by Rhys Bowen
Bridie got up and nodded before running down the hall.
“She’s such a sweet girl,” I said. “And so good with Liam.” I waited until I heard her high little voice in the kitchen before I continued softly. “They have had the bodies of Mabel’s parents exhumed, and it appears that they were somehow drugged before their room was set on fire. They were laid out as if for burial.”
“How awful,” Gus said. “Surely they can’t think that Mabel…”
“It will depend on what kind of drug they find during an autopsy, I suppose. If it was a simple sleeping powder, then I’m afraid the police will think…”
“Don’t.” Gus shivered. “You’ve seen her, Molly. She is so clearly distressed by what happened. She can’t have had anything to do with it. I could believe she knocked over a lamp when she was sleepwalking, but deliberately drugging her parents, laying them out, and then setting fire to them? No. I’ll not believe that of her.”
“I don’t believe it either,” I said. “But I’m being realistic. Lieutenant Yeats is young and keen and wants to make a name for himself with a sensational case.”
“Can’t Daniel intervene?” Sid asked.
I shook my head. “He is so busy with his own case, and besides, he has to tread carefully these days. He is not in favor with the commissioner.”
“Can’t you help him, Molly?” Sid asked.
“I wish I could. I just don’t see what I can do that hasn’t already been done. And I have to admit that I’m not feeling up to par yet. I’m still getting headaches and I had another of my horrible dreams last night.”
Gus wagged an excited finger at me. “We’ll tell Dr. Werner about that too. He might be able to help you as well as Mabel.”
“We don’t want to bother the doctor with my small problems,” I said. “It will be enough if he can help Mabel. I’m sure I’ll feel better as the bump on my head goes away.”
“I hope he will come,” Gus said. “It didn’t sound, from what we’ve heard, that he is the most congenial of men.”
“I would think that his professional curiosity would make him want to see Mabel,” Sid said. “And if he doesn’t come soon, we’ll lurk on Ninth Street and catch him unawares.”
We all laughed at that, and I began to feel a little better about everything.
Twenty-three
As the day progressed I felt a little better. Mrs. Sullivan took Liam and Bridie with her to do the shopping, leaving me with strict instructions that I was to stay put and do nothing. But I couldn’t abide the emptiness of being in the house alone. I decided to see if Sid and Gus were at home. I was crossing the street when I heard the sound of the fire engine in the distance, its bell clanging madly. I stared down Patchin Place, thinking about the fire that killed the Hamiltons and wondering how it might fit in to Daniel’s case. But nothing came to mind beyond the fact that it fit the timeline. It was, as Daniel had said, grasping at straws to save Mabel.
Gus welcomed me, saying they were glad to have something to take their minds off Dr. Werner. They hadn’t been able to settle down enough to do anything all morning. She sent Sid off to make us some Moroccan mint tea, which had currently taken the place of coffee in their household. I had just taken a sip when there was a sharp rap at their front door. Sid went to answer it and we heard her say, “Dr. Werner? How very good of you to come so quickly. Please do come in. We’re just having coffee.” And she led him through to the conservatory, beaming as if she was displaying a prize pet.
“Dr. Otto Werner,” she announced. “May I present Miss Walcott, and Mrs. Sullivan?”
He gave us what only could be described as a supercilious stare, clicking his heels and giving a perfunctory bow to Gus, and then eyeing her with interest before doing the same to me. He was a thin, dark-haired man with a well-trimmed beard and a monocle in one eye, meticulously attired and reminding me in a way of a dark version of Dr. Birnbaum. I made a note to ask Gus whether all German and Austrian doctors paid so much attention to their appearance.
“I come because you request it,” he said in clipped and heavily accented English. “But I must tell you that my time in New York now is at an end. I take the ship home to the fatherland. My task here is complete.”
“Oh, that’s a great pity,” Gus said, “because your help and expertise are desperately needed.”
“There are many doctors in New York, are there not?” he said, giving another curt nod as Sid put a cup of coffee in front of him. “Why is it so important that you seek me out and summon me?”
