Blackstone nodded. ‘When they reached a certain age, he no longer wanted them.’
‘And that’s just what would have happened to Jenny, too. I told her it was going to happen — but she didn’t believe me. But it did happen, didn’t it? Just like I knew it would. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when you told me that she’d killed herself.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’ Blackstone asked softly.
‘It was about a month ago, just before I ran away with that bastard Eddie Toscanini.’
‘Why didn’t you contact her after that?’
A single tear ran down Nancy’s cheek and spattered on the table cloth. ‘Eddie wouldn’t let me,’ she said.
‘I see.’
Nancy shook her head, violently. ‘I’m lying to you,’ she said. ‘And I’m lying to myself as well. If I’d really wanted to get in touch with her, I’d have found a way, whatever Eddie said.’
‘But you didn’t want to?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Eddie had promised me a grand life if I’d run away with him, but it didn’t take me long to realize I’d made a big mistake.’
‘No,’ Blackstone agreed. ‘I imagine it didn’t.’
‘And that’s why I couldn’t face Jenny, you see. I’d been a big sister to her. I’d tried to guide her. And then I’d gone and done something stupid like that myself. I was just so ashamed.’
She was a good kid, Blackstone thought tenderly. Better than that — she was a lovely kid.
‘I’ll be going back home to England soon,’ he said. ‘But I want you to write to me. You can write, can’t you?
‘Yes. They taught us to in the orphanage.’
‘And when you write to me, I want you to tell me all about how you’re getting on.’
‘I’d like to do that,’ Nancy said.
‘And if you ever need anything, you’ve only got to tell me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.’
‘You’d. . you’d do that for me?’
‘Yes, I would,’ Blackstone said.
And also for Jenny, who would have wanted to see you happy after she’d gone, he thought.
There was one more thing he needed to say, and though he dreaded saying it, he knew there was no choice, because Nancy had the right to know.
‘I’m going to tell you something that will shock you,’ he said to the girl. ‘Are you ready for it?’
Nancy swallowed, and then nodded her head. ‘I’m ready.’
‘When Jenny died, she was three months pregnant.’
‘Oh God,’ Nancy moaned. ‘Is that why she killed herself?’
‘No, that wasn’t the reason at all,’ Blackstone told her. ‘She killed herself because she believed she’d betrayed her master.’
TWENTY-SIX
It was a late New York City afternoon, and the sun was beaming benevolently into the reception room of the O’Briens’ modest apartment, where three people — Meade, Blackstone and Mary O’Brien herself — were taking afternoon tea.
It was a thoroughly pleasant — thoroughly civilized — event, and Mary insisted that Blackstone try one of the buttered scones that she had baked especially in his honour.
‘I know how you English people like them,’ Mary said.
‘We do like them,’ Blackstone agreed. ‘We do more than that. We crave them.’
‘And you simply can’t buy them in any shop in New York. I know — because I’ve tried to.’
Blackstone tasted the scone, conscious of the other two watching him, waiting for his reaction.
‘It’s delicious,’ he pronounced.
And so it was.
There was other confectionery on offer, too: dainty cakes and chocolate eclairs stuffed with cream.
‘They’re lethal for anyone who’s watching their weight, but I just can’t resist them,’ Mary said. She sighed wistfully. ‘But I suppose I shall have to learn to resist them in the future, because they’ll be well beyond my budget.’ A smile drove the wistful expression from her face. ‘But I don’t have any right to complain,’ she continued. ‘I have my children and I have my memories, and that’s more than many women can say.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Blackstone agreed. ‘Just think of poor Jenny, for example.’
Mary gave him a slightly odd expression — one which suggested that she considered the remark to be highly inappropriate, but was too much of a lady to actually say so.
‘I know this is a painful subject for you,’ said Meade, showing more sensitivity than his English colleague had done, ‘but I’ve been informed that Jenny’s body is now ready to be released for burial.’
‘Thank you, Alex,’ Mary said gratefully. ‘I’ve spoken to her pastor, and most of the arrangements have already been made.’
‘But I’m afraid I also have an apology to make,’ Meade continued, sounding slightly uncomfortable.
‘An apology?’ Mary repeated.
‘Yes. You said that the thought of Jenny being cut up — after all she’d been through — was painful to you. And you asked me — through Sam — to try and prevent the morgue from conducting a post-mortem.’
‘Yes?’
‘And I’m sorry, but by the time Sam told me of your wishes, it was already too late.’
‘So there was a post-mortem?’
‘Yes.’
Blackstone began to count silently to himself. One. . two. . three. . four. . five. .
He had reached twenty when Mary O’Brien finally said, ‘Have you read the post-mortem report yourself, Alex?’
‘Yes,’ Meade told her. ‘And so has Sam.’
Blackstone started to count again, but this time he had only reached four when Mary said, ‘So you both know that she was pregnant?’
‘We’re assuming that your husband was the father of the child,’ Meade said. ‘Is that right?’
Mary sighed again. ‘My husband was a great man,’ she said, ‘and like so many great men, he had his tragic flaw. With Shakespeare’s Othello it was jealousy, with Macbeth it was ambition-’
‘And with your husband it was a fondness for little girls,’ Blackstone interrupted.
Mary O’Brien shot him a look of sudden loathing.
‘Not girls,’ she said. ‘Just one girl — and a girl who was young rather than little. In many ways, Jenny was old beyond her years, so much so that I believe it was she who initiated the relationship, and not Patrick.’
Blackstone felt an anger rising in the pit of his stomach. ‘So you’re blaming the child, rather than the man, are you?’
‘And once he realized what a terrible mistake he’d made, Patrick did his best to put the situation right,’ Mary continued, ignoring the comment. ‘He could have kicked her out on the street, claiming someone else had gotten her pregnant, which is what men who’ve found themselves in his position have done from time immemorial. He could have taken her to an old crone with a knitting needle, who would probably have killed her. But he didn’t do either of those things. Instead, he sought out the best medical care that was available in New York City.’
‘You make him sound like a hero,’ Blackstone said.
‘He was a hero,’ Mary responded sharply.
‘So you knew, all along, that Patrick was looking for an abortionist?’ Meade asked.
‘I knew that he was looking for the most qualified person to carry out the medical procedure, yes,’ Mary said, with a slight edge of disappointment in her voice at Meade’s new-found crassness. ‘When Patrick realized that Jenny was pregnant, he told me immediately. He confessed to me!’
‘What a handy thing confession really is for you Catholics,’ Blackstone said. ‘Do something wrong, confess and say you’re sorry, and it’s all over. Of course, Jenny didn’t go to confession, and neither did any of the girls who preceded her, because you got them from a Protestant orphanage.’ He paused, as if he had just received a revelation. ‘Do you think that’s why your husband chose a Protestant orphanage over a Catholic one, Mrs O’Brien? Because there was no confession?’