Murder In Chelsea Part 11

"Yes, but I didn't find out until after Lynne's mother pa.s.sed away a little over a year ago. My father-in-law confessed the whole sordid story to me then, but only because he wanted to do something for the child."

"Are you the one who advised him to marry Emma Hardy?" Malloy asked. Apparently, he had no qualms about distressing Lynne Hicks, no matter what her husband might desire.

"Marry her?" Mrs. Hicks echoed in horror.

"That was his idea," Hicks said quickly. "He wanted to know how to legitimize her birth and give her the same advantages you'd had in life. I had to tell him that marriage to the mother was the only way to do that."

For a moment, Mrs. Hicks looked like she might burst into tears, but a rap on the door signaled the return of the maid with a tea tray, and like the good hostess she had been trained to be, she reined in her emotions and went through the motions of seeing to the needs of her guests. By the time the maid was gone and they'd all been served with tea no one really wanted, the tension in the room had eased considerably.

"What kind of compromise does Mr. Wilbanks have in mind?" Malloy asked.

Hicks glanced at his wife, as if trying to gauge her tolerance for the subject. She apparently gave him some sort of silent consent, because he said, "First of all, he would like to see the child. To make sure she's all right, you understand."

"And if we bring her to him, how do we know he'll let her go again?" Sarah asked.

"He does have every legal right to keep her," Hicks reminded her.

"Which is why I asked. I know you have no reason to wish the child well, but I love her dearly, and I don't want to see any harm come to her."

"You can't think my father would harm her," Lynne Hicks said.

Sarah was glad to see her defending her father's integrity, no matter how angry she might be with him at the moment. "I don't think your father would harm her, but someone already murdered her nursemaid, and it might have been somebody close to him who didn't want him to find the child."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, stop calling her 'the child,'" Mrs. Hicks said. "I'll have to get used to hearing her name eventually. Catherine. There, I've said it. Now you may say it, too."

"Thank you," Malloy said with just the slightest trace of sarcasm. "Do either of you have any idea who might have wanted to keep your father from finding Catherine?"

"No, we do not," Hicks said.

"Really?" Malloy said. "Because I'd expect Mr. Wilbanks's other children to be the ones most likely to want to get rid of an extra heir to his fortune."

Sarah winced at the baldness of this statement, but Malloy actually looked pleased when Hicks responded with outrage.

"How dare you make an accusation like that!"

Mrs. Hicks looked merely annoyed. "If you're trying to accuse me of murdering a woman I never met just so I'd inherit more of my father's money, you're wasting your time, Mr. Malloy. I'm not going to inherit anything from my father no matter how many illegitimate children might crawl out of the woodwork."

Malloy gave Sarah a questioning look. Luckily, she knew the explanation, or thought she did. "Your father already made a settlement on you."

"He called it a gift, when I married. He said the idea of a dowry was too old-fashioned, but there was no reason to make me wait for my inheritance when we could make good use of it getting started in life," she said, glancing at her husband.

"And as you can see, we're quite comfortable now," he said. "We don't need or want any of David Wilbanks's money."

"What about your brother?" Malloy asked. "Did he get a settlement when he married, too?"

Sarah had expected another angry response, but instead the Hickses exchanged an uneasy glance.

"Ozzie receives an allowance," Hicks said.

"And is he going to inherit something?"

"He will inherit everything," Mrs. Hicks said.

"Unless your father decides to leave some of his fortune to Catherine," Malloy said.

"Ozzie would never hurt anyone," Lynne Hicks said.

"Ozzie would never have the courage to hurt anyone," Hicks added, earning a glare from his wife.

"Gilda would, though," Mrs. Hicks said.

"Who's Gilda?" Malloy asked.

"Ozzie's wife," Hicks said. "They haven't been married two years yet, but she's already impatient to get her hands on the old man's money."

"Didn't she have a dowry?" Malloy asked.

"She didn't need one," Mrs. Hicks said with a trace of bitterness. "She's a Van Horn."

"One of the Knickerbocker families," Sarah told Malloy, a distinction her own family bore. The families who had originally settled New York City in the seventeenth century enjoyed a unique social position in the city to the present day.

"They've lost most of their money," Hicks said, "but they're still the Van Horns. Mr. Wilbanks wanted some old society to go with his new money. He wanted Ozzie to be accepted in the best homes."

"And is he?"

"I suppose," Mrs. Hicks said.

"We don't see Ozzie and Gilda much," Hicks said.

"My brother is much younger than I, and we were never close," Mrs. Hicks added.

And perhaps Gilda Van Horn didn't consider theirs one of the best homes in the city, Sarah thought.

"Does Ozzie know about Emma Hardy and Catherine?" Malloy asked.

Sarah looked at him in surprise, because of course they already knew that Ozzie Wilbanks had gone to see Emma Hardy at least twice before she disappeared.

"I can't imagine Mr. Wilbanks has told him anything," Hicks was saying.

"Could he have found out some other way?" Malloy asked.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Hicks said. "Mr. Wilbanks wants to see the little girl." He glanced at his wife. "Catherine."

"We may be able to arrange that," Malloy said. He didn't look at Sarah so he didn't see the black look she shot him. "But he needs to understand we aren't going to make any permanent arrangements until we know who killed Miss Murphy and why."

"What kind of permanent arrangements does Father want to make?" Mrs. Hicks asked her husband. "He can't take care of a child. He's dying!"

"That is my concern as well," Sarah said.

"That's everyone's concern," Hicks said, not quite meeting his wife's gaze.

"Does he think I'll take her?" Mrs. Hicks asked, obviously appalled by the idea. "The child he conceived while my mother was dying?"

Her husband wisely did not reply to that.