“Because you are an expert on dream psychology,” Gus said.
He raised an eyebrow then, making the monocle move up and down. “Who is telling you this?”
“As I wrote to you in my note, I studied this year in Vienna with Professor Freud,” Gus said. “Your colleagues mentioned your name several times. They spoke highly of your research.”
“Ach, so,” he said. “You have worked with my colleagues in Vienna. This is good. You wish to consult me on a tricky case? I will be glad to give you my opinion.”
“I wish you to see a young girl. A troubled young girl, plagued by terrible nightmares,” Gus said. “I feel certain that unlocking the symbols of her dreams is the only way to help her.”
“Of what does she dream? A recurring symbol?”
“Yes. She says there is always a snake. A giant snake looming over her.”
“Ach. This is not so hard,” he said. “She is of what age?”
“Fourteen,” Gus replied.
He nodded. “This is a common dream at the time of female development, no? The snake? The male symbol? She fears being consumed by her own sexuality, and being dominated by a male.”
“I would agree with you, Dr. Werner, except she has been through a traumatic event,” Gus said. “Her house burned down with her parents in it. She was found unharmed in the garden and remembers nothing of that night. But her dreams are full of terror. I am sure something terrible happened that night that she can’t remember.”
“Naturally something terrible happened—a fire that consumes the house and kills her parents. What could be more terrible? And you say that she escapes, unharmed? Well, then I suggest that the snake could represent her guilt. She feels she could have saved them. Have done more. And her guilt consumes her.”
“Oh,” Gus said, considering this. “You may be right. She clearly adored her parents. Perhaps she wanted to help, but was driven back by the fire.”
“Exactly. You see. Not so complicated after all.” He permitted himself a tight-lipped smile.
“But I would still be very grateful if you could spare a minute to visit her,” Gus said. “She lives in the city.”
“I really do not think…” he began. “My ship. It sails in a few days. There is much to do.”
“It seems that everyone is heading home to Germany at the moment,” I said. “Another colleague of yours, Dr. Birnbaum, was also sailing home this week.”
“Birnbaum? I am not acquainted with this name,” he said.
“He also trained in Vienna with Freud,” I said, “but he has been in this country for several years now.”
“Then it is sad that our paths did not cross either here or in Vienna. I should have welcomed the chance to converse in my own language. It tires one to always have to think of the correct English word.”
“Your English is very good,” Gus said.
“One improves with time, but I still do not speak it naturally.”
I had to agree with that. His accent was still strong, and the words were delivered with such staccato force that it was almost painful to listen to him. I found myself thinking that I would not have wanted to listen to one of the lectures he had apparently been giving all over the country.
“Perhaps you will be on the same ship as Dr. Birnbaum,” I said. “Then you two can chat about your research all the way across the Atlantic.”
“That would be a pleasure.” He looked at me critically. “You are also a studen
t of psychology, meine Frau?”
“No. I’m a wife and mother,” I said. “Just a friend and neighbor of these ladies. I live across the street.”
“A charming street it is indeed,” he said. “It is good to live a tranquil life.”
Sid chuckled. “Molly hardly lives a tranquil life. Her husband is a policeman, and she was recently in that horrible train crash.”
“The train crash? Mein Gott, what a calamity this was. This train driver—he should be punished for driving so fast.” He turned the full force of his stare on me again. “You were lucky that you escaped unhurt, meine Frau.”
“Hardly unhurt. She cracked her ribs and had a concussion,” Gus said. “She’s still getting headaches. And bad dreams.”
“No, really. I am fine. Mending quickly,” I said, laughing off her concern.
“You have seen a doctor for this?”
“Yes, at the hospital. Ribs have to heal themselves, so I understand.”
“But the headaches.” He made a tut-tutting noise. “One does not trifle with a blow to the head. I could perhaps prescribe something to relieve the pain and help you sleep, if you wish?”
