Tell Me Pretty Maiden

by Rhys Bowen

  “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.”

  I opened my purse and took out my notebook, tearing out a page. “Look, I’ll write you a note, saying that her family arrived in the nick of time to collect her. That’s all they cared about in there, you know. The hospital didn’t want to be stuck with a destitute girl.”

  I started to scribble. It wasn’t easy with the girl clinging to my arm. When I had finished writing I reached into my purse. I just happened to have a dollar bill in it. I handed it to him with the note. “And this is to thank you for your trouble,” I said.

  He glanced at the dollar then up at me. I could see the wheels turning inside his head. Would he get into trouble if it got out that he was accepting a bribe?

  While he was thinking, I undid the last of the straps that held her legs. She tried to stand but she was too weak. Besides, she was only wearing a flannel nightgown and she was barefoot. I took the blanket from the gurney and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “Can you lift her down for me? I’ll borrow the wheelchair until I can find a cab.”

  He did so and I pushed her off at a great rate, before he could change his mind. Then I flagged down a passing cab and had the cabbie lift her inside. She clutched at my hand as the cab took off. It was the second time in one day that someone had squeezed my hand almost hard enough to break it.

  “What have I done now?” I said out loud.

  The cabbie was a good sort and helped me carry the girl to my house. I opened the front door and got her inside, placing her in my one armchair. Then, of course, I had no idea what to do next. I was due at the theater any minute and I couldn’t risk leaving her alone. She was staring at me with frightened eyes.

  “You’ll be just fine now,” I said, stroking her hair. “You’re safe with me. I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.”

  As soon as I put the kettle on the stove, I ran across the street and hammered on Sid and Gus’s door, praying that they would be home. They were.

  “Molly, my sweet. We’re just in the middle of our Japanese lesson,” Gus said. “I can now say ‘Do you like chrysanthemums’ in Japanese. Most useful when we go there, don’t you think?”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I desperately need your help,” I said. I tried to explain what I had done but the words just spilled out in a jumble.

  “Hold on a moment.” Sid raised her hand. “Calm down, Molly. We can’t make head or tail of what you are saying. Are you trying to tell us that you kidnapped someone?”

  “A girl,” I said. “The girl I found in the snow. She still can’t speak and they were going to send her to the lunatic asylum. So what else could I do? I pretended to be her sister and whisked her here. But now I’m due at the theater in a few minutes and I simply can’t leave her alone, so I wondered if you’d keep an eye on her until I get back.”

  Sid looked at Gus and gave a dramatic sigh. “Life is never dull when you are around, is it Molly, my sweet?”

  “I’m so sorry. I know I acted rashly, but I couldn’t let that poor girl go to Ward’s Island, could I? I’ve heard what those places are like.”

  “No, I suppose you did the only thing you could,” Sid said. “But what now, Molly? What if she never recovers? What if she turns out to be a violent lunatic? What if you never trace her family?”

  “Dr. Birnbaum will work with her. He’s promised to do so. I know he’ll restore her speech and her sanity. I just know it,” I said, trying not to let my own doubts show. “And with loving care and good food, she’ll be as right as rain.”

  “I hope so,” Sid said. “Well, you know you can count on us. It will be a challenge to help to break through her silence, won’t it, Gus? And you know how we love challenges.”

  She gave me an encouraging smile. Somewhere in the distance I heard a clock striking the hour of four.

  “The only thing is that right now I’m in a terrible rush,” I said. “I’m due onstage at the theater soon.”

  “Onstage? At the theater?” Now they really looked interested.

  “It’s too complicated to explain now. Another assignment. Come over and let me introduce you to the girl, if you don’t mind. I don’t know her name but I’m calling her Mary, because it’s hard not calling her anything.”

  I brought Sid and Gus into my living room. The girl started with fear when she saw them, but she didn’t attempt to move, staring at them wide-eyed as they came toward her. They crouched beside her, stroking her hands and talking gently until I saw the fear leave her face. I made a pot of tea and handed her a cup. She looked puzzled, but then took a tentative sip. Soon she was drinking with gusto.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I said, in the hope that she could understand me. “Until then you’re in good hands with these ladies.”

