Even though there was truth to what the other girl said, Grace still wore a frown as she worked next to Nell, the early autumn weather bringing a sheen of sweat to her forehead. It was true that she and the doctor had learned each other’s minds thoroughly, each complementing the other’s weaknesses with their own strengths. But their efforts were for nothing if she never got the chance to apply everything she’d learned. Grace dug her boot heel into the ground against a stubborn weed as she told herself yet again that her wish for relief from boredom through the death of a stranger was the most selfish of sins.
Yet it was there, and she couldn’t deny it. She itched to put herself to use on something more complicated than punching bread dough with Elizabeth or harvesting alongside Nell.
“There now, ye’ve gone and yanked up me leeks, ye mad thing.” Nell salvaged the vegetable from the pile of refuse mounting behind them, but her touch was gentle as she pushed Grace’s shoulder. “No ’arm done. We’ll stick ’im back in the ground and no one the wiser.”
Nell replanted the leek, but the smile slipped from her face when she straightened up, and her hands went to her back. Grace had seen her friend struggle before in small moments when she thought no one would notice, as the disease that had brought her to the asylum began to ravage her joints. The two girls sat beside the vegetable plot to rest, gazing out over the lake and the group of patients dotting the shore, watched over by two nurses.
Nell jerked her chin in their direction. “Janey says second Tuesdays is always the worst of the lot. That’s when they make sure the outer wings get their proper exercise.” The Irish girl shook her head, her usual good humor abandoning her. “You and me, we’s lucky to be as good off as we are. Up ’ere I mean,” she added, tapping her own forehead. “Janey says those outer wings . . . it ain’t worth the pay, some days.”
Elizabeth and Nell had explained to Grace that the asylum staff mostly lived within the walls where they worked. All of the employees roomed near the center of the building, with the quietest and most calm patients living in the wings nearest them. As the bricks stretched, so too did the tenants’ tenuous hold on sanity, with the most violent and deranged patients farther from the offices.
But even they were treated with respect, Grace knew. She’d seen them on their outings, the staff doing their best to keep the wanderers from walking into the lake, the indignant from arguing among themselves, and the truly violent from harming anyone. One screamer had dug a trench under a bush and had to be removed by a team of male attendants, still clutching at the roots as he was dragged away. His echoing laments had traveled uphill to Grace’s room, reminding her of the spider girl in Boston.
Sheer chance had landed that poor creature into Heedson’s hands and the darkness of the cellar. Here, she might’ve had the chance to recover her voice and share her name. Here she might have even found what little bit of peace was possible for one so far gone. Instead, fate had put her into the darkness, and Thornhollow’s hand had made the arrangement permanent.
Thoughts of the black cellar in Boston drove Grace’s hand to her pocket to run her finger reassuringly over the edge of the envelope secreted there. The letter had come for her that morning, delivered by Janey at breakfast in the women’s ward while Elizabeth and Nell were arguing over whether String slept while Elizabeth did, or stayed awake all night. Grace had glanced at the handwriting quickly, even though she knew it could have only come from one person. Irregular letters, spelled out as if unsure as to their proper form, made her heart swell with affection as she imagined Reed struggling over their making, his brow furrowed in concentration as he addressed it to “Grace, in the care of Dr. Thornhollow.”
Nell rested her head on Grace’s shoulder, her dark hair fanning into Grace’s lap. Grace stroked it absently, the silky smoothness of it as comforting as her scars. “Ah, it’s a blessing to have someone play with yer hair,” Nell said, her eyelids suddenly heavy. “It brings something like a calmness.”
Grace wanted to ask her friend how badly she hurt, but the weight of her own lie kept her silent. She offered the only comfort she could, with her hands. Nell’s fingers twined with her own to quiet them, their dirt-stained fingers still within each other.
“Don’t let wee Lizzie know ’ow bad I’m gettin’,” she said, lifting her head so that Grace could see the seriousness in her usually sparkling eyes. “That one likes nothin’ more than ter worry.”
