Mrs. Spratt-Williams looked oddly wary. “Good news?” “Yes, we’ve found Amy.”
“Amy?”
“Yes, and her baby. They’re both safe and sound.”
“Oh, my, that is good news,” she said, although she didn’t seem as relieved as Sarah had expected. “Where has she gone?”
“I’m afraid this may be a bit shocking to you, but she’s staying at the Van Orner home.”
She did find this shocking. “At Vivian’s house?”
“Yes, she . . . Mr. Van Orner has taken her in.”
The older woman’s expression hardened. “The scoundrel!”
Sarah decided to withhold comment. “I knew you were worried about Amy and the baby, so I wanted you to know they weren’t out on the streets.”
“I almost wish they were. Oh, dear, I suppose this means Amy’s claims were true, that Gregory is the father of the child . . . Or at least that he was involved with her and has reason to believe he could be.”
“I learned long ago not to make assumptions,” Sarah said.
“Vivian knew he had a mistress, but so many men do, you know. They get tired of us when we aren’t young and pretty anymore, and to tell the truth, most women are relieved when their husbands turn their attentions elsewhere, if you know what I mean.”
Sarah knew exactly what she meant. “So she didn’t mind?”
“She never said. Vivian kept the secrets of her heart very closely, but I don’t think she was jealous, not of Gregory, at any rate. She was desperately jealous of the child, though.”
“Amy’s child?”
“Yes, she wasn’t able to have any of her own, you see. She suffered several miscarriages, and then her physician told her she shouldn’t even try anymore. Her life could be in danger if she lost another one.”
“So seeing Amy’s baby and knowing it might be her husband’s child . . .” Sarah gestured vaguely, encouraging her to go on.
“I’m sure that’s why she was so determined to turn the poor girl and her baby out. She never would have been that heartless with anyone else.”
“Do you think Amy was frightened?”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams looked at Sarah in surprise. “Frightened? I’m sure she was, but Amy wasn’t one to simply quake in her boots. She gave as good as she got from Vivian. That’s why Vivian hated her so much.”
“Did Amy hate her, too?”
Sarah waited while her hostess considered the question. “What are you really asking me, Mrs. Brandt?”
“Someone poisoned Mrs. Van Orner. Do you think Amy would do something like that?”
Plainly, Mrs. Spratt-Williams wasn’t used to answering such frank questions. “I can’t say for certain, of course. I didn’t see her do anything, and she hasn’t confessed to me, but as I told you before, Amy has had a difficult life. She came from a respectable family, but her father was involved in some unsuccessful business dealings and lost all their money. He couldn’t stand the disgrace, so he killed himself, leaving Amy and her mother destitute. They struggled for a time, but when Amy started blossoming into a lovely young woman, her mother arranged for her to be taken in by a protector, a man who had been a friend of Amy’s father, I believe.”
“Mr. Van Orner?”
“No, Gregory got her later. Her first protector passed her along to him. I’ve heard that’s fairly common.”
“And when he tired of her, he gave her to Mrs. Walker,” Sarah said, telling the part of the story she knew.
“Such a sad story, but all too common, I’m afraid. We try to help these girls, but by the time they come to us, they’re often so hardened by life that they’ve lost their feminine natures.”
“So you’re saying that Amy might have poisoned Mrs. Van Orner.”
“I have no idea, but I would like to see her for myself. Perhaps we can decide then.”
MRS. SPRATT-WILLIAMS EXPLAINED THAT SHE NO LONGER kept a carriage, so they walked out to Fifth Avenue and found a hansom cab to take them back to the Van Orner house. Sarah would have walked all the way, and they would have gotten there much sooner if they had, given the state of the New York City traffic at midday on a Saturday, but Sarah deferred to her companion. While the weekday traffic was impatient and urgent, the weekend traffic seemed more relaxed and somehow happier, if no less congested as city residents did their shopping and errands in preparation for the Sabbath and another week.
The Van Orners’ maid recognized both of them, but she frowned in confusion when Mrs. Spratt-Williams asked to speak to Miss Cunningham.
“Oh, you mean Amy,” the maid said after a moment. “I don’t know if she’s receiving. We’re in mourning, you see.”
No one could have missed the gigantic black wreath on the front door or the maid’s black armband.
“Just tell her I’d like to see how she is,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams said.
A few minutes later, the maid returned to escort them upstairs to the front parlor, where they found Amy ready to receive them as if she were the lady of the house. Only her gown gave her away. She still wore the shabby castoff she’d received at the rescue house.
“Mrs. Spratt-Williams and Mrs. Brandt, how kind of you to come,” she simpered, offering each of them her hand in welcome.
No sooner had they returned her greeting than Miss Yingling hurried into the room, catching herself in the doorway and slowing to a sedate pace as she entered, although her cheeks were flaming with indignation. Except for her expression, she looked the picture of demure womanhood in a gown that surely must have once belonged to Vivian Van Orner. “Amy, you should have told me we have visitors.”
Amy ignored the rebuke in her tone. “They asked to see me.”
Miss Yingling looked at the two guests, obviously not sure she was telling the truth.
“Mrs. Brandt was kind enough to tell me Amy was here,” Mrs. Spratt-Williams said. “I wanted to hurry right over and make sure she was all right. I’ve been very worried since Mrs. Brandt told me yesterday that Amy had disappeared from the rescue house.”
“As you can see, she’s perfectly fine,” Miss Yingling said, although her expression said she wouldn’t have been disappointed had things been otherwise.
“I can speak for myself,” Amy said crossly. “Won’t you sit down. I’ve ordered some tea to be brought up.”
This made Miss Yingling even angrier, as Sarah felt sure Amy had intended for it to. Amy was assuming all sorts of authority.
“How is the baby doing?” Sarah asked when they were all seated.
“I told you, he’s fine,” Amy said. “We’re getting a nurse for him. She’ll be here the day after tomorrow. Then I won’t have to think about him at all.”
“Not that you do now,” Miss Yingling muttered.
“Is she a wet nurse?” Sarah asked.
“Oh, no, they couldn’t get one so quickly. She’s going to give him a bottle, though, so I don’t have to feed him anymore.”
“It’s so much better for the baby if you nurse him,” Sarah said, thinking it would be better in so many ways. If nothing else, his mother would be forced to acknowledge him several times a day at least.
“Oh, they have these scientific formulas now that they give the babies. They’re even better than mother’s milk. Besides,” she added when Sarah would have protested, “Gregory doesn’t want me tied down.”
“The baby doesn’t want you tied down?” Mrs. Spratt-Williams asked in confusion.
“Mr. Van Orner doesn’t,” Miss Yingling said through stiff lips. The emotion burning in her eyes was so clear, Sarah would not have been surprised had she sprang up from her seat and strangled Amy with her bare hands.