She looked back at the girl on the floor. “Sometimes I think I understand her—at least some words—but then others it’s total gibberish.”
A sudden thought struck me. “I have a friend in New York who is an alienist—a doctor of the mind. He studied in Vienna with Professor Freud who is discovering such interesting things about dreams. Would you like him to take a look at her? Maybe he’d be able to unlock the mind she has shut from the outside world.”
Her eyes darted nervously. “I don’t know about that. The last doctor condemned her to the asylum. Why wouldn’t this one do the same?”
“He’s an intelligent, compassionate man. I believe he might be able to help her. Wouldn’t you like her restored to normality?”
She shook her head violently at this. “No, I would not. As long as she didn’t know what she was doing, then it would only be some kind of asylum for her. If she was proved to be sane, well then it could well be jail, couldn’t it?”
“Surely not, at her age. Even if she knew what she was doing, a four-year-old has no real concept of death, of killing someone. It was an impulse and you can see what it has done to her.”
“Whatever it is, it won’t be for the better, poor little mite.” She unlocked the door and led me down the stairs. I stepped aside and allowed her to go first. To tell you the truth, I thought she might be tempted to give me a shove and get rid of me in what would look like an accident. I could see her point. She had protected the child for eight years and now all her hard work was about to be undone. When we reached the window she stopped.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like you going back the way you came,” she said. “I’d rather you didn’t discover the way out of here. If you honestly don’t know how to get in and out, then you can’t give us away by mistake, can you?”
She stood watching as I hitched up my skirts and eased myself out of that window.
“Now I’m making sure it’s good and secure,” she said after me. “You’ll not be getting in this way again, no more will she be getting out. I’ll be making sure she takes her medicine to make her sleep until everyone has gone.”
I heard the window slam shut behind me and climbed down, getting a couple of good scratches along the way.
Twenty-seven
At last I was on the ground and went back to the cottage without encountering anyone. Martha had just arrived and was humming to herself in the kitchen.
“Lovely morning, Mrs. Sullivan,” she called. “Been out for an early walk have you?”
“That’s right,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t notice that I was barefoot and surely had bits of ivy sticking out of my hair. “I’m going to take a bath before breakfast. Is Captain Sullivan awake yet?”
“Not when I peeked in,” she said.
I went up to see for myself and found him still sleeping peacefully. Then I made a decision. Daniel would undoubtedly tell me that I had to inform the police about Kathleen. I didn’t like the idea of keeping things from him, but I saw all too clearly that she would make a perfect scapegoat—a crazy child who has already killed once. How perfect. Case closed. I needed to buy myself some time. And to seek advice for once. I had never been too good about asking for help or seeking advice, but this time there was too much at stake and friends, whose opinion I valued, were within reach.
I wasn’t going to wait for Sid and Gus to wake up, then have their usual leisurely breakfast before they came to visit. I made myself look respectable, put on shoes and stockings and then told Martha I was going to pay a call on the next door neighbors. As I walked I smiled at the term. Next door neighbors—Irish castle to Roman marble palace. You’d hardly pop next door for a cup of sugar in these parts!
As I came out of the gate and turned into the road I glanced at the colonial house across the street and saw those lace curtains drop back into place. Even at this hour the occupant was either vigilant or nosy, depending on how one saw it. I resolved to pay her a call on my way home.
The Roman marble palace next door had even grander gates than the Hannan residence. These were gilt tipped with tall classical statues on either side. Luckily there was a little door to one side. It opened easily and I let myself into magnificent formal gardens and a broad driveway leading to the white columns at the front of the house. It was breathtakingly beautiful although personally I’d not have liked to live in a place that looked like a mausoleum. I went up the marble steps and rang the doorbell.
The woman who answered looked most surprised to see me. “Miss Augusta and Miss Elena are in residence, madam,” she said, “but they are not ready to receive visitors at this hour. They haven’t even come down to breakfast yet.”