Grace held a finger next to her own ear and cocked an eyebrow.
“What’s that, then? Ye’re thinkin’ String might know? I tol’ ’er that if I ever ’eard about String sayin’ a word about me I’d sneak inta ’er room one night with the shears. I may not be able ter see it, but I know where ’er ears are, sure enough.”
Grace laughed aloud, the song ringing out in the cool evening air and taking both girls by surprise. She clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes staring wide at Nell.
“Seems like yer noisemaker isn’t entirely broken, then, is it?”
Mortified, Grace could only shake her head from side to side.
“One day soon enough I’ll ’ear yer voice,” Nell said, rising wearily to her feet. “Until tha’ day I’d not mind listenin’ to that laugh every now and then.” She held out a hand to Grace, and they crossed the lawn together, following the groups of patients and scattered nurses toward the asylum.
“Did ye know there’s an alligator in the front fountain?” Nell said, the usual playfulness back in her voice.
Grace rolled her eyes.
“Aye, but there is,” Nell insisted, her eyes large with pretend innocence. “One of the nurses went for a visit to some of ’is family down in Florida, brought back the wee beastie. I suppose it seemed like a good idea at the time, but ’avin’ an alligator in your own ’ome was a bit taxin’ in reality. So he brought it ’ere, and it lives in the fountain.”
Some of the patients walking near them caught Nell’s words and shied away from the marble fountain as they neared it, one or two moaning and leaning against their nurses, who shot Nell dark looks.
“Oh, the toils of a prophetess in ’er ’omeland,” Nell said when she noticed. “But what better place for such a beastie than ’ere, I ask you?”
They were about to pass the fountain in question, and even though Grace knew better than to believe her fanciful friend’s tale, she found herself pulling her skirts away from the rim as they passed.
“Oh, Grace! Grace! It’s got me!” Nell’s hand was suddenly pulled from her own and there was a gigantic splash, followed by a cascade of cold water that drenched Grace’s dress. She gasped as more spray followed, covering her skin with goose bumps. Nell’s flailing wasn’t the least bit alarming, as she was smiling merrily while she did it, gleefully sending waves of water in Grace’s direction.
“I tol’ ya there was a beastie in ’ere,” she yelled, throwing herself backward and bringing Janey to the edge of the fountain.
“Going on about the gator again, is she?” Janey asked Grace, arms crossed in front of her. Grace nodded, fighting the smile that wanted to spread across her face. “I haven’t the heart to tell her it died years before she came here.”
“But there was one, once?” Dr. Thornhollow arrived just in time to catch a glimpse of Nell’s face as she came up for air and mimed being pulled under again.
“Sure enough, sir,” Janey said. “Just because the insane tell the tales doesn’t make them false.”
“Excellent point,” he said before beckoning to Nell when she surfaced again. “You’ll be hours drying out. The soaking won’t do your bones any good tonight.”
Nell jerked her skirts unnecessarily high as she climbed out of the fountain, exhibiting an expanse of pale leg. “I’ve got an idea about what would do me bones good, if I can pry ye away from yer books for an hour.”
“Nell,” Janey said, taking her by the arm as she cleared the edge of the fountain. “That’s no way to be speaking to the young doctor.”
“There are a m
yriad of reasons why that won’t be happening, Nell, all of them quite good,” Thornhollow said. “And while I have to credit your showmanship, I still say that you’ll regret your swim once the cold penetrates.”
“Aye, well,” Nell said, slinging a wet sheet of black hair out of her face, “I live in an insane asylum. May as well jump in the fountain, I say.”
“And yet another lesson for you, Grace,” the doctor said, guiding her by the elbow away from the asylum doors and down the path to a waiting carriage. “By our standards a person who flings themselves in a fountain isn’t sane, yet Nell says she’s already deemed insane, so what more damage can be done by giving in to the temptation?”
“Therefore using reason and proving herself to be, in fact, sane,” Grace said.
“Very good.”
“I haven’t eaten yet,” Grace reminded him, knowing well enough what the carriage meant for their evening.
