“Whatever for?” Potter asked in alarm.
“So I can question them and find out if any of their husbands were jealous of the good doctor.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Sure I can. Don’t worry, Potter. I’ll find Blackwell’s killer for you.”
“Not from among his clients!” he insisted. “None of them would even consider… It isn’t possible!”
“You think rich people don’t commit murder?”
Plainly, he’d never given the matter a great deal of thought. “I’m sure I have no opinion on that, but you just can’t question these ladies as if they were common criminals! They’ll never allow me to-”
“Allow you to what?” Frank asked when Potter caught himself.
“Nothing, nothing at all.”
Frank frowned thoughtfully. “Were you planning to take up Blackwell’s practice where he’d left off?”
“Edmund performed a valuable service for people who are suffering,” Potter insisted. “Someone must continue his work, for the good of humanity.”
“And that would be you, I guess.”
“I have been thoroughly trained,” he reminded Frank indignantly. “I can perform the same adjustments Edmund performed, and I can relieve suffering just as well. There is no need for his work to end just because he is no longer with us.”
“Not if you say so,” Frank said. “So tell me, which do you want more? Do you want me to find Blackwell’s killer or do you want me to avoid offending his clients so you can continue to treat them?”
Potter’s face mottled with rage. “I want you to find Edmund’s killer, but you had him in your grasp and you let him escape!”
Frank gave him a pitying look. “Are you still talking about Calvin Brown?”
“Of course I am! You know as well as I that he killed his father. He’s the only one with any possible reason to want him dead. If you can’t see that, then perhaps I should get another detective to investigate this case.”
Now Frank was annoyed. “First of all, Calvin hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s still right there, in his rooming house on Essex. He’s as anxious as you are to find out who killed his father.”
“So you say. When was the last time you saw him?”
“Very recently,” Frank hedged. “And his landlady will send me word if he tries to leave town. But he’s not the killer, Mr. Potter. If he was, he’d be long gone, as you pointed out yourself.”
“Unless he’s more clever than you give him credit for, Mr. Malloy,” Potter warned. “He’s his father’s son. He would know instinctively that running away would prove him guilty. That’s why he’s still here, continuing to deceive you with his innocent face and his country manners.”
Frank didn’t like Potter’s opinion of his intelligence, but he managed not to mention it. “Could I have that list of names, Mr. Potter? Or maybe I could ask Mrs. Blackwell for it,” he added, knowing this was the one thing guaranteed to inspire Potter to action.
“You wouldn’t dare! Besides, she won’t see you. I told you, she’s not receiving visitors yet.”
“I could have Mrs. Brandt ask her,” Frank said with a smile.
Potter practically swelled with impotent fury, and for a moment Frank entertained the fanciful notion that he might actually explode. Fortunately, Potter allowed his chivalry to override his anger. He wasn’t going to permit Mrs. Blackwell to be involved in any unpleasantness if he could help it. “I will give you a list, but if you offend any of these people, I will have your job.”
Frank managed not to grin in triumph.
SARAH KNEW SHE was wearing out her welcome at the Blackwell home, but until someone told her to stop visiting, she would certainly continue. Besides, this time she had a mission. She wanted to find out what had happened to the schoolmaster who’d been Letitia’s first lover. If he had, indeed, died mysteriously on the orders of Letitia’s father, as Malloy had suggested, Sarah would have a perfect suspect in the murder of Dr. Blackwell, too. Of course, proving Symington responsible for the schoolmaster’s death would avail nothing. Symington would hardly have committed the crime himself, and even if he had, and had killed Blackwell, too, he would most certainly use his money and power to avoid prosecution. But at least if they could implicate him, they would have solved the case and exonerated young Calvin Brown.
A maid answered the door at the Blackwell home. She was a young girl whom Sarah had seen only in passing.
“Mrs. Brandt, I didn’t expect you,” she said in surprise, looking distressed. Probably she was afraid she had forgotten her instructions.
“Nobody expected me,” Sarah reassured her. “I just stopped by to see how Mrs. Blackwell is doing.”
“Oh, right this way, then,” the girl said with relief, closing the front door behind her and leading her not up the stairs, as Sarah had expected, but down the hallway to the back parlor. This would be the room where the family would sit, as opposed to the front parlor, which would be reserved for guests. Probably Mrs. Blackwell was feeling well enough to get out of bed, although Sarah thought it was way too soon for that. The baby had been born less than a week ago, and Sarah encouraged her patients to stay in bed and avoid visitors for two weeks to recover. She’d have to caution the woman about exerting herself too soon, and especially about negotiating the stairs.
The maid didn’t knock, as she should have, but threw the doors open and said, “Mrs. Brandt is here to see you, ma’ am.”
Sarah didn’t know who was more startled, she or Mrs. Blackwell or the young man who had been sitting on the sofa with her. The two of them had been sitting very close, and if Sarah wasn’t mistaken, he had been holding her hand. Now he was on his feet, his face scarlet with embarrassment, and Mrs. Blackwell was looking at Sarah in alarm, the color high in her face as well.
For her part, Sarah could only gape. The young man was tall and gangly and very ordinary in appearance except for one startling feature. He had red hair.
9
“MRS. BRANDT,” MRS. BLACKWELL SAID WHEN SHE could find her tongue. “I… I… Peggy should have announced you.” Her tone was unmistakably angry, and her glare was directed at her servant.
The poor maid paled. “I’m that sorry, Mrs. Blackwell,” she said anxiously. “I didn’t know… I guess I forgot. I never was trained about answering the door, I wasn’st, and with Mr. Granger sick and all…”
“Hush, you stupid girl,” Mrs. Blackwell snapped. “Never mind about that now. You may go.”
The girl hastily withdrew and closed the doors behind her with an unseemly bang.
Mrs. Blackwell winced, then turned an obviously insincere smile on Sarah. “I didn’t know you were coming today, Mrs. Brandt.”
“I was in the neighborhood,” Sarah lied brazenly, somehow managing to tear her interested gaze from the young man. “I thought I’d stop in and check on you. You must be feeling very well, however. I was sure I’d cautioned you about getting up too soon, so I’m a little surprised to see you up and entertaining visitors.” She smiled expectantly at the young man, awaiting an introduction.
Had Mrs. Blackwell been more sophisticated, she would have known she could snub Sarah and send her on her way without that introduction. Sarah was, after all, just hired help and here without an invitation at that. But the young woman was either unfamiliar with the more subtle nuances of social etiquette, or she was simply too kind to snub someone who had been so helpful to her, no matter how annoying her presence might be at the moment.