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 . . .”
Twenty-six
I found myself hurrying to Alice’s house as if propelled by an unseen force. I wasn’t sure if I was being driven by the need to find out that Alice was indeed alive and well, or that she had been the one confidante who sat at Fanny’s bedside. Sweet, gentle Alice who would have sat at Fanny’s bedside day and night if she had been allowed to . . . There have been stranger murderers before.
“Ridiculous,” I said to myself. Now I was seeing suspicious motives in everyone. When I had finally finished this case it would most probably turn out to be quite simple: Anson Poindexter had a mistress. He decided to sever all ties with her because his conscience got the better of him when his wife became sick. She died. End of story. I thought of his smiling, affable face. Was that the face of a cunning murderer? If he had been guilty, wouldn’t he have shown more alarm at seeing me on his doorstep? Frankly, I didn’t know how murderers thought. I didn’t know much of anything, in fact.
My pace slowed as I reached Alice’s street. Was this really a good idea? Was I helping Fanny in any way by airing her dirty laundry? And yet I had opened the floodgates. I couldn’t stop until I knew.
The establishment was humble by the standards of my recent visits—a respectable brownstone with bay trees in pots on either side of the front door. The maid who admitted me was also not quite of the quality of the last house. A trifle slovenly, in fact. It might seem that gentle Alice wasn’t too good at managing servants. But I was shown into a pleasant enough sitting room up a flight of stairs and found Alice on the floor, playing with a one-year-old baby. From the blond curls and petticoats I couldn’t tell whether it was a boy or a girl, and since she addressed it as Treasure I was none the wiser. On seeing me she handed it to the maid to be taken to the nursery and brushed off her skirts as she sat on the sofa. I noticed she was wearing black.
“Miss Murphy. What brings you here?” She sounded breathless and surprised.