“In her carriage? How horrible. But of course, Miss Yingling was with her, so at least she wasn’t alone.”
“Miss Yingling wasn’t with her.”
“She wasn’t? How strange.”
“Why was it strange?”
“I . . .” She had to think about that. “Wasn’t Vivian going home? Miss Yingling lives with the Van Orners, so naturally I assumed she was with her. They always leave together.”
“Not that day. After she spoke with you, Mrs. Van Orner was upset about something, and she didn’t wait for Miss Yingling. Do you have any idea what she was upset about?”
The color rose in Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s face. “I hope you aren’t accusing any of us of causing her to have apoplexy or something.”
“Apoplexy?” Sarah asked in confusion.
“Or heart failure or whatever she died of. I assume from your questions that they believe something that happened that day caused her to die very suddenly. A shock of some kind, perhaps.”
“Did she have a shock that day?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she insisted, even though her face was scarlet.
“You were one of the last people to speak with her before she died,” Sarah reminded her. “Did she seem to be in shock?”
“I . . . I have no idea. Vivian was . . . She wasn’t one to let her emotions show.”
“Did she seem out of sorts? Not herself?”
“I don’t remember.”
Sarah took a chance. “Was she drinking more than usual?”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face. “Drinking? What are you talking about?”
“Everyone knows about the flask she carried with her,” Sarah lied. “And how she would take a sip or two to calm herself.”
“You’re mistaken!”
“Drinking alcohol when you’ve had a shock can sometimes cause a . . . an unfortunate reaction,” she tried. “If that’s what happened to Mrs. Van Orner, then it’s no one’s fault, is it?”
There, she’d given Mrs. Spratt-Williams a chance to clear her conscience, if she’d been blaming herself.
“Do you think that’s what happened?” she asked, almost hopefully.
“It would make sense.”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams closed her eyes and sighed, as if a weight had been lifted from her. “I’m afraid that Vivian and I did have words yesterday. I’ll never forgive myself if that caused her death.”
“What did you discuss? Maybe it wasn’t really that upsetting to her,” she added, lest she be thought simply nosy.
“Oh, dear, I don’t know if it was or not. With Vivian, it was so hard to tell. She never allowed her true feelings to show. Her mother always taught her it was unladylike.”
“I’d be happy to give you my opinion,” Sarah said, fighting the urge to shake the story out of her.
“Oh, I don’t suppose it could matter now. I was only trying to help, you see. She wanted to put Amy out of the house. She was so unpleasant, and the other girls hated her. She even refused to look after her baby, but . . . Well, Amy has had a difficult time of it. I know because she told me her story. When you know what she’s been through, you can understand why she’s so angry. I’m afraid I’ve become quite fond of the girl and her darling little boy.”
“Did Mrs. Van Orner argue with you?”
“No, not really. She just . . . She simply refused to discuss it. I tried every argument I could think of, but she wouldn’t budge.”
“And did you see her with her . . . her flask?”
“No, I didn’t. I never saw her actually drink from it, not once in all the years I’ve known her. I could smell it on her, though. She used those peppermints, and they fooled most people, I suppose, but not those of us who knew.”
“And who else knew?” Because, Sarah realized, only someone who knew about the flask would have thought to poison it.
Mrs. Spratt-Williams stiffened at the question, offended in some way Sarah certainly hadn’t intended. “I thought you said everyone knew.”
Lying always got her in trouble. “I was guessing. As far as I know, only one other person knew.”
“Poor Vivian. She’d be mortified to know people were talking about her this way. What difference could that possibly make now anyway?”
Malloy would be furious, but Sarah knew instinctively that she must tell Mrs. Spratt-Williams the truth if she hoped to get any more useful information out of her. “Because Mrs. Van Orner didn’t die of shock or apoplexy or heart failure. She was poisoned.”
“Poisoned!” The hand Mrs. Spratt-Williams lifted to her heart trembled. “How on earth could she have been poisoned?”
“Someone put the poison in her flask, and when she got into her carriage, she took a drink from it, as she often did when she was upset. By the time she arrived home, she was dead.”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams went white to her lips and her eyes rolled back in her head. Sarah was beside her at once, chaffing her wrists and lightly slapping her cheeks to keep her from losing consciousness.
“Some . . . brandy . . .” the poor woman managed, indicting a sideboard.
Sarah hurried over, found the right bottle, and poured her a medicinal dose. She held the glass to Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s lips, and after a few sips and a round of coughing, the woman no longer looked as if she was going to faint.
“I’m very sorry,” Sarah said. “I shouldn’t have been so blunt, but we need your help if we’re going to find out who killed Mrs. Van Orner.”
This only distressed her more. “Who is this ‘we’ you’re talking about?”
“The police. They’re investigating. I’ve helped them before, and we thought it would be more acceptable to you to answer questions from me than from them.”
“It may be more acceptable, but I can hardly imagine it being any more shocking,” she said, prompting Sarah to apologize all over again.
“But you can see how important it is to find out who knew about Mrs. Van Orner’s flask. Only someone who did could have killed her.”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams considered this very carefully, leaning back in her chair and watching Sarah closely as she thought it over. Finally, she said, “It was a well-guarded secret, as you can imagine. Only two others knew of it—her husband and Tamar Yingling.”
9
FRANK WAITED A FEW MINUTES LONGER AT THE COFFEE shop before heading out to visit the two gentlemen. The police didn’t have to worry about formal visiting times, and he thought the closer to dinner he arrived, the more likely he was to find them at home. From Sarah’s description, they sounded as if they didn’t need to work, but they might have other reasons to be out of the house during the day.
He went to Mr. Quimby’s first. He lived in one of those apartment buildings on Marble Row, a section of Fifth Avenue where all the buildings were fronted with marble. The doorman didn’t want a policeman to enter the building, so Frank had to threaten to come back with a gang of uniformed cops to search the place. After that, the doorman decided Mr. Quimby would be happy to see Frank.
Mr. Quimby had not been consulted, however, and he was actually somewhat less than happy.
“I can’t imagine why the police are involved in this. Does Mr. Van Orner know you’re questioning his wife’s friends?”
They were sitting in a large room with twelve-foot ceilings. Windows stretched up two walls, giving a magnificent view of the city in all its tawdry beauty. The furnishings were heavy and masculine, mostly leather and brass in shades of brown and gold. Frank determined from this that Quimby was a bachelor. He wondered idly if Quimby had ever used a prostitute. He decided not to ask.
“Mr. Van Orner has asked me to investigate his wife’s death,” Frank said, surprising Quimby. “He believes foul play might be involved.”