The Edge of Dreams (16 page)

For once I allowed myself to be bossed like this.

“Where is Liam?” I asked as I hauled myself up the stairs. “Has he been good?”

“Like a little angel. He’s just fallen asleep, but Bridie’s been amusing him all morning, and you should hear him laughing and cooing. It delights the heart to hear such sounds. He needs company, now that he’s growing up. It’s time you gave him a little brother or sister and stopped running around with those women across the street.”

“He’s only a year old,” I said.

“That’s right. Eighteen months between babies is ideal, that’s what they always used to say, and you’re already running a bit late on that.”

I almost asked why she was giving me advice on going forth and being fruitful when she had only managed to produce one child herself. But I remembered Daniel had said it was a sore subject for her, and she didn’t like to talk about it.

“Your friends across the street,” she said, following me into the bedroom and peering out of the window. “No doubt they are still into championing votes for women and that kind of thing.”

“Yes, they are,” I replied.

She sniffed, then gave me a long hard stare. “I’m wondering if your friendship with them may not be the best thing for your husband’s career.”

“What on earth has our friendship got to do with Daniel?” I demanded.

“If he were to run for office some day, such a friendship could well be held against him.”

“But Sid and Gus are wonderful people. They are kind, and caring, and amusing, and cultured. You couldn’t want for better friends,” I said, trying to check my rising anger.

She patted my hand. “You’ve led a sheltered life, my dear, and you probably don’t realize the full implications, but such friendships are not natural. When I was young, romantic friendships among young women were accepted, even encouraged. But that was only until a suitable match could be made. Two women living together like that … it’s just not right. What will your children think, when they are old enough to notice?”

“They’ll think that Auntie Sid and Auntie Gus seem to have a lot of fun at their house,” I said. “Which is what I think too. And if they choose not to marry, that’s up to them.” I sat on the bed and started to unbutton my shirtwaist. “You mentioned something about soup?” I added, closing the conversation.

I got up after a long nap and had tea in the kitchen. Sid and Gus were not mentioned again. I knew that Daniel was not thrilled about my association with them, but this was one area where I chose to ignore all criticism. Sid and Gus were my dear friends, and that was all that mattered.

Being Friday, Mother Sullivan cooked cod with a white sauce for dinner, and miraculously Daniel arrived home in time to join us. It seemed that having his mother here was a good influence on him.

“How’s my invalid?” he asked.

“Not improving through rushing all over the place this morning,” Mother Sullivan said before I could answer, as she brought the pie to the table. “You should have seen her earlier. Pale as death she was, and clearly suffering.”

“You exaggerate,” I said. “I went out for an hour with Sid and Gus to visit friends. Hardly exhausting, and I’m feeling just fine now.”

“Take it slowly, Molly,” Daniel said, giving me a long look. “These things can’t be rushed.”

“I’m fine, really I am,” I said. I spooned food onto a plate and passed it to Daniel, then to Bridie. “How is the case coming along? Have they discovered any clues about the train crash yet?”

“Nothing at all.” He shook his head, but there was a warning look in his eyes that said we should say nothing more in front of his mother. “I take it your little jaunt with the neighbor ladies today was to visit the young girl you told me about.”

“Yes, it was. It was rather disturbing, as a matter of fact. The girl claims to remember nothing but is having horrendous dreams, dreams that upset her so much that she was shaking and couldn’t even talk about them. Gus has asked her to write them down as soon as they happen, as that might be less distressing than having to recount them.”

“And Gus thinks she can analyze the dreams and thus cure the girl?”

“That’s what she hopes,” I said.

“What’s all this? Your friend has turned into a fortune-teller now, has she?” Daniel’s mother asked.

“No, remember I told you that she’s been studying in Vienna with Professor Freud?”

Mother Sullivan sniffed. “Professor Freud! Smut merchant Freud, if you ask me. Mrs. Hennessy at church was saying that he’s trying to make out we’re all depraved, with unnatural desires. I’m afraid it only goes to confirm my opinion of your friends, Molly.”

