Twenty-five

On Monday morning I really wanted to find Daniel and learn what the new developments were that he had written about. Had the sample of stomach mixture revealed some kind of poison? He would be working, of course. I was tempted to go to police headquarters on Mulberry Street, but I didn’t think he’d take kindly to this. Besides, he’d most likely be off somewhere on a case. I’d just have to wait patiently on that count.

In the meantime I had promised myself to speak with Mrs. Bradley. I was not looking forward to this, I can tell you. Again I questioned whether it was being foolish and wrong to tell a grieving mother that I suspected her daughter might have been poisoned. I decided to tread very carefully and have the sense to know when to shut up. It has never been one of my stronger traits. I realized as I set out that I didn’t know exactly where the Bradleys lived. Mrs. Bradley was hardly likely to be still camped out at her daughter’s apartment, was she? But I went to the Dakota anyway and rang the doorbell at the Poindexters’ apartment.

It was opened by none other than Anson, looking dashing in a maroon silk dressing gown.

“Hello,” he said with a pleasant smile. “May I help you?”

Oh, now this was tempting. Daring Molly Murphy solves case by seducing murderer into giving her a confession. He looked harmless enough.

“I was wondering if your mother-in-law was still in residence here,” I said.

“No, thank God,” he replied. “At last I can breathe again.” Then he pulled a boyish face. “Oh, dear. Not very tactful of me, was it. You’re not a bosom friend of hers, are you?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I was a friend of your dear departed wife’s.”

His face fell. “I see. Poor Fanny. Who would have thought it. She may have looked delicate but I always thought she was strong as an ox. It’s quite shaken me up, I can tell you. I haven’t felt like going to work ever since the funeral and I keep thinking I’m coming down with whatever that awful sickness was that took her away so quickly.”

“It was very sad for all of us,” I said. “You have my deepest sympathy.”

He nodded. “Thank you. She was a lovely girl, wasn’t she? So sweet-natured.” He paused to clear his throat.

“And I understand you were away during her last moments. That must have been an awful shock for you.” It was out before I could weigh the wisdom of it. But if he’d already tried to run me down once, then he obviously knew who I was. And if he hadn’t tried to run me down, then who on earth had?

“Yes, I was out of town on business,” he said. “I can’t tell you how badly I feel about that now, but when I left she really did seem to be on the mend.”

I tried desperately to think of other clever things to ask him, ways to bring Bella or Fifi into the conversation, but my brain refused to cooperate.

“Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” I said. “Could you possibly give me the Bradleys’ address?” I tried to come up with a plausible reason for this. “I was asked to pass on condolences by an old friend of the family I met while sailing this weekend.”

“It’s One-eighteen East Fifty-ninth, just off the park. And you like to sail, do you?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “I was with a party on the Hudson yesterday. It was such a jolly time that I felt guilty.”

“I say,” he said suddenly. “I’m keeping you here on the doorstep. Where are my manners? Would you like to come in and have a cup of coffee?”

Now this really was tempting, but the words “Will you walk into my parlor, said the spider to the fly” did flash through my head. And the fact that he had opened his own front door indicated that there might be no servants in the place.

Either way, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor. “It’s very kind of you, but I should go straight to the Bradleys, then I’m meeting another of Fanny’s old friends for lunch. Emily Boswell, do you remember her?”

“Little Emily? Of course I do. How is she?”

“Very well, thank you. Working for her living, of course, having no family. She’s working for a druggist near here.”

Was I wrong or did a muscle twitch on his face? “Really?” he said. “She was always a bright girl. I’m sure she’ll go far.”

“It would seem so,” I said. “And her young man is also very smart. He’s studying to be a pharmacist.”

“Really?” He stared at me for a moment. “Well, good for her,” he said. “If you see her, tell her I wish her well.”

“I will indeed. Thank you for your time. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”

“No trouble at all.” He gave me a beaming smile.

I felt rather shaky as I rode the elevator down again. Had I been foolish to have brought up Emily and her drug connection? That news had definitely made him uneasy, I could see from his face. Then another alarming thought came to me: had I exposed her to danger by telling Anson about her?

