by Rhys Bowen
“Then I’d be saving you extra work if I took food up to my friend and the little girl, wouldn’t I?” I said.
“Why are you so keen to get up there? Morbid curiosity to see a child murderer, is it?”
“Certainly not.”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” he said. “You should see the way the people mill around when we’ve a murderer in the jail. Just to catch a glimpse of him.”
“I assure you it’s not morbid curiosity. It’s purely concern for my friend up with the child, that she is not forgotten at mealtimes. She’s been up there alone long enough.”
“One of our men is with her,” he said. “But I do see your point. Very well, then. You can take them up food, but I’m having you escorted straight down again.”
He called another constable to guard the door for him, then led me back to the kitchen, where the chef gave me two plates of food, a glass of milk for the child, and one of water for Gus. The constable gallantly offered to carry it for me and told me to follow him. Then to my surprise he opened the door across from the kitchen. It was the same door where I had so startled Mrs. McCreedy and I realized now that she had just come down from Kathleen’s room. Down a long dark passage we went, then up a long, equally dark stair.
“I don’t know how the old woman managed going up and down this all day long,” he grunted to me. “The least that that Hannan guy could have done was to put in an elevator. All the newer houses have one now, you know. All the rage, it is.”
He stopped talking as the stairs went on. Finally we reach the window through which I had climbed, then up the last flight to the door to Kathleen’s rooms. It was firmly shut and my constable tapped on it before it was opened by yet another policeman.
“This lady has brought up their supper,” he said. “All right for her to bring it in? The girl’s not likely to be dangerous, is she?”
“See for yourself.” The constable opened wide the door to reveal Gus sitting on the floor with Kathleen lying with her head on Gus’s lap. She was sucking her thumb and had her arm around the big rag doll she called Colleen. Gus looked up, smiled, and put her finger to her lips.
“She’s almost asleep, I believe,” she said gently.
“I’ve brought you some supper. I thought they might forget you,” I said, as the constable put the tray on the table.
“Thank you. Most kind of you,” Gus said. “I must admit it seems as if I’ve been up here a fearfully long time.”
“Has nobody else been to see Kathleen?”
“That pompous policeman. Of course he got nowhere. He terrified her and she went to hide under her bed.”
“But her family hasn’t come to see her yet? Not her parents?”
Gus shook her head. “Perhaps the police have forbidden them to,” she suggested, as usual looking for the kindest explanation and dismissing the more logical one that they wanted nothing to do with her.
“Are you planning to stay with her all night?” I asked.
“I thought I might,” she said. “As you can see, she has really taken to me. Poor little soul, she was terrified. And do you know what? I don’t believe anybody has touched her or hugged her all the time she has been here. Or sung to her. You should have seen her face when I sang a lullaby. She looked as if an angel had just stepped out of Heaven.”
“You have a way with children,” I said.
“I seem to.” She smiled again and stroked Kathleen’s hair.
As I talked I pulled over a low table and put the two plates on it, so that Gus could eat without changing her position or disturbing the girl.
“Not particularly exciting fare,” Gus commented, prodding experimentally with her fork. “Or am I getting what the servants eat?”
“I got the impression that the chef is sulking or in mourning. Perhaps he fears he’s going to lose his job.”
“Then he should be working harder to impress.” Gus prodded at the meat. “This joint was cooked yesterday, I’ll wager. And reheated.”
Nonetheless she began to eat. The smell of food reached Kathleen. She sat up, started in fear when she saw me, and grabbed at Gus.
“This nice lady won’t hurt you,” Gus said. “See. She’s brought you food and a glass of milk. Do you see? Labby.”
Kathleen scrambled to her feet, took the glass, and drank greedily.
“What does ‘labby’ mean?” I asked.
“Her word for milk, I believe.”
“So you’re making progress with her speech?”
“A little.” She put down her fork. “She hasn’t said much—in shock, the poor little thing. But I have observed her interacting with her doll and a speech pattern is beginning to develop. Quite interesting. Not like our grammar at all. I plan to make notes and give a dissertation to the science club at Vassar.”
Kathleen had now fallen upon her food like a savage. Clearly manners had not been taught. I got the impression that Mrs. McCreedy had been caretaker but had believed what her employer had told her—that Kathleen was a dangerous imbecile and thus not worth educating.
“Eat nicely, Kathleen,” Gus said and demonstrated putting the fork daintily into her mouth. Kathleen complied.
“I don’t believe she is mentally impaired at all,” Gus said.
Suddenly there were screams outside. Kathleen leaped up and rushed to the window and looked down. “Mima!” she whimpered. “No boo Mima.”
“I think that’s what she called Mrs. McCreedy,” Gus said. “Mima.”
We looked out but couldn’t see where the scream had come from. Kathleen was shaking now. She scurried back to Gus and buried her head in Gus’s skirt.
“It’s all right,” Gus said calmly. “You’re quite safe. I won’t leave you.”
The policeman had come over to us. “You should leave now,” he said. “You don’t have permission to be here.”
“I’ll be back in the morning then,” I said.
“We’ll be just fine,” Gus said as she stroked Kathleen’s hair. “I’m going to stay with you, Kathleen, and we’ll be quite safe.”
