Murder on Amsterdam Avenue (14 page)

“I have no idea, although I do know she wasn't happy when he took a position at that Asylum.”

“One can't fault him for wanting to provide for his family,” her mother said.

“Of course not, and I understand it pays five thousand a year.”

Sarah almost gasped. The amount was quite generous, of course, but what really surprised her was she didn't think she'd ever heard a woman of Mrs. Peabody's station in life mention anything so crass as how much salary someone earned.

“That seems . . . very generous,” her mother said.

“Particularly when Charles hardly ever bothered to appear at his office.”

Sarah had to bite her tongue to keep from demanding how she could know such a thing, reminding herself she wasn't interrogating Mrs. Peabody. She had to allow her mother to obtain the information in the customary way that gossiping women did.

“I wonder what he did with himself all day then,” her mother said.

“Oh, that's easy enough to determine. He went to his club. My nephew Percy would see him there almost every day.”

“Percy?” her mother said. “Is that your sister's boy?”

“Yes, Percy Littlefield.”

Her mother was going to ask another question, probably about Percy's heritage, so Sarah decided to get the conversation back where she wanted it. “I wonder if Charles was at his club when he was first taken ill,” she said.

“I'll have to ask Percy,” Mrs. Peabody said. “Although I wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't been taken ill any number of times when he was at his club,” she added with a smirk.

Her mother somehow managed to betray only mild interest. “Why is that?”

“Well, I hate to speak ill of the dead, you understand, but it was common knowledge that Charles often drank far more than was sensible and certainly more than was good for him.
Percy said that he had to be escorted home more than once after he had overindulged.”

“Many young men overindulge.”

“But how many of them become so ill from it that they die?”

“Oh my.”

“I hope we aren't shocking you, Sarah,” Mrs. Peabody said, obviously hoping that she was.

Sarah refused to react. “I was just thinking how tragic that is, for a young man's lack of control to cost him his life.”

“Indeed. Although there are other ways a young man's lack of control can ruin him. His own father proved that.”

“Whatever do you mean, Esther?” her mother asked.

“You know the story as well as I, how Gerald took up with that girl down South during the war. Prudence hasn't forgiven him to this day.”

“Surely you exaggerate. No one can stay angry for thirty years.”

“Perhaps not angry, but certainly bitter.”

“Because her son fell in love?” her mother scoffed.

“Because he was tricked. Oh, you must have heard the rumors. Prudence started them herself with her carrying on when Jenny first arrived here.”

“I'm afraid I didn't. What rumors do you mean?”

“The rumor that Jenny wasn't at all what she claimed to be.”

“But she really was from the South. That part had to be true, because that's where Gerald found her.”

“Yes, but she claimed to be the daughter of a wealthy family who had owned a plantation and slaves, but Prudence said her manners were atrocious. She had to teach her everything—how to have a conversation and entertain company, even how to shop for clothing and deal with a dressmaker.”

“I'm sure her life in the South was very different, and she was so young . . .” Sarah's mother tried.

“She was old enough to have a child, which was another thing that bothered Prudence. She could never get the truth of it, whether Charles had married her and gotten her with child or if it was the other way around.”

“That's a terrible thing to say,” her mother said.

“Of course it is, but who could have blamed the girl? There was a war, and she'd lost everything and everyone. She wouldn't be the first to trade her virtue for some security.”

Sarah couldn't keep silent any longer. “But how could she be sure her virtue would really buy her security? As you said, there was a war, and the soldiers might be gone the next day.”

“Ah yes, Sarah, you are absolutely right, which is why Prudence also never quite believed that Charles was Gerald's son.”

This time both Sarah and her mother did gasp.

“You can't be serious,” her mother said.

“I'm perfectly serious. Of course I have no idea if Prudence's suspicions were justified, but I do know she had them. A girl who had lied about her background would lie about anything, I suppose.”

“But you've known Jenny all these years,” Sarah couldn't help pointing out. “Wouldn't you have suspected something yourself?”

“No one really got to know her until after Charles was born and Gerald returned home. By then, she'd learned how to conduct herself, I suppose . . . And truth to tell, no one really knows her to this day. She keeps her own counsel, as they say.”

Sarah couldn't help wondering if Jenny had truly kept to herself or if the good citizens of New York had left her to herself because she was different and not really one of them.
Enough money could overcome even that, but Gerald's family didn't have that kind of money, at least not anymore. If Mrs. Peabody was still spreading these stories about her, others probably were, too. Sarah felt a pang of sympathy for the young woman Jenny had been and the lonely, middle-aged woman she had become.

“I wonder if Hannah knew any of this when she married Charles,” her mother said.

“Oh my, I doubt it. The Kingsleys were never in our social circle. Mr. Kingsley made his money in railroads, I believe, and he brought his family to the city where his children would have more opportunities to marry well. Hannah chose Charles because she was interested in being invited to the right houses, and she was sorely disappointed that Charles's name didn't open those doors for her.”

Sarah couldn't help wondering what Mrs. Peabody would say if she knew Charles really had been murdered, but they had decided not to tell her this, since his family didn't want anyone to know. Telling Mrs. Peabody would work better than putting it on the front page of a newspaper to make it public knowledge.

“It's odd you should have mentioned murder, though,” Mrs. Peabody said, “because I can't help wondering if Hannah might not have started thinking she could do better for herself if only Charles were out of the way.”

•   •   •

F
rank and Gino took the Ninth Avenue elevated train north to 104th Street. Then they got a cab to take them across to the East Side and over the rickety bridge at 110th Street to Wards Island and the newly minted Manhattan State Hospital.

Most everybody still called it the Wards Island Asylum, though.