I was across the park, hardly noticing its leafy beauty today, and found the Bradleys’ house with little difficulty. Actually, house was an understatement. Mansion described it better. It was impressive, even in an area of mansions: red brick, adorned with white columns and white brick around the windows, not unlike the houses in the fancier squares of Dublin. I knocked, told the maid my business, and was admitted to a square hall with a staircase and galleries rising into the gloom. After a while there came a tap of heels on the parquet floor and Mrs. Bradley came toward me, still dressed in black, of course. I realized instantly that I should also have been wearing that color and instead I was wearing my beige business suit. Not very tactful of me.

“Miss Murphy?” She was looking at me doubtfully.

“I was a friend of Fanny’s,” I said. “I came with Emily Boswell to visit her when she was sick.”

“Yes, of course.” She nodded. “How can I help you?”

“I wondered if we could have a talk. It’s of a slightly delicate nature.”

She looked surprised. “Well, let’s go into the music room, shall we? We’re not likely to be disturbed there.”

I followed her across the hall into a pretty room overlooking a back yard that was all cherry blossom and tulips. A harp and a grand piano stood in one corner. She indicated that I should take a seat and I perched myself on one of the gilt and brocade chairs.

“Now, what is this all about?” she asked.

“Mrs. Bradley, I have agonized over whether to tell you any of this, but I feel that I owe it to Fanny,” I said. “Let me ask you—were you close to your daughter?”

“Very close. She was an affectionate girl.”

“Then did she tell you that she was contemplating divorcing her husband?”

“Divorce Anson? Don’t be ridiculous. Whatever gave you that notion, girl?”

I began to suspect this had not been a good idea.

“I should tell you the truth, I suppose. I am a detective. I met Fanny at a gathering and she asked me to call on her. She told me she suspected that Anson was keeping a mistress and if that were true, she planned to divorce him. She hired me to find out the truth.”

“Good God.” Mrs. Bradley had gone very pale. “And when was this?”

“Immediately before she became ill.”

She nodded. “So you never had time to do what you were hired to do?”

“Oh yes, I carried out the investigation. It became obvious that Anson had been friendly with a dancer called Mademoiselle Fifi.”

Mrs. Bradley sighed. “My poor dear Fanny. We thought Anson was such a good match for her. So handsome and from such a good family. And instead we saddled her with a rogue with a wandering eye, just like her father.”

I looked up in surprise. She nodded, the sort of nod of understanding that happens between women. “Oh, yes. I’m afraid Mr. Bradley used to cause me all kinds of grief. Actresses, cigar girls. He thought I never knew about them, but of course I did. Wives always do, don’t they?”

“Yet you decided to stay with him?”

“I was brought up to believe in duty. I had a child and I had made my marriage vows. Besides, apart from that he was a good husband. He was generous. He’s treated me well. He adored little Fanny. Of course we were both disappointed that I couldn’t give him a son, but we’ve been a happy enough family in many ways. But Fanny was less realistic than I. A true romantic. I can see that she would not have wanted to stay with a man who didn’t adore her.” She looked up sharply. “You say you found out this before she fell ill?”

I nodded.

“And told Fanny what you had discovered?”

“I was never able to. By the time I had uncovered the truth, she was not allowed visitors.”

She was still staring at me. She put a hand up to her bosom. “My God, you don’t think . . .” I could read the rest of that sentence in her eyes.

“I don’t know what to think,” I said. “All I know is she hired me, then she fell sick and quickly died.”

“So you do think that he might have done away with her?”

I shrugged. “It’s hardly likely, is it? You were with her during her last days. You saw what she ate and drank.”

Mrs. Bradley shook her head violently, releasing a hairpin that went flying onto the parquet floor with a ping. “Everything she ate and drank was prepared by their cook and served by me. And frankly she could keep almost nothing down toward the end. She just sipped water, and a little broth. And there is no way—no way at all—I was with her all the time. I even slept sitting up in a chair beside her in case she needed me.”

“And did her husband come into the room much?”

“He came in from time to time, but like most men he had a horror of illness. He would come over to the bed, kiss her forehead, mutter some words of encouragement, ask if he could get her anything, and then beat a hasty departure.”

“If he could get her anything?” I picked up on this. “And did he get her anything?”

Mrs. Bradley shook her head. “She had lost all interest in food and drink. I had to coax a sip of water down her. And the poor man seemed quite worried. I really can’t believe . . .”

