The fourth book in the Gaslight Mysteries series, 2002

SARAH OPENED THE DOOR TO FIND A RAGGED LITTLE BOY on her front stoop. He was fidgeting from one grubby bare foot to the other, either impatient or nervous. He clutched a folded piece of paper to his sunken chest and glared up at her suspiciously.

“You Mrs. Brandt?” he demanded.

“Yes, I am,” she replied, eyeing him cautiously. He might be young in years, but she knew he was as dangerous as a serpent. Obviously, he was a street Arab, one of the hundreds of homeless children who lived on the streets, doing whatever was necessary to stay alive. What on earth did he want and how did he know her name?

“Here,” he said, thrusting the paper at her.

She took it gingerly, still watching him with one eye while she unfolded it. Someone needing her services as a midwife must have hired the boy to fetch her. Usually a family member or a neighbor came to tell her a woman’s time had come, but perhaps they’d had no one to send.

“Dear Mrs. Brandt,” the note read in a careful, masculine hand. “I find myself in need of some professional advice from you on behalf of a lady of my acquaintance. However, this is a matter of some delicacy, and I would prefer that my mother not be made aware of it. Would you be so kind as to meet me this evening at five o’clock in Washington Square near the hanging tree?” The note was signed, “Your obedient servant, Nelson Ellsworth.”

Nelson lived next door to her with his elderly mother. Mrs. Ellsworth had become one of Sarah’s dearest friends, in spite of the difference in their ages. She hardly knew Nelson, however, since he was so seldom at home. According to Mrs. Ellsworth, he spent long hours working at the bank. He hoped to become a vice president soon.