31 Bond Street: A Novel

By Ellen Horan

Who killed Dr. Harvey Burdell?

Though there are no witnesses and no clues, fingers point to Emma Cunningham, the refined, pale-skinned widow who managed Burdell’s house and his servants. Rumored to be a black-hearted gold digger with designs on the doctor’s name andfortune, Emma is immediately put under house arrest during a murder investigation. A swift conviction is sure to catapult flamboyant district attorney Abraham Oakey Hall into the mayor’s seat. But one formidable obstacle stands in his way: the defense attorney Henry Clinton. Committed to justice and the law, Clinton will aid the vulnerable widow in her desperate fight to save herself from the gallows.

Set in 1857 New York, this gripping mystery is also a richly detailed excavation of a lost age. Horan vividly re-creates a tumultuous era characterized by a sensationalist press, aggressive new wealth, a booming real-estate market, corruption, racial conflict, economic inequality between men and women, and the erosion of the old codes of behavior. A tale of murder, sex, greed, and politics, this spellbinding narrative transports readers to a time that eerily echoes our own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Mar 13, 2010
• ISBN: 9780061969379

Ellen Horan

Ellen Horan has worked as a studio artist and as a photo editor for magazines and books in New York City. She currently lives in downtown Manhattan, the setting of her first novel, 31 Bond Street.

Book preview

Part I

CHAPTER ONE

About three o’clock early Saturday morning, a heavy snow commenced and continued till daylight. The snow turned to rain and the wind blew for four hours, which we cannot but characterize as the worst, the very worst, wintry gale ever experienced in the city, ripping up window shutters and blowing down signs.

     Along the side streets, the water and melted snow flooded the lowlands of the City, which are generally the haunts of the poor. The very rats got frightened, and ran about Washington Street, South Street, the docks and markets, as the gushing thaw, like a landlord weary of seeking arrears of rent, summarily ejected them.

The New York Times, FEBRUARY 2, 1857

February 1, 1857

For a boy who watched boats, his room was the perfect perch. He could see the wharves across a jumble of chimney tops, and beyond, a peek of the harbor. He’d count the ships at anchor, all sizes and shapes. There were three-masters and snub-nosed square-riggers and packet boats built to carry tonnage, with black balls on red flags. Pleasure steamers were loaded down with folks out for amusement, heading past the oyster flats to picnic on the islands. A boat from the Orient had a curving hull and mysterious symbols on the sail. Occasionally, in spring, a cloud descended and sat on top of the water, leaving a ghostly smoke that blocked the Narrows. Skiffs scuttled on the New York side of it, their silhouettes looking like paper cutouts, while the foghorns wailed from the Atlantic side, waiting for it to lift. On summer days, John would crawl out the window to get the widest view, grabbing onto a chimney pot to keep from slipping off the steep pitch. He’d watch for hours from the roof, sitting at a slant, with the sensation that the entire city was straining out to sea.

Winter was different. Ice stretched clear across the East River, and the ferryboats were stalled in their berths. The previous evening, the weather had turned foul. John awoke shivering in his tangled bedding. He hopped through the cold to find his trousers and a woolen vest. He lived in an attic under the eaves with his mother, who lay still on the wooden bed in the opposite corner. She was frail and spent her days in a rocking chair next to the stove. Her hands were gnarled and pained by the cold and damp. She no longer went to the seamstress’ shop, for she could no longer sew.

This morning, there was nothing outside the dormer window but rain and a veil of grey. John couldn’t see the harbor or the clock on the church tower, and because of the storm, no one was pulling the bells. He wrapped some pieces of wool around his trouser legs with twine, to protect himself from the bitter weather. He crept out of the room and shut the attic door gently, and hurried down the stairs of the small house on Rector Street. He did not know what time it was, but Saturday was payday, and Dr. Burdell would dock him half a day if he were late.

He hurried uptown. Along Broadway, the wind whipped a mixture of snow and freezing rain, rocking the shutters and setting gas lamps swinging on their posts. Old snow blocked the culverts, flooding the intersections, and carriages were left abandoned in water up to their hubs. He made his way to Bond Street, a long row of townhouses, and banged at a door under the stoop. The cook pulled the bolts. Good, lord! Hannah exclaimed, You’re wetter than a sea captain. Don’t you dare drip on my floor. He followed her down the dark hallway and was careful not to drip, for the cook had hit him before, most recently with a wooden spoon.

In the kitchen, there were two fires burning: one in the brick beehive oven where she baked pies and puddings and one in the cast-iron stove. Only a fool would come out on a day like today, muttered Hannah. She moved back and forth to the oven, an apron wrapped around her wide girth, pulling out a fresh pie on a wooden board and then sliding it into the pie cabinet. When one of the oven doors opened, the heat hit John like a furnace blast. Hannah threw some bread crusts into a simmering pot of milk. John watched the crusts swimming around in the bowl as they softened into a pulp.

Doctor Burdell is still sleeping. I’m surprised he hasn’t rung for his breakfast. The cook spoke with reverence about the owner of the house, a dentist and a bachelor. John worked as an errand boy: he lit the gas lamps in the sixteen rooms, wound the clocks with a brass key, and hauled coal up and down the broad staircase with buckets on a stick across his back.

Yesterday, the serving girl was in the basement with a whiskey bottle and she was sent straight to the street.

So Alice is gone, is she? asked John, gulping down his porridge.

She sure is. And, do you think Mrs. Cunningham has hired another girl? asked Hannah. John guessed by shaking his head no.

No, she has not, said Hannah emphatically, slamming a dough ball against a wooden board and rolling it flat. So now it’s my job to cook the meal, serve the table, bow and curtsy, all while my bread burns.

Hannah! said the housemistress, appearing in the doorway. Mrs. Cunningham often appeared, sudden and unannounced, to give orders. Why hasn’t the boy taken Dr. Burdell his breakfast? she asked, illuminated by the lamp in the hallway. She placed a hand on the doorjamb and spoke from the doorway, as if hesitating to come in. She was dressed to go out, in a wide tailored skirt. Underneath the bodice, which was edged in delicate lace around the wrist and throat, a corset carved her figure into a tiny waist and ample bosom. She brushed away a tendril of a dark hair that had fallen into her face, loosened from its pins. Her milky skin looked paler than usual, and her eyes had a look of concern.

Hannah glanced at the iron bells that were strung along the kitchen wall, each a different size, one for every room of the house. The doctor hasn’t rung for his meal yet, Ma’am, that’s why, she said.

What time did he return home last night? asked Mrs. Cunningham.

