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

“Don’t worry. You’re safe now,” I said in a soothing voice. “Help is on the way. You’re going to be all right.”


The eyes fluttered shut again and I held her to me like a large child. I looked around me at the desolate winter landscape. It was hard to believe that I was in the middle of a city and that just over that hill there were crowds of people. Daniel was as good as his word. Just as I was beginning to feel the cold badly without the benefit of my cape, he came back, wading through the deep snow with a cup of cocoa in one hand, and the constable from the park gate, red-faced and panting, following at his heels.

“Well, I never did,” the constable exclaimed.

“She hasn’t regained consciousness, then.” Daniel dropped to his knees beside us.

“She opened her eyes for a moment,” I said.

“Wake up, my dear,” Daniel said gently. “We’ve got a nice hot drink for you. Try and take a sip.”

He put the cup to her mouth. She recoiled in fear as the warm liquid touched her, but then ran her tongue experimentally around her lips. Daniel tried again and this time she managed a sip or two. After a few minutes of patient ministration, he was able to get the whole cup down her. Her eyes opened again and she stared at us in complete bewilderment.

“We should get you home,” Daniel said. “Where do you live, miss?”

She continued to stare without responding.

“You’re in Central Park. Do you know how you got here?”

No reaction.

“You’re safe with us,” Daniel said gently. “We are police officers. We’re going to take good care of you. Now, what is your name?”

She looked up at me with the same bewildered look on her face.

“Tell us your name and address and we can take you home,” I said, smiling at her.

No response.

“Maybe she has some identification on her,” the constable suggested.

“I think that’s unlikely,” I said. “She’s wearing the flimsiest of gowns and no kind of overcoat.”

“No pocketbook?”

I shook my head. “No pocketbook.”

“Maybe that’s it then,” Constable Jones said. “Maybe she was out for a morning walk and she was robbed in a desolate part of the park and the thief stole her outer garments and pocketbook.”

“It’s possible,” Daniel said. “Were you attacked? Let me see if you were hit on the head.”

He went to touch her hair but she recoiled in alarm again.

“Let me,” I said. “She’ll feel more comfortable with a woman.” I smiled at her. “I just want to see if you got a nasty bump on the head. I won’t hurt you.”

I tried to feel her scalp but she was starting like a nervous colt. “She may have a bit of a bump just over her right temple,” I said, “but I don’t see any blood. Besides, we saw her footprints, and no others. If someone had hit her over the head to knock her out, would she have got up and started walking again? And look at those impossible little shoes. She’d never have intentionally gone for a walk in those.”

“But she did walk this far under her own steam and then she must have collapsed with cold.” Daniel was still frowning.

“No other footprints, you say?” The constable stared at the snowy ground, which clearly displayed the dainty trail coming from the northeast. “And no sign of foul play, as far as we can tell? Her dress was not disturbed or in disarray?”

From the way a glance passed between him and Daniel, I could tell what he was hinting at.

Daniel coughed discreetly. “If she walked here alone, we can hardly find out any more until she’s been examined by a doctor, or can tell us herself.”

“Her dress was in no kind of disarray when I found her,” I said. “She was lying as if asleep,”

“Whatever happened we must get her into a warm environment as soon as possible,” Daniel said. “In the absence of a name and address we’d better take her to the closest hospital.”

“That would be the German hospital, Lenox Hill, on East Seventy-seventh,” the constable suggested.

“Not far at all, then,” Daniel said. “If we could carry her to the nearest park gate, we could hail a cab. That would be quicker than summoning an ambulance. Do you think we could manage it?”

“No trouble at all,” the constable said. “I’ll wager she weighs no more than a feather. Look at her, she’s all skin and bones. She doesn’t look as if she’s had a decent meal in months.”

He was right in a way. There was no spare flesh on her. I could easily span the tiny wrist I was holding between my thumb and first finger, and yet she didn’t look gaunt or starving, and from what I could see, her dress and shoes were of good quality.

“Are you sure you can’t tell us your name?” I asked her again. “It would be so much nicer to go home than to be taken to a hospital, wouldn’t it?”

The girl only stared at me with large, hopeless eyes.