twenty-five

A uniformed officer stood with hands clasped behind his back at the bottom of the steps to Minnie’s flat. A lamp in every window pushed light out into the evening. A clump of people, mostly men, stood on the opposite side of the street, smoking and talking in low voices as they gazed at the building.

I approached the officer and introduced myself.

“No one goes in, miss.”

“I don’t wish to enter,” I said, even though I wanted to. “I’m looking for the infant. I was Minnie O’Toole’s midwife and I delivered her baby only a week ago.”

“He’s just there with the neighbor woman.” The officer pointed to the next house. A window on the side looked directly onto Minnie’s porch.

A hearty woman in her fifties answered my knock, with tendrils of salt-and-pepper hair escaping her puffy white mob cap. Her eyes were kindly and her flour-streaked apron confirmed a delicious aroma of fresh bread that flowed out from the open door.

I repeated my introduction, adding that I wanted to check on Billy’s well-being.

“I’m Therese Stevens. Come in, then, and sit. We’ll get out of sight of that clutch of vultures.” She pointed to the group of curious onlookers, then ushered me into a modest sitting room whose surfaces gleamed from polish. Not a thing was out of place, except baby Billy nestled into a blanket on a big stuffed chair.

“He’s just gone to sleep at last, poor tyke.” She snugged the blanket up closer under his chin. “Will you take a cup of tea?”

“I thank thee kindly. It has been a long day for me, and it’s not over yet.”

She bustled out and I bent over to check on Billy. His brow was warm but not hot. Recent tears still dampened his cheeks. My hostess returned in no time bearing a tray with a cup of tea and a plate of warm buttered bread that she set on a low table near me. A small pot of purple preserves sat open with a knife at the ready.

“Has thee spoken with Minnie’s brother or sister?” I took a sip of the tea, grateful she had sweetened it, and spread preserves on a slice of bread.

“The sister was the one who found her, bless her soul. She’s still next door being questioned, I believe.”

“Such sadness for her. How was Minnie killed?” I felt compelled to ask.

Even though no one was nearby to listen, Therese leaned toward me and lowered her voice. “She was stabbed in the neck.”

A chill rippled through me. The same method of murder as with Thomas. By the same person? At least this time it hadn’t been done with my knitting needle.

“With a letter opener, they said,” Therese added.

“How awful.” I imagined Minnie’s fear when she saw her killer coming for her. “Did thee see anyone acting oddly come to call?”

Therese nodded. “I saw only a woman wearing a long cape and a large bonnet visit Minnie late this afternoon. Never seen the likes of her before. Couldn’t get much of a glimpse of the face, the bonnet came that far forward.”

“That might have been Minnie’s killer. Did thee see the hair color or any other identifying features?” I took a bite of the bread, which tasted as good as it smelled.

“You’re sounding like the police there. Or those vultures out there. Why are you asking so many questions?” Therese cocked her head as she gazed at me.

I swallowed before I spoke. “I am only curious, but strongly curious, I admit. Whoever killed Minnie must be brought to justice.”

She nodded. “I think I spied a wisp of light-colored hair. And the woman was thin-like. A bit taller than you, even.”

The mention of a cape stirred the memory of the shadowy figure I’d seen before the fire. I shivered.

Billy stirred in his makeshift bed. “How will we feed this child?” Therese asked. “He’ll need to eat soon. I don’t know the sister’s plans for him. I might have a can of condensed milk in the kitchen.”

“Thee won’t need that.” I told her of Patience’s recent loss and her willingness to nurse Billy.

“That’s splendid, then. I heard the father isn’t known. Although”—Therese watched me as she spoke—“I’ve seen a certain gentleman come to call several times. A gentleman well-known in Amesbury.” She raised her eyebrows.

I nodded. “I saw him once, as well. I believe he’s the baby’s father. His own wife is also with child, though. I don’t know if he’ll acknowledge Billy or not.”

“The poor innocent infant who did nothing to deserve his fate.” Therese made a tsking sound. “At least he’ll be able to eat.” At a knock on the door, Therese rose and disappeared into the hall.

She returned with a round-faced woman in her forties. A spot of pink was the only color in her otherwise pale cheeks and her dark hair bore a few streaks of silver. “Rose Carroll, this is Ida. Minnie’s sister.”

I rose. “I can see the resemblance. I’m so sorry for the loss of thy sister, Ida.” I held out my hand.

Ida clasped it, then knelt next to Billy. “Them police kept asking me questions, and all I wanted was to come see the wee one.” She stroked his cheek. “They finally let me go.”

“You found Minnie?” I refrained just in time from saying Minnie’s body.

She glanced up, tears overflowing eyes as blue as cornflowers. “I was coming to check on her and Billy. She didn’t answer my knock but I could hear him crying. I pushed the door open and there she lay in the hall. Dead.” Ida sank back on the floor and clasped her knees in her arms, rocking as she hugged herself. “My little sister, with that, that thing sticking right out of her neck. Who would do such a terrible deed?”

“Come now.” Therese helped Ida up off the floor and into a chair. She pulled a bottle out of a high cupboard set into the wall near the hall. “You need a spot of spirits,” Therese said, pouring the brandy into a small glass and handing it to Ida. She poured a spot for herself, as well, but I shook my head when she glanced at me holding a third glass.

Ida sipped the spirits and grew less agitated. “What will I do with my nephew? I have six of my own children at home. And the youngest is five. I don’t have a drop of milk left in me.”

I leaned toward Ida, my elbows on my knees. “I have a client who lost her own newborn son this week. She’s agreed to feed and care for Billy for the time being. With thy permission, clearly.”

“Who is this woman? And what happened to her poor son?”

I told her about Patience and Timmy. She nodded slowly.

“That poor woman. If she takes Billy in, I can go and see him when I want, surely?”

“Of course,” I said, sitting back.

“That’s fine, then.”

“Will this plan meet thy brother’s approval, too?” I asked. “Or that of other family members?”

“It’s only me and Jotham. He and I don’t see eye to eye, you might say. But he can’t argue with making sure Billy is fed the right way.”

“Can thee think of anyone at all who might have held a grudge against your sister?” I watched her.

“Now there you go badgering her with these same inquiries,” Therese said to me. “That’s not rightly your business, Miss Carroll.”

Ida shook her head. “It’s all right, though the detective asked me the same question. I don’t know of anyone who disliked Minnie. She was just a sweet girl who went a little wrong. That Mr. Parry took advantage of her, he did. But he at least did the right thing by supporting her.”

“Thee is confident that he’s Billy’s father, then,” I said.

“Oh, indeed he is, wrong that it is.” Ida’s voice of misery changed to an angry tone. She tossed back the rest of her drink and gazed at the baby. “He’d better keep on paying, too. For his son.”