I was asleep in the attic, Ma’am. I do not keep track of my master’s comings and goings.

Helen is taking the train at noon. Please tell Samuel to bring the carriage around. Mrs. Cunningham’s daughter was returning to boarding school in Saratoga, and she spoke as if Dr. Burdell’s carriage and driver were hers to command.

I wouldn’t send anyone out in this weather unless I expected them to swim or take a schooner, the cook retorted.

I see that John arrived this morning without being swept away, she said curtly. Please do as I say. Have John take Dr. Burdell’s breakfast upstairs, now. And ring me when Samuel has come, so he can fetch the carriage. She gathered her skirts and departed the kitchen.

Emma Cunningham had arrived at 31 Bond Street the previous October with her two daughters and twenty trunks. It was common for a bachelor like Dr. Burdell, who lived alone without a family, to lease the upper part of his large townhouse to a widow who would oversee the housekeeping and the servants. Only thirty-six, and a recent widow, Emma Cunningham was younger and prettier than most in the position. She irritated Hannah, for she spent her mornings at her vanity, smoothing her pale skin with scented creams and pinning up her hair into fanciful arrangements. Hannah was always harping about her—she wasted gas and decorated her room with yellow roses and an eiderdown a foot high. Her teenage daughters, Helen and Augusta, sailed around the house as if they owned the place, their hoop skirts scraping against the walls.

Hannah grumbled while fixing the breakfast tray. She rushed about, adding missing items: a small spoon for the jam, an extra knife for some hard sausage.

May I have some more? John asked, lifting his empty bowl.

Hannah slapped him on the head. Get upstairs with the tray. You heard the lady. If Dr. Burdell is missing his breakfast, everyone in this house will suffer.

John carried the tray out of the kitchen with the china teapot tilting and wobbling, balancing it carefully. He climbed up the narrow kitchen stairway to the front hall, passing the double parlor, ornamented with twin mantels and a high ceiling ringed with stucco designs like watchful angels. A tall clock in the hall rang eight times. Out the large window at the curve in the main staircase, the branches of the trees in the back garden scratched against the glass.

On the second floor, John placed the tray on the carpet in front of Dr. Burdell’s office, which was next to his bedroom. He pressed his ear to the door to hear if he was awake. Then he spotted something curious—a key was dangling from the keyhole, about to topple onto the floor. It was odd because Dr. Burdell, an intensely private man, always locked his door at night from the inside. John wondered if perhaps he had risen early and left the house before breakfast. Hearing nothing, John turned the knob. The door cracked open and scraped along the carpet a few inches until it jammed against a heavy object. The boy pushed harder until the door burst open.

Inside, Dr. Burdell was sprawled in the center of the floor, his arms outstretched, and his head in a sticky puddle that had hardened like tar. His lips were pendant and blue. His throat was slashed with a wound so deep that it nearly detached the head from the torso, revealing a sinewy tangle of muscle and tiny pearls of spine. The doctor’s eyes stared up at John, glazed, sunken into the temples. His tongue was protruding, swollen, as if choked on a last, silent scream.

John ran to the stairway and leaned over the banister. The Doctor! The Doctor! Hannah, come quickly.

Hannah’s head emerged, bobbing from below. What are you yelling about boy?

He’s in there. I seen him! John cried.

Seen what, pray tell.

The Doctor. He’s on the floor! He’s dead!

Don’t you go telling tales, boy. Are you playing me for a fool?

I am not telling a lie—there’s blood on the floor, and all over the walls and his neck is cut.

In her floured apron, she huffed up the staircase, her grey hair flying from her cap. Hannah reached the doorway and peered in. Oh, my God, my God, she screamed, putting her apron to her face.

Emma Cunningham, hearing the noise, rushed from the third floor, with Augusta and Helen behind her.

Hannah, what is the commotion?

The master is dead! cried Hannah.

That’s impossible, Emma said, pushing Hannah aside, craning her neck to peer into the office, her voice trailing, I just saw him yesterday before supper…. She turned away, clasping her hands to her breast.

It’s a carnage! wailed Hannah. A bloody murder!

Augusta looked inside, and then dropped to the floor in a faint. Mrs. Cunningham grabbed Helen to keep her away from the gruesome sight, and the younger girl started to cry. John stood next to the pile of women, his eyes welling with tears.

What are you standing there for, you foolish creature? screamed Hannah. Run down to the street and fetch the doctor that lives next door. Then go to the precinct house and look for an officer. She hit him on the side of the head, as if spurring a horse.

John turned and rushed down the stairs two at a time. In the vestibule he pulled the bolts on the heavy front door and jumped down the stoop. The street was misty and the rain had turned to snow. He paused and looked back at the house. For a moment he had the sensation that he had lost direction, not knowing which way to turn. Then he ran toward Broadway, his boyish figure, bundled in scratchy grey woolens, dissolving in the dim, snowy light.

CHAPTER TWO

The teakettle whistled with an insistent shriek. John replenished the firewood in the stove while Hannah muttered prayers. The door under the stoop opened and men came in, bringing a gust of wind and wet snow. The coroner slammed the door shut. Edward Connery was a stocky man with a heavy stomach that protruded from his waistcoat, a rumpled shirttail trailing beneath his vest. He entered the kitchen and removed his oilskin coat, dropping his wet garments in a pile on the kitchen floor.

The Coroner’s arrived, Captain, the Coroner is here! came a deputy’s voice from the hallway.

I could use a good cup of stew to chase this wetness from my bones, Connery said.

It’s about time someone hauled you uptown, said the Police Captain, George Dilkes, joining him in the kitchen. He had a lilt to his brogue and the doleful eyes of an Irish setter. The errand boy came to the precinct, he said, pointing to John. Then I sent my men to fetch you, over an hour ago.

And how about a spike of rum, lass? asked Connery. Hannah brought him a cup of broth and poured some rum into it. A good Irish wench would give a man a double shot.

Hannah turned, reddening. This is a respectable home, not a downtown gin mill, she sputtered. A man’s been murdered in this house, and the Coroner is tanking up on rum? God, help us!

A dead man is just as dead on Bond Street as in the lower wards, wouldn’t you say so, Captain? said Connery, sipping the oily mixture.

Could be, Dilkes replied, but uptown or downtown, this man just had his head near cut off. You’d better brace yourself, he said. I never seen anything so bad. He’s got fifteen stab wounds, and his throat is cut from ear to ear.

Oh God, dear God, lamented Hannah, crossing herself.

