A Perfume Heiress Left Home Dressed To The Nines And Was Never Seen Again

Somehow, Dorothy disappeared in broad daylight from the heart of the city, with no witnesses or clues to shed any light on the mystery. And more than 100 years later, investigators are still baffled as to what really happened. Did the heiress decide to take her own life? Or was there something altogether more sinister at play?

In the immediate aftermath of her disappearance, Dorothy’s family scrambled to cover up any scandals that might damage their high-society reputation. And for weeks, they remained conspicuously silent, denying that their daughter was even missing. Eventually, they allowed police to conduct a search. But did they know more than they were letting on?

Born on July 1, 1885, in New York City, Dorothy was the daughter of Francis Rose Arnold, a wealthy businessman, and his wife Mary. With two brothers and a younger sister, she was part of one of the city’s most elite families, boasting a lineage that could be traced all the way back to the Mayflower.

Having made his money importing perfume to the United States, Francis occupied a position in the upper echelons of New York society. And as a result, the family appeared in the Social Register: the definitive Who’s Who-style publication that documented the most influential people of the day. In other words, they were the closest thing that turn-of-the-century America had to celebrities in the modern sense of the word.

Back then, of course, the members of this elite were governed by a strict code of behavior, and Dorothy would likely have experienced pressure to toe the line. On the surface, though, she seemed every bit the perfect daughter. Slim, fashionable, and beautiful, she enjoyed attending parties, reading women’s literature, and shopping in the city’s many boutiques. 

But Dorothy had aspirations that were perhaps higher than your average American debutante. After graduating from New York’s Veltin School for Girls, she had relocated some 100 miles southwest to Pennsylvania, where she’d enrolled at Bryn Mawr College, a liberal arts institute for women. There, she began studying for a degree in literature and language. 

By all accounts, Dorothy was a serious, studious girl with a quiet demeanor and a healthy constitution. But if the rumors are to be believed, she still had a rebellious side. While studying at Bryn Mawr, it’s said, she took up with George Griscom Jr., an older man of whom her family would certainly not have approved.

In 1905 Dorothy graduated from Bryn Mawr College and returned to New York, where she lived with her family in their home on East 79th Street. Inspired by her studies, she had set her heart on a career as a writer and began submitting stories to literary magazines. But when her work was rejected by McClure’s magazine in 1910 she became a subject of ridicule among her unsympathetic family members.

After all, the Arnolds probably assumed, Dorothy would soon get married and start a family of her own, so what need would she have for a literary career? But the young writer herself was not so quick to give up on her ambitions. And to escape the judgment of her parents and siblings, she decided to rent her own private mailbox for any future correspondence.

But even that, it seems, was not enough privacy for the increasingly independent Dorothy. And that October, she requested to move out of the family home. Apparently, she wished to take an apartment in Greenwich Village, a New York City district famous for its creative scene. But Francis was unwilling to indulge his young daughter’s whims.

According to reports, Dorothy’s father refused to give his permission for the move, telling her, “A good writer can write anywhere.” Reluctant to disobey her family, she remained at East 79th Street, where she penned another short story titled “The Poinsettia and the Flame.” But unfortunately, her work was rejected by McClure’s for a second time. 

This time, it seems, the rejection left Dorothy feeling depressed and discouraged. But she still found time to pen a third story, titled “Lotus Leaves.” Was this, like her other pieces, rejected by the literary magazines of the day? Or might it finally have spelled success for the aspiring writer? Sadly, we will never know the answer.

On December 12, 1910, Dorothy left the house on East 79th Street, telling her mother that she was going shopping for a new evening dress. Her sister Marjorie, you see, was about to make her society debut, and the family needed special outfits to mark the occasion. Apparently, Mary had offered to join her daughter on the excursion, despite her alleged ill-health at the time.

Dorothy, though, declined her mother’s offer, explaining that she would telephone home if she found a dress that she liked. And with that, she set out into the chill New York City air. By the time that she left the house, it was late morning and ice had settled across the neighborhood. To help fight off the cold, she wore a large velvet hat adorned with roses.

