“Catatonic?” Frain didn’t sound convinced. “What does that mean, exactly? Medically speaking?”
“Well, we still need to rule out stroke—but I believe Frau Hess is experiencing what we call catatonic stupor. She’s in an apathetic state and nonreactive to external stimuli. Right now, motor activity is nearly nonexistent. She’s not making eye contact and appears to be mute.”
The telephone lines hissed and crackled. “And … how do you know she’s not faking?”
“I don’t. However, I’m going to proceed as if she is indeed catatonic, and for that I suggest electroshock therapy. We’ve had some good results with it in the past. It’s a new technology—only been around a few years.”
“What is—what did you call it? Electroshock therapy?”
Dr. Carroll took off his glasses and put them in his jacket pocket. “It’s a psychiatric treatment where we electronically induce seizures in patients for therapeutic effect.”
Frain’s bark was so loud that Carroll had to pull the receiver away from his ear. “You electrocute them? Why?”
“Well, we don’t really know why it works.”
Frain gave a dry laugh. “Well, that’s not very reassuring.” Then, “And if she’s faking?”
“The procedure is … most uncomfortable. No one in her right mind would voluntarily go through with it.”
“My dear doctor,” Frain said, “let me assure you—you’ve never met anyone like Clara Hess before. And her state of mind has always been up for question.” In his large office at MI-5, Frain lit a cigarette and leaned back in his leather chair. “She’s playing you, Dr. Carroll. Like the proverbial violin.”
“Mr. Frain, I suggest you come here, to see Frau Hess’s condition with your own eyes.”
“I’ve seen her act many times, back in the day. Her portrayal of Konstanze in Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail was sublime. But I don’t need to see her do it again.” Then, “And as far as I’m concerned, her execution proceeds on schedule. December seventh at twelve noon.”
Before the doctor at the Tower of London could take Clara for her electroshock therapy, however, something happened.
“Wo bin ich?” said a little girl’s voice. Where am I?
“Frau Hess,” Dr. Carroll said, also in German, “you are safe, you’re—”
“I’m going to play by the lake today!” Clara said in the same little girl’s voice, sitting up in bed with evident glee.
“The lake?” the doctor said, taken aback. “Frau Hess—”
“Who is Frau Hess?” the little girl asked, giggling. “Not I, certainly.”
The doctor tilted his head. “Who are you?”
She smiled. “Don’t you know?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“Agna, of course,” Clara said, with a hint of impatience. “Agna Frei.”
Dr. Carroll was on his guard, but willing to play along. “And you are going to play by the lake today, gnädiges Fräulein? Where do you play?”
“The lake!” she said. When he didn’t react, she said, “Lake Wannsee?”
“Who will go with you?”
Clara’s mouth turned down. “No one. I don’t have any friends. My mother won’t let me have any friends.”
“She won’t? Why?”
“I’m not allowed to say,” she whispered, hunching over and wrapping her arms around herself. “Don’t tell Mutti I said anything.”
“No, no, I won’t,” answered the doctor. He thought a moment. “What month is it?”
“June!” she exclaimed and jumped up a bit. Then she rubbed her head. “Ouch!”
“What happened?”
“I bumped my head.” She giggled.
“On what?”
“A bookshelf.” Then, “Sometimes I pray. I pray to God.”
“What do you pray for?”
“That Papa and Mutti will stop fighting. That I’ll be allowed to have a friend. That Mutti will be nicer to me.” Clara whispered confidentially, “She doesn’t like me very much, you know.”
“Why doesn’t your mother like you?”
Clara yawned, then lay back down, curling inward like a child. She began sucking on her thumb, and within moments was fast asleep.
Chapter Six
Before Maggie could leave Arisaig House for Edinburgh the next morning, she realized she was now responsible for someone else—a very vocal, very spoiled, very opinionated ginger tabby. And she couldn’t just leave him alone.