“So you think it’s a better idea to lock mad people away in asylums, rather than try to find out what’s ailing them and try to help them?” I asked. “I’ve been in one of those places. They are the closest thing to hell you could find.”

“You were in an asylum?” she asked nervously. “For what reason?”

“I was trying to trace a missing girl, back when I ran my detective agency,” I said. “I discovered her there, quite sane but put there by evil people.”

“Mercy me,” she said.

“Anyway, Professor Freud might have some strange ideas, but a lot of good will come from the study of the mind, I feel sure. And lately he’s turned his attention to the study of dreams. He’s written a treatise on dream interpretation. Gus has been telling me about it. It sounds fascinating.”

Mother Sullivan laughed. “The old Irishwomen were always interpreting dreams when I was a girl. Dream of a black cow and you were going to come into money or get married or something. That kind of rubbish.”

“They did the same where I come from,” I said. “They reckoned some people could dream the future—and maybe they were right and some people could. We always prized ourselves on our second sight. But this is different. Gus says that we sometimes express what is troubling us in our innermost souls through symbols in our dreams.”

“I dream that I’m flying,” Bridie chimed in. “I’m flying and I’m looking for water and I’m going really fast because I know it’s a long way, but if I can only spot the water, I’ll be all right.”

“I think even I can interpret that one,” I said. “You’re looking for the Panama Canal and hoping to see your father and brother.”

“Looking for Da and Shamey? Maybe you’re right, Molly,” Bridie said. “I’m that worried about them. I do wish they’d write to me. Just once.”

“I’m sure they will, when they get somewhere they can post a letter,” Mrs. Sullivan said kindly, but she shot me a look telling me to leave this subject alone.

I thought about suggesting to Bridie that we pay a visit to her disreputable relatives in case they had any news, but it didn’t seem the right moment to do so. I was sure Daniel would forbid such an outing at the moment and besides, I hoped to pull off a satisfying little coup. Even as I said this, I felt ashamed of myself. I’d be using Bridie to score a point and prove to Daniel that I was just as good a detective as he.
Why must I still see myself in competition with him?
I wondered. Shouldn’t I be content to be a wife and mother?

“So Augusta has been analyzing this girl’s dreams, has she?” Daniel asked. “Any luck?”

“No, Mabel wouldn’t tell us much. Just something about a large snake, and its eyes, and how it loomed over her. She was terrified.”

“Do you think there was an element of insanity there? You thought before you saw her that perhaps she’d killed her parents.”

“I wondered how she managed to escape from a fire when they didn’t. Now I’m even more confused. Apparently she showed no signs of ever being in the fire—no blackened face or singed garments, nothing. And the fire escape was right outside her parents’ bedroom. So I have to think that something must have happened to them to make them unable to climb out of their window. But as to Mabel killing her parents—I find that hard to believe. She seems like such a sweet, gentle creature, and she clearly loved them both.”

“During my fifteen years in the department,” Daniel said as he reached out for another slice of bread and began buttering it, “I have found it impossible to tell who looks like a murderer and who doesn’t. Little old ladies who calmly poisoned their siblings or their lodgers. And seemingly sane young people who did away with their parents, then absolutely denied it against irrefutable evidence. What do the police think?”

“Don’t get me started on the police,” I said angrily, as I held my fork poised in midair with a mouthful of fish on it. “An unpleasant young lieutenant is in charge, and he’s convinced that she killed her parents and is only feigning amnesia. But he was such a bully that I’m afraid I took an instant dislike to him.”

“Really? What is his name?”

“Yeats,” I said. “He looks awfully young, and he seems to possess no skills when it comes to dealing with the general public. He was rude to each of us.”

Daniel smiled. “Ah, yes. Yeats. I know about him. His father is a big wheel at Tammany and the boy is destined for politics. I agree. He is an unpleasant little toad, far too keen to make his mark quickly. But then I suppose I was that way myself when I first started. The desire to get that first conviction in a murder case is very strong, as you remember, Mother.”

“I do indeed, both with you and your father. Remember how furious you were whenever one of yours got off on a technicality, or pleaded insanity?”

