“Sarah Brandt,” she supplied.
“Nelson Ellsworth’s neighbor,” he added happily. He obviously thought her presence meant something good for him, a scoop perhaps. “Please, sit down, Mrs. Brandt. Let me find you a chair.”
He borrowed one from a neighboring desk where no one was sitting and pulled it up for her. “What brings you here this fine morning?” he asked pleasantly when she was settled and he’d taken his own seat.
“I’ve come to ask you a favor,” she said.
His smile evaporated. He’d be wanting her to do a favor for him. “I’ll be happy to help if I can,” he said, although she could see he was only being polite so as not to alienate a potential source of news.
“I want you to print the truth about Nelson Ellsworth.”
Now she had his attention again. “What truth do you want me to tell?” He reached blindly for the notebook that lay open on his desk and pulled a pencil from over his ear.
“First of all, Nelson didn’t kill that woman.”
This wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “But the evidence-”
“-is misleading. It seems that Mr. Ellsworth wasn’t the only man with whom Miss Blake was involved.”
“She had another lover?” he asked, brightening again.
“Yes, and this one is married.”
He began to scribble notes in his book. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t know,” she lied. “But he’s certainly an even likelier candidate than Nelson, and unless the newspapers stop blackening Nelson’s name, he might well be convicted of the killing anyway, even though he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Nelson was genuinely in love with Anna Blake and wanted to marry her. She’s the one who refused. She wanted him to give her money instead.”
Prescott’s young face creased into a frown. “That’s very strange.”
“I thought so. No honest woman would prefer money to respectability. Nelson Ellsworth is an innocent victim in this. I think Anna Blake deliberately chose him, thinking he would be easy to fool. I’m not exactly sure what her plan was, but she wasn’t interested in snagging an eligible husband. She could have had one in Nelson, and she refused him.”
“Even though she was… well, in a family way?”
“So it appears. I came down here to tell you that there’s a better story here than the one all the newspapers have been telling about Nelson, and it also happens to be the true one. You could make quite a name for yourself if you’re the first one to discover it, Mr. Prescott.”
His eyes were sparkling with anticipation, but he hadn’t forgotten his instincts. “Why are you going to all this trouble to protect Ellsworth, Mrs. Brandt?”
Malloy had warned her about the danger of doing this, but she’d hoped Prescott was too naive or inexperienced to think of it. She’d been wrong about that, but she still might be able to convince him of her good intentions. “Because his mother once saved my life, and I owe her a debt of gratitude. Nelson is her only son, and I can’t stand by and see him ruined and maybe even executed, especially when I know he’s innocent.”
Prescott wasn’t as easily dissuaded. “How can you be so sure? Can you give him an alibi for that night?” he asked with a suggestive grin.
“No, I cannot,” she replied, refusing to be ruffled. “An innocent man doesn’t need an alibi.”
Prescott shook his head sadly. “Oh, Mrs. Brandt, an innocent man needs an alibi most of all.”
7
SATURDAY MORNING WAS PROBABLY A GOOD TIME TO catch her mother alone, Sarah thought. She’d made two promises to Mrs. Ellsworth, and seeing Webster Prescott was just the first. She’d also agreed to convince the bank not to fire Nelson. For that she’d need more than the gumption that had taken her into the World. For that she’d need Felix Decker. Since the best way to influence her father was through her mother, that’s where Sarah headed next.
As she rode the Sixth Avenue Elevated uptown, she wondered whether she’d made the right decision in going to Prescott. He’d seemed enthusiastic about her story and had promised to investigate. Of course, that might mean he’d come up with something even more outlandish than the reports of Nelson being a killer. It might even mean involving herself in this scandal. That was, however, a chance she’d been willing to take. If her good name was completely ruined in this cause and decent women no longer hired her to deliver their babies, she could always throw herself on her father’s mercy. He’d be only too glad to take her back into his home-and his control-once again, she thought grimly.
But she wouldn’t borrow trouble, as Mrs. Ellsworth would have advised her. She had to hope Malloy was making progress in finding Anna’s real killer. Meanwhile, she’d do what she could to make sure this terrible situation wasn’t any worse for Nelson than it already had been and that he had a job to return to when he could safely leave his house again.
Her parents lived on Fifty-Seventh Street, not far from the Plaza Hotel and Marble Row on Fifth Avenue, home to the more ostentatious of the wealthy. The Deckers’ town house appeared modest on the outside, which suited them. They had always been modest about their wealth.
The maid seemed surprised to see her, since few members of society were stirring at this hour, but she admitted her and escorted her to the back parlor, which was the comfortable room the family used. In a few minutes, the maid came back, alone.
“Your mother asked me to take you up to her room, since she isn’t dressed yet,” the girl said.
Sarah smiled. Her mother must be appalled that Sarah was not only dressed but out and about so early on a Saturday, although by most people’s standards, it wasn’t early at all. She followed the maid up the stairs and down the corridor. Her mother’s voice bid her enter when the girl knocked.
Elizabeth Decker looked like a girl herself, draped in a silk dressing gown and half reclining on her settee. Her golden hair lay loose on her shoulders, and in the dimly lit room, the silver strands weren’t visible. Neither were the fine lines that the years had etched on her lovely face, and the smile of greeting she gave Sarah banished any lingering illusion of age.
“Sarah, how delightful to see you!” she said, reaching up to return Sarah’s kiss of greeting.
Her mother’s cheek was soft beneath her lips, and Sarah felt a rush of fond memories at the touch. Memories of happier days, long before she and her sister had grown old enough to see the world the way it really was and to rebel against the lives they had been bred to assume.
“What urgent business has brought you out at this unfashionable hour?” her mother asked, bringing her back to the present.
“What makes you think I have urgent business?” Sarah asked, seating herself on the slipper chair beside her mother. The room was decorated in shades of rose, with elaborately carved cherry wood furnishings. The color, Sarah realized, was very flattering to a woman of a certain age, especially when the morning light was filtered through it.
“I don’t want to sound accusing, but it seems the only time you come to visit me is when you need my assistance in one of your wild escapades,” she chided.
“Oh, Mother, I-”
“I’m not complaining, mind you,” her mother said, raising her hand to stop Sarah’s protest. “I suppose I should be glad you live such an interesting life. Otherwise, I might never see you at all. Now, what is it you want me to do?”
“Actually, it’s father’s help I need this time,” Sarah admitted.
Her mother sighed in feigned disgust. “So you’re only using me to influence your father,” she complained. “I might have known it would come to this. Really, Sarah, I’d think you’d learned your lesson. The last time you asked for our help, it ended very badly.”
Sarah winced, remembering just how badly. “No one is going to end up dead this time, I promise.”