Murder on Lenox Hill (14 page)

“But one that wasn't reputable might,” Frank said. “A man with certain sexual appetites might. And he might decide he liked having a woman who was willing to do anything he wanted. He might like it so much that he went looking for more of them.”

Dr. Quinn's face went slack in despair. “I'm afraid I can't think of any other explanation, either.”

 
 
S
ARAH HAD LITTLE TIME IN THE NEXT THIRTY-SIX HOURS to think about what she had learned at the Church of the Good Shepherd. She arrived back home only to be summoned to a delivery, and afterwards she was able to get just a few hours sleep before being called to another. When she finally returned home early the following morning, she found a note from Mrs. Linton, asking her to call that afternoon.

The note was brief, revealing nothing about the reason for the request, and for a moment Sarah worried something might be wrong with Grace. But then she realized that an emergency would have been worded much differently and not asked for a formal call. Deciding she was too weary to wonder about it, she finally made her way to bed.

By afternoon, Sarah was restored enough to spend some time with Aggie before setting out for Lenox Hill. The maid took her into the parlor to see Mrs. Linton at once.

Claire Linton had been sitting alone, sewing, but she set her project aside when Sarah came in. Her expression was guarded as she greeted her visitor.

“Is Grace all right?” Sarah asked as she took the offered seat.

“She's fine,” Mrs. Linton said stiffly. “Would you like some tea?”

Sarah agreed, and Mrs. Linton sent the maid to fetch it.

A few moments of silence followed the maid's departure, and from the way Mrs. Linton was looking at her, Sarah began to feel like a schoolgirl who'd been caught cheating on a test.

Finally, she could stand it no longer. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

Mrs. Linton winced a bit, as if it pained her to speak. “Mrs. Brandt, I understand . . . that is, I've been told that . . . Well, that you went to our church the other day.”

Sarah felt a pang of guilt, but only a small one. She hadn't really been investigating Grace's attack, and even if she had been, she hadn't learned anything useful. “I was so impressed by what you'd said about your pastor and how much he's done for the boys in your church, that I wanted to see for myself what he does. I'm not sure if I mentioned it or not, but I do some volunteer work down at a mission on the Lower East Side. We try to help homeless girls by giving them a safe place to live. I thought perhaps I might get some pointers from your minister that would help us in that work.”

Mrs. Linton blinked a few times as she took in Sarah's explanation. “Oh,” she said after a moment. “I didn't . . . I mean, you hadn't said . . . I thought . . .” Her hands fluttered in embarrassment.

Sarah managed to look innocent and asked, “What did you think?”

“Well, I . . . that is, I feel foolish now, but I was afraid . . . I know you were concerned about who might have . . . have hurt Grace,” she said, her voice showing the strain of her predicament. “I thought you might have gone there to ask questions or . . .”

“I would never betray your confidence, Mrs. Linton,” Sarah assured her quite honestly. “I suppose you did mention that the church is one of the few places Grace goes, but I assure you, I never even mentioned her name. I did see your friend, Mrs. Evans, there, and she was kind enough to introduce me to your minister when I told her why I had come.”

“Yes, I know. She was the one who . . . who mentioned she'd seen you there. I couldn't imagine what else might have brought you.” Mrs. Linton lifted a trembling hand to her cheek. “We're just so worried about Grace . . .”

Sarah felt a rush of relief that she hadn't really done anything to cause this poor woman more concern. “I'm sure you are. Have you thought about what you will do when the baby comes?”

Mrs. Linton covered her eyes for a moment and shook her head. “If we were younger,” she began and had to clear the tears out of her voice. “If we were younger, we would try to pass the child off as our own. I could go away to the country for a while with Grace and come back with it. People might suspect, but . . . but we're not young enough for that.” She sighed.

“Do you have family who could take the baby?”

She shook her head. “Even if we did, who would want the child of a simpleton and a rapist?” Her voice broke on that, but the maid's knock distracted her before she could dissolve into tears. Snatching a handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed at her tears and cleared her throat again. “Come in,” she called.