“Thank you, it’s very kind of you when you’re so busy,” I said. “But I’m sure the local dispensary could also…”
“It is no problem.” He waved an elegant hand at me. “It will take but a minute. I will have a messenger deliver it to you. You say your house is opposite this one?”
“Yes, number nine. Thank you very much. You’re very kind,” I said.
“This young girl, Dr. Werner,” Gus said. “Would you not at least see her? A recommendation from you would mean a lot to the family.”
“Her name?”
“Her name is Mabel Hamilton. She is living with her aunt on East Twentieth Street, near Gramercy Park.”
“Mabel Hamilton.” He spoke the words carefully, as if Mabel was a name he had never heard before. “Very well. I will grant your request and see Fraulein Mabel.” He pronounced it May Bell. “We could go now, if you wish, since I have no appointment before this afternoon.”
“I’ll go and summon a cab,” Sid said.
Much as I was brimming with curiosity, I could find no good reason to ask to join them. And there would not be room for me in the cab. Besides, my mother-in-law would be returning from her shopping soon, and I had promised not to go rushing all over the city. So reluctantly I took my leave, watching them walk down Patchin Place to find their cab.
I went about my morning tasks, waiting impatiently. I had just finished feeding Liam his midday meal, and was wiping a face liberally plastered with carrot, when Gus came to the front door.
“I knew you’d want a full report, Molly,” she said. “I’m sorry you couldn’t go with us, but frankly it was rather embarrassing to be crowded into a cab with Dr. Werner, having just met him. I don’t think he expected both of us to come with him, and he clearly found it distasteful to be sitting so close to two women. Rather amusing, actually. He’s very effete, wouldn’t you say?”
“Certainly doesn’t have what you’d call a bedside manner,” I said. “Although that was kind of him to offer to prescribe me something for my headaches, wasn’t it?”
“He was very kind to Mabel too,” Gus said. “Surprisingly so. I thought he’d be remote and professional, but he spoke to her kindly but firmly, as one would to a dog whose trust one was gaining. He asked us all to leave the room, so I can’t tell you what was said, but when he came out, he looked grave and said that he had been wrong. She was profoundly disturbed and in danger of losing her sanity. He regretted he was leaving so soon, and said that treatment would probably take months with a highly skilled alienist. Unfortunately, he knew of nobody in America who possessed these skills. However, he mentioned a clinic in Switzerland where a colleague of his was doing great work, and where he could also be available to supervise her treatment.”
“In Switzerland?” I asked. “That’s a long way from home.”
“He praised it highly—the mountain air, the healthy food, the outdoor life. They would all contribute to making Mabel receptive to treatment and restoring her to full health.”
“I suppose she has inherited money,” I said. “What did her aunt think?”
“She was rather startled by the whole thing. She wanted time to think it over. I don’t think she cared for Dr. Werner. After he had gone, she said there was something about him she didn’t take to. Maybe he was just too supercilious. And Mabel was agitated after seeing him too. I think she overheard what he said about the clinic in Switzerland. So we’ll have to wait to find out what happens next.”
As I tucked Liam into his crib for his afternoon nap, I thought over what Gus had just told me. At least Dr. Werner had discerned that the girl was deeply troubled and needed an alienist to bring her back to sanity. His testimony should prevent Lieutenant Yeats from arresting her at the moment. And if she was taken to Switzerland, then she would be out of the grasp of the American law. So that would be a good thing. However … I paused, considering. Switzerland. So far away. So different from her home and everything she was used to. How would she handle the loneliness and isolation, and who would take her there? Not Mrs. Hamilton, with her four lively sons and a husband to look after. Surely there was a suitable clinic closer to home—in the countryside, out of the city, where her family could visit her, and the attendants spoke her own language. And if no qualified alienist could be found, then her family’s money could pay for one to come across from Vienna.
