After a couple of hours of talk, Lilly and Cade accompanied him to the street, where he would find his way to his boardinghouse. They spoke for the first time of the plan for Pierce to finagle his way into the asylum where Patricia was locked away.
“I made it a point to contact William before I came,” Pierce said.
“Pinkerton?”
Lilly’s heart sank knowing William knew she was pursuing the investigation in an unorthodox way and using people who had not been vetted by the agency. Would Pierce’s innate honesty ruin her chances of keeping her job as an operative? Would Cade be in trouble because of what she’d done? She cast him an apologetic look that he returned with cool disdain. Once again, her impulsiveness may have landed her in hot water.
“Who else?” Pierce was saying. “I thought it was important that he know what was going on, and I hoped he’d learned something we didn’t know.”
“Was he angry?”
“Did he?”
Lilly and Cade spoke as one.
“Not for long, and yes, he did,” Pierce said, answering both questions. “After he settled down and I explained your penchant for leaping before you look, I was told you should temper your enthusiasm in the future and to work with your partner as a team.”
“We’ve already had that discussion.” Cade’s voice was sharp and to the point. “My partner has agreed.”
Pierce looked at him with a thoughtful expression. Without dwelling on the subject, he continued. “You know about Ducharme’s medical diploma being a fake and about his marriage to Angela Markham and that she had two daughters from that marriage.”
Both Lilly and Cade nodded.
“William still hasn’t located Delia, but he’s traced Corinne to Baton Rouge.”
“Actually, we’re one step ahead of the agency on this,” Cade said.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I know exactly where Delia Markham is.” For the second time, Cade recounted his and Robbie’s trip with Henri to the little house in the heart of sugarcane country.
“That’s grand,” Pierce said. “It will save some footwork.”
“Cade and I had planned on looking for Corinne on Monday. Now we’ll know more specifically where to look.”
“It looks to be a busy day,” Pierce said. “William also checked deeper into Mrs. Markham’s and Dr. Ducharme’s pasts. Not only had Angela been married before, it seems Henri had a wife before meeting her.”
“What?” This was getting more and more complicated, but Lilly knew that if they found the correct string to pull, the whole confused situation would start to unravel.
Pierce offered them an ironic smile. “With the exception of Angela, whom he looks to have married for love, the good doctor has always used his marriages to help him climb the social ladder, choosing his wives with an eye toward the bottom line. Their bottom line.”
No surprise, really. As Timothy had done, Ducharme chose his women with careful deliberation and then began to weave his web of lies and deceit. If she and Cade could find evidence that he had benefitted financially from his marriages, they would have much more reason to believe he was trying to rid himself of Patricia.
Lilly needed no more proof. Her heart, or woman’s intuition, or some natural instinct, told her that Ducharme was guilty. It was a feeling she was learning to trust, and she was more determined than ever to help the poor woman living her life in the hell hole that was the City Insane Asylum.
“So who was his first wife?” Cade asked.
“Judge Ethan Roswell’s widowed and rather unmanageable daughter, Sophia.”
“I’m guessing the judge is someone of note.”
“He wields a good bit of power not only in Baton Rouge, but the entire state.”
“If she was a widow when she and Henri met, what happened to her first husband?” Lilly asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Pierce told them with one of his graceful shrugs. “And there is no record of Sophia ever marrying again after Henri. Interestingly, and rather conveniently, several years of public records were stored in the basement of the courthouse and were ruined during a flood.”
Cade swore. “More likely the judge used that clout of his to determine where they were stored, hoping something of that nature would happen.”
Pierce cocked a quizzical eyebrow. “A bit cynical, are you, Bran?”
It was Cade’s turn to shrug. There was no stylishness in the lifting of his wide shoulders, only pure, raw power. “I like to think of it as being realistic.”
“For what it’s worth, that was my thinking, too. I’ve never been much of a believer in coincidence,” the older man said. “Using one’s influence to make life easier . . . or someone else’s hell . . . is one of the perks of power.”
