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

She rushed off the stage with Robert hot on her heels. At the edge of the stage he turned back to the rest of us, who were standing white-faced and open-mouthed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s all going to be okay, I promise. I’ll talk to her. The show will open as planned.”


As the other actors stood around in tight knots, whispering about what they had just seen, I went over to the table and examined it carefully. I picked up the jug, which had broken from the fall. There was nothing unusual about it. I looked carefully for a string or thread that could have jerked it off the table, but there was none. I searched the backstage area but there was nowhere close enough for anyone to have stood and made that jug move.

I was afraid I was beginning to agree with Blanche. Maybe it was time to call in a spiritualist.





NINETEEN

By the time I got home Sid and Gus had put my mystery girl to bed in what had been the O’Conner children’s bedroom.

“We brought over some beef stew that we’d had last night,” Sid said. “She seemed to enjoy it. Tucked right in.”

“Did she seem to understand you?” I asked.

“She understood that she was being fed good food,” Gus said, “but as to whether she understood what we were saying to her, I couldn’t say. We tried hard enough. We tried every language we could think of. I even tried my Japanese phrases although one can see that she is not from the Orient. We told her our names. Sid sang to her.”

“But she didn’t say anything?”

“Not a word.”

I shook my head as I looked down at her. “I hope we can find a way to get through to her. I’ll visit Dr. Birnbaum in the morning. If anyone can break through this veil of silence, he can.”

“How do we know she is not mute, or witless?” Sid asked.

“Dr. Birnbaum says that she has the ability to speak but he believes that some great trauma has robbed her of her speech. He has seen similar cases in the hospital in Vienna where he worked with Dr. Freud.”

“Dr. Sigmund Freud?” Sid asked. “I’ve been reading about him. He is doing fascinating work on dreams and the subconscious mind. He claims we can suppress our innermost desires and fears but they are revealed in our dreams. Gus and I were going to keep dream diaries, weren’t we, dearest?”

“We were, but we never got around to it. We always have too many projects,” Gus said. “There are so many fascinating things to do in life that there simply isn’t time for all of them.”

We tiptoed downstairs again.

“I’ll look for books on the study of the mind tomorrow,” Sid said. “Maybe we can help free the poor girl from her current prison. If only we could get her to jot down her dreams.”

“And sign language. We can teach her to communicate through signs,” Gus added excitedly. “I’m sure there are books on communicating with the deaf and dumb.”

“But she hears, dearest.”

“But she doesn’t speak, does she?”

As I bade goodnight to them I couldn’t help thinking that I had never encountered such lively minds. Those males who think that we women are incapable of more than sewing and gossip should be forced to spend a day in the company of Sid and Gus.

In the middle of the night I was awoken by a horrible noise. I leaped out of bed and ran across the landing to the spare bedroom. The girl was apparently still fast asleep but was giving the most piteous moans.

I perched on the bed beside her. “What is it, my dear?” I asked gently. “Tell me what is frightening you.”

At this she began to thrash about wildly as if trying to ward off some evil. I had been raised in the Catholic church but had never given much credence to either God or the devil. I couldn’t believe that babies who died unbaptized would never go to heaven, or that people like myself, who slipped from the straight and narrow once in a while, would be condemned to hell. But as I watched her, I found myself wondering if she might, indeed, be possessed by the devil and that the person I should send for in the morning should be a priest rather than Dr. Birnbaum.

I stroked her hair and spoke soothingly to her. “It’s all right, my love. You are safe now. Nothing can harm you here. The doors are locked. I’ll protect you.”

Gradually the thrashing and moaning stopped and she drifted back into peaceful sleep. Which was more than could be said for me. I was already wound as tight as a watch spring from the jug-of-lemonade incident I had witnessed and I was just beginning to realize what a foolish, impetuous thing I had done by bringing the girl home here. If she was subject to such torments, then surely she couldn’t be left alone, and I couldn’t impose on Sid and Gus to watch her every time I had to go out.

With no chance of going to sleep, I got up and wrote a list of things I should be doing next.

1. Dr. Birnbaum. He may know a clinic that would admit her.

2. Mrs. Goodwin. She might have discovered the girl’s identity by now.

3. Daniel. He will have to bear the brunt of Miss Van Woekem’s case.

4. Mr. Roth. Try to conclude as soon as possible to give me more time for

5. The happenings at the theater.