Catch me up, Connery said with authority; as City Coroner, he was the elected official in charge of the crime scene: besides attending to medical matters and an autopsy, it was his job to call a coroner’s jury to the house. The jury, pulled by lots, would interrogate neighbors and family members—anyone with knowledge about the victim—using testimony to piece together evidence at the scene. With a coroner’s deft handling, the coroner’s inquest could point a finger in the right direction, nabbing a perpetrator and solving a crime.

Dilkes led Connery out of the kitchen, passing a policeman with a shovel, stamping the snow off his boots. The men have been digging up the backyard for the weapon, explained the Captain. I sent them to search in the outhouse and down the latrines.

Dirk or dagger? asked the Coroner.

From the depth of the cuts, I figure it was a two-sided blade. The two men climbed the small back stairway, their bulky frames bent, with Connery puffing behind. They emerged onto the first floor, with its soaring ceilings and chandeliers. A cluster of officers was lounging against a marble table.

What are you waiting for, men? shouted Connery. Some politician to give you a handout? Go into the parlor and turn everything upside down. We’re still looking for a weapon.

Dilkes led Connery to the main staircase and pointed to some tiny blood spots along the wallpaper, almost imperceptible, at the height of a man’s hand. There’s hardly any trace of blood anywhere, except with the body. This morning, the cook didn’t notice anything amiss. The doors to the house and the windows were locked tight.

Connery squatted, examining the specks, touching a blood spot to determine if it was still wet. Who else lives here?

The victim is a dental surgeon, unmarried, about forty-six years old. A housemistress lives on the two upper floors, with her daughters. Dilkes flipped through a small notepad, reading from his notes. The cook sleeps in the attic. A serving girl was dismissed yesterday, and there is a carriage driver who drove Dr. Burdell last night, but he doesn’t live here.

Does everyone have a key?

We are still checking to see if any keys are missing.

Was anything taken? asked Connery.

There’s plenty to take, but it seems nothing’s been touched. It doesn’t seem to be a robbery.

The two men started up the stairway. Connery leaned over the banister and gazed upward along the graceful arc as it curved to the top of the house. Forty feet above, a skylight was embedded in the roof, an oval of wood and glass that sat atop the stairwell like an elegant crown. He whistled. This is a fine place, all right.

They entered the room where the body lay across the floor. Dr. Burdell’s dental office, converted from a bedroom, was furnished like a parlor with engravings and a velvet-fringed sofa. The dentist chair sat in one corner, a torturous contraption with clamps and wooden blocks that held the patient’s head still when a tooth was pulled. The body lay in the center of the floor. A pool of blood spread several feet in diameter around the corpse. The dead man’s shirt had been torn open, exposing the purple knife wounds that punctured his white flesh.

This is a bestial crime, muttered Connery.

An officer entered. Your men have arrived, sir, he announced. In the hallway were several men from the Coroner’s office, carrying microscopes and medical bags, and behind them, a crew of reporters, arching their necks to see the body. And these reporters came from the New York dailies. They want to know if they can come in for a look.

Get them out of here, said Dilkes, waving his arms.

No, let them stay, countered Connery. We’ll put them to work. Send the reporters downstairs—we’ll have them record the witnesses’ testimony in the parlor, and the sketch illustrators can make a likeness of the scene. Besides, if I send them away, the editors will cry foul all the way to City Hall.

We’d be most obliged to you, sir, said a newspaperman from the crowd in the hall, doffing his hat.

Take the body to the bedroom and strip it naked for an autopsy, Connery ordered. Two coroner’s deputies entered and rolled the dentist’s body onto a sheet, grabbing the corners like a sling and lifting the sagging mass. Dr. Burdell’s neck twisted at the open wound and his head fell sideways. His eyes remained open, as if he were following the conversation.

He sure didn’t go down without a fight, said Connery. It’s hard to think that no one heard the attack, or any cries or footsteps.

Well, pondered Dilkes, these ceilings are pretty high. The victim didn’t come home until midnight, after everyone in the house was asleep. The attacker could have been hiding in the wardrobe passage. The coroner paced around, opening the door of the closet that formed a wardrobe passage between the office and the man’s bedroom. There were cabinets with shelves of bottles and tonics, but nothing seemed out of place. The doctor’s gumshoes were placed carefully in front of the fireplace, on the sofa his shawl. His desk had papers stacked on it, in an orderly fashion. A chair had been pushed away from the desk several feet, marking the spot where the skirmish began.

Connery rifled through the papers on the doctor’s desk. A ledger lay open with a quill pen on top. He put on his spectacles, pushing them along his nose, squinting as he looked over the fine columns of numbered entries. A locked safe was beside the desk. He took a tangled handkerchief from his waistcoat and wiped his face. Something smells rotten here.

I don’t know, protested Dilkes. Everyone seems to be telling it straight—after all, the housemistress’s story is backed by innocent girls.

Innocence—in this city? countered Connery.

If someone in the house committed this deed, the perpetrator would be covered in blood from head to toe, said Dilkes.

There was plenty of time to clean up after this bloody brawl, and I don’t see any trace of the killer leaving the house. Connery went to the door and yelled down the staircase to one of the officers. I want everyone detained in their rooms until they are interrogated.

It’s the weekend, sir, said Dilkes. Maybe we should confer with the District Attorney before we put anyone in house arrest.

The District Attorney will be here fast enough. He’ll be jumping all over this one. With a murder on Bond Street, he’ll want it solved quick. Pull a jury. Drag them from their Sunday suppers if you must. Now, let me speak to the woman of the house.

On the third floor, Emma Cunningham sat by the window in her bedroom. She was lost in a reverie, almost a stupor. Augusta and Helen sat with her, weeping by the fire. It had been several hours since the trauma, and the wind still howled through the street. The wood of the stairway heaved, and the bedroom door opened. The Police Captain entered along with Coroner Connery and several officers. They crowded in, an imposing presence in her floral bedroom.

Excuse me, Ma’am, said Captain Dilkes. We need to ask you some questions. We will be placing you under detention in your room while we conduct a full inquest.

Detention? asked Emma. Why? Connery looked her over carefully. She had been described as a widow but was remarkably youthful, seeming not much older than her teenage daughters, who were huddled on an overstuffed ottoman by the fire. Her body was prone, leaning across the arm of the chair, as if the distress of the morning had left her languishing in despair. Her linen blouse was disheveled, revealing traces of her camisole and a corseted bustier. Her complexion was blotchy from tears, her lips pink, her dark hair glossy, falling wildly from her hairpins and curling across her shoulders.

With all due respect to you and your daughters, Madame, I need to ascertain how a man came to be viciously massacred while so many people were home. You’ve haven’t told us everything, now, have you? asked Connery.

