"Murder on St. Mark’s place" - читать интересную книгу автора (Thompson Victoria)

8

WHEN SARAH GOT BACK FROM THE GANSEVOORT Market, carrying her bags of produce, the next morning, Mrs. Elsworth was waiting for her. She was pretending to sweep her front stoop, as usual, of course, but she was really just keeping herself outside where she could observe the activity of the street.

“Is the corn in yet?” she asked when Sarah greeted her.

“I saw some, but it didn’t look very good. It’s too early, I’m afraid.”

“I do so enjoy fresh corn,” Mrs. Elsworth said wistfully. “And of course, I always make the corn dollies out of the sheaves.” She donated these dolls to the various orphanages in the city. “The dollies bring good luck if you make them out of the sheaves of the last corn of the harvest, but living in the city, how on earth can you find such a thing? Sometimes I think we’ve become too civilized, Mrs. Brandt.”

Sarah thought of the four dead girls and knew she could have argued the point, but she didn’t. She didn’t have the heart for it at the moment.

“You don’t look quite yourself this morning,” Mrs. Elsworth observed. “I hope nothing is wrong.”

“I’m just tired, I think.”

“You have been out quite a lot lately. It’s not baby business either, is it? Are you helping that nice detective with another case?”

Sarah knew she shouldn’t burden Mrs. Elsworth with such things. “Something like that,” was all she said. She wished her neighbor good morning and went on into her own house. She’d just finished putting her purchases away when someone knocked on her back door. Somehow she wasn’t surprised to find Mrs. Elsworth there. She held a plate covered with a napkin.

“I baked a cake yesterday, and it’s more than Nelson and I can eat, so I thought you might help me by taking some.” Nelson was Mrs. Elsworth’s son. He was a banker and was seldom at home to eat much of anything.

“Thank you so much,” Sarah said sincerely. “Why don’t you come in, and we’ll share it. I can make some tea.”

A few minutes later the two women were sitting on Sarah’s back porch, enjoying the coolness of the morning shade and Mrs. Elsworth’s fluffy white cake.

“This is delicious,” Sarah said.

Mrs. Elsworth waved the compliment away. “Now, tell me what’s bothering you. And don’t try to pretend it’s nothing. I saw that young woman you brought home the other night. She’s the same one who left you the message, isn’t she? I hope she’s not with child. She’s so young…”

“It’s not that. She’s… well, a friend of hers was murdered and-”

“Murdered!”

“I didn’t want to involve you in this,” Sarah said. “It’s not a very pretty story.”

“Do you think I haven’t been shocked in my life?” Mrs. Elsworth asked, a little offended. “I could probably tell you stories that would curl your hair. Now, you look like you need someone to confide in, and I’m right here.”

Sarah knew she would probably regret doing this, but she told Mrs. Elsworth the story of how the four girls had been beaten to death, probably by the same man. And she told her what Luisa’s sister and friend had said about the man named Will.

“It seems as if Coney Island is the place where he met at least two of the girls, then,” Mrs. Elsworth observed.

“Yes, it does. And from what the girls told me last night, he may have bought Luisa a gift there, just as he bought Gerda the red shoes.”

“Red shoes,” she said, her disapproval obvious. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to find where those shoes were purchased, now should it? I wouldn’t imagine too many places sell such a thing.”

She was right, of course. Why hadn’t Sarah thought of it? More to the point, why hadn’t Malloy thought of it? He was the professional detective. They should go back to Coney Island and find the shop that had sold the red shoes and… But when Sarah tried to imagine Malloy returning to Coney Island, she realized she was probably wasting her time. Malloy wouldn’t go back to that place unless he was chained to a team of wild horses and dragged.

And when she thought about it some more, she realized she didn’t need Malloy anyway. It’s not like she was going to be looking for the killer himself, just a simple clue. She wouldn’t be in any danger. But it would be nice to have an escort all the same. Someone who knew his way around Coney Island. Someone who could tell her things about the place that Malloy wouldn’t know. Someone like Dirk Schyler.

“What are you thinking?” Mrs. Elsworth asked.

“I’m thinking I should visit some old friends. I haven’t seen them in much too long.”

THE OLD FRIENDS would have to be approached delicately, of course. Sarah had given the matter a lot of thought, and there was only one way she could insinuate herself back into the social life she’d left behind all those years ago, which she would have to do if she hoped to encounter Dirk Schyler again. She’d have to ask her mother for help.

