Her Defiant Heart (4 page)

Dr. Glenn hesitated momentarily and glanced at his pocket watch. "You're quite welcome. If you'll excuse me, Billy will see you to the first floor lobby." He turned, holding up his lantern, and hurried up the narrow hallway.

Billy started to follow almost immediately, but Christian held him back by taking out his pencil and surreptitiously dropping it. "Just a minute, I lost something." He made a pretense of looking for it while Billy showered the area with light. When Christian heard the door at the end of the hall close and Dr. Glenn's steps recede in the stairwell, he found the pencil under his shoe. "Here it is," he said sheepishly. "Don't know how I managed that."

The attendant impatiently shifted his weight from one foot to the other and swung the lantern so light chased shadow in an arc along the dank and moldering corridor. "If you don't mind, Mr. Marshall, we really have t'go. The doctor'll be needin' me."

Christian nodded while he considered the best way to proceed. At another time Billy's determination to attend to his duties would have been admirable. Now it put them at cross-purposes. Christian slipped the pencil behind his ear, where it was immediately lost in his thick, copper struck hair.

"I'm ready," he said, stepping to Billy's side. As they began to walk down the hallway, Christian exaggerated his limp and subtly manipulated the attendant to slow his accompanying steps. "It's the dampness," he apologized, taking a moment to stretch his leg. "Can't think how the princess survives it," he added offhandedly.

"The princess?"

"Yes. Jane Doe. That's what you called her, isn't it?"

"Did I?" He frowned, and his steps slowed even more as his thoughts clouded. "I didn't mean to. Habit, I suppose. Dr. Glenn won't like it. Wonder if he noticed."

Christian ignored the attendant's questions and pressed his own. "Do the other patients call her princess?"

"What?" Billy asked distractedly. "Oh, sorry... yeah, they do. Only it's more of a title than a name, if you take my meaning... you know, when people think she's out of earshot they use it. Ain't never heard no one call her princess to her face. Old Alice Vanderstell give her the title. That one's as loony as they come, but she has her moments. Started callin' our Jane the princess right off. Everyone repeated it 'cause it suited her. We're not supposed to do it, though. Doc Glenn says it's bound to confuse Jane."

Christian couldn't see that it would confuse her any more than being called Jane if her name were actually Mary. He withheld comment. "Alice Vanderstell," he said consideringly. "Any relation to Gordon Vanderstell? His mother perhaps?"

"His aunt," Billy said. "A regular harpy she is, too. It's no wonder he tucked her away here."

Christian was aware that Jennings Memorial counted a number of wealthy, influential people among its patients, but Alice Vanderstell's presence on the lunatic ward took him slightly aback. Which madwoman had she been? The one who rocked an imaginary babe in her arms? The one who stared sightlessly out of her window?

Christian tried to recall what he knew about her and had to acknowledge it was little enough. He rarely took notice of what was printed in the
Chronicle's
society pages. Or any of its pages for that matter. Deciding he could berate himself later, preferably while nursing that bottle he had promised himself, Christian returned to the particulars he did know.

Though he had never met Alice Vanderstell personally, Christian knew she had had at least a nodding acquaintance with his late parents. The Vanderstell name was synonymous with old money. Very old money. It was rumored that when Manhattan was sold for a few strings of beads, the Vanderstells were there monitoring the transaction. There probably wasn't a grain of truth to the story, but it underscored the depth of the roots the Vanderstell family had laid down in the city. There was power and prestige in the name and, Christian believed, more than a few skeletons in the closet as well.

"His aunt?" Christian mused aloud. "I thought she died more than a year ago."

The attendant cleared his throat, realizing he had said more than he should have. "This way, Mr. Marshall." He opened the door to the stairwell. "I really must be goin'."

"Don't let me stop you," Christian said, waving Billy up ahead. He saw that he had delayed the orderly enough to make him even more anxious to return to Dr. Glenn's side. "I can find my own way out."

Billy hesitated again, glancing up the narrow stairwell. Gas jets dimly lighted the passageway at the entrance to each floor. The wing for lunatics occupied half of the fourth and highest floor of the hospital. He offered his lantern.