If the maid noticed her mistress was on the verge of tears, she gave no indication of it. She set down the tea tray and discreetly disappeared.

Sarah allowed Mrs. Linton to use the time she spent pouring tea for them to compose herself. She only wished she had some words of comfort to offer, but she was afraid Mrs. Linton was right about no one wanting the child.

Sarah took the cup of tea Mrs. Linton offered her and stirred some sugar into it. The familiar ritual gave them both something to do while they tried to think of a safe topic. Finally Sarah came up with one.

“I met Mrs. Upchurch while I was at the church,” she said, watching closely for Mrs. Linton's reaction.

She looked up, startled. “You did? That's odd. She's hardly ever at the church. Except on Sunday, of course,” she added quickly. “What I meant was, she seems to have her own interests.”

Sarah remembered that one of those interests seemed to be the young boys, but she didn't say so. “She's very different than I imagined she would be,” she tried, hoping Mrs. Linton would take the bait.

She did. “She's very different than she should be, if you'll excuse my saying so,” she said with a disapproving frown. “I don't like to gossip, but in this case, well, she's certainly a trial to Reverend Upchurch.”

“She is very outspoken,” Sarah said, recalling Mrs. Upchurch's boast that she always spoke the truth.

“I think she actually
tries
to embarrass him. He makes excuses for her, but everyone knows that she's simply wicked.”

“
Wicked
?” Sarah repeated, remembering the way Mrs. Upchurch was flirting with that boy Isaiah.

“Oh, I don't mean that she's . . . immoral or anything like that,” Mrs. Linton hastily explained. “It's just that she seems to go out of her way to be cruel to Reverend Upchurch or to embarrass him with her rude behavior. Can you imagine? A woman should be grateful to have such a man for a husband.”

Mrs. Evans had said the same thing, and most people would share that opinion, but Sarah knew from going into countless homes to deliver children, both wanted and unwanted, that you could never truly know what went on between two people in private from the way they acted in public. “I'm sure it's difficult being a minister's wife,” Sarah offered. “And Reverend Upchurch said she misses not having children of her own.”

“Perhaps she does,” Mrs. Linton allowed, and then she sighed again. “How odd that God withholds the gift of children from someone who wants them so much and then gives one to poor Grace.” For a moment Sarah was afraid she was going to weep again, but she pinched the bridge of her nose and drew herself up, the way a well-bred female was trained to do, and controlled her emotions. “Would you like to see Grace?” she asked suddenly. “She speaks of you often. I'm sure she would be pleased to see you.”

Without waiting for a reply, she stood and went to summon the maid. While they waited for the girl to fetch Grace, Mrs. Linton made small talk about the weather, and Sarah made the required responses, respecting her need to speak of inconsequential things.

After a few minutes, Grace came in. She was rubbing her eye with a fist, the way a small child would, as if she'd just awakened.

“Grace, dear, you remember Mrs. Brandt, don't you?” her mother prompted.

“Hello, Mrs. Brandt,” Grace said obediently, slumping down onto the sofa beside her mother and reaching for a cookie from the tea tray, but before she could lift it to her mouth, she yawned hugely.

“Cover you mouth, dear,” her mother chided with a worried frown. “Are you tired?”

“No, I just woke up. I fell asleep,” she reported in amazement.

Mrs. Linton's gaze lifted questioningly to Sarah's. “What do you mean, you fell asleep?” she asked the girl, silently asking Sarah if this was a matter of concern.

Grace's lovely face wrinkled as she concentrated, trying to remember. “I was sitting by the window, watching the birds. Barbara put some crumbs out on the fire escape for them.” She turned to Sarah. “Birds like to eat bread crumbs, and they'll land on the fire escape and eat them. If you sit really still, you can watch them, but if you move, even just a little bit, they get scared and fly away.”

Mrs. Linton reached out to stroke Grace's mussed hair. “So you were watching the birds, and you fell asleep?” she asked with a worried frown.