Sarah’s parents lived on Fifty-seventh Street, just off Fifth Avenue, in a row of Italianate brownstones occupied by the upper crust of New York society. The Deckers had been born to wealth and privilege as the descendants of the original Dutch settlers of the area, called Knickerbockers, after the style of britches they had worn in the old days, by those who wished to disparage them.

Sarah had dressed carefully for the occasion, knowing her mother would be worried if she saw her daughter in her regular work clothes. She probably thought Sarah lived in abject poverty, when in fact, her profession earned her a comfortable living. Of course, her mother’s idea of “comfortable” would not be the same as Sarah’s.

It would have made more sense to wait another day, since it was raining when Sarah got up that morning, but she knew if she allowed herself time to think, she might not go at all. In any case, the rain was warm, hardly likely to give her a chill. And it might well keep other visitors away. Sarah was hoping for a private meeting with her mother.

The maid who opened the front door recognized Sarah, even though it had been a while since her last visit. “Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” she said with a curtsy. “Please come in while I see if your mother is at home.”

Since this was Elizabeth Decker’s usual morning “at home,” when she was free to receive visitors, Sarah was fairly certain of being received. The maid showed Sarah into the parlor, which had already been prepared in expectation of callers. Sarah was happy to see her plan had worked and she was the first arrival.

Her mother came in a few moments later, her face flushed with pleasure. “Sarah, my dear, what a happy surprise!”

Sarah could see the questions in her mother’s blue eyes, and the silent reproach. She’d promised at their last meeting that she would come for tea one day when her father was home. She had not seen him in over three years, and her mother was anxious for a reconciliation. Sarah wasn’t quite as anxious, so she had dodged the issue by simply not having the time to call.

“You don’t have to try to make me feel guilty,” she told her mother as she kissed her cheek. “I know I broke my promise, but I’ve been so busy…”

“Too busy to give a few hours to your family?” her mother asked.

“No, too cowardly,” Sarah confessed.

Her mother frowned. “Your father isn’t an ogre, Sarah. He loves you very much.”

Of course he did. But he’d loved her sister Maggie just as much, and Maggie was dead because of his stubbornness and pride. Sarah wasn’t sure if she was ready to cope with her father’s kind of love again.

“I’ll see him soon. The first afternoon I have free,” she promised.

“Perhaps we should set a date so you won’t forget again,” her mother suggested, leading her over to one of the sofas so they could sit down.

“Yes, perhaps we should,” Sarah agreed vaguely. Then, before her mother could do so, she said, “Mother, I need your help.”

This had the desired effect of distracting her completely. “My help? Whatever for?”

“I know this will sound strange, but I’d like to see Dirk Schyler.”

“Dirk?” Her mother’s surprise instantly gave way to pleasure. “Of course! Oh, Sarah, this is wonderful!” As she had expected, her mother completely misinterpreted her interest in Dirk. “What made you think of him after all these years? Well, no matter. He’s perfectly suitable, exactly the kind of man your father and I would have chosen for you!”

Exactly the kind of man they would have chosen for her if she’d given them the opportunity, was the unspoken message. Sarah’s parents had never approved of Tom Brandt, but she hadn’t sought their approval or needed it. “Please don’t make any wedding plans just yet,” she told her mother with a smile. “That’s not the reason I want to see him.”

Her mother was a little surprised, but then she thought she’d figured it out. “Oh, of course not! We wouldn’t want him to think you were seeking him out or pursuing him, would we? Nothing is more likely to discourage romance than apparent interest from the female. But don’t worry, I will be perfectly discreet. I’m sure that seeing you again will be more than enough to spark his interest, though. His parents have been quite disappointed that he hasn’t married yet. He’s well over thirty, you know. They’ve put him in the way of every eligible young woman in New York, but he never even seems to notice them.”

Sarah was fairly certain she knew why. Dirk Schyler’s interests lay elsewhere. He didn’t want a respectable wife taking note of his comings and goings.

Although she should have dampened her mother’s enthusiasm for a match between her and Dirk Schyler, she knew that would only defeat her purpose. Her mother would be disappointed when nothing romantic developed between her and Dirk, but her mother had survived other, larger disappointments and would survive this one as well. In the meantime, her matchmaking instincts would motivate her to get the two of them together at the earliest possible moment.