I left them curled together. I was escorted back down the long stair, through the dark passage, and out to the front door. As I came out into the dying evening light two white shapes ran past me, followed by a third. One of them screamed again and I prepared to leap into action until I saw that it was the two boys, playing some kind of tag. And chasing them was Eliza.
Thirty-seven
The wind rose again that night, howling though the trees and around the cottage. I snuggled close to Daniel and felt safer wrapped in his arms. But even in the safety of my own bed I couldn’t shut off the thoughts. Kathleen had looked out of the window and seen something that had made her think of Mrs. McCreedy. Had she seen Eliza chasing the two boys? Had the sight of Eliza alarmed her? Surely not Eliza, who seemed so pleasant, so normal, so kind? I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
By morning the storm had blown through and we woke to mist. I could just make out the ominous-looking shape of Connemara, looming like a giant castle of nightmare, which I suppose it was. Mrs. Sullivan was already bustling around, making Daniel’s breakfast and bossing Martha who had just arrived. Suddenly I couldn’t wait to get away from all this.
“I’m going into town to book us passage on one of those steamers,” I said to Daniel. “It’s no good for either of us to linger here. We need to be back in our own home.”
“You’re not happy at the way my mother is taking over.” Daniel smiled. “I can understand that. But she does mean well, you know.”
“She wants to look after her precious darling boy and doesn’t believe his wife is capable of doing it.”
His smile broadened. “Wait until the babies come and you’ll be glad for her assistance,” he said. “But I have to confess that I’ve had enough of being waited on like an invalid. And between ourselves I’ve never been a big admirer of soda bread.”
I dressed, had breakfast, and went to the castle but this time I was not admitted
. I was told that breakfast had been taken up to the young prisoner and her attendant and that nobody else would be allowed up there until Chief Prescott arrived. So I walked into town and booked a cabin on a ship sailing in two days. I thought Daniel might be strong enough by then, if a cab took us to the dockside. I hated to leave Connemara and Kathleen with nothing solved, but at this moment it appeared that Gus had a better chance of reaching the child than I did. If Sid’s investigation in New York turned up nothing, then I could see no way to prove Kathleen’s innocence or to find Brian Hannan’s killer. Ned Turnbull was painting on the dockside as I passed. I hesitated, wondering if there was anything he could tell me about Kathleen, anything that he had noticed when he presumably spent a considerable time with the twins, painting Colleen’s picture. But as I turned in his direction he gathered up his brushes, lifted his easel, and moved off. I returned and waited impatiently for a telephone call. Morning turned to afternoon and still she didn’t call.
The morning mist had melted away to a fine day. The boys were out on the lawn, trying to fly an improvised kite. Other family members strolled. It all looked so peaceful and so normal like any other family on holiday. It was hard to believe that this was a house of tragedies and that a young girl was locked away upstairs, perhaps on her way to an institution for the insane, perhaps even to jail. Then I spotted one of the young policemen coming toward the cottage. I went out to meet him and he beckoned to me. “You’re wanted on the telephone, ma’am.”
He escorted me to the house and then down the hallway to the library where the telephone was to be found. I picked it up and put the receiver to my ear. “Hello,” I began hesitantly.
“Molly, is that you?” came the voice through the crackles of distance and several exchanges.
“Yes, it is I. Is that you, Sid?”
“It is. Listen, I’ve been through the archives of the Times and I’ve found something that may be of interest. Just over a year ago a young girl was found dead in a field in what were described as suspicious circumstances in Cambridge, New York, and a month ago a little girl was found drowned in a pond near Granville. A long way from her home. Too far for her to have walked alone. Coincidence maybe, but both girls were of similar age and appearance—”
“They were both fair-haired?” I asked.
“Yes, and around six years old.”
I could hardly breathe.
“Is this important? Does it mean anything to you?”
“I believe it does,” I said. “Thank you.”
“I could go back further in time to see if the other names appear in the newspapers,” Sid said.
“No, I think this is enough to go on.”
“Then I’ll come back to you. I don’t like to leave Gus holding the fort without me. Is she all right?”
“Doing very well, I believe. Kathleen has really taken to her and it seems Gus is really beginning to unlock her speech.”
“That’s Gus for you. Who could not warm to her?” A pause for a louder crackle. “On my way then. Tell Gus to be careful, won’t you? And you take care too. If someone has killed several people he will be desperate.”
The line went dead before I could say, “He or she.”
I hung the mouthpiece back on its hook and turned to see someone standing behind me. It was Terrence and he was leaning casually against the doorjamb.
“Telephone call from home, Mrs. Sullivan?”
“Uh—yes, from my neighbor,” I replied, wondering how much of the information I had actually repeated was overheard. Not much, I thought, except that Gus was having success with Kathleen.
“Allow me to escort you back to your cottage,” Terrence said. “One can’t be too careful at the moment, can one?”
“Oh, I’m sure I can find my way without help,” I replied. “After all there are plenty of policemen around.”
“You never know,” he said. “We were all here when my uncle was murdered and yet we knew nothing.” He held out his arm to me. “Besides,” he repeated, “I enjoy escorting attractive women.”
