concern.
“It was unfortunate, but I’m sure Mrs. Blackwell will recover fully.” She’d have years of nightmares, but there was no use worrying the butler over something he couldn’t help. “She is, as I said, doing very well already.”
The butler nodded his thanks. “The carriage will be around in a few minutes,” he said, and left her to wait alone.
With nothing else to do, she began to think about Dr. Blackwell’s death and how she could get Malloy to confide in her what was going on with the investigation. He’d certainly balk at involving her in another murder case. She’d managed to put herself in danger twice before while assisting him, and he’d been particularly upset the last time. Maybe if she just expressed mild curiosity. Could she fool him? Somehow she doubted it.
However, she had already obtained a bit of information he might find useful. Probably he’d soon find out the same things she’d just learned, but she could at least save him some trouble by sharing what she already knew about how the dead man had cured his wife’s injuries so miraculously when others had failed. She’d be doing him a favor, she reasoned. He couldn’t object to that. Or so she told herself, knowing full well he’d object to anything he pleased.
Lost in thought, she’d been staring at the man who had just emerged from the house sitting catty-corner from the Blackwells’ without realizing who it was. Malloy! He was no doubt going from house to house, questioning all the neighbors and their servants. Here was her chance.
Quickly gathering her things, Sarah hurried out, not waiting for the butler to open the front door for her. Fortunately, the rain had stopped for the moment, although it didn’t look like the lull would last for long. Malloy was just starting up the front steps of the next house when she called his name.
He stopped and turned, recognizing her at once. She could tell by the way he stiffened in reaction. He didn’t seem at all pleased to see her, but he turned and came back down the steps and began walking toward her.
Sarah resisted an urge to meet him halfway. It would hardly be seemly, but more important, she didn’t want to appear as eager as she felt. She set her medical bag on the front step and waited with apparent patience.
“Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” he said when he reached her. His expression was resigned and a little reserved, but that did not deter her in the least. “I assume the Blackwell baby has been born.”
“Good morning, Mr. Malloy,” she replied. “Yes, baby and mother are doing as well as we could expect, considering Dr. Blackwell was murdered right in their home.”
He sighed. “I should have known you’d find out all about it. But don’t start thinking you’re going to be involved. You won’t have time anyway. I’ll have the killer locked up by sunset.”
“You know who it is, then?” she asked in surprise.
“Are you on your way home now?” he asked, ignoring her question. “I can get you a cab.”
“They’re bringing the carriage around for me,” she said, undeterred. “I suppose you know that Dr. Blackwell was a magnetic healer and that he supposedly healed his wife after she was crippled in a riding accident.”
If this was new information, he gave no indication. “What exactly does a magnetic healer do?” he asked instead.
“I’m not certain. It has something to do with laying his hands on people and curing them of whatever is wrong.”
“How could he make someone well just by touching them?” Malloy asked.
“Oh, there must be more to it than that, but I’m sure they keep their actual techniques a secret. It’s the only way to prevent others from doing the same thing they do and stealing their patients.”
“But people really get well?” he asked doubtfully.
“Presumably, or these so-called doctors couldn’t stay in business. The fact is that most people eventually get well from whatever is wrong with them if they believe strongly enough that they will, even with no treatment at all. These charlatans have the advantage of people wanting to believe their treatments will work, no matter how ridiculous they are. When someone gets well, they tell their friends, and people have even more confidence in the healer. So, who do you think killed Dr. Blackwell?”
Malloy’s lips twitched, as if he were holding back a smile. “Nice try, Mrs. Brandt, but you’re not getting involved in this. Go home, get some sleep, and forget all about Dr. Blackwell’s death.”
“Just exactly how do you propose I forget about it?” she asked, genuinely interested.
“Think about something else,” he suggested. “I hear your carriage. It was nice to see you again, Mrs. Brandt. Good day.”
He tipped his hat and turned away, even though Sarah was far from finished with him. She wanted to stamp her foot in protest, but such a gesture would only amuse him. “Thank you for sending for me, Malloy,” she called after him.
He turned back, not bothering to hide his smile this time. “I needed a midwife, and you’re the only midwife I know.”
Sarah glared at him, but her effort was wasted. He was already walking away. She wasn’t really angry, though. She enjoyed their sparring, and she knew he did, too. And she also knew she had a good reason to stay involved with the case. She’d be back tomorrow morning to check on Mrs. Blackwell and her baby. Then she’d find out if Malloy was as good as his word about finding the killer by sunset.
ALTHOUGH A FIERCE electrical storm woke Sarah several times during the night, the weather was fine the next morning, so she decided to walk back over to Gramercy Park. When the butler opened the front door, she immediately knew something was wrong.
“Mrs. Brandt, how good that you’ve come,” he said, maintaining his dignity even though his pinched expression revealed his concern.
“Is Mrs. Blackwell ill? You should have sent for me at once!”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Blackwell is perfectly well. It’s the child. He’s… well, he seems to be in some distress. The nurse has been up with him all night.”
It could be simple colic, of course, but usually that didn’t begin quite so soon. Her mind racing with possibilities-none of them pleasant-Sarah hurried upstairs. When she reached the landing, she could hear the faint sound of an infant crying. It was a hollow sound, one Sarah had heard before, but she knew she must be mistaken in what she was thinking. The cries came from farther down the hall than Mrs. Blackwell’s room, which meant the child was probably in the nursery. When she reached the door, she didn’t bother to knock.
She found the nurse walking the floor with the infant, vainly trying to comfort him. She looked exhausted and at her wit’s end, and she seemed infinitely relieved to see Sarah.
“Oh, Mrs. Brandt, thank heaven you’re here! I don’t know what come over him,” she exclaimed, absently patting the screaming child. “At first I thought he might be scared of the storm last night. It was so loud! Then I thought it was the colic, but don’t nothing work for it. Seems like he don’t even want to be touched, which ain’t natural at all!”
It was true. Usually, a fretful baby could be stilled by a soothing touch or rocking or walking, even one with colic. Sarah reached out, and the nurse surrendered the child gratefully. As soon as she took the baby from the nurse, however, she understood what the woman meant. The child stiffened in her arms, resisting her embrace. She took him to the nurse’s bed and laid him down, unwrapping his swaddling so she could examine him for possible injuries or defects she’d failed to notice yesterday.
His limbs were twitching, and his skin was pale and cool to the touch. He arched his little body as if in pain.
“Have you given him anything?” Sarah asked.
“Just my milk, and I never ate nothing that could upset him. I’m that careful with my milk, I am.”
Sarah knew this was far more than an upset stomach, however. “I need to speak with Mrs. Blackwell,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
The nurse nodded, not really understanding, and took the baby when Sarah had wrapped him up again.
Sarah went to Mrs. Blackwell’s room and knocked on the door.
“Come,” she called weakly, and Sarah stepped into the room.
The drapes were drawn against the morning sunlight, but Mrs. Blackwell wasn’t trying to sleep. She sat up in bed, propped by a stack of pillows, and she looked just as frazzled as the nurse. “Thank heaven you’ve come! Can you make him stop?” she asked Sarah. “He’s been doing this all night. Between the crying and the storm, I haven’t had a wink of sleep!”
