But poor Mrs. Wells, this will be so difficult for her, with a trial and all the publicity. She’s already been through so much, and yet she has such strength. Did you know she lost a child in addition to her husband?”
“Yes, she told me.”
“She was such a comfort to me when Hazel died. I know she was to Hazel, too. In fact, she was Hazel’s last visitor. She told me they prayed together and that Hazel had finally found the peace she’d been seeking.”
“That would be a comfort,” Sarah agreed, thinking of Tom. How wonderful it would have been to know he’d found peace before he died.
“You ladies look entirely too serious,” Charles Graves informed them. “I’m afraid I must ask Mrs. Brandt to dance to cheer her up.”
“That should do it,” Opal said with a smile. “Dancing with Charles usually makes women laugh out loud.”
Her husband wasn’t the least bit offended. He took Sarah’s hand with as much dignity as he could while dressed like an ancient Roman and led her to the dance floor. With her towering wig, she was even taller than Opal, but he was accustomed to the difference in height. By the time the dance was over, Sarah was indeed laughing at his clever teasing. She would think about killers tomorrow. That would be time enough.
Much later, Sarah turned to Richard as they rode home in his carriage. “I had a lovely time tonight. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Thank you for accompanying me. I wouldn’t have gone alone. I haven’t been to a party like that since Hazel died.”
“Then that explains why Opal was so happy to see me there.”
“She and Charles have been good friends, although I suspect they’ve stuck by me mostly because of guilt.”
“Why should they feel guilty?” Sarah asked.
“Because Opal was the one who got Hazel involved with the mission. I never blamed her,” he hastened to explain. “But I think she may have blamed herself.”
“She did tell me how much Hazel enjoyed working at the mission, and that she’d found the peace she’d been looking for.”
“That’s what Mrs. Wells told me, too. I’m afraid I didn’t take much comfort in that at the time, though. I was too angry.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I also thought she was a bit of a… a fanatic, I guess.”
“She does take her work very seriously.”
“No, not about her work,” Richard said. “It’s the way she seems to think people are better off dead than alive.”
“Where did you get that idea?” Sarah asked in surprise.
“From her.” He sounded a little defensive.
“What did she say to make you think that?”
“She said Hazel was in a better place and she wouldn’t be sad anymore, things like that.”
“I’m sure she was just trying to make you feel better,” Sarah argued. “Opal said Mrs. Wells was a great comfort to her.”
“I’m glad she was a comfort to someone.”
Sarah didn’t know how to respond to that.
Before she could think of anything, he said, “Didn’t you say that one of the girls at the mission was murdered?”
“That’s right.”
“I wonder what she thinks about that.” Sarah heard the bitterness in his voice.
“She did say she thought Emilia was at peace now. The girl had a very unhappy life,” she added.
“Who’s to say the rest of it wouldn’t have been happy if she’d lived, though?” he challenged.
“I suppose we’ll never know,” Sarah said.
“Did they find out who killed her?”
“Yes,” Sarah said reluctantly. “We believe it was her mother.”
“Her mother?” he asked in amazement.
“Yes, she… She never liked the girl, and apparently, they quarreled.”
“So she sent her to a better place?” Richard offered sarcastically when Sarah hesitated. “I suppose that’s what Mrs. Wells thinks, at least.”
“Richard, Mrs. Wells was devastated when Emilia died,” she said gently.
He didn’t seem to hear her. “Sometimes I think…”
“What do you think?” Sarah prodded, hoping it would help him to speak about the feelings he’d kept inside all these years.
“I think the woman is in love with death.”
Richard’s words haunted Sarah all night. She knew he had misinterpreted Mrs. Wells’s faith, but she still couldn’t shake the gloom he had invoked. Probably, she was just depressed because soon she would have to watch Malloy arrest a woman for killing her own daughter.
