“That’s correct. The police have been investigating the fire, naturally, and they find it suspicious that she came out of it quite unscathed.”
“Do they suspect that she might have started it?” I asked.
She took a deep breath, then nodded. “That is certainly what the lieutenant has been hinting. An odious young man, keen on promotion, if you ask me.”
“Did Mabel dislike her parents? Had she any reason for wanting to do away with them?” I asked.
Mrs. Hamilton shook her head again. “She is a sweet child. There is no guile about her and she adored her parents. It makes no sense at all.”
“Had she shown any signs of mental instability before the fire?” Gus asked carefully. “It has been noticed that puberty can bring on such things.”
“Again I have to reiterate what I said. She is a sweet child, a little shy, but completely lovable.”
“Mrs. Hamilton,” I said, the detective in me now taking over. “You said she remembers nothing of the fire. Would you say that is true, or is that just what she is claiming? Has she ever tried to bluff or cover up something she has done in the past?”
“No, no.” She was animated and sounded distressed now. “I told you. There is no guile in her. Now, one of my boys—Winslow—he is a master at coming up with excuses and tall tales to cover up his transgressions. You know—the dog managed to open the cookie jar and stole the cookies. That kind of thing. But I can see through them right away. I’m sure I’d be able to tell if Mabel was lying. But her grief on finding out that her parents were dead and her home burned was real, I’d swear to that.”
“So why did you come to us, Mrs. Hamilton?” Sid asked. She was never one for preamble and liked to get to the point.
“It was what Miss Walcott said yesterday, about her study into the interpretation of dreams,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “You see, since the fire Mabel has been plagued with the most awful nightmares. She wakes screaming. I once found her cowering in the corner of her room shouting, ‘Keep away from me. Don’t touch me.’”
“I see,” Gus said. “So you believe that in her subconscious mind she remembers what happened that night, and it expresses itself in her dreams?”
“That’s exactly what I believe,” Mrs. Hamilton said. “The possibility only occurred to me when you were speaking last night, but it must be true. So I wondered if you’d come and see her. Let her tell you the content of these nightmares, and then see if we can come to the truth.”
Gus glanced at Sid before she spoke. “Mrs. Hamilton, I should tell you that I’m not a qualified alienist. I have only touched the surface of the study of dreams. Maybe you should look for a true specialist.”
“But, Gus,” Sid interrupted. “You have said yourself that America is far behind in the study of mental illness. I am sure there is nobody over here who has made a study of dream interpretation. You told me that American doctors scorned Professor Freud’s theories.”
“That’s true,” Gus agreed. “Very well, Mrs. Hamilton. I will come and see Mabel. I will do what I can.”
Mrs. Hamilton reached out and took Gus’s hand. “Thank you. I can’t thank you enough. The thought of that sweet child locked away in a prison or mental institution by an overzealous policeman is breaking my heart.”
“I presume a thorough investigation of the fire has been carried out,” I said. “Do they know how and where it started? Because there is something that strikes me as odd.”
“And what is that, Mrs. Sullivan?” Mrs. Hamilton asked.
“That the parents were burned to death in their beds. Why did they not at least try to escape?”
The other three women around the table stared at me suspiciously.
“What are you suggesting, Mrs. Sullivan?” Mrs. Hamilton said. “The fire started in their bedroom. They did not have electricity in their house. The windows were open, and it is thought that a breeze blew over an oil lamp on the bedside table.”
“They slept with the lamp still burning?”
She nodded. “Susan did not sleep well on hot nights. Sometimes she liked to get up and read by the window.”
“Even so,” I went on. “If a fire started in the room of a normal, healthy person, they would be woken by the smell of burning and the crackle of flames before the fire had a chance to engulf the room. So why were they both found lying in their beds? Do you know if they took sleeping drafts to help them sleep on hot nights?”
Mrs. Hamilton shook her head. “I’m sure they did not.”