Free The Interpretation Of Murder by Jed Rubenfeld

death. The difference between Boston and New York society was
this: the goal in Boston was to do nothing but what had always been done; in
New York it was to outdo anything that had ever been done. But the sheer spectacle
of a New York party - and one was of course supposed to be part of that
spectacle - was a thing my Boston blood could never quite grow used to. The
debutantes in particular, while far more plentiful than their Bostonian
counterparts, and far better looking, were too sparkly for my taste. They were
an efflorescence of diamond and pearl - on their corsages, around their necks,
dangling from their ears, draped on their shoulders, nested in their hair - and
though all these articles were doubtless genuine, I could not help the feeling
that I was looking at paste.
        'Here you are, Stratham!' cried Aunt
Mamie. 'Oh, why must you be cousins with my Marion? I would have married you
off to her years ago. Now listen to me. Miss Crosby is asking everyone who you
are. She is eighteen this year, the second handsomest girl in New York, and you
are still the single handsomest man - I mean the handsomest single man. You
must dance with her.'
        'I have danced with her,' I replied,
'and I have it on good authority that she means to marry Mr de Menocal.'
        'But I don't want her to marry de
Menocal,' answered Aunt Mamie. 'I wanted de Menocal to marry Franz and Ellie
Sigel's granddaughter Elsie. She, however, has run away to Washington. It was
my understanding that people ran away from Washington. What can the girl
have been thinking? One might as well elope to the Congo. Have you said hello
to Stuyvie yet?'
        Stuyvie was, of course, her husband,
Stuyvesant. As I had not yet exchanged greetings with Uncle Fish, Aunt Mamie
conducted me toward him. He was engaged in close conversation with two men.
Next to Uncle Fish, I recognized Louis J. de G. Milhau, whom I knew as a fellow
undergraduate at Harvard. The other man, perhaps forty-five years old, looked
familiar, but I couldn't place him. He had closely cropped dark hair,
intelligent eyes, no beard, and an air of authority. Aunt Mamie solved my
difficulty when she added, under her breath, 'The mayor. I shall introduce
you.'
        Mayor McClellan, it turned out, was
just departing. Aunt Mamie cried out in protest, objecting that he would miss
Caruso. Aunt Mamie detested opera, but she knew the rest of the world
considered it the pinnacle of taste. McClellan apologized, thanking her
cordially for her beneficence to the city of New York, and swore he would never
leave at such an hour, were it not for a very serious matter demanding his
immediate attention. Aunt Mamie objected even more strenuously, this time to
the use of the term 'very serious matter' in her presence. She did not want to
hear about any very serious matters, she said, fleeing us in a cloud of
chiffon.
        To my surprise, Milhau then said to
the mayor, 'Younger here is a doctor. Why don't you tell him about it?'
        'By gad,' exclaimed Uncle Fish,
'that's right. A Harvard doctor. Younger will know the man for the job. Tell
him about it, McClellan.'
        The mayor surveyed me, made some sort
of internal decision, and put a question. 'Do you know Acton, Younger?'
        'Lord Acton?' I responded.
        'No, Harcourt Acton of Gramercy Park.
It's about his daughter.'
        Miss Acton had apparently been the
victim of a brutal assault earlier this evening, in her family's house, while
her parents were away. The criminal had not been apprehended, nor had he even
been seen by anyone else. Mayor McClellan, who knew the family, desperately
wanted from Miss Acton a description of the criminal, but the girl could
neither speak nor even remember what had happened to her. The mayor was
returning to police headquarters this instant; the girl was still there,
attended by her family doctor, who had professed himself mystified by her
condition. He could find no physical injuries