“Can you think of any social engagements coming up at which you might encounter him?” Sarah asked.

Her mother considered. “Not really. He doesn’t regularly attend the usual functions anymore. I suppose I could organize a small dinner party and invite him, though,” she finally decided.

“That would be perfect,” Sarah said.

But her mother wasn’t finished. “I could organize a dinner party, but of course, your father would have to host it. And that would mean that you must see him first.”

See him and reconcile with him, was what she meant, and Sarah understood the conditions perfectly. Hadn’t she known this would happen? Her mother might look as delicate as a china doll, but inside she had a will of iron. She might use charm and grace to accomplish her purpose, but she was relentless. And Sarah supposed she was ready to be reconciled with her father. Otherwise, she would have found another way to contact Dirk Schyler, wouldn’t she?

“All right, Mother. When can I see Father?”

MALLOY CAME BY that evening. He looked tired. Sarah wished she felt more sociable, but she was too worried about meeting with her father the next day. Her mother had been wise enough not to allow her too much time to change her mind. Her only salvation would be if someone summoned her to deliver a baby. Malloy certainly hadn’t come for that.

“I hope you have some news,” she told him as he stepped into her office.

“I was hoping you did,” he replied.

The rain had finally stopped, and the air was fresh and cool, so they went out to the back porch. Sarah poured him some lemonade, and then she waited to hear what he had to tell her.

“That fellow Robert, the one on the list, he got married,” he said. “He hasn’t been going out to dance halls since before Gerda Reinhard died.”

Sarah pretended to be hearing this information for the first time. “So that probably means he’s not our killer.”

Malloy sipped his lemonade. “You might want to call on him, though. His wife will be needing your services soon.”

Ah, so that explained the hasty marriage and sudden domesticity. “I should give you some of my cards,” she teased him. “You could pass them out in your travels.”

Even in the fading sunlight, she saw his quick smile, gone in a moment. “What did you find out?” he asked, surprising her.

“Me? How would I find out anything?”

“I don’t know,” he said, settling more comfortably in his chair. “Maybe by questioning some of the other girls’ friends again, just like I did.”

“Malloy, you’re too suspicious.”

“And you’re a bad liar. What did you find out?”

She sighed in defeat. So much for keeping her activities secret from Malloy. “I found out that Luisa met the man named Will, the one from the list, at Coney Island. He spent a lot of money on her, and he bought her a gift.”

“What kind of gift?” She had his interest now.

“I don’t know. Her friend told me about it, but her sister denied it. She didn’t want me to think Luisa was a Charity Girl.”

“Can’t blame her for that, but it does make it hard when they won’t tell you what they know. Nothing can hurt the dead, but people forget that. You’d think they’d want to find the killer more than they’d want to protect the victims, but they never do.”

Sarah remembered the first case they’d worked on together and knew he was right. “They also said this Will could be rough when a girl didn’t do what he wanted.”

“Rough? You mean he beat them?”

“Luisa’s sister said he slapped them around. Not beat. She was clear that he didn’t really hurt them.”

“Since when doesn’t a slap hurt?” Malloy wanted to know.

“Since women want to pretend it doesn’t mean anything,” Sarah countered.

Malloy grunted. “What do we know about this Will?” he asked.

“He’s handsome, dresses well, and has a lot of money to spend. I haven’t met anyone who knew him personally yet. Or at least no one who will admit it. Maybe they don’t want to be known as Charity Girls, either.”

“He sounds a lot like your friend,” Malloy observed.

“My friend?”

“The fellow we met at Coney Island.”

Sarah hadn’t thought of that. Another reason to ask Dirk to go with her. He’d know exactly how a man like that would behave since he himself was a man like that. Except for being a murderer, of course.

“The first three girls all knew a man named Will who fits this same description,” Sarah reminded him. “No one remembered Gerda knowing Will, but she’d just met a fellow who sounds like him, the one who bought her the red shoes on Coney Island.”

“Could be somebody else,” he reminded her.

“And it could be the same man. If all these girls were killed by the same man, there’s bound to be some coincidences.”

“At least one,” Malloy agreed.

“I was thinking,” Sarah ventured, figuring Malloy would find out anyway. “I could go out to Coney Island and see if I can locate the store where Gerda got the shoes. Maybe they’ll remember something.”

