The Interpretation Of Murder (15 page)

    When we got back to Miss Acton's
rooms, Mrs Biggs was frantic. She ordered Miss Acton first to lie down, then to
sit up, then to move about in order to 'get her color back.' Miss Acton paid no
mind to any of these commands. She headed straight to the little kitchen with
which her suite was equipped and began preparing a pot of tea. Mrs Biggs threw
up her arms in protest, declaring that
she
should be fixing tea. The old
woman would not be quiet until Miss Acton sat her down and kissed her hands.

    The girl had an uncanny capacity
either to regain her composure after the most overwhelming events or to affect
a composure she did not feel. She finished the tea and handed a steaming cup to
Mrs Biggs.

    'You would have been killed, Miss
Nora,' said the old woman. 'You would have been killed if not for the young
doctor.'

    Miss Acton placed her hand on top of
the woman's, urging her to take her tea. When Mrs Biggs had done so, the girl
told her she would have to leave us because she needed to speak privately with
me. After a good deal more importuning, Mrs Biggs was persuaded to go.

    When we were alone, Miss Acton
thanked me.

    'Why have you made your servant
leave?' I asked.

    'I did not "make" her
leave,' replied the girl. 'You wanted to know the circumstances in which I lost
my voice three years ago. I wish to tell you.'

    The teapot now began to shake in her
hands. Attempting to pour, she missed the cup altogether. She put the pot down
and clasped her fingers together. 'That poor horse. How could he do such a
thing?'

    'You are not to blame, Miss Acton.'

    'What is the matter with you?' She
looked at me furiously. 'Why would I be to blame?'

    'There is no reason. But you sound as
if you are blaming yourself.'

    Miss Acton went to the window. She
parted the curtain, revealing a balcony behind a pair of French doors and
opening up a panoramic view of the city below. 'Do you know who that was?'

    'No.'

    'That was George Banwell, Clara's
husband. My father's friend.' The girl's breathing became unsteady. 'It was by
the lake at his summerhouse. He proposed to me.'

    'Please lie down, Miss Acton.'

    'Why?'

    'It is part of the treatment.'

    'Oh, very well.'

    When she was on the couch again, I
resumed. 'Mr Banwell asked you to marry him - when you were fourteen?'

    'I was sixteen, Doctor, and he did
not propose marriage.'

    'What did he propose?'

    'To have - to have - ' She stopped.

    'To have intercourse with you?' It is
always delicate to refer to sexual activity with young female patients, because
one cannot be sure how much they know of biology. But it is worse to let an
excess of delicacy reinforce the pernicious sense of shame that a girl may
attach to such an experience.

    'Yes,' she answered. 'We were staying
at his country house, my whole family He and I were walking along the path
around their pond. He said he had purchased another cottage nearby, where we
could go, with a lovely large bed, where the two of us could be alone and no
one would know.'

    'What did you do?'

    'I slapped him in the face and ran,'
said Miss Acton. 'I told my father - who did not take my side.'

    'He didn't believe you?' I asked.

    'He acted as if I were the wrongdoer.
I insisted he confront Mr Banwell. A week later, he told me he had. Mr Banwell
denied the charge, according to my father, with great indignation. I am sure he
wore very much the same look you saw just now. He only conceded mentioning his
new cottage to me. He maintained that I had drawn the wicked inference myself,
because of - because of the kind of books I read. My father chose to believe Mr
Banwell. I hate him.'

    'Mr Banwell?'

    'My father.'

    'Miss Acton, you lost your voice
three years ago. But you are describing an event that occurred last year.'

    'Three years ago, he kissed me.'

    'Your father?'

    'No, how disgusting,' said Miss
Acton. 'Mr Banwell.'

    'You were fourteen?' I asked.

    'Were mathematics difficult for you
at school, Dr Younger?'

    'Go on, Miss Acton.'

    'It was Independence Day,' she said.
'My parents had met the Banwells only a few months earlier, but already my
father and Mr Banwell were the best of friends. Mr Banwell's people were
rebuilding our house. We had just spent three weeks with them in the country
while they finished all the construction. Clara was so kind to me. She is the
strongest, most intelligent woman I have ever met, Dr Younger. And the most
beautiful. Did you see Lina Cavalieri's Salomé?'

    'No,' I answered. The famously
beautiful Miss Cavalieri had performed the role at the Manhattan Opera House
last winter, but I had been unable to get down from Worcester to see it.

    'Clara looks just like her. She was
on the stage too, years ago. Mr Gibson did a picture of her. In any event, Mr
Banwell had one of those enormous buildings of his going up downtown - the
Hanover, I think. We were planning to go to the roof of that building to watch
the fireworks. But my mother took ill - she always takes ill - so she remained
behind. Somehow, at the last moment, my father couldn't come downtown either. I
don't know why. I think he was also ill; there was a fever that summer. In any
event, Mr Banwell volunteered to take me to the rooftop, since I had been
looking forward to it so very much.'

    'Just the two of you?'

    'Yes. He drove me in his carriage. It
was night. He made the horses canter down Broadway. I remember the hot wind in
my face. We rode up in the elevator together. I was very nervous; it was the first
time I had ever been in an elevator. I couldn't wait for the fireworks, but
when the first cannons burst out, they scared me terribly. I may have screamed.
The next thing I knew he had clasped me in both arms. I can still feel him
pulling my - my upper body - against him. Then he pressed his mouth upon my
lips.' The girl grimaced, as if she wanted to spit.

    'And then?' I asked.

    'I tore myself from him, but there
was nowhere to go. I didn't know how to escape from his roof. He motioned me to
calm down, to be quiet. He told me it would be our secret and said we would
just watch the fireworks now Which is what we did.'

    'Did you tell anyone?'

    'No. That is when I lost my voice:
that night. Everyone thought I had caught the fever. Perhaps I had. My voice
came back to me the next morning, just as it did this time. But I have told no
One until this day. After that, I would not consent to be alone with Mr Banwell
again.'

    A long silence ensued. The girl had
evidently come to the end of her immediately conscious memories. 'Think of
yesterday, Miss Acton. Do you remember anything?'

    'No,' she said quietly. 'I'm sorry.'

    I asked her permission to convey what
she had said to Dr Freud. She agreed. I then informed her that we should resume
our conversation tomorrow.

    She seemed surprised: 'What else do
we have to converse about, Doctor? I have told you everything.'

    'Something more may occur to you.'

    'Why do you say that?'

    'Because you are still suffering your
amnesia. When we have uncovered everything connected with this event, I believe
your memory will come back to you.'

    'You think I am concealing
something?'

    'It is not concealment, Miss Acton.
Or rather, it is something you are concealing from yourself.'

    'I don't know what you are talking
about,' the girl replied. When I was a step from the door, she stopped me with
her clear, soft voice. 'Dr Younger?'

    'Miss Acton?'

    Her blue eyes had tears in them. She
held her chin high. 'He did kiss me. He did - propose to me by the lake.'

    I hadn't realized how anxious she was
over the possibility that I too, like her father, might not credit what she
told me. There was something indescribably endearing in the way she used
'propose' instead of 'proposition.' 'Miss Acton,' I replied, 'I believe every
word you say.'

    She burst into tears. I left her,
wishing Mrs Biggs a good afternoon as I passed her in the hallway.