From a distance, the buildings looked impressive. Four stories of ornate brickwork with towers and arched windows, the sprawling structure could have been a university or some other revered institution. Only when the cab lurched to a stop in front of the main entrance did that impression fade.

Frank sensed rather than saw the despair that permeated the whole island. Decades ago, hundreds of thousands of bodies had been moved from cemeteries in Madison Square and Bryant Park to this desolate place for reburial. Later someone decided this small island off the East Side of Manhattan would be an excellent location for the city's insane men, so they'd built the Asylum. Recently, they'd also begun moving the female population of Blackwell's Island here, as well. When Frank went inside to inquire about speaking to someone who knew Charles Oakes, he was directed to Dr. Dent, who was the supervisor of the Women's Department.

Frank left Gino to wander around and see what he could learn from the staff or even the inmates while he spoke with Dr. Dent.

“Who did you say you are again?” Dr. Dent asked when he'd invited Frank to take one of the straight-backed chairs sitting in front of his battered desk. The room had the cluttered look of a man with too much real work to do and not enough time for managing the paperwork.

“I'm assisting Mr. Gerald Oakes in making some inquiries about the death of his son, Charles.”

Dr. Dent wasn't impressed by this piece of gobbledygook. “Which means that Mr. Oakes thinks his son met with some sort of foul play, I take it.”

“That's something he's concerned about, yes. Do you know
anything about Charles Oakes that might help us determine what happened to him?”

“I hardly know anything at all about Charles Oakes, as a matter of fact.”

“I thought he worked here.”

“That is a matter of opinion, Mr. Malloy. Oakes was appointed to a position here with much fanfare, but like many government appointments, his position was not clearly defined as to duties and responsibilities.”

Frank could see this didn't sit well with the good doctor. “So you're saying he had a job here but no real work to do.”

“I'm sure he could have found something, but he rarely bothered to appear, so he never had the opportunity.” Was that bitterness in the doctor's voice? “What is it exactly you want to know about Mr. Oakes?”

“I was wondering if you saw him on the day when he first became ill.”

“I see, because you think his illness was suspicious. Does that mean you think he was murdered somehow?”

“As a matter of fact, that's a possibility. He may have been poisoned. That's why I'd like to know if you saw him and had a medical opinion about his condition.”

“I had not seen him for at least a week before he died, and he seemed perfectly fine then.”

“Can you think of any reason why someone would want to poison Mr. Oakes?”

“Good God, man, that's . . . How would I know something like that?”

“We both know why a man like Charles Oakes gets appointed to a position here, and it's not because he has any interest in the patients or the treatment of the insane.”

“You are absolutely right, Mr. Malloy, although Charles Oakes did have some interest in at least one of the patients.”

“Really? Which one?”

“A woman named Ella Adderly.”

Frank managed not to react. “What sort of interest did he take in her?”

“Not the kind you're probably thinking. We're very progressive here, Mr. Malloy, and I assure you that the female patients are not interfered with in any way by the staff. We treat insanity with the most modern methods, and many of our patients actually recover and return home to live perfectly normal lives.”

“Was this Ella Adderly one of them?”

Dr. Dent sighed. “Sadly, no. That is, she may yet recover, but when she left here, she was still somewhat delusional.”

“And Charles Oakes was responsible for her leaving?”

“Yes, he handled the paperwork himself and made sure the doctor who examined her provided the diagnosis necessary to get her released.”

“Had he ever done this for any other patients?”

“Never. He never even expressed any interest in the other patients. As I said, he spent little time here.”

“Do you have any idea why he chose this Ella Adderly for special attention?”

“Not really, although it isn't difficult to guess. Her family must have, uh, asked him to get her released.”

“Is that common?”

“Mr. Malloy, when someone is judged insane and sent here for treatment, their family is usually ashamed. People don't like their friends to know. It reflects badly on the entire family, you see. They are suspected of a certain weakness or lack of moral fiber, and all the family members are tainted with the idea of ‘bad blood.'”

Frank knew this perfectly well. “What does this have to do with getting the Adderly woman released?”

“Because of the taint, families often don't want their loved one returned to them. In some cases, where the individual is completely recovered, they can make up a story about where the person has been and no one is ever the wiser. But if the person isn't recovered, she will eventually call attention to herself and her condition and embarrass her family.”

“So it's not likely the family will want the person back if they aren't recovered.”

“No. In fact, they are usually more than happy to leave the person here with us indefinitely, even after they are completely recovered, just in case she might have a relapse someday.”

“Why do you think the Adderly woman's family wanted her released?”

“I don't know, but I do know it was the worst thing they could have done. She is very fragile, and the slightest difficulty could shatter her mentally beyond repair.”

“She came to Charles Oakes's funeral.”

“Oh dear,” Dent said, frowning. “I hope she wasn't disruptive.”

“She fainted and a man named Adderly took her home. Her husband, do you think?”

“She wasn't married, which was unfortunate. We see many old maids here. When a female doesn't have the opportunity to fulfill her natural destiny as a wife and mother, especially if she is of a nervous temperament, her mind often turns inward.”

Frank couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Are you saying that getting married prevents women from going insane?”

“Not precisely, no, but any individual who finds himself with no outlets for his abilities and nothing to occupy his—or her—mind and energies, may succumb to despair and lose touch with reality.”

“And this is what happened to Miss Adderly?”

“I don't know the specifics of her case, and of course it can't possibly have any bearing on Charles Oakes's death, but it seems likely.”

“Then why do you think her family wanted her released?”

“As I said, I have no idea. Perhaps you should ask them.”

Perhaps he should. “What else was Oakes involved with? Was he in a position to give business to a particular company, for example? Or was he in charge of ordering food or supplies?”