"No." He held out his hand, palm up. "I don't need it. You go on."

The orderly's dull eyes dropped to Christian's game leg.

"I know what you're thinking, but the stairs are no problem," Christian told him. In a slow movement that was almost against his will, Christian dropped his hand to his left thigh and massaged the spot where the Confederate lead ball had struck flesh and bone. "Gettysburg."

An embarrassed flush stole over Billy's square-cut features. "G'day, Mr. Marshall." He turned quickly and hurried up the stairs.

Christian followed at a pace that had nothing to do with his old wound. Something that felt very much like excitement fired his nerves, and he ceased to notice the nagging ache in his leg. If he had stopped to think about it, he would have been much struck by this occurrence. Now he didn't give it a thought. He could only think of the risk he was planning to take. Nothing else mattered. Above him, he heard Billy pause on the stairs. Christian looked up to see the attendant peering over the railing. Christian gave him a cursory salute to indicate everything was fine. The door on the fourth floor opened and closed. Billy was gone.

Christian's limp was hardly noticeable as he retraced his steps to the treatment room. With his right hand he followed the contours of the wall, counting four recesses that marked doors to other rooms. He stopped at the fifth and knelt in front of the treatment room. From the moment he had seen the keys Billy used to lock it, he knew his task would be a simple one. A determined child could pick it with the right tool. In this case the only tool required was a pencil. Christian inserted it into the wide keyhole, manipulated it with a deft touch, and consequently broke the pencil.

"Dammit." He felt in the dark for the part that had not fallen in the lock piece and pocketed it. Under his breath, he cursed the man who had encouraged him to come to Jennings Memorial in the first place, then he took out his notepad and slipped a flat metal file from beneath the book's leather spine. It took thirty seconds to release the lock piece.

Christian pulled himself upright, threw back the bolt, and entered the room. He shut the door behind him. It was useless to expect that his eyes would adjust to the total darkness, so he didn't waste time waiting for it to happen. He regretted not having the lantern, but he couldn't take the chance that someone would happen by and see light from under the door. Exercising caution, Christian crossed the room, stopping when his knees touched the cot. He sat down on the very edge and placed his head where he expected Jane Doe's shoulder to be.

It wasn't there. Neither was any other part of her. The leather restraints remained, but she was gone. "What the hell?" he whispered. "Where did you go, Jane? You couldn't have left the room." A small whimper at the far corner alerted him to her presence. Afraid that he would frighten her more than he already had, Christian stayed where he was. "Jane?" He said her name softly. "I'm a friend, Jane. I am not going to hurt you. I only want to talk."

Another shivery whimper was all the response Christian received.

"You're very resourceful, Jane. Someday I hope to learn how you escaped those straps." He ran his index finger around the inside of one of the straps. It felt wet. He drew back his finger, sniffed, and touched the tip of his tongue to it. It was blood. The flesh on her wrists would be twisted and raw from her efforts to free herself. He heard her teeth chatter and decided to ease what suffering he could. "You're welcome to my jacket. It will ward off the chill. Shall I bring it to you?" He waited a moment for a reply. When none came, he tried another tack. He stood up and took the jacket off, holding it out at the end of his fingertips. "Would you like to come for it yourself? I'm holding it out to you. Just follow the sound of..." Christian didn't finish. He never heard her move. One moment the navy blue jacket was dangling at the end of his hand, in the next it was gone. He cocked his head to one side and heard her scurry back to her corner. Had she crawled along the floor on all fours? The thought was repugnant. "Does that help at all? Are you warmer?"

"Mmm."

Christian hoped that meant yes. "My name is Christian Marshall. I would like to call you by your name. Will you tell me what it is?"

Nothing.

"Then shall I call you Jane like everyone else?"

Nothing.

"I'm going to sit down again," he said, doing just that. He sat heavily so the cot groaned a little beneath his weight. It was important to him that she not feel threatened. "I know you don't have any reason to trust me, but I am asking you to do it anyway. Are you listening to me, Jane?"

"Mmm."

