Hush Now, Don't You Cry(92)

“It is most gracious of you to pay us a call, Mrs. Sullivan,” the butler said. “As you can imagine the entire household has been in a state of shock. We could scarcely believe the news when the policeman came to the door. Is it true that the master was murdered? Have they found out who did this awful deed yet?”

“They have not. My husband, who is a New York police captain, would have been able to assist more fully in the investigation, but he is recovering from pneumonia,” I said and decided to stretch the truth a little. “So he sent me down to the city on his behalf, in the hope that either you or the alderman’s office staff could shed any light on the sad business.”

“Me?” Mr. Soames looked perplexed. “In what way does he think I should be able to help you?”

“He wondered if the alderman had received any threats recently.”

“Threats? From whom, Mrs. Sullivan?”

“I don’t know—someone with whom he has crossed swords with in business or politics?”

“I only know what goes on in this establishment, and I think it highly unlikely that anyone would come to threaten him in his own home.” He held my gaze. “Is that what the police think? That an adversary followed him to Newport to kill him? Why not do so here? The alderman often took a walk in the park in the mornings before work. A perfect chance to kill him if one was so inclined.”

“Had he seemed worried recently?”

“I am only his butler, not his confidant,” he replied stiffly.

“Mr. Soames, I know that loyalty to your employer may prevent you from speaking your mind to me, but I’m sure you want his killer found as much as the rest of us do. If there is any small thing you can think of—anything at all in his last days that made you feel the alderman was worried, or upset?”

“He did seem—preoccupied as he prepared to leave. As if he had a lot on his mind.”

“Had he shared with you his reason for summoning the family to Newport at this time of year?”

“My dear Mrs. Sullivan. I am his servant. And he was a man who kept himself very close. But he did say, ‘You are lucky to have grown up in an orphanage, Soames. Families are a pain in the neck.’”

“So some family member had been on his mind. Any idea which one?”

Mr. Soames shook his head.

“Had any of them been to call on him here recently?”

“Not that I can think—oh, but wait. Mr. Archie came by on Thursday last and was annoyed to find that the master had already left for Newport. I asked whether I could take a message and he replied, rather rudely, ‘No you damned well can’t. It’s too late.’ And he stalked off again.”

“Was that sort of behavior unusual for him?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Sullivan. Mr. Archie is usually such a well-mannered young man. I was quite shocked, I can tell you.”

I got up to take my leave. “Thank you, you’ve been most helpful and my condolences on the loss of your employer.”

He pressed his lips together, fighting back emotion, before he said, “We in this household thank you for your efforts, Mrs. Sullivan. We pray to God that you find the person responsible. Alderman Hannan will be sadly missed.”

Of course he will, I thought as I walked away. All those people have now lost their livelihood. I made my way back to the El through a carpet of fallen leaves. It was a crisp fall day and I passed well-dressed people, out for their morning constitutional. They nodded politely as we passed and I wondered if any of them were Mr. Archie’s parents. Why had I never considered him before? A young man with usually perfect manners, who had had to endure the tragedy of losing his beloved daughter. What possible reason could he have for murdering the one who financed his pleasant lifestyle? Unless his father-in-law had found out something about him—some guilty secret? A mistress, perhaps? And was threatening to cut off his allowance.

I filed this information in my already cluttered mind and went to see the one person I hoped could actually achieve results in this case—my old friend and alienist Dr. Birnbaum. The Third Avenue El took me down to Ninth Street and I headed for familiar territory. Dr. Birnbaum usually stayed at the Hotel Lafayette, just off Washington Square. I asked for him at the front desk and was told that he had not yet left his room. The clerk indicated it would be most unseemly for a young woman to wish to go up to a gentleman’s room, but consented to take Dr. Birmbaum a message.

He returned instantly and addressed me in a rather more courteous manner, saying that I should wait in the hotel restaurant where the good doctor would join me for a cup of coffee shortly. I was ushered through to a pretty room with checked tablecloths and bright French china. I found that the early rising had given me an appetite and worked my way through several breakfast rolls and a cup of coffee before Dr. Birnbaum appeared. As always he looked dapper, immaculately groomed with his neat little blond beard and mustache. He clicked his heels and bowed in that Germanic way when he saw me.