Tell Me Pretty Maiden

by Rhys Bowen

  “Dr. Birnbaum,” I called and waved, making the nurses turn toward me and frown.

  His face lit up as he saw me and he clicked his heels smartly. “Miss Murphy. What an unexpected pleasure. What brings you here?”

  “Visiting a patient,” I said. “And you?”

  “I’m here to consult with an old friend from my student days in Vienna,” he said.

  “Of course, how silly of me. This is called the German hospital, isn’t it? You’d feel right at home here.”

  “Although I am Austrian, not German. There is a difference, you know.” He smiled. “And I treat the mind and here they only treat the body.”

  A magnificent idea was forming in my head. “You’re an absolute godsend, do you know that?”

  “Am I? In what way?”

  “There is a patient here, a young girl, who doesn’t seem to be able to speak or understand anyone. I found her yesterday unconscious in a snowdrift in Central Park. We brought her here and she has recovered, but still won’t speak.”

  “Has it occurred to anyone that she might be deaf?” he asked.

  I felt really stupid. “What an obvious thing to have overlooked,” I said. “But would you take a look at her yourself? I’d feel much happier if I knew that everything was being done to communicate with her. And if she really were suffering from a disease of the mind, then you’d be the very person, wouldn’t you?”

  “I can’t examine a patient here uninvited,” he said, “but I can ask my friend to make an introduction to her attending physician.”

  He always was one for correctness, I remembered.

  “Thank you, Dr. Birnbaum. That’s a load off my mind. And if you could possibly let me know what you find, I’d be most grateful.”

  I thought he might say that divulging such information would also be unethical, but he nodded and said, “I’ll pop a note through your front door when I return home this evening. It’s good of you to take such an interest in a stranger.”

  “Oh, you know me.” I laughed. “I never could keep my nose out of other people’s business.”

  I came out of the hospital and stood breathing deeply, filling my lungs with the cold, smoky, familiar New York air to rid my nostrils of the cloying hospital smell. Then I walked back along Central Park, making my way to the Fifty-eighth Street El station. As I walked I found that my brain was buzzing. Daniel and I should have taken more trouble to examine the site where we had found the girl yesterday. We should have retraced her footsteps and seen if we could have located her coat, or the place where she was attacked. We might have seen the footprints of her attacker. We may even have been able to see where she entered the park and where she encountered him, or them.

  I decided I probably had a little time to spare. When my business began to show a healthy profit, I’d buy myself a watch. A good detective needed to know the exact time. I was dying to take another look at the spot where she had lain. If I hurried I’d be able to see if we had overlooked any clues. I entered the park through the same gate through which we had carried her out yesterday, retraced our steps along the path, over the East Drive and into the central wilderness area, and there it was. I could still see exactly how she had lain in the snow and where I had knelt beside her. I stood looking down at her imprint in the snow, trying to picture how she had fallen, and how long she had lain there. I found that I was shivering in the cold as the sun had dipped behind the horizon. If I couldn’t stand here for long, dressed warmly in stout boots and a woolen cloak, then how could she have survived at all, if she had lain there for any length of time?

  I examined the site closely for any telltale clues—a locket or a handkerchief with her initials on it would have done nicely, but alas, there was nothing. Our footsteps had disturbed the snow around her, but on the other side of the dell her neat little trail of footprints was still clear. With mounting excitement I followed them, around a little hill, across a stretch of flat lawn, until they joined a path and were lost among countless other footprints. I followed the path for a while, hoping to see if a footprint might be recognizable, but after a while I had to give up. Still, I had learned one thing: she had not been attacked anywhere near the spot where we found her. She had not been carried to the spot. She had walked there under her own steam and had come from the north. Not, therefore, from any of the polyglot ghettoes of lower Manhattan.

  The same clock chiming the three-quarter hour reminded me that I had a job to do and I’d be late if I didn’t hurry. I slithered and skidded my way through the park until I reached Columbus Circle and the end station of the Sixth Avenue El. It was four o’clock on the dot when I stepped into the hallway at the Casino Theater. I was red-cheeked and gasping for breath because I had run all the way from the train, and had to stand in front of a very surprised Henry while I caught my breath.