“Always has been,” Cade agreed. “Well, Lilly and I can take a train to the capital and see if we can find Corinne, and maybe we’ll look up the Roswells, too.”
That settled, they talked over plans for the following day, finally agreeing on a scenario they believed would work. Since it would be Sunday, they all agreed that it was unlikely the regular hospital administrator would be working, making it a perfect day for Pierce to present himself as the “renowned” alienist Henri had called in from St. Louis to give his opinion on Patricia’s mental state.
Lilly insisted the case was hers and Cade’s and that they should go along. At first Pierce argued that it would be difficult to explain who they were to whomever was left in charge and that the last thing they wanted to do was raise any suspicions or be refused entry.
“He’s got a point,” Cade told Lilly. The he turned to Pierce. “Why couldn’t I come along as an apprentice who’s training under you?”
After a moment’s thought, Pierce nodded. “Do you think you can get tomorrow off?”
“Probably. There’s not much happening around here on Sundays.”
“Excellent. Then you will come along as my assistant, newly arrived from Edinburgh for more training.”
“I’m going too.”
“Lil—”
“I’m going,” she said again. “There’s no need to try to talk me out of it. Times are changing. Women can become doctors.”
Cade and Pierce exchanged irritated looks, but finally nodded.
“Fine, then. Come if you must. But you’ll be quiet, since you’re training under me. I’ll play my part of trying to assess the treatment and medications Patricia is taking, and you can help me observe what’s going on in that place. We’ll try to get some private time with her, to evaluate her condition for ourselves. I’m no doctor, but I have some medical knowledge.”
“That’s what Lilly told me. I know a fair bit about street drugs and their effects.”
“Good. Surely the three of us are intelligent enough to have some feeling whether her mental state is one of sorrow or drug-induced lethargy.”
They would meet up here again on Sunday evening to discuss what they’d learned, and Cade and Lilly would make their trip to search for Corinne and the Roswells on Monday as planned. Lilly was satisfied that she would be able to participate in their charade to the mental facility, even though she would be little more than a watcher. At least she’d be of some help.
CHAPTER 19
The Sunday morning was fresh and relatively cool. The sun had not yet reached its zenith and started to suck the moisture from the ground, and the air was still breathable. Dr. Anton Pierce strolled toward the entrance of the asylum, his assistants beside him.
Pierce wore a two-piece suit of fine wool with pearl-gray pinstripe trousers and a double-breasted coat with darker gray velvet collar and cuffs. A matching bowler, walking cane, medical bag, and fancy shoes with contrasting toe caps completed his attire.
Cade, playing a young student doctor from Scotland, was dressed with far less style; after all, he wouldn’t yet be able to afford the finery of the expert he accompanied. Instead, he’d chosen to wear brown tweed trousers and a solid single-breasted coat with a waist seam
and leather-covered buttons. Lilly said that with his unruly hair and a pair of tortoise shell spectacles Pierce had the foresight to bring, Cade looked every inch the studious young alienist-to-be.
Lilly wore the infamous Mrs. Partridge costume—her green skirt, white blouse, and wire spectacles. She added a fitted vest and scraped her hair back into a no-nonsense bun, leaving the gray wig behind.
As they walked up the sidewalk, Cade admitted he was concerned about how to play his part, since he knew little to nothing about the workings of the brain or mind. Lilly felt the same way, but hadn’t spoken of her fears. Pierce instructed them to just look intelligent, interested, and thoughtful unless they noticed something out of the ordinary, and to take notes, lots of notes, as if they were inordinately fascinated with the case.
They followed Pierce into the shadowy entryway. A middle-aged man wearing white trousers and shirt was seated behind a scarred desk, reading a tattered copy of Good Health magazine. He set the periodical aside and stood, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up with his forefinger as he did so.
“May I help you?” he asked, glancing from one visitor to the other.
