Page 52 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
“If you think that is wise...” Patrick was hesitant to comply. “It will only take a few minutes to walk there.”
Effie convinced him. If she could speak to Mrs. Branson, perhaps she would learn something that would help Anderson uncover what had happened.
The little white house belonging to Mrs. Branson was perhaps half a mile from 322 Predicament Avenue. Patrick approached the door confidently and knocked, with Effie standing slightly behind him. The door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman in a crisp cotton shirtwaist and lace collar belted at the waist, with a dark green skirt draping to the floor. She wore spectacles, and her graying hair was pulled up properly.
“Mr. Charlemagne!” Her smile of welcome wavered as she spotted Effie. “Miss James. How may I help you?” Mrs. Branson inquired with a sweeping look from Effie to Patrick, then back to Effie again.
Patrick broke the awkwardness with a casual smile, hat clutched in his hands. “Miss James has a few questions for you.”
“About?” Mrs. Branson’s eyebrows rose.
Effie cleared her throat. “The woman.”
“What woman?”
“The woman who came to an unfortunate end at 322 Predicament Avenue,” Patrick said, assisting Effie.
“Ahh. Yes.” Mrs. Branson nodded. “What about her?”
Effie swallowed. “Did you speak with her? Could you describe her for me? Can you tell me her name?”
Mrs. Branson frowned, adjusting her gold spectacles on her nose. “I’ve already told the police all of this. What business is it of yours? Are you one of those curiosity seekers who have been invading the neighborhood since you and that Englishman uncovered the crime scene?”
“No, I—”
“Mrs. Branson.” Patrick offered a charming smile. “Miss James and her family have been directly affected by the situation. Any help you can provide would be greatly appreciated.”
“Well then.” Mrs. Branson sniffed and pursed her lips. “No, I did not get introduced to her. I am careful whom I spend my time with. People talk, and I’m a good Christian woman, so one must be cautious about entertaining women of questionable backgrounds.” Another censuring look made Effie stiffen. She heard the underlying implications. Effie had been seen numerous times with the foreigner Mr. Anderson, who wasn’t merely escorting her safely from one location to another like Patrick Charlemagne had. No. She had been seen in his carriage, with him at Predicament Avenue, not to mention at the house he was renting.
Mrs. Branson continued, “Not that I know the woman’s history, but ... well, it can’t be good if she’s no home, no husband, and is sleeping in an abandoned house with a child.”
Effie jerked her head up. “A child?”
Mrs. Branson nodded. “A very young one. I doubt the child was more than a year old if that.”
Effie exchanged looks with Patrick, who narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t aware there was a child involved in this awful situation.”
Mrs. Branson’s pinched expression grew tauter. “Well, I know what I saw. I can’t speak for what happened to the child. God forbid it was slaughtered along with the poor woman—who should not have expected any other outcome considering she was alone. Women in those situations never fare well, and I suppose it was only bound to happen at some point.”
“Are you certain there was a child?” Effie asked.
Mrs. Branson glowered at her. “Yes. There was a child.”
“Was it hers?” Effie couldn’t disguise her shock.
“How am I supposed to know?” Mrs. Branson said. “I would assume the child was hers if it was with her.”
Horror flooded Effie as she backed down the steps, staring at Mrs. Branson as she did so.
“Miss James?” Patrick extended his hand, which she ignored.
“The child, we have to...” Effie couldn’t complete the sentence. Her thoughts became jumbled. All she knew was that if Isabelle Addington was Anderson’s wife, then the child was ... Anderson’s.
18
ANDERSONBARRELEDOUTthe front door the moment he saw Effie approaching his house, Patrick at her heels.
“Effie!” The dark thundercloud that stretched across Anderson’s face was nothing in comparison to the turbulence in her heart.
