A New York Christmas (Christmas Novellas 12) Read online

  ‘What would your father do?’ Harley asked with perfect seriousness.

  Pitt would have sent one of his men on the job, but she did not say that. It was certainly not the answer Harley Albright was looking for. She thought hard while the minutes ticked away, and he waited, watching her intently.

  She must concentrate her mind, think logically. Most important of all, she must rescue Phinnie from a ruinous embarrassment. Her whole future life in New York, and with Brent, would depend upon Maria not turning up and spoiling it all. Society here would be just like society in London: they would never forget a tragedy, and still less a scandal.

  Also, in a way, she was representing the intelligence and the standing of her own family, and perhaps even remotely, England.

  ‘She will have found accommodation somewhere,’ she began thoughtfully. ‘Either she is staying with a friend, or she has rented somewhere, a house or a room. She will be aware that she is not welcome at the Albright home, and she will know where it is, but stay out of sight.’

  Harley nodded but did not interrupt.

  ‘Before we begin to look for her it would be good to make note of all we know about her. We will have to ask questions of people. The more precise they are, the less time we will waste.’

  He frowned. ‘She could be anywhere.’ His voice held a note of defeat.

  ‘No,’ she answered, far more firmly than she felt. ‘There are many areas she will not be, and even among those where she might be, some will be more likely than others. In London I could tell you, but here you will have to think of it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘She will need to feel safe.’ Jemima had tested her ideas in her mind, and hoped she was as reasonable as she sounded. ‘If there is an area she stayed in before, she might choose it. We all prefer the known to the unknown. It is both easier and pleasanter. Also she must be able to afford it. Do you know her circumstances? How does she support herself?’ The moment the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. The answer was one she could guess, and preferred not to know. But, perhaps in her fifties, Maria had changed her ways. She might well be obliged to.

  Harley pursed his lips into an expression of distaste. ‘She was always good at living off men, one way or another.’ His voice lifted. ‘But I see the point of your questions. That does narrow it down considerably. I shall think of them and give you answers. Is there anything else?’

  ‘Yes. What does she look like? Some things don’t change much. How tall is she? She may be grey-haired now, but eyes and skin tone do not change so much. What about her voice, her mannerisms? Where might she eat? Is there something she likes that would take her to a particular place?’

  ‘Likes? To eat?’ He looked uncertain.

  ‘Yes. When you are far from home, in trouble of any kind, it is natural to turn to something familiar and pleasant. Chocolates? A special kind of tea? A place where you can be alone? A view that has meaning? A particular park to walk in, pictures in a museum, anything?’

  He began to smile. ‘Yes, I see what you mean. You are a credit to your father, Miss Pitt. Would you like another cup of coffee, or shall we return home and begin our quest?’

  She rose to her feet. ‘I think we should begin as soon as possible, Mr Albright. We cannot afford otherwise.’

  For the first time in their acquaintance, he smiled at her with genuine warmth.

  The next three days were exciting and of absorbing interest to Jemima. Harley came up with an excellent account of all he knew about Maria Cardew, which turned out to be far more than she had expected.

  ‘She was apparently a very vivacious woman,’ he began. ‘Pretty in her own way, and very fashionable. Made herself most agreeable. I think she tried to keep her more eccentric opinions to herself, but she certainly did not always succeed.’

  ‘What opinions?’ Jemima asked, then saw his expression and wished she had not.

  ‘On racial matters, and people’s position in society, property rights. Which is amusing in a dry way, considering she met Edward Cardew in our house, and was quick enough to accept his proposal of marriage.’

  ‘Are you saying she was a hypocrite?’ Jemima asked as innocently as she could. The answer mattered too much not to pursue it.

  ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I suppose I am. Her subsequent history rather proves my point.’

  ‘Yet Miss Albright speaks well of her,’ Jemima pointed out.

  Harley’s expression was a mixture of anger and an attempt at patience.

  ‘Celia likes anyone who likes her, and Maria knew that.’

