Chapter Nineteen
“What can there be to understand about people such as this?”
On the train from Sag Harbor to Hunters Point, and then on the ferry ride back to Manhattan, Nellie tried to answer that question, and some others. Whites could kill Indians and take their land because they knew there would be no consequences, in the same way whites could kill blacks and take their land without consequence. But for Hilton and Corbin to kill Emma Lazarus, there was no simple guarantee of impunity.
Emma had powerful friends—Julia Ward Howe loved her like a daughter, as did Joseph Pulitzer and possibly even Jay Gould. Arranging for her murder would be a very risky matter. It would have to be extremely well-planned and worth the extremely serious risk. What were they planning that the two of them were willing to jeopardize their fortunes and their freedom?
Whatever it was, Nellie realized, had to do with the Montauks and their territory on Long Island. It was only when Emma became involved with Maria Pharaoh that her life had been placed in real danger. What could possibly be at stake that Hilton and Corbin would act so brazenly? Once again she mentally reviewed: they already had deeds to the land and, more importantly, controlled the only access to the land with Corbin’s monopoly of the Long Island Railroad. Nellie finally gave up thinking about it because she was getting nowhere.
Perhaps she was way off base. Perhaps Emma was not murdered after all, or there would be no way of proving it. Perhaps … she caught herself. First things first. She would have to get an answer from Ingram.
It had been a long day. She had left for Newport at dawn, had lunch with Julia Ward Howe, took the afternoon ferry to Sag Harbor, arrived in the early evening for her meeting with Maria Pharaoh, then took the train back to Hunters Point and the ferry to Manhattan, arriving just after midnight. She should have gone straight home, but she needed to take this story out of the realm of conjecture as quickly as possible. She took a carriage from the Thirty-Fourth Street ferry terminal to Ingram’s house.
A light was on in the basement: Ingram, to her relief and trepidation, was working. She knocked hesitantly on the door and heard him hurry up the stairs and to the front door. He opened it quickly and stared at her without a word. He looked even more tired and drawn than usual.
“Forgive the intrusion.”
“No intrusion at all.”
He looked as if he hadn’t eaten for days. She wanted to hold him and hug him and comfort him and make love to him, but she couldn’t. He would be leaving in a matter of days.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yes. I was working. Please. Come in.” He opened the door wide. She walked in. “Would you like some tea?” he asked.
“Please. Thank you.”
She followed him into his kitchen. A fire burned in the fireplace. He filled the tea kettle and put it on a shelf over the fire.
“Are you hungry? Would you like some food?”
“No. I’m fine. Thank you.”
She hadn’t eaten since lunch and was famished, but she wanted to stay no longer than needed. In her fatigued state, there was no telling what she might do or say. He stoked the fire to increase the heat.
“Don’t you want to know why I’m here at this hour?” she asked.
“No. I am happy you’re here whatever the reason.”
She watched him prepare the tea. He avoided looking at her. “I conducted the analysis for the pillowcase,” he said.
She had almost forgotten about the pillowcase Sarah had given her. In his presence, she had almost forgotten about the case entirely and, watching him tend to the fire, could think only of his gentle touch on her inner thighs. She could feel resistance abandoning her.
“The concentrations of arsenic were high,” Ingram began, “approaching a fatal level but well below a suicidal level. She would be terribly sick and, without proper treatment, would expire. A person with this amount of arsenic in her system was not intent on killing herself, nor could she have ingested it by accident. The only viable conclusion is that it was ingested without her knowledge.”
“So it was murder.”
“Yes.”
“I have another item for you, this time from someone who will publicly attest to it.” She took out Julia’s letters from her satchel. But he shook his head.
“No.”
“Ingram, I need these analyzed for arsenic.”
“I know you do, but I must decline,” he said, staring at the fireplace.
“Because I will no longer share your bed?” She was shaking with anger. “I must prostitute myself in order for you to help me? You who know the extent of the corruption here? Look at me, for God’s sake! Answer me!”
He looked up at her slowly, with mournful eyes.
“The pillowcase confirmed my worst suspicions, that you have stumbled upon a murder—committed by powerful and ruthless men. Should the people who killed Miss Lazarus think for even a moment that you pose any threat to them, they will not hesitate to harm you. I will not be a party to that. I would never forgive myself.”
He looked at her with a kind of love and tenderness she had never known in all her life. She could feel the pain in his heart as if it were her own. In that moment, she realized she loved him the same way. Tears pricked her eyes.
“I cannot stop my work on this story. If you will not help me, I will find someone else. It may be difficult, and it may take time, but I will find a chemist somewhere.”
“I assumed you would say that. And so I have a proposition for you. I will do all the chemical analysis you need and even testify if need be, if—and only if—you and your mother will move here in the morning. I will have the maid make up the rooms.”
“I don’t think that is necessary—”
“It is absolutely necessary. I will worry myself to death if you refuse me.” He was insistent.
“What about Mrs. Fairley?”
“The rooms are in a separate part of the house. You will never see Mrs. Fairley unless you seek her out.”
“My mother may be aghast.”
“Not when she sees the size of the rooms. And the presence of a guard on the street will put her at ease.”
A guard? He had thought this through completely. She was overwhelmed at his desire to protect her.
“But Dr. Kraepelin and your trip to Europe—”
“I will contact him and delay my visit until this business is finished.”
“Ingram, you can’t.”
“I must. I have no choice. Just as you had a painful lesson that shaped your entire outlook, I had mine, as a doctor in the Indian Wars. I saw men lose their lives in an instant. I realized how fleeting life can be and that one must never put off what is truly important.”
She stood there, not knowing what to say. She wanted to go to him and tell him how much she loved him and beg him not to leave her ever. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, but he understood, yet again, that she would have to make the first move.
“That is extremely generous,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Then you will accept my offer?”
“Yes.”
Inside Nellie was a war between her desires and her fears. Her fears prevailed. “I should go home and see about mother.”
He nodded. He had anticipated this. But the fact that she agreed to stay at his home was enough for now.
“Should I send someone in the morning to help with your moving?”
“That would be most helpful. Thank you.”
“Not at all.”
She turned and opened the door. “Good night, Doctor Ingram.”
“Good night, Miss Bly.”