Wondering what the odds were of catching Malloy at home on a Sunday morning, Sarah was up earlier than was sensible after her late night. Since no trains ran east and west in the city and Hansom cab drivers were still recovering from their Saturday night jobs, Sarah had to walk all the way across town to Malloy’s neighborhood in the Seventeenth Ward.
The streets were busy with the faithful on their way to or from church on this unseasonably warm morning. Everyone wore their finest clothes, and children hadn’t yet had time to wear off the clean from their Saturday night baths. Sarah arrived just in time to see a sight she’d longed for. Mrs. Malloy and Brian were coming down the front stoop of their tenement, also dressed in their Sunday best. Mrs. Malloy held Brian’s hand as he carefully negotiated the steps on his own two feet.
He was wearing obviously new shoes, and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off them. Or else he still felt the need to watch his feet when he walked. Whatever the reason, he didn’t see Sarah until his grandmother yanked him to a stop before he reached the last step.
“Good morning, Mrs. Malloy,” Sarah said with a warm smile, ignoring the old woman’s disapproving glare.
Sensing her presence at last, the boy looked up. His face broke into a glorious smile, and he flung himself into Sarah’s arms. She caught him with difficulty, somehow managing to pull him up so he could wrap his legs around her waist and his arms around her neck. She hugged him fiercely.
“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed into the sweet curve of the child’s neck. Then she pulled back and looked him in the face. “You’re walking so well!” she exclaimed, freeing one hand and moving her first two fingers in a walking motion to illustrate her words.
He nodded enthusiastically and scrambled back down to his feet so he could show her. In a second he had ascended the front stoop and in another second he was back down again, his new shoes clumsy but effective. Sarah beamed and applauded his efforts when he looked up for her approval.
He started back up the steps again, still showing off, and Sarah looked at Mrs. Malloy to catch a reflection of anxiety in her eyes. Sarah knew what she feared, but reassuring the woman that she had no intention of taking Brian and Frank Malloy away from her wouldn’t help. Instead she said, “You’ve done such a wonderful job with him.”
Mrs. Malloy blinked in surprise. Had she expected to be insulted? “He’s a good boy,” she managed, not taking any credit for herself.
Brian had reached the bottom step again, and Sarah dutifully applauded him as required. When he turned to repeat his efforts, Sarah said to Mrs. Malloy, “I don’t suppose your son is at home.”
Mrs. Malloy didn’t approve of Sarah chasing after her son, which was how she saw their relationship. “He never come home last night. Probably slept down at Mulberry Street, like he does when he works late,” she informed Sarah with some satisfaction.
Sarah nodded, relieved. This meant he’d probably already gotten the message she’d left for him there. She had to stop and applaud Brian again. When he started back up the steps, she turned back to Mrs. Malloy. “When he gets home, would you tell him I called to say I got the information he wanted?”
The old woman wanted to ask what that information was, but she didn’t want to look curious or nosy. She also didn’t agree to Sarah’s request, which would have given Sarah more respect than she thought she deserved. “I can’t invite you in,” she said instead. “We’re on our way to Mass.”
“Does Brian like church?” she asked, applauding yet another of his efforts on the steps.
“He can’t hear it,” she reminded Sarah unnecessarily. “He likes the candles and the windows, though. And seeing all the people.”
“I’m sure he does.” She waited until he reached the bottom step and clapped again.
“He’ll keep that up till he drops if you let him,” Mrs. Malloy said. “We’re going to be late.”
The next time Brian reached the bottom step, Sarah stooped down and gave him a big hug. “It was so nice to see you,” she said with a smile. He couldn’t understand the words, but he knew what the smile meant.
She looked up at Mrs. Malloy. “He’ll start to cry if I leave now. Could I walk along with you to the church?”
Even Mrs. Malloy could see the wisdom of that. Brian was too big to drag, resisting, down the street. “If it suits you,” she said.
They each took one of Brian’s hands and directed him down the street. He looked up at both of them, beaming with pleasure.
“I can’t believe how quickly he learned to walk,” Sarah marveled.