  ‘I see,’ Jemima replied, forming a strange and not very pleasant picture in her head of a selfish and manipulative woman who had deeply hurt her only child, whom Jemima now must protect.

  Jemima was careful to say nothing to Phinnie about how she was spending her days. As far as everyone else was concerned, especially Mr Rothwell Albright, Harley was taking the opportunity to show Jemima around the city he knew and loved, and she was greatly enjoying it.

  The weather had turned suddenly much colder. They woke up on the third day of their quest to find everything mantled in white.

  ‘I must show you Central Park in the snow!’ Harley said at the breakfast table, a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

  ‘Indeed,’ Mr Albright agreed. ‘It is a wonderful sight. If it is deep enough there will be people playing all manner of games. And if there is ice yet, there will be skating. I might come with you . . .’

  ‘Thank you, Father,’ Harley said with a very slight drop in his voice. ‘But we will be fine. I’m sure you have matters that need your attention.’

  Brent stifled a smile; a complete misunderstanding, as Jemima knew. Harley had no interest in being alone in her company. What he had was an idea as to where they might find Maria Cardew. Something about the snow had awakened a memory in him. She could not afford to pass by this chance. She bowed her head slightly as if both pleased and self-conscious, and saw a fleeting look of alarm in Harley’s eyes.

  ‘Of course,’ Mr Albright agreed, as if he understood perfectly, and it pleased him.

  Jemima concentrated on the anticipation of discovering Maria Cardew.

  She and Harley set out as early as they could without giving rise to more comment, which she thought he found even more uncomfortable than she did. The air was very brisk and the wind had a new bite to it, but he did not ask her if she still wished to go out. It would have been courteous, even though he knew she would not refuse. The only one who noticed was Celia. Mr Albright appeared to be pleased; Brent and Phinnie were far too absorbed in each other, and their plans, to have noticed.

  They took the carriage as far as Central Park, then dismissed the driver, saying that their plans were too open for them to estimate a time for him to return. He smiled and drove off.

  Harley looked discomfited for a moment, then recovered himself.

  ‘As you have deduced, Miss Pitt, the snow this morning has reminded me that Maria Cardew used to enjoy it greatly, most especially when it was newly fallen and was still outlining the branches of the bare trees. If she is here in New York, as I am certain she is, she will be most likely to walk in the Park this morning. Of course we could well miss her – it is a very large place – nevertheless I know the best walks for such sights. If you are willing to go at a brisk pace, we have a chance of seeing her. Together, we will not draw any unusual attention, and we may follow her to wherever she is staying.’

  ‘That is an excellent plan,’ she agreed, walking rapidly beside him. ‘And people will be going carefully, watching that they do not slip, so she will be less likely to notice that the same couple is behind her over a considerable distance.’

  ‘Good,’ he agreed. ‘I had not thought of that.’ He offered her his arm.

  She refrained from making the remark that rose to her lips, and took it as if it had been the most natural thing to do.

  It was well into the afternoon and Jemima’s feet were achi
ng when finally, thirty yards ahead of them, a woman of medium height turned towards them for a moment. She was staring up at the fading light through the snow-laden branches of the trees, her face filled with wonder.

  Harley stiffened. His hand grasped Jemima’s arm so she stopped as well. Then as the woman continued her walk, he moved forward urgently. His pace increased so that gradually they closed the distance between them.

  ‘Do you want to confront her here?’ Jemima asked him breathlessly. ‘If she makes a scene, we will draw everyone’s attention, and if she leaves, we may not be able to follow her to wherever she is lodging.’

  ‘Ah . . .’ He let out his breath in annoyance, and slowed down again, allowing the woman in front to reach the edge of the Park and go along the pavement towards a crossing.

  ‘You are right,’ he said briefly, as the traffic eased and they followed the woman to the other side. She continued along the footpath and they moved a little closer to her so as not to lose her in the general crowd as they went eastwards.