  “Well, fancy seeing you again,” he said. “Anything wrong, miss?”

  “Nothing. I just thought I was going to be late and that would never do on my first day,” I said.

  “First day?” He looked suspicious.

  “I’m going to be joining the company,” I said.

  “As what?”

  “I can’t say yet, until I’ve met with Miss Lovejoy. Is she in her dressing room?”

  “No, miss, she went front of house, meeting with Mr. Barker and Mr. Haynes. And that young songwriter guy, whatever his name is.”

  “So who are Mr. Barker and Mr. Haynes?” I asked.

  “They’re the men that count,” Henry said. “Mr. Barker is the director. He’s got money in the show as well. And Mr. Haynes—he’s the choreographer. He’s the one with the creative talent, at least according to himself, of course.”

  I laughed, but I didn’t rightly know what a choreographer was and didn’t like to show my ignorance by asking. I also didn’t think it would be wise to barge into a meeting and maybe put Blanche Lovejoy in a spot, especially if she hadn’t yet managed to come up with a good reason for explaining my presence in the theater.

  “I think I’ll go up to her dressing room and wait for her there,” I said. “Will you tell her that I’m here if you see her?”

  “I will indeed, miss,” he said. “So you’re really an actress! That baloney about bringing a message from Oona Sheehan was just a ruse to meet Miss Lovejoy, wasn’t it? Come on, now. You can’t fool Old Henry. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen that trick played before.”

  “No, I really was brining a message from Oona Sheehan. Honestly.”

  He touched the side of his nose with a knowing grin. “And that message was that Miss Lovejoy should give you a job in her production?”

  “Something like that,” I said, trying to look sheepish.

  “I’m surprised she fell for it at this stage,” he said. “I know Miss Lovejoy. She likes order. She likes everything to be perfect. Changing things at the last minute just isn’t like her. You must be mighty talented, or a really big draw.”

  “Neither, I promise you. I’m sure I’m going to play the most minor of parts and disturb things the least possible.”

  “Chorus, you mean?” Henry looked puzzled now.

  “I’m really not sure, yet,” I said. “Wait until I’ve spoken to Miss Lovejoy.”

  “Let’s hope the other girls don’t resent you,” Henry said, going back to his newspaper. “Most girls would kill to get a part in a production like this one.”

  I left him with those words echoing through my head. Had somebody not been awarded the role she felt she deserved? Was somebody maybe trying to get even with Miss Lovejoy? But then surely it wasn’t one of her cast members. If Blanche got so spooked that she decided to close the show, then they’d all be out of work.

  TWELVE

  Martha admitted me to Blanche’s dressing room.

  “She’s expecting you,” she cackled in that scratchy witch voice of hers, staring at me with those strange, hooded, birdlike eyes. “Give me your cloak. I’ll hang it up for you.” I complied although I could h
ave easily hung the garment on the hook myself.

  “I gather she’s downstairs meeting with the producer and some other men,” I said. “I thought it wiser to come up here.”

  “Definitely. She doesn’t like to be caught out. Not Miss Lovejoy. Even as a little child she hated to be caught out and then find herself at a disadvantage. Always did like to be holding the reins and in the driver’s seat. A headstrong child, that’s sure enough.”

  “And you were her nurse, so she tells me,” I said.

  “I was. I raised her from infancy onward. And I cherished her, too. It broke my heart when she ran away from home like that. I worried about her more than they did, I think. And it was the happiest day of my life when she came to find me again.” When she smiled, she looked just old and kind. But the smile quickly faded. “Of course I didn’t approve of what she had become. Taking her clothes off in front of men—and those songs. I couldn’t blame her family for disowning her. But I stuck by her, and now, as you see, she’s as respectable as a lady can be in her profession.”

  “How long have you been with her then?”