Looking around with cool disdain, Pierce held out his hand. “Dr. Anton Pierce, my assistant, Dr. Bran Mahoney, and a student, Brona McGill.”
Lilly shot him a sharp glance that Pierce ignored. So Cade was an associate and she a mere student! Cade caught the look and she could tell it was taking every bit of his willpower not to crack a smile at her indignation.
“We’re here at the request of Dr. Henri Ducharme, who asked me to consult with Dr. Ballantine about a patient in his care,” Pierce explained.
“Oh!” The young man looked a bit flustered as he shook hands all around. “Dr. Ballantine never comes in on the weekends, but Dr. Wesley is here. He’s in charge.”
Intimidated by the self-confident man standing before him, he gestured toward a couple of straight-backed chairs. “If you’d care to be seated, I’ll fetch him for you.”
“Thank you. We’ll just stand.” Pierce pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and proceeded to wipe his hand as if it had been contaminated by the mere touch of the other man.
“Oh! Do you mind giving me the patient’s name?”
“Not at all,” Pierce said with a condescending smile. “He asked me to have a look at his wife, Patricia Ducharme.”
“Oh, of course. Mrs. Ducharme. Lovely lady. Just lovely. It’s hard to believe she’s gone crazy.”
Pierce gave the underling a cold smile. Good grief, the man was a consummate performer!
“As a profession, we’re trying to stop those who work with mentally impaired people from using such derogatory terms,” Pierce stated. “They are human after all, and you know what they say. There but for fortune . . .” He let his voice trail away.
Understanding that he’d just been reprimanded in a roundabout way, the man smiled, the merest twitch of his lips. “Of course, sir. Of course. I’ll just go and find Dr. Wesley.”
In a matter of moments, the weekend supervisor stepped into the corridor from a door down the hall. He was shrugging into his coat. Buttoning it over a definite paunch, he straightened his tie, smoothed his hair, and forced a smile to his ruddy face.
Lilly had seen the signs often enough. She’d wager a week’s pay that the man left in charge for the weekend had been sleeping off a night of drinking.
“Welcome, Dr. Pierce” he said, extending a plump white hand. “I’m Dr. Trevor Wesley, the weekend administrator.”
He and Pierce shook hands and he once again introduced Cade and Lilly.
“Dr. Mahoney,” the man said, shaking Cade’s hand as well. Then, with the conventions satisfied, he looked from Cade to Pierce and asked, “How can I be of assistance this morning?”
“Dr. Ducharme and I met years ago when we were both in medical school, but we lost contact when we went into different fields.”
Pierce spoke the lie with amazing believability. Dr. Wesley nodded, accepting every word as truth.
“When his wife’s loss of her son and her daughter threatened to consume her, he contacted me and asked that I come and meet with her at my earliest convenience, to spend some time with her, so that I could give him my opinion of her mental state and, if possible, a prognosis. He is hoping she can return home as soon as possible.” He gestured toward Cade. “My associates will be observing and passing on their thoughts as well.”
Wesley looked confused but nodded. “Certainly. Please.” He made a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Come into my office, where we can be more comfortable.”
Without a word, the trio followed the man down the hallway and into a small room. While not extravagant by any standards, the interior of the small private sanctuary was head and shoulders above what little bit Cade had seen of the asylum proper.
The doctor settled into a chair behind a large oak desk and Pierce, Lilly, and Cade took two worn leather chairs across from him. Pierce’s “associates” withdrew small tablets and pencils, as if they were seriously jotting down important information.
“I quite understand why Dr. Ducharme asked you to come,” Dr. Wesley told them. “He is the kind of man who would want the very best for his wife, and I’m sure you’re well aware that the Fontenots have been pillars of New Orleans business and society for as long as anyone can remember.”
“So I understand.” Pierce offered another superficial smile. “May I ask about her mental state when she was admitted?”
“As I recall, she was calm, even somewhat lethargic. I know because Dr. Ducharme brought her on a Sunday afternoon, and I admitted her.”
