think?” She looked up and seemed surprised to notice that most of her company had gone.
“Do you know where your baby’s father is?” Sarah asked.
“I can find him.”
“Does he know about the baby?”
“Oh, yes. I told you, he sent me to Mrs. Walker’s so I’d be safe until the baby came.”
Sarah had indeed heard her say that, but she hadn’t believed it for a moment. And if he had, why had she needed Mrs. Van Orner’s help to escape? “You told me that they made you . . . uh . . . entertain customers there.”
She gave Sarah what could have passed for an apologetic look if Amy had actually been sincere. “I had to tell you something so you’d help me get away. I could see what that old bitty was planning. She really was going to take the baby and put me to work.”
“But if your baby’s father . . . ?”
“Once she made me a whore, he wouldn’t want me anymore, would he? That’s what she was thinking. That’s why I had to get away.”
Sarah had to admit, this made a tiny bit of sense, and if there was any truth in it at all . . . “Your baby’s father, will he . . . help you?”
Amy stared at Sarah, considering her question, or perhaps considering her answer. “He will now,” she finally said.
Sarah wanted to ask what she meant by that, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. If it was true, Amy and her baby would be taken care of. Such a scenario seemed too good to be true. Much too good to be true, in Sarah’s experience. Perhaps Amy didn’t have the same experience.
“You should try to get some rest now,” Sarah said, deciding this wasn’t the time for a discussion on the subject. “And if you have any discomfort or anything seems not quite right, send for me.”
“Oh, I will,” Amy promised. “I’m going to take very good care of myself, Mrs. Brandt.”
Sarah was still mulling over Amy’s words when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Lisa Biafore came from the rear of the house carrying a tray and muttering imprecations under her breath. She passed Sarah on her way up the stairs. Amy was getting her strawberry jam, Sarah noted.
“Mrs. Brandt?”
Sarah looked up to see Mrs. Spratt-Williams coming out of the parlor, a worried frown creasing her brow.
“Would you have a few minutes? Mrs. Van Orner would like to speak with you.”
“Of course.” Sarah followed her into the parlor.
Mrs. Van Orner sat on the sofa where Sarah had waited earlier, her face still chalk white, and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Miss Yingling stood across the room, by the fireplace, her back ramrod stiff, her expression pinched. Two spots of color burned in her cheeks.
Mrs. Spratt-Williams closed the parlor doors behind them and turned to face Sarah. “I told Vivian that it’s just a coincidence, that she couldn’t possibly have known.”
“Known what?”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams pressed her lips together and took a step back. She didn’t want to say. Sarah turned to Miss Yingling for an explanation, but she simply stared back, looking miserable. Finally, Mrs. Van Orner said, “My husband’s name is Gregory.”
Oh! Of course! Sarah remembered now. No wonder they’d gasped and looked so horrified.
“I know it’s just a coincidence,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams repeated. “Please, Mrs. Brandt, tell her.”
Sarah wasn’t sure what she was supposed to tell her. She looked at Mrs. Van Orner helplessly. Mrs. Van Orner managed to smile. “I was shocked, of course, to hear his name, but I don’t believe it’s a coincidence.”
Sarah managed not to gasp again. “Mrs. Van Orner, you can’t possibly think . . .”
“That my husband fathered that child?” Mrs. Van Orner asked archly. “Of course not. I am, however, concerned that the girl will make the claim in order to . . .” She waved her hand vaguely.
“To get money from you,” Miss Yingling said baldly.
Mrs. Van Orner did not acknowledge the accusation. “Mrs. Brandt, would you be so kind as to sit down here and tell me everything you know about this girl?”
“Of course!” Sarah took a seat on the sofa beside her and proceeded to recount every conversation she’d ever had with Amy, including the last one. Not surprisingly, she knew very little about the girl’s background, and what few facts she’d been told seemed to contradict each other.
“So she told you how much she hated the things she had to do with the customers, and just now she claimed she’d never actually been a prostitute,” Mrs. Van Orner mused.
“That’s easy enough to explain,” Miss Yingling said.
“Now that she’s out of the brothel, she doesn’t want people to think she was a whore.”
“Tamar’s right,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams said. “Men don’t put women in brothels for safekeeping, and madams don’t rent rooms to young women who are waiting to deliver a baby.”
“That’s true,” Mrs. Van Orner said, “but madams don’t allow their girls to carry babies either.”
“I remember Mrs. Walker made a remark about how Amy had lied to her,” Sarah said. “She could have concealed her pregnancy until it was too late to do anything about it.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” Mrs. Van Orner said. “You would know better than I. I’m afraid I have little experience with such things.”
Sarah saw the sadness in her eyes, the disappointment of a woman whose purpose in life had not been fulfilled. Sarah recognized it because she bore that same disappointment. “I’ve known women who were able to conceal their condition for many months, especially with a first baby.”
“But why would she do that? Why would she want to keep the child?” Miss Yingling asked.
The other three women just gaped at her. Finally, Mrs. Spratt-Williams said, “Perhaps she wanted it, my dear.”
“And that would also explain her desperation to escape that awful place,” Mrs. Van Orner added. “She must have known they’d take her child from her.”
“Could Amy have known Gregory is Mr. Van Orner’s name?” Miss Yingling asked in a naked effort to turn the subject back to their original concern.
“I suppose we could ask her,” Mrs. Van Orner said with a sigh.
“She’d lie about that just like she lies about everything else,” Miss Yingling said, reminding Sarah of what Frank Malloy had told her about prostitutes. Plainly, Amy had lied about many things. The problem was figuring out which ones.
“Mrs. Brandt,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams said. “When Amy asked you to help her, did she know Mrs. Van Orner’s name or did she just ask you to find someone who does this sort of work?”
“She knew Mrs. Van Orner’s name,” Sarah said. “In fact . . .” She closed her eyes, replaying that desperate conversation in her mind. What had Amy said exactly? “She told me to contact Mrs.
Mrs. Van Orner made a tiny sound, as if she’d felt a sudden, sharp pain, but Mrs. Spratt-Williams said, “There you are, she knew Gregory’s name. She was trying to shock you and frighten you. She wants money, that’s all.”
“Or maybe . . .” Miss Yingling said, drawing everyone’s attention. When they were all looking at her, she said, “Or maybe the baby’s father really is named Gregory.”
ALL THE WAY HOME, SARAH KEPT TRYING TO MAKE SENSE of it all. Miss Yingling had quickly explained that she meant the baby’s father could be some other man named Gregory, not Mr. Van Orner at all. What an innocent explanation that would be.
Why had they only pretended to believe it?
Oh, they had all insisted that they did, but Sarah could see that they didn’t. They all thought Amy had some sinister reason for choosing Mr. Van Orner’s name for her child, even if none of them had said so aloud. Sarah was already beginning to regret helping the girl, although how she could have refused, she didn’t know.
Sarah felt unutterably weary when she finally arrived at her house. She let herself in the front door and called