  “Well, it must be at least twenty years since she found me in Massachusetts and brought me down to New York to be her dresser.”

  Which made Miss Lovejoy close to forty. This show must have been a last attempt to play the romantic lead and obviously it was vitally important to her that she succeed in it.

  “So tell me, Martha,” I began cautiously, “do you have any thoughts yourself about this ghost? You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t say yes or no to that,” she said, again nodding in birdlike fashion. “I’ve not come face-to-face with a ghost personally in my life, but I’ve met some people who would swear that they have. And all I can tell you is that Miss Lovejoy is very nervous. It’s got her good and rattled, I can tell you—and she’s come through a lot, my darling Blanchie has. It takes a lot to get her rattled.”

  As she was finishing this speech I heard the sound of footsteps coming toward us along the passage and suddenly the door burst open. Blanche Lovejoy came in, looking as out of breath as I had been a few minutes earlier.

  “Any sign of her yet, Martha?” she demanded, then saw me. “Oh, there you are, Miss Murphy. I was wondering if you’d changed your mind and weren’t going to show up.”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  “I was expecting you to come through to the stalls so that I could introduce you to Robert and Desmond.”

  “Henry said you were having a meeting, but I didn’t know whether you’d welcome my presence,” I said. “I thought you might find me awkward to explain, so I came up here to wait.”

  “Ah, well, can’t be helped,” she said. “I’ll just have to make a general introduction at the cast meeting. But I’ve warned the boys that you’ll be joining us.”

  “You’ve decided how to explain my sudden appearance then?”

  “Brilliant, my dear.” She gave me her most dazzling smile. “I had the most brilliant idea. I’m slipping you into the cast because I owe Oona Sheehan a favor and you are her cousin, just arrived from Ireland and seeking a theatrical career. Isn’t that perfect?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” I said.

  “Of course, I’ll drop Oona a note, just in case anyone asks her,” she went on, pacing the room like a caged tiger and waving her arms as she spoke, “and I’ve even found a good way to have you onstage most of the time—and get us an extra laugh as well. Guess what, Molly—I’m going to make you a bluestocking. We’ll find you an ugly wig with pigtails and give you glasses, and you’ll be the pupil who never joins in the fun. In every scene where the girls are onstage, you’ll stand in a corner with your nose in a book. You can even wander across the stage with your nose in a book during scenes in which the girls aren’t present. And I’m going to add lines. When I dismiss all the girls, you’ll stay where you are until I say, “Come along, Josephine,” and you’ll look up with exaggerated surprise and follow the rest of them. After the first time that should get us an extra laugh, don’t you think?”

  I smiled and nodded, although the reality of being onstage, in the spotlight in front of hundreds of people, was just dawning on me and making my stomach clench into knots. I could never admit to being shy, but I’ve never appeared in public either. I had no idea what it might feel like to be expected to perform.

  “But isn’t it to die for?” she continued, still pacing. “Sometimes I surprise myself with my own brilliance, don’t I, Martha?”

  “You do indeed, my angel,” Martha replied, although I couldn’t tell whether sarcasm was involved. It was impossible to know what she was thinking or feeling.

  “It’s a perfect little setup,” Blanche went on, undaunted. “You’ll be onstage with nothing to do but pretend to read, and you’ll have all the time in the world to observe. If there’s a scene in which your presence on stage would be quite wrong—the love scenes between me and Arthur, for example—then you can wait in the wings, with your nose still in the book. They’ll all know that you are my new protégée so they won’t dare to move you.”

  She paused and looked at me, her eyes sparkling triumphantly. “So what do you say, Molly? We’ll show them I’m not going out of my head, won’t we? We’ll catch that ghost.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot, Miss Lovejoy,” I said with what I hoped was enthusiasm.