I had no choice. I told myself that it was daylight, there were policemen within reach if I screamed, and I had been known to deliver a good kick where it hurt before now. We walked down the hall and the policeman opened the front door for us. We stepped out into sunshine.
“Lovely day again,” Terrence said. “Strange to be having all this fine weather when none of us feels like enjoying it. Amazing about little Kathleen, don’t you think? All this time and we never found out.”
I sensed that he was rattling on nervously. Then he lowered his voice and said, “You mentioned that you saw me leaving the house the night my uncle died. I’d rather you forgot about that, if you don’t mind.”
“Why?” I faced him defiantly.
“Because I was meeting someone I’d rather the family didn’t know about.” He released my arm and turned to face me. “Look, I have a small problem with a drug habit. Not something I’m proud of, but one sort of slips into it. And once one is hooked … well. I owe a fellow quite a lot of money. And he’s been sending some nasty types to make sure I pay up. Uncle Brian was keeping me short of cash, so that I learned the value of money, he said. But it’s dashed embarrassing, and now all this has happened, I rather suspect that it will all come out into the open and I’ll be in deep trouble with my father. So any little you can do to help…” And he gave me that engaging smile.
I resisted his charm. Why was he telling me this now? Was it that he didn’t want me to suspect him of a more serious crime? He’d almost certainly benefit from Brian Hannan’s death, wouldn’t he? And as for Colleen and those dead girls in upstate New York … what could be easier than paying a visit to his priestly uncle from time to time in various charming spots along the Hudson Valley?
I was relieved when I saw the thatched roof of the cottage through the bushes.
“And you’ve been presumably helping yourself to money from the business to pay for your habit?”
“Maybe from time to time,” he said with an easy shrug.
“And ordered substandard materials?”
“Good God, no. I’d never do a thing like that.” He looked at me sharply. “That’s what caused the collapse, was it? Substandard materials?” He sighed. “If you want to know, that sounds more like my father. He keeps a rather expensive mistress. He thinks Mama doesn’t know, but of course she does. Everyone does. Such a farce.”
And he laughed.
“Thank you for escorting me home,” I said. “As you can see, we’ve arrived safely.”
He nodded. “By the way, Mrs. Sullivan, I just wanted to ask,” he said in a low voice. “Your husband—is he getting better?”
“He is, thank you.” I smiled. “Why, were you wanting to court the merry widow?”
“Nothing like that, although you are the most attractive woman I’ve met in a while. But I wondered about this sudden pneumonia. If someone could poison Uncle Brian, is it possible that the same person wanted to make sure your husband, the famous detective, was not available to help with the investigation?”
“An interesting thought,” I said. “But in this case we both got drenched in a storm and he caught a chill that went to his chest.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’ve been worrying for both of you,” he said.
Then he bowed and turned on his heel. I watched him walk away. A nice lad, I thought, and a brainy one too. If only he’d put his talents to good use he’d be a great asset to the Hannan company.
I entered the dark hallway of the cottage, and stood alone, trying to process all I had learned in the past moments. Two little girls dead in two New York towns. Someone in this family who killed little girls. But how would I ever find out who? I wasn’t like the police. I couldn’t drag them one by one into a dark cell and threaten them with being locked in the Tombs or with being roughed up until they confessed. If only Gus could reach Kathleen and rekindle her memory about what happened to her sister. But she had shut that horror firml
y away to the extent that she no longer believed she had a sister. Colleen was a big floppy rag doll with yellow hair.
Then a thought came to me. That portrait of the adorable child just before she died. I went upstairs to find Daniel’s mother sitting at his bedside, while he was pretending to be asleep, I suspected. “I have to go into town on an errand,” I said. “Is there anything you want me to buy for you?”
“Thank you, dear, but we have all we need, I believe,” she said. “You just run along. I’m taking good care of my son.”
At any other time that would have riled me no end. Today I was glad of it. As I came out of the house I spotted Miss Gallinger at her window. She waved and beckoned me. I really didn’t want to stop, but I could hardly refuse her. So I went in, telling her that I could only stay for a few minutes. Of course she had seen all the police activity and wanted to know what was happening. I filled her in on the details of Kathleen, refused tea, and said I had an urgent errand in town.
“So silly, these policemen,” she said as I walked to the door. “They never get it right, do they? If they allowed more women to be detectives, they would know instinctively who was guilty and who was innocent and the world would be a better place.”
I wondered about this as I walked into town. Did women make better detectives? Did I instinctively know who was guilty and who was innocent? I had always felt that Kathleen had no part in her sister’s death, but as to the guilty—I could not tell which one of them had put cyanide in Alderman Hannan’s glass, or who had pushed Mrs. McCreedy from that trapdoor. But it did occur to me that whoever did it would now try his hardest to get at Kathleen, just in case she could incriminate him. I sensed the urgency and quickened my pace.
Ned Turnbull was painting away on the quayside, with some admiring tourists behind him. He stopped, produced a painting from his canvas holder, and held it up for them. They nodded, then haggled and money was produced. The tourists went away and Ned stuffed the money into his pocket. I seized the moment to pounce.