Read Online Murder on Sisters' Row by Victoria Thompson - Free Book Online Page B

moving with practiced ease in spite of his groggy state. When he was finished, he moved to the carriage door and held it open for Sarah, indicating with a wave of his hand that she could enter. He made no effort to assist her, though, crossing his arms in silent rebellion against good manners.
    Sarah struggled a bit climbing in with the babe in her arms, but she managed. When she was settled, he said, “Where do you want to go?”
    “To the Mission, the same place you took me last time.”
    His expression told her he thought this was crazy, but he slammed the door shut and climbed up to the driver’s seat. Sarah hastily opened the curtains at the windows in hopes of seeing some indication that the rescuers were nearby and waiting. At least they would see her and know she’d gotten away. She even held the baby high against her chest, so the bundle he made would be visible. As they turned onto Seventh Street, she saw a shabby carriage stopped on the next block, its driver slumped over as if drunk or sleeping. Could that be them?
    Her carriage started down the street, and she caught a glimpse of a gentleman strolling leisurely on the opposite sidewalk, a walking stick in his hand. She recognized him. Mr. Quimby. She held the baby up even higher, so he’d know she had him. He didn’t seem to take any notice, and then they were gone, rattling away. Sarah lowered the baby to her lap and sank back against the cushions and started to pray.
     
     
    N EARLY TWO HOURS LATER, SARAH ARRIVED AT THE house where Mrs. Van Orner had provided a refuge for the women she rescued. Mrs. Keller, at the Daughters of Hope, had loaned her a market basket in which to carry the baby. She’d be less noticeable, they’d decided, if Jake did return and started asking if anyone in the neighborhood had seen a woman carrying an infant. By the time she arrived at the modest clapboard house in the Lower East Side, however, she was extremely noticeable. The baby was screaming bloody murder, drawing looks varying from pity to outrage from the people passing her in the street.
    Having only the address and seeing nothing about the house to distinguish it from its neighbors, Sarah breathed a silent prayer that she was at the right place and pounded on the door. A young woman opened it, her astonished gaze taking in Sarah and the screaming baby in the basket with one glance, then sticking her head out to hastily check the street before drawing Sarah inside and closing the door securely behind them.
    “Are you Mrs. Brandt?” the girl asked.
    “Yes, I—”
    “Thank heaven you’ve come. That girl Amy, she’s half out of her mind worrying about what happened to you and the baby.” She reached into the basket and snatched up the squalling child. “He’s soaking wet!”
    “I was in such a hurry to get him away, I didn’t even think to ask them for spare diapers,” Sarah said by way of apology, but the girl was gone, hurrying toward the stairs at the end of the front hallway.
    Sarah stood there stupidly, watching her disappear up the stairs. Then she looked around. The place reminded her of the Daughters of Hope Mission, an old house furnished with threadbare rugs and castoff furniture. Faded wallpaper covered the walls, unrelieved by a single picture. A far cry from the house on Sisters’ Row.
    She heard a door open upstairs and a woman’s voice raised in anguish, the words indistinguishable. The door closed, muffling the baby’s cries, and then they ceased altogether. Sarah sighed with relief.
    “Not exactly what you expected, was it?” a familiar voice asked.

4
    B EING SUMMONED BY THE CHIEF OF DETECTIVES WAS never a good thing, Frank observed as he made his way upstairs to Stephen O’Brien’s office. When he saw a woman was already in O’Brien’s office, he knew it was even worse than he’d thought.
    “Close the door, Malloy,” O’Brien said. He didn’t sound happy to see him.
    Frank closed the door and took a few steps closer to