3

FRANK HAD BEEN RIGHT. THE NEIGHBORS HADN’T seen or heard a thing, and if they had, they weren’t going to share the information with him. The neighboring servants had given him a bit of gossip here and there, of course. Apparently, no one thought it appropriate that Mrs. Blackwell kept going out every afternoon after her pregnancy became noticeable. It was said she visited poor and sick people, too, which only outraged her detractors even more. If she had no care for her own health, she should at least have been concerned for her unborn child and avoided the filthy poor and their unspeakable diseases.

To Frank’s surprise, however, no one had a bad word to say about Dr. Blackwell, not even those who disapproved of his brand of medicine. He seemed to be a respectable gentleman who kept to himself and maintained the tone of the neighborhood. Until his unseemly death, of course. Maybe the neighbors were just happy to have someone more socially acceptable than an abortionist in residence. But whatever the reason, Frank could find no one with any idea of why the good doctor might have been murdered or who could have done it, and no one had so much as glimpsed the boy Amos Potter had told him was Blackwell’s abandoned son. They hadn’t seen anyone else coming or going from the house the previous afternoon, either.

So much for his boast to Sarah Brandt that he’d find the killer by nightfall.

The next morning, Frank returned to the Blackwell house to continue his investigation. The butler greeted him with the kind of condescending reserve to which Frank had become accustomed. Even servants felt superior to Irish policemen.

“How is Mrs. Blackwell today, Granger?” Frank asked.

“I’m sure I don’t know. That midwife you sent over is with her now,” Granger replied stiffly.

Frank fought down the instant anxiety he felt at the prospect of Mrs. Blackwell needing medical help so soon after her delivery. He had a momentary flash of his own wife with her life’s blood draining away after giving birth to their son, but he ruthlessly banished it. “The midwife?” he echoed with as little expression as possible. “Is something wrong?”

“Not that I am aware.”

Plainly, the butler thought it was none of his business, which was just too bad. He knew exactly where to get all the information about Mrs. Blackwell that he wanted. “When Mrs. Brandt is finished, tell her I want to see her.”

The butler nodded curtly, conveying his disapproval with every ounce of his being without uttering a sound.

“Is anyone else here that you haven’t seen fit to tell me about?” Frank asked with marked sarcasm.

The butler’s lips paled as he squeezed the blood out of them in his impotent fury. “Mr. Potter is in the study,” he said with obvious reluctance.

Good, Frank thought. Maybe Potter could give him some more information about Blackwell’s son, who was rapidly becoming his prime suspect.

When Frank entered the study, he found Potter staring uncertainly at the desk where Blackwell’s body had lain. The desk had been cleared, and all traces of the crime had been scrubbed away, except for an ugly stain in the carpet. Hearing Frank enter, Potter looked up with what Frank thought might have been alarm, but he quickly recovered himself.

“Detective, you startled me,” he said, self-consciously straightening his vest. “Have you located young Calvin yet?”

Frank shook his head. “It would help if you had an idea where to begin looking. There are hundreds of cheap lodging houses in the city.” He’d instructed some officers to begin making inquiries, but they weren’t having much success.

“If he’s even still here.” Potter sighed. “In his place, I’d have fled immediately. And Edmund was going to give him some money, you know. He could be anywhere by now, of course, but you should probably check with his mother to see if she might know his whereabouts.”

“Where can I find her?” Frank asked, annoyed that Potter hadn’t suggested this yesterday.

Potter frowned, obviously trying to remember. “It’s a small town in Virginia someplace. I’m not even certain I ever heard the name. Oh, dear, I guess I’m not being very much help to you.”

Frank had to agree. If Calvin Brown had indeed fled the city, no one would ever find him. “Did you remember anything else about Brown that might help?”

“I’m afraid not. But surely you have informants who can assist you,” Potter suggested hopefully.

“Only if I’m dealing with known criminals,” Frank said, trying to be patient. “Someone like Calvin Brown probably wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone in particular. He wasn’t here that long, and he wouldn’t have gotten into any trouble.”

“Ah, yes, you’re probably right. It’s only been a week or so since he first contacted Edmund. It’s my understanding that he saw an advertisement for one of Edmund’s lectures and recognized his picture.”

“You already told me about the lectures, but I’m not sure I understand why he had to give them. Couldn’t he just advertise that he was a doctor? Hang up a sign or something?”

“He was a healer,” Potter corrected him primly. “His treatments were quite revolutionary, not something the average person would easily understand, so he would give lectures explaining his successes in order to educate the public.”

Educate and dupe them into coming to him for treatment, Frank thought, but he said, “Who came to these lectures?”

“All sorts of people. There was no admission charge, of course. Edmund didn’t want fame or fortune for himself, but he felt it was selfish of him not to share his knowledge with those he could help.”

“He helped his wife, I understand.”

“Yes, Letitia was a complete invalid when her father called on Edmund for help. No doctor had been able to do a thing for her.”

“She must have been very grateful,” Frank suggested, not missing the fact that Potter had called Mrs. Blackwell by her given name.

“So grateful that she insisted on giving a personal testimonial at Edmund’s lectures. Her story brought him to the public eye and convinced many people to try Edmund’s services. Her family is quite socially prominent, you know.”

“So I gathered from meeting Mr. Symington. What was wrong with Mrs. Blackwell in the first place?”

Potter seemed shocked at the question. “I told you, she was an invalid.”

“You said it was a riding accident. Was she paralyzed? Crippled? Broken bones?”

“She was injured. She was in severe pain for almost a year, so severe she couldn’t rise from her bed. With only a few treatments, Edmund was able to relieve that pain so she could live a normal life again.”

Frank remembered what Sarah had said about most people getting well if they wanted to. Perhaps Blackwell’s true gift was being able to make people want to get better. He noted that Potter hadn’t told him exactly what Mrs. Blackwell’s injuries had been. Probably he didn’t know. For an instant Frank had an errant thought of asking Sarah Brandt to find out, but he quickly caught himself. If he truly wanted to keep her from getting involved in the investigation, that was exactly the wrong thing to do.

OUTSIDE MRS. BLACKWELL’S bedroom door, Sarah paused to take a deep breath. Venting the fury she felt at the woman would accomplish nothing. When she had mastered her feelings, she knocked on the door and entered without waiting for a reply.

Mrs. Blackwell appeared to be dozing, although still propped up on her mountain of pillows. She blinked uncertainly, obviously not recognizing Sarah at first.

“Oh, Mrs. Brandt,” she finally realized. Then she listened for a moment. “The baby, he stopped crying. Is he…?”

“He’s sleeping,” Sarah said. “The laudanum relieved him.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. Sarah thought she probably didn’t want to face her problems, and Sarah couldn’t really blame her. They must seem overwhelming at the moment, especially to a person who needed morphine to deal with a normal day.