“He’s always been clever,” Mrs. Malloy reminded her curtly.
They walked for a block in silence while Sarah tried to think of something to say that the other woman wouldn’t interpret as an insult. Before she could think of anything, Mrs. Malloy spoke.
“Frances said I should thank you for helping Brian.” She sounded like a child who had been ordered to apologize when she wasn’t sorry.
Sarah managed not to smile at the thought. “I didn’t do anything except tell Mr. Malloy about Dr. Newton. He’s the one who does the miracles, not I.”
Mrs. Malloy crossed herself quickly, as if Sarah had blasphemed, and gave her a black look. Sarah had a fleeting memory of Mrs. Ellsworth warning her about the evil eye. “Only God does miracles,” the old woman informed her.
“Of course,” Sarah agreed. “I didn’t mean it that way. It does seem miraculous that Brian can walk, though, doesn’t it? He must be wearing you out.”
“I can manage,” she said defensively, almost desperately.
Sarah had unwittingly touched another nerve, and she sighed in exasperation. “Mrs. Malloy, I have great respect for your son and great affection for your grandson, but surely Mr. Malloy has told you that he and I are merely friends and nothing more.”
Mrs. Malloy looked over at Sarah. “I have eyes, don’t I?” was all she said. Sarah had no idea what she meant by that and decided it would be foolish to ask.
Luckily, the church was on the next corner, and Mrs. Malloy managed to distract Brian while Sarah slipped away. She realized her trip here had been wasted if Malloy was at Police Headquarters. Or he might already be waiting for her at her house. But at least she’d gotten to see Brian and judge the progress he was making for herself.
As for seeing Malloy, she certainly hoped he would have a good idea for how to get Mrs. Donato to confess – an idea that didn’t involve taking her down to Police Headquarters and giving her the third degree. If he could get a confession, maybe there wouldn’t be a trial and all the accompanying scandal. The girls at the mission certainly didn’t need any more trauma in their lives.
When Sarah turned the corner onto Bank Street, she saw a man sitting on her doorstep. For an instant, she thought it was Malloy and her heart leaped with an excitement she felt for nothing else in her life. Then the man stood up, and she realized it wasn’t Malloy at all. She told herself not to be disappointed. A millionaire was waiting for her, after all, and he’d brought her a bouquet of flowers.
Richard Dennis hurried down the street to meet her. “Good morning,” he said when he reached her. “I hope you don’t mind my calling this early and waiting for you. Mrs. Ellsworth assured me it would be fine.”
“I’m sure she did,” Sarah said with a smile. She couldn’t help noticing her neighbor had made herself scarce, too, for once. Probably, she was intimidated because Richard was her son’s employer. “I hope you didn’t have to wait long.”
“Not at all,” he assured her, falling into step with her to return to her house. “I felt I owed you an apology after the way I behaved last night.”
“I told you, I had a wonderful time,” she reminded him.
“Until I ruined it with my memories. I’m afraid I was feeling a little melancholy, in spite of the festivities.”
“That’s only natural. I’m sure being with your old friends reminded you of your wife. Won’t you come in? I can make some coffee, and I have some pie.”
He glanced down at the bouquet he still held. “Oh, and I guess I have some flowers for you. To prove my apology is sincere,” he added, offering them to her.
“The flowers weren’t necessary, but they are appreciated,” Sarah said, accepting the gift. They were red roses, and she knew they must have cost a fortune and taken a monumental effort to procure. Flower shops would be closed on Sunday, and roses weren’t blooming anywhere near the city on the first of November.
Without even thinking, Sarah settled Richard into one of the chairs in her front room, by the front window. She didn’t ask herself why she hadn’t invited him into the kitchen, as she always did with Malloy. Richard, she decided, just wasn’t that type of man.
A short while later, she served the coffee and the remains of Mrs. Ellsworth’s apple pie. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes.
“I guess I owe you yet another apology, too,” he said at last.
“For what?”