  “Right. Let’s get to work.” Blanche pulled out a script. “We’ve just got time to go through it once together. You’ll have to muddle through as best you can at tonight’s dress rehearsal, but take it home and study it so you’ve got your moves down pat before tomorrow. I’ve written you into the scenes and I’ve marked your position on the stage. Remember, in a play nothing is random. Every move is in the master script and the spot you stand in never varies by an inch. Since you are supposed to have your nose in a book all the time, I suggest that the book is this one. That way you’ll know what comes next.”

  She opened the first page and started going through it at a great rate. “So the first scene in the garden, the girls will be playing tennis and you’ll be standing against the back wall. For heaven’s sake, don’t lean on it or it will fall down. You’ll be here, next to the rosebush. Then when the girls rush off to tell me the news, you’ll look up from your book, realize they have gone, and hurry after them, exiting stage left.”

  She continued to bark out instructions until I was hopelessly confused. I was feeling inadequate and worried that I’d make a mess of things until I realized that I was the one doing a favor here. If she wanted me to be onstage to protect her, then she’d have to forgive a few errors. Another thought struck me.

  “It’s a dress rehearsal. What am I supposed to wear?”

  Blanche glanced at Martha. “You’ll need a costume,” she said as if this might not have occurred to her before. “I don’t know if we’ve anything suitable in wardrobe so we may have to improvise for tonight’s dress rehearsal and probably tomorrow night’s, too. It’s supposed to be summertime in the play. Do you have anything like that garment you are wearing, equally dowdy, but lighter weight?”

  I realized then that Blanche wasn’t all sweetness and light, but I ignored the insult. I suppose my business suit could be described as dowdy.

  “I have a plain muslin,” I said, but she shook her head.

  “No, these are good class girls. I don’t think muslin would do, do you, Martha?”

  “I’m sure Madame Eva will be able to make something for her in a hurry if you asked nicely,” Martha said. “She’s supposed to be a schoolgirl, isn’t she? So what she needs is a schoolgirl outfit. Checked gingham or black with a white bow or white with a black bow at her neck. Something plain but wholesome.”

  “Right, as always.” Blanche nodded with satisfaction. “Come on then. If we hurry we can make it to wardrobe before the meeting.”

  I was whisked along the hall, up yet another flight of steps, and into a room that was positively cluttered with racks
of costumes, bolts of fabric, boxes of wigs—and half buried under all this a table containing a sewing machine, and sitting at the table a hunched old woman dressed head to toe in black. She looked even more witchlike than Martha. She had similar sharp features and her skin looked horribly sallow in the dim light. I don’t know how she managed to sew in there and how she didn’t go blind doing it. She glanced up, frowning, as we came in.

  “It’s all right, you don’t have to make a fuss,” she said in heavily accented English. “I said they’d all be ready by five and they are all ready. See—the last of the tennis outfits, all hanging and ready for the girls to pick up.”

  “You’re a miracle worker, Eva,” Blanche said, and produced her beaming smile. “And I’m glad you’re done because I have one teeny little extra job for you to do.”

  Eva’s scowl turned to me. “Who’s she? I haven’t seen this one before.”

  “She’s new. She’s going to be joining us. We felt the chorus needed comic relief so she’s going to be the studious girl who never joins in. Could you whip up something plain and unflattering for her?”

  “Could I whip up?” Eva demanded, waving her arms dramatically. “What you think I have, a magic wand here? Where is this plain and unflattering fabric, huh?”

  “Not for tonight, silly. Of course not for tonight. But before opening night. That’s all I ask. Four more days. And she’ll need a wig. That red hair is so un-French. I thought black, plain, two pigtails.”

  “And how should this ugly dress look?” Eva demanded.

  “What do you think? Plain black with a white bow?”

  “She’ll look like she’s going to a funeral,” Eva muttered.

  “All right. Plain white with a black bow. Schoolgirlish. Young.”

  “I’ll take her measurements and see what I can do,” Eva said.

  “Oh, and spectacles,” Blanche added. “And black boots.”

  “Anything more?” Eva asked. “You want me to make her a ball gown, in case you change your mind and this girl turns into a princess in the middle of the play?”