In a Gilded Cage (Molly Murphy, #8)

“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?”