I have told the officers everything, Emma replied, her voice tinged with alarm. I was sleeping, and did not hear a thing. She tried to summon her best composure but her expression changed like a cloud movement: flashes of red emerged in sudden streaks across her face, and tears began coursing along her cheeks. Her countenance betrayed such anxiety that Connery eyed her closely. His instinct told him to remain still—emotional moments like these were often followed by a confession.

She clutched a paper in her hand. Pale and shaking, she lifted it and offered it to the Coroner. It was a scroll wrapped with a blue satin ribbon.

He slowly opened the scroll. He looked it over, his eyes darting across the words, and then to the faces of the men.

This sheds quite a different light on matters, doesn’t it? he said. It was a certificate, dated January 14, 1857, two weeks earlier, and signed by the reverend of the Reformed Dutch Church on Greenwich Street. He passed the paper to Dilkes. Is this yours, Ma’am?

Yes, it is mine…, she said, barely above a whisper. It was supposed to be a secret and not to be made public until the spring. She drew a breath, and spoke louder, with clear diction, This is my marriage certificate and I am Harvey Burdell’s wife.

CHAPTER THREE

MYSTERIOUS MIDNIGHT MURDER

AN EMINENT CITIZEN ASSASSINATED

INTENSE EXCITEMENT IN BOND STREET

An atrocity, almost unparalleled by any of the atrocities committed in this City, came to light on Saturday morning in the house at No. 31 Bond Street. Dr. Harvey Burdell was found in his office, foully murdered, and frightfully and fiendishly mutilated. Dr. Burdell was a man of considerable wealth, and respectably connected.

All the inmates of the house, which is also occupied by the family of a housemistress, Mrs. Cunningham, are prevented from leaving the premises by a body of Police, who are detailed for that purpose by the Coroner’s orders.

Bond Street was visited by hundreds of persons who came out of curiosity, to look at the house.

The New York Times, FEBRUARY 3, 1857

Monday, February 3, 1857

Henry Clinton scraped the blade along his neck and then tapped the razor against the side of the china basin. He heard a newsboy crying the headlines: Murder, Murder! Murder on Bond Street! As the call echoed closer, it drifted into his bedroom like a song. He continued scraping the skin and tapping the bowl without missing a beat. Bond Street was just across Broadway, a block east from his house on Bleecker Street, yet the news did not interrupt the rhythm of his shave. Clinton was a criminal lawyer and no stranger to bloodshed.

He pulled the towel from his neck and wiped away the last beads of lather. He fastened a collar to the top of his shirt, adding cuff links and a silk-lined vest. Lifting a gold watch from his dressing table, he fastened the chain to his pocket. Bond Street, he thought. That would teach her. It was his wife’s idea that they move uptown from Warren Street. As the burgeoning commerce of the city spread like a fan through lower Manhattan, the fine homes downtown, once belonging to bankers and merchants, gave way to shops, and the houses along the side streets were now flanked with tradesmen. The well-to-do had long ago moved north to the quiet elegance of Bleecker Street, Bond Street, and Washington Square.

It wasn’t to keep up with the wealthy that had prompted Elisabeth to insist they move. She had argued for it because their old home was walking distance to his office on Chambers Street and the courts, allowing Clinton to rush back and forth at all times of day and night, never sitting still long enough to eat a proper meal. Now his ride downtown took half an hour on the Bowery omnibus, the distance allowing, Elisabeth had hoped, for a fuller domestic life. In fact, the long commute aggravated him, and his longer absences made her nervous. Now, she was always traveling downtown to visit him and to deliver him food.

Putting on his jacket and fixing his cravat, he entered the breakfast room. Out the high windows, wisteria vines hung bare with icicles and snow drifted deep across the garden from the weekend storm. The aroma of fresh muffins came from the kitchen below. The cook was at it again, making batches of baked goods for his office. His wife fretted about his nourishment and believed that if pies and cakes accompanied him downtown, they would buffer him from the harsh world of the prison and the courts.

The New York Times was folded next to his plate. Elisabeth entered, and as she passed his chair, she kissed him on the head. She sat down at the opposite end of the table, fluttering her napkin to her lap. She had a blooming complexion even in the deep of winter.

Did you sleep well? he asked, snapping his newspaper open.

Elisabeth eyed him warily. Just fine. I dreamt that newsboys entered the bedroom and wouldn’t leave until I got my purse.

That wasn’t a dream, dear, it is the spectral presence of the press. Just an hour earlier her auburn hair had been a tousle of silk, curling across her pillow as she slept; now it was expertly pinned and caught the morning light. He had met his wife after he had finished his law degree at Harvard and come to New York to work as a junior counsel for a pair of septuagenarians on Battery Place. A classmate, a New Yorker, invited him to meet some girls. Unfamiliar with the social rites of ambitious mothers and their unmarried daughters, Clinton was pulled along to an afternoon tea, which featured a roster of pretty girls taking turns at a piano, each attempting to play music that was beyond their reach. Elisabeth sat on a chair at the edge of the parlor, the loveliest in the room. Irritated by the music, he eyed the chair next to her, and whispered, How do you do, I am Henry Clinton. I am afraid I am a bit tin-eared.

I am, too, she whispered back.

Tin-eared? he asked,

No, a Clinton, she replied. Elisabeth Clinton. It turned out that she was indeed a Clinton, but unlike his family, who were from a small town in Connecticut, she was descended from the illustrious Clintons of New York. Her grandfather DeWitt, a Mayor, a Governor, and a candidate for President, had used political office to plow through the end of the eighteenth century and reshape the continent. He had spearheaded the construction of the Erie Canal, allowing the riches of the West to flow into the ports of New York, and then forced the streets of Manhattan into a grid to absorb the backsplash of commerce. At present, the logjam of vehicles on the city streets was so fierce as to convince its inhabitants that New York was the capital of the world.

During the course of that afternoon tea, Clinton was smitten by Elisabeth, and in a matter of weeks he had fallen in love. He wooed her with his small salary, his best wit, and invitations to entertainments that they never reached, instead walking the streets of New York, lost in conversation until the moon shone through the quiet elms and it was time to

Reviews for 31 Bond Street

[bookswoman · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

There is a great deal to like about this book, and just a bit to dislike.

I loved the story, I loved the fact that it is partially based on a true murder in the 1850's in New York City, I loved the glimpse into the politics and law of that time period. I loved the characters, especially the lawyer (who is one of the "real" people).

