Frank didn’t like the idea of bringing Dennis along, but the man had offered the use of his carriage. Besides, Frank figured he wanted to see the confrontation that was coming. If Dennis was right in his theory about who the killer was, he certainly deserved the opportunity.
The carriage stopped in front of the mission, and the two men climbed out. Frank could see the driver looking around nervously, wondering how safe he’d be in this neighborhood. Curious eyes were probably already peering out at him from every building.
Frank climbed the front steps and pounded on the door. “Police, open up!” he shouted. The windows were dark, but he couldn’t believe everyone inside was already asleep. Even if they were, he’d soon have them awake again. He needed to pound a few more times before someone finally unbolted the door and opened it a crack.
Without waiting for an invitation, Frank pushed it open, forcing whoever was behind it to back up or be knocked over. Once he was inside, he saw it was the same red-haired girl who had opened the door to him before. This must be Maeve, the girl Sarah suspected of being the killer. She wore a nightdress and carried a candle. “You can’t come in here,” she tried, but her voice trembled. Her face had gone so pale, her freckles looked almost black.
“Where’s Mrs. Wells?” Frank demanded. Several other girls had come to see what the disturbance was about, and they stood on the stairs, staring down at him in wide-eyed terror.
“She’s in her room, asleep,” Maeve said. The candle she was carrying trembled.
“Then get her up,” Frank said. “I need to speak to her.”
For a second, he thought she might refuse, but then she obviously realized the futility of it. She nodded at a dark-haired girl, who took off running down the hallway, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor.
“What do you want? Is something wrong?” the girl asked, but Frank just glared at her.
They stood like this for a minute or two. All the girls seemed to be holding their breath, sensing something awful but having no idea what it might be. Then they heard the sound of the girl’s running feet returning. She stopped beside Maeve, her dark eyes wide with terror. “She ain’t there.”
Maeve turned on her in exasperation. “What do you mean she ain’t there?”
“I mean, she ain’t there. And she ain’t in the kitchen. I looked.”
“Where else could she be then?” Frank asked, his voice gruff and as frightening as he could make it without terrifying the girls into total silence.
“Nowhere,” the dark-haired girl offered before Maeve could speak. “She told us all to go to bed, that she was going to her room to pray.”
“When was this?” Frank asked.
“Just a little while ago,” the dark-haired girl said. “Right after Mrs. Brandt left.”
“Mrs. Brandt was
Her eyes widened in terror and the color drained from her face. Instantly, Frank realized he’d made a tactical error. If the girl was too frightened, she wouldn’t tell him a thing.
“There now,” Dennis said calmly, coming to his rescue. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re Gina, aren’t you? I remember you were at the party the other night.” Frank carefully released the girl’s arm, allowing Dennis to use his charm. “Can you tell us why Mrs. Brandt was here?”
The girl started rubbing her arm where Frank had held her, but she was looking at Dennis now. Her face was still white, but she said, “She brought me home, and then she talked to Mrs. Wells – ”
“What do you mean, she brought you home?” Frank asked too gruffly. The girl took a step back, but once again Dennis distracted her.
“Why did she bring you home, Gina?” he asked in his gentleman’s voice.
“She wanted to see I got home safe.” She glanced at Frank, but only for a second before looking back at Dennis. “Then she talked to Mrs. Wells and left. I expect she went to see the priest.”
“How did you know she was going to see the priest?” Frank asked, and this time he managed to keep his voice fairly gentle.
She might even have answered him, but Maeve beat her to it. “Because the priest sent Mrs. Brandt a note, except he didn’t know where she lives, so he sent it here and asked Mrs. Wells to get it to her. Gina carried it.”
Frank’s mind was racing. Dear God, why hadn’t he seen it before now? “Who brought the note here? Did anyone see the priest?” He looked up at the faces staring down at him. No one responded.
“Mrs. Wells said a boy brought it,” Maeve offered after a moment.
“Did you see the boy?” She shook her head. “Did
“Malloy, what is it?” Dennis asked frantically.
Frank turned to face him. “Mrs. Wells was the one who sent the note, and now she’s gone after Sarah.”
“Mrs. Wells, is that you?” Sarah called to the woman emerging from the shadows. “I told you that you didn’t need to come with me.”
“Oh, but I did need to come, Mrs. Brandt.” Her voice sounded strange. It gave Sarah chills.
She knew she was only being fanciful. The eerie stillness of the church had spooked her. “I suppose you’re as anxious as I am to find out who killed Emilia. I hope you won’t be too disappointed if it turns out to be Maeve or one of the other girls.”
“I won’t be disappointed at all,” Mrs. Wells assured her.
Sarah wished she could see the other woman’s face, but it was too dark. The tone of her voice was frighteningly calm, even though Sarah knew she must be extremely upset. She wanted to send her home and spare her the pain of hearing the priest tell her what would surely be horrible news. But she couldn’t spare her forever. “All right, then,” Sarah said. “The priest’s office is this way.”
She turned and started to walk toward the front of the church again. Behind her, she heard the chillingly familiar rasp of a hat pin being pulled from a hat and then the patter of running feet coming up behind her, and in that instant, she understood everything.
Sarah threw herself into the nearest pew as Mrs. Wells dove for her. The woman stumbled, her momentum carrying her forward when she missed Sarah, so that she fell headlong to the floor.
Catching herself on the back of a pew, Sarah kept her feet and started for the opposite aisle as quickly as she could. The space between the benches was too narrow for real speed and her skirts kept trying to tangle with her feet, but she lurched on, knowing her attacker would be hindered the same way if she tried to follow.
She should scream. Someone would come if she screamed, but she didn’t have the breath to do it. She’d have to concentrate on getting away instead.
She heard Mrs. Wells scrambling to her feet. Sarah risked a backward glance. The woman’s hat was askew, and she held the hat pin like a knife, ready to plunge it into flesh. For a second Sarah thought the other woman was going to come after her, but then she turned and started running back down the aisle, toward the rear of the church. That’s when Sarah realized she was planning to cut her off before she could reach the door and make her escape.
Sarah’s only chance was to beat her there. Terror propelled her out from between the pews and into the opposite aisle. Lifting her skirts with both hands, she raced toward the rear of the church. Watching her adversary out of the corner of her eye, she saw that she stood a good chance. If she didn’t fall, if she didn’t stumble, if she didn’t slip…
Her breath gasping, she reached the last pew, and she saw that she was going to make it. She was closer to the door, and she would escape into the street and then she would -
“Aggie, run!” Sarah cried, freezing in her tracks, but she was too late. The child cried out in pain as Mrs. Wells clutched a handful of her hair and held her fast with one hand while she raised the hat pin threateningly with the other. She looked up at Sarah in triumph. “Don’t hurt her!” Sarah pleaded desperately.
“Why not?” Mrs. Wells asked, her voice icily calm. “She’d be better off, just like the rest of them. She’d be in heaven.”
