Hush Now, Don't You Cry(102)
Thirty-five
It was all I could do to sit there, my expression composed, sipping tea with them when every fiber in my being wanted to leap up and do something. I studied Father Patrick’s innocent serene face. Why had Brian Hannan written a list of the parishes in which he had served just when he was summoning Daniel and his family to the estate in Newport? It might be quite innocent, of course. He might have been talking with his brother and asked, “So how many parishes have you been in now?” and jotted down the list as Patrick dictated them. One does that to remember. But it was the only clue I had from Brian Hannan’s office.
I found my gaze going up to the tower. Could Kathleen really have pushed Mrs. McCreedy through an open trapdoor to her death? I had to conclude that it was possible. What if Mrs. McCreedy had taken away her favorite doll, or stopped her from doing something she wanted to, and the trapdoor was open? I had no idea why that would be, when there was obviously a proper staircase that led to the tower from the lower levels of the house. I stared at the ivy, wondering if I dared risk climbing up that way again, and if I made it undetected to the window, would I find the door guarded by a policeman?
I decided I couldn’t risk it and compromise my husband’s integrity. Prescott might jump to the conclusion that Daniel had sent me up there to snoop. Even as these thoughts passed through my head, I saw the front door open and Chief Prescott himself emerged from the house. He headed straight for us. “I’m afraid the girl is completely unresponsive,” he said. “She’s lying curled up under her bed and refuses to come out. I have left one of my men and the two young women who have experience with the language of twins with her, but I’m not sure…”
I rose to my feet. “Chief Prescott,” I said. “I happen to know a doctor in New York who is a specialist in diseases of the mind. He studied with Professor Freud in Vienna and might find a way to communicate with the girl. If you and the family agreed, I could send a telegram to New York, asking him to take a look at her.”
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Sullivan,” he said. “Unfortunately I think there is little anyone can do. In the eyes of the law she is a menace to society and will have to be locked away. We’ll try to make it as humane as possible, but as for reaching into that troubled brain … I just don’t think it is possible.”
“It would be kinder not to,” Eliza said. “One would not wish to bring her back to face the reality of what she had done.”
Chief Prescott came over to me. “I wondered if your husband might be feeling well enough for a visit today? Although I fear that the case may have solved itself in the meantime.”
“Yes, I think he might wish to hear everything that has transpired since his sickness,” I said.
“Then if you’d be good enough to accompany me,” he said. “I don’t want any unpleasantness with his mother, who seems to be guarding the door like a watchdog.”
“Of course,” I said. “Please excuse me.” I nodded to the company and left.
When we were out of hearing I asked the chief, “Do you know if my friends have made any progress in being able to interpret her language?”
“I don’t believe she has spoken a word since the body was found,” he said. “She is curled up like a wounded animal, poor little thing. One can’t help feeling sorry for her, even if she does possess this monstrous side to her.” He leaned confidentially closer to me. “I’ve only just been told that she killed her sister. One has to wonder if she also found a way to kill her grandfather. Sometimes these diseased minds can be fearfully cunning and clever when they want to be.”
“I presume you found no evidence that anyone else had been near that trapdoor and could have pushed the housekeeper?”
“Nobody else knew of its existence,” he said scornfully. “The family members were all shocked to find out that the child was in the house.”
“But it might not hurt to dust for fingerprints,” I suggested. “If anyone was up there…”
“Remember that the murderer of Brian Hannan left no obvious prints,” he said. “If anyone else was up there, he’d have been careful.”
“He or she,” I corrected. “We can’t rule out that a woman was involved.”
“Since it appears that a frail twelve-year-old girl has managed to push a hefty woman to her death, I suppose we can’t rule out a woman as a murderer,” he agreed, “although I’m afraid this latest death is all too horribly simple. I suspect that the housekeeper was about to tell the world about her secret charge and the girl tried to stop her the only way she knew how. If only those two women experts can interpret her speech, maybe we’ll find out what was going through her troubled brain.”