What I didn't love was the bouncing around from the time period of the crime and trial, back to before the two involved in the crime met, back to the crime and trial, back to when they first met, back to -- well, you get the idea. I don't dislike flashbacks that have some duration to them but in this book some of them were only a page or so long and it got very disorientating. In fact, I had to keep going back to the first chapter to read the date to "place" myself for one of the other time periods.

Dr. Harvey Burdell is killed in his own home, inside a house that is locked and a room that is normally locked. A young boy, John, who works as an errand boy for the household finds the Dr. and thus begins the story, who killed Dr. Burdell? Was it the woman living in the home (Emma Cunningham), who has a marriage license for Harvey and herself, that no one knows about? What about Emma's two daughters? The household help? Or was it someone who managed to get into the house and leave unseen?

Dr. Burdell seems to have spent his life making enemies both in his professional life and in his personal life. Not too long into the book you know that just about anyone could have killed him, he was involved in shady business dealings with powerful people in New York City, he was lying to Emma, well, he was actually lying to everyone he came into contact with, with tragic results.

I was surprised at the killer, didn't see that one coming at all, but most of the other bad characters get their just desserts in the end.

There is a short summary at the end of the book that details what is true and what happened to the real characters in the book. It made a satisfying ending to the book. All but the murder and three of the characters are fictional but using those real people made the story much more real than some historical fiction.

If you can get past the time bouncing this is a great read.

[lisalynne_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Historically, a woman on her own has always been a woman at risk. In some cultures around the world, a woman is still not permitted to own property, to have her own money, to walk along a city street in daylight without fear of reprisals. In 1857, a widowed woman had limited options available to her, but Emma Cunningham was determined to make the most of them. She enters into an arrangement with a handsome bachelor, Dr. Harvey Burdell, that may work to her advantage…but almost immediately you begin to wonder: who is taking advantage of whom?31 Bond Street by Ellen Horan is an interesting bit of historical fiction, based on the celebrated murder of Dr. Harvey Burdell. Horan takes a fair amount of liberty with this story, which is detailed in the Author’s Notes. (I think that’s an excellent move — I don’t mind taking a bit of history and giving it a twist to make it a great story, as long as they acknowledge the twists.) She fleshes out a number of characters, adds some interesting side plots, making for a very engaging read.Read my full review here.

[julie10reads · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Fictional account of a real-life murder in pre-Civil War New York that depicts the sad lot of unprotected (single, widowed) women. I felt that the author accurately portrayed a woman's options of the time: to attach oneself (in whatever way necessary)to a financially stable male in order to retain a quality of life as well as the mindset it fostered.

[riverwillow · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This is an interesting imagining of the events surrounding the murder of Dr Harvey Burdell in New York in 1857. Nineteenth Century New York is atmospherically evoked, as is the precarious position of women within society. Unfortunately the characterisation doesn't quite work, Horan's Clifton doesn't have the charisma that the real Henry Clifton must have had as a great trial lawyer, and Emma comes across as just so unlikeable that I just didn't care about her fate. In mitigation, I did find the story of the escaped slave Samuel and his friendship with the boy, John, both compelling and moving.

[reviewsbymolly · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I love getting and reading a book and ending up surprised (pleasantly, of course!) with the content. This author is fantastic. She took a true crime and wove it's details into a magnificent work of fiction. From beginning to end, she filled the pages with words and characters that become the reader. The reader is taken on twists and turns through out, following the author's clue like words to the very end. The setting is set just before the civil war in New York. There's carriages and fancy dresses, there's little boys who do errands for important people, and then there's crime. A murder. A horribly, gruesome, mysterious murder of a Bond Street dentist. Instantly, I was hooked on this richly detailed crime. I felt the excitement of the town when it found out about the murder of Dr. Burdell. I became Henry Clinton, if but for a time, as I (he) tried to find the answers and save Emma Cunnigham, one of the last people to see the Doctor alive. This is just something I could never think about happening back then, but through fabulous research, Ellen Horan brings it to life and now I know:scandalous, greedy murders were a part of the history then. If you love fiction, if you love true crime, if you simply love the work of an outstanding author, then, without hesitation, read this beyond 5 star, high society, dramatic, scandalous crime debut. Ellen Horan has instantly made a place for herself on my favorites list, and I look forward to more WOWmazing work centered around true crime, the Civil War era, and complex characters!

[thelostentwife · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

There's just something about an unsolved mystery. I mean, we know the outcome (or you will by reading this book or researching online), but still - the possibilities are endless.That's how this book felt to me - like the possibilities were endless. Even knowing how everything turned out beforehand I wanted to see Ellen Horan's spin on it, to see how she could possibly manipulate the story to make it seem new and fresh (I remember reading about the murder of Dr. Burdell years ago and it fascinated me then.)The verdict? Horan did a magnificent job. She pieces together the story in a simple past/present format that works well for the story. Each character is painted in such a way as to show both innocence and guilt and make the reader continue guessing as the story progresses. What I was most impressed with, however, was her manner of handling the coroners inquest. It felt so real that I felt the outrage of Clinton, the fear of Emma Cunningham and the excitement of those waiting for the answers.This is a fantastic historical murder mystery and one I had a difficult time putting down. Well worth the read!

[thetometraveller · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Amidst a horrendous winter storm in February, 1857, prominent New York dentist Harvey Burdell is violently murdered in his room at his home. The doors and windows were all locked and suspicion immediately falls on Emma Cunningham, a pretty widow with two teen aged daughters who had recently become Dr. Burdell's housekeeper. When she produces a marriage certificate dated two weeks prior to the murder which shows that she secretly became Dr. Burdell's wife, the suspicion is only heightened.As the coroner begins what seems to be a completely biased inquest, Emma finds an ally in defense attorney Henry Clinton. He is inspired to help Emma when he sees that the powerful district attorney is set upon prosecuting Mrs. Cunningham despite nothing but circumstantial evidence.However, nothing and no one is what they seem in this complicated case. Dr. Burdell is far from the upstanding citizen that he appeared to be and practically everyone involved has an ulterior motive of some kind. Unravelling the tangle reveals an exciting and absorbing tale.The detail of nineteenth century New York and the excellent trial depiction made this one of the most enjoyable crime novels that I have read. Ellen Horan does an superb job of capturing the flavor and turmoil of the years just before the beginning of the Civil War.

