Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)

Instantly the orderly turned on me, knocking me across the room with a backhanded blow to my face. He and his fellow were on me right away, with the nurse also standing over me. As I struggled they brought both arms behind my back and one of them knelt on me. “Get a jacket. This one’s violent,” the nurse shouted.

“Let her go,” a voice screamed and Jessie was tugging at them, flailing away like a mad thing.

A whistle was blown. There was the sound of running feet. Someone dragged Jessie away. Someone else was kneeling beside me. I felt my sleeve pulled up and pain as something was jabbed into my arm. Everything started to blur. There was a roaring in my ears and I knew no more.





FORTY-TWO

When I opened my eyes, I was lying staring at a strange ceiling. I tried to raise my head but I felt sick. Gradually I looked around and saw that I was in a small, windowless room. An electric lightbulb shone down from the ceiling. The metal door had a window in it at face height. The only furniture was the shelf on which I was lying. Apart from that there was only a bucket in the corner. I had been in a jail cell before now and it looked a lot like this.

I tried to sit up. The world swung around. How long had I been here and—more to the point—where was I? I realized that my rash intervention yesterday had ruined everything. Now instead of being in a room with Jessie and with a chance to speak to Dr. Meyer, whoever he was, I was in some kind of solitary confinement for violent inmates. Fear began to overtake me. What if they professed no knowledge of me when Elizabeth came to collect me? Was it already my second day and time to be freed?

I staggered drunkenly over to the window and looked out onto an empty hallway. On the other side were similar rooms with windows in their doors, but no sound, no movement. I sat and waited. I couldn’t tell if it was day or night. By the growlings of my stomach I thought that I had probably missed supper. What would happen to me now? I wondered. Would I ever have a chance to speak to a sympathetic person who would listen to my case? I realized that I was now probably classed as violent. Would that give them an excuse to keep me here?

I sat, sunk in deepest gloom, telling myself over and over what an idiot I was. Why did I think I could do these ridiculous things? Daniel had warned me several times that I was like a cat with nine lives and I was using them up all too quickly. Daniel—would he have returned yet? Did he wonder where I was? I missed him horribly. I’d have given anything to feel his strong arms around me. At that moment I didn’t want to be strong and independent. I wanted to be protected and loved and cherished. I wanted to be out of this place right now. Had Elizabeth told Sid and Gus of our plan? Was she at this moment coming to rescue me? And then the nagging fear—would she find me, now that I had been placed among the violent?

Hours dragged by. At last the door was opened and a tray was pushed into the room, the door then closed hastily behind it. On the tray was a bowl of soup, a slice of gray meat, and a thick piece of bread. Not breakfast then. But was this lunch or dinner? And on what day? I dipped the bread in the soup and ate both that way but could not swallow the stringy meat.

At last I heard the sound of voices faintly outside in the hallway. I rushed to the window. A group of men, some wearing white coats, were moving down the hall. Two of them were deep in conversation. It took me a second to register that one of those men was Dr. Birnbaum.

“Dr. Birnbaum!” I shouted his name.

He didn’t appear to have heard me. Maybe there was a racket coming from other rooms. I grabbed the tray that had not yet been picked up and hammered against the door with all my might. “Dr. Birnbaum. It’s me, Molly. Molly Murphy. Help me. Get me out of here,” I screamed. He didn’t turn around as the group of men disappeared down the hallway and were gone.

I sank back onto the bench in deepest despair. No hope. Daniel, come and find me, I whispered. I must have dozed off because I woke with a start as the door opened. Two burly guards jerked me to my feet. “Come on. Move.” They half-carried me out of the door and down the hallway. I began to feel hopeful again. Elizabeth had arrived and I was to be released. Everything was going to be all right.

We passed through a door into another world. This one smelled of disinfectant, like a hospital, but it was clean and bright and I was manhandled into what looked like a doctor’s office. There was an examining couch and a table with medical instruments on it, including a long and wicked-looking syringe. My captors continued to hold my arms tightly, their big thumbs digging into my flesh. Through a half-open door I heard a man speaking: “I know it sounds barbaric, but I have to tell you that it has produced some remarkable results. Injecting them with typhoid seems to work better than the other diseases. It produces the highest fever and a reasonable percentage survive. And of those who do, some seem to be permanently cured.”