small area. Things were better since last year when the city had formed a street cleaning department that regularly attended to all the city streets. Until then, only wealthier neighborhoods that could hire private cleaners were regularly kept free of refuse and garbage. Some of the streets had been piled more than a foot deep with animal droppings and trash and the carcasses of dead animals. The street cleaners in their white uniforms and pith helmets looked like something out of an operetta, but they pushed their carts around the city at night and worked miracles with their brooms and shovels. So now the mice came inside, looking for richer territory to plunder.
“Thanks for the warning,” Sarah said. “I’ll do that. Where are you heading?”
“To the market,” Mrs. Ellsworth said, referring to the Gansevoort Market several blocks away where farmers brought their produce and meat to sell to the city’s residents. “Can I get anything for you?”
Sarah thought of Malloy and wondered if she would see him tonight. They did have a lot of things to discuss. Or rather she had a lot of things she wanted to find out from him, since he’d probably been to the opium den by now. “I’d like to have a chicken, if you see any nice ones,” Sarah said.
Mrs. Ellsworth smiled knowingly. “I’ll pick a nice plump one for Mr. Malloy. Do you need any potatoes to go with it?”
“I think I have enough,” Sarah said, returning her smile.
“Will you be home this afternoon? In case someone calls for you,” she added, lest Sarah think she was merely being nosy.
Sarah started to say she would, but thought better of it. “I might go out in a little while,” she said. “To visit some friends, but I’ll be back by suppertime.”
WHEN SHE’D FRESHENED up from her labors of the morning, Sarah put on her gray serge suit and a hat that was reasonably fashionable, and made her way across town once again to Gramercy Park.
As always, she was struck by how lovely the square was. The houses surrounding it were a little ornate for her taste, but unquestionably comfortable and well tended. Edmund Blackwell must have felt that he’d finally achieved success when he moved his bride here. Never mind that he wasn’t paying for the house and couldn’t have dreamed of doing so. No one else knew that. As far as everyone was concerned, he was an equal to his wealthy and socially prominent neighbors.
A maid opened the door, the same one who had admitted her before. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Brandt,” she said, dropping a small curtsy. “Were you wanting to see Mrs. Blackwell today?”
“If she isn’t sleeping,” Sarah said.
“Oh, no, she’s receiving visitors in the parlor,” the maid assured her. “I’ll show you right in.”
“Is Granger ill again?” Sarah asked with some concern. The butler hadn’t seemed particularly grief-stricken over his employer’s murder at the time, but perhaps the strain of the past days had taken a toll.
“He got better, but then he got worse again,” the girl told her. “Mrs. Wilson says it’s the dyspepsia.”
“Does he get it often?” Sarah asked.
“Not that I ever heard,” the girl said. “He never was sick a day that I knew of until poor Dr. Blackwell died.”
Sarah had been right to suspect the strain was telling on the man to whom the responsibility of running the entire household would have fallen. “Do you know if he’s seen a doctor?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. Mrs. Wilson, she’s the housekeeper, she told him to, but she says he’s too stubborn to go.”
Sarah knew Mrs. Wilson would probably have a fit if she knew how freely the little maid was sharing the private business of the household with a stranger. Still… “I’d be happy to speak with Mr. Granger and see if perhaps I can’t give him something to help his stomach.”
“Can a midwife take care of a man?” the girl asked in confusion.
“I’m also a trained nurse,” Sarah explained, managing not to smile. “And stomachs are pretty much the same, whether they belong to a man or a woman.”
The girl’s eyes widened at this fascinating observation. “I’ll go ask Mrs. Wilson right now.” She was halfway down the hall when she remembered her manners. “Oh, please have a seat while you’re waiting!” she called back, then scurried away.
Sarah sat down on the bench in the hallway. She glanced at the closed parlor doors, wondering who Letitia might be entertaining in there. Well, she’d find out soon enough. And if it was Peter Dudley, as she suspected, they would appreciate not being interrupted for a while longer, she was sure.
Mrs. Wilson was a tall, skeletal woman of middle years. Her gray-streaked hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her washed-out eyes stared at Sarah from dark hollows. “Peggy shouldn’t have told you about Mr. Granger’s condition,” she said, giving the girl, who had followed at her heels, a reproving look.
Peggy dropped her gaze, suitably contrite.
“I’m sure she was only trying to help,” Sarah said. “I
Mrs. Wilson still did not look pleased, but she said, “All we can do is ask him if he’d like to see you. If you’ll come this way, to the servants’ quarters.”
Sarah followed her to the back stairs, which led up to a section of the house where visitors typically never went. The walls here were plain, the floors bare, and the furnishings utilitarian. Mrs. Wilson went to one of the doors along the hallway and knocked.
“Mr. Granger? It’s Mrs. Wilson. I’ve got Mrs. Brandt here, and she’s a nurse. She says she might be able to make you feel better. Can we come in?”
For a moment they heard nothing, and then a groan and a crash, as something fell and smashed on the floor.
Without waiting for permission, Mrs. Wilson pushed open the door and hurried in. Sarah was close behind her.
The room was sparsely furnished, and neat to the point of austerity, except for the unmade bed where Mr. Granger lay, wearing his trousers and an undershirt. He’d tried to get up and knocked a tray of food onto the floor.
“Good heavens, Granger,” Mrs. Wilson exclaimed. “Look at this mess. I’ll get one of the girls up here to clean this up. And you haven’t eaten a bite today, have you?” she added, examining the mess on the floor.
The food looked as if it had been sitting for several hours, and Granger’s face was pale and his eyes held the unfocused look of someone in pain.
Mrs. Wilson summoned one of the maids to clean up the spilled food and continued to chasten him for not taking better care of himself. Mr. Granger’s dignity was badly compromised in the process, but by the time everyone else had gone and the room restored to order, he seemed not even to care about that.
“I don’t need a nurse,” he told her crossly from the chair into which he’d moved during the commotion. He’d pulled on a shirt for the sake of decency, but hadn’t had the energy to button it.
“Perhaps you don’st,” Sarah said, not pointing out how haggard he looked or how sick he’d obviously been. “But I’m probably a better judge of that than you.”
Brooking no nonsense, she quickly examined him, asking a series of questions about his current condition.
“Were you here to see Mrs. Blackwell?” he asked with a worried frown when she was finished. “Is she ill?”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Sarah said, not mentioning that the lady of the house was actually receiving visitors at this very moment. “I really came to check on the baby.”
“This has been so hard on poor Mrs. Blackwell,” he said. “Finding her husband like that must have been a shock.” He put his hand to his head, as if the thought of Letitia’s grief was more than he could bear.
“Women are frequently much stronger than men give them credit for being,” Sarah said by way of comfort.
“Not Mrs. Blackwell,” he protested. “She’s one that needs protection. She tries to pretend she’s strong. The way she visits the sick and gives so much of her time to looking out for others not as fortunate as she is, it’s an inspiration. But she’s really as delicate as a flower. She needs somebody to look after her. I can’t tell you how many times she’s thanked me, right out like that, for doing little things for her.”
Sarah wanted to gag. What was it about Letitia Blackwell that made absolute fools of men? Even the butler was under her spell!
“It’s nice to hear a servant praising his mistress,” she said tactfully.