“I see. And what sort of behavior made the doctor suspect mental frailty?”
“As I understand, it was just what you mentioned. She lost her infant son at birth and then a short while ago, her daughter was kidnapped and murdered while on an outing with her and her other daughter, Cassandra.”
“So she was despondent over her losses.”
“Yes, naturally so.”
“And her diagnosis?”
“Dr. Ducharme felt she was suffering from melancholy insanity,” Wesley said.
Cade scribbled something in his notebook.
“And Dr. Ballantine? Did he agree with Dr. Ducharme’s assessment? He is, after all, the professional in these matters, while my old colleague is simply a medical doctor.”
The shock in the supervisor’s eyes would have been comical had it not been so pathetic. “Well, I . . . I can’t say with any certainty.”
“He did do his own evaluation, didn’t he?” Pierce’s voice held a note of accusation.
“Oh, yes!” the man said with a vehement nod. “That is, I’m sure he did. He must have. We do that. Always. In fact, Dr. Ballantine and I have consulted about Mrs. Ducharme at length. We have meetings once a week about the state of all of our patients and their progress,” he offered, as if the practice was innovative in some way.
The man protesteth too much, Lilly thought, willfully butchering the line from Shakespeare.
“And you, Dr. Wesley, what was your diagnosis?” Cade asked, joining the conversation for the first time.
The man straightened, realizing that he was dealing with two men who took their jobs seriously. He seemed to gather his thoughts as well as his dignity.
“I concurred with Dr. Ballantine’s evaluation.”
Lilly glanced over to see Cade jotting more nonsense in his tablet. She noted he was having trouble keeping the disgust from his face. They all realized that chances were slim to none that Patricia Ducharme had been analyzed once she was deposited at the asylum.
“So she was sorrowful and grief filled,” Pierce pressed.
“Yes.”
“Tell me, Doctor, have you ever lost a loved one?”
“Of course,” he said. “Who hasn’t?”
“And weren’t you filled with grief and sad over the loss?”
“Certainly.”
“Wouldn’t you agree, then,
that Mrs. Ducharme’s sadness was and is a natural occurrence?”
Wesley realized he’d stepped right into Pierce’s trap. “Of course it is, but—”
“And,” Cade added, “Mrs. Ducharme lost two loved ones in a year and a half, so wouldn’t her melancholy be a natural reaction?”
Aha! What would Wesley say to that?
“Of course, but according to Dr. Ducharme, there was more, much more,” he said, determined to uphold his loyalty to his superior.
“Tell me.”
Wesley cleared his throat. “Well, he claimed that she was so wild with grief that she often became physically abusive, and he had no recourse but to restrain her.”
Pierce regarded the man over the tips of his steepled fingers. “Did she treat all the members of her family in this aggressive manner?”
Wesley appeared to think back. “Not that I’m aware of. The family did say that she was sometimes belligerent toward the doctor. Sometimes accusing him of lying and trickery. Some days she was quite calm, sleepy, even bordering on comatose.”
Cade wrote in his tablet. “What kind of trickery?”
Lilly was glad he’d asked the question.
“She would accuse him of taking things or moving them so that she couldn’t find them and then putting them somewhere else just to confuse her.”
Cade and Pierce shared a considering look, which increased the distress in Wesley’s eyes.
“Did he say whether or not he’d administered any sort of calming drug to her before bringing her here?” Cade asked.
“Oh, he had to! For a while after her daughter was . . . murdered and before she was brought here, he was forced to give her laudanum from time to time, but he was fearful of her becoming dependent on the opiate, so he stopped it soon after the funeral. I believe he switched to chloral hydrate—but only as needed of course. As far as I know, Dr. Ballantine is continuing that treatment.”
That would do it all right. “Chloral hydrate?” Lilly piped up, shooting an apologetic glance at Pierce for not keeping her mouth shut. “Is that really necessary?”
Though This Be Madness Page 19
