The marble floor shone brightly in the summer evening sunlight, and fresh flowers filled the Oriental vase that sat on the imported English table standing in the center of the entrance hall. The butler had looked at her queerly when he’d seen her standing on the front stoop. He’d have no idea who she was, of course, and her clothes marked her as distinctly middle class. Only her message-that she had some news about Dirk-had gained her admittance. She just hoped his parents recognized her name so she wouldn’t have to explain too much. She didn’t think she was up to any more fabrications today. She’d already composed enough lies to last her a lifetime.
After a few minutes the butler escorted her into the back parlor, where she found Dirk’s mother alone, ensconced on a sofa in a room far less grandly furnished than the formal rooms reserved for company. She was wearing a simple, at-home dress, and her hair hadn’t been arranged. Plainly, she hadn’t been receiving visitors today, and she looked annoyed at having one now.
“Sarah Decker, is that you?” she demanded when Sarah walked in. “James said another name, but that’s who you are, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah said. “Brandt is my married name.”
“But you’re widowed, I think,” she said, looking Sarah over with no apparent approval. The years had scoured away any excess flesh from her face, leaving her gaunt and sharp looking. From the way the lines on her face ran, she also seldom smiled.
“Yes, I am. Mrs. Schyler, is your husband at home? I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news, and I think it would be better if-”
“Nonsense,” she said, waving away Sarah’s suggestion. “Just say what you’ve come to say. It’s not the first time some female has come in here mewling that Dirk has ruined her and demanding this or that in compensation. He won’t marry you, I promise you that! You may be a Decker by birth, but anyone can see that you’re as common as dirt now. You can’t expect Dirk would waste himself on the likes of you. You should have thought about that before you took up with him.”
“I didn’t ‘take up with him,’ Mrs. Schyler,” Sarah said, reminding herself that she was about to shatter this woman’s life. Only the thought of her grief allowed Sarah to hold her temper.
“You certainly wanted to,” she said. “Everyone knows how you pursued him. You’ve made yourself a laughing-stock, young lady.”
Sarah felt a twinge of annoyance at the thought of her ruined reputation among society matrons, a sad remnant of her previous life. Well, if they were gossiping about her before, just wait until they found out where her pursuit of Dirk had led.
“Mrs. Schyler, the news I have isn’t about me. It’s about Dirk,” she said. Although she hadn’t been offered a seat, she sat down anyway, taking the fragile damask-covered chair opposite her companion. “I’m afraid there’s been a terrible accident.”
There it was again, the phrase Dirk had used. Sarah shuddered slightly at the realization that if things had gone as he planned, Dirk might well be delivering this same news to her own parents instead.
“What kind of accident?” Mrs. Schyler didn’t believe it could be very important.
Oh, dear, where to start? “You see. Dirk and I went to Coney Island today and-”
“Where?” she asked, horrified.
“Coney Island,” Sarah repeated, hoping she wouldn’t question everything Sarah said. This could take all night! “There is a park there with rides and-”
“What on earth were you doing in a place like that? I can’t believe my son would consent to such a thing. Although I suppose your tastes have grown common. They certainly have if that gown is any indication.”
Sarah was rapidly losing patience, but she reminded herself of her mission and bit back the sharp retort that sprang so readily to her lips. “Dirk enjoyed going to the park there,” Sarah said, not really caring whether the other woman believed her or not. “We were on the Ferris wheel this afternoon and… and that’s when the accident happened.”
When Sarah hesitated, Mrs. Schyler grew impatient. “Go on, spit it out,” she said. “I don’t have all day.”
Sarah drew a deep breath and began to recite the story that was almost starting to sound true to her own ears. “We were on the Ferris wheel, at the very top, and the gate across the car came loose. It flew open, and just as Dirk reached to pull it back again, the wheel started to move. He lost his balance and… and he fell.”
“That was very careless of him,” his mother said with disapproval. “I suppose he was injured or else you wouldn’t be here” She sighed with long-suffering. “All right, where is he? We’ll see that our doctor attends him immediately.”
Sarah would have liked to see a bit more concern from Dirk’s mother, even if she truly believed he’d only been injured. She had no reason to believe the injuries were minor, after all. “He… he was taken to a doctor there, but… there was nothing he could do. I’m sorry to tell you, Mrs. Schyler, but Dirk died of his injuries.”
Mrs. Schyler stared at her through faded blue eyes as the truth slowly penetrated. “Died?” she echoed, as if she’d never heard the word before.
“Yes,” she said, and manufactured another lie to add to her long list for the day. “You’ll be relieved to know he didn’t suffer, though. The end came quickly.”
Mrs. Schyler’s face had gone white. Sarah was wondering if she should summon a servant to fetch some smelling salts, but before she could, Mrs. Schyler disabused her of the notion that she was about to faint.
“Are you telling me my son died from a fall from a… what did you call it?”
“A Ferris wheel,” Sarah explained patiently. “It’s an amusement-park ride. It’s a large wheel, about a hundred feet high, that goes around. It has cars that people sit in-”
“And you made Dirk ride on this… this thing?”
“Actually, it was his idea to ride on it,” Sarah said. She wanted to add that he’d intended to push her off of it, too, but that would accomplish nothing.
“Nonsense,” his mother insisted for the second time that evening. “My son would never choose to do anything so common. I’m sure he never visited this Coney Island place before he met you, either. How will we ever explain this to our friends?”
She seemed outraged. Sarah had seen unusual reactions to grief in her time, and anger was fairly common. Blaming the messenger was also fairly common. She tried not to be insulted. She had, however, expected at least a rudimentary form of grief. “It does seem a rather unpleasant way to die, but I assure you, there’s nothing to be ashamed of-”
“Ashamed! How dare you even suggest such a thing! You, who are nothing more than a fortune hunter who tried to trap my Dirk into marriage and ended up killing him instead!”
The truth burned inside of Sarah, but she knew Mrs. Schyler would never believe her now. On the contrary, she’d accuse Sarah of making up lies about Dirk to cover her own guilt. She reached into her purse and pulled out a slip of paper. “I’ve written the name and address of the doctor in Coney Island. You may send someone there for Dirk… Dirk’s remains. I’m very sorry, Mrs. Schyler.” She laid the slip of paper on the table between them.
“Sorry! You haven’t begun to know the meaning of the word! I’ll ruin you! No other respectable man will ever speak to you again!”
Sarah didn’t bother to point out that hardly any respectable men spoke to her now, in the course of an average day. “I’ll see myself out,” she said, rising from her chair and only too happy to put an end to this conversation.