In fact, Dorothy’s whole outfit that day had been carefully put together. As she walked towards Fifth Avenue, a distance of 20 blocks, she was dressed in a tailored navy suit, accessorized with tan gloves and an oversized muff made from fox fur. To top it all off, she had added earrings and a hat pin made from lapis lazuli to match the blue lining of her hat.

It’s believed Dorothy hadn’t taken any luggage, implying that she had no intention of taking a longer trip. And while she was carrying some $25 in cash — the equivalent of around $800 in today’s money — it was not uncommon for her to do so. The previous day, for example, she had withdrawn a similar amount from her bank in order to treat some friends to lunch and a theater show. 

Despite the icy conditions underfoot, Dorothy made it to Fifth Avenue, where she bought a box of chocolates at Park & Tilford’s candy store on the corner of 59th Street. Then, she continued south for a similar distance, eventually stopping at Brentano’s bookstore. After browsing the new fiction section for some time, reports claim, she selected a volume of romance stories.

Up until this point, it’s reasonable to assume that Dorothy would have been recognized — or at least admired — as she strolled through New York City’s most fashionable neighborhood in her expensive clothes. And we know that she met at least one acquaintance on her excursion: a young woman named Gladys King. 

Reportedly, Gladys encountered Dorothy outside Brentano’s, where she handed over her RSVP to Marjorie’s upcoming debutante party. After a brief chat, she left to meet her mother for lunch. But when she turned to wave goodbye to her friend, she had no idea that she would be the last person — at least as far as anyone knows — to see her alive.

As the hours ticked by and Dorothy failed to return home, Francis and Mary grew restless. Apparently, it was very out of character for their daughter to miss out on a family meal without notifying them first. Hoping to get to the bottom of the mystery, they began telephoning her friends. Yet even at this early stage, they were cautious about what they revealed.

Some time after midnight, reports claim, a friend named Elsie Henry called the Arnold residence to enquire after Dorothy. But when she did, she was told that the young woman was safe at home, although she had gone to bed with a headache. Of course, this was a blatant lie, and the first of many strange decisions that led many to suspect foul play.

Most people, though, seem to believe that the Arnolds’ strange behavior was the result of paranoia over their social standing, rather than any nefarious motives. After all, a disappearing daughter could have proved quite the scandal for the family. Just one year previously, another young girl — Adele Boas — had vanished from the Upper East Side, only to reappear in Boston a short time afterwards.

In the end, it transpired that the young woman had run away; the family were crucified by the press. Unwilling to accept a similar fate, the Arnolds decided to keep Dorothy’s disappearance a secret. And rather than turn to the police, they enlisted the services of lawyer John S. Keith, a family friend, in the hopes of tracking her down.

After conducting a search of the Arnold home, John determined that Dorothy had left all of her belongings behind. But he did manage to uncover a number of potential clues. On the desk, he saw, were two folders filled with literature relating to transatlantic steamships. And in a drawer, he spotted a pile of letters, some of which had been posted from foreign locations.

Meanwhile, in the fireplace, John saw that Dorothy had attempted to burn a collection of papers. Were these the remains of one of her rejected manuscripts? Or something more sinister that she was desperate to conceal? For weeks, the lawyer-turned detective stalked the streets of New York, hoping to get a break in the case.

Eventually, though, John was forced to admit defeat. At the lawyer’s recommendation, Francis called in the Pinkerton Detective Agency, the private company that had once been responsible for tracking down outlaws in the Wild West. But even though it was able to follow up on the initial leads, it came no closer to finding Dorothy.

Finally, the Arnolds decided to contact the police. And on January 25, 1901, more than six weeks after Dorothy’s disappearance, a press conference was called. When questioned about his daughter’s love life, Francis delivered a telling response, informing reporters, “I would have been glad to see her associate with more young men than she did, especially some young men of brains and position.”

