“I don’t blame you. But sooner or later he’ll meet a nice girl and fall in love. Don’t give up hope.”
“And where have you been this lovely day? Delivering someone else’s grandchild?”
“No, I was just visiting one of my patients who…” Suddenly Sarah realized Mrs. Ellsworth might know the deceased. She was always following the latest in medical cures. “Have you ever heard of Dr. Edmund Blackwell?”
“Blackwell? Yes, indeed. He’s getting quite famous. I went to one of his lectures. Nelson always tells me I’m a fool for believing these charlatans, but how do you know that one of them might not have really discovered something that will help cure people?”
Sarah wasn’t about to agree with something so outrageous. “What did you think of him?” she asked instead.
“A lovely man,” she said, really meaning it. “Quite handsome and tall, and his voice was like velvet. Just looking at him made me feel better,” she added with a sly grin, “so I imagine his treatments are quite effective.”
Sarah couldn’t help smiling back. “I had no idea he was so attractive,” she said. This probably explained why Letitia had married him, in spite of the difference in their backgrounds and their ages.
“And I’m not the only one who noticed, either, as you can imagine. Ladies tend to get sick more frequently if their doctor is handsome and charming, so Dr. Blackwell was in great demand. I even heard… Well, that’s of no matter.”
Sarah glanced around to see if anyone else was in earshot and stepped closer to Mrs. Ellsworth’s porch. “I guess you haven’t heard about it yet, but Dr. Blackwell was murdered two days ago.”
“Good heavens, no! I can hardly believe it!” She leaned her broom up against the house and came halfway down the steps so they could speak more quietly. “Did you say he was murdered? How on earth did it happen?”
“Someone went into his house and shot him. I understand the killer tried to make it look like suicide but-”
“But that nice Mr. Malloy wasn’t fooled,” she guessed. Mrs. Ellsworth thought very highly of Frank Malloy. “Does he know who did it?”
“Not yet. It seems Dr. Blackwell had a mysterious past that might have given someone a reason to kill him.”
Mrs. Ellsworth snorted derisively. “I don’t know what kind of a past he had, but I can assure you, if what I’ve heard about him is true, he has a present that might have given someone a reason to kill him, too.”
“What do you mean?” Sarah asked eagerly.
“What I mean is that rumor has it Dr. Blackwell’s treatments sometimes involved intimacies that other doctors would have considered… uh… unprofessional.”
“Intimacies?” Sarah echoed.
Mrs. Ellsworth glanced around this time, making sure she would not be overheard. “It’s said he sometimes seduces his patients, Mrs. Brandt. Not that the patients were unwilling. I’m sure they were actually quite eager. But some of them, I’ve heard, have jealous husbands who resented their wives’ devotion to the good doctor, even if they didn’t know how deep that devotion went. Perhaps one of them found out about his wife’s involvement and decided to rid the world of his rival.”
5
FOR THE FUNERAL THE NEXT MORNING, SARAH dressed in her best black serge and chose a hat that still looked moderately stylish. In the normal course of her life, she hardly ever needed to look stylish, but she’d been to far too many funerals since meeting Frank Malloy. She’d be forced to get a new hat if this kept up.
Although she was carrying her medical bag when Granger opened the front door to the Blackwell home, he could not miss the fact that she was here for the funeral, although she was a bit early. Her hat probably gave her away.
“I’m sure Mrs. Blackwell will be glad to see you, Mrs. Brandt,” he said, although his tone belied the words.
Sarah, of course, didn’t particularly care if Mrs. Blackwell wanted to see her or not. She was here, and they wouldn’t dare cause a scene by trying to throw her out. She was, after all, Mrs. Blackwell’s nurse, and who could fault her for paying her respects to the husband of her patient?
When she stepped into the foyer, she heard Amos Potter’s voice coming from the parlor. He was instructing someone impatiently. Sarah peeked in and saw that Dr. Blackwell’s large, ornate casket had been brought in during her absence. It was closed, probably because after having his brains blown out, he wasn’t in any condition for viewing. Several large flower arrangements stood around, their scent rather cloying in the confines of the room, and the furniture had been moved back to make space for half a dozen rows of chairs.
Potter was telling one of the maids to move the flowers closer to the casket when Sarah called, “Good morning, Mr. Potter. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Potter looked up in surprise, and for an instant couldn’t seem to place her. “Oh, good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” he said after a moment. “No, I’m sure we have everything taken care of. Is Mrs. Blackwell ill?” he added with some concern.
“Not that I am aware. I did think she might need some support today, however. This must be a terrible strain for her.”
“Oh, not at all. I told her she didn’t have to worry about anything. I’ve taken care of all the arrangements. And under the circumstances, no one expects her to attend the service, of course.”
“Sometimes that’s worse, knowing you can’t do anything or take part in something of such importance,” Sarah said. “And don’t underestimate the importance of a funeral. One must be allowed to mourn a loss such as this, and being unable to attend her husband’s funeral will make it difficult for her to come to terms with his death.”
Potter didn’t appreciate being instructed in such things. “I’m sure I will be able to give Mrs. Blackwell all the support she will need in the coming months, Mrs. Brandt. You need not concern yourself about her welfare.”
Sarah simply smiled. She’d expected as much from Potter. He was certainly eager to offer every assistance to the lovely young widow. Maybe she hadn’t been so far wrong in imagining Potter could have killed Blackwell because he wanted Mrs. Blackwell for himself. She was going to have to discard the theory that Potter had seduced Letitia, however. One preposterous solution to this case was quite enough. Malloy was going to tease her mercilessly if she couldn’t come up with a more menacing suspect than Amos Potter.
“I’ll leave you to your duties,” Sarah said, and continued on her way upstairs, ignoring Granger’s disapproving glare.
Sarah checked on the baby first. The boy appeared to be fine.
“I give him the drops, just like you told me,” the nurse reported. “No more, no less. Then he’s like an angel. Eats and sleeps just like he should.”
Sarah listened to his heart and his lungs and thumped his tummy. His color was good and his eyes were clear. He turned his head toward the nurse when she spoke, and he followed Sarah’s finger with his eyes. He wasn’t deaf or blind, and he seemed sound of body. They wouldn’t know about his mind for a while yet, but Sarah could hope he would be none the worse for the morphine his mother had taken.
“He seems perfectly healthy,” Sarah judged with more than a little relief when she’d finished her examination.
“Except for that hair. Did the morphine turn it that color, do you think?” the nurse asked with obvious disapproval.
“Certainly not,” Sarah assured her. “He simply has red hair.”
“Never saw hair like that on a baby,” the nurse insisted. “It ain’t natural.”
“Many people have red hair, and it’s perfectly natural,” Sarah assured her as patiently as she could. People had the oddest prejudices.
The nurse hmmphed her skepticism. “How long do you think we’ll have to give him that horrible stuff?”
“A few months,” Sarah said. “We’ll wait until he’s gained some weight, and we’re certain he’s healthy. Then we’ll gradually decrease his dosage. Have you heard how Mrs. Blackwell is doing?”