[jo3jo_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

31 Bond Street is an intriguing mystery that opens after a murder has taken place. Harvey Burdell is a New York dentist that is found by his young servant boy John, after he is brutally murdered. We are given the events from the last year throughout this novel that give us clues as to how Harvey could have met his demise.When the police and coroner arrive at the scene of the crime we are introduced to Emma Cunningham. At first glance Emma appears to be the woman in charge of the Burdell household, making sure that daily operations run smoothly. But after further investigation it appears that there may have been an intimate relationship between Burdell and Cunningham, possibly even a marriage? Although I really did not like the character of Emma, by the end of the book I found her to be a strong woman that needed to do what was necessary to protect the interests of herself and her daughters.I found the legal process and the investigation from this period of time to be the most interesting part of the book for me. When the coroner arrived at the Burdell residence he basically took control of the crime scene and held Emma Cunningham prisoner in the home for weeks as he conducted his investigation. Emma somehow was able to get a message out to a lawyer, and that is how we are introduced to Henry Clinton, who happens to be a lawyer working for a high-profile law firm in New York. Henry finds himself putting everything on the line in order to represent Emma, in hopes that it will pay off for him in the future.Besides being a dentist, we learn that Burdell had many other financial transactions in the works. He purchased and sold land that wasn't necessarily on the up and up, which put him in the midst of transactions that turned out to be managed by politicians that are trying to put a hault to the progress being made by the underground railroads. As the coroner is focusing on Emma Cunningham as a suspect, it seems that Burdell's illegal transactions may be overlooked.This was an interesting story that was full of history about the law, politics, and the underground railroad. It was also a good mystery as bits and pieces are revealed in a way that kept me from putting this book down. I felt that I really didn't get a chance to know the characters well, so that was really the only downfall for me with this book, as I really enjoyed the writing. So if you are looking for a good mystery with a glimpse of what the legal system was like during this time period I think you would really enjoy this book.

[twink_2 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Oh, can I tell you how much I loved 31 Bond Street by Ellen Horan! Horan first got the story idea when she came across an actual newspaper page from 1857 in a print shop. It detailed the murder of Dr. Harvey Burdell, found dead at 31 Bond Street in New York City. Horan became fascinated with investigating the case and devoured the newspapers of the time. She has skillfully taken a sensational murder and fictionalized it, using many of the actual parties.Harvey Burdell's nearly decapitated body is discovered by his young servant boy. No one living in the house claims to have heard a thing. Suspicion quickly falls on Emma Cunningham, Burdell's housekeeper. The city Cornoner immediately takes control, completely sequestering Emma and her two daughters. I found this piece of law fascinating. The Coroner had the right to run the case as he saw fit. The murder scene effectively became a courtroom, with a jury brought in and questioning of witnesses taking place in the home. The press were allowed full access and often took notes for the police.Horan has created a winning character in lawyer Henry Clinton, who takes on Emma Cunningham as a client. He is dogged and idealistic, willing to use and pursue new forensic methods just coming into practice. I also enjoyed the relationship between Clinton and his wife Elisabeth, as it was much different than social mores would have dictated at the time.The novel alternates between the present day with Henry Clinton as narrator and what led up to the murder from Emma Cunningham's point of view. We learn a little bit more each time we go back and forth. What Henry and Emma believe aren't quite the same thing. I really enjoyed this format.Horan's research is meticulous. The details of police work, the law, society, language, mores and New York City itself are captivating. Issues of the time, including slavery and politics also figure into the plot.For me 31 Bond Street was an absolutely delicious read, combining suspense, mystery and history into a page turner. I was surprised to learn that this was a debut novel. But glad to hear Horan is researching her next.

[literaryfeline · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

When Dr. Harvey Burdell, a New York dentist, is found brutally murdered in his own home, behind locked doors, suspicion immediately falls on those in the household, particularly Emma Cunningham whose sudden production of a secret marriage certificate between her and the doctor two weeks before the murder raises eyebrows and puts her innocence in doubt. Emma is a woman who is desperate to hang onto the last vestige of her social status, both for her daughters' sake as well as her own. She is near broke and facing eviction when she first meets Dr. Burdell. Dr. Burdell seems like a gentleman through and through. Only, he isn't nearly as perfect as he seems. As the investigation into his murder unfolds, it becomes clear that Dr. Burdell had many secrets and just as many enemies.With the media, public opinion, and the ambitious district attorney, Abraham Oakley Hall, already poised to hang Emma, Henry Clinton steps in to defend her. He puts his own career on the line to do so.Ellen Horan's novel, 31 Bond Street, is lush with detail. The mystery is tightly woven, at times intense, and always interesting. The story went in several unexpected directions. I had my theories, but nothing was quite as simple as it seemed. The narrative follows events as they unfold from the moment the body is discovered and is interspersed with flashbacks to the months before the murder, offering insight into the characters lives and motivations. New York was a character of its own: the bustling streets, the spreading out of a city, the back alleys and the upper class neighborhoods. I felt as if I was right there in the middle of the events as they transpired.I hadn't realized when I first began reading 31 Bond Street that it was based on a true crime that took place in 1875 New York. In a way, I'm glad I didn't know as I might have been tempted to run and look up the story before finishing the novel. While that isn't always a bad thing, I've found, this is one book I preferred to go into blind. I look forward to reading more by Ellen Horan in the future.

[writestuff_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Back in early February 1857 a well-known dentist, Dr. Harvey Burdell, was discovered dead on the floor of his New York city office…his throat cut ear to ear, nearly severing the head from the body. The murder immediately captured the imaginations of the press, making front page news and being declared the “crime of the century.” As lurid details emerged of Burdell’s relationship with Emma Cunningham, a widow living with her two daughters on the top floor of Burdell’s home, the focus of the prosecution was narrowed. Emma Cunningham was arrested and charged with the crime.It is these details which aroused the curiosity of writer Ellen Horan and formed the basis of her first novel 31 Bond Street. Horan opens the book with the murder, then takes the reader back and forth in time to flush out the characters and plot. The book is narrated from two points of view. Emma Cunningham’s voice is mostly from the past, sketching out the details of how she meets Burdell and ends up moving into his home. It is through Emma that Horan creates the fictional components of the book – imagining what must have occurred between her and Burdell and giving insight into the events leading up to the murder.Horan balances her novel with the voice of Henry Clinton – the lawyer who Cunningham employed to defend her. Clinton’s point of view allows the reader to peer into the mind of the defense attorney as he develops his case, and also takes us into the thrilling atmosphere of the courtroom.Throughout the book, Horan adds colorful and accurate detail of time and place, successfully capturing the streets of nineteenth-century New York. She intersperses real newspaper quotes about the murder and trial as well which lends authenticity to this fictional work. The recreated sounds of the press were wonderful.My favorite part of the novel was the trial itself. I purposefully did not read the true account because I did not want to know the outcome of the trial until I read it in the book. And I’m glad I did that as it made the novel more suspenseful and captivating for me.Thematically, Horan explores the role of women in nineteenth century society, the racial undertones which reverberated in the pre-Civil war era, and the impact of the press in criminal cases. Her ability to intertwine all of these themes with the core plot of the book makes this not only a crime fiction novel, but an historical fiction book that brings this time in history to life.If you have not yet figured it out, I thoroughly enjoyed this novel from start to finish. Readers who love historical fiction and also enjoy a good mystery or crime novel, will want to pick up a copy of this book and read it. 31 Bond Street is impeccably researched and expertly written.Highly recommended.