“I’m sure this is a wild supposition,” I said, “but it happened so quickly after she had hired me.”

“I agree, it does look suspicious,” she said. “But the doctor was here all the time. He would have noticed if anything was amiss. He told me he had treated so many patients this spring in which a simple influenza turned virulent and fatal.”

“I may well be worrying you for nothing,” I said, “but I felt it was my duty to tell you.”

She eyed me for a moment. “Is that why you are here?”

“What do you mean?”

“I wondered whether this visit was to remind me that Fanny had hired you and never had a chance to pay you.”

“Absolutely not.” I felt my face flush angry red. “I have been looking into her death on my own time and with no thought of recompense because I have a strong sense of justice and if she had been murdered, I didn’t want to see a murderer get away with his crime.”

She came over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, my dear. You’re upset. We all are. Fanny’s death has taken a light from our lives. My husband suffers especially. His only child. I don’t know if he’ll ever get over it.”

I rose to my feet, too. “I’m very sorry for both of you. She was a lovely young woman. I grew fond of her in the short time I knew her.”

“She was adored by everyone,” Mrs. Bradley said. “She had so many friends. I had to keep them away from her in the end. It grieved me to do so.”

“So who did come to visit her during that last week?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual. “We met Dorcas, of course . . .”

“Poor dear Dorcas. I feel so badly that she must have contracted the influenza from her visit to my daughter.”

“It does seem that way,” I agreed.

“They all came—Minnie and Bella and of course sweet Alice was here all the time. She and Fanny have known each other since they were knee-high to a grasshopper. They were as close as sisters.”

“Alice,” I said. “If they were as close as sisters, I wonder if she told Alice of her intention to divorce her husband?”

“I have no idea,” Mrs. Bradley said. “You have to understand that Fanny was extremely proud, Miss Murphy. She may not have wished to share this odious fact with anyone until she was ready to make her move.” She paused and looked at me sharply. “You are sure about this Fifi person?”

“Oh yes. I visited her yesterday. She told me that Anson and she had been friendly for two years but that he had come to break off completely with her a week ago. Just before Fanny died, in fact.”

“Then his conscience did get the better of him,” she said. “I knew the lad was good at heart.”

I opened my mouth to say “unless he had found someone to replace her,” then thought better of it.

“Do you know Alice’s address?” I asked. “I think that maybe I should talk to her. I would be interested to know whether Fanny had confided in her.”

“I just hope Alice has not contracted the deadly sickness,” Mrs. Bradley said. “I have worried about that ever since we got the news about poor Dorcas. You see, Alice was the one person Fanny really wanted to have beside her. Such a loyal girl. She would have sat with her day and night if I’d allowed her to.”

“Really?” I asked, my voice sounding sharper than I intended. “And does she live near here?”

“She does—but do you think it is prudent for you to visit her? I don’t know if I want our little discussion to go beyond this room.”

“I assure you I will tread with caution,” I said. “I will ask only the most discreet questions.”

“I would like Fanny’s memory to be treasured by her friends. I wouldn’t like them to think . . .”

“I certainly would not dream of casting aspersions on her husband unless I were completely sure of my facts,” I said. “That remains between you and me, and frankly I think we have no way of proving it at this stage. But I would like to know if she confided her intentions to divorce her husband to any other person. And Alice seems the most likely, doesn’t she?”

“She does, but do you think she would share this knowledge with you? She and Fanny were very tight, you know.”

“I am a detective,” I said, “and whatever you may think, my one objective at this stage is to find out the truth. I’m sure you’d want to know that, wouldn’t you?”

She stood, hesitant for a moment, then said, “Very well. Let me find my little book for you.” She disappeared from the room. I stared out at the lovely garden in all its spring glory.

“Here we are,” she returned with a small leather book. “She lives at Three-eighteen Fifty-first Street. Not far at all. Please give her my best. And Miss Murphy—you will watch what you say, won’t you? If poor dear Anson is innocent, I would hate to think of vile rumors circulating about him.”

“I will watch what I say,” I said. “And I am sorry to have brought you such worry. I did agonize over whether to come to you or not.”

“I’m glad you came,” she said. “Although I am distressed that Fanny could not confide her husband’s unfaithful behavior to her mother. I could have consoled her. Always such a proud girl . . .”