  ‘Have you thought what you will say to her?’ Jemima asked, but she did not hear his reply in the crunch of footsteps in the snow.

  Once she lost Harley in crossing a busy street whose name was merely a number, like most of them. A wave of panic swept over her. Then she remembered that she had money, she knew the address of the Albright mansion, and she was certainly quite capable of speaking the language and asking for assistance. There were public conveyances, just as there were in London.

  Then the next moment he was there beside her.

  ‘You had better take my arm, Miss Pitt,’ he said a little sharply. ‘It would be disastrous if I were to lose you.’

  ‘It would be inconvenient,’ she corrected him. ‘I am afraid an elderly lady stepped between us and I could not move around her to keep up with you.’

  ‘It can’t be helped. I lost Maria, but I know where she went. We have found her residence. A few questions tomorrow, when we have prepared ourselves, and we shall find her exact rooms. Your detection has been of the highest order, Miss Pitt, and our whole family owes you a considerable debt.’ He started to walk back the way they had come, automatically taking her with him. ‘Phinnie will never know of it. I am sure you have more grace and tact than to tell her, but I shall not forget what you have done. I am truly grateful. Now if you are ready, we shall find a cab and return home. It is getting dark, and I think it is very much colder.’

  Jemima was glad to agree.

  Dinner was full of conversation about the wedding: were they sure the right flowers would be available? Was Aunt Mabel going to recover her health in time to attend? Was the cake perfectly iced yet? Jemima was asked politely about her day, but as soon as she had satisfied them that it had been enjoyable, and she was impressed by the beauty of the Park in its white covering, discussion returned to the wedding arrangements.

  She felt a little left out, she knew none of the people referred to. But she reminded herself that she was here to look after Phinnie and see that it was truly the happiest day of her life. Above all, without Phinnie ever knowing, she must make certain that Maria Cardew did not spoil it. She had already done more than enough damage for a lifetime.

  The face of the woman who had turned in wonder to stare at the snow-mantled trees did not look dissipated, or even angry or tired. But Jemima had been fifty feet away. Closer to, it might have betrayed all kinds of weaknesses, even the beginnings of disease. As she had heard her mother say, ‘At twenty you have the face nature has given you, at fifty you have the face you deserve’. Time has a way of carving your character into you so that all may see it at a glance. The lines of habit cut deep, for better or worse.

  The next morning she set out with Harley to find and confront Maria Cardew. He assured her that he had decided exactly what to say to her, and a fall-back attitude to adopt if she should prove unreasonable. He was prepared to offer her money, in spite of Jemima’s advice to the contrary.

  They were in a coffee shop a block and a half from the building where Maria had gone on the previous evening when Harley spoke of his plan.

  ‘I know which building it is, but I don’t know which rooms,’ he told her as they sat opposite each other, their hands around their hot mugs. ‘I will go and enquire. Perhaps it may be necessary to bribe someone to let me know exactly where she is. Also, of course, I don’t know how she is satisfying the landlord regarding her rent,’ he went on. ‘It is not a seemly place for you to come, except when I have actually found her. I regret that I have to involve you at all, and I am still hesitant, now that I see the neighbourhood in daylight. But I think you may be able to persuade her of the harm she would do Phinnie better than I can. I am ashamed to use your help, but I fear I cannot do without it.’

  ‘Mr Albright,’ Jemima said urgently, ‘please don’t apologise. We have come this far together, in a cause that is important to both of us. I am not afraid of a slight unpleasantness at the end. Life cannot always be fun. Let me know when you find her, and I shall come.’

  ‘I admire you, Miss Pitt, and I am most grateful,’ he replied, then he ordered another cup of coffee for her, paid for it, and left to go out into the gently falling snow.

  It was a full half-hour later that a small boy came into the coffee shop and over to her table.

  ‘You Miss Pitt?’ he asked politely, but with so strong an accent from somewhere in Eastern Europe that she took a moment to deduce what he had said.