“Not a concern. You won’t be hungry soon.”
NINETEEN
The girl lay staring at the sky, her gaze missing the first sparks of the stars in the dying daylight. Grace fought the urge to shift away from the warm bodies pressing on both sides of her, only too aware of how different this scene was from her first outing with the doctor. On that night, her facade had been under the scrutiny of only a select few and the heavens had poured as they worked on the blood-soaked cobblestones.
Here rain didn’t fall; blood did not flow. There was only the softest of breezes from the river, carrying with it the moist smell of a night just ready to begin. The last rays of the sun were drying the wet folds of her dress and Grace bit the inside of her cheek as someone trod on her foot.
“Pardon me,” the man said, glancing at her. She remained blank, staring straight ahead as he took in her scars and the doctor’s black valise clamped tightly in her hands. The sight of a mental patient was just as entertaining as the dead, and he elbowed the person next to him, whispering something. The white moon of another curious face filled her peripheral vision, but Grace remained unmoved, her attention focused solely on the girl and Thornhollow as he knelt beside her.
“Step back, now. C’mon, step back.” The policemen walked in a widening circle around the body trying to move the crowd away. Grace’s spine stiffened as she recognized Davey. His eyes met hers and she willed herself to show no reaction as he approached.
“You’re all right,” he said quietly, reaching for her elbow, then pulling away as he thought better of it. Instead, he gestured for her to move closer, separating her from the crowd. “Can’t do the doctor much good from back here, can you?”
Grace stepped forward, letting a long exhalation escape silently as she left the press of other bodies behind.
“Look here—why’s she get to go in front?” the man who had stepped on her foot protested.
“What do you think this is? An exhibition?” Davey shot back. “This here’s a murder scene and that girl is the doctor’s assistant.”
“What good is a doctor on a murder scene? Seems to me she’s already dead.”
Grace left their argument behind her, their words sliding away as she lost interest in all but the girl, whose blank stare was so like her own. Thornhollow glanced up as she moved closer, his eyes glazed with concentration as he feverishly cataloged all he could in the moments allowed him.
“Ah, there’s your girl,” the heavyset policeman said as he joined them, having successfully threatened the onlookers enough that they kept a distance. “Almost makes a murder worth it, seeing her pretty face. Shame about the scars, though.”
Thornhollow rose, and she caught the slightest whisper of his words as he leaned into her. “Watch the crowd.”
“Hardly a shame,” Thornhollow countered George in his next breath. “The surgery made her violent fits much less common, although admittedly, less predictable. Just yesterday she chased a squirrel across the front lawn, caught him too. The nurse told me she spent hours picking all the hairs from Grace’s teeth.”
“You don’t mean to say she ate it?” Davey asked.
“That’s the tale. I wasn’t there to see it, but one of the patients told me the doomed thing was still trying to climb out as she was chewing.”
George backed away from Grace. “Might want to keep your distance, in that case, Davey. No face is pretty enough to outweigh having something chewed off.”
Davey hovered nearby, nonetheless. “There’s a fella over there not too happy about the girl, uh . . . Grace, getting to come up close for a good look. I’ll just stay near.”
“She knows no difference, either way,” Thornhollow said, looking at Davey shrewdly. “If the gentleman in the crowd were to bother her past her point of endurance, Grace would handle it. Now, if I could direct both your attentions to the girl on the ground and not the one standing, that would be most beneficial.”
Grace’s eyes wandered over the crowd that had gathered in a loose circle around them, the girl’s body on unwitting display as her death provided the night’s entertainment. People pressed against one another three deep, the ones in front informing those in back what was going on. Eyes bounced off her own as Grace took in each face, each reaction as they noticed her scars.
The three men conversed in low tones, their words suddenly scattered by the shrill piercing of a train whistle. Several people in the crowd jumped, hands going to their ears.
“Some vagrant’s done it,” someone shouted. “Probably hopped the next train out too. Never catch the bastard once he’s on the rails.” The man broke to the front of the crowd. “You’d best be watching the tracks, coppers.”