Malloy frowned. “That’s probably a fool’s errand,”

Sarah smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry, Malloy, I don’t expect you to go with me.”

“Good, then you won’t be disappointed.”

“And when I find the clue that solves the case, you’ll be awfully sorry you didn’t go with me.”

“I’ll manage to bear it,” he assured her wryly.

They fell silent. Sarah thought they had finished, but Malloy didn’t get up the way he usually did when he felt they had discussed everything necessary. After a moment she realized he had more to say to her, but for some reason he wasn’t saying it.

“Was there something else?” she asked, hoping to encourage him.

He drained his glass of lemonade, set it down carefully on the table, and stared out at the flowers blooming in her yard for a long moment before he finally said, “I went to that deaf school.”

“What did you find out?”

He didn’t answer right away. Plainly, he wasn’t sure himself. “They said they could teach Brian to talk. And to read people’s lips so he’d know what they were saying.”

“That’s wonderful!” Sarah exclaimed.

But Malloy plainly didn’t think so. “I can’t see it, myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“They had a boy there. He could tell what I was saying, even though he can’t hear. He could read my lips. And he could talk, too. Not real clear, but I could understand him.”

“Then that proves it’s possible.”

“Yes, but… He wasn’t born deaf. He had scarlet fever when he was about five, I think. He’d already learned to talk. He knows what people’s voices sound like. Brian doesn’t.”

He’d obviously given this matter considerable thought. She would’ve been disappointed in him if he hadn’t, of course. “I suppose it would be much more difficult to learn to speak if you’d never heard a human voice.”

“I also found out there’s another way to teach deaf people.”

“There is? What is it?”

“I don’t know. The fellow I talked to at the Lexington Avenue School told me, though. He didn’t mean to. He must’ve thought I’d talked to the other people first, so he tried to convince me his way of teaching was the best. That’s how I know there’s another way.”

Naturally, Malloy would be suspicious. He was always suspicious. And he wouldn’t miss a single clue, even if it wasn’t a clue to solving a crime. “You should certainly investigate all the possibilities before you decide what to do,” she said.

He scratched his chin and looked out at the flowers again. “I was hoping you’d know what those other possibilities were.”

Sarah smiled a little, since he wasn’t looking at her. Then she considered. “I have seen deaf people talking with their hands,” she remembered.

“Their hands?”

“Yes, they have some sort of sign language they use.”

“Were they talking, too?”

“I don’t think so. Did the boy at the school use sign language?”

“No.”

“Then maybe that’s the other method they use, the one the Lexington Avenue School thinks isn’t as good.”

“I can see why. A deaf person wouldn’t be able to talk to someone who doesn’t know the sign language.”

“But if the deaf person couldn’t learn to talk, how else could he communicate?”

Malloy scratched his chin again. “I guess that’s what I’ll have to find out.”

SARAH DECIDED HER presence at her parents’ home was a measure of how desperate she was to solve these murders. She approached their house with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She’d hardly slept the night before, and she’d spent every waking hour reliving all the arguments she’d had with her father through the years. In memory, at least, she hadn’t won any of them.

Remembering how they had fought, however, she realized her father must be deranged to want to see her again. He should count himself well rid of such an ungrateful child. But of course he didn’t. He either loved her very much or else he couldn’t stand the thought that something of his existed outside of his control. Sarah thought it might well be a little of both. She couldn’t condemn him, though. Her own motives for renewing their relationship were hardly pure.

The maid opened the door almost before she knocked, and from her wide-eyed expression, she was well aware of how momentous this visit was. “Mr. and Mrs. Decker is waiting for you in the back parlor, Mrs. Brandt,” she said. “I’ll show you in.”

The back parlor was where the family would normally gather, not where they would receive guests. The location was important. It told Sarah they were welcoming her home. She was still an intimate part of their family. She only hoped that was still true when this visit was over.

The maid showed her in, and she found her parents sitting stiffly on the sofa, awaiting her arrival with the same apprehension she herself was feeling. Her mother rose instantly to her feet, but her father was slower getting up. Did he seem reluctant or merely unable to rise more quickly?

Sarah was struck by how much older he looked than she remembered. He was thinner, his face drawn, and although he was still much taller than she, he looked somehow smaller than she remembered, somehow shrunken. She recalled what her mother had said about his stomach problems and wondered if that had caused the change in his appearance.

