In a Gilded Cage Page 21

  As I walked up the stairs, I tried to harness my racing thoughts. As usual it looked as if I had got it wrong again and Emily was victim rather than killer. What if Emily was genuinely worried and suspicious about her best friend’s death? What if Anson, maybe aided and abetted by Bella, had found some kind of clever poison and thought he was safe until Emily started poking around, asking questions? Emily, who was known to be a bright young woman and who worked with a druggist? Did Anson fear that she would put two and two together and decide that she had to go? In which case had I also sealed my own fate by visiting him this morning?

  This is rubbish, I muttered out loud, and the words echoed through the high stairwell of the building. Anson had been charming this morning. Charming and distressed by the death of his wife. Surely such a man could not be a cold-blooded killer? Bella, on the other hand—she struck me as more the reckless and gutsy type. If she was behind this I could actually see her slipping in to visit her poor sick friend and tipping a dose of goodness knows what into the drinking glass.

  I opened Emily’s door and tiptoed in. She was lying with her eyes closed and there was now the smell of vomit in the room. But her eyes opened as she heard me.

  “Emily,” I said, “have you received any visitors at all? We went together to Dorcas’s family yesterday and then you went straight to Ned’s mother?”

  She nodded.

  “So Bella hasn’t been to see you recently?”

  “Bella?” She frowned. “I hardly know Bella. I’ve met her a couple of times at Fanny’s house. Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m worried that someone is trying to poison you,” I said. “You look very much the way Dorcas did last week.”

  “Don’t say that!” She tried to sit up. “But that can’t be right. I’ve seen nobody. I’ve only eaten food at that little café where I always take my lunch, or an egg I boiled myself here, or with Ned and his mother. Nobody could have slipped in here and poisoned anything. It just isn’t possible.”

  I smoothed back her hair. “You may be right and maybe I’m overreacting again. Perhaps it is just a nasty flu. Here, the broth is still warm. Can I feed you a little?”

  She sighed. “All right. I’ll try, I suppose.” She attempted to sit up. I put my hand behind her head and helped her. She managed a couple of sips, then turned her head away. “I really don’t feel like anything,” she said. “Why don’t you go? I do worry about you. Catching what I have.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Really, I’ll stay if you need me.”

  She lay back and closed her eyes. “Molly,” she asked after a while, “do you think we were right about our suppositions? Do you think that Anson killed Fanny, and then Dorcas, and now he’s trying to kill me?”

  “It hardly seems possible,” I said. “I met him this morning and he seemed such an affable sort of man. But I understand that some murderers are extremely pleasant in their manner. And he has now achieved what he wanted, hasn’t he? Fanny’s money and his freedom.”

  “So it would seem. But if he’s tried to poison me, how did he do it? He hasn’t been anywhere near me and I keep my room locked when I’m out.”

  “A challenge, to be sure. Look, Emily, I think you should see a doctor—a good doctor—and tell him what you suspect.”

  “He’d think I was an hysterical female.”

  “I could ask Daniel for you. I know they have physicians who work with the police and he would certainly know how to test for poisons.”

  “But what could it be?” She asked. “The symptoms resemble nothing I can think of. The gastric upset and the flushed skin might indicate arsenic, but we know that Fanny’s hair tested negative and she didn’t look at all flushed in the end, did she?”

  “I’ll go and seek out Daniel,” I said. “I’ll make him listen to me and then I’ll be back.”

  “All right.” She lay back and closed her eyes. “I think I’ll just sleep a little,” she whispered.

  I closed the door quietly behind me and tiptoed down the stairs. As I came out of that dark stairwell into the sunlight I looked down at my arm and noticed something: my light beige costume had black hairs all over it.

  Twenty-seven

  I went to Daniel’s residence but of course he wasn’t there in the middle of the afternoon. However, I left a note for him, telling him that I’d be at home and needed to see him as soon as he had a free moment. I bought some groceries on my way home. Among them were barley to make barley water for Emily and bones and vegetables to make her more soup. I put the barley and the soup on to boil and then all I could do was wait. I paced impatiently around my kitchen, down the hall, around the living room, looked out of the front window and then back again. I knew there were things I could be doing but I found it impossible to settle. For once I didn’t even want Sid and Gus’s company.

  If Daniel doesn’t come this evening, I’m going to police headquarters to root him out in the morning, I decided. And I’m calling a doctor for Emily myself. But about seven o’clock, just as it was starting to get dark, there was a knock on my front door and Daniel himself was standing there.

  “Thank God,” I said and flung myself into his arms.

  “What is it?” he asked, holding me away from him so that he could look at my face. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Emily, the girl whose family I have been investigating,” I said. “She was the friend of Fanny Poindexter who died, and now she has come down with similar symptoms. I’m really afraid that she has been poisoned too.”

  “Hold on,” Daniel said, his big hands gripping my shoulders. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions, shall we?”

  “But I’ve seen her, Daniel. She was fine yesterday and now she’s very sick.”

  “This kind of flu will do that to you,” he said. “You should know. You came down with it yourself.”