George rounded on him, hand dropped threateningly to his billy club. “You let me decide what I best be doing.”
“Make way,” Davey shouted, parting the crowd on the opposite side of the circle. “Coroner’s wagon is here. Make way, all of you. Show’s over.”
Thornhollow took his valise from Grace, and she followed him to the carriage. “Back to the asylum. We’ve seen all we need here,” he said to the driver, who nodded.
“It seems vultures of all types follow the dead, don’t they?” Thornhollow asked Grace as they watched the crowd gather around the coroner’s wagon.
“Vultures don’t have such heavy feet,” Grace said, rubbing her toes through her buttoned boots. “I’d have been trampled by them if Davey hadn’t noticed me. Why did you ask me to watch the crowd?”
“Yes, I think Davey has taken notice of you, to say the least,” the doctor said, lurching forward as the carriage moved into motion. “As for my request, I believe our killer is a planner and an intelligent one at that. Some of that ilk return to the scene of the crime. They rather enjoy watching the police bumble about, not knowing the person they seek is a stone’s throw away. Now, quickly, tell me what you gathered while it’s fresh in your mind.”
“The body wasn’t moved,” Grace said. “The grass around her was crushed as if there had been a struggle.”
“I noticed that as well. However, we don’t know how many people passed close to the body even before the city’s finest could be called. Judging by the crowd, a good many. We can’t be sure she wasn’t killed elsewhere.”
“If she were moved it’s a much more complex picture,” Grace went on. “There’s a railway nearby, a river, a road, even a footpath leading out of the park. The killer could’ve used any number of means.”
“Very true. What else?”
“Her clothes were . . .” Grace fumbled for words, unsure how to continue. She pictured the girl, her skirts a confused pile of twisted fabric. “She was in a disarray. As if she were a doll in the hands of a child who is too young to dress it properly.”
“Or someone who didn’t know how to handle women’s clothes,” Thornhollow added.
“A man, then?”
“Most definitely. But continue.”
Grace closed her eyes, bringing the picture to full light under the darkness of her lids. “She had no clear marks of violence on her arms or
wrists, indicating that she didn’t fight off her attacker. So she knew him well enough to not believe she was in any danger, or in the least, trusted him.
“There were pine needles in her hair, yet her face and hands were quite clean, as were her fingernails. She was hygienic by nature so the needles tell us that she was . . . was on her back for a period of time, most likely in the park as that’s the only place I see pines nearby.”
Grace’s brow furrowed in concentration, her eyes screwing even more tightly closed. “If she was moved, she was not dumped or tossed carelessly aside. She was arranged almost comfortably. Ankles crossed, hands folded across her abdomen. Her eyes were left open. I can almost believe a few people walked past her thinking it was simply a girl relaxing in the grass at the end of the day. All in all, she was very lifelike.”
“Lifelike, indeed. What does this say?”
Grace opened her eyes, unsure past the details she could recite from the picture in her head. “That the killer had remorse? He wishes she weren’t dead?”
“Maybe. But I’m afraid that’s too simple for this scenario. Your earlier comment strikes much closer to the truth.”
“I said she was clean,” Grace said, ticking her fingers with each point. “That she was laid out with her comfort in mind, and that she was dressed awkwardly.”
“‘As if she were a doll’ were your exact words,” Thornhollow repeated, raising his voice to contend with the clatter as they passed over the stone bridge toward home.
“A doll,” Grace echoed, picturing male hands fumbling with the delicate buttons of the girl’s skirt, clumsiness and nerves botching the job. Yet even in his haste he’d covered her. “He’s not familiar with women, but there’s a degree of respect at work. He could’ve tossed her aside, left her naked for everyone to see, but he didn’t.”
“All true,” Thornhollow agreed. “You’ve seen almost everything.”
“With the glaring exception of how she died,” Grace pointed out. “No bruising, no bullet, no blood. She wasn’t strangled, shot, or stabbed.”