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

Laslo had knelt beside her, stroking her hair and murmuring strange-sounding endearments. He sounded genuinely concerned and my heart warmed a little to him. Annie, however, glanced up at me with a worried look on her face and tried to push his hand away.

“It is so sad. She does not remember him.” The uncle wiped his eyes. “Come, nephew. We will take her home. My wife makes the good noodles, the goulash. Look how thin she is! Soon we will make her fat and healthy again, you see.”

Laslo took the blanket from her bed and wrapped it around her, then he gathered her up into his arms. She made a pathetic little whimpering noise. Mrs. Tucker leaped forward. “Hey, you make sure she’s kept warm enough. And you treat her properly now.”

“Of course,” the uncle said.

Laslo started to carry her downstairs. She lay in his arms unresisting, which seemed to me a good sign. I caught up with the uncle.

“Can I have your address, please? I know that Dr. Birnbaum wants to go on treating her, if that’s all right with you.”

“We don’t need strange doctor. We have Hungarian doctor.”

“But he is an alienist—a doctor of the mind. He was beginning to have success in getting through to her with hypnosis. He reckons he can find out what happened to her that night and why she is so afraid. You can work with him and translate for her.”

The old man shook his head firmly. “This I do not like. We do not believe in such things. She will come back to us with love and with good food. You see. She just needs to be with her own people. Then all will be well.”

“I’d like your address anyway,” I said. “Just in case.”

“Of course. It is twenty-nine Brook Street. Brooklyn. You are welcome to come and visit her when she recovers more.”

“Thank you.” I stood in the doorway as they made their way toward the waiting hansom. “Take good care of her, won’t you,” I called after them.

“Of course. Goodbye.”

The cab started up and disappeared from view.





THIRTY-TWO

Mrs. Tucker and I looked at each other in silence.

“You shouldn’t have let her go,” she said.

“What choice did I have? They are her family—or she is about to be part of their family.”

“Then why wasn’t she wearing a ring, if she was promised to him?”

“Maybe they don’t in their society. Maybe he was going to give her the ring when they met here in America, or maybe it was stolen from her in Central Park. Who knows, maybe she was robbed of all her possessions.”

Mrs. Tucker shook her head again. “I didn’t like the look of them, myself.”

“They looked prosperous enough,” I said. “And they are taking on a tough assignment, restoring her to health, so they must care about her.”

“I’m glad you got their address. If I were you, I’d go and check on her for myself. Just in case.”

“I will,” I said. “And I expect that Dr. Birnbaum will want to as well, even if they don’t wish him to continue with his treatments.”

I felt bleak and empty as I went upstairs. Mrs. T. was already bustling around the room, stripping the bed and folding the sheets for the laundry.

“They walked off with your blanket as well,” she said accusingly. “The darned cheek of it.”

“They’re welcome to the blanket,” I said, “as long as it keeps her warm.”

Then I started to cry. I don’t know why I felt so strongly about her, but ever since I stumbled over her in Central Park I felt as if she were calling to me to protect her. And I had just let her go.

Still, I now had one less item on my plate, one less thing to worry about, which was good. This could be a day for sewing up loose ends, to use yet another household meta phor. I would go to see the Mendelbaums with my report. I just wished I could tie up my theater case as well. It irked me that I was no closer to unmasking the ghost. And now Blanche had virtually decided that I was useless and was going to terminate my contract at the end of the week. My only chance of getting anywhere was to enlist Ryan O’Hare as my spy. He heard all the theater gossip. Surely someone must have dropped a hint if they knew anything at all.

Mrs. Tucker had finished tidying up. “Well that’s that then, I suppose,” she said, looking sadly at me. “You’ll not be needing me anymore.”

“I suppose not, Mrs. Tucker. And I’m most grateful to you. You did a wonderful job looking after her. Let me give you what I owe you.”

I went to the drawer in the kitchen cabinet and took out the money. I gave her more than we had agreed on.

“That’s very generous of you, miss,” she said. “I’ll make you a nice macaroni pudding for your lunch, before I go, shall I?”

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“It’s all for the best,” she said as she collected her hat and shawl.