  “But I wasn’t vomiting and I’m sure I didn’t look as awful as Emily now does. And you’ve now had the tests administered, haven’t you? You now know what killed them?”

  “I do have the answer for you,” he said, leading me across the room and seating me firmly in my one armchair. “My chemist friend tells me that there was arsenic in the sample of stomach mixture that you gave me.”

  “See, I knew it!”

  “And,” he continued, “that this would not be a completely unusual ingredient in such a mixture in minute amounts. The amount was minute. Not enough to harm anyone.”

  “Oh,” I said, suddenly deflated. “And the hair sample from the other woman?”

  “Also contained a trace of arsenic.”

  “Aha!”

  “Which is also not so unusual, according to my friend. If she had taken any similar mixture, particularly one made up for her influenza . . .”

  “Which she had,” I agreed. “She said it tasted disgusting and she stopped taking it.”

  “Then the amount in the hair is quite consistent with that. It remains in the system for a long time, you know. And again he said the amount was not enough to kill anybody. So you see, my dear, sweet, overemotional Molly, there was no poisoning. They all three caught the same disease.”

  “What about another poison?”

  “My friend agreed that most usual poisons apart from arsenic are fairly fast-acting. The victim becomes violently ill and dies soon afterward. Of course the world is full of unusual poisons, but it would take an expert to know and to administer them. Was this husband you suspect such a man?”

  “No, he’s a lawyer. From a good family,” I said. “I’m sure he has no such knowledge.”

  “There you are, then. We’ll just hope that your poor friend is of a strong constitution and rides out the flu the way you did.”

  “But what about the hair?” I asked.

  “What hair?”

  “All three of them lost their hair. It came out all over their pillows. That’s not normal, is it? I didn’t lose any.”

  Daniel frowned. “I admit that is strange. It rings a bell somehow
.” He paused, then thumped one fist into his cupped hand. “But dash it, I can’t for the life of me think what it is. Someone talking about hair falling out recently. Never mind, it will come to me.”

  “But in the note you left me you said you had something to tell me. I thought you’d discovered that the mixture was poisoned.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.” He came around to me and put his hands on my shoulders again, a move I found most disquieting. “No, the thing I wanted to tell you was that we’ve solved my arsenic case, partly thanks to you.”

  “To me?”

  “Yes, you were the one who mentioned the green wallpaper containing arsenic.”

  “And they all licked wallpaper?”

  He laughed. “They each lived in one room with said wallpaper.”

  “But surely that’s not enough to kill anyone?”

  “No, but it’s an added factor. They had all come down with influenza, which had naturally weakened their resistance. They each bought the same patent medicine: J. D. Rowley’s Flu-Stopper. It’s a cheap tonic, sold on the street by a snake-oil salesman. These things are a curse, you know. Made up by people who have only a smattering of knowledge about drugs.”

  “And the tonic contained arsenic?”

  “It did.”

  “But surely the police tested the tonic, didn’t they?”

  “They did take samples, of course. But as with any patent medicines of this nature the amounts are not carefully measured and, worse of all, the mixture was not stable. The arsenic separated out and sank to the bottom of the bottle. If it was not well shaken, the victim drank a couple of doses that were almost pure arsenic. That, when added to the amount inhaled from the wallpaper and their weakened condition, finished them off. Simple as that.”

  I laughed. “Not funny for them, of course. Still I’m glad you’ve solved one of your cases.”

  “And we may be getting somewhere with our Chinese tongs,” he said. “We think we’ve taken a young man into custody who is prepared to spill the beans if we give him safe passage across the country to San Francisco.”

  “And he’s going to tell you how the opium comes into the country?”

  “He’s already done that. It’s brought in by a man who poses as a missionary. Trunks of Bibles go out and the same trunks come back, packed with opium. Not the most godly of men, would you say?”

  “Anything you want to know about missionaries, I’m your girl,” I said. “I can give you a list of missionary headquarters and names of some missionaries who are in the local area.”

  “Most efficient,” he said. “That would save my men some time. Although if this man is only posing as a missionary . . .”

  “They can tell you the names on their books and you can check future sailings for someone who is shipping Bibles and is not a member of one of the societies.”

  “Smart girl.” He touched the tip of my nose. “Two cases solved would go down well with the new commissioner.”

  “And it might mean that we can actually spend some time together for once.”

  “And what good would that be?” he asked, playfully toying with my hair. “When I’m free you’re rushing around and working, and when we are together you won’t let me touch you.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t let you touch me,” I said, standing slowly until I was facing him. “I have no objection to a chaste kiss or two.”

  He laughed. “And when have you and I ever exchanged chaste kisses,” he said. “And don’t come the prim maid with me. You enjoy our lovemaking as much as I do.”

  “That’s as may be,” I said, “but it’s going to remain chaste until we’re married.”

  “I admire your strength of character,” Daniel said. He slipped his arms around me and pulled me close to him. “You don’t even weaken when I hold you like this, and then I kiss you like this . . .” His lips traced a line down my neck.

  “That’s not fair,” I said, laughing.

