The Edge of Dreams (38 page)
Read The Edge of Dreams Online
Authors: Rhys Bowen
Tags: #Cozy Mystery, #Fiction, #Historical, #Historical Fiction, #Historical Mystery, #Mystery, #Mystery Thriller, #Romance, #Short Stories, #Thriller
He was gazing at me with a kind of fierce tenderness. “Thank God you’re all right,” he said. “And Mabel too. If you hadn’t released her, she might not have survived.” He was still holding me, his fingers digging into my shoulders as if he wanted to make sure I was there and real.
“He was the snake in her dreams, Daniel,” I said. “He carried her to safety when he torched her parents’ house. He wanted to believe he was her father.”
“And was he?”
“Of course not. Another of his delusions. But one thing he still swore, Daniel. He didn’t kill his father. Edward came upon his father lying there, bent to help him, and got blood all over himself. Everything conspired against him to make him seem guilty, but he was wrongly accused. That’s why he wanted revenge so badly.”
“If he didn’t kill his father, who did?”
“I’m thinking it had to be Marcus, didn’t it? One of the servants heard the father saying ‘You are a disgrace to this family.’ And we know that Marcus has always had expensive tastes.” Then I stopped and put my hand to my mouth. “Oh, Marcus,” I said.
“What?”
“Remember Edward sent you the note about going out with a bang?”
“And he did.”
“No.” I shook my head. “He said the rigging of his house was just a small-scale practice for the big one.”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting that his final act of revenge would be to bomb the family bank.”
* * *
Men were dispatched immediately, and they found a large quantity of explosives in the bank cellar and a timer set to go off at ten the next morning—the moment that the ship was to sail. It was dismantled safely, and Marcus Deveraux, when pressed sufficiently by the police, told the truth about what had happened the day his father died. A horrible accident, he said. His father was furious with his debts. He came right up to Marcus, yelling, threatening, waving a sheaf of bills in his face. Marcus pushed his father away because he felt so threatened. His father tripped over the edge of the rug, fell, and hit his head on the fender. Marcus could think of nothing but getting away. He climbed out through the window. When he heard that Edward had been accused he said nothing, deciding that his life was more valuable to the bank and the family’s future than Edward’s. But he paid a large sum for Edward to be housed humanely and well.
I related all this to Sid and Gus the next day while Liam played happily on their floor with their pots and pans.
“I still find this hard to believe,” Gus said. “Think of it, Sid. We actually sat in a hansom cab with a murderer. With a man who had no compassion, no human feeling, and who took the most amazing risks. We are actually fortunate to be alive.”
“Edward Deveraux had no reason to want to dispatch you,” I said. “I think he must have wholeheartedly enjoyed the thrill of being asked to treat a patient whose infirmity he caused in the first place.”
“The man certainly did like taking incredible risks,” Sid said. “How could he possibly think he could pass himself off for the doctor? Did they look that similar?”
“In age, build, and coloring, yes. And if the facial features differed, it didn’t matter. He made sure he smashed the doctor’s face before he threw him down into the chasm, and he smeared his own face with blood and mud, claiming to be in distress from the strangulation attempt. It was mentioned that he could hardly talk. That way it wouldn’t be noticed that his speech was different. And he claimed to be so upset by the whole thing that he refused to stay the night and departed immediately after giving his statement to the police. And the doctor wore a monocle. People are funny. They notice the little details, like the monocle and the beard. And if someone is clearly in distress, you don’t look at him too hard. Edward knew his psychology, all right.”
“I suppose he must have been brooding and plotting for years,” Gus said. “And all that time dreaming about punishing those who had contributed to his wrongful conviction.” She looked up from her coffee cup. “I blame his brother. How could one live with oneself, knowing that he had condemned an innocent man to a life in a mental institution?”
“I suppose one can understand,” Sid said. “Marcus had a promising future. His brother didn’t. Many young men might have done the same.”
“And condemned his brother to a life that was no life?” Gus retorted. “I could never have lived with my conscience.”
“Ah, but you are altruistic and tenderhearted,” Sid replied. “Marcus was self-centered.”
Gus handed me a plate of macaroons. “And I am fascinated to know that Mabel’s dream all made sense,” she said. “The snake. The long sharp fingers were the needle. I must write to Professor Freud. He’ll be interested.”
“And you can also tell him that there is such a thing as prophetic dreams,” I said. “Dreams that come to us as warnings. I dreamed of the basement room where Edward put me, and I dreamed of being paralyzed, so that I was forewarned when he came in with that syringe of curare.”
“Ah, but Molly, you’re Irish. It’s only Celts who can do things like that,” Gus said. “I don’t think that an Austrian professor will change his thinking to include you.”
And we laughed. Liam, not understanding the joke, looked up from the floor and laughed too.
The crash of the Ninth Avenue Elevated train happened on September 11, 1905, exactly as I have described it. A Ninth Avenue train, traveling at a speed suitable for a straight track, was diverted to the Sixth Avenue curve. Its speed was too great, and it plunged down to the street below.
Both the locomotive driver and the signalman were interrogated, but both claimed innocence. The locomotive driver came under suspicion because there was union unrest, and they were planning a strike. He was briefly imprisoned, then released and fled the state, but died soon after.
So the cause of the train crash was never established. Except in my book.
And of course the excitement in the medical community caused by Sigmund Freud’s treatise on the interpretation of dreams is also real.
RHYS BOWEN
is the author of the Anthony Award– and Agatha Award–winning Molly Murphy mysteries, the Edgar Award–nominated Evan Evans series, and the Royal Spyness series. Born in England, she lives in San Rafael, California. Visit her online at
www.rhysbowen.com
, or sign up for email updates
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Also by
Rhys Bowen
The Molly Murphy Mysteries
The Constable Evans Mysteries
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CONTENTS
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE EDGE OF DREAMS.
Copyright © 2015 by Rhys Bowen. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Cover design by Danielle Fiorella
Cover photograph of woman by Shirley Green
Cover photograph of Brooklyn Bridge © Image Source RF/Ditto/Getty Images
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The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Bowen, Rhys.
The edge of dreams / Rhys Bowen.—First edition.