He didn’t smile. He was much too cautious a man to let his feelings show so openly. He would wait for his cue from her. There would be no unseemly display of emotion.

“Father, how wonderful to see you,” Sarah said, feeling the nerves fluttering in her stomach. She went forward, offering him both of her hands.

He took them in a grip so hard it was almost painful as his pale blue eyes searched her face, taking in every detail of her appearance. “You’re looking well,” he determined, his voice strained.

“I’m feeling well,” she confirmed. “My work keeps me busy and happy.”

She saw the flicker of disapproval he couldn’t quite hide, but she had to admire the way he refrained from uttering the slightest word of criticism. By this she judged how anxious he was to repair their relationship.

“Please, sit down,” her mother said too brightly. “I’ll ring for tea.”

Sarah sat in the chair beside her father, amazed at how her hands ached after he released them. He’d been clinging so tightly he’d almost bruised them.

They chatted about the weather and Sarah’s trip uptown-her father was probably horrified that she’d taken the elevated train, but he managed not to betray it-until the maid had finished serving and left them alone.

When the door closed behind her, an awkward silence fell. They all knew someone must say something, something momentous, but no one knew quite what that something should be. Perhaps her father thought she should apologize for abandoning them, but she wasn’t going to do that. She had been the one offended and felt that she was the one due an apology. She couldn’t imagine her father would offer one, however. As far as she knew, he had never apologized for anything in his life. To do so would be to admit he had been wrong, and he probably believed he never had been.

Unable to think of anything appropriate, Sarah sat silent. Sooner or later her father would say what he wanted her to hear. She was prepared for anything. Or at least she thought she was until he said, “We’ve missed you, Sarah.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” she said quite honestly. Although she had friends and a profession that fulfilled her, nothing and no one could take the place of family. Not even a family who had hurt each other as much as hers had.

“Your father regrets… we both regret,” her mother quickly amended when he gave her a sharp glance, “the harsh words that were spoken after poor Tom…”

“I’m sure we all regret that,” Sarah said quickly, coming to her mother’s rescue. Had her father asked her mother to apologize for him? No, she realized, judging his expression. His impatience was evident.

“I still believe no respectable woman should live alone and earn her own living,” he said, confirming her theory.

Oddly, she found his statement reassuring. He hadn’t changed. And if he was still the same, as infuriating as he might be, she knew exactly how to deal with him.

“I know you don’t understand the choices I’ve made,” she allowed him. “But the fact is, I’m a grown woman. I don’t need your blessing to live my life the way I see fit”

His lips tightened a bit. He wasn’t used to such resistance, certainly not from a female and his own child. Her mother, she knew, resisted him frequently, but she used feminine wiles and charm to soften the blow. Sarah had no skill and certainly no patience for such wiles.

But to his credit, her father chose not to argue. Instead he said, “You’ve always had a mind of your own, Sarah. You’re very like me in that respect.”

“Too much like you, perhaps,” she allowed with a small smile.

“Yes, but it’s less… acceptable in a female.”

“To some people,” Sarah allowed, proving his point by arguing with it.

“And always to a father,” he countered.

She conceded. “I never intended to let so much time pass with matters unsettled between us, but before I knew it, three years had gone by. I don’t know how it happened.”

“Nor I,” he agreed. Did he look relieved at her willingness to take the blame? She hoped so.

“I should have been more understanding,” she allowed, taking even more blame. “I realize now that you were only concerned about my well-being.”

Her father was prepared to be equally gracious. “And we probably should have given you some time to get over Dr. Brandt’s death before discussing the future with you.”

“If you had, you might have understood that no discussion was necessary. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Or you might simply be too proud to accept the help we were offering you,” he suggested.

She was right. He hadn’t changed a bit. “I didn’t need help then, and I don’t need it now, Father. I know it’s difficuft for you to imagine, but I manage my own life quite well. Not every woman needs a man to take care of her.”

Instantly, she regretted her hasty words. With them, she had insulted her mother. Fortunately, her mother didn’t seem to realize it.

“I’m sure your father was only trying to protect you from any more unpleasantness,” she said.

“But I don’t want to be protected from it,” Sarah explained, hoping she could maintain her reasonable tone in the face of such ignorance. “I want to face it head-on and do something to change it.”