  Then I rushed out, already late for my costume fitting at the theater.

  As I alighted from the trolley on Broadway the newsboys were hawking the evening edition of the newspaper. “Read all about it,
” a scrawny little chap was shrieking in his high-pitched voice. “Phantom haunts theater. Blanche Lovejoy’s life threatened by theater ghost.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I muttered. It seemed as if Lily had been wined and dined sufficiently to spill the beans last night. I didn’t fancy facing Miss Lovejoy.

  EIGHTEEN

  I could hear Miss Lovejoy’s strident voice booming through the vast expanse of backstage as I came in through the stage door and signed the book. She had definitely seen the evening papers by the sound of it.

  “Trouble tonight, Henry,” I muttered.

  He nodded. “She came in with a face fit to curdle cream. If she finds out who let the cat out of the bag then one understudy better be ready to go on tonight. It couldn’t have come at a worst time, with opening night only two days away.”

  As I went up the stairs to report to Miss Lovejoy, I encountered her storming down the hallway.

  “When I find out, I’ll kill ’em,” she was screaming. She broke off when she saw me. “Oh, it’s you at last, is it? About time you showed up. You’ve seen, I suppose? All over the town. Couldn’t be worse.” She wagged a threatening finger in my face. “Who told the newspapers? I want you to find out which of them it was. I’m paying you to be my detective. You damned well better find out for me.”

  “It may not have been anyone in the cast,” I said. “At least not deliberately. There have been reporters hanging around the stage door every night. Perhaps they managed to overhear conversations. The girls were pretty upset when they came out of the theater last night.”

  “I suppose so,” she said grudgingly. “But it’s your fault. I thought you’d have found out something by now. I’m paying you to find out whether it really is a ghost that’s haunting me.”

  “I’m not a miracle worker,” I said. “I kept my eyes and ears open last night. I ran to investigate as soon as that wind started and nobody was there.”

  “So it is a ghost. It has to be a ghost,” she said, giving the most dramatic shuddering sob. “I knew it. The theater is cursed. My play is cursed. I’m ruined, ruined.” She started to walk down the hallway at a great pace. I had to break into a trot to keep up with her. “I should have hired a spiritualist to begin with. Someone who knows how to communicate with spirits. A spiritualist could find out why the ghost hates me so, what I have done that it wants to bring about my ultimate destruction.” Her voice was loud enough to be heard in the back row of the upper balcony. “We should find out who has died recently and died bearing a grudge against me.”

  I tapped her on the shoulder as we came to the staircase. “So does that mean you no longer require my services?”

  “What?” She turned back to me as if she was surprised to find me there.

  “You say you’re going to hire a spiritualist to contact the ghost. So you no longer need me?”

  “I suppose I still want you onstage, close to me,” she said. “I need someone to protect me.”

  “I can’t protect you from a ghost,” I said. “And I don’t actually believe in ghosts myself. I’d like enough time to prove that your accidents are not caused by a spirit but by a real human who carries a grudge against you.”

  “If only that were true.” She clasped her bosom. “But who could that be? Everyone adores me.”

  I didn’t mention that half her chorus was not too fond of her, for a start.

  “So you want me to go up to Madame Eva for my costume fitting, I take it?”

  “Of course. Dress rehearsal at seven, as scheduled. The show must go on.” This was said loudly as several cast members were coming up the stairs. Then in a lower voice she said to me, “But first run down to the stage door and see if a package was delivered to Henry for me.”

  I went back down and the package was there. As I carried it up to Blanche’s dressing room I heard the chink of bottles inside. Blanche was obviously going to bolster her confidence with her calming mixture and with bourbon.

  Madame Eva must have been a miracle worker. She had a costume more or less finished. It was a black-and-white gingham skirt, a white blouse, and a big black bow to be tied at my neck. I put it on while she clucked and fussed around me, pinning furiously, poking at my lack of a corset and muttering, “Such a large waist. Well, there’s nothing I can do about that.”