I decided to suggest this to Sid and Gus when I saw them again. I realized Mabel would be in danger from Yeats if she were closer to home, but I thought the testimony of a qualified doctor would prevent him from doing anything until she was cured. And in the meantime, she would be one less worry on my mind. I paused and told myself firmly that I was wrong to be worrying about her in the first place. She wasn’t my concern. Mrs. Hamilton had asked for assistance from Gus, not from me. And yet, as always, I wanted to know the truth. Somebody had drugged or killed Mabel’s parents and then set fire to their room. Who hated them enough to do that? And if Lieutenant Yeats didn’t stretch his investigation beyond Mabel, who would ever find the cold-blooded murderer who was walking free?
I was tempted to visit the Hamilton household myself, to talk to the servants who had escaped from the burning house, but I realized it would be more sensible to wait—not just so that my own recovery could continue, but so the autopsy could be performed and might reveal a substance that was used to drug Mabel’s parents.
Liam whined and wriggled in his crib, bringing me back to reality and the claims of everyday life. “Time to sleep,” I said gently and patted his back, humming his favorite lullaby. His eyes fluttered closed. His thumb came into his mouth and he lay there, looking like a cherub from an old painting. So sweet. So vulnerable. It was hard to believe that he’d grow into a boisterous, noisy youngster like Mrs. Hamilton’s sons, or a tough and scruffy lad like Nuala’s boys. I wondered if Thomas had had any success in finding out who had paid a boy to deliver the note to the police headquarters.
I sighed with frustration. There was so much I wanted to do. I wanted to help Daniel with his investigation (and I must confess, I wanted to find something that the police had somehow overlooked, as much for my own satisfaction as to help my husband). I wanted to help solve Mabel’s case too. But I was no longer a detective. I was a wife and a mother, and I was recovering from injuries. I would have to be patient. And patience was a virtue I had never really learned.
I tried not to think. I tried to play with my son and with Bridie. We built towers of blocks and knocked them down. Liam’s laughter echoed through the house and did me a power of good. But I had another bad dream that night and hoped that Dr. Werner would find time to send me some medicine, as he had promised. I remembered he had expressed concern and said that concussions should not be taken lightly. Perhaps I should be heeding his warning and not filling my head with worries. It turned out that Ma
bel too had another dream that night. Mrs. Hamilton sent around a note to Sid and Gus the next morning.
When Gus came to my front door just as we were finishing breakfast, I thought it would be to say that she had just bought croissants from the French bakery and I was invited to coffee. Instead, she held only an envelope in her hand, and her face was full of concerned animation.
“Listen, Molly,” Gus said. The envelope in her hands flapped in the wind that swirled down our small backwater. “This just arrived from Minnie Hamilton.” She removed a sheet of paper from the envelope and tried to hold it steady while she read. “She says that Mabel had a terrifying dream last night. They heard her screams and she was cowering in the corner, saying ‘Why is the world upside down?’ and ‘Why does it smell so sweet?’ When they woke her up she looked at them and said, ‘The snake spoke to me. He spoke to me.’
“Mrs. Hamilton asked her, ‘What did he say?’
“‘He said, “You are mine.”’”
Twenty-four
Sid came out to join us and we debated what the words might mean, but we could come up with no reasonable explanations.
“‘Why is the world upside down?’” Sid said. “Well, her world is upside down now, isn’t it?”
“And I wonder what might have smelled sweet?” Gus asked.
“They did find her curled up in the back garden,” I said. “Maybe she found herself among some sweet-smelling flowers and was surprised to find herself there.”
“That’s good, Molly.” Gus nodded. “But the snake saying, ‘You are mine.’ That is definitely disturbing.”
“We’ve talked of the snake representing her own darker thoughts, haven’t we?” Sid ventured. “Could this be hinting that her evil nature is taking over?”
“How horrible,” Gus said. “Don’t let’s think that of Mabel. I want another explanation.”
“I feel so sorry for her, living with these dreams for so long now,” I said. “I’ve had bad dreams that are not nearly as terrifying just since the accident, and I find them most distressing. Hers have gone on for how long? Over a month, wasn’t it?”
