“What happened to the young woman who was in this bed?” I asked, my heart beating faster. “The one who couldn’t talk.”
“I couldn’t say, miss,” the nurse said, not looking up from her task. “I was just told to strip this bed and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Gone,” said a voice from across the ward, and I looked up to see an old woman staring at me. “They came and took her.”
“Who did? Her family?”
“Men,” the old woman said darkly. “Men in uniforms. Carted her off, they did. That’s what they do when you can’t pay. Cart you off.”
“I’m sure she was just being transferred to another hospital,” the nurse said quickly. “We don’t just abandon people in the snow, you know. This is the twentieth century. I could find out for you—”
“How long ago was this?” I asked the old woman, hearing my voice echo down the length of the ward, louder than I expected.
“Not long.”
I didn’t wait to hear any more. I ran, my feet clattering down those tiled hallways. Down the steps at breakneck pace. I heard nurses yelling at me, but I didn’t stop. Out at the front entrance I paused and looked around. Nothing. Life on the street proceeding in its usual tranquil manner. I rushed inside again and grabbed a surprised nurse. “Is there another entrance—where the ambulances come?”
“Next to the casualty room, at the back.”
I broke into a mad run again. The hospital was a maze of hallways and I began to feel as if I were in one of those nightmares when you try to escape and can’t. Then I saw it. A stretcher being carried down the hall in front of me.
“Stop!” I shouted. “Wait.”
I put in a final sprint to catch up with it and found that I was staring down at a man with one eye closed, bleeding profusely from a head wound. He was moaning piteously and staff were already rushing to his aid.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I’m looking for someone else. A girl. Have you seen a girl being brought this way?”
They ignored me. I squeezed past them, out through the double doors and into the street. It was a narrow back alley, not at all fancy like the streets in this neighborhood. A windowless wagon, rather like those the police used, was drawn up outside. An empty wheelchair was standing beside it. A man was just about to climb into the driver’s seat.
“Wait!” I shouted. “Did you just pick up a young woman?”
“That’s right.”
“And where are you taking her?”
“Ward’s Island, miss.”
“Ward’s Island?”
“To the hospital there where they can take care of her properly.”
“Holy Mother of God. That’s—that’s a lunatic asylum, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, miss.”
“Thank God I got here in time,” I said, the words spilling out between my gasps for breath. “I’m her sister. We’ve just discovered where she was and I’ve come to take her home.”
The man looked worried. “I don’t know about that, miss. I’ve got my orders here.”
“They were only sending her to Ward’s Island because they couldn’t locate her family,” I said. “And now I’m here. I’ve come to take her home.”
“I’m not sure, miss.” The man scratched his head and glanced up at his pal, already sitting at the front of the wagon, holding the horse’s reins.
“You have to let me take her,” I said. “She belongs at home, with us. She’s not insane, you know. She’s just lost the power of speech. With our loving care, I know it will come back.”
He was staring at me, his head cocked to one side. “I’ve got my orders here,” he repeated.
“Let me see her,” I said. “I know she’ll recognize me.”
“Very well, I suppose.” He went around to the back of the wagon and opened the door. The girl was strapped to a gurney, trussed up like a chicken, staring out with terrified eyes. I climbed up and stood over her.
“It’s her,” I said with what I hoped was conviction. “It’s our dear Mary, who we thought was dead.” I put my hand on her arm. “It’s all right, my love. I’ve come to take you home.” Without asking I started to untie the bonds that held her. As soon as she could sit up she clung to me, making little animal noises—the first sounds I had heard her make.
“Hey, stop that,” the man called, clambering up beside me. “You’ve no right . . .” He yanked at my arm.
“You see. She knows me,” I said. “Now please, let me take her home. If it was your sister, you wouldn’t want her taken away to a place like Ward’s Island, would you? Not when she could be safely home with her family.”
He finally agreed. “I suppose not, miss.”
Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)
Rhys Bowen's books
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