Daniel nodded. “It’s only when you witness an execution for the first time that you realize what a terrible power you have, and a glimmer of doubt creeps in. Right before they pull the switch to turn on the current, you find yourself wondering if you’ve made a mistake and are killing an innocent person.”

“I’m sure Yeats would have no such qualms,” I said. “He seemed really pleased with himself. He threatened to have Mabel locked up in the Tombs to make her remember. Can you stop him from doing that, Daniel?”

“It’s not my case and he doesn’t report to me,” Daniel said. “But I can have a little chat with him and suggest that he needs to make sure of his facts before he talks about wilful murder. He’d need some kind of proof, not just a hunch.”

“You mean some kind of evidence in the bodies? But they’ll have been buried for a month or more. Will anyone give permission to have the bodies exhumed?”

“If it’s a question of someone being arrested for murder. Yeats would have no case without physical evidence.”

“Can you find evidence in burned and charred bodies?” I asked. “I know you might be able to see a gunshot or a stab wound, but what about poison?”

Daniel considered before speaking, staring out past the kitchen door. “I think a good pathologist could detect something obvious like arsenic in the tissue.”

“But if someone had turned on the gas while they slept? Or if they had been smothered, for example?”

Daniel gave a half snort, half chuckle. “I can’t answer that one, Molly. We can tell a person has been smothered by the broken blood vessels in the eyes and the flush on the face, but if the face is badly charred?” He shook his head. “I’d think not. But you’re not suggesting that a young girl could smother both her parents? They’d struggle. The other would wake up. You need considerable strength to smother someone.”

Mrs. Sullivan gave a little grunt of what I took to be disapproval.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Do you have everything you need? Some more beans?”

“No, thank you,” she said stiffly. “Sit up straight, Bridie.”

We sat for a moment in silence. But I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I had to make the most of having Daniel to talk to, for once. “Well, I’m thankful you’re going to put pressure on that obnoxious Yeats person to exhume the bodies. At least then we’ll know more.”

Daniel drained his beer glass and put it down. “You realize that might not go well for your young girl,” he said. “If it transpires that her parents were killed or drugged first, it will be assumed that she did it. It will be taken as proof that she’s guilty.”

“Unless the form of death was impossible for a young girl to carry out.”

Daniel’s eyebrows raised. “You are now talking of killing by person or persons unknown? That has never been mentioned before, has it?”

“No, it hasn’t,” I said.

“So you’re now suggesting that a stranger managed to gain access to a house that had servants in it, made his way upstairs, and killed two people in their beds, before setting fire to the house? What would the motive be, Molly, since this possibility has never come up before?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But maybe I should have a talk with Mrs. Hamilton, the girl’s aunt. She might know of a family feud, or another reason that someone might have wanted Mabel’s parents dead.”

Daniel shook his head. “It would take a significant family feud to cause someone to kill two people before setting fire to their house. That sort of thing doesn’t normally happen to respectable middle-class people.”

“It happened to us,” I said. “I would never have believed it either, but it did happen to us.”

“My circumstances are rather different,” Daniel said. “I was dealing with a ruthless gang at the time. They were trying to teach me a lesson. What did Mabel’s father do? What was his profession?”

“I don’t know, but it was something respectable and middle class, I expect. Mrs. Hamilton didn’t mentioned it. But Mabel’s mother came from a wealthy banking family. Her name was Susan Masters. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Masters?” He paused. “Of Deveraux and Masters? Yes, I’m familiar with that firm. Merchant bankers on Wall Street, I think. But banking is usually only a dangerous profession if one is the clerk behind the counter at the time of a robbery.” He grinned. Then his face became serious again. “I think you should leave well enough alone, Molly,” he said. “And besides, this speculation does not address the primary piece of evidence—how did the girl escape without any signs of having been in a fire?”

Daniel’s mother put down her fork with a clatter. “Is the dinner table conversation in this family always to be about murders?” she asked. “It’s most unhealthy for young Bridie, and not too good for my digestion either.”

“I don’t mind,” Bridie said. “I think it’s exciting.”