“I saw her right after luncheon. She’d sent word she wanted me to take her out. I took the carriage to the front door and she got in just like she always does.”
“Was she alone?”
“No, Miss Yingling was with her.”
Something about the way he said Miss Yingling’s name told Frank he didn’t like her much, but he let it pass for now. “Where did you take them?”
“To Mrs. Van Orner’s office at the United Charities Building first. She told me to wait because they’d need me later. They stayed there an hour or so, then they come down, and I took them to that house where they keep the whores. That’s what Mrs. Van Orner does, you know. She rescues whores.”
Frank nodded, sharing the boy’s wonder at such a calling. “Where is this house?”
“Over on . . . I’m not supposed to say,” he remembered.
“I’m going to need to go there to question the women who live there.”
Herman smiled slightly. “Won’t do you no good. They won’t let you in. They won’t let any men inside. They don’t want the neighbors getting the idea it’s a whorehouse, don’t you know.” Plainly, he thought this ridiculous.
“Let me worry about that. Where’s the house?”
Herman gave him the address of a neighborhood on the Lower East Side of the city.
“Miss Yingling said Mrs. Van Orner came home without her.”
“Yeah, that was funny. They’s always together, like two peas in a pod. Miss Yingling, she’s always got her nose . . . Well, you know.”
Frank did know. “Did Mrs. Van Orner say why she was leaving Miss Yingling behind?”
“No, and I didn’t ask. Wasn’t my place to look out for Miss Yingling. For all I know, she had some reason to stay behind at the house.”
“Did Mrs. Van Orner seem upset when she came out of the house?”
“What do you mean, upset?”
“I mean was she angry or unhappy or—”
“Mrs. Van Orner was a lady,” Herman said wisely. “Ladies don’t show what they really feel.”
“But you’ve worked for her for a long time, haven’t you?”
“Three years now. I drive her someplace almost every day.”
“Then you know what she’s usually like. Did she seem different?”
Herman considered the question. “I . . . She seemed like she was thinking about something.”
“Like she had something on her mind?” Frank suggested.
“Yeah, that’s it. Something on her mind.”
“Did she seem happy or sad or—”
“I told you, she didn’t show how she was feeling, but she wasn’t smiling when she told me to take her home. I remember that now. She’s always pleasant to the help, real polite and never mean like some I could name. But she didn’t smile that time. She just said, ‘Take me home, Herman,’ real quiet like.”
“So you took her home. How long did it take?”
“I don’t know. It takes as long as it takes. Some days longer and some shorter. Depends on how crowded the streets are.”
“Today, did it take longer or shorter?”
“Maybe a little longer than usual.”
“Did you have any idea something was wrong?”
Frank watched the color drain from Herman’s young face. “No. She . . . she didn’t need to tell me anything because I was just taking her home. I didn’t hear nothing from her, but I don’t usually.”
“What happened when you got home?”
“I stopped the carriage at the front door, just like always. I got down and opened the door and . . .” He stopped. The tears Miss Yingling hadn’t shed welled up in Herman’s eyes and he struggled to keep his composure.
Frank reached over and snagged the glass of whiskey and put it into the boy’s hands. He took a gulp. “Take your time. Tell me what you saw.”
He coughed a little after the whiskey and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand again. Then he swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “She was laying on the floor in the carriage. I couldn’t see her face at first. I thought maybe she’d fallen and hurt herself. I reached in to help her, but she didn’t move when I called her name. I tried to lift her up and . . .” He had to take another sip of the whiskey. “I kind of turned her over and that’s when I saw her face. She was white as a ghost and her eyes was open, just staring. She looked kind of surprised, I guess.”
“You knew she was dead?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Not at first, I guess. I started yelling for help. I wanted somebody from the house, but that copper come running and got there first. He’s always sticking his nose in where it don’t belong.”
Frank let that pass. “The cop said Mrs. Van Orner had drunk something from a flask in her purse.”
Herman stiffened in silent resistance. He wasn’t going to reveal any family secrets. “I don’t know nothing about Mrs. Van Orner or her purse. All I know is I found her dead. Me and some of the other servants carried her inside and took her to her room, but she was dead all right. Never blinked, not once, and she wasn’t breathing. One of the maids started screaming and somebody slapped her.”
“Was Mr. Van Orner at home?”
“No, they sent for him.”
“What about Miss Yingling?”
“No, she come later.”
“What happened to Mrs. Van Orner’s purse?”
“I don’t know. Somebody picked it up, I guess. I never saw it. It wasn’t in the carriage when I put it up. I always check to make sure Mrs. Van Orner didn’t leave nothing behind. She appreciates that . . .” His voice died as he realized she couldn’t appreciate anything anymore. He took another slug of whiskey, draining the glass.
“Do you like working for the Van Orners?”
Apparently, Herman had never given much thought to such a thing. “I guess so. They treat us fair. Mrs. Van Orner was always polite. I told you that already.”
“What about Mr. Van Orner?”
“He’s like most rich men. If you do your job and keep your mouth shut, he don’t bother you.”
“I’d like to see the carriage.”
Herman couldn’t understand why, but he took Frank down and let him look. Frank saw at once that Herman took even better care of the carriage than he did of his rooms. It gleamed. All the tack was in excellent repair. The animals were well tended. He saw nothing inside the carriage at all that didn’t belong there.
Frank thanked the boy and made his way back to the house, rapping on the kitchen door before entering, not waiting for someone to answer it. A stocky woman in a stained apron was busy preparing a meal. She looked up from her work to glare at Frank in disapproval. Her eyes were red from recent weeping. She was sorry to see her mistress dead.
Frank introduced himself. “I’m waiting for Miss Yingling.”
“Seems like somebody’s always waiting for Miss Yingling,” she sniffed.
Another person who didn’t like the secretary. They probably resented her superior status in the household when she was really no more than a servant like them. And maybe she lorded it over them, too. That would be natural.
“Miss Yingling was going to ask Mr. Van Orner if he would see me,” Frank offered, wanting to see her reaction.
The woman paused in her work and studied Frank a moment, judging his sincerity. “She’d be the one to ask, I reckon,” she said carefully.
Now what did that mean? “Miss Yingling seems very efficient.”
The cook smiled slyly. “Is that what they call it now?”
Intrigued, Frank opened his mouth to ask another question, but a maid came rushing into the room. “Miss Yingling said I was to take you back to the receiving room to wait.” She looked a little desperate. Maybe Miss