Her teeth had stopped clicking, but her reply was little more than a moan. Not for the first time, Christian questioned the rightness of what he was doing. "There's someone here at the hospital who believes in you. He is a friend of mine." Or he was, Christian amended silently, before he had talked him into this bit of blatant idiocy. "You've met Scott Turner, haven't you? Dr. Turner?"

Nothing.

"I can't see you, Jane," Christian explained patiently. "If you're shaking your head one way or the other I have no way of knowing. Do you remember meeting Dr. Turner? It would have been shortly after you were brought here. Before the treatments started."

There was a short gasp as Jane Doe caught back a sob. Then, mmm-hmm.

"Good." Progress at last. "Dr. Turner thinks you may not belong here, but it is not in his power to get you out. I might be able to help if you will allow me. It won't be accomplished easily, Jane, and certainly not without your assistance. Today is simply the introduction. Will you remember me later? Know my voice?"

"Taak meh." A sob followed the unintelligible words. "Doan leef meh."

Christian set his jaw as the sounds from the tortured voice washed over him. So much effort had gone into the few words she spoke that Christian could not bring himself to ask her to repeat them. He said them again in his mind, then mouthed them, and finally whispered them until he had a sense of their meaning. When he realized what she was asking, he was glad she could not see him. She would not be encouraged by his helplessness. "I can't take you today. I have to leave you. I didn't come in a carriage. I rode Liberty. She'd take both of us, but I don't think you can ride—not in your condition. And it can't be more than twenty degrees outside. You would freeze to death before we made a city block. I live too far north of here, on Fifth, between Thirty-eighth and Thirty-ninth." Christian knew he was rambling in what amounted to a poor attempt to justify himself. Taking her now was definitely not in the plans he and Scott had devised. "It won't work. I'll have to come back. It will be a few days. No longer." Inadequately he added, "I promise."

"Doan leef meh," she said again, choking on a shallow sob. "Plee doan."

It was immediately apparent to Christian that Jane Doe could no longer hold back her tears. He left the bed and moved to her side as she began sobbing in earnest. He was careful not to touch her as he hunkered down. "I'm here. I am not going to hurt you," he said again. "I want to help. Dr. Turner wants to help. But I can't do anything today, and Scott can never be implicated. Do you understand? You must never mention his name or anything that I've told you. Jane, are you listening? I can't stay any longer. I have to leave now."

He gave a small start as her crying stopped abruptly, and her fingers curled around his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. She seemed to know the exact placement of his arm. "Do you have cat's eyes, Jane Doe?" he asked softly, trying to extricate his hand. She was not giving any quarter. He remembered the things Dr. Glenn had told him about this patient. Was Glenn right and Scott wrong after all? "Is that it?" he asked in a tone suited to a fractious child. "Cat's eyes? I don't remember them that way. They're very pretty, though. Deeply brown, I think. Touches of cinnamon and dark chocolate." Christian gave up trying to remove her fingers. With the intention of leading her back to the cot, Christian started to rise. Her choices were clear. She could be led or dragged or she could release him and stay where she was. He was only slightly relieved when she allowed herself to be led docilely. When they reached the cot she still had a bloodless grip on his wrist. There was no question in Christian's mind that he could pull away if he wanted. A quick downward snap would set him free. He also thought it would agitate Jane, and Scott Turner had cautioned him against that. He was still trying to decide what to do when she lifted his wrist and laid his hand against her left breast.

"Taak meh." She stepped closer to Christian and moved sinuously against him so that her breast rubbed the heart of his palm.

Confusion was uppermost in Christian's mind. He was only peripherally aware of the breast that filled his hand or the damp, clinging shift that covered it. Had he misunderstood her request all along or was she bartering herself to gain her release? Did she want him to take her on the cot or take her out in the cold? Was she simply a demented syphilitic whore who'd caught Scott Turner's eye one day? Christian had difficulty believing that. He decided to believe that she was bartering herself in order to get him to change his mind. "This isn't what you want," he said. God knows, he thought, it wasn't what
he
wanted. He would count himself as debased as one of the Five Points pimps if he were attracted in any physical way to Jane or her offer.