Murder On Mulberry Bend

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Sarah Brandt turned toward her companion, even though he was merely a shadow in the dark coach beside her. “It was lovely. I can’t remember when I was last at the opera.”

Indeed, she felt more than a little like Cinderella. Dressed this afternoon in finery borrowed from her mother. Dinner at Delmonico’s. Then the theater, with its glittering performers singing soul-shattering music and the magnificently garbed patrons who were more interested in being seen than watching the performance. Now she was riding home in a carriage that was going to deliver her, if not back to her place among the cinders, at least back to ordinariness again.

“There’s no reason you couldn’t go out like this frequently,” Richard Dennis said, amusement in his voice.

They both knew her present life on Bank Street, working as a midwife, usually allowed little opportunity for an evening like this one. “Ah, I see it all now. My mother bribed you to tempt me back into the world of the idle rich, didn’t she?”

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