Murder on Fifth Avenue

“You can go in the parlor,” Lizzie said when Miss English glanced around uncertainly.

“It’s cold in there,” Miss English said.

“He won’t be long,” Lizzie said, giving Frank a meaningful glance that he ignored.

He followed Miss English into the parlor and found the room was indeed cold. “Maybe you should get Miss English a shawl,” he said to the maid.

Lizzie stationed herself in the open doorway and crossed her arms. “She’ll be fine.”

Frank sighed. “Has anybody been to see you, Miss English?”

“You said Mr. Devries is dead,” she said.

“He means anybody else,” Lizzie said.

“But he’s the only one who ever came. He never let me see anybody else except Lizzie.”

“Maybe we could sit down,” Frank said, glancing at Lizzie in case she wanted to protest, but she nodded.

Miss English sat down on the threadbare sofa, and Frank took the nearest chair.

“I want to ask you about the morning that Mr. Devries died. The last time you saw him.”

She waited, still staring at him with her innocent brown eyes.

“Did he sleep with you that night?” Lizzie made an outraged noise, so he quickly added, “I mean, did he sleep in the same bed?”

“Yes. We only have the one bed. Well, and Lizzie’s bed, of course.”

“What did Mr. Devries wear to bed?”

“What in God’s name does that matter?” Lizzie asked.

Frank sighed again. “It matters. Now if you’d rather I took Miss English down to Police Headquarters to answer these questions, I’d be happy to do that.”

“I don’t want to go to Police Headquarters,” Miss English said.

Lizzie frowned ferociously, but she said, “He ain’t taking you anywhere. Just tell him what he wants to know.”

Miss English looked back at Frank. “What did you ask me?”

“What did Mr. Devries wear to bed?”

“A nightshirt.”

“I’ll need to see it. In fact, I’ll need for you to pack up all of his clothes. I’ll take them back to his house.”

“How do I know you won’t just keep them for yourself?” Lizzie asked.

“You don’t, but I need to look at his clothes, and if you won’t pack them up for me, I’ll ask somebody from Mr. Devries office to come here and do it, and when they realize you’re living here for free, they’ll probably throw you both out into the street.”

“I knew that’s what would happen,” Miss English said. “I told you, Lizzie.”

“I’ll give him the clothes. Nobody’s going to throw us out, not yet anyways.”

Frank didn’t acknowledge her surrender. He kept his gaze on Miss English. “Did you get up at the same time as Mr. Devries that last morning he was here?”

“No, not that morning. I usually do because he always wants to—” Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d almost confessed. Her smooth, round cheeks flushed becomingly, and she glanced at Lizzie in dismay.

“But he didn’t want you that morning?” Frank asked.

“Don’t you have no manners at all?” Lizzie asked.

“Not when I’m investigating a murder. So he usually wanted you in the mornings, but not that day. Is that why you argued?”

“Why would they argue about that?” Lizzie asked.

“I’m asking her.”

Miss English blinked her big, brown eyes. “I didn’t argue with him, not ever.”

“How could she?” Lizzie said. “If he got mad at her, he could put her out.”

“But you did complain about not being able to go out, didn’t you?”

“I asked him if I could go to a play or something, and he got mad. He said I shouldn’t cause him any bother. He said …” Her voice broke and she looked down to where her hands were twisting in her lap.

“What did he say?” Frank asked as gently as he could.

She drew an uneven breath. “He said there were lots of girls who would take my place in a minute.”

“Did that make you angry?”

She looked up in surprise. “Oh, no, not angry. It just made me scared. He’s right, you know. There are lots of girls who would take my place.”

“But that was a mean thing to say. Didn’t it make you mad, too?”

“It made me mad, I can tell you,” Lizzie said. “Old goat.”

“Did you have an argument with Devries?” he asked her.

“Me? I’m not likely to argue with the likes of him, am I? If there’s lots of girls to take her place, there’s thousands to take mine.”

Frank turned back to Miss English. “You said he didn’t want you that morning. Was that something new?”

Lizzie muttered her disapproval, and Miss English turned red again. “I…Not…Sometimes …”

“Did he seem to be losing interest in you?” he tried somewhat desperately.

“Yes.” She sighed, relieved he had finally asked a question she could decently answer.

“How long since you first noticed he wasn’t as…attentive?”

“A few months, I think.”

“He still came here regular,” Lizzie said. “I think he just liked being away from his wife, if you want the truth.”

“But he wasn’t as interested in Miss English as before.”

“He said I was boring.”

“Boring,” Lizzie sniffed. “Can you imagine?”

Actually, he could. “Do you think he had another mistress?”

The women exchanged a puzzled glance. Lizzie said, “Why would he keep two women? If he was tired of Miss English, why not just put her out and put the one he liked better in here?”

A good question, Frank thought. Devries wasn’t known for his kindness, so that couldn’t be the reason. Maybe he just hadn’t gotten the new woman to agree yet, if there even was a new woman. And if there was, how would he find out? At least Devries hadn’t had time to visit her the day he died. Or had he?

Frank felt a headache coming on. He stood. “Thank you for answering my questions, Miss English.”

“What’s going to happen to us now?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going to tell them about us?” Lizzie asked. “The people at Devries’s office, I mean?”

“No, that’s none of my business. You can stay here forever as far as I’m concerned.”

“But we don’t have any money,” Miss English protested.

Frank couldn’t help her there. “Can you pack up Mr. Devries’s clothes for me?” he asked Lizzie.

She grumbled a bit, but she stomped off.

Frank realized this was his chance to question Miss English alone, but he couldn’t think of anything of importance that he hadn’t already asked her about. “How did you meet Mr. Devries?”

“My uncle.”

“Your uncle introduced you?”

She shrugged. “He was my guardian after my father died. He had to support us, and he didn’t like it. He said we cost too much money. One day he told me he’d found somebody who would take me off his hands. I thought I was going to get married.” She gave him a sad little smile.

“Who is us?”

“Me and Lizzie.”

“Has she always worked for you?”

“Oh, no, she’s …” She quickly covered her mouth.

“She’s what? Not your maid, I guess. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.”