“I guess so. I tried not to move, because I didn't want to scare the birds away, but I just had to put my head down on the windowsill because it felt so heavy, and the next thing I know, Barbara is waking me up just now.” She shook her head in amazement. “That's so silly. You're not supposed to sleep in the daytime!”

“No, you're not,” Mrs. Linton said, a question in her voice as she turned back to Sarah.

“Sometimes it's all right to sleep in the daytime, if you're really tired,” Sarah said. “You might be getting tired in the daytime from now on, Grace, and if you are, you should lie down and take a nap.”

“Is this because I'm growing up?” Grace asked suspiciously.

“In a way,” Sarah replied with a smile.

“Mama doesn't take naps,” Grace argued.

“I do if I feel tired,” Mrs. Linton said determinedly. “Mrs. Brandt is right, if you're tired, you should sleep.”

Grace considered this advice. “I don't think I'll sleep on the windowsill anymore, though. It's not very comfortable.”

Both Sarah and Mrs. Linton laughed at this, Sarah politely and Mrs. Linton with a trace of relief. “That's a very sensible idea, Grace,” her mother said.

“I visited your church the other day,” Sarah told Grace. “I met your minister, and I saw your friend Percy. He was with some of the other boys.”

“Those boys are mean,” Grace informed her. “I don't like them.”

Sarah saw Mrs. Linton tense, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from asking the question Malloy would have asked, if he was here. Fortunately, Mrs. Linton asked it for her.

“Why don't you like them?” Her voice was a little strained, but Grace didn't notice. “They seem like very nice boys.”

“They make fun of me. They call me stupid. Except Percy, he doesn't. But the others do, even when he tells them to stop.”

Mrs. Linton couldn't help the small cry of outrage. “That's awful. You should have told me. I'll speak to Reverend Upchurch about it.”

“I don't care,” Grace said airily. “I think
they're
stupid. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. That's what Barbara always tells me.”

“Barbara is very right,” Sarah said, even though she knew words could do far more damage than broken bones. “And if any of those boys ever did hurt you, you'd tell your mother, wouldn't you?”

“They never would,” Grace said confidently. “Reverend Upchurch would get mad at them if they did, because he likes me. He told me I was a very special girl.”

“Reverend Upchurch is right, you are a very special girl,” her mother confirmed, stroking her hair lovingly. “Now why don't you take a few cookies upstairs to share with your baby dolls?”

When Grace had gone, Mrs. Linton turned to Sarah with a worried frown. “I know she would have told me if one of the boys had . . . had done anything.”

“I'm sure she would have,” Sarah said. “I shouldn't have said what I did. Please forgive me for meddling. It's just that I'm concerned about Grace, too.”

“I know you are, and I'm very grateful.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I'm sorry I thought that you went to the church to . . . Well, I should have known you wouldn't do anything to hurt Grace.”

“Thank you,” Sarah said, knowing she didn't really deserve the compliment. “I may visit your church again, though, if you don't mind. I'm still very interested in Reverend Upchurch's success with those boys.”

“Oh, please do visit,” Mrs. Linton said. “We'd love to have you. You must come on Sunday morning. Our choir is excellent.”

After a few more minutes of polite conversation, Sarah took her leave. She was turning to go when she recalled one more thing. “Mrs. Upchurch has invited me to visit her.”

“She did?” Mrs. Linton asked in surprise. “She's hardly ever at home to anyone,” she added. Being ‘at home' meant you were receiving visitors. A lady could be at home but not receiving, which oddly enough meant she wasn't at home.

“You've made me very curious about her. I think I will go to see her,” Sarah said.

Mrs. Linton frowned. “Well, if you do, just remember that you can't always trust what she says,” she warned.

“Do you mean she tells lies?” Sarah asked, remembering Mrs. Upchurch's boast that she always told the truth.

“Not lies exactly, but . . . Oh, I shouldn't be gossiping about her at all, but you must understand that sometimes she says things just to be hurtful. You'll understand what I mean when you've met with her.”