“Oh, Dr. Blackwell was a deeply spiritual man, I know,” Mrs. Fitzgerald assured Sarah, apparently not caring where her husband went.

“I’m sure he was,” Sarah replied. “Were you one of his patients?”

“Yes, although he didn’t like to call us that. He preferred to call us clients. You see, he treated more than aches and pains. He wasn’t like an ordinary physician at all. Didn’t you know the doctor?” she asked, suddenly growing suspicious.

“Not very well,” Sarah said, stretching the truth a bit. “I’m a friend of Mrs. Blackwell’s, and I felt it was my duty to attend the service, since she couldn’t.”

“I see,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said, suddenly cold. Sarah wondered if it was the mention of Mrs. Blackwell or the fact that she, Sarah, didn’t know the doctor that the woman had found offensive. The first was the far more intriguing possibility, but Sarah didn’t want to waste precious time finding out. She decided to win Mrs. Fitzgerald back immediately.

“My name is Sarah Brandt. My father is Felix Decker,” she said, knowing both that it would gain her instant respect with Mrs. Fitzgerald and how annoyed her father would be to have his name used to gather clues in a murder investigation. Fortunately, he would most likely never learn of it.

The Decker name had the desired effect on Mrs. Fitzgerald. The Deckers were one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the city. Mrs. Fitzgerald need not know that Sarah had long ago turned her back on their way of life to become a common midwife.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brandt,” the woman said, so obviously impressed at meeting her that Sarah was almost ashamed. Almost. “I’m Martha Fitzgerald. That’s my husband, Clarence,” she added, gesturing vaguely to where Clarence had formerly stood.

“Could you tell me more about Dr. Blackwell’s form of treatment and how it worked? I’m fascinated by what I’ve heard, but I can hardly credit the successes that are attributed to him.”

“You may believe whatever you have heard, Mrs. Brandt. Dr. Blackwell could perform veritable miracles. Surely you know what he was able to do for his own wife.”

“Yes, Letitia shared with me how he cured her, but I can’t help believing that was some sort of fluke. Perhaps she was ready to get well and would have recovered without any treatment at all.”

“I’m sure I can’t speak for Mrs. Blackwell’s case,” she said with just a hint of disapproval, “but I know about my own. I had suffered for many years and was growing worse. I had such pain I could sometimes hardly move from my bed. Most days I couldn’t walk more than a few steps at a time. Some of the physicians who had treated me had the nerve to hint that my suffering was imaginary! Can you believe it?”

“Unfortunately I can,” Sarah said, knowing that many people’s pain and suffering were brought on by their own determination to be miserable. She didn’t dare suggest that she also believed this to be true of her companion, however, not if she wanted to hear what Mrs. Fitzgerald had to say.

“I think I would know the difference between real pain and imaginary pain, don’t you?” she asked indignantly.

“Absolutely,” Sarah agreed, less than truthfully.

“In any case, Dr. Blackwell took my case very seriously. He spent a long time discussing it with me, determining when the pain had started and exactly when and how often it occurred. None of the other doctors had cared to even ask such questions!”

Sarah was beginning to understand some of Blackwell’s appeal. He took time to listen to his patients. Or rather, his clients. And, most likely, to humor them as well. This must have been a form of therapy in and of itself. Remembering Dr. Blackwell’s tender care was bringing fresh tears to Mrs. Fitzgerald’s eyes.

“He sounds like a wonderful man,” Sarah tried.

“Oh, he was!” Mrs. Fitzgerald said. “And so gentle…” She quickly pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her cheeks.

“I’m sure he would be touched by your grief,” Sarah went on. “You must have been very grateful to him. I couldn’t help overhearing your husband say that he owns this house and allowed Dr. Blackwell to live here rent-free.”

“Well, actually,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper and glancing around to see if anyone was listening, “I own the house. My father willed it to me. We had no need of it, of course, and it wasn’t grand enough for Clarence, in any case, so I let it out. It would provide a nice income for me, but I really don’t need the money, so when I learned that Dr. Blackwell was in need of a home…”

She let Sarah guess the rest. It wasn’t difficult. Her only real question was why Mr. Fitzgerald had allowed it. Perhaps he hadn’t known until Blackwell died. “That was extremely generous of you. Dr. Blackwell must have been remarkably talented. Could you explain to me exactly what he did in his treatments that was different from other physicians? I can’t seem to understand it.”

“Oh, my, I can’t understand it either. In fact, I hardly remember most of it myself. The doctor speaks to you until you drift into a sort of sleep. Then he does things that feel absolutely wonderful, and when you come back to yourself, you feel like a new person. The pain is gone, and you can forget you ever had it!”

“Oh,” was all Sarah could think to say. Mrs. Fitzgerald was hardly enlightening, but Sarah had learned something valuable just the same: the true secret to Blackwell’s success! She couldn’t let on how excited she was without alarming Mrs. Fitzgerald, though. She had to change the subject. “Would your husband really put poor Letitia and the baby out at the end of the month?”

Mrs. Fitzgerald blinked in surprise at the abruptness of the topic change, and then her expression hardened. She didn’t like discussing Letitia. “Well, we’d heard nothing about a baby, of course,” she said, not quite answering the question. “Dear heavens, when did she have it?”

“The morning after Dr. Blackwell was killed.”

“I see. The shock must have brought it on, I suppose. I know I was prostrate myself when I heard the news. And then to learn today that Dr. Blackwell had not one but two sons! I had no idea he had been married before, either.” This fact did not please her at all. “There must be some unpleasantness between them or else why wasn’t the older boy staying here with his father?”

She was obviously hoping that Sarah would give her some answers, but she had no intention of filling Mrs. Fitzgerald in on the doctor’s scandalous past.

“I’m sure Dr. Blackwell would have confided in you if he’d felt the need,” Sarah said tactfully.

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said, considering this, and her eyes filled with tears again. “He was such a dear, dear man. However shall I go on without him?”

That seemed an odd thing to say about one’s physician, no matter what wonders of healing he might have worked, but Sarah wasn’t going to question her about it. Besides, she still hadn’t answered the question about throwing Letitia and the baby out of the house. “Did you say you hadn’t heard that Dr. Blackwell’s son had been born?”

“Not only that, I hadn’t known he was even expected! Dr. Blackwell hadn’t mentioned it to me, and we were very close. He always said I was one of his favorite clients.”

Sarah thought that an odd statement, but she let it pass.

“Of course,” Mrs. Fitzgerald continued, “we knew she’d stopped appearing at his lectures, but no one thought anything of it. It was obvious she was desperately afraid of speaking before a crowd, so I’m sure we all assumed that was why. She certainly was never very effective. If you ask me, Mr. Symington does much better.”

This woman had no sympathy at all for poor Letitia, and her spite sounded remarkably like jealousy to Sarah. “I heard someone say that the speech he gave this morning is the same one he uses at the lectures,” Sarah said.