Her mother glanced at her father apprehensively, obviously afraid Sarah had incensed him. In times past, she had done so with far less provocation. But her father was no longer so quick to anger. Or at least he was trying harder to be reasonable today than ever before.

“That’s foolish idealism, Sarah. You can’t change the way things are, no matter how much you might wish to. The world has been a wicked place since Cain killed Abel, and since then people have simply refined the ways in which they harm each other. One woman can’t possibly make a difference.”

Sarah could have told him how she had made a difference by solving the murder of Alicia VanDamm. She could have told him of the lives she had saved, mothers and babies who would never have survived without her skill. Instead she said, “Are you suggesting I should stop trying?”

She could see the battle he fought with himself. He was used to ordering and demanding and being obeyed instantly. No one challenged him, no one questioned him, not the people who worked for him or the people with whom he did business or anyone in his household. No one except Sarah, that is.

Her mother placed a hand on his sleeve, as if the gesture would restrain him. But he didn’t even seem to notice. He was too intent on Sarah, who met his gaze levelly, without flinching.

“I am suggesting,” he said when he was in control of his temper again, “that there is no need for a woman of your position in life to waste that life toiling for common people.”

She could have said many things. She could have pointed out that women of the upper class wasted their lives every day, squandering their talents and intelligence on visits and gossip and parties and balls. But saying so would not have convinced her father and would have hurt her mother. Her father believed that women should engage only in socially acceptable activities, and he wasn’t going to change his mind in one afternoon.

“Father, I know you don’t approve of how I spend my life, but you must also know I have no intention of doing anything else. If we are going to make peace between us, we are each going to have to respect the other’s opinions, whether we agree or not.”

Her father stared at her for a long moment, his eyes sad. “This is what it’s come to, is it? You’ve lost all trace of femininity, Sarah. You reason just like a man now.”

He hadn’t meant to compliment her, but Sarah felt flattered all the same. “Men have all the advantages in life, Father. If I’ve adopted masculine ways, it’s only because I had no choice.”

“You have a choice. You can come home and let us take care of you again.”

Now it was Sarah’s turn to be sad. “I’m afraid you’d regret your invitation very quickly if I took you up on it, Father. I’m not the biddable young girl you remember.”

“You were never biddable, Sarah,” he reminded her sharply.

“Well, I’m even worse now. I’ve lived on my own far too long to be able to be your daughter again.”

“But what about your reputation?” His anger was showing again. “How do you ever expect to find a suitable husband if you insist on running around the city like a… a…”

“A common trollop?” she supplied helpfully, recalling what he had said to her that awful day after Tom’s funeral.

His face grew scarlet above his high collar, but he didn’t relent. “Respectable women do not walk the city streets at all hours of the night.”

“They do if they’re midwives,” Sarah countered.

“Felix,” her mother said, surprising them both. “Sarah’s profession is perfectly respectable.”

Her father looked as surprised as if the chair had spoken. Indeed, Sarah could never recall her mother disagreeing with her father, not once in all her life. Before either of them could recover from their shock, her mother continued.

“I think it’s unreasonable to expect Sarah to come back home to live with us, too. She isn’t a child anymore. And if you ever hope to have her come for another visit, you are going to have to accept that.”

Sarah’s world had just shifted as profoundly as if an earthquake had shaken the Decker home from its foundations. Her father felt the vibrations to his soul, too, if his expression was any indication. Only her mother seemed unmoved. She sat erect and serene, her lovely face smooth and expressionless. It wouldn’t do to gloat, of course, but Sarah wished she looked a bit more forceful, or at least determined. She couldn’t imagine her father being transformed by such a gentle rebuke, especially when years of her own ranting and raving had accomplished nothing.

But when her father turned back to her, he looked deeply disturbed. “Would you do that? Would you vanish from our lives again?”

“I don’t enjoy being insulted and criticized, Father, and browbeating me won’t make me abandon my profession. I won’t come to see you again if that’s what you plan to do.”

“I only want what’s best for you, Sarah,” he insisted indignantly.

“No, you want what you think is best for me. I happen to disagree about what that is. You’re going to have to accept me the way I am or not at all.”

“But what about your future?” he demanded. “Who will marry you?”

“I don’t want anyone to marry me,” she said, shocking him thoroughly. “I’m perfectly content as I am.”

“But how will you live? Who will support you?”