“For involving you in the mission. If I hadn’t asked you to accompany me there, you never would have met the girl who was murdered.”
“I’ve thought about that a lot,” Sarah admitted. “Life would be simpler if we didn’t get involved with other people, wouldn’t it? On the other hand, if the girl hadn’t been wearing my clothes, there’s a good chance no one would even have known who she was. The people at the mission and” – Sarah had almost said her family – “and those who loved her would never have known what became of her, either.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “On the other hand, if she’d just disappeared, they could have imagined her alive and happy someplace else.”
“That would be difficult,” she said. “Girls like Emilia don’t usually have happy lives, particularly if they just disappear into the streets.”
“Or even if they find a home at the mission, apparently,” he reminded her.
He frowned. “What did the mother say when she confessed? Did she explain why she did it?”
Suddenly, the sweet pie tasted like sawdust in her mouth. “She hasn’t confessed yet,” Sarah admitted. “She hasn’t even been arrested.”
“Then you don’t know for sure she did it,” he challenged.
“Well,” Sarah hedged, “all the evidence points to her.”
“What evidence?”
This was the most animated she’d ever seen him. How odd that he would suddenly be so concerned about this. “The way she was killed, for one thing. It’s obvious a woman killed her.” It did sound flimsy when she said it out loud like that.
“How was she killed?”
“With a hat pin.”
Richard stared at her incredulously. “A hat pin?”
“There, you see,” Sarah said with a small smile of triumph. “Men simply don’t consider a hat pin a weapon. But think about it. A hat pin is as long and sturdy as a knife blade and sharp on the end. It could do as much damage as a stiletto.”
“What do you know about stilettos, Sarah,” he chided with amusement.
“Probably more than you,” she chided right back. “And we found the hat pin the murdered girl was wearing. It had blood on it.”
“Where was she stabbed with this deadly hat pin?” he asked, still not convinced.
Sarah explained, showing him on her own head how the pin went in.
Plainly, he was horrified at the mere thought. “How could that kill a person?” he asked in amazement.
“By damaging the brain somehow. She looked as if she’d suffocated, so it must have affected her breathing.”
He was going to ask a question, but just then Sarah saw a familiar figure pass by outside on the way to her front porch. “Malloy is here,” she announced, jumping up to open the door for him.
Malloy wasn’t smiling. “Didn’t I tell you not to leave me any more messages?” he said before she could even open her mouth to greet him. “Sometimes I think you don’t have the sense God gave a – ” He stopped when he saw Richard, who had followed Sarah to the door, and his face got even redder than his anger justified.
“You know Mr. Dennis, don’t you, Malloy?” she asked sweetly.
Richard looked outraged, and he probably was. A gentleman would never tell a lady she didn’t have good sense, even if she didn’t.
The two men glared at each other for a long moment. Neither offered to shake hands and neither spoke a word of greeting.
“I’m so glad you came, Malloy,” Sarah said, pretending not to notice anything amiss. “Mrs. Wells and I were finally able to figure out who killed Emilia.”
“It was her mother,” Richard said with a satisfied smirk. Plainly, he wanted Malloy to know Sarah had confided in him first.
To his credit, Malloy didn’t bat an eye. Instead, he drew a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “If you want me to come back at a more convenient time,” he said to Sarah, with just a hint of sarcasm.
Sarah pretended not to hear the sarcasm. “I would hate to inconvenience you,” she said with mock sincerity. “I know Richard will excuse us,” she added with a smile. “I’m sorry to cut our visit short, but I’m sure you understand how important it is to see the killer arrested as soon as possible.”
Richard’s face turned so red, he looked as if he might explode. He hated the thought of leaving her alone with Malloy, but good breeding demanded that he obey her wishes. He needed a moment to regain control, and then he said, “I will forgive you if agree to dine with me tomorrow evening.”
She didn’t dare look at Malloy. “I’d be delighted,” she said quite honestly.
