“Did you happen to know Amy’s family?”
As she’d expected, her question startled Mrs. Spratt-Williams. “Whatever do you mean?”
“From what you said just now, I thought perhaps you’d known them. I understand she comes from a respectable family, and I thought your paths might have crossed back before . . . before she fell on hard times.”
Red blotches of color had bloomed on Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s face. “I’m sure I never knew her family. Respectable or not, they were hardly the type of people I would know.”
“And yet, you were so kind to Amy,” Sarah continued relentlessly.
“I’m kind to all the women we rescue.”
That was, of course, a lie. “I’m sure you are, but with Amy . . . Well, I couldn’t help noticing that no one else found it easy to be kind to her.”
“She was . . . Oh, perhaps you’re right, Mrs. Brandt. Amy was difficult, to be sure, but she isn’t like the other women we rescue. She was well bred and used to finer things, and she found life at the rescue house very confining. I suppose I couldn’t help thinking that there but for the grace of God go I.”
“I know what you mean. We aren’t shocked when a woman from a poor family is forced to sell herself to survive, but we never expect a girl from a good family to be reduced to such circumstances.”
“Yes, it was . . . tragic.” She reached over and lifted the tea cozy and peeked under the lid of the teapot to check on its strength. Apparently not satisfied yet, she replaced the cozy. “What else did Amy tell you about herself?” she asked, elaborately casual.
“Several things, but I’m not sure how much of it was true.”
“Such as?”
Sarah got the feeling Mrs. Spratt-Williams was testing her in some way. If Sarah’s suspicions about her husband having been the one who cheated Amy’s father were true, perhaps she wondered if Sarah knew the whole story. Mrs. Spratt-Williams had denied a connection, but she must be wondering why Sarah had asked in the first place. “Oh, she told me her baby’s father was named Gregory, but you knew that already.”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams squeezed her lips together in distaste. “I was hoping Miss Yingling was right, that the baby had been fathered by another man named Gregory.”
“I think we all were.”
“Yes, well, I suppose we must face the truth now, in light of Amy moving in with Mr. Van Orner.”
“Yes, we must.”
“What else did Amy tell you about herself?”
Sarah hesitated, carefully sorting out what Amy had actually told her and what she’d learned since. “She told me her lover had taken her to Mrs. Walker for safekeeping until her baby was born,” she recalled.
“Did she? How extraordinary.”
“I thought so, too. Mrs. Walker doesn’t run a refuge, after all.”
“Certainly not!”
“She also claimed that she wasn’t a prostitute—”
“Oh, yes, I remember that. She said it the first day she was at the rescue house.”
“Yet she’d told me before how much she hated what she had to do with the customers at the brothel.”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams nodded. “I suppose it would be difficult for a young woman to admit to having been a prostitute. As soon as she got away, she’d want to pretend it had never happened.”
“I imagine you’re right.”
“Did she say anything . . . ?” Her voice trailed off as if she realized she’d already questioned Sarah far more than good manners allowed.
“I visited the rescue house today,” Sarah said, hoping a change of topic now might allow her to return to the subject of Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s connection with Amy later.
She didn’t seem pleased. “Did you?”
“Yes, my neighbor had brought over a cake, and I thought the women there might enjoy it, so I stopped on my way over here today.”
Mrs. Spratt-Williams didn’t say a word, leaving Sarah to continue on her own.
“Miss Biafore told me she hasn’t seen you since Mrs. Van Orner passed away. I thought you said you were going to visit there yesterday.”
Plainly, Mrs. Spratt-Williams thought Sarah had overstepped. “I had other obligations yesterday,” she informed her coldly.
“Miss Biafore is getting quite worried about what will become of them. She’s running out of supplies and—”
“She needn’t worry. I’ll see they’re taken care of.”
“I know she would appreciate hearing that from you.”
“She will, in due time.”
Sarah didn’t like her attitude. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, but I thought you’d invited me here today to talk about the rescue house.”
“Yes, I did, and I’m glad you mentioned the needs there. I’d hoped you would approach your mother about supporting it,” she said. “I didn’t expect to be interrogated about my oversight of the house, though.”
“I certainly didn’t intend to interrogate you. I was just trying to remind you of their needs.”
“We all have needs, Mrs. Brandt. Charity can extend only so far.”
This was just the opening Sarah had been looking for. “This is true, and I know you’ve always resisted the restrictions of the Charity Organization Society.”
“What?” she asked, the color draining from her face.
Sarah wasn’t sure what she’d said to cause her such a shock. “I know you don’t agree with their rules about not allowing people to obtain charity from more than one group, and I think you’re absolutely right.”
“Did Amy tell you that?”
“Tell me what?” Sarah asked, confused.
“What else did she tell you about me?”
Amy hadn’t told her any of this, but Sarah wasn’t going to betray Lisa Biafore. “I know you changed the names of the women you had helped when you wrote up the reports, so they wouldn’t be forbidden from getting help if they needed it again. I think that’s . . . commendable.” She really did, but Mrs. Spratt-Williams didn’t respond. Instead she checked the teapot again.
“Well, it looks as if the tea is finally ready.”
THE MAID AT VAN ORNER’S HOUSE ADMITTED FRANK without a word and took him straight upstairs to where Van Orner and Miss Yingling still waited in the parlor. Miss Yingling was drinking a cup of tea while Van Orner paced. They both froze when he stepped into the room.
Van Orner waited a moment then stepped forward and craned his neck to look past Frank into the hallway. “Where is she?”
“Mr. Van Orner, I’m very sorry to tell you this, but Amy is dead.”
Miss Yingling gasped and nearly dropped her teacup, but Van Orner just stared at him stupidly. “What?”
“She’s dead, Mr. Van Orner. She was poisoned.”
“That . . . that’s impossible,” he said, his face crinkling in confusion. “She was just here.”
“Maybe you should sit down,” Frank suggested. “Miss Yingling, can you get him some brandy?”
Miss Yingling set down her cup very carefully and went to the sideboard, where Van Orner had gone earlier to get her a stimulant. She poured a generous amount of whiskey into a lead crystal glass and brought it to where Frank had helped Van Orner sit in one of the wing chairs beside the fireplace. Whiskey wasn’t as calming as brandy, but he had to assume Miss Yingling knew Van Orner’s tastes.
Van Orner took the glass and drank deeply. When he looked up, he was still confused. “What happened to her?”
Frank glanced at Miss Yingling, but she didn’t seem the least bit apprehensive. All her attention was on Van Orner as she stood at his elbow, ready should he need anything. “Like Miss Yingling said, Mrs. Walker was the one who took Amy this morning. The man with her probably put a rag soaked with chloroform over her face. That’s why she went limp and didn’t resist. She was unconscious until she got to Mrs. Walker’s house. When she came to, she was furious.”