  ‘Yes, I am. Do you have a message for me?’ she asked eagerly.

  He smiled, showing beautiful teeth, and passed her a slip of paper.

  ‘Thank you.’ She gave him a nickel coin out of her purse. He took it and hid it immediately, then gave her a nod and went outside again. She opened the note and read it. It contained simply an address a short distance away, but it included an apartment number.

  She folded the paper, put it in her pocket, fastened up her coat and went out into the snow. It took her seven or eight minutes walking into the wind before she reached the building. She went in at the entrance and found herself in a tired and rather grubby hall. She had memorised the number. Since the first digit was a three, she expected it to be on the third floor. Harley was nowhere to be seen, so perhaps he had already gone up.

  It was a steep climb, but in minutes she was at the top, and looking at the numbers on the doors. She found 309 at the further end. Harley was not here either. Had he gone in without her? He had previously agreed not to do that.

  With some irritation she knocked on the scratched wooden door and waited.

  There was no answer. Actually, it was not completely shut. She gave it a push and it swung wider.

  There was a slight rustling sound from inside.

  ‘Mr Albright?’ Jemima called. She would have said ‘Mrs Cardew’, but she was not certain if that was the name Maria still used.

  Again there was no answer, just a faint swish of movement, like the fabric of a long skirt over the floor.

  She would have to use some name. Where on earth was Harley?

  ‘Mrs Cardew?’

  Nothing but the swish of fabric on the floor again. This was absurd. The door was unfastened; there must be someone inside. Jemima pushed the door open the rest of the way and went in, calling again for Mrs Cardew.

  The sitting room was pleasantly furnished but very shabby. One of the windows was open and a curtain blew in the wind, making a slight noise as it moved over the carpet and settled back. That was what she had heard.

  She stared around her. There were plenty of signs of occupation: a number of books on the shelves, a bag with knitting needles and wool sitting neatly by one of the armchairs, a handmade rug for the knees folded up but where it could easily be reached.

  Another door was open and she could see that it led to a tiny kitchen. Anyone inside would have been visible.

  ‘Mrs Cardew!’ she called again, going to the door on the opposite side. She knocked on it and waited, then tried the handle. What on earth coul
d she say in explanation if she intruded into someone’s bedroom and found them there? She had no earthly excuse.

  And yet she did it.

  She saw the woman immediately. The bedroom was small and neat, with two single beds in it. One was neatly made and empty, as if it were not used. On the other a woman lay motionless. The skin of her face was bleached almost grey and her dark hair, streaked with white, was loose and tangled as if she had been moving restlessly only a short while ago. One thin, blue-veined hand rested on the covers.

  Jemima felt a shock of grief. She knew the woman was dead, but what struck her most strongly was the difference between this half-sunken face, the life fled from it, and the one she had seen only yesterday, staring up at the snow-laden trees with such joy.

  She stood looking at the woman until she heard a sound behind her and swung around, her throat tight with fear.

  ‘Miss Pitt?’ Harley’s voice broke the trance.

  Relief overwhelmed her, then vanished again like a huge wave sucking back into itself.

  ‘I think she’s dead,’ she whispered. ‘Poor soul . . .’

  Harley walked over to the bed and put his fingers to the skin of the woman’s neck. He looked across at Jemima. ‘Yes, she is, but she is still warm. It can’t be long. Maybe only a few minutes.’

  She was amazed. ‘Just a few minutes? If we’d come sooner . . .’

  Harley pulled the covers away from her chin and shoulders and suddenly all Jemima could see was scarlet blood, wide-spreading, wet, from a heart only just stopped beating. Dizziness overtook her and she had to fight to keep from fainting.

  ‘We had better call the police,’ Harley said grimly, his voice catching in his throat. ‘It was not a natural death. She’s been stabbed, but the knife, or whatever it was, doesn’t appear to be here, which means it was murder.’

  Jemima nodded. She tried to speak but no sound came.