The Edge of Dreams (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #14)

Much as I was brimming with curiosity, I could find no good reason to ask to join them. And there would not be room for me in the cab. Besides, my mother-in-law would be returning from her shopping soon, and I had promised not to go rushing all over the city. So reluctantly I took my leave, watching them walk down Patchin Place to find their cab.

I went about my morning tasks, waiting impatiently. I had just finished feeding Liam his midday meal, and was wiping a face liberally plastered with carrot, when Gus came to the front door.

“I knew you’d want a full report, Molly,” she said. “I’m sorry you couldn’t go with us, but frankly it was rather embarrassing to be crowded into a cab with Dr. Werner, having just met him. I don’t think he expected both of us to come with him, and he clearly found it distasteful to be sitting so close to two women. Rather amusing, actually. He’s very effete, wouldn’t you say?”

“Certainly doesn’t have what you’d call a bedside manner,” I said. “Although that was kind of him to offer to prescribe me something for my headaches, wasn’t it?”

“He was very kind to Mabel too,” Gus said. “Surprisingly so. I thought he’d be remote and professional, but he spoke to her kindly but firmly, as one would to a dog whose trust one was gaining. He asked us all to leave the room, so I can’t tell you what was said, but when he came out, he looked grave and said that he had been wrong. She was profoundly disturbed and in danger of losing her sanity. He regretted he was leaving so soon, and said that treatment would probably take months with a highly skilled alienist. Unfortunately, he knew of nobody in America who possessed these skills. However, he mentioned a clinic in Switzerland where a colleague of his was doing great work, and where he could also be available to supervise her treatment.”

“In Switzerland?” I asked. “That’s a long way from home.”

“He praised it highly—the mountain air, the healthy food, the outdoor life. They would all contribute to making Mabel receptive to treatment and restoring her to full health.”

“I suppose she has inherited money,” I said. “What did her aunt think?”

“She was rather startled by the whole thing. She wanted time to think it over. I don’t think she cared for Dr. Werner. After he had gone, she said there was something about him she didn’t take to. Maybe he was just too supercilious. And Mabel was agitated after seeing him too. I think she overheard what he said about the clinic in Switzerland. So we’ll have to wait to find out what happens next.”

As I tucked Liam into his crib for his afternoon nap, I thought over what Gus had just told me. At least Dr. Werner had discerned that the girl was deeply troubled and needed an alienist to bring her back to sanity. His testimony should prevent Lieutenant Yeats from arresting her at the moment. And if she was taken to Switzerland, then she would be out of the grasp of the American law. So that would be a good thing. However … I paused, considering. Switzerland. So far away. So different from her home and everything she was used to. How would she handle the loneliness and isolation, and who would take her there? Not Mrs. Hamilton, with her four lively sons and a husband to look after. Surely there was a suitable clinic closer to home—in the countryside, out of the city, where her family could visit her, and the attendants spoke her own language. And if no qualified alienist could be found, then her family’s money could pay for one to come across from Vienna.

I decided to suggest this to Sid and Gus when I saw them again. I realized Mabel would be in danger from Yeats if she were closer to home, but I thought the testimony of a qualified doctor would prevent him from doing anything until she was cured. And in the meantime, she would be one less worry on my mind. I paused and told myself firmly that I was wrong to be worrying about her in the first place. She wasn’t my concern. Mrs. Hamilton had asked for assistance from Gus, not from me. And yet, as always, I wanted to know the truth. Somebody had drugged or killed Mabel’s parents and then set fire to their room. Who hated them enough to do that? And if Lieutenant Yeats didn’t stretch his investigation beyond Mabel, who would ever find the cold-blooded murderer who was walking free?

I was tempted to visit the Hamilton household myself, to talk to the servants who had escaped from the burning house, but I realized it would be more sensible to wait—not just so that my own recovery could continue, but so the autopsy could be performed and might reveal a substance that was used to drug Mabel’s parents.