wouldn’t have been surprised by that, much less upset by it.”
“What about her conversation with Mrs. Spratt-Williams?”
Quimby made a little grunting sound of disgust. “They were always squabbling about something, the way women do.”
This piqued Frank’s interest. “Anything in particular?”
“Oh, Antonia—that’s Mrs. Spratt-Williams—she was always trying to ignore the rules.”
“What rules?”
“The rules we abide by as tenants in the United Charities Building.”
“What rules did she ignore?”
“She didn’t like reporting the women we helped. They keep track, you know. All the charities keep a list of the people they help so nobody can get help from more than one charity. Antonia didn’t think that was right, but she could never convince Vivian. We had to abide by the rules whether we liked them or not.”
So, nothing to inspire a murder there. Frank moved on. “Did you know this girl Amy claimed that a man named Gregory had fathered her baby?”
From the look on his face, he hadn’t. “Good God! Did Vivian know that?”
“I believe this Amy made a point of telling her. She named the baby after him.”
Quimby sucked in his breath with a hiss.
“Do you think it’s possible Mr. Van Orner really was the baby’s father?” Frank asked.
The color rose in Quimby’s plain face. “Why would you ask that?”
“Because rumor has it that Mrs. Van Orner started her rescue house because her husband liked to visit prostitutes.”
“I don’t know anything about that. Vivian knew my interests lay in helping the less fortunate citizens of our fair city, and she asked me to help her. She said God had laid it on her heart to help these fallen sisters, and I didn’t question her further about her motivation.”
“But you knew about Mr. Van Orner.”
He pressed his lips together until they were white. “I have heard rumors,” he finally admitted.
“So you think it’s possible Van Orner fathered Amy’s baby?”
“The girl worked in a brothel. How could she possibly know?”
“I have no idea, but she might’ve made that claim to Mrs. Van Orner. Do you think that would have upset her enough to make her leave without Miss Yingling?”
“I’m sure it could have, although as I said, it’s difficult for me to imagine Vivian getting upset over anything.”
“What about something Mrs. Spratt-Williams might’ve said?”
“Good heavens, no. They were the closest of friends.”
“You just said they argued all the time.”
“I believe I said they squabbled. They weren’t fishwives. They didn’t argue. They simply disagreed on that one issue. I hardly see what any of this has to do with Vivian’s death. You haven’t even said what kind of foul play was involved.”
“We think she was poisoned.”
“Poisoned! Are you insane? Who would have poisoned her?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
He considered this for a moment. “Well, I can assure you it wasn’t Mrs. Spratt-Williams.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because ladies might disagree, but they never argue and they never, ever poison each other.”
SARAH LOOKED AT MRS. SPRATT-WILLIAMS. “ARE YOU sure no one knew about Mrs. Van Orner’s flask except Miss Yingling, her husband, and you?”
Suddenly, she wasn’t sure at all. “Of course, I can’t speak for her servants. Servants know so much more than we ever tell them, don’t they? I suppose they can’t help overhearing and seeing things, no matter how careful we try to be.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Sarah said, hoping to encourage her. “Some of her servants may have known.”
“Her maid would have, I’m sure. We can’t hide anything from our maids.”
“No, we can’t,” Sarah agreed, remembering the days so long ago when she’d had a maid.
“Servants can take offense, too,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams confided. “I’ve seen it happen. They can be spiteful and vengeful over the slightest little things.”
“Was Mrs. Van Orner harsh with her servants?”
“Oh, no, not at all. But if one of them took a notion . . . Well, I’m sure she never did anything intentionally, but you know how they are.”
Sarah tried to imagine a maid, having been chastened for not dusting thoroughly enough, pouring a bottle of laudanum into her mistress’s liquor bottle. She decided not to tell Mrs. Sprat-Williams how ridiculous that would be. “Could anyone else at the rescue house have known about Mrs. Van Orner’s little vice?”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams thought this over carefully. Sarah tried to figure out why she needed to do this. Was she trying to fairly judge who might have discovered Mrs. Van Orner’s secret? Did she know someone had and was she trying to decide whether to betray that person? Or was she thinking about something else entirely? “As I said, Vivian never let anyone see her drinking from her flask, but she was always leaving her purse lying about. Someone might have opened it, looking for money or what have you, and found the flask. Even a simpleton could figure out what it was for.”
“Did she leave her purse lying about yesterday?”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams opened her mouth to reply and caught herself. “I was going to say yes, because that’s what she usually did, but I didn’t really notice,” she said after a moment. “I’m sure Miss Biafore would know.”
“Do you know where she usually left her purse?”
“In the hall, on the table. Anyone could have found it there.”
She was right, of course. “Do you remember seeing her purse when you met with Mrs. Van Orner in her office?”
“No, I don’t. It must have been out in the hall, as usual.”
“So you asked her not to turn Amy out of the house and then you left? Is that correct?”
“Yes, it is. I had an engagement that evening, and I needed to get home.”
“Do you think your suggestion made Mrs. Van Orner angry?”
She had to think this over, too. “I wouldn’t say angry. Vivian was impatient with me. Yes, that’s it. She didn’t want to discuss Amy. I can’t say I blame her, but really, I was only trying to help.”
“Did Mrs. Van Orner speak with anyone else after you left her?”
“I have no idea. I already told you, I went home. This is all so distressing. Poor Vivian. I don’t know what we’ll do without her.”
“I hope you’ll decide soon. The women living at the rescue house are very worried.”
“I’m sure they are, especially poor Amy. Of course she may not be as concerned now that Vivian is dead.”
“She isn’t concerned at all. She packed up this morning and left.”
MR. QUIMBY HADN’T BEEN MUCH HELP, SO FRANK wasn’t expecting Mr. Porter to be either. He was surprised to find him living in a ramshackle house south of Washington Square, in a once fashionable neighborhood that was slowly changing over into rooming houses. A harried maid answered the door, and she didn’t seem at all disturbed to find a police detective asking for her master.
As he waited in the front hall for the girl to announce him, he could hear childish screams and lots of thumping coming from upstairs. After a few moments, a man with thinning hair and a thickening waist came hurrying down the hall from a rear parlor, pulling his suit coat over an unbuttoned vest.
“Mary said you’re with the police,” he said in alarm when he reached Frank. “Has something happened?”
“I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs. Vivan Van Orner died under suspicious circumstances yesterday,” Frank