“I’ll support myself!” she said impatiently. “Haven’t you noticed? I’ve been doing so for over three years now, and quite successfully, too. I don’t need a man to take care of me, not even you.”

She could see his inner struggle. In spite of the facts in front of him, proving that she could be independent, he simply did not want her to be. He could not understand a world in which women made their own way without the help of husband or father. He would never change, and he would never accept that she had.

Sarah saw her hopes of a reconciliation with her father fading. She was just forming the stiffly polite words she would use to take her leave when her mother spoke.

“It appears as if the two of you will never agree on this subject, but must we allow that to keep Sarah away? Perhaps we could simply promise never to discuss this topic again instead.”

It was so eminently reasonable a solution that Sarah and her father gaped at her in astonishment Sarah suddenly realized she had done her mother a great injustice. She had judged her by the wrong standards and found her lacking when she wasn’t lacking at all. She was clever and intelligent, and although she abided by a set of social rules Sarah found ridiculous, Elizabeth Decker did have a mind of her own and knew how to use it. Had she been a man, she might have pursued a successful career in diplomacy, if her work here today was any indication of her abilities. Instead, she had managed to negotiate a peaceful settlement to a family matter. Sarah thought such a success almost equal to an international treaty, and to her, of much more importance.

Felix Decker said not a word to acknowledge his wife’s suggestion. To do so would have given her more importance than he felt she should have. As if he had thought of it himself, he said, “Sarah, our quarreling upsets your mother. It always has. And your absence from our lives has caused her great pain. I believe we should make every effort to spare her any further pain, even if that means allowing you to continue on the path you have chosen, however much I might disapprove. I am willing to agree not to discuss the subject further, unless, of course, you feel yourself in need of family support once more. In that case, you must not let pride prevent you from seeking help from your family. You must know we would be only too happy to provide you with anything you might need.”

Sarah knew that only too well, just as she knew she would never ask for such help, certainly not while she was able-bodied and of sound mind. His offer was condescending, to be sure, but coming from her father, also a near miracle of conciliation. She could not refuse it. “Thank you, Father. Our estrangement has caused me pain as well, and I’m perfectly willing to make concessions to ensure it doesn’t happen again. If that means I can’t argue with you anymore, then it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, for Mother’s sake.”

It took a moment for them to realize she was joking. Her father frowned. He didn’t approve of levity, especially at his expense, but her mother visibly relaxed. With a satisfied smile, she reached for the serving plate. “Try one of these tarts, Sarah. Cook made them especially for you because I told her how fond you are of blueberries.”

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough. Her father made an effort not to offend her, and she returned the favor. They spoke of friends and relatives and generally caught up on each other’s lives.

Just before Sarah judged it time to take her leave, her mother said, “I’ve arranged a small dinner party to welcome Sarah back into our social circle, Felix. I had your secretary put it on your schedule.”

“And just who will be attending this dinner party?” her father asked, not certain he could approve of such a thing. Or perhaps he was concerned that it was too soon to draw Sarah back into their social circle or that she might refuse to be drawn. He would have no idea the dinner party was being held at her request, of course.

“I asked the Walkers. Sarah went to school with Amanda Walker. And the younger Vandekamps. She’s another classmate of Sarah’s. And the Millers. We’ll be an odd number, so I asked Hazel Miller’s brother, Dirk Schyler, as well, to be Sarah’s dinner companion.”

Her father didn’t approve. “Hardly an appropriate choice. Why not one of the Astors. Surely they have an unattached son about the right age.”

“You aren’t arranging a marriage for me, Father,” Sarah reminded him. “I just need a dinner companion, and I’ve known Dirk for a long time.”

“You haven’t known him lately. He hasn’t turned out well. His father despairs of ever making a man of him.”

This confirmed Sarah’s assessment of Dirk as well. She thought she could lower her father’s opinion of him even more by telling him about Dirk’s excursions to Coney Island, but then she’d have to explain how she knew about them. She’d just made peace with the man, so this wasn’t the moment to inform him she was investigating a murder in her spare time. Their truce hadn’t covered arguing over something like that.

“Perhaps he just needs to settle down,” Elizabeth Decker suggested. “A good woman can work wonders.” She glanced meaningfully at Sarah, who pretended not to notice.

“I doubt even Sarah is up to a task like that,” her father said.

For once they agreed on something.