  Finally, she helped me out of the skirt. “Come back in one hour. It will be ready,” she said. “And here are your wig and spectacles. Don’t lose them.”

  I left the wardrobe room and stood alone in the narrow hallway. I had an hour before I could pick up my costume, so I figured I should put that hour to good use. I combed every inch of the backstage area, trying to find places where someone could hide. I even hoisted my skirts and climbed a ladder up into the flies—that area high above the stage where backdrops and scene changes can be raised or lowered. I didn’t fancy walking out across the narrow, precarious walkways, but I saw that there were plenty of opportunities for someone with a good head for heights to stand directly above the actors. I should bear that in mind.

  I made my way to the dressing room feeling somewhat daunted. It was so dark and gloomy back there, so many corners bathed in shadow, so many nooks and crannies for someone to hide, waiting to commit mischief. Now if I could just find out who might want to do so . . .

  I jumped a mile as a hand clasped onto my shoulder. I spun around to see Desmond Haynes standing right behind me, glaring at me with those dark, intense eyes.

  “And just what do you think you are doing?” he asked.

  “Me? I’m just having a look around,” I said.

  “Having a look around, are you?” He snorted. “You want to be careful, little girl. Theaters are not safe places. I don’t know why Blanche was persuaded to hire you. It’s not like her to go soft. But take this as a gentle warning. Do your job and stay out of trouble.”

  “Maybe I should say the same to you, Mr. Haynes,” I said. I stared him straight in the eye.

  For a moment we stood there, his fingers digging into my shoulder. Then he released me. “You should learn to be polite to me if you ever want to work again,” he said icily. “Old friendships only stretch so far in this business.”

  I came away shaken. Desmond Haynes was definitely upset by my presence. Was I finally on the right track?

  An hour later I was in the dressing room with the rest of the girls, putting on my makeup.

  “So you managed to buy your own greasepaint,” Elise said.

  “No, I didn’t have to. Luckily Oona had some to spare.”

  A wistful look came over Elise’s face. “So it’s true what they’re saying, that you’re Oona Sheehan’s cousin?”

  “Of course,” I said. “How else do you think I’d have been given a little part in the play?”

  “It must be nice.” She sighed. “The rest of us have to fight for any part that’s going, and sometimes do things we’d rather not, just to be hired.”

  I finished my toilette and put on the black wig and then the spectacles. It was amazing how different they made me look. With the pigtails and the girlish costume, I didn’t look much older than twelve.

  At that moment the call boy announced overture and beginners. I made my way down to the stage with the rest of the girls. There was more tension in the air than the night before and whispered speculation about what might happen. The first act started and I noticed that the girls were decidedly alert, glancing around nervously as they sang and danced. But the whole act passed without incident. I was still busy making sure I stood on my exact mark each time and made my entrances and exits at the right moment. As the second act started everyone was more relaxed. The chorus ran off stage at the end of the bathing scene and rushed up the steps to change into the ball costumes for the finale. I didn’t have to change for the ball, so I stood behind the scenery in the wings, watching and waiting.

  It was the big love scene between Miss Lovejoy’s character and Arthur, the penniless painter. Just the two of them alone onstage, si
nging one of the more memorable songs called “Just Two People.” The scene was an arbor overlooking the ocean, with a small table covered in a red-and-white-checked cloth, on which were set a jug of lemonade and glasses. Miss Lovejoy was standing on one side of the table with Arthur across from her when suddenly the most amazing thing happened. The jug of lemonade leaped up in the air, came flying toward Miss Lovejoy and hurled lemonade all over her.

  Miss Lovejoy screamed. Everyone came running, trying to calm her and wipe away the liquid from her face and the front of her dress.

  “Now you have to believe it!” she was screaming. “I told you it was a ghost but nobody believed me.”

  Robert Barker came flying onto the stage, out of breath. “Blanche, my love. Are you all right?”

  “You saw it, didn’t you, Bobby?” she shrieked. “Everybody saw it. I’m not imagining things. Something hurled that jug of lemonade at me. Well, that’s it. I’m not opening the show on Tuesday. I’m going to go home to Connecticut and forget about the whole damned thing.”

  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.”