“I don’t suppose she’ll marry him now that he’s dead, of course,” Frank agreed mildly, “but she certainly intended to before. She’d even informed her father of her plans.”
“Mr. Symington never would have allowed it,” Potter insisted.
“I’m not sure he could have prevented it,” Frank said. “Mrs. Blackwell is of age and no longer dependent on him.”
“But… but…” Potter stammered. “I know he… He simply would have stopped it. Made her see reason or… or whatever it took.”
“Such as killing Dudley?” Frank suggested.
Potter’s small eyes grew as wide as they possibly could. Was it possible he hadn’t considered this possibility? He sat down abruptly. “I… I can’t believe… But surely, no one would blame him if he did,” he added quickly, warming to the thought. “I mean, to protect his daughter from this man who had tried to ruin her life and almost gotten her killed before.”
“Do you think I should accuse Mr. Symington of killing Dudley?” Frank asked curiously.
Potter gaped at him. “Certainly not! A man in Mr. Symington’s position would never stoop to such a thing! I was merely remarking that no one could blame him for wishing such a blackguard as Dudley out of his daughter’s life for good and all.”
“Death is pretty permanent,” Frank agreed.
Potter was growing impatient with this conversation. “Is there some reason you came here tonight besides to inform me this Dudley person has been murdered?”
“You mean have I found out who killed Dr. Blackwell yet?” Frank asked.
“I already know who killed Edmund,” Potter insisted. “For the love of God, when will you stop torturing poor Letitia and allow her to grieve in peace?”
Frank rose wearily to his feet to take his leave. “Very soon, I hope,” he said. “Although now we won’t be sure for whom she’s actually grieving, will we?” he added meanly.
Potter frowned, but he had nothing more to say and made no move to detain him.
As Frank descended the stairs and emerged from the building into the darkened city, he tried to make sense of all his impressions. Amos Potter acted like a man guilty of something. Maybe it was just lusting after his neighbor’s wife, but Frank’s instincts said it was more than that. If only Potter hadn’t offered him a reward for finding Blackwell’s killer. Could he have been so confident of Frank’s incompetence to believe Frank would never trace the crime back to him? Or had he made the offer to ensure that Frank wouldn’t trace the crime back to him? It seemed a risky ploy. Or a masterful one. Frank had not allowed himself to consider Potter as the killer until now. Could he have been fooled so easily? Or was he letting his dislike of the man color his judgment?
What he needed was a square meal and some fresh air to clear his head. Maybe then he’d be able to put all the pieces together and figure out the truth of all of this.
OFFICER MORAN HAD been gone a long time in his quest to find Malloy. Sarah didn’t know how long, because she hadn’t noticed the time when she’d sent him off on his errand, and in the meantime her lapel watch had stopped. She knew from the sounds of the city that the hour was growing late, though. Decent people were asleep, their windows dark. Those on the streets at this hour were assumed to be up to no good. A woman walking out now would automatically be assumed to be a prostitute. A man alone would be fair game for robbery or worse.
Sarah watched from the small window of Dudley’s room. She couldn’t see the street from here. The view was of the back of the opposite buildings and the small patch of ground in between where outhouses squatted and clotheslines stretched, crisscrossing the open space like a massive cat’s cradle. One by one, the lights of the other buildings blinked out, gradually obliterating even the poor view she had. The sounds of the house quieted, too, as the other tenants either went to bed or went out to prowl on this Saturday night.
Too bad she hadn’t thought to bring a book to read, although reading by the light of the single candle in Dudley’s room would have been difficult. About all she could hope was that she would somehow fall asleep sitting up in the straight chair as Dr. Woomer had done earlier.
Just when she was giving serious thought to waking the landlady to ask for bedding to make herself a pallet on the floor, Dudley groaned again. This time Sarah didn’t wait for him to ask for water. She took it to him and helped him drink his fill. His color looked a little better, but he was still dangerously weak.
“Mr. Dudley, can you hear me?” she asked. He was probably ready for some more morphine.
“Where… am I?” he asked, blinking at her as if trying to focus on her face.
“You’re in your rooms in your lodging house. Do you remember what happened?”
“No, I… I’m hurt,” he said in surprise.
“Someone stabbed you while you were asleep.”
“Someone stabbed me?” he asked in disbelief. “Who would want to do that?”
Sarah could think of several people who might want to dispose of him, in addition to the person who actually had tried to, and was surprised Dudley couldn’st, but she said, “Don’t think about it now. Is the pain very bad?”
He winced. “A little,” he admitted.
She fixed him another dose of morphine. Fortunately, he didn’t ask her what it was, so she didn’t have to lie. Considering his experiences with Letitia’s morphine addiction, he might not want to take it if he knew.
“There now, you’ll feel better in a few minutes. Just try to get some rest. Could you eat something?”
“No, I… No.” He closed his eyes, and Sarah thought the drug had started to work and he was asleep, but after a while he said, “Letitia.”
Sarah thought he might be dreaming, but his eyes were open again, and he looked alarmed.
“What about Letitia?” she asked, wondering if he’d realized someone had wanted him dead because of her.
“Does she know? About me, I mean? She’ll be worried.”
Sarah couldn’t help wondering just how worried Letitia would really be, considering Malloy was going to tell her he was dead. “Mr. Malloy went to see her,” Sarah said. “I’m sure he’ll tell her that I’m taking care of you.”
That lie didn’t seem to comfort him. “She’ll be very upset. She isn’t strong, you know,” he confided. “And she’s so afraid.”
“What is she afraid of?” Sarah asked, wondering if she should encourage him to talk. As his nurse, she should let him rest. But if she didn’t let him talk now, he might not get another chance, and the morphine would be taking effect soon.
“She’s afraid of everything,” he said. “And everyone.”
“Her husband?” Sarah asked curiously. “Did he abuse her?”
Dudley shook his head impatiently. “He suspected she was taking morphine again. He wouldn’t permit it.”
“She told me he searched her rooms,” Sarah remembered, “so she couldn’t keep any in the house. That’s why she had to go to the opium den.”
“She was worried about the baby,” he said.
“She had a right to be. Her baby could have died,” Sarah said, feeling the outrage all over again.
“No, not that. Mr. Fong said the baby would be fine. She was afraid… when the baby came…” His voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes again. The morphine had begun its work.
Sarah stood there a moment, watching him to make sure he wouldn’t awaken again while she tried to think of what else Letitia might have been afraid. When the baby came, he’d said. What more could she have feared? Dying in childbirth? It was an understandable fear. Or maybe she was afraid that Blackwell would realize he wasn’t the baby’s father.
Sarah heard footsteps in the hallway. Someone was moving quietly toward Dudley’s room, but no one could move silently in this house because of the squeaky boards in the old flooring. It must be Malloy, at last, and she could show him what she’d found. She’d just set the bottle of morphine on the bureau as the door opened.