  He broke off, sniffing. “My, that smells good,” he said. “Are you going to invite me to stay for dinner?”

  “That’s a broth I’m making for my friend Emily,” I said.

  “Pity.” His face fell.

  “I do believe you only want a wife so you have someone to cook for you,” I teased.

  “There are other benefits of marriage, so I’m told,” he said, giving me a look that made my knees go weak. But I remained resolute. “You could take me out to dinner,” I said. “Seeing that I’ve helped you solve both your cases.”

  “I certainly could,” he agreed. “And I know just the place.”

  “Nothing expensive,” I reminded him.

  “It’s most certainly not. And it’s nearby. Come on. Get your hat and coat.”

  Soon we were walking arm in arm across Washington Square. The trees were a mass of blossoms. The flower beds were full of spring flowers. And the children were out in force, enjoying a balmy spring evening. I watched them running with their hoops and pushing their doll carriages and thought wistfully of little Bridie and her brother Shamey, who had lived with me until their father took them to live on a farm. Much better for them, of course, but I did miss them occasionally. I let my thoughts drift to the future and imagined Daniel and me strolling through a park like this while we pushed a baby buggy . . .

  “I can’t tell you what a relief it is to be back at work.” Daniel interrupted my reverie. “Those months under suspicion were almost the end of me. You have no idea how deeply I sank into despair. You were the only thing that kept me going.”

  I looked up at him and smiled. He covered my hand with his own. I felt a warm glow inside as we walked down West Tenth Street until we came to a little Italian restaurant. It had checkered tablecloths and jugs of red wine on the tables. Daniel ordered big bowls of spaghetti and I soon found that it was not possible to eat Italian food daintily and in a ladylike manner. Daniel laughed at my efforts. “We’ll make a New Yorker of you yet,” he said.

  Twenty-eight

  The next morning I took the El to the Upper West Side, precariously balancing a jug of barley water and a pot of broth. I managed to bring both of them successfully to Emily’s room. She looked no worse than the day before and I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw her.

  “Molly, this is so good of you,” she said, lying back onto her pillows, “but I’m afraid you’ve gone to so much trouble for nothing. I have barely taken a sip of the broth you brought me yesterday, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with all this.”

  “You should finish that first, so that I can take them their bowl back,” I suggested. “Shall I heat some up for you?”

  “I don’t think I could manage it.” She shuddered. “But maybe the barley water. My throat is so dry.”

  I sat with her while she took a few sips, then I transferred the rest of the barley water to a glass jug she had and tipped the rest of the chicken broth from the delicatessen into my jug and her saucepan. “I’d better take this back. And I’m going to see your Mr. McPherson. He might be able to make you up some medicine to take down your fever and ease your stomach. And I’m going to ask him to recommend a good doctor for you.”

  “But I can’t afford doctors.” She attempted to sit up.

  “Nonsense, I’m paying. You owe me my fee, remember? Besides, I rather think that you’ll soon have the money to pay for things without worrying.”

  “You’ve really found out the truth?” she looked up at me. “You know who my parents are?”

  “I do indeed.”

  “And am I an heiress?”

  “Maybe.”

  She reached out and grabbed my arm, her fingers digging into me. “So tell me my parents’ names.”

  “Your mother was a lovely, fun-loving young woman who married the wrong man.” I paused. “Her name was Lydia.”

  “Like my aunt? Wait.” Her eyes opened wide again. “Do you mean my aunt Lydia?”

  “The very same.”

  “Don’t tell me that Horace Lync
h was my father,” she said angrily. “No father ever treated his child as I was treated.”

  “You’re right. He wasn’t your father. Hence his bitterness to you and your mother.”

  “Then who was my father?”

  “A charming and handsome Italian gardener. Your mother was a young girl at the time. She fell madly in love with him, but she was married to Horace Lynch.”

  “I see.” She lay there, eyes closed, contemplating this. “She couldn’t run off with the gardener, could she? She was stuck with Horace.”

  “He agreed not to turn her out onto the street, but said the baby had to go. She fought for you, Emily. He agreed that they would keep you but not as their own child.”

  She lay silently again, thinking, then she said, “You know it’s funny, isn’t it, but small children know. I said to her once, ‘I wish you were my mother’ and she had this funny, sad smile on her face and she said, ‘No mother could love you more than I.’ But she died soon after that.”

  I nodded.

  “How did you find this out?”

  “I’m a detective. I went to Lydia’s birthplace and talked to people.”

  “Does Horace Lynch know you’ve found out?”

  “I extracted the full story from him.”

  “But he still wants nothing to do with me?”

  “I did point out to him that legally he is your father and things could be very embarrassing for him should this come to the courts. I also suggested that you might be quite content with a small allowance, rather than going after your mother’s entire fortune.”

  “Molly! You didn’t say that!”

  “I most certainly did.”

  “Didn’t he shout at you most horribly? He’s terrifying when he’s angry.”

  “No, I think I had shocked him into silence by that time.”

  She laughed. “Amazing.” The laugh turned into a racking cough. When it finally subsided there were beads of sweat over her forehead.