“Yes, a… a young man,” she admitted with apparent reluctance.
“Who was he?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t give his name, and she didn’t reveal it. He wasn’t here long, and Anna left the house shortly after he did.”
“Did he go upstairs with her?”
Mrs. Walcott looked shocked. “Certainly not! I run a respectable house here.”
Sarah knew Malloy could have disputed that, but instead he asked, “Was she happy to see this young man?”
“Not particularly. And while I didn’t listen at the door or anything like that, I couldn’t help but hear that their voices were raised at one point.”
“They were arguing?”
“That was my assumption,” Mrs. Walcott said primly.
“Where did Anna go when she left the house?”
“I’m not sure. She didn’t confide in me, but I did gather she was meeting someone.”
“Any idea who it was?”
Mrs. Walcott shook her head gently. Sarah observed that she took care not to disturb her elaborately coiffed wig. “I can’t imagine she was meeting a woman,” she said reluctantly. “She didn’t know any other females that I’m aware of, and a woman would probably not be out herself in the evening like that.”
“What time did she leave?”
“I didn’t pay attention to the exact time,” she said apologetically. “I had no idea it would be important.”
“How long was it after the young man left?”
“Not long,” she said, wrinkling her forehead as she tried to recall. “Not more than half an hour, I’d guess, although I can’t be perfectly sure.”
“Was it dark out when she left?”
“Certainly not. I never would have permitted her to go out after dark.”
“How was she dressed?” Sarah asked, earning a frown from Malloy for interrupting.
Mrs. Walcott looked surprised at the question. “I don’t think I noticed.”
“If you saw the clothes in her room, could you tell which ones are missing?” Sarah asked.
Mrs. Walcott considered. “Probably.”
“What difference does it make what she was wearing?” Malloy asked irritably.
Sarah ignored him. “Could we go up to her room to look?”
Mrs. Walcott looked to Malloy for his approval, irritating Sarah in turn, but she supposed he was in charge. He nodded grudgingly, and they all rose. Mrs. Walcott led the way out into the hall and up the stairs.
Malloy grabbed Sarah’s arm, holding her back. “What difference does it make what she was wearing?” he asked in a whisper. “We could ask the coroner that.”
“Isn’t this a better way to get into her room than asking permission to search it?” she asked sweetly.
All she got in reply was a grunt, but he released her arm and allowed her to follow the landlady.
Upstairs, Mrs. Walcott was waiting for them outside the closed door, as if reluctant to enter without them. “I haven’t disturbed anything in here. It… it didn’t seem right. I’d be happy to send her things to her family, but I don’t believe she had any.”
She pushed open the door to the room and stepped aside for Sarah to enter. Malloy stood in the open doorway with Mrs. Walcott, watching her.
The room looked like thousands of others just like it all over the city. The furniture was cheap and worn. A metal bedstead dominated the small space. It had been carelessly made, the coverlet lying crooked. Some clothes hung on pegs along one wall. A dresser stood nearby, and a wash-stand occupied the opposite corner. A small, battered trunk sat at the foot of the bed.
Sarah began by examining the garments hanging on the pegs.
“Did you know that Nelson Ellsworth was paying Anna’s rent?” Malloy asked the landlady while they watched Sarah.
“Good heavens, no!” She sounded thoroughly shocked.
“How did you think she managed, since she didn’t have a job?” he asked curiously.
“She had an inheritance,” Mrs. Walcott said. “At least, that’s what she gave me to believe. Mr. Ellsworth was managing it for her. He worked at a bank, I believe. That’s why he’d taken an interest in her.”
“And what about Mr. Giddings?” Malloy asked.
“What about him?”
“He was giving her money, too. Who did you think he was, her rich uncle?”
Mrs. Walcott took offense at his tone. “He was her attorney,” she sniffed indignantly. “They had matters of business to discuss about her mother’s estate.”
Mrs. Walcott was either stupid or lying, Sarah thought as she took a mental inventory of Anna Blake’s wardrobe. Sarah saw the girlish gingham dress Anna had been wearing the one time they had met and another that was apparently her “good” dress, the one she would have saved for special occasions. She also had a black bombazine skirt and matching jacket, which would have done for almost any occasion. A fringed paisley shawl hung on one of the hooks, and Sarah fingered it, impressed by its quality. Probably a gift from a besotted admirer, she thought. Beside it hung a fancy hat, probably the one she saved for “good,” and another, less ornate one, for everyday wear. What hat would she have been wearing when she went out? It seemed unlikely she’d own more than two.
The dresser drawers held extra pairs of undergarments and stockings, two waists, and a nightdress. A comb and brush lay on the dresser, and a glass bowl held extra hairpins. Oddly enough, the bottom drawer of the dresser held a case of some kind. Sarah glanced at Mrs. Walcott to see how closely she was being watched and if the other woman would offer some objection to her examining it.
Mrs. Walcott frowned when Sarah drew the case out of the drawer, but she didn’t object when she opened it. To her surprise, Sarah discovered it contained a wide variety of face paint, far more than a respectable woman would ever need to own. Anna Blake had a more interesting background than she had led anyone to believe. She glanced at Malloy to make sure he’d seen the contents of the case before closing it and returning it to its proper place.
Lastly, she opened the trunk. As she had suspected, this contained Anna’s winter clothing. A heavy wool cape and a rabbit fur muff lay on top. Beneath them were several woolen skirts and some jackets, a flannel petticoat, and a knitted scarf, nothing very intriguing.
Sarah caught Malloy’s eye again. “Would you like to look around?”
He did, of course, and he was less discreet. Without asking for leave, he took the corner of the mattress and lifted it up to peer underneath. Then he picked up the pillows and pulled back the covers. He pulled out the drawers again and felt beneath them, in case something had been stuck to the bottoms. With calm efficiency, he searched all remaining crannies of the room and found nothing.
Except for the face paint, the room contained not one hint that Anna Blake was anything other than she had appeared to be. And of course, there were no letters or diaries giving more insight into her background or helpfully naming her killer.
Sarah turned to Mrs. Walcott. “Can you tell what she was wearing that night?”
The landlady looked at the clothing again. “She had a brown dress, I think. Yes, I believe that’s what she was wearing. At least, that’s all I can tell is missing.”
Something had been bothering Sarah about Anna’s wardrobe. Now she realized what it was, but she said nothing. Her theory could wait until she and Malloy were alone.
“What did this young man look like?” Malloy asked Mrs. Walcott. “The one who called on Anna the night she died.”
“Very ordinary. Tall and thin, the way boys are before they mature.”
“How was he dressed?”
“He looked like a laborer. His clothes were coarse and dirty, although his manners were good. He was very polite to me, although he was impatient to see Anna.”
“Was he polite to Anna?” Malloy inquired.
Mrs. Walcott looked away. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but…”
“Anna wasn’t polite to him?” Malloy guessed.
“She was angry with him for some reason, from the instant she saw him. As I said, they argued, and he left rather quickly after that, slamming the door behind him. And then, as I said, Anna left also.” She seemed to realize something suddenly. “Oh, dear, do you suppose…?”