"You don't need to concern yourself," Sarah said. "I love Catherine as if she were my own. I would have adopted her before now, but I'm a widow, and a single woman can't adopt. But before we knew who her parents were, I became her legal guardian. She is welcome to stay with me for the rest of her life."

"I'm sure she is," Hicks said, "now that you know who her father is."

"I'm not the least bit interested in his money," Sarah said.

"Aren't you?" Hicks said with a knowing smile.

Sarah glared at him, trying to think of the proper retort, but Malloy beat her to it.

"I should have introduced Mrs. Brandt better. We know who Catherine's father is, but you don't know who Mrs. Brandt's father is. He's Felix Decker. Even the Van Horns would be happy to get an invitation to his house."

Their surprise was almost comic, but Sarah couldn't enjoy it. "Mr. Hicks, you still haven't told us why you sent for Mr. Malloy today."

"Yes, I did," he said. "Mr. Wilbanks wants to see the child."

"And what's the rest of it?"

"The rest of what?"

"The threat," Malloy said before she could. "If we don't let him see Catherine, what will you do?"

But Hicks just shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. It's obvious to me that nothing I say would convince you to act against what you see as the child's best interests. I commend you both. Catherine is fortunate to have found such courageous protectors."

Sarah wasn't going to let a little flattery distract her. "And if we agree to allow him to see Catherine, will you give your word that we can have her back again?"

"I will inform Mr. Wilbanks that she is safest in your custody, at least for the time being. And, Mr. Malloy, when you identify the person who killed Miss Murphy, we can discuss Catherine's future."

6.

BY THE TIME THEY LEFT THE HICKSES' HOME, FRANK felt like he could cheerfully strangle someone. Anyone. He was pretty sure he hated all rich people, except maybe Sarah's mother, and even she could be pretty annoying at times.

"What time does Brian get home from school?" Sarah asked as they walked aimlessly down the street in the general direction of the El.

Frank needed a minute to catch up with her thought process. His son had been the last thing on his mind. "I don't know exactly, but my mother usually has him home by four, I think."

"I'd like to go see him."

"Right now?

"It will be after four by the time we get to your place."

Frank frowned, thinking about the reception they'd likely get. "Do you really want to see my mother?"

"I really want to see Brian."

When she turned to him, he was horrified to see tears in her eyes. She never cried. "Maybe I should just take you back home so you can rest."

"No. I don't need to rest, and I don't want to go home. It will be hours until my parents arrive, and if we go now, Mrs. Ellsworth will be over to find out what's going on, and I just can't face her questions yet. I want to see Catherine, but I don't want to spoil her visit with my mother by showing up all upset and upsetting her. But if we go see Brian, I can put my arms around a child, and he'll be happy to see us, and maybe I can play with him and forget all of this for a while."

He couldn't argue with her reasoning, and the idea of seeing his son was certainly appealing. "All right. Let's go."

They took the Third Avenue El down to Ninth Street and walked over to the building where Frank lived with his mother and son.

Although he knew it didn't make any difference to Sarah, Frank couldn't help feeling ashamed of the neighborhood and the tenement building where he lived. The predominately Irish part of the Lower East Side was clogged with street vendors and housewives bargaining for their wares. This time of day, people were getting what they needed for their evening meals. Some were buying things to prepare, and those with a few cents extra were getting something already prepared.

Their progress was slow as Frank led Sarah through the throngs. Finally, they reached his building. Inside, the open front door cast little light into the windowless hallway and up the stairway, but Frank's flat was only on the second floor-the most desirable location since it was above the noise of the street but with not too many steps to climb. Those on the fifth floor paid much less rent.

Someone was making cabbage. Someone was always making cabbage. The smell was probably a permanent part of the building.

When they reached his door, he took a deep breath to brace himself for his mother, and opened it. "Ma! It's me. I've brought Mrs. Brandt." There, she'd been warned.

Frank never knew what alerted his deaf son, but Brian always knew when his father was home and came running to greet him. This time he emerged from his bedroom, where he'd probably been playing. He couldn't hear Frank's warning, so the sight of Sarah was a very pleasant surprise. He threw his arms around her skirts and gazed up at her adoringly.

She was telling him how happy she was to see him, even though she knew he couldn't hear a word of it, as she lifted him into her arms.

"You're getting so big! I don't know how much longer I can carry you," she said.

Brian was signing to her, his little fingers flying with the words he'd learned at the expensive school Frank sent him to. She couldn't understand his signs any more than he could understand her words, but neither needed help understanding how happy they were to see each other.

"What's he saying?" she asked Frank.

"He's telling you what he did at school today," his mother said from the kitchen doorway. A fireplug of a woman who had never been pretty and whom life had treated harshly, she stood drying her hands on her ap.r.o.n. As usual, she was scowling, but he also noticed she looked a little scared, although what she had to be scared of, he had no idea.

"h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Malloy. I'm sorry to barge in on you this way, but we were nearby, and I asked Malloy if we could see Brian for a few minutes. I hope you don't mind." Sarah gave his mother her best smile.

His mother didn't smile back. "I guess you'll be wanting supper."

"Thank you," Sarah said as if his mother had graciously invited her, "but we can't stay long. We have an appointment later."

"An appointment," she sniffed, looking at Frank as if to say, "Who do you think you are to have appointments?"

"If you've got some coffee, I'm sure Mrs. Brandt would like some," he said, pretending not to notice his mother's disapproval. "I know I would. And don't worry about supper for yourself. I'll go out and get something for you and Brian before I leave."

"Coffee," she said in a tone that indicated she thought it an unreasonable request. "I'll make some."

Sarah carried Brian into his bedroom, where they would communicate in that mysterious way people had where words weren't necessary. Brian instinctively knew who loved him, and he gave his love unconditionally in return. Frank followed his mother into the kitchen to make peace.