“I don’t approve of young men who have nothing to do,” Francis continued. Unsurprisingly, reporters deduced that Dorothy’s father had been speaking with a particular person in mind. And before long, suspicion settled on George, her alleged lover back in Pennsylvania. Soon, it became apparent that their affair had continued long after her graduation.

In fact, reporters soon discovered, Dorothy had met up with George — who is variously described as having been between 30 and 44 years old — as recently as September 1910. Telling her parents that she was visiting Theodora Bates, a friend who lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, she had traveled instead to Boston, where her lover had reserved rooms at two separate hotels. Despite his discretion, though, she had made little attempt to conceal her identity, filling out forms and even pawning jewelry using her real name.

After a week together, Dorothy had returned to her parents’ summer home in York Harbor, Maine, while George prepared to visit Europe with his family. Apparently, the Arnolds soon discovered the truth about where their daughter had been and forbade her from having any further contact with her lover. Bizarrely, though, they didn’t stop her from visiting Theodora again in Washington, DC, a few months later, although this time it wasn’t a lie.

But while Dorothy actually did visit Theodora in November 1910 she is said to have behaved strangely while there. Apparently, she took delivery of a large envelope while staying at her friend’s home, despite the fact that it was Thanksgiving so no mail services were running. The morning after, she left Washington, cutting her stay short by three days.

Back in New York, Dorothy had received several letters with foreign postmarks, likely sent by George during his European travels. And weeks later, she disappeared. Unsurprisingly, investigators were keen to speak to the missing girl’s lover. But when Keith finally tracked him down in Florence, Italy, he claimed to have no knowledge of her whereabouts.

Soon after, Dorothy’s mother and brother had traveled to Italy to interrogate George for themselves, even though Francis would tell the press that Mary was convalescing in New Jersey. But while he continued to deny any involvement in the disappearance, he did hand over a pile of letters from the missing woman. And one of them in particular hinted at a dark resolution to the mystery.

“Well, it has come back,” wrote Dorothy, presumably referring to one of her rejected manuscripts. “McClure’s has turned me down. All I can see ahead is a long road with no turning. Mother will always think an accident has happened.” Was this, as many interpreted it, proof that the aspiring writer had taken her own life, sinking into a deep despair when she failed to find a publisher for her work?

According to some, such a move wouldn’t have been entirely without precedent. Apparently, Dorothy had been acquainted with George’s cousin, Andrew, while studying at Bryn Mawr. But not long after their meeting, something tragic had occurred. Barred by his family from marrying the woman he loved, he had boarded a ship across the Atlantic and promptly thrown himself overboard.

Did Andrew’s desperate act leave a lasting impression on Dorothy, inspiring her to take her own life when she could see no other way forwards? After all, Keith had discovered two folders for transatlantic liners amongst her possessions. But while some have argued that suicide is the most likely explanation, others have pointed out that she seemed cheerful and friendly in the days and hours before she disappeared.

But if Dorothy didn’t kill herself, then what did happen? According to one theory, she may have fallen on the icy pavement and sustained a concussion which left her unable to remember who she was. Or perhaps, some argued, she had been abducted? But there were no women matching her description — and suffering from memory loss — in local hospitals at the time. And kidnappers didn’t tend to operate in the middle of busy New York streets.

Of course, it’s possible that Dorothy intended to disappear all along, vanishing into a new life free from her parents’ expectations. Or she may never have left New York at all. In April 1916 a doctor came forward to confess that he had performed an illegal abortion on the missing woman, but she had died on the operating table. Francis, though, refused to accept this explanation.

Around the same time, a man named Edward Glennoris told police a very different story. Apparently, he had been paid to dispose of Dorothy’s body back in December 1910. But when he was unable to lead investigators to the body, they found themselves back at square one, where they remain to this day. And despite several false leads and claims over the years, nobody has ever solved the mystery of what happened that busy afternoon on Fifth Avenue.