“Good,” Richard said with more satisfaction than was seemly. “I’ll call for you at eight o’clock.” He reached across Malloy and took his hat from where it hung by the door. Then he turned back and gave Sarah a small bow. “Until tomorrow then.”
“Thank you for the flowers,” Sarah said without thinking.
Richard smiled at this final triumph and took his leave. When Sarah closed the door and turned back to Malloy, he looked as if he might explode. “It was nice of you to come on a Sunday,” she said as if she were oblivious to the drama they had just experienced.
She didn’t invite him in. She knew he would follow her. She stopped to pick up the dirty dishes she and Richard had been using and put them back on the tray.
“I guess he ate all the pie, too,” Malloy said sourly.
Sarah managed not to smile. “There’s one piece left. Come into the kitchen.”
He didn’t say a word as she poured him some coffee and served him the pie, although she could feel his gaze on her every second. She was being silly to enjoy the small display of masculine rivalry over her, but she was going to enjoy it anyway.
She poured herself a second cup of coffee and took a seat across the table from him. He was still staring at her, his eyes narrowed. She couldn’t read his expression.
“So today you think the girl’s mother killed her,” he said, feigning skepticism. “I suppose you’ve got a good reason for changing your mind.”
“I went to the mission yesterday and asked Mrs. Wells which one of the girls had told her Emilia wanted Ugo to see her new dress. I was sure that girl was the killer and had been preparing Mrs. Wells to give that information to the police.”
“And?” he prodded, not willing to offer any encouragement.
“And when I asked Mrs. Wells, she told me Maeve was the one who had said it, but Maeve couldn’t be the killer because she hadn’t left the mission all morning.”
“She could’ve sneaked out,” Malloy offered.
“I didn’t think of that, but it doesn’t matter. Mrs. Wells called her in and asked her why she’d said that about Ugo. That’s when we realized Mrs. Wells had been mistaken. Maeve had told her that Emilia wanted her mother to see her looking so pretty.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Malloy scoffed. “She didn’t even like her mother.”
“But she did love her,” Sarah said. “Children always love their parents, no matter how badly they treat them. And children want their parents to love them back. Mrs. Donato never did because she believed Emilia was the result of the attack – oh, Malloy, I never had a chance to tell you! That isn’t even true!”
“What isn’t true?”
“Mrs. Donato thought Emilia was fathered by one of the sailors who attacked her because she had blond hair, but Mr. Donato told me his story, and that wasn’t the reason at all.”
“What story does Mr. Donato have?” Malloy asked in obvious confusion. “And why did he tell it to you?”
“He told it to me when I went over there to discuss Emilia’s burial plans. You see, Emilia wasn’t the Donatos’ child at all! Their child died at birth. The midwife who delivered it had just delivered a baby to a prostitute. She was going to take it to an orphanage, but Mr. Donato decided to switch the babies, so Mrs. Donato wouldn’t be upset because her baby died.”
“And that’s why the girl didn’t look Italian,” Malloy guessed.
“And why Mrs. Donato thought she’d been fathered by a sailor.”
“And why Mr. Donato never questioned the girl’s paternity,” Malloy decided. “But it still doesn’t mean Mrs. Donato killed her.”
“Maeve said Emilia wanted her mother to see her in her new clothes. Mrs. Wells told me Mrs. Donato sells paper flowers in City Hall Park. Emilia would have known that. She went down there to see her mother. They must have gotten into an argument, and all of Mrs. Donato’s anger made her finally kill the girl she’d always hated. You see, Malloy, this explains everything. Now it all makes sense – why she was in the park and why the killer used a hat pin. Everything makes sense.”
She knew she was right, and Malloy knew it, too. She could tell by the way he was frowning. He hadn’t even tasted the pie yet.
“Does she know Emilia wasn’t her child?” he asked after a moment.
“I don’t think so, unless Mr. Donato told her since I saw him, but I can’t imagine why he would after all these years.”
“I can use that, then,” he said thoughtfully.
“Use it for what?”
“To break her and get her to confess.”