[jmchshannon · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

With 31 Bond Street, Ms. Horan presents the reader with historical fiction at its finest. It is a story that is quite literally "ripped from the headlines", with those headlines first printed in the 1850s. A real-life murder mystery, Ms. Horan does an excellent job of filling in the blanks, imagining the story behind the headlines and fleshing out characters that have long since been forgotten. Through her skill, the reader gets the pleasure of enjoying a well-written of literary fiction with enough fact interspersed to make the story truly compelling.The story unfolds methodically, switching narrators to allow new evidence to come to light. As a result, the reader never gets the chance to understand the full story until late in the novel, at which point in time the reader has become fully absorbed in the story. This switching of narrators, the back and forth battle for information, and the methodical "follow the evidence" approach to solving the mystery enhances the power of perception, which in turn leaves the reader waffling back and forth in one's sympathies for the various characters. Enhancing the overall story is the addition of photographs of the real headlines from the actual murder. This drives home the fact that this is one story in which the historical aspect of the story outweighs the fiction. Ms. Horan does an excellent job of bringing to live long-dead characters - Henry vs. Harvey, Elisabeth vs. Emma. Her descriptions are breath-taking and exact, allowing the reader to clearly understand what it was like to live in 1850s New York. The political undertone behind the murder itself remind the reader the tension that existed before the Civil War erupted. These all combine to create characters that pull a reader's sympathies in various directions, rooting for one character versus another. Emotional involvement is always the hallmark of a well-written book, and 31 Bond Street meets that mark.One of the most appealing aspects of the story are the questions remaining at the end. Did Emma, and all of the characters, get their just rewards for their actions? Where did each character go wrong? Could this entire situation have been avoided under similar circumstances? Ms. Horan could easily have addressed some of these questions in her novel but rather leaves them for the reader to ponder. As with the emotional involvement, this is an added benefit that enhances the entire novel. Murder, mystery, intrigue, politics, a lush backdrop and rich setting combine to create an amazingly vivid, compelling novel. However, 31 Bond Street is not just for historical fiction lovers. Its study of criminal investigations and pre-Civil War detective work makes it a novel for fans of detective and suspense stories. Its mass appeal will make 31 Bond Street a story for the summer and beyond.

[dudara_2 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

31 Bond Street recreates the events around the 1857 murder of Dr. Blundell. Set in New York, just 4 years before the Civil War, the novel offers a fascinating view of society at this time. Dr. Blundell's murder was a sensation, causing a media frenzy and resulting in his housekeeper, Mrs. Emma Cunningham, being charged with his murder.The young, but prominent lawyer, Henry Clinton, takes on her case, which pits him against the well known public defender Oakley Hall. In the courtroom, both men argue their cases with passion and belief. All the while, the media storm around the enigmatic Emma Cunningham continues.This is Horan's debut novel, and for the most part, she has written an intriguing and captivating tale. She cleverly mixes timelines to produce a clever whodunnit. However, it does fall apart a little towards the end as the greater plot and story is revealed. This is definitely one of the better efforts at a historical mystery and is deserving of a read. However, it also has a slight feel of storytelling by rote - resulting in what is overall a good read, but not a great read.

[lkernagh · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Set in 1857, this story is a fictionalized account of the atrocious murder of New York City dentist Harvey Burdell, found dead in his own home on the stormy winter morning of February 1st, 1857, with multiple stab wounds and his throat slit from ear to ear. A Coroner's inquest is quickly set up in the dentist's home at 31 Bond Street under the control of coroner Edward Connery. Burdell's live-in housekeeper, the young and recently widowed Emma Cunningham, is placed under house arrest as a murder suspect. The press, understandably, are all over this story and it quickly comes to the attention of criminal lawyer Henry Clinton, as well as the direct involvement of the District Attorney, Abraham Oakley Hall. The case becomes a sensationalized criminal trial in the spring of that same year.The story, building upon actual newspaper accounts, follows Henry Clinton and his legal team as they create their case to defend Emma Cunningham. John, Brudell's errand boy and Emma appear to know more than they are letting on while the disappearance of Samuel, Burdell's African American carriage driver on the night of the murder, has both defense and prosecution trying to locate him. I found this to be a great, exciting fast paced story with interesting glimpses into New York society as well as the criminal, political and financial power structure of this interesting period in New York's history in the lead up to the American Civil War. A great murder mystery that I recommend!

[booksandbutter · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

I did not like this book. I found it boring, unorganized, and not even worth finishing. I read 1/3 of the book, and just couldn't finish it. I did not even care to see what happened to the characters. I really wanted to like this book, unfortunately I did not.

[bookappeal · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

When Dr. Harvey Burdell is found violently murdered in his fine New York home at 31 Bond Street in 1857, the lady of the house, Emma Cunningham, becomes the main suspect. Recently widowed, nearly broke, and desperate to secure her financial future, Emma cunningly caught Burdell's attention several months ago and accepted the best deal he was inclined to offer. For her services as housemistress (and with the potential for marriage at a later date), Emma received free room and board and a respectable address at which to present two teenage daughters to potential suitors. Now sequestered in their home during the highly-publicized Coroner's inquest, Emma delivers a plea for legal representation to Mr. Henry Clinton, champion of the underdog. Over the objections of his loving wife, Henry takes the case, relishing the chance to argue against the arrogant and politically ambitious DA, Oakey Hall. Unfortunately, Burdell's Negro coach driver, who likely has information proving Emma's innocence, has disappeared. Flashbacks to the evolution of Emma and Burdell's relationship, their questionable land investments, and the events immediately preceding his murder build and maintain suspense throughout the novel. Based loosely on newspaper accounts of a real murder, Horan tangibly re-creates the sights, sounds, and dirty dealings of pre-Civil War New York. For fans of The Alienist by Caleb Carr and those who liked the murderous plot more than the architectural achievements of The Devil in the White City by Erik Larsen.

[kasthu_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

31 Bond Street is the fictional story of a real murder. Dr. Harvey Burdell is a respected dental surgeon in New York, who meets Emma Cunningham, a widow, in Saratoga, in the summer of 1856. After beginning a relationship with her, he invited her and her daughters to live with him at his home on Bond Street. When things soured between them, and Dr. Burdell was brutally murdered in his office, Emma was the first suspect. Henry Clinton, one of the foremost lawyers in the United States, was hired to defend her, in one of the most sensational murder trials of the mid-19th century.The book is told in two different ways: first there’s the “present day” stand, which covers the events after the body of Dr. Burdell was discovered by his servants; and the second, which takes the reader from Dr. Burdell and Emma’s first meeting. The description on the back of this book describes it as being like Caleb Carr’s work; while I think this book is good, I don’t think it’s quite at the level of The Alienist, or its sequel, Angel of Darkness (there’s a lot more psychological stuff in those two books, which I highly recommend if you’re interested in the period). But, like in Caleb Carr's books, here mid-19th century New York is described in vivid detail. Lots of research and in-depth descriptions of the sights, sounds, and smells of the time make this an enjoyable read. The murder and trial are of course the focal points of the book, but I do love books that make New York City a living, breathing character, too.And that leads me to another thing I really liked about this book: the trail scenes themselves. The author apparently learned about the subject matter of this book by reading about it the way that a nineteenth century person would have—by reading newspaper articles, and then researching the story from there. Henry Clinton as a character gets lost a bit in the shuffle (but who wouldn’t), but Emma Cunningham herself is the star of this book. I’m not quite sure that I like how the mystery was wrapped up, but I can see why the author had things turn out the way they do. The story is told from Emma’s point of view, but you never really know until the end what will happen, or what kind of person Emma really is. So what is she: innocent victim or a cold murderer?I really enjoyed the story, but there was a lot the author left out, or put in that didn’t necessarily need to be there (Clinton’s wife, for example; he didn’t marry until long after the events of this book took place, but the author has him married here—not for any reason I can see). Also, apparently, Emma pretended she was pregnant during the trial, and there was another boarder at 31 Bond Street who was involved in the case— interesting little details that I would have liked to have seen here. Still, as I’ve said, I really enjoyed this wonderful novel about nineteenth century New York.

[maryintexas39 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

31 Bond Street did not live up to it's hype. I so wanted to be blown away by this one, but, alas, I wasn't.

[ronrose1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I know you've heard it before, but this is a real page turner. It is a fictionalized account of a truly brutal murder that made headlines for more than three months in New York during 1857. In this pre-Civil War era, there was already plenty of intrigue concerning the gross treatment of women, the working class, and free blacks and runaway slaves. All of which made up a substantial part of the population of New York. To say that corruption in the local government was running rampant would be an understatement. Drop into this simmering pot a savage murder of a seemingly respectable dentist in his locked house;swindled business partners; alienated relatives; a sexy widow, who was his housekeeper and possible lover; politicians with their own agendas; a missing black man who was the victim's coachman, and you have a great story. The author skillfully leads the reader through a did she or didn't she kill her lover scenario. The preparations for the trial of the mistress and its subsequent revelations are counter played against glimpses of the events that lead up to the murder which took place at 31 Bond Street. Although Mrs Cunningham is the prosecution's focus for the crime, there is certainly no lack of alternate suspects. A very skillfully executed historical murder mystery.

[thecrowdedleaf · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

In 1857 a man named Harvey Burdell, a seemingly upstanding New York dentist, was brutally murdered in the middle of the night. His throat was sliced, nearly severing his head, and he was fiercely stabbed several times through his back and chest. The crime scene was bloody, but no evidence of the murder weapon or culprit was ever found. Living on the upper floors of Burdell’s wealthy 31 Bond Street townhouse are the widow Emma Cunningham and her children. As the only household member with motive present at the time of Burdell’s death, Emma became the prime suspect and the victim of a witch-hunt-like prosecution.Over 150 years later Ellen Horan, wandering through scrap bins in a print shop, comes across an old newspaper article with an etching of the avenue of Bond Street, showing a crowd of people milling around number 31. Intrigued, Horan researches the story regarding the murder, and skillfully puts down on paper a tale of intrigue, suspense, betrayal, and murder. All set in the bustling town of New York amid slave-trade scandals and the high-class expectations of the wealthy.Well crafted, with experienced execution, 31 Bond Street is a delicious debut novel that exhibits the author’s talent with an intriguing narrative. Told in a non-linear fashion, we begin on February 1, 1857, the day after the murder, and then go back in time seven months to follow Emma Cunningham, her two daughters, and the path they took to wind up on Bond Street under the roof of Harvey Burdell. Horan switches back and forth, tantalizingly leading us up to the actual murder, but leaving us frothing with questions as she nimbly skips forward to the trial at hand.The way Horan chose to portray the characters is realistic and believable. Harvey Burdell is painted as a charming bachelor at first, but a seedy background and double-handed schemes soon darken his portrait. Henry Clinton, Emma’s lawyer, is compassionate and dedicated, seceding from his prestigious law firm to defend Emma. Additional characters such as Samuel, the near-slave coachman, and John, the poor scrap of a house boy, add to the legitimacy of the time period and elicit our emotional connection with the novel. Emma herself is a mystery, at times I sympathized for her plight, at others I questioned her bad decisions and naiveté.In all, I was swept away in a believable interpretation of what could actually have happened back in 1857. Horan displays a fine skill at weaving historical fiction, as well as a murder mystery with believable scenarios. I am definitely interested to see what genre she should choose to write next.4 stars(I received this book from the author for review)

[soniamarie_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I am writing this even tho I have 50 pages left in order to be sure I don't reveal anything I shouldn't. This is by far one of the best books of 2010 and I can honestly state that just a mere two months into the year. I have not been able to put the book down. It's like an episode of Law and Order in 1857. The book goes back and forth between the trial in 1857 following the lawyer, Mr. Clinton and the the summer and fall of 1856 following the suspect, Emma and her dealings with the murder victim, Dr. Burdell. Was she mistress or wife? Was she a gold digger? Who was really supposed to die? Who killed Dr. Burdell? Enter the early days of Manhatten and shady business deals and the risky world of real estate and scam artists to find out... Fabulous look at the way the law was played out back then. Wow. Thank goodness there have been changes to our constitution since then. It didn't look as tho Emma was going to get a fair trial there for a while as the coroner took over the case and placed her under house arrest and did not permit her to see a lawyer, nor her daughters. I encourage readers to read the author's excerpt regarding how she came across the idea for this book. That page is just as intriguing as the